Story Thirteen: Fallen From The Tree

The cold wind blew past Leander’s chiseled face, running over his hard features, slipping through the strands of his long dirty blonde hair. His eyes narrowed against the frigid air as his eyes watered; his brows furrowed down deep in displeasure. It was not just the folding of the wind into him, but his push into it; his black leather jacket flapping open, banging into his sides, rubbing against his tight grey t-shirt. His legs pumped fast, footfall after footfall, baggy blue jeans swinging loose then tight around his thickly muscled legs.

Leander glanced over his shoulder at Caitlin, her red hair trailing behind her as she looked desperately toward him. Her navy blue ski jacket was pulled tightly up around her, zipped right up to her chin; her beige pants ran along at the same pace as Leander’s: pushing through the dark alley, crunching over the thin crust of snow, yet with an aware caution: reckless, yet pausing with each step, analyzing how firm the grip was, fearful each heartbeat of which dark space would not be solid pavement but slick ice.

Had the two been simply jogging through the city, they might have even enjoyed it. The air was cold, but the sky was clear, and there was no precipitation. Yet the cold once tolerable was now biting; the moon once shining was piercing. The thuds of their hearts, once aerobic, were now palpatations of fear: a terror that begrudged them each living moment and asked only for stoppage, for death. As both a mage and a werewolf, respectively, Leander and Caitlin had seen plenty of life-ending scenes play out before them, act by act, and had suffered the crimson erosion of all their confidence in the face of adversity, yet this was not like anything else they had ever experienced.

Behind them galloped seven howling vampires: their eyes glowing a putrid dark red, their fingertips plying short grotesque claws, ripping through their nails; worst of all were the blood-curling screams of delight from the inhuman monsters. Kindred, what most vampires preferred to be called, came in two varieties as far as Leander and Caitlin knew: Camarilla and Sabbat. These were not Camarilla. These monsters howled at their prey like hungry predators, yet at the same time, cackling like court jesters, leaping up and down, breaking bottles on their own heads and smashing in car windows as they ran towards Leander and Caitlin. The Sabbat were monsters in the truest sense of the word, completely lost to the inner beast that most Kindred fought daily. These pale undead creatures had lost all their humanity long ago and were chasing Leander and Caitlin with a fervor that neither had ever experienced. Had it been three or four against the two, they might have tried to fight their way out. Yet against seven of the blood-pumped beasts, they could do little but run–and pray.

Leander turned a corner, nearly clipping the cold brick, just managing to twist his shoulder as he made the turn. Caitlin followed him silently, breathing heavily, each step taking more and more of a toll on her. Leander looked back again. The Sabbat seemed to be gaining on them. They never tired; they didn’t even need to breathe. They just ran on in lusty joy, savoring the feast to come, their long fangs shining in the moonlight, glinting menacingly as the beasts came closer and closer. Leander returned his gaze to the road before him and looked for a way to escape, trying to fight off the inner panic that wanted to subsume him and force him to stop, kneel, and expose his throat to the monstrous beasts behind him.

 

*       *       *

 

“No, I’m not sure where Jackson Street is, sorry,” Leander said.

“Well, do you even have any idea?” the hairy, dark-haired man in front of him said.

“Not really, sorry.”

“Okay, okay. Great.”

Leander turned to go. As he walked away from the stranger, he might not have even stopped, had his senses been any less honed. Yet after years as an underground streetfighter, and now as a mage, he had found it useful to be able hear subtle changes in his environment, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. As he had walked away from the stranger, he had seemed to sense a slight tingle of change, accompanied by a slight guttural, tearing, sound.

Leander looked over his shoulder and saw that the man who was once behind him was gone. In his place was a dark, smoldering beast, his sinews exploding in ripples of muscle, all covered with a midnight hair. The dark night afforded little visibility except for the pale light shining from a solitary streetlight, although there were certain features Leander could not miss. The thing had long, pointed ears, and huge, deadly, shining claws. Leander recognized it as a servant of the Wrym: a Black Spiral Dancer.

Leander leaned back reflexively, defensively. He did so just in time to miss the incoming slash aimed for his throat. Had he not turned around when he did and managed to dodge when he did, he most likely would have been decapitated.

Leander circled to his left, trying to size up the creature and side-stepped another attack. The thing growled at Leander; had he more time to think about it, he probably would have been terrified. Yet some of the streetfighters he had run across had been horribly mutated and looked little less fearsome than this. The difference was, most of them were simply trying to beat him down, not rip his skull from his spine.

The young mage froze time in the expanse of his mind, zeroing in on the thing’s vitals, finding its weak points, studying it through his knowledge of Do and Entropy, utilizing what his master called Dim Mak. While the thing continued to move at the same rapid pace, slashing high again, Leander ducked low. Only this time, he guided his fist directly towards the point where his supernatural senses told him to strike. To him, the entire exercise continued in slow motion as his fist sailed through the menacing creature’s reach and under, striking solidly into its side, presumably at the spot of one of its major organs. Leander’s martial senses snapped back into real time as his fist drove deep into the creature, knocking it backwards. It fell over hard, spitting blood and howling with an intense dissonance. Leander wanted to put his hands to his ears to keep out the hideous noise, but he knew he had little time for that. He either had to run or hit it again while it was down and finish it. He moved in with little thought and smashed the heel of his boot into the creature’s side, hitting another vital point. He did it a second time. He might have wished he did not try so a third time.

On what he thought was going to be his final effort, the creature caught his foot and redirected Leander’s momentum, throwing him effortlessly into the refuse in the alley behind them. Leander felt his head hit something hard, as his body sailed through the soft refuse, yet he could not allow himself to feel that or anything else which might adversely affect the outcome of the fight. Leander’s trained reflexes got him up and in a defensive position immediately, ignoring the thudding pain in the back of his head.

The beast was already up and slashing. It seemed to move faster than ever and Leander started to wonder if he could compete with this creature. He dodged the first slash, ducking again, and then barely managed to redirect the next hit with both hands, blocking it aside, when a third slash cut deep into his side. Leander had been cut with knives before, shot, and beaten to the edge of death; this felt like none of that. The cut left a festering pain, a continual stinging sensation, that made him both want to tear off the rest of his side to stop the pain, and reach down protectively, craddling the bleeding flesh. Leander let out a loud gasp of pain, never seeing the backhand coming that knocked him down again and dazed him enough to keep him down. Whether his inability to get up was a result of the first hit or the second, he did not know, stunned as he was.

“I guess I’ll never find Jackson Street now,” the thing muttered in a deep guttural voice. Leander said nothing, only trying to focus, trying to straighten his blurring vision. The creature spoke again, moving towards him. “But at least I got one of your annoying brood. Prepare – “

Before the Black Spiral could say any more, a red and grey furred beast dove through the dark night and slammed her foot into the thing’s back, creating a nauseating cracking sound. The thing tried to turn and meet its attacker, but she never gave him the chance. She landed behind the Black Spiral and sprung up, flipping onto its back again before he could act, eking yet another breaking sound out of his back. The thing howled in pain, but had little time to cry out or defend itself. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, The female werewolf thrust her own claws into the thing’s back; after a huff of effort on her part, and a gurgling, moaning last breath of defiance on the creature’s, Leander heard a sick, wet breaking sound as she pulled the creature’s spine out of its back.

The female quickly melted back into her human shape, throwing off her birthright temporarily, returning to the same shape as Leander, only of a female variety. Unlike the monster, her shapechange had not torn her garments. In returning to what her kind called their homid form, she was still fully garbed.

Her soft features reached out to him and he seemed to sense what had just happened, despite his own discomfort. He felt a calm come over him as she gently laid her hands on his side, whispering a short prayer to Gaia. With her aid, and that of the moon mother, Luna, the once torn and poisoned side of Leander mystically began to re-knit itself, staving off the ebbing of his very lifeforce. Slowly, his breath became steady again, rather than jagged and painful.

“Leander, can you hear me?” Caitlin asked. “Leander. Are you okay?”

 

*       *       *

 

“Leander,” Caitlin gasped from behind him. “Leander!”

Ensconced temporarily, Leander broke from his reverie. “What?” he breathed.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know–watch out!”

One of the vampires chasing them had suddently left his feet and leapt high into the air, sailing just above the lampposts on the dark street, and had landed right next to Caitlin. She swung her arm back and knocked him down, all the while still running. Leander tried to think of an escape route, a way out, any way out. But he could not.

He turned back, desperately hoping Caitlin would have the answer, only as he turned around, he was just in time to see a second Sabbat attempt the same trick. Only this time, the beast landed squarely on her, knocking her to the ground. Leander turned and booted the monster right under the jaw, knocking him off of her, but by that time, another howling Sabbat had jumped onto him, knocking him back. He heard Caitlin’s roar of rage and knew that the wolf-woman was engaging her more bestial side. Leander himself struck the one that had landed on him, but even as he did, he felt a blow strike the back of his head. He staggered forward, and shook, trying to reorient himself and strike out at his attackers. But it was too late. There were too many.

 

*       *       *

 

Leander walked into the Prince’s office and looked around. As usual, the dark creature sat at a deep mahogany desk. The walls around them were lined with bookshelves, full of thick books. Leander did not want to ask how old some of the books might have been. At the moment, it was just the two of them. “Young Leander,” Krayvis said, his eyes probing Leander hungrily. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“I’m here because we need to talk,” Leander said, standing before the Kindred Prince.

“Obviously,” Krayvis replied, a glint in his eyes.

“What I’m trying to say, is that we need to talk about the city,” Leander said, shifting his weight.

“What about it?”

“You know Sebastian and Chip left town.”

“Of course,” Krayvis said. He paused before looking at Leander through narrowed eyes. “He told me before he left what he was trying to do.”

“Right. I’m sure that you’re also aware of the deal that you two had before they left.”

Krayvis nodded slowly behind his desk.

Leander clasped his hands behind his back. “I want to make sure that the same deal is in place.”

Kravyis looked over his two pale hands, now folded before him, his dark eyes shining in the mild light. “What makes you think that I would do that?”

“Because what happened between you and Sebastian–and Stands-Against-The-Wind–was not about petty politics or about individuals: it was about something larger.”

“Everything is politics, Leander,” Krayvis said slowly.

“I know that. But what I’m trying to say, is that we all have the chance to be part of something larger than ourselves. We have the chance to keep something great alive.”

“And what makes you think that I did not make such an arrangement out of the convenience of the moment? Or perhaps it was simply a fleeting and passing amusement with your own mentor.”

“Because it can’t be,” Leander said.

“And why not?" Krayvis asked, leaning forward. "Do you think that in my centuries of unlife that I feel the need to fulfill the dreams of petty mortals or howling beasts, both of whom have never clamored for anything but my blood?”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think that’s how you see it.”

“No?” Krayvis raised his eyebrows.

“No.” Leander said, clasping his hands before him. “I think that you understand that what has been achieved here has only been done once in human, Kindred, or Garou history. I think that you understand that your name plays a large role in fulfilling this mark in history. Further, I think you want to prove wrong every Kindred who is still above you or is your elder, that thinks you and this city are going to fail. Because I know for sure that there are a whole lot of mages that are waiting for this city to explode and will laugh when it does. Personally, I never want to see that day come.”

“And you presume my motives to be like yours? You presume the wisdom of time to share the attributes of the rashness of youth?”

Leander shuffled his feet. “In this particular instance, yes.”

Krayvis nodded thoughtfully. He sized up the young mage before him. Certainly, his previous arrangement was one of convenience and it was made in part for his like of the upstart mage, Duvalier. Yet perhaps he would give this young man a chance. Perhaps he would let him see if he was worthy. And just maybe, he would try to get a sweeter deal out of him.

“I am considering your offer,” Krayvis said slowly.

“But . . . “

“But, I wish to clarify the working terms to which I will agree,” Krayvis said.

“All I ask,” Leander began, “Is that you enforce a truce with Tradition mages and with the Garou of the city. I do not ask any clemency or disinterest in Technocracy mages, Nephandi mages, or for the Black Spiral Dancers, or other servants of the Wrym.”

“And you expect me to know the petty differences between you and your clans?”

“Well, yes.” Leander looked up from the floor. “You are not Prince for no reason and neither are you a fool.”

“Well, listen to me,” the Prince said, his words dripping off of his cold lips. “I will keep the peace with the Garou. Figuring them out from the Black Spirals is easy enough. The Fomori are also easy targeted. However, you mages are too often alike. Even some of your own kind use techno-magick. I even believe that Sebastian himself had trouble telling them apart at once such encounter.”

“Yes, well, that is–was– true.” Leander paused. “So what do you propose?”

“I propose firstly that you give me a list of those that are acceptable mages. That way, I can inform my own kind. Second, I dislike dealing with too many of you mages, I have enough bickering to deal with in my own primogen. I will only deal with one leader. I assume that is you now?”

Leander was a bit taken aback. “Yes. I guess so.”

“You guess?”

“Yes. Yes, it’s me.”

“Good. Any new mages in Detroit, you will bring through me.”

“Well, you know all of the ones I do: myself, Siren, Kahn, George, and Devon. Then Sebastian and Chip are away with Bail and Rasputin.”

“I do not believe I have met the latter two.”

“We’ll bring them back when they return.”

“Good. Any mages you do not recognize, I will consider fair game.”

“Wait a minute. That doesn’t seem fair. What if they’re just traveling through town?” Leander asked.

“Then that’s too bad for them if they cross any of my people.”

“No, wait a minute,” Leander said, taking a step forward. “At least give them a warning. Send them to the mansion. Tell them to see us first. Then we will bring them back to you.”

“You ask much,” Kravyis said, his face stoic.

“You’re already asking us to present ourselves to you as if you were our liege, what more do you want?”

Krayvis glanced at the flustered youth before him. He supposed he had eked enough out of him. For now. He smoothed away a growing smile with his dry fingertips. “Okay. I will send them to you with a warning. However, if we meet again, before he or she is introduced, than he or she will be an open market for any of my people.”

“Fine,” Leander said.

“You realize that this deal still doesn’t really help me,” Krayvis said cautiously.

“How do you figure?”

“I still have Black Spirals and Technomages chasing me for the deal I’ve made, when before I had only the Sabbat to deal with.”

“And you don’t think we have the same problems? The whole point, is that this truce also lets us work together to fight these evils. Even though they may have more targets now, they rarely unite to destroy us all. I know that at least two of the Garou have been working with us and maybe now your people will feel more open to interact with us. We can all be more effective when we work together. That was always Sebastian’s point. We need to be open and cooperative with each other. It’ll only serve to help us all.”

“Perhaps, Leander. Perhaps. Or perhaps you will open your eyes and see something you don’t like.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Leander said.

 

*       *       *

 

Leander opened his eyes with pain. He was stretched out on some kind of inclined table that had him halfway standing and halfway lying down. He felt like his body was at about a forty-five degree angle from the floor. The mage opened his eyes gingerly, afraid to be staring straight into the Deadlands that Damon had told him about, his body no more than a mucus-covered caul. Fluttering, his eyelids pried themselves open, staggered by the intensity of the light that shone down on him. He reflexively closed them again, as new splinters of pain jabbed into his brain.

Shaking off the flashbulbs exploding in his mind’s eye, Leander tried again. This time, slower and more cautiously. Finally, as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he realized that there was a lamp directly above him, one that seemed to be on a movable arm, like at a dentist’s office. He could see his body, sort of. He could not move much, but he could feel both of his arms and legs pinned, held down by what felt like cold, metal manacles. Only then did the awakening awareness of his exterior sensations inform him that another part of his body was manacled. Further, he realized that he was naked. He shivered as the cold tingles around the metal clamp holding his pelvic region sent new waves of shock through this system.

His eyes began to flutter about the dark, damp room. He could see a small table against the wall, near his own table. It again reminded him of the dentist’s office. Only there was no Mr. Thirsty on this tray. Instead, the table was littered with jagged knives, thin, sharp, piercing instruments, and other things that Leander had never seen before, but made him shudder from the mere imagination of what they might be used for.

“Leander.”

Leander snapped his head around as soon as he heard the soft whisper. Too quick. He closed his eyes and reprimanded himself as more sensations of pain flooded his head, sent up from his stiff neck: which he had severely wished he hadn’t moved so quick.

“Leander.”

When he could finally move his head around without too much pain, he opened his eyes upon Caitlin. Only then did he realize, or rather surmise, that the table he was on, was fairly x-shaped, and obviously designed to hold a person in exactly the position they were in. She was bonded the same way that he was, which meant that her torso was also bare and exposed. He turned back quickly, embarrassed.

“Leander.”

“You’re naked.”

“And so are you,” Caitlin hissed.

“I know, but you and Chip – “

“I don’t think right now is the time to worry about that,” Caitlin said.

“I just – “

“Listen. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Feel better?”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel – “

“Say you met Pamela and Tommy Lee in person. Would you feel guilty towards Tommy because you had seen his wife in Playboy?”

“Well . . . I . . . “

“Chip will forgive you,” she said. “Right now, we have to concentrate on getting out of here.”

Leander turned back towards Caitlin, staring her in the eyes. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. We seem to be in some kind of torture chamber,” she said, looking around.

“How long have you been awake?” Leander asked.

“Long enough to know that we need to get out of here.”

“From what Sebastian’s told me about the Sabbat, I’d guess that we’re in a Tzimice chamber.”

“I don’t really care whose it is. I just want to get out of here,” Caitlin said.

“Can you use any of your Garou abilities?” Leander asked.

“No. I’ve already tried that. Somehow, they seem to have shut off my ability to change or use my gifts. What about your magick?”

“I can barely use any,” Leander sighed. “Sebastian’s a good teacher, but I’ve only been at this for so long.”

“So what are you saying, we’re going to die here?”

“No, just that we might have to rely upon our natural skills, that’s all.”

“Leander, it is natural for me to change into a wolf.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You mean our mundane, human abilities.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think that will work.” Both looked up to see a pale, youthful-appearing man descend the stairs above the chamber. “I really don’t.” He walked down at a casual pace, leaning on the handrail as he made his way down.

Leander measured the man’s features. He was very pale, with harsh, brutal features, all backed by a dead calm and a black gaze. He was wearing a white overcoat and Leander thought he saw black pants underneath.

“The Tremere associates in our little group have quite neutralized your powers, I am afraid. And since those bonds were meant to constrain even members of the supernatural with considerable strength, you have little chance of escape. Although, I believe a Troll once broke them. But we’ve made them stronger since.”

Leander looked up questioningly. “A Troll?”

“A yes,” the Tzimice responded. “I believe what you mortals call the Fae: Changelings? Detroit is just full of surprises.”

“Oh,” Leander muttered.

“What do you want from us?” Caitlin asked.

“Oh not much,” the Sabbat responded. “You see, some of my colleagues were wondering if garou and magi were the same on the inside as other mortals. I have been assigned the responsibility to learn whether this is true or not. I almost hope not. That would mean countless more hours of glorious work and plenty of more subjects to dissect.”

“Dissect?” Leander coughed.

“Yes,” the Sabbat said, cleaning off his tools before Leander. “Don’t worry. I will only prolong your life as long as it takes to complete my studies. I am no sadist. I will try to be quick.”

 

*       *       *

 

Leander, huddled in his black leather jacket, looked over at Caitlin. As he breathed out, he could see his own breath. Caitlin, with her navy blue ski jacket zipped up to her chin, looked a little warmer, standing there with her arms folded, her cheeks red.

“You know, I became a streetfighter because I wanted to be the best. I wanted to be the toughest. I figured it was all possible. I mean when you win an Olympic gold medal, that means that you’re the best in the world, right? Or when you become one of the world champions in streetfighting, you’re the best in the world, right?” Leander asked, his head buried low, staring at his own baggy jeans.

“Uh-huh,” Caitlin nodded.

“Then I met Sebastian. Then I became a mage. I learned that being the best isn’t that easy. I thought I’d be the greatest fighter in the world by the latest, twenty-seven, and then I’d retire. Do commercials, open a restaurant, anything. Just relax. Now I find myself on seven-day work weeks, nighttime, daytime, any fucking time.”

Caitlin patted his shoulder softly. “That's just how it is. Responsibility is never easy.”

“I know,” Leander said, looking up at Caitlin, his breath expelling in quiet white clouds. “I know. But sometimes, I just feel tired.”

“Getting almost killed doesn’t help that feeling, either, does it?”

“No. But that’s just what I’m talking about. As a Garou, your main enemy is the Wrym, and his dark paladins, so to speak, are the Black Spirals. And I couldn’t even take one out. Imagine if he had been an elder or something like that.”

“You need to be patient, Leander. Your power will grow as you do. And don’t forget, life doesn’t have to end for you when it does for sleepers. Magick can sustain your life. Your learning curve is allowed to be a little slower. What you’re trying to grasp is much more complex.”

“If I survive to be old,” Leander said, rubbing his side, which no longer hurt.

“You will,” Caitlin said, smiling. “I have a good feeling about it.”

“Yeah. You say this as we’re waiting for three Sabbat to leave this club. Vampires! Goddamn vampires. How does no one know about any of this?”

“Because it is not allowed. We don’t let the people know. They’d freak. They’d kill us. Of course that’s mostly the fault of your kind.”

“What?”

“Well, the Technomages,” Caitlin clarified.

“Oh.”

“See what I mean?” Caitlin asked.

“Whatever. It’s not like I’m sleeping with the enemy or anything. I’m not one of them. And they–well—they’ve fucked the whole world over.”

Caitlin noticed that Leander was actually getting angry. “Leander– “

“There they are,” Leander said pointing at the three Sabbat. “There’s only three, just like Mohammed said there would be. How hard can this be?”

“Feeling more confident?”

“I’m feeling more angry,” Leander said, moving out from the alley towards the men. “At the next turn, let’s jump them, and drag their sorry asses back to Krayvis.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”

 

*       *       *

 

Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. The words resounded in Leander’s brain over and over. The mantra was his only way to block out the pain. His eyes were squinted shut as he tried not to think about the horrible instruments that this cold vampire was sticking into his still warm body, poking, examining, cutting, tearing, ripping, as if he was already dead. And maybe he was. He felt as if it was not the steam from his body heat escaping his chest cavity, but rather his soul, as if his very essence was being drained out of him.

Tears had been formed at his eye ducts for the last ten minutes; a coughing moan gurgled out of his larynx, as he refused to scream, but choked on his own saliva and blood. Letting the tears stream and his lungs gasp, prodded and exposed as they were, he started to convulse, his shut eyelids disappeared and he could see the Sabbat; alongside him was a wavery, shimmering creature he did not recognize. Suddenly, the sounds of the blade snapping his bones, the sounds of his organs being sliced, his blood flowing, and even of his own coughing and struggling were gone–in its place a soft white buzz, reminiscent of nothing and everything at the same time; his vision paled and his peripheral vision faded into white, leaving nothing but the false space between him and his tormentor and the closing illusionary gap between himself and the apparition floating beside his pain.

Leander, the thing whispered. Leander. What, what do you want? Your time is not done your time is not done–Leander’s head rolled back and forth fighting the truth in denial and denying the true lies before him, not knowing now how to react last under the bath of warmth and power, not realizing that it didn’t have to be his last effort. Showered in the light of the creature beside the pain, he opened his closed eyes and focused on the being that was not there, looking past the demon that was, dying to know what he knew pained to know: truths to be told, selling himself on the folds of reality that he had hidden from himself, harried as he was, hurried as he was, impatient and impudent in the face of the greater patience and near-eternity that could be his. Listening to the ephemeral voice, he subconsciously tied the knots of lines of probability, unfiguring the square roots of life, denominating the rationalization of death, tearing the dark sheets of sheer terror of off his still too groggy avatar, focusing rather on the retread rotes in his brain, assumed useless against the formidability of this foe, this fierce and confident fiend; denting his own fear and finding the disaster that was to be and making it not to be, suffering the slings and arrows of fate, furrowing into the dissident probabilities of the impossible making them all-together probable, locking onto primal power, pinching the last seams of an untruth, making them true and in one blinding, black, unbinding marriage of power and faith, life and hallucination, Leander leaned forward, destroying all limits merely by the foundation of a final acceptance of a malleable reality which was totally temporary and twisted: untwisted on whim, workable in complete, just as Sebastian had always said.

Following the whispers of his avatar, Leander found the seams of resistance in the manacles binding him and unleashed The Will: unleashing the fervent fury that all mortals possessed but all too often failed to harness; shattering all of the manacles, improbable as it was, he drew upon his magick in spite of the Tremere ritual, impossible as it was. With his avatar influxed into his very being, crawling over his shoulders and into his arms, Leander, bare torso focused, magick rolling, flowing, grasping forward. Adreneline-charged harder than a raging rhino on speed, Leander tore forward and thrust both hands into the Sabbat’s chest as he fell to his feet. Fluidly, Leander arced back and took the Kindred’s heart with him, throwing it to the cold, dead, wall behind him. Aghast, the monster before him dropped into his tray of tools, then grasping at the sudden hole in his chest, stumbled backwards, and kissed eternity fond farewell, slipping onto the bloodstained floor and falling, falling.

Leander’s rage left him nearly as quick as it had come, and reality returned around him. The shimmering avatar was gone, his destiny was gone, and his hands reflexively fell to his chest, where his intestines were falling out. Looking down in complete and utter shock, Leander realized that he was literally holding himself together. All of the skin, all of the muscle, all of the bone, normally affixed to his chest were gone. His sudden and violent movement had not helped. He stumbled to the ground.

“Leander!” Caitlin yelled.

The young mage did not respond. He merely tried to pick up the fallen pieces of himself.

“Leander, free me! I can heal you.”

Leander looked up at her in complete horror, but did not seem to understand.

“Leander, free me!” she screamed with every once of energy that she had to her.

Somehow, some way, Leander’s autonomous reflexes took over. Eyes still wide, jaw hanging open, he found the power to stand. He managed to stumble over to her table and find the release switch for her right arm. Yet that was all he could do. He fell back down, gasping for breath.

Caitlin immediately used her free hand to release her other hand, then her pelvis and legs. Her bare form leaptoff of the table and reached down to Leander, begging Gaia and Luna and the wolf-mother, as well as any spirit that she knew faithfully, and indeed any other spirit that might listen, to heal the man who had so valiantly survived, who had endured all the Wrym and his servants could possibly muster in terms of evil, in terms of torture, in terms of pain. This man had withstood more than any mortal should ever have to, supernatural or not. She whispered to her gods that if she was brought near death merely observing the work of the Wrym, that they needed desperately to save the one who had endured it. She whispered on, as she laid her hands on his naked body, hoping with closed prayer that the earth mother would be merciful and that they would reward one who had so diligently fought evil whenever it approached, trepidating as such evil was, as unwilling as the man was sometimes to be thrown into such overwhelming circumstances. If Gaia did not save this man’s life, she would not know what life was worth saving. She would not know if anything was worth saving, worth fighting for.

Caitlin, afraid to look, opened her eyes and saw his bloodstained legs. She moved her eyes up, unabashedly, looking on his gut-stained, blood drenched, hips and penis. Her eyes gently caressed upward, seeing a red, tender, chest, the only part of his tired body not drenched in blood. She glanced upward and thanked all those whose help she had asked. Leander coughed.

Caitlin looked down. She ran her hands to the man’s face. “Leander,” she whispered. “Leander,” she whispered. “Wake up, you’re okay.”

Leander’s eyes fluttered open, not recognizing her right away. Then she noticed them lock onto her and widen slightly as his cheeks tightened. Tears seemed to form before he could speak.

“You’re okay,” Caitlin whispered. “I’ve healed you. Gaia’s healed you.”

Leander coughed, choking on a small dribble of blood. “What–what happened?”

“Do you remember freeing yourself and killing the Sabbat?”

“Yes, but then, then, I remember my insides falling out. I was dying. But then I heard you,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“Yes. You freed me so I could heal you.”

“But we’re still in the Tzimice’s torture chamber?” Leander asked.

“Yes.”

“We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Caitlin blushed. “Well now, I’ve seen yours, and you’ve seen mine. Let’s get our clothes,” she said as she stood up and turned to find her clothes.

Leander himself blushed and reflexively went to cover himself, but then felt silly. He realized that the bond made this day was not of a sexual nature, but one of respect and survival. He had no need to cover himself like Adam in Eden. Leander turned around and started looking for his clothes.