Behind the Devil's Eye (Part One)

The wind whipped about her, tugging at the thick black cloak that hung in heavy folds from her shoulders and sending her red curls swirling about her face in an auburn haze. Aeon raised one pale, long-fingered hand; delicate yet with enough strength to crush a man’s skull, and brushed aside a stray curl that had entangled itself in her lips. A shambles of broken houses rose up close around her, their burnt-out shells savagely grinning broken-toothed smiles.
  Aeon glanced about her, her stunning green eyes glittering in the dusty glow of the moon. The Rotten Fifth, squatting on the river Thames like a dead creature emerging from the putrid depths, a dark secret that London would rather forget. Its cobbled streets and shadowy squares abandoned to the clutches of the mad and the damned, to the murderers and thieves who stalked its streets. And now she stood, in the centre of this…other world, chasing a vampire who had threatened the very existence of them all.
  The Rogue. Whispers of a nameless fear echoing through the streets of London, always on the lips of many yet dared spoken by few. He had spilled blood across the city, mercilessly slashing and garrotting the necks of painted ladies and street urchins alike; drinking away their life, their blood bathing the streets with his hate and lust. The Rogue had threatened to reveal the truth of the vampire’s existence. The coven would not allow that; could not allow that.
  The fate of the vampire, destined to walk alone through eternity, to observe humanity but not be a part of it. But despite everything, she had never felt alone; she had always had Kain. Her dearest brother and all that was left of her great family but now…he had gone. Sent away on coven business. She had not heard from him in many months. Aeon sighed
  But none of that mattered now. She had a job to do and she would not rest until her blade had sunk safely in to the Rogue’s flesh and the rumours surrounding them had died.
  Aeon moved forward swiftly, cloak billowing behind her and leather boots hardly grazing the cobbles as she crossed from one side of the narrow street to the other, blending in to the shadows so that she was barely visible. The tall, terraced houses loomed over the twisting maze of streets like silent watchmen, the mould and decay creeping up the sides, slowly devouring them whole.
  Aeon turned left in to an alley behind a cluster of abandoned shops, dust laden in the windows with ‘CLOSED’ signs half concealed by a layer of grime. The darkness wrapped itself around her like a cloak, her vampire eyes easily seeing every detail and ears picking up the scuttling of mice and their angry squeaking, a spider scuttling across a rotting door frame and sudden grinding of hinges reluctantly opening to let someone out.
  She smelt him before she saw him. The stench of whisky and unwashed skin filled her nose, a frown creasing her brow with disgust. Aeon reached inside her cloak, the fine weave soft against the back of her hands as she withdrew two sharp daggers, one weapon tightly grasped in each hand, the leather of the handles felt reassuringly familiar.
  The man staggered drunkenly towards where she stood half-concealed, a harsh cackle issuing from his crooked lips, spittle flying from his mouth as his face became clear to her vision. A gaunt face with sunken eyes and sallow skin offset with thin pale lips that leered crookedly at her in the gloom.
  He stopped when he saw her, staggering slightly and swaying, his tattered and soiled clothes clinging loosely to his drawn frame. “Whadda ya want,” he drawled, squinting at her through watery eyes.
  Aeon didn’t answer but stepped forward slightly, in to the light of an oil lamp flickering jauntily behind him. The flame danced across her beautiful face, her features coming alive and its fire reflected in her eyes. She drew in the scent of his blood, intoxicating and her fangs ached.
  But then she smelt something else; like rotting flesh and alcohol, running with his blood through his veins like poison and her nose wrinkled with disgust. Aeon could hear his heart thudding weakly, the diseased muscle struggling to squeeze the blood around his body, it sluggishly sliding along the veins and arteries. He didn’t have long to live.
  The drunk stared at her wide-eyed, the bottle slipping from his grasp and shattering on the hard cobbles, sending shards of glass showering outwards as the strong alcohol drained away. He made no move to retrieve it. She smiled faintly knowing how she must look to him. A sight beyond mortal imagination.
  But then her expression hardened and she stepped forward, meaning to pass him. Aeon had more important things to deal with and she hoped for his sake that he didn’t try and stop her. The drunk staggered backwards, his feet scuffing as he fell against the wall behind, nearly sinking to the ground, his eyes wide and staring and a stream of incoherent babble issued from his lips.
  Continuing right in to an open square, Aeon paused, considering which way she should turn. The cobbled streets had opened up on to a narrow space, the street fractured by tiled slabs running in a pattern around the edge, the dull grey tones doing little to relieve the oppression. Enclosed with yet more houses, there were four openings, two to the left and right, the one she had just entered from and another that was just in front of her. Aeon could see the crouching bulk of a warehouse, looming above the crest of the surrounding buildings towards the right.
  A cold breeze suddenly glanced across her skin but she didn’t react. She could hear something. The faint whisper of a footstep sounded in the entrance to the right. Aeon focused her senses reaching out to detect what it was that had made the sound but heard nothing. Her grip tightened on the daggers. There should have been some sound puncturing the silence but there was nothing.
  Aeon’s skin crawled but not with the cold. He was here. She could feel his eyes hungrily watching her. Coming from just to her left. She wondered how the Rogue could possibly have moved so swiftly without her seeing him. Unless, unless he was on the roof.
  Moving her head as little as possible, Aeon glanced at the lip of a the roof in front of her and estimating it to be only about six feet high realised she could quite easily leap up there. Listening intently in to the gloom, she heard no further movement, so with the slightest movement of her wrist she stowed her weapons in her belt and tensing her legs, sprang forward. Crossing the distance in a few quick strides, Aeon bunched her legs underneath her and propelled herself upwards.
  Her feet landed square on the flat roof, she cursed softly as the supporting beam groaned under her sudden weight and straightened quickly. A shuffling of movement and moaned complaint of straining beams across the gap made her curse again. He had heard her.
  Aeon spun around, hair flying out around her as her fangs unfurled with a soft click and began to run, skirting around the outside of the square. Her feet flew across the broken girders and crumbling tiles; strides lengthening as she darted from roof to roof, barely breaking stride to leap from one to another. She made her footfalls as light as possible, lifting each foot nearly the moment it had landed, trying to avoid applying too much weight on to the decaying, weakened roofs.
  One leg seemingly dragging behind the other and his skin glowing with an eerie iridescence in the near-darkness; the Rogue was visible up ahead, continuing his loping steps towards the right. He was headed toward the abandoned warehouses she had seen before and Aeon quickened her pace as the huge bulks rose closer, like inky stains on the horizon.
  The Rogue stopped for a second, turning around, crouching down on all fours like an animal he turned around screeching with a savage, guttural note that sent a chill snaking down her slender spine. Its eyes glowed like dying embers in the face, the skin savagely twisted as though it had been slowly melted and moulded in to this face of horror that now appeared before her.
  Aeon’s pace slowed and as she took a step forward, she faltered, attention drawn to this creature who was like no vampire she had ever seen. It was a fatal mistake. The moment her feet touched the roof, she knew she had made a mistake. Aeon felt the supports straining and the wood beneath her splintered. She reacted quickly, throwing out her arms and clawing at the sides as she fell through the roof. Her grip failed as the loose tiles fell down with her and her fingertips welled up with blood where the skin had been raked off.
  A shower of dust and debris settled on her as Aeon landed hard on the floor, the gaping hole in the roof allowing the moonlight to filter through, pooling on her as she caught her breath. She leapt quickly to her feet, the rubble falling away from her in a shower and brushed off the remaining filth, pausing only a moment to withdraw her daggers.
  Emerging from the open doorway, she stepped out on to the cobbles, dust still thinly entangled in her hair and dark smudges on her flawless skin. Aeon glared angrily, ignoring the dull throbbing pain in her muscles. Had she not been a vampire, the injuries could have been fatal.
  Her nose picked up a scent, snaking its way through the night, radiating from the warehouse. Her stride showed no signs of weakness as she hurried towards it, where no doubt the Rogue had sought refuge.
Secluded, away from the humans yet also away from the covens; thinking to herself, Aeon realised that this was probably where he had been hiding all along. How fortunate that she should have stumbled across here. Eyes glowing brightly with triumph, she reached the warehouse.
  The walls were thin, constructed from long planks of wood, the grain harshly visible and splinters peeling from the walls in long strips. The door hung from twisted metal hinges, torn off with immensely violent force. Claw marks traced deep scores running the length of the tortured wood. As Aeon stepped forward, she let her fingers trace along the marks, blood from her fingertips smearing along the scratches. She snatched her hand away swiftly. Her insides twisted uncomfortably as a sudden breeze carried the stench toward her and the fingers of rotting flesh encased her in the smell of death, like a blanket threatening to suffocate her.
  She stepped forward, into the darkness, her eyes swiftly taking in her surroundings, piles of building materials strewn haphazardly around the room which was angular and rose higher that it was wide. Dark stains oozed across the walls and dripped on to the floor, running in thin red seams along the boards. In the corner of her eye, Aeon saw a human-sized mass lying in the corner half concealed by a filthy blanket. Aeon reacted immediately, sending the dagger in her right hand spinning though the air with deadly force in one fluid movement.
  The blade made a sickening squelch and crunch as it impacted and she felt relieved. But seeing that the heaped mass made no movement, she approached slowly and cautiously. Each step sending clouds of dust swirling around her long legs, heart quickening and left blade swapped in to her right hand and held outstretched, she moved in. As Aeon stood bent over the mass, she could see small signs of movement beneath the cloth and taking the dagger firmly in her left hand she took a deep breath and tugged it away in a swift movement.
  The stench that suddenly enveloped her made her wince, staggering backwards and wildly swinging her dagger as her eyes flickered about. The sight of a corpse, writhing with so many maggots that the skin seemed to have a life of its own met her wary gaze. Aeon stepped in close again for a better look, noting the mass of dark hair, matted together with congealed blood and the neck ripped open, dark stains spreading across the body in a sea of red. The corpse’s mouth hung open with small writhing bodies moving across the purpled and bruised lips. Aeon grimaced, swallowing down the disgust she felt and reached out her hand to pull out her knife. How could she have been so stupid?
  Just as she reached out, the moon unfurled itself from behind a cloud and the light pierced the darkness, streaming through the small slits at the top of the wall and striking the knife just as Aeon pulled it free from the corpse. Then she saw his reflection in the blade. The manic eyes and drooling lips leering at her from behind her shoulder.
  Her eyes widened in horror as she ducked just as his arm came down, bloodied claws slicing ferociously, just missing her head and cutting through the air where she had been bending just a moment before. Senses on fire, everything seemed to sharpen and she saw him pull back and raise his other arm just as she kicked out her leg, making sharp contact with his shin and causing him to stumble back howling in a mixture of pain and rage.
  The Rogue cackled maniacally, throwing his head back, the surface rent with a criss-cross of scars leaving a hair-less expanse of lumps and crevices. Travelling down into the face, the cheeks shimmered with a faint burnished pink of scar tissue and one eye was nearly concealed by a flap of skin. Glaring from beneath it was an eye such as she had never seen before. Blood vessels had burst like red roses blooming across his pupils and it glowered with such fierce intensity so full of hate and malice…And pain.
  The creature circled her as Aeon adopted a defensive stance, amazement and horror dancing in her consciousness. A tattered shirt hung from his hunched shoulders in strips and a pair of trousers that had obviously not been made for him hung loosely from his waste. As he shifted, raising up on his legs tauntingly, his shirt shifted and she gazed with shock at a small tattoo, warped with the skin and faint but one that she knew well.
  The small rose tattooed on to every vampire in her coven, the mark selected by their coven master so that each member could be identified. But how could he, the Rogue, have got it? “Who…who are you,” she said softly, eyes narrowing. The Rogue did not answer, his fangs withdrew and he opened his mouth, making deep and rasping sound that made her sensitive ears ache and she watched as he reached his yellowed claws, caked with blood and filth scratching at his head and groaning with some inner turmoil. He moved his hands from the sides of his face, blood running over the mangled skin in rivulets, a vivid trace against the whiteness of his skin.
  Suddenly, teeth bared and eyes glowing with a mad light he lunged again, aiming for her throat. Aeon moved quickly, raising her daggers and feeling shock race up her arms as her blades connected with his impossibly strong talons and she threw her arms out so that his blow glanced away to either side of her. Aeon nimbly raised one leg, swiftly kicking his chest and feeling the solid muscle bruise beneath her foot.
  The Rogue howled with rage and swiped at her face, Aeon ducking just before his immense fist could crush her face and heart racing watched in horror as his other hand that had been swung almost simultaneously, raked across her face, leaving five deep gashes on her cheek. Blood blossomed from the wounds as Aeon winced from the pain and one bruised eye half closed, brought her daggers upwards, burying one deep in each of the Rogue’s arms, making him scream and eyes bulge.
  The sight of her blood seemed to fuel his rage and his tongue escaped from between his lips and ignoring the pain in his arms he reached towards her grabbing her shoulders violently, claws piercing the skin and tried to bring his mouth to the wounds. Aeon screamed ferociously, planting one foot on his bent knee and bringing he other up against his chest, putting pressure on his bruised ribs and trying to stop him getting any closer.
  Aeon wrapped her own hands around his forearms, feeling the flesh slick with blood where her daggers still remained embedded in one side and protruding through he other. They remained locked in a fierce combat with neither able to gain the upper hand. Aeon’s shoulders and face throbbed but she fought though the pain, manipulating it to strengthen her will and glared upwards at the Rogue, her eyes burning bright green with fierce determination.
  Seeing his horrendous need and smelling his breath, warm and rank on her skin, she was filled with repulsion and hate and sliding her right hand to the underside of his arm, the blood bubbling over her fingers, she felt the solidity of the dagger’s handle. With a triumphant feeling, her hand closed around the handle and Aeon yanked it out, droplets of blood spraying across the walls and ceiling and the Rogue’s cries of pain echoing in her ears, their eyes locked.
  Aeon stared deep in to his eyes, feeling the hate and pain and unquentiable thirst wrap itself around her even as she fought back, showing him that she was not afraid, that he could not kill her and she brandished the dagger towards him.
  Her senses so sharp, she smelt his blood and hers mingling and running from deep wounds staining both of them with its metalic oiliness.
  Still they did not break eye contact. The air between them crackled and sparked with little shards of light, filled with the immortal power of both and the heat rose in a haze over their heads. But suddenly something changed.
  In a flood, it was as though his anger was rushing away, ebbing back in a flood, leaving only pain. The hate dissipated from his eyes and he stared as though it was the first time he had seen clearly and a glimmer of recognition clouded his green eyes. Eyes so green, they could have been a reflection of her own.
  Green. Green eyes, like her brother had. Just like Kain. Numb shock flooded her entire body. No!
  As though in slow motion Aeon watched in horror and confusion as she saw the truth at last and she watched her hand with a feeling of detachment as if it was not hers. Still holding the dagger, glittering in the moonlight for an instant before it disappeared in to his chest, it was buried to the hilt in his flesh before she could stop herself.
  “Kain!” Aeon screamed, her heart stopping, “No. Please, no!” She watched numb with horror as his eyes suddenly bulged in his head and his mouth flew open, flecks of blood expelling from his throat. “Kain, I’m sorry! I didn’t know, I couldn’t know. I’m so sorry!” She screamed urgently as he collapsed backwards. How could this have happened? How could this have happened to him? He wasn’t even supposed to be in London.
  Aeon fell to her knees at his side, red tears of blood spilling from her eyes, splashing on to his chest as her fingers lightly danced across the surface, feeling around the wound and the dagger which still stuck in his muscle. Internal bleeding. She stared down at him, beautiful features contorted in panic and frustration. Kain’s eyes roved around in their sockets, fixing on her and his mouth opened and closed, gulping as gurgling sounds erupted from his mouth, blood spilling from the corners. He was dying.
  Aeon laid her fingers over Kain’s lips trying to quieten him and one hand gently stroked his forehead, her heart aching as the felt the rough and uneven skin beneath he fingertips; so different to how flawless his skin had once been. “Who did this to you?” Aeon whispered to herself as much as to Kain. He couldn’t tell her now. But she knew another way.
  One hand still gently caressing his forehead, Aeon reached out with her mind, seeking out the familiar light and warmth that she recognised as her brother’s consciousness. Feeling the light surrounding her, she recognised Kain’s mind and gently bushed against the barriers, begging him to let her in. Heart racing, she suddenly let out the breath she had been holding as she felt herself enter his memory and she began reading through his mind.
  Tears welled up in her eyes and she sobbed openly as she saw what her brother had endured. He had never been sent away by the coven. Kriten, the coven master, the man they respected and trusted as their leader had betrayed them all. As far as she could understand, he had used Kain in some sort of experiment. Kain’s memories were confused and riddled with so much pain that it took all her will to command Kain to just show her the memories she needed but she could tell that Kriten had locked him away in some sort of prison. He had left him there to be affected by the sunlight, hoping that something would happen to his blood, that he would somehow change and be able to stand the light.
  Aeon gazed on in amazement, wondering why Kain hadn’t died, how the light had made him this, this creature that was filled with such a lust for blood that it had made him go on a killing spree through the streets of London. Kain had lost his mind because of what Kriten had done to him. Anger flared within her as she felt Kain weakening and his mind fading away from hers. Not yet, big brother. You can’t leave me just yet. I need you.
  Sobs wracked her entire body, shuddering with grief, tears spilling in a steady stream down her injured cheeks as she desperately clung to her brother’s mind, willing him to live. After the chamber where he had been warped by the light, was just a confusion of pain and hate and a need for blood but even as she tried to make sense of the confusion, one final memory flooded her mind. Urged on by Kain she watched it unfold.
  A scene from their childhood. A burning building, with flames hungrily licking the sides. She saw herself as a vampire child, crying. Her parents were in the building and she knew they were dead and she was in floods of tears, screaming their names unable to help them. And she saw herself though Kain’s eyes, small and afraid and she felt his joy when he scooped up his little sister, hugging her close and knowing she was safe.
  And then her own memory completed the scene and she remembered the day they had both been orphaned; remembered how in the confusion her brother had rescued her and he’d taken her in his strong arms and she’d known she was safe. That no matter what, they would always be safe so long as they were together. “I’ll always be with you my little Phoenix,” he whispered so softly in her mind, it was like a feather stroking her consciousness. And she felt him die.
  “NO!” she screamed, “NO! Don’t you dare leave me!” Grief stricken, Aeon could do nothing but reel in the loss and she wrapped both arms around her brother’s lifeless body, hugging him close and crying in to his chest.

Aeon wasn’t sure how long she had lain there but eventually she realised with reluctance that she should return to the coven before daylight and seek the council of Damon and Celine. She slowly raised her head and winced at the pain filling her senses from all over her body. Aeon gripped her dagger and swiftly yanked it out, the blade sliding easily and the sight of her brother’s blood made her stomach churn. She promised herself that she would not cry. She would be strong for Kain.
  “Forgive me,” she whispered softly in Kain’s ear and kissed his eyelids shut, “I swear to you now brother, that I will not rest until this dagger which spilled your blood has slain the coven master and you death is avenged.” Aeon rose, a grim expression on her face as she stood up and lifted her brother’s lifeless body off the floor, her vampire strength meaning she could bare his weight easily enough.
  She would not leave Kain’s body, she would need to place it somewhere safe, should she need him to be submitted for a death read so the other vampires could see what had happened. Maybe when all this was over, he could be buried within the coven’s chambers, as he truly deserved. At peace. But now she had to find somewhere to leave his body where he could not easily be discovered whilst she thought what to do.