Chapter Two

Tower Bound

“For the love of God, how long is this going to drag on for?” He grumbled and abruptly discarded the newspaper that sat on his lap onto the coffee table. Waiting to die was a tedious task. “It’s certainly not a vacation, but I suppose it’s not a nightmare either.” He said aloud to himself, looking around the lofty penthouse – it wasn’t his own room; he’d been put there by Roman’s cronies. Situated in the third, smallest, and most eastern of the three towers that crowned Davikov Castle, he had an impressive aerial view of the Castle’s vast grounds and the innermost City.

No sooner had the glass surface of the table cushioned the landing of the newspaper with a gentle slap than another louder racket resonated up towards the tower from the direction of the Castle’s perimeter wall. “It’s unusual for someone to be at the gate at this hour.”

Stepping towards one of the elongated windows, Warren drew back the sash voile to investigate the origin of the sound. His opaque eyes scanned over the area under the heavy set brows of his ‘thinking’ expression. Now, as he watched the armed and angry hordes close in on the Castle, he confirmed his situation aloud: "Fuck. I spoke too soon; it’s an undisputed nightmare.”

Thus dropping the sash, he sauntered towards the hefty oak door which currently sat open in its jamb at the other end of his dwelling. He lent an ear to the stairwell, where he listened to the carnage take place for around a half-hour and listened attentively. Each agonised out-cry and every sching of blade upon blade reverberated through Davikov and into his ears. Until they all hit the stone paving and every wielder came to their miserable end. Warren documented the crisis and assumed it was a siege through audible evidence alone. He debated whether to attempt a getaway amidst the fray or remain there and await a different fate, but then he’d be at the mercy of the invaders. Alas, he still had time, he thought; no one had ventured up to his room yet.

A moment of quiet was disturbed when he heard the throne room doors flung open from above. The invaders were nearing their target and crept closer to the entrance of the tower he’d been housed in.

Time was shortening for him to get away. Suddenly the presence of such a robust celestial scent stopped him in his tracks. Warren swiftly retreated from his spot in the doorway. Sensing that the siege was coming to its close and having made up his mind to leave, Warren hobbled over towards the bed and pulled out his briefcase. He stood baring all of his weight onto his good right leg, and it was then that it dawned on him; he wouldn’t get far before being captured in his thirsty and deteriorated state. Resigned, Warren sighed and made his way, one last time, to the door and latched it. He lowered the oak beam onto its supports to bar the wooden slab shut and retreated further into his penthouse to await his fate. Collecting his cigarettes from the coffee table, he reclined into his leather chesterfield sofa and reopened the newspaper though he didn’t read it. Instead, his eyes rested their gaze over the door, patiently expecting it to burst open.

Without her mother and aunt’s knowledge of the Castle’s floor plan, Alessandra found herself quite easily lost within its vast halls and labyrinthine corridors. The gothic architecture and creeping darkness gave birth to a spooky atmosphere. Alice questioned whether exploring the Castle would be any fun at all.

On her travels, though many of her mother’s soldiers passed her, most of them were afraid of speaking to her, so she had nobody to ask for directions. Admittedly a bit lost and disheartened, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself - with the white velveteen cloth about her fingers, Alessandra reminded herself of what it meant to wear such a garment. It was the real reason people were so afraid of her, because of her status as the wearer of the court psyches cloak.

Enoch, with its history of magic and interesting array of abilities, often graced those with the rarest talents with special recognition. Some ten years before her birth, another empath had lived within the palace walls and had worked for the prior Queen - her Aunt Cambria. He had been a man greatly feared, known to commit mental torture on even those loyal to the Court. The very same cloak of pure white had been bestowed upon this man to symbolise his position, and when Alessandra realised and honed her gift, the Enochian Court passed it down to her as an honour. Still, the taint of the man’s wickedness lingered in the memory of all Enochians and thus stained her beautiful white cloak with their feelings of terror. She hated wearing it precisely because of what it was associated with. Although looking on the bright side, it did command her some great degree of respect, which came in useful in certain situations.

Now, it brisked the stone floors as she climbed the first set of stairs she found, hoping they would take her somewhere where she could do something worth deeming productive. Secretly, she wished she would find a library, somewhere with books, away from the carnage, where she could be at peace and be around something more familiar.

What she encountered instead was just more devastation.

A loud cry echoed down the hall. Then a woman, she could only assume was vamperic, came running right into her. She grasped onto Alice’s cloak with bloodied hands, staining its pure white with her crimson handprints and begged her, “Please,” the woman sputtered in Russian amidst distraught tears. “They killed my son. My only son… And then they… they raped her, my sister. Please! Please don’t let them do this to me? Don’t let them do it to m-...” The woman’s desperate plea continued though Alice looked up from the woman to see the men she was referring to approaching. Though she took pity on everyone within the Castle, she knew death couldn’t be avoided, but what had happened to this woman was unnecessary. It was impossible not to take pity on the woman when she could feel all that she felt oozing from her. Her grief and agony combined stung Alice’s chest. The terror in her bloodshot brown eyes alone caused her own to well up so that she had to fight back the tears. At that moment, Alice knew what it was like to fear for her life and hoped to never have to feel that way again.

“I… I can’t promise you safety,” Alessandra’s gentle voice whispered, “But if you can get to the dungeons, look for the woman with white hair and tell her I have sent you to be questioned. Go! Go quickly.” She gave the woman a slight shove of encouragement before she took off, moving down the halls at speed, hopeful for herself, but still weeping uncontrollably over the tragedy of the situation she found herself in.

The moment the two accused men clocked Alessandra Morgan’s silvery eyes glaring their way, they halted in their stride. A shared look of fear spread across their faces, and they looked at one another, probably silently debating whether to make a run for it. One of them came to his decision sooner than the other and half-turned to flee when Alice called out. “You there! Halt in the name of the Queen!”

Alice whipped her bloodstained white cloak behind her and commenced an angry march toward the two men, casting out her arm to the side. Already, from a distance, it was evident that they were Enochian soldiers; their uniform was distinct. What became more apparent as Alice neared them was that they were both orinia, the progeny of an angelic being, most likely fallen and a demon.

Now stood before them, she peered up to their faces, unphased by their height, though they stood at least a foot taller than her meagre five-foot-two-inches.

“I don’t need to ask if you’re guilty,” Alice stated clearly. Her empathy granted her the knowledge that both men had committed the atrocities they were accused of; it blatantly stained their aura’ due to the proximity in which it occurred. “If I were you, I’d find something poisonous to drink. Take my advice as a kindness because a far worse fate would await if I report you. The Queen punishes men such as yourselves as severely as murderers. Besides that, the fact remains that harming prisoners of war unnecessarily goes directly against your orders. You were ordered to spare innocents and bring them to the dungeons for processing.”

The blue-eyed, blonde-haired of the two opened his lips to speak, but she held up her hand.

“For now, all I need to know from you is where you left the woman you’ve assaulted?”

The other, the auburn-haired, leather-winged orinia, merely nodded behind them. He knew better than to utter a word to the Princess while she fumed in anger.

“Off with you. Remember, I don’t need to know your names or your faces to pick you out to your superiors should I ever have the need to.” Alice threatened them sufficiently before taking a step forward as though she would step right through them. Quaking, the two men stepped aside and allowed the Princess to pass them.

As she walked away, she tried her best to remain calm, she’d be damned if she let their fear rub off on her and cause her hands to tremor, but at least she knew she’d frightened them adequately. Traversing down the hall, she was unsure if the ‘sister’; was still alive or not but needed to find her in case she required urgent aid. As she passed by each door, she pushed them to swing open and scanned the room for any signs of life and hoped to find the woman, comfort her, and see if anything could be done to spare her.

Alice the Gentle. Alice the Kind. She thought to herself, reinforcing her nickname. She scowled to herself because it wasn’t all that comforting to her, only because the way people thought her virtuous nature was a blessing made her bristle. In truth, it was a curse. To feel as everyone else felt was overwhelming most of the time and made being around others almost insufferable.

A pile of nine cigarettes stood bent and stubbed out in the ashtray upon the arm of the sofa grew in number, but one remained wedged between his fingers. Suddenly, a reflex movement of his fingers caused the inch tall tower of ash collected upon the burning tip of his cigarette to tumble to the floor - it marked the time that had come to pass like an hourglass.

Alice had tried several doors to no avail, but when she came finally came to one that didn’t open under her hand, she thought she had, at last, come to the right one. Confidently she knocked twice before trying the handle, only to discover that it was locked from the inside.

“Miss? Miss, if you’re in there, I’ve come to help you.”

There was no answer. On the other side of the door, it took the room’s occupant a moment to register the words spoken from the other side. He’d been absentminded and waiting for so long now that his concentration had escaped him. As the daylight that teemed in through his window waned, so did the lustre in his eyes. They’d stared long, hard and thirstily towards the door.

If you’re still alive, oh, Gods, please answer me. “Please, we have medics, people who could help you.” She hoped the door would open so that she might do something helpful, but remained unsure if she was even in the right place, lost as she was.

Curiously he rose from his seat and limped up the small set of stone steps towards the door while he figured out why on earth someone was calling Him; Miss. Barefoot he padded over the worn carpet that spread the foot of his door. This was no time to get dressed, and he found that he had lingered a couple of days in the same wrinkled formal wear - a pale blue, pinstriped dress shirt remained tucked into his waistband, though most of the buttons hung open, was wrinkled and stale with his pungent masculine odour. His navy wool/cashmere blend dress pants were much the same, untidy and creasing behind his knees and groin from his near-constant sitting.

Slowly he went about opening the door, seeing as he felt no threat in the tone of voice that greeted him. It was female in its lilt and sounded quite distressed and insistent on lending him aid. Pulling the door open towards him, he tilted his head into the gap as he ran a hand through his messy hair-do. What, or who his eyes settled upon, creased his brow. Though his eyes didn’t shift from her face, internally, he did a double-take. He felt a sense of eerie unrest because she looked somewhat familiar to him in that she was of his fledgelings likeness. For now, he had no idea who she was, but his stomach felt queasy with nerves as he took in Alessandra’s features - gazing, slowly, from her head to her toes. Warren stared on in bated breath for the sake of his thirst as he waited for the innocent looking nephilim woman to speak.

Alessandra cocked an eyebrow upward when a man peered about the door. This is unexpected.

Just as he’d evaluated her, she did the same. The way her head twitched, her ear tilting ever so slightly nearer her shoulder, was nostalgic to the man looking back at her. She assessed that he was more than likely a vampire, and having done her homework on vampires; she remembered that a thirsty vampire was a weak vampire.

It took Alice mere seconds to conclude that he would have to come out of that room one way or another. Yes, she’d escort him to the dungeons - wherever they were. Supposing she’d have to wing it, she cleared her throat and introduced herself.

“Alessandra Morgan, of House Morningstar, Enoch. Your coven has been overthrown, and this Castle has been claimed by Enoch, her Queen and her Court. I’m collecting people within the Castle for questioning. You’re going to have to come with me. I will need your name and any proof of identification you may have on your person.” The short, demur-looking woman placed one hand on her hip; her stance wasn’t arrogant per se but surprisingly commanding.

In reaction to her introduction, he strived to remain expressionless. He felt conflicted. On the one hand, he was made cautious because her introduction confirmed the suspicion he’d had immediately upon seeing her. She was Karou’s daughter and thus the daughter of the monarch who had come to besiege Blue Ash. The Princess spoke eloquently as one would imagine, and like her mother, she was brave had an air of dependability about her that told of her trustworthiness. So on the other, he found her mannerisms and stance nostalgic and endearing. Yes, her characteristics made him inclined to follow if only to have a moment in the company of a pseudo-Karou.

When the unknown man continued to stare at her silently, he started to test her patience. Although Alice knew that she could easily make him tell her his name since he didn’t seem to be posing anything of a severe threat, using her gift was a last resort.

“This can go quickly and easily, or just as quickly but not-so-fun.” Now she was posing a threat, but she wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. Alice was well aware that there would most likely be many more people that would give her the same problem. She’d much rather have had him tell her what she needed to know and move on. “All I need is your name and reason for being here, you understand?” A moment more of silence passed when something occurred to Alice. “Do you speak English?”

He laughed involuntarily and answered, “Yes,” with a grin. Retreating slightly to lean in his doorway with his arms folded over his chest in opposition to her formal, assertive stance, he relaxed to take a more casual position. “Perhaps you already know who I am; you just don’t remember… But, uhm, what questions do you have?”

“I certainly don’t remember you, and because I gave you two attempts to simply comply, we get to do this the not so fun way.”

Unlike her mother, Alice actually carried out her threat, and a sudden chill seemed to fill the room as she tried to extend her “gift” toward him. It was simple; since she only needed to know one small piece of information, she didn’t need to enter his mind entirely but peer into the very perimeter of his thoughts where his name was likely to be lingering. It was quick and painless, but it might have left him feeling slightly disoriented, dizzy even.

Oh, my Gods! “You’re… Warren Howard,” she said, recognising the name and trying just as he had not to let the surprise of his identity show on her face. He’s not supposed to be here, she thought, looking off to the side for only a moment. She cleared her throat and announced, “Now, I’ll need you to come with me.”

Feeling somewhat violated, Warren pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath to clear his head. Though no sooner had he taken the breath in, he regretted it. Alessandra’s celestial scent aggravated his smouldering thirst, as a sharp gust of air would a flame - extinguishing it for a mere second before rekindling it back to life with a vengeance and hunger for more oxygen, or blood in Warren’s case.

“That, I wasn’t expecting...” He muttered, gathering himself and then removed himself from his doorway. Barefoot and barely dressed, he looked utterly at home and ignorant of the intruders and perhaps the severity of the situation. He sauntered out onto the staircase without hesitation. Glancing over his shoulder towards Alessandra, he made his way down the steps in a leisurely but laboured fashion with wide black eyes. “Where to Miss Morgan?” He asked and held out his hand before him in an invite for her to pass by and lead the way as he stood a-skew half on one step, half on the lower.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. Alice thought to herself. Hopefully, he’ll lead me to the dungeons and cooperate with the same amount of bother.

“To the dungeons,” She commanded.

While he wandered away from her, she observed him from down the hall. She had heard that he was very wealthy, but had that been a lie? It seemed peculiar to her that such a rich man would keep himself in such poor condition. She gathered from the state of his clothes that they needed a good wash - and probably so did he. Wrinkling her nose when she felt sure that he couldn’t see, she moved toward the staircase.

“The dungeons? I am under arrest then, am I?”

“For now, we’re taking everyone dwelling within the Castle there for questioning. You don’t want to be anywhere near my mother right now. She just cut off Roman Black’s head and is now in political-planning mode. Things don’t need to get any more complicated,” she said, with a roll of her grey eyes. “You can thank me for that later. So I’ll spare you that drama if you would be so kind as to show me where the dungeons are?”

Ah, so you do know who I am. Warren mused.

Aunt Cambria will want to see him, she thought. Yes, Aunt Cam will know what to do with him. Whether to question him, let him go or… dispose of him. Although Cambria probably wasn’t the most level-headed person to seek advice from, considering she was currently revelling in vengeance, Alessandra still trusted she would know the best route. She had at least dealt with this particular vampire before.

“It’s taken her longer than I thought to come and cut off the bastard's head...” Warren muttered to himself in an almost annoyed tone. “You know, I would have been more than happy to skip the topic of your mother altogether? Though I suppose you have confirmed that you remember who I am.” He said while keeping his eyes ahead of him.

“I know you’re my mother’s Sire, yes,” Alessandra confirmed, only to continue in thought to herself, not that I understand what that means entirely,

Faithfully, Warren led her to the dungeons. One hand tucked into his pocket, and the other swung at his side as he meandered the stairs and halls.

On the way, he’d step to the side to hold the numerous doors open for Alessandra to pass through, and by habit, he’d close them with the slight aid of his “gift”. She may have noticed his subtle exhales here and there and how his hand would reach back towards the door as he pushed the airflow towards the door in question.

Warren had led her to their destination, though not via the main route one might take. Moving to the wayside once again, he pushed open a small door that sat at the bottom of a similarly small set of stairs. Entering behind Alessandra, Warren took a quick glance about the dreary and dilapidated prison of a room.

“So, are there any more questions, or is this... a send-off?” His lips wound up at the corners into another slightly charming smirk.

Alice met his eyes, taken aback because she felt that he faced the prospect with no fear at all.