#she's. not entirely wrong but no i did not find red velvet through weird al

[dilfsuzanneyk]

i think the funniest thing to ever happen to me so far is when i told my friend i liked red velvet's songs and she said "weird al parodied red velvet??" because she immediately assumed the only way i discover and listen music is through weird al

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 4: The Feast

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Should she really be surprised that Valdas tricked her, kidnapped her, and now is forcing her to attend a dinner party? Well... that last bit isn't exactly a villain cliche, but Nadya learns all too quickly who the real villain truly is.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They aren’t exactly whispering but Nadya still feels like she’s intruding on something she shouldn’t.

“I’ll leave you two to get ready. He’ll want everything to be perfect and you know how he obsesses over the smallest detail.”

Valdas cups Isseya’s face, threads his fingers through the curls at her temples, and kisses her hairline. The sight of them — creased foreheads and the way crinkles rest just at the corners of their eyes in age and fear and in acknowledgment of all the lonely souls who have walked the paths of grief before them — burns behind Nadya’s eyelids against her will.

She looks away before she gets swept up; before she drowns in them.

“And remember, my love,” he rests their foreheads together, “she can help us. I know it. I’ve felt the power myself — he was right.”

Isseya flickers heavy-lidded eyes in Nadya’s direction. She feels the hairs at the back of her neck stand up; alert.

“That she can does not mean she will, Valdas.”

“Have faith.”

“In who — the fledgling child?”

“In me.”

Nadya looks back — quickly wishes she hadn’t. Every other time she’s seen the woman smile it’s been in some twisted form of malice. It’s been Isseya taking pleasure in someone else’s pain.

But that’s genuine hope she sees now. She’s felt that brief-but-meaningful lifted weight before and well enough to know it when she sees it.

Looking like that, Nadya understands how easy it must have been to fall in love with her.

Valdas barely spares a glance Nadya’s way — his nod curt and formal before he departs and closes the door behind him. She doesn’t even bother trying to run for freedom any more.

She just has to hope that the longer the night goes on the closer Kamilah is to finding her.

“What did he mean,” she asks; and finds it easy not to take it personally that Isseya refuses to look at her, “he said we had to ‘get ready,’ what did he mean by that?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Stuff that usually involves me is my business.”

“Not when you have no choice in the matter.”

“Like you don’t?”

Nadya’s gut lurches at the sudden red-eyed glare she’s staring into. But she holds her ground — which is a lot more than to be said for the last time she and the Trinity vampire were alone together.

Unlike last time, though, it doesn’t last. The heated fury flitting away, smothered into embers.

“I… suppose such a case could be made, yes.”

She makes her way around the room and when she even gets close to the bed Nadya curls her knees up tighter to her chest on instinct. If Isseya sees it (if she gets any joy out of it, more likely) she says nothing. Just opens another door and flicks on the lights to an en suite.

This is your chance, but even her thoughts don’t hold a full heart in it. So Nadya stays put.

Her gaze falls on a nearby pillow — it’s just a pillow; as fluffed and embroidered and tasseled as Nadya’s failed weapon. But it triggers a memory. Or is it a dream?

“Who was the other woman?” she asks — though she isn’t holding her breath for an answer. “She looked familiar — someone else from the Ball?”

“What other woman? There’s no one else here.”

Because she would know, wouldn’t she? “She was in here before Valdas. Having someone watch me in my sleep is creepy, by the way!”

When Isseya returns she’s wielding an ornate hairbrush like someone would a kitchen knife and doesn’t that make Nadya press herself back further against the headboard. “Do you call me a liar?”

“N-No,” but… “but I remember someone was here.”

“Haven’t you had a hard time telling fantasy from the truth?” And she didn’t need to come at Nadya that hard but she does anyway. “She was in your head. Now — come here.”

Of course she doesn’t — which was the wrong decision to make and one Nadya doesn’t even get the opportunity to regret before she’s being shoved into a chair in front of the nearby vanity. “Hold still,” Isseya growls; and this time Nadya listens.

Everything she does is methodical; stiff and out of an obligation Nadya still doesn’t understand. But at the risk of being tossed around like a doll again she complies with every one of Isseya’s clipped commands. “Turn your head,” “remove your glasses,” “hold still — you fidget like a squirming hog.” And she isn’t gentle about her movements, either.

Though when the vampire steps back to observe the high-and-tight bun she’s somehow fashioned out of the impossible she does give a little “hmm” of self-congratulations.

“Strip,” comes next and that crosses so many lines Nadya doesn’t even know where to begin.

“No.”

“Was I asking?”

Which is how Nadya ends up in nothing but her underwear trying not-so-subtly to cover herself. Though Isseya apparently couldn’t care less; barely turns an eye to her that isn’t observing something only on the surface before she’s digging in the armoire in the corner.

Finally she pulls out a dress — beautiful and plum and way more skin than Nadya’s ever shown in her life and probably not something she can decline — and gives it a careless shove into Nadya’s hands. Nadya tries to grab it before the fabric hits the floor — by the looks of it such a thing might actually be a federal crime — and god forbid their fingers brush.

Isseya recoils as though burned. The suddenness of it has Nadya stumbling back. “Keep your distance. Now dress — quickly.”

Suspicious might be the understatement of the century. Though it sparks in Nadya a thought, one confirmed when she struggles to reach for the zipper at her back and the woman hesitates to help.

“Why are you scared to touch me?” she all but accuses, “I’m not the one of us who bites, remember.”

The very implication which Isseya takes a little too personally. “As if I would fear a thing like you.”

“Well whatever we’re doing there’s no way I’m doing it half dressed so either help me or fess up.”

She does help — eventually. Somehow she still manages to avoid skin contact, too. But when the dress is zipped properly there’s a shield once again between them; this one of rich velvet. Isseya’s fingertips rest underneath Nadya’s ribs light as a feather but make it impossible for her to pull away.

A glance in the vanity mirror tells her everything she needs to know. Epics and tragedies spun in the dark eyes watching Nadya’s reflection.

“He said… at this stage of your condition that… touch is the trigger.” Of course. Nadya nods.

“Just as he told me of the memory you conjured. How do you do it? How do you choose?”

Isseya’s own touch turns pressing; makes Nadya feel like she’s about to be pushed into the floor and lower still. “If I knew I would tell you.”

“Would you?” comes the snapped reply. This time Nadya doesn’t let it phase her. This time she knows what that forked tongue means; what it hides.

“I would, I mean it,” and she continues more for herself than for Isseya, because like she’s gonna let all of this happen and not get her two cents in; unlikely, “because this might surprise you, Isseya, but not everyone is as selfish as you two are. Some people do things even though they know they won’t be getting anything in return.”

Nadya actually watches the incredible amount of restraint it takes for the woman not to rip her throat out right there. She watches with her head held high and maybe a little bit of haughtiness — almost taunting her.

It doesn’t work.

Whatever Isseya is doing here — whatever she and Valdas both are doing here — it’s more important than two thousand years’ worth of pride.

“Wait here,” the vampire tells her; and she actually sounds a lot scarier in this weird state of calm more than she ever did with her fangs bared.

Enough to keep Nadya rooted to the spot while she goes about getting herself ready.

The moon is high in the sky by the time Valdas comes to fetch them. He knocks but doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter and he cleans up just as well in a tuxedo as he had in his old Roman fare — Nadya won’t deny it. He offers his arm to Isseya and she takes it in all of her splendor. Shiny and sleek and like the thing weighing her down is her own perfection — not the pain she feels every time she remembers she’s alive.

Her partner takes in every inch of her like it’s the very first time; like she’s the only thing in his entire world. Judging by the way he almost startles when he catches sight of Nadya behind her — that’s not too far from the truth.

“You look lovely, Nadya.” But Isseya preens under the implied compliment. Nadya just shrugs it off.

“Come, we’ve made him wait long enough.”

Nadya stops in the doorway. “Who?”

And it isn’t the first look of remorse the man gives her… but it’s the first one she actually believes.

“Come.”

No matter how much she wants to Nadya stops herself from punching the familiar bespectacled vampire who pulls her chair out for her.

She’s not a violent person, really she isn’t. But the same kind of feeling has her stomach in knots as it did back during Adrian’s trial; after all hadn’t Jameson betrayed Kamilah just as Nicole betrayed Adrian?

Jameson waits for her to sit. Nadya doesn’t feel like sitting.

“How could you do this to them?”

“If you’d be seated, Miss.”

“Screw that — answer me. How could you do this to Kamilah? She gave you a spot in her Clan.” Which has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Apparently not. “If you would be seated, Miss.”

Nadya makes her protest well known despite the fact that she does, in fact, sit. Jameson pushes her chair in maybe a little too tight before offering the same courtesy to the Trinity.

From what little she’s seen of the so-called scholar it’s not exactly unusual for him to be acting the way he is. Stiff, formal and adhering to rules of etiquette they probably stopped teaching around the same time as the invention of the light bulb. He’s the picture of politeness and it’s just plain unnerving.

The dining room is one of the places that had been roped off during the Ball. Nadya actually prefers it this way. It makes the castle feel a little less familiar and with all the awful memories she already has tied to this place… it’s probably for the best.

Rather than taking a seat himself, Jameson keeps busy with a decanted wine on a silver serving cart. Which leaves one place — the head of the long (long) table — and one guest unaccounted for.

“Where is Marcel?”

Valdas and Isseya exchange glances across the table centerpiece; a bouquet of blood-red orchids and deep purple roses covered in thorns. Night-blooming flowers, she recalls.

“It was decided that the young Lord not join us for this evening’s meal. This is all very distressing to you, of course, and he agreed it would not do well to make it worse.” Valdas answers.

“Wait — decided? Decided by who?”

“‘Whom,’” he corrects, but chooses not to answer.

Instead he waves two fingers in a summoning gesture even Nadya would be insulted by. “Jingyi, the wine if you would.”

Jingyi is apparently Jameson; even more apparent is his contempt for the name and, Nadya is quickly realizing, the vampires who would use it. It bleeds through his teeth clenched around his words “yes, my Lord,” but the Trinity don’t deem it worth even the smallest acknowledgment. Their attention is instead reserved for Nadya.

“Sweet reds, correct?”

Nadya hates to admit it but she’s glad for the distraction of Jameson’s suddenly very close proximity to her neck while he pours. “Sorry?”

Valdas nods to the contents of her glass. “You prefer sweet reds.”

“What’s with you and being creepy about my eating and drinking habits?”

“Live as long as we have and you learn to differentiate people by things other than their faces and their names.” Valdas takes his filled glass and gives it an idle sip. “For example; you are hardly the first Nadya in our lives. But you are Nadya of sweet red wines and terrible eyesight. That sets you apart.”

Isseya’s snort is, like the rest of her façade, perfectly maintained and somehow glittering. She looks to her lover in amusement. “As if the rest of her did not?”

“Your dinner conversation is as tactless as ever, beloved.”

“Well… yes, but that aside,” she turns to Nadya and raises her own glass in a toast either forced or mocking — it’s hard to tell, “he picked a Lambrusco especially for tonight, for you.”

And yeah, okay, any other time one or even two incredibly attractive and incredibly flirtatious people fixate on her with such intensity Nadya might find it in herself to be flattered. But she’s seen what they can do and how little they can feel doing it. That darkness—Valdas’ darkness—she still has trouble shaking.

So for now she’ll settle on feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh…” Quick, what do fancy people do with wine again? Nadya racks her brain hastily until a vision of Kamilah on their last date comes up in her mind’s eye. She swirls the contents slowly (and in doing so tries very hard not to make the literary parallels between red wine and—y’know—blood but ultimately fails) and brings the glass just shy of the tip of her nose.

“It’s very… wine.” Nadya… no…

So she chugs the entire glass on the first go to avoid saying anything else incredibly stupid.

Thank god Jameson doesn’t have to be asked to top her off.

Jameson who disappears through a set of doors and returns not moments later with a new cart bearing trays of small nibbles and bits. It’s almost getting difficult to play along — like she’s supposed to pretend she isn’t being held against her will, dressed up like Secretary Barbie, and still is refused any actual answers? But when a plate is set down in front of her Nadya’s stomach remembers she had declined (with big big regret) to eat at the cafe… so she pushes down any worries of this is probably poisoned they’re totally poisoning me and samples a bit of everything.

Scraping cutlery, chewing, swallowing; scraping cutlery, chewing, Jameson’s muffled footsteps on request, swallowing. Over and over again. What, are they saving the juicy gossip for their missing guest?

Their plates are cleared before Nadya finishes, which is just as well because now that it remembers what food tastes like her body is ready for more than snacks. This time the scholar’s cart bears four silver-domed platters that he places at the head of the table last.

Before Nadya can do a dramatic food network reveal Valdas startles her with a quick tilt of his head. Listening for something her human ears can’t quite hear. Whatever it is it sets the Trinity on edge; makes Isseya look about ready to crawl out of her own skin and Valdas tug at his collar and loosen his tie even though it can’t exactly choke him out.

Nadya slowly slinks her hand back from her cover almost comically.

The double doors at the other end of the room swing inward with dramatic gusto. The small breeze that comes with it pushes an unfamiliar and definitely unpleasant smell against her crinkling nose. Not even the centerpiece flowers or the aroma of the food so close can cover it up.

Her vampire companions stand with creaking chairs just in time for his grand (if trumpetless) entrance.

It’s not an active resistance to this the unmasked authority that keeps her seated. Nadya’s just not sure her legs would be able to hold her up right now. So sitting and not collapsing is probably more respectable, right? She’s rambling — worse than that she’s rambling in her own head.

What else is she supposed to do, though? All these months of crippling headaches and nightmares unending and the feeling of losing herself and filling up the space with a bunch of unknowns — nothing like this has ever happened. She’s seen faces, spoken names, held identities of her own that she could never be. And this is the first time she’s come face to face with one of them.

Nadya knows this man; she’s been him, been loved and Turned and banished and even killed by him. The things she’s seen… the things she’s done with those hands as her own both pale in moonlight and drenched dark near-black with blood how his fingertips look spread wide over the tanned slopes of Kamilah’s bare skin and the strength with which they’ve plunged into hundreds, no, thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of ribcages—

And he’s more than that, too. He’s the man who brought vampires to America, who built his Shadow Kingdom with a conviction Nadya feels like a knife in her gut.

He’s the man who Turned Kamilah, Adrian. The man who loved both of them before eternity did.

The worst part of it is that Gaius Augustine is beautiful. That’s just an objective fact. It’s what makes him so seductive. No wonder the world has fallen on bended knee to him. He looks like a god.

In a way, perhaps he is.

Jameson moves quickly — and with an anticipation that definitely wasn’t there before; something like eagerness — to pull out the high-backed chair but Gaius waves him off with a flippant hand. The same carelessness shown by Valdas but from this man Jameson accepts it without disdain.

There’s a reverence by which Gaius grasps the velvet backing of his chair. Deep in every fingertip; an appreciation Nadya empathizes with against her will. He knows what it’s like to not have such things; little things, insignificant things… or they were until he was entombed.

He looks good, uncomfortably good, for a guy who spent a hella long time starving in a black stone coffin.

He sweeps a crystal blue gaze over his dinner guests but doesn’t seem to register Nadya’s lack of respect. Actually she suspects he only backtracks to her because she’s on the verge of a panic attack and is conveniently the only one in the room with a heartbeat.

“Nadya,” croons a voice she recognizes instantly; her mysterious guide through the winding paths of the Musea Sanguis, “we finally meet — well… face to face.”

He smiles at her; it isn’t returned. Even if Nadya wanted to say something to him she’s not entirely certain she wouldn’t just turn off her filter and let him have it right there. Her mom would probably forgive such unladylike behavior in this one case.

Only her tongue is knotted up too tight for even a little peep.

Of course now would be the time I learn to shut up.

Gaius watches and waits, and when he finally accepts she’s zipped her lips he throws his head back in jovial laughter. The sound makes Isseya crumple the steel fork under her hand into a ball like tin foil.

He stops just as abruptly. “Is this really how we want to begin things? The choice is yours — and yours alone.”

No, it wasn’t, her mind quickly reminds her but Nadya hasn’t forgotten. She didn’t get to choose this awful, terrible thing in her head. Just like she didn’t get to choose to be here; the definition of kidnapping or nearly so. Nadya didn’t even get to choose her own dress! And frankly her thighs are really cold in here.

It’s in that moment that Nadya learns everything she needs to know about Gaius Augustine. He’s a beautiful face and honeyed words but hell will freeze over before he lets anyone forget he’s also death incarnate.

In a blink Gaius’ smile is gone. “Dolling her up was a waste, Valdemaras, if the time could have been better spent teaching her simple manners.”

Valdas fixates on a spot on the table. His head lowered in respect — and fear.

“My apologies, Augustine.”

The older vampire throws him a look of disdain. “Not that I did not anticipate it and prepare myself for the disappointment. You’ve always fallen just short of the mark — little Made-God.”

He seats himself; undoes the black button of his trimmed dinner jacket and relaxes into his chair like a king on a throne. She’s seen his throne — this is exactly how he would sit upon it. On either side of them the Trinity sink back into their chairs and Nadya realizes, now, the cruelty with which Gaius has devised their arrangement.

Isseya’s hand twitches and closes; hard enough for her blood to try and fill the gaps in her fist. She just wants to touch Valdas in comfort. And Gaius has made sure she cannot. In some strange way her heart breaks for them — or is breaking with them — or her heart is theirs and breaks as them — or…

This is really starting to make her head hurt.

Jameson resumes his duties with an obvious change in attitude. He fills Gaius’ glass with a different decanter — the contents of which are still a deep and rich red but she’s been living with vampires for a year now; Nadya knows what blood looks like. And the sight of it takes away all her appetite. Even as Jameson takes the covers off of their plates and reveals what looks like a delicious and expensive cut of steak… she can’t stop looking at the elder vampire’s cup.

“Marvelous,” Gaius compliments, “absolutely marvelous. Boundless are humanity’s shortcomings but they’ve always retained a passion for decorating what they eat. I suppose that may be the one thing left I have in common with them.”

He looks to Nadya with a smile — as if she’ll somehow understand, or agree with him. But she is decorated tonight. And she knows exactly what he eats.

“Don’t you agree?”

Nadya once told Kamilah that she was prone to doing stupid things when she was scared. Good to know that still holds true. “That what, you have something in common with humanity? That’s a hard no.”

Valdas’ knife scraaapes against the china plateware; his quick recovery is honestly impressive.

In a mockery of disappointment Gaius lets his head hang and as he does the waves of his dark brown hair fall in a shadow over his face. Nadya pushes her wine away so fast and so hard she nearly spills it all over the tablecloth.

Because she needs to be clear-headed for this; and she’s obviously already tipsy. How else is she supposed to explain it; he way his skin goes from vivacious and full to taut and decaying and grey; pulled back thin over the shape of his skull.

It makes Nadya think of the strange smell that preceded Gaius’ arrival. The smell of rot and death, she realizes, and can’t even bear the sight of her plate when she does.

And with everything else going weird and wrong in her life Nadya isn’t even surprised that when she looks back up Gaius once again looks perfect; not a hair out of place.

“Why are you so adamant on rejecting my hospitality? Surely you’ve realized this is all for your comfort.”

She chokes on her laugh. “All of what? The meal?”

“Of course. To serve purpose as both an apology for the… unfortunate terms of your arrival —”

“You mean my kidnapping.”

Gaius ignores her interruption; “— and to ease any discomfort you might have about me. I imagine Adrian hasn’t exactly been singing my praises.”

Petulantly Nadya leans against the back of her chair; slumping a little as she does with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Actually, kinda the opposite.”

Of course that grabs his attention, but she doesn’t expect the strange delight captured in his smile. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, given that he hasn’t mentioned you at all. And—before you ask—neither has Kamilah.”

The fork in his grasp bends and is made useless. But then Jameson is there with a replacement in hand and she doesn’t even get the satisfaction of Gaius being inconvenienced.

“I know you believe the course you stay now is, perhaps, the upper hand. But dear Nadya it takes much more than that to get under my skin.”

“Good to know.”

“Nadya.”

Is Valdas seriously trying that right now — does he really think that after what he’s done that’s an okay thing to be doing? Because no, it’s not, and she’ll be more than happy to stop whatever she’s doing that gave him that impression. “No.”

“If you would calm yourself —”

That’s it — Nadya snaps.

“‘Calm myself?’ You’ve gotta be joking. Because that’s a really good joke. Right up there with how you reached out to me, offered me help, and wedged a knife in my back with a psychic roofie.” She chokes on her voice, thick and wet, but to Nadya’s credit she’s gotten really good at keeping how badly she wants to sob inside and close to her chest.

“The things I’ve seen him do — the things I’ve lived through because of him? I told you, Valdas — I told you how this is making me feel. I… I confided in you. Told you things I haven’t even told my best friend, things like how I feel like I’m falling apart at the seams… how sick I feel because I shouldn’t know what killing someone feels like but I do—

“And now, after kidnapping me and bringing me to him —” she jabs her finger at Gaius who simply watches; silent, bemused, “— the man who has done more of those horrors than I can count — horrors I’ve been forced to live through… you think you have a right to tell me to be calm?”

She’s splotchy and flushed and can hear her pulse in her temples but nope no way Nadya regrets absolutely nothing. Even though were this any ordinary dinner party — or even ordinary adjacent — she’d be mortified enough to flee from the room crying.

Then Gaius is clapping; polite and reserved. Jameson goes to join but doesn’t get in even one before a glare from Isseya has him practically cowering where he stands.

“Brava signorina, brava,” and really, does nothing phase this guy, “it’s been far too long since I’ve had dinner and a show. It’s the little things you miss, really.”

“It wasn’t for you.” Nadya snaps with far less heat.

“No, no I see that it wasn’t. It is fascinating, though.”

“What is?”

“How you seem to attract the affections and loyalty of my progeny.”

It gives her whiplash. “Wait—seriously?” But Valdas doesn’t deny it. “So you’re the one who set him free.”

There’s no use in pretending this is going to be a conversation over a polite and decadent meal, so Gaius sets his utensils down and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. Nadya swears she isn’t hallucinating when she sees morbidity and decay for a hand where the cloth covers it.

“My my my, you’re more informed than I could have hoped for. And this regardless of your efforts to spite me, Valdemaras.”

“I know how entertained you are by the pursuit.”

“Is that what you call it?” Gaius nods; makes Valdas look so petty — so small, “Well I suppose one of us ought to succeed in the end. And even Nadya here knows such a thing is impossible for you.”

Don’t bring me into this she wants to say, but to what end? She already is in this. Way way deep in it. Drowning, practically.

So what’s the harm in diving deeper if she’s already going to die choking on water? Too far with the analogy, maybe.

“I know the Council locked you up because you were mad with power. Because so many people were dying and they knew you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

Nadya feels her confidence waiver at something as little as Gaius cocking a brow. “Oh please, do go on.”

“I know there’s a throne under Central Park that once belonged to you.”

“Once? Who sits there now, pray tell?”

“No one.”

“Then perhaps it is mine still.”

“I know you’ve killed more people than I think even you remember.”

Gaius hums. “Possibly. The ends more than justify the means.”

No they don’t. “And I know that everything you do—all the killing, Turning, plotting and kingdoms and thrones… it’s all for her.”

A hollow caricature of sentiment crosses his face and if Nadya were a bigger person (bolder, braver, any other b-word for that matter) she’d smack it right off him in a heartbeat.

“My Queen has —”

“No, I don’t mean Kamilah.” The name tumbles from her lips before she can hold it back.

“I meant your Maker… I meant Rheya.”

Nadya’s having dinner with the dead but only now is the room silent as the grave. Gaius’ expression is unreadable no matter how much she tries. Valdas can’t quite meet her in the eyes and Isseya, well she’s the opposite; like she’s looking at Nadya for the first time and with tears prickling in her eyes.

“Then it’s true…” She laughs in the way mourners are reminded of small fragments of their loved ones’ they’d forgotten. “It’s… you. You’re her.”

Her? Who her? “Indeed she is. And a far more advanced Bloodkeeper than the last I possessed.” Gaius drinks deeply from his glass like he wants her to marinate in his words; wants her to panic from them. “You’ve served me well, Jameson.”

And Jameson nods with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Master. Anything to see our good work done.”

Gaius thumbs a stray drop of blood from the corner of his lips and sucks it clean. “My turn, I think.” But when he stands this time he stands alone. “Shall I tell you what it is that I know, Nadya?”

She has a strong feeling she can’t exactly say no. That feeling would be correct.

“I know the forces that govern our supernatural world are never without a sense of irony. I know that you, the genuine Bloodkeeper, are more valuable than you realize. You call them visions; nightmares. We —” he gestures an arm wide to their vampire audience, “— would call them memories. The Bloodkeeper has been for as long as we have been. Back through the centuries, the millennia, all the way to my Goddess, the woman you name Rheya.

“The more I spread our kind across the world, the more memories there were for her to see. Too many for a mortal mind, though. The last one could not give me what I seek. So I knew when the time came… I could not risk losing her again. Her gift had to be… cultivated properly.”

Gaius leans forward against the table with palms spread wide. Pushing darkness; death out into the world and all of it in her direction. “I had my doubts about you, Nadya. I am not above admitting it was the incessant vehemence of my progeny that convinced me to pursue you; not a mere human dabbling in psychic parlor tricks but the real thing. But you’ve convinced me now; you are that which I am unable to deny.

“So few know of her; my Goddess of Blood and Fury, the First Vampire. Fewer still know the truth of my beginnings; that I am the last of the pure, her devoted one. But you do, Nadya, you do. And the joy that knowledge brings me… I dare say in my current state I am unable to express it justly.”

She’d like to tell him he’s expressing it just fine; perhaps a little too much even. Eyes wide, practically maniacal; the only way to widen his smile would be to take the cutlery to the corners of his mouth and tug.

But Gaius is like all beautiful things — the longer she looks the less perfection she takes in; the more flaws start to leap off the canvas of him and scream to her for attention.

His irises once a blue as bright as the sky now faded pale like a heralding storm, even the pupil gone grey — pearls perfectly fit into the eye sockets of his skull now a little too prominent, protruding a little too stark.

Teeth even and dazzling cracked, thin like eggshells and the same kind of not-quite-white. All the white he could ever need rather rests in thin wisps on the top of his head in clumps and disarrayed — torn out from decade after decade of endless isolation.

Nadya came here (however unwillingly, that didn’t matter now) for the truth. That truth now stands before her in all its repulsive glory and she doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for some unexpected shadow to pass it by. Gaius Augustine hasn’t aged well; not at all. He is a corpse; now as ugly on the outside as he is within. All that without even mentioning the smell of death her senses will no longer deny.

A breath catches in her throat. Nadya quickly covers her nose and mouth with the back of her hand; couldn’t give less of a care about subtlety or Gaius’ feelings on his condition. She can’t look away and Valdas’ stare is too heavy for her to deny; the weight of sympathy.

The Trinity, Jameson; they’ve been seeing Gaius as he really is this whole time. His masquerade; just another lie Nadya didn’t ask for.

His voice was a ruse, too. Because now his every word creaks of old stone lids prying themselves from their coffins. “You ought to be a little more cautious with the tales your expressions tell. A lesser man might take offense to such… distaste.”

If he expects Nadya to apologize for hurting his feelings he’d best be ready to live another couple thousand years before that happens. “What was it? A—A veil of some kind?”

“Of a sort — you learn quickly. But it was merely a glamour to ensure the evening was an amenable one.”

“For my peace of mind,” unconsciously Nadya plucks at a string; not a real one but one within her mind — everyone else has been digging around in there so she might as well join the party, “or for your vanity?”

Gaius’ decaying face can barely show a frown but some vibes just can’t be mistaken. “Cheeky.”

“So what do you want from me?” Nadya asks; with a calm even she didn’t expect. “You’ve spent all this time planning, plotting, torturing—sorry, cultivating—me… what memory was it all for, Gaius?”

He resumes his seat and smiles slow; satisfied. Maybe he thinks she’s being complacent… and maybe there’s a part of her that is.

“I need you to find something for me; an object of great importance.”

“Something tells me it’s not the teddy bear you lost when you were five… hundred.”

This time Gaius laughs a bit more reserved. He taps a withered finger to his lips in thought and Nadya pretends for her own sake that she doesn’t see a fingernail just fall off and onto his half-empty plate. “It is an object of mine; an amulet. And it was, at one time, my most cherished possession on this earth.”

All of his guests (willing and otherwise) watch the unconscious way Gaius trails his fingertip down his chin, his throat — to rest just shy of the last button done up on his crisp red dress shirt. They watch as he traces an idle and misshapen circle. Lost in the moment; in the memory.

So why does he need Nadya?

“When the time came for me to part with it I was reluctant. But it was for the best given the circumstances. For centuries come and gone I had conquered armies, laid waste to entire lands and cities — and yet even I am unable to bend nature to my whim.”

His words lull her in their own strange way like the low, rasping drag of a violin. The first time she feels a tickle at her nose Nadya brushes it aside — it’s an old castle, dust isn’t any surprise. But the second, the third? Nadya can’t help but drag her knuckles over her cheek.

She pulls her hand back and the skin is stained a smeared grey. Darker than Gaius’ pallor across the table. And it burns.

Ash.

Nadya remembers the nausea starting to churn in her belly all too well but that isn’t exactly a good thing. She almost jumps out of her skin when Jameson is suddenly at her side pouring a glass of water from a clear pitcher — didn’t even realize how parched she was until she snatches it forward and practically out of the scholar’s hands for long, deep drinks.

“Beautiful…” Gaius breathes; watching Nadya in awe — even when she chokes on the last gulp. “You can feel it, can’t you; you know exactly of what I speak.”

With anyone else — even Kamilah, even Valdas — she could at least try her best to avoid this awful feeling by keeping her hands to herself. But Gaius is all the way over there, and Nadya is all the way over here, and it doesn’t. matter. one. bit. She feels the influence of him — of his memories — reaching out to her from the other side of the room.

Nadya takes a burning breath and the answer finds itself somewhere between them.

“Vesuvius.”

Gaius confirms with a nod; “I could not risk my amulet falling prey to anything — even that which was beyond my control. So I entrusted it to my firstborn and tasked him with its protection.”

“Hold on — ‘him?’” This whole time Nadya’s been under the impression that Kamilah was the first person Gaius Turned. Or that’s what her visions—his memories—had made her assume.

But who was the only person she knew of that was older than Kamilah?

She looks to her right and Valdas nods without a word, chin resting on hands clasped in front of him.

“You?”

“My first mistake,” answers Gaius for him — contempt for the man beside him dripping foul between his teeth, “and regrettably not my last. As I had given it to mine, so too did Valdemaras give the amulet to his firstborn. And we all know how that ended.”

Neither of the Trinity will look at her; at Gaius either. No longer with their heads held high; like his disapproval of them is a real, tangible thing forcing their heads down, eyes down, and demands of them to feel nothing but shame.

Jameson refills her water slowly. Nadya drinks because if she does then she can’t open her big mouth.

“Thus the task falls unto you, my little Bloodkeeper, to remember where the cur misplaced my amulet.”

He says it like it’s so simple; like flipping through the pages of a book she ought to know well. But not only has Nadya never even heard of that metaphorical book — it’s in a whole other freakin’ language.

And she has a feeling Gaius isn’t the kind of guy to take excuses in stride. So — she stalls.

“And what are you going to give me in return?”

Gaius scoffs but easily grins around it. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” though judging by the state of decomposition on his ears… “I have something you want,” or at least that’s what you think, “so what do I get out of it?”

“You get to live.”

“Not good enough.”

Isseya’s lips twitch — the barest hint of amusement that Gaius misses in his incredulity.

“Is that so? Here I was under the impression mortals held their lives in higher value.”

“Well you’re not the first vampire to threaten me. Actually, that was Kamilah. Heck, you aren’t even in the top three. So I’ve gotten used to it. And besides…” Nadya pushes her glasses up her nose until it hurts. “If you kill me then you don’t get what you want anyway.”

In the silence that follows Nadya’s thoughts dissolve into a whirling chaos; desperate to think of her next move. She could demand that Gaius let her go — but that didn’t help her much. She could demand that and that she’s brought back to Manhattan, to Adrian and Kamilah, safe and sound. But the thought of him anywhere near them just makes her queasy. He kept them out of this — what would they think of her if she were the one to bring them in?

The longer she’s left to think the more incredulous Nadya’s ‘conditions’ become, though, so it’s almost a relief when Gaius inclines his head in a subtle nod.

Almost because he’s smiling and so far nothing—nothing—good happens when he smiles.

“I can see why my Queen has taken to you so.” Gaius says darkly, somehow darker than all the darkness he’s been hurling out already and it makes Nadya’s blood curdle in her veins. “She always preferred a certain recklessness in her mortals. Not to mention how surprisingly refreshing it is to meet such resistance for so long. But understand well — it never lasts.”

He raises a hand and Nadya’s body flinches on instinct, eyes squeezing shut waiting for a blow that doesn’t come.

Instead, Gaius snaps. “Get on with it.”

And she can’t move. She can’t move. Why can’t she move?

Fingertips brush feather-light at her temples.

Jameson.

One touch and Nadya can already feel the headache starting to build; storm clouds gathering on fast-forward in her head and everything is growing fuzzy at the edges of her eyes. The same kind of reaching, probing curiosity the psychic vampire had used back at Adrian’s trial but comparing the two is the difference between water and acid.

He’s killing her. Oh god he’s killing her. Burning her up from the inside out and without the mercy to let her even so much as scream while she’s forced to endure it.

Isseya on her left, Valdas on her right. A not-unfounded pity in their eyes watching but not making any move to help her as Nadya struggles, tenses her muscles until she’s shaking in her own skin but it’s all in vain — she still doesn’t move.

Help her, because it isn’t Nadya who owns her thoughts anymore; they belong to Jameson. Help her please help her help her helpher—

They don’t.

“I would have thought all of this —” Gaius’ voice blends into the pain; makes them synonymous with each other, “— would have explained things as they are, crystal clear. You are valuable to me as an object is valuable, Nadya. But objects do not dictate who owns them, nor make conditions upon their use. They are but objects; used as the owner sees fit.”

Behind her, Jameson’s whisper roars over the pain that can’t be anything other than her brain trying to punch its way from her skull.

“Remarkable — a vast improvement from when last I walked these paths…”

Get out get out getout!

“Valdemaras tells me she’s encountered these particular memories before. Does that make your task easier?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then find what I need, and be quick about it.”

“If he isn’t cautious… she may burn out.” And even though Valdas sounds sympathetic she knows he’s anything but — this is all his fault. What she wouldn’t give to tell him to shove it. “Or the memory may be… incomplete.”

Nadya blinks, feels tears clinging to her lashes heavy and the warm trails they leave down her cheeks. But she can’t see. Not black or white, not the dining room or whatever Jameson digs for in her mind.

She just sees agony.

There’s a clap — the distinct sound of flesh on flesh. What might be a choked noise from where Isseya was sitting.

“Question me again, Valdemaras, and you will be mourning two-fold.”

“… Forgive me, my King.”

“If you earn it.”

“I feel it,” cries Jameson with glee, “I believe I’ve found the Amulet of Nero, Master. Strange… how she resists me still. As though she’s pulling the memory just out of reach.”

Nadya doesn’t have to see Gaius to feel the weight of his glare.

“Then dig deeper.”

Then she sees nothing; nothing at all.