Come Feed the Rain

The hedges whispered secrets to the breeze that stirred them.
He walked.

The grass roots plundered the deepest darkest secrets of the earth.
He walked.

The night blooming jasmine drank in the light of a pale faced moon.
He walked.

The angel of death walked through Eden with empty hands, all deadly grace and wordless beauty, but without purpose, as if led by some unheard song. The unseeing sight was slow to fade from his eyes as he fixed them upon the velvet dome and its crystal spangled heights. He could hear the individual voice of each leaf as air stirred past it, feel the caress of each blade of grass against his skin, smell the lingering traces of perfume from everyone who had passed through the hedge maze… Starlight, so far away that even its swirling, burning colours were blurred, became his anchor.

Awareness returned slowly, conscious thought muting the whispering leaves into a single voice, the myriad touches of grass into a single caress. He blinked and storm grey eyes lost their fey light. The sharp scent of chlorine clung to him and his mind held onto the smell, began to order the swirl of emotions into events.

Drusilla in the pool. Cold water and idle chatter. Edward. Soft lips and slow-burning desire. Madness and containment. Hurt animal in the forest. Order forced upon gardens of savagery. Chains and fire. Sigils of Power. Runes etched in blood. Desperation. Broken glass. Yearning. A too small prison holding something powerful. Thrashing against walls. Spiderwebbed glass still unbroken. Hunger. Hurt. Power. Madness. Need. Lust. Want. Affection. Friendship. Desire. Worry. Fear.

The cold, clear air burning his lungs, he began sorting through the emotions and images. Starlight still in his eyes, he put words to what he found, held sigils in his mind to be written down. Lifetimes passed in hours and still he stood, pale and dark, angel and demon, life and death. Something changed, some imperceptible music, and his body shivered in the cold night.

The demon within was still glutted from his feedings, but it slumped against the mental cage he’d built for it, spent. Thomas came to himself, shaking off the idle thoughts, the wonder, and the madness, and turned to the hedge maze’s exit. Purpose returned to his step as he left the protective shelter of the landscaped bushes, the awed proselyte gone the predatory angel returned.

From: Lara Raith <lara@houseraith.com>
To: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>

Subject: Re: Re: Your Little Adventure

Dear Tommy,

Such language, baby brother! I simply asked if you could do the family business a small favour and you respond as if I’d asked you to sign your soul away. Honestly, aren’t you a bit old for such theatrics? It’s not like you’re ten and I asked you to put away your cowboys and toy cars because I stepped on one in the hall, Tommy. You can say no to me.

But is there any way I can convince you? It would be a great help to the business. Our research does seem to suggest the St. Louis court isn’t strictly White Court, that they are some mongrel mixture of our kind and the Black. I know that’s a rather distasteful notion (I could hunt down whatever Skavis or Malvora refuse began that bloodline) but it is both Papa and my opinion that our ‘brethren’ do not have our abilities and cannot subjugate you to their will. And even if there was a danger, I’m certain your unique heritage would make you more than capable of surviving the encounter. Give your sister a little credit, won’t you, Tommy? I would never send you into the lion’s den if I didn’t think you’d survive.

Would it help if I reinstated your access to the family coffers? You can stay in your little apartment and have your autonomy, but you won’t have to put in those hours at your salon simply to pay the bills. Just think about the offer, won’t you, baby brother?

Lara