3:40 a.m.
Death went back to his mansion to prepare for his soft launch. He was sure the Fates were going to do something at this juncture. He just didn't know what.
Death had a theory that Alec would replace him when the Fates took his head, which meant they had to kill him first.
Death can't die. There are only two, no, three things in this world that can kill him. His scythe, which was locked away, and the two guns he and Hypnos made for the end of time when they became the only two things left in the universe. They could end each other, and then everything, everything, would be over. However, Hypnos lost the revolvers during a card game while playing pirates some two-thousand years ago, and after that incident, Thanatos never trusted him again. His twin had let such weapons out in the universe. Death's power, just floating around for anyone to get a hold of.
At the Yuletide ball, Shmeaglebobenzoar had warned him that Alec was looking for the Beastie, a revolver said to be able to kill anything. If the Fates were backing Alec and wanting to remove Thanatos, then maybe they had helped the vampire prince find at least one of the two revolvers Hypnos had lost.
But, now, Death thought of a fourth thing that could possibly kill him. A fourth thing. His son. It had never crossed his mind before, but if Damien had enough power to potentially eradicate Fate, worlds, universes, everything. Maybe Damien could end him, could end Hypnos, at the end of the Cosmos. He could end it all and then maybe use the gun on himself.
Death was sitting in his study, considering all of this over a glass of scotch and a cigarette. He was pondering and mulling, and he remembered to call Victor to buy Damien some time. Death pulled out his cell phone and called the Devereaux mansion. The phone rang and rang. He knew the Devereaux mansion only had one phone, which sat on a marble table in the hall as if it was still 1925. Death almost hung up, but someone answered, and an uncomfortable, quiet static came through the speaker.
The static continued for longer than it should have, and Thanatos grew impatient and almost broke the silence, but the voice on the other line breathed, "House of Devereaux."
"Yes, I'd like to speak with the king, please."
Silence.
"This is Thanatos, calling for Victor Devereaux. Is his Highness available?"
The voice on the other line gave one small laugh, and the trembling voice said, "My apologies, Thanatos."
It came to Death with brilliant clarity exactly who he was talking to.
"Victor cannot come to the phone right now."
It was Alec VanGarrett.
"Why?" With one hand holding the phone to his ear, Thanatos lowered his forehead into his other hand. He knew the answer before Alec said it.
"Because, he's dead."
There was static as the receiver clicked. Thanatos could imagine Alec's fingers stained red with sticky blood, delicately placing the phone back in the cradle. There was something deeply final and horrifying in that image. And then Thanatos's cell phone beeped at him to say the call had ended. He sat the phone down on the arm of the chair, leaned forward, and put his elbows on his knees.
The king was dead.
Alec VanGarrett was now the Vampire King.
Long live the king.
***
4:00 a.m.
Loki started to stir in his sleep from distant voices, car alarms, and the occasional explosion. But, a nearby BANG and the screaming of an alarm bolted Eros upright, and Loki came to and propped up on his elbows.
"What is all that racket?" A sleepy Loki rubbed his face.
"Go check it out." Eros clutched the sheet around him. His head spun with nightmarish images of red rooms and grey ladies coming to take him away.
Loki only groaned petulantly, "Why me? You go check it out."
Eros snapped him a glare.
"I'm kidding. I'm only kidding," Loki said.
Eros continued to glare at him as the giant stood from bed and slipped into his trousers left on the floor.
"You better be."
The giant shuffled from the room, rubbing a kink out of the back of his neck.
Eros realized he was now alone with all the scary noises growing louder outside the window. "Wait. I'm coming," Eros whispered, almost too loudly to be considered a whisper. He too threw on pants and grabbed a shirt from the chair by the bed. He ran out into the hall as he was pulling the shirt over his head.
Loki was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for him. They could now hear glass shattering outside, the neighbors' doors and window. The roar of voices was getting louder. Shadows streaked across their front sitting room as people began to riot down their street.
The few lights Loki and Eros had left on, went out. The power was cut.
Loki just pressed his lips together and gave a little, "Hmm," as he descended the stairs. Loki opened the front door and leaned against the cast iron railing on the stoop.
Eros followed, hesitantly stepping over the threshold of the door to join him outside. It had been the first time he had stepped foot out of that townhome in over a month. Once outside, they were able to make out a growing chant under the riotous voices.
"The king is dead. Long live the king. Long live the king. The king is dead. Long live the king."
Eros let out an amused, "Fuck." Then he asked no one in particular, "Are they referring to Victor?"
"It would appear so." Loki materialized and lit two cigarettes. He handed one to Eros.
"Bloody hell." Eros leaned against the opposite railing to watch as the crowd of vampires rolled their way down the street. Smashing windows with bricks and rocks or whatever they could get their hands on. Tossing cars in the street and crushing them down into splintered balls of metal and plastic and sharp fiberglass.
Loki worried about his Bentley. He didn't drive the classic car often, and it was parked in a garage down the street.
The rioters lit anything flammable they could find. Any resident that had the nerve to come out to the street and complain about the noise, or had something bad to say about Alec VanGarrett, was beaten to a bloody pulp and lapped up off the concrete.
A few times, Loki and Eros were asked if they had a fucking problem. They took turns saying, "No. Just watching. Enjoying the show. Long live the king!"
The rioters were all mostly drunk. The side of the city Loki lived in was close to downtown, therefore, close to Alec's bloodbars. These vampires had been at the clubs when they received the news and were now making their way down to the Devereaux mansion in Black Rose.
Eros watched the riotous procession with a glint of wonder and nostalgia in his eyes. But, he realized something. He asked Loki, "This is them. Isn't it? The Fates?"
Loki took in a breath. "It most certainly is." He flicked his cigarette into the crowd and hit someone in the cheek with the ember, but the victim hardly noticed.
Eros put out his cigarette on the step, and Loki held the door open for him as they went back inside. "Dawn is coming soon," Eros said.
Loki sat on the sofa that faced the window. "I don't think they care."
Eros sat across from him. "No point calling Thanatos about this. He probably knew before we did."
Loki was biting down on the corner of his bottom lip, and he nodded in agreement. "So this was the Fates' next move, then? To kill Devereaux and raise VanGarrett to power. And the move after that is to...?"
"Well, let's face it," Eros said. "What was the rift between Alec and Victor?"
"Josanna."
"The rift between Damien and Alec?"
"The portal... and Josanna," said Loki.
The rift between Damien and Thanatos?"
Loki answered, "Right now... Josanna." He really wanted to smart off, but Eros was onto something, and now maybe wasn't the time.
"What about Thanatos and Victor?"
Loki pulled his brow together. "Damien stealing Josanna."
"You and Victor?"
"Josanna." Loki blinked.
Eros clicked his tongue. "The face that launched a thousand ships."
Loki jumped off the couch, and flung himself to the phone. "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck."
"What are you doing?" Eros asked.
Loki dialed 4. "Death doesn't know about this. Come on pick up, pick up."
***
4:00 a.m.
Josanna showed up on the front porch covered in blood. She was crying a little, but tried to pull herself together before she entered the house. She took slow, quiet steps as she approached the door leaving bloody, barefoot prints behind her. She composed herself and opened the door. Damien was asleep on the couch. The fire was just barely an ember. The coffee had been left on, and Josanna could smell the burnt coffee evaporating and becoming crispy at the bottom of the pot.
She took great pains to make sure the door closed without waking Damien up. Then, she tiptoed to the couch. He looked so peaceful, like a stereotypical man spread out on the couch, one leg hanging off, one arm under his head. The small throw blanket only covered a leg and his stomach. Despite looking peaceful, his brow was pulled together, like even in his sleep he was overthinking something. She smiled at this, but her smile immediately turned on the water tap in her eyes, and tears began to fall. Josanna wiped them away and tried again, without smiling this time. She said in the tiniest voice, "Damien." He didn't respond, so she carefully inched a bit closer. "Damien?" This time she was louder, and it caused her voice to crack.
At this, Damien awoke. He awoke to a girl reaching out before him in a white nightdress, saturated in blood, with her dark wet hair plastered to her face. He muffled a scream, and it hitched in his throat, coming out in a series of gasps as he crawled into the corner of the couch.
Josanna giggled.
"What the fuck?" Damien cried, "Are you okay?"
"It's not mine," she said.
"Okay...." This did not answer his question.
"Victor's dead," she said.
"Is that blood his?"
"No," she said. "We were celebrating."
Damien thought about the humans Alec had strung up in the sewers.
"Okay..." Damien said again. He repositioned himself on the couch, and rubbed his forehead. He thought about what Thanatos had said. He was going to make Victor think twice about hurting Josanna. Surely, this isn't what Thanatos had meant.
He asked again, "Are you okay?"
Josanna thought about this and said, "Can we go to bed?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry- Shit- I mean-"
She grabbed his hand.
He took a centering breath. "We can talk about this in the morning, or whenever you're ready to talk about it. Okay?" Damien stood, and keeping hold of her hand, he led her to the bedroom. "I didn't mean to pry, I just-"
Josanna stopped and gave a little tug on his hand. "Damien?"
"Huh?" He turned back to face her.
Josanna said in an unsure voice, "I love you."
Damien closed the gap between them, and he beamed like he was in a dream. He had only ever dreamt of a moment like this. "I love you." He grabbed her and kissed her, and she fell into him and kissed him back. He ran his fingers through her blood-soaked hair and the breast of her dress squished like a damp sponge when they pressed together. He could feel the cold, thick blood seeping through his own shirt as he went for an open-mouthed kiss. The remaining taste of dirty copper pennies from her mouth overwhelmed his taste buds, but he didn't mind. He was sure he tasted like whiskey and coffee to her.
They fell apart, her hand still resting on his chest over his thudding heart.
Damien brushed back a bloody lock of her hair, and when he did, he magicked all of the blood and mess off her and himself. "Marry me?"
Josanna smiled and bounced up and down, taking his hand in hers. "Tomorrow? In the woods with all the fairies? We can run away from all of our families, and live here forever!"
"Forever and ever?" Damien peered at her through his lashes.
She grinned and nodded feverishly.
He backed up towards the bedroom, and still hand in hand, she went with him.
With dawn only two hours away, they slipped into bed. They made love, and then after, her face was snuggled in his neck, and his arm was wrapped under her shoulder, holding her close.
The window was open. The breeze tossed the curtains around them and carried in the peaceful stillness of the night's last breaths.
