The grand ball

[Danika]

Relief washed her like cool water when Marcus approached. He was well, for that she breathed easier, but also that it signaled the end of this terrible night. She knew she should have stayed in the apartment, blankets snuggled to the chin, book in her lap.

"Yes, I am okay," she answered and clamped her hand upon his. "You were the one--" she stopped herself, searching the globes of his eyes to prove to herself he was okay. The screams and terror would not soon be forgotten.

No objections deflected the offer. She was all the ready to be out of the building. Her mind spun with the impossible made possible, but she needed a hot shower to think on the significance (she did all her best thinking in the shower). 

Their escape was a whirl. She gripped his hand the whole way home with a strange mix of anchoring and protectiveness.

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus was ready to leave this shambles. Ascendancy gone somewhere. The feel of the ijiraq pulling the force through him. The fear and hatred and chaos.

Marcus hated chaos above all things. It was the itch in the middle of his back. His enemy. He knew Gleik's seminal work on chaos theory. He believed it. But few understood it. Like Godel's incompleteness theorem or Schrodinger's thought experiments...people saw what they wanted. And tossed their names around as if they had a clue.

Chaos did not mean there was no order. Only that it was complex. It required work.

Marcus would track every variable across multiple dimensions. It would make sense.

But for tonight, he was just Marcus. And Danika looked up at him with what he thought were fear and concern. And strangely, warmth shot through him.

Her hand in his was soft and firm and demanding.

The limo stopped. The events of the night a background...how do you....there was no way to finish the thought.

In the quiet, he walked her to her door. The brush of her next to him pulling more than he realized. There was a purity to her, beyond her almost unreal beauty. Touching it burned.

But he enjoyed it.

In front of the door, Marcus looks down at her, her deep eyes inviting him to her soul, her smile an invitation.

Marcus is not afraid. Fear is for the weak.

He leans in for a kiss.

[Ryker]

Ryker was relatively unmarred by tension’s end. A benefit of being a witness rather than a fist of action. If it wasn’t for a minor obstacle impeding his ability to summon power at will, the outcome may have differed. Instead, the handicap was a blessing in disguise. Ineptness was not a behavior easily accepted by the operator.

ZARS agents swarmed and moved like a school of bees blocking the sun. Their shadows operated as one perfect sword arm. He would expect nothing less for some of the most highly trained individuals in the Custody.

Ascendancy fled, leaving behind a bloodied and bruised audience - some literally, others figuratively. One woman in particular watched with gleaming, devilish eyes. Ryker noted her carefully. Evelyn Avalon slunk after Ascendancy with all the ache of a hurt pup. The list of people he could use expanded by the minute. If it weren’t for the confirmation that monsters existed, he would call the night a full success.

None of Ryker’s long-laid plans mattered if he was killed by a ghost before seeing them through. He sent an encrypted message to the upper echelons of CCD government: Debrief. Monsters. ASAP.

The remainder of the night took him home. The studio was near the Kremlin and he walked the night without the need for drivers. Flashes and pops of light burst when he emerged, but as soon as reporters realized his face was not the pretty image to plaster their sites, they ignored him. A bittersweet reminder. Many named him handsome once upon a time. Few would now, or maybe, the devil inside finally floated out and the surface matched the horror within.

He carried on, adrenaline keeping him awake, and considered sending another message.

Question was who to contact first: Yun or Ivan?

[Evelyn]

For the second time in her limited time in Moscow, Evelyn found herself drawn into the depths of its power. The man that tempted her to darkness beckoned and she followed, ignoring the stalagmite of fear risen against her heart. 

She had to be brave, she told herself. Nikolai was a man swimming in a sea of ambushes waiting to devour him at the briefest flicker of vulnerability. Evelyn brought the light that frightened the circling wolves. She had to be brave for him, and more importantly, for the world that needed the beacon of her flame.

The flame of the world. 

She smiled at that.  She could do it. She wouldn’t fail.

Frustrated abandon tossed Nikolai’s blemished jacket to the floor. Evelyn scooped the jacket, folded it over the pale stem of her arm, and laid it neatly aside. Then she followed him to the same place they previously embraced, but carefully positioned herself so to not tempt too much invitation. She was a weakness for him, and his nerves were raw. Her heart protested, though, upon discovering the doleful draw of his expression. Her heart ached for him. This creature of symbolic strength whose shoulders now drooped. Vivid blue eyes normally lustrous as polished stone sank with melancholy shadows. 

Her own crestfallen gaze fell to the flesh of his arm. She remembered trailing the puckered flesh of his skin with her own fingers, but never inquired about the history behind such scars. When on this exact same alter they sacrificed their souls in service to the other (or maybe sold to the devil), Nikolai stripped of his shirt, Evelyn nearly followed in like kind. The shadow of his jaw, the angle of a swimmer’s broad shoulders, flickering flames licking his back, the memories nearly overwhelmed her again. 

Bravery and strength, she prayed inwardly. Nikolai had a way of disarming her that frightened her but for the fact that she hoped he’d do it again.

She slipped a hand around his. Atharim was not a word unknown to her, but only by his own admission to the masses did she owe the knowledge. They frightened her, truth be told. Like the inquisitors of the medieval era, she was the pagan they hunted. It burned anger within, such blind obsession to following twisted ideals. The drumbeat of her heart warned a far-distant cry to the enemies of the light. Evelyn the woman may not be able to defend her sisters and brothers with such an army, but Evelyn the luminary, Evelyn the Flame of Light, could hold the swarm.

“You’ve been through much more than I ever realized,” she began to speak with the gentility of handling a wounded dove. The hand she gripped moved to his cheek, caressing wounds invisible. Most of the biographies published about Nikolai Brandon began chapter one with the emergence of an oil surveyor in Siberia. Few traced the thread of his life deeper in time. His proclamation of American heritage shocked all but the most fervent of students. An interview with her old friend Trano unfurled the secret of his birth. She didn’t know his father committed suicide. Lead filled the sack of her heart. She wished she could sooth the sting of such pain.

Myths sprang to life in his words. Evelyn struggled to place ijiraq, Regus, Atharim and God’s power into the context of her faith. Faith that said she should accept the things she did not understand.

But Evelyn simply couldn’t do that. She couldn’t walk the darkness wielding torches of hopeful flame to a dying world without knowing what waited ahead.

“We will navigate this threat together, Nikolai.” She proclaimed, chin tilted high. “The Atharim want to kill all of us, then they are the enemy to us all in return. Ijiraq are their knife in the dark? Then we study the art of defense. I need to know all I can about these creatures and all their ilk, but more urgently, we need to learn all we can about the one you named Regus. He is a man as any other, and all men have weaknesses. If we want to defeat him, we need to know him.”

Her hands went folded in her lap, a figure of regal, serene patience. She could carry Nikolai’s weight, so long as she did, he could bear the burden of the world. 

That was her purpose. Flame in the dark. Torch to the blind. The promise of spring.

[Danika]

For the most part, Danika was an outgoing, effervescent girl. Yet she spent more time acquainting herself with books and long-dead scientists than actual people. Dating was secondary, maybe tertiary, priorities for her. Maybe it was because nobody ever really riled the cause higher on the list. Until now.

She was nervous the whole drive. The anxiety only heightened when Marcus walked alongside. Then when she turned and looked at him, she knew it wasn't to say goodnight. It was like a movie and she was floating overhead watching someone else from above. 

His kiss was respectful and exploratory. She melted like a wax candle, though. Snaking an arm around the back of his neck while the other rested against the broadness of his chest. 

He was passionate and fearless. Alive and powerful. She'd never realized how completely spell-binding the combination could be. Maybe because she'd never met someone who was all those things at once. Yet for some reason, his passions were for her. It just boggled Danika's mind. 

Her heart beat flip-flopped in a way she knew to be biologically impossible. The same way that time seemed to both slow to a crawl and pass too quickly - a quirk of the universe that was also impossible (outside of a black hole). Tricks of the mind. Neurotransmitters congregating soupy in her limbic brain. 

She didn't want it to stop. When she finally pulled away, it was only to look into his eyes. "Do you want to?" A shoulder dipped, "stay?"

[Marcus DuBois]

A slow fire burned in his chest, flames licking around his heart, her lips and tongue soft and inviting. She melted against him, seeping, molding herself to him, her hands on his chest and neck a song that called to him. The fire tried to roar but he controlled it, controlled himself.

It was Marcus' greatest secret. No one would ever guess. He knew what he was, knew the things he had done. Others might toss around terms like sociopath or psychopath. No conscience. No empathy. 

He was none of those things. Empathy was what he was, at his core. It was the key to understanding people, to pushing and pulling them. It was his savior, to become another person, to imagine what they might do- might do to him!

When Marcus played a role, empathy let him become what people needed.

When Malik hunted, empathy let him mete out the most perfectly sublime of punishments.

And when Marcus was a lover, empathy let him feel her from the inside out. Let him be just what she needed.

His mind flowed naturally, partitioning off a portion of itself, absorbing everything he knew of her- her childhood, her family, pictures of her on social media, with friends in school or traveling, papers she'd authored, girly posts she made- all that he'd read and had experienced with her shaping a part of him, the contours of who she was. 

And then he entered that space. He became her.

Ahhhh...he gasped. He had never...not once had he ever..

She was light. Pure. Innocence in the flesh.

And Marcus was in awe at this creature before him. The control slipped from his fingers, the fires blazing. He could already see her previous lovers, the few- one or two maybe- Fumbling. Unknowing. Lost. The meh that were her few times.

No one had worshiped this goddess properly. And Marcus wanted her to experience the divine.

Staring into her eyes, seeing the excitement and slight surprised fear- fear at the boldness of her invitation, he knew- he smiled at her, reached out a hand and gently touched her cheek. "Yes," he whispered.

He took her hand and led her into the living room. The lights were off but there was enough. He moved behind her, letting go of her hand, one arm coming around her waist, another across her chest, gently pulling her against him, her body warm and firm, his hand slightly tipping her head, exposing her neck glowing in the ambient light. He nuzzled her, then, so soft, the slight scent of her filling his nostrils, stoking those flames, whispers of lips tickling against her skin, waiting, waiting, waiting for sigh, the melt, the turn that would come, when she would turn in his arms and take his head in her hands and pull him down to kiss her with fire.

And then it would begin.

[Ascendancy]

Evelyn spoke with a wisdom that belied her youth.

In all of his own wisdom, he knew her to be right. He was making grand assumptions about the current leader of the Atharim, but he knew next to nothing about the man who wore the mantle of Regus. What motivated him? Was he pre-destined to the role as Nikolai once was? Until now, details were irrelevant. The Atharim wielded weapons that could inflict actual harm unlike never before.

Attack where he is unprepared. Nikolai thought for a moment. Regus’ true name was known to him by virtue of his position as the head of the Vatican Historical Society, but the knowledge held little currency. The man that walked the streets would adopt false identities and blend invisible. There was nothing to track him by conventional means. To attack where one is unprepared implies knowledge of preparation. Every day of his life has guided Regus to the confrontation soon to erupt between them. Meanwhile, Nikolai devoted little mental energy to the encounter. He underestimated his enemy greatly. Regus had the capacity to discovery and control something that no man should be able to harness. That implied great resources, devotion and intelligence.

Move when he does not expect you. Thus far, Regus chased Nikolai, whom proudly planted his flag of dominion in the heart of Moscow. He surrounded himself with layers of shields – people and walls alike. Often, Nikolai summoned the bonds of his own divine power and crafted a literal shining shield when confronting the public. Regus was utilizing all the great strategies of war to attack his enemy; meanwhile, Nikolai utilized none of them. The Ijiraq left Nik panicked and exhausted. Another could rise from the floors at any moment. The anticipation would prey on his own mind, drain his mental and physical endurance, and outright irritate him to the point of restless hastening. Regus’ strategy, therefore, was to bring Nikolai stressed to the point of defeating himself, then strike. The lack of control would bring himself down. The moment he sank to his knees, the executioner would strike.

“No wonder he has been able to reach me. I have not even attempted to stop him.”

The meandering gaze of his thoughts finally settled on Evelyn, the inspiration of these epiphanies. Nikolai’s great strategies arose from the depths of his own genius but also nursed by competent advisors.

It turned out that one of them came from one of the most surprising sources.

He looked at the way she sat so calm and serene. She was a magnificent creature for someone so young. More eyes bore witness to their amorous interactions. Twenty-five years of precedent made no room for a single whisper of secrets escaping; such betrayals were met with swift, crushing penance. Nik did not worry about loose lips, but he was not ignorant of the flaws within humankind. The more people who knew his sentiment toward Evelyn, the more risk.

But that wasn’t such a bad thing. He knew what he needed to do. If he isn’t too cowardly to face me. A relatively simple arrangement logistically. The difficulty lie with injecting the communique into the Atharim's system such that it traversed the best paths to Regus' attention.

He reached for her hand as she had reached for his. Her warmth blossomed through the chill like a flower braving an early spring. “Evelyn?” He searched her name like it was a sacred invocation of something forbidden.

She already proclaimed boundaries that Nikolai was unwilling to cross or so he thought. Something changed tonight. Something to her lingered upon him like an enchantment he was willing to live.

He held her eyes as he lifted that slender hand and kissed the knuckles he so gently held.

[Danika]

Danika was a bound-up ball of nerves the whole way inside. She even fumbled at the door to get it unlocked. A dark, 1-bedroom flat greeted them. Bags were strewn around main space in her hustle to leave on time for the ball. Old take-out boxes were upturned in the sink. Lots of books were half-read, another miniature tower perched in the corner. She didn’t own any bookshelves. In fact, there weren’t many pieces of furniture at all except the basics.

The first thing she did was kick out of heels and sink about four inches, gown puddling around her toes, but it was only just in the nick of time before Marcus clasped her hand. The connection to another human being only reminded her how empty her days were without it. He pressed close, the wide swath of his chest melting around her.

While touches jumped from place to place, she didn’t know what to do with her own hands. They felt like awkward limbs flailing about. A moment of panic started to rise, until she just told herself to wrap around his neck and stay there. The thing was, before long, they took on minds of their own. He was so passionate. She’d never known someone so hungry for something (except maybe herself; though her own hungers never focused on a someone).

They broke apart after a few minutes, but mostly because Danika needed to catch her breath. “I’ll be right back? There’s some drinks in the fridge.” She smiled sheepishly and disappeared into the washroom to give him the opportunity to rummage the kitchen. Remnants of makeup bottles and hair styling pieces were strewn all about the counter, but she wasn’t obsessed with an impromptu tidying. After a quick freshen up, she was surprised by the freshness to her cheeks and sharpness in her eye. The nerves were still there, but they were twisted with excitement rather than anxiety. She cupped some tap-water to her lips, already thirsty. There wasn’t anything near so nice as what they drank at the ball. Her pre-ball mini bottles of alcohol were already empty.

Before returning, she checked inside the gown’s collar. The beading sparkled like galactic stars, and she wanted to be careful with the material. This thing probably cost more than her salary. It wasn’t the gown that held her inspection, however. The girls at the shop absolutely refused to let her leave without purchasing ’appropriate’ under garments. The rigid bones of the corset was layered with black lace. If the gown was mesmerizing, the thing that went under it was absolutely complicated.

She bit her lip, mentally going through the various components required to take it off. Assuming that’s where this was leading.

A deep breath, she looked herself in the mirror, “okay, Dani,” the face in the mirror imposed some encouraging, self-talk. When she came out, it was with all the languid patience of a cat trying to keep cool as she searched for Marcus.

[Marcus DuBois]

Marcus and Danika continued here

[Evelyn]

Nikolai fell quiet; brilliance stirring. Never in her life did Evelyn imagine she would meet him, touch him, comfort him; yet here she was doing all those things, but also inspiring him. Of course that was the way it should be, but the truly remarkable was that the world coalesced in such a way as to actually forge this moment; Evelyn was in sheer awe. Within the storm of their chaotic lives formed a subtle pattern that for those patient enough were able to glimpse its shape. She just had to wait. Finally, the waiting was worth it.

His epiphany made her nod, brunette hair falling in front of one shoulder in a most girly fashion. She started to sweep it aside when Nikolai grasped her hand. His lips shot chills up the length of a slender forearm. This great and powerful man was the carved statue of everything she never knew she really desired, and his whispers in the dark struck her heart like the chord of a cello straight to the soul. Before she knew it, she was in his arms, her wild heart bared vulnerable. 

She could not wait another night.