Defiance and Pride

A tale based on the TV-series "The Strain". The events take place in lieu of season 4.

[hanvantes-deactivated20200827]

Quinlan from The Strain

[lexiseigneur]

!!

[lexiseigneur]

Chuck Hogan and Guillermo del Toro collaborating on a new book series!

[nevernlandia]

The Strain, season 2: Mr Quinlan

[rebecca-polidori]

charadesign stuff, we had to chose a character from a live action movie/series and draw them in 2 different cartoon style

so here’s Quinlan from The Strain, so you’ve got Adventure Time and Star Wars: Clone Wars

[lexiseigneur]

Lexi in Defiance and Pride, Chapter 11.

[coffeemoloko-deactivated2021050]

I think, they’re kinda done. Vampire bros in color

[lexiseigneur]

Has anyone else read the comic about Mister Quinlan’s early years? I quite enjoyed though I wished it was longer than 5 short books.

[lexiseigneur]

Part 2 Chapter 2: Out of the light, into the unknown

Lexi showered to rid herself of the stench of the city. Then she read, cozily tucked in her blankets. At some point, she fell asleep, her book forming a tent above her chest.

The slamming of a car door woke her. She frowned because this was not Quinlan. Whoever this was entered the house, and she jumped out of the bed and listened. Then because she did not want to meet that person in the confines of her bedroom, she flew toward the stairs and collided with him. Her brain was overwhelmed by dissonance.

This was clearly Quinlan. But it was not. She was screaming his name in her mind and the words sounded flat. They were not going anywhere. He could not hear her. The Bond was gone. His expression exacerbated her anxiety. Quinlan was as lost as she was.

“How?” she whispered.

She sighed when he touched her and his skin was rough and familiar. His arms around her were almost crushing.

“Are...are you hurt?” he asked.

“No. You?”

Lexi did not feel better that he was already looking for a solution. It only highlighted how clueless they both were. What good were two thousand years of experience in such a situation? He knew as much about the Bond as she did. And she knew very little.

“I am unharmed.”

“There...there must be a reason this is happening.”

Quinlan buried his face in her neck.

“We will fix this.”

His words were a little muffled and she wanted to cry because in the Bond, they always rang clear.

“There are only so many reasons the Bond can be disrupted,” she said. It was just another problem to solve. And together they had solved the impossible. They could do this. They had to.

“There is distance...” he said.

“Dense metals...”

He stood straight and alert.

“The jamming devices.”

“What? They don't work like that.”

“You deducted that we function on another plane...another frequency than the Strigoi. We could even perceive the original devices. Is it such a stretch someone might have modified them to produce this effect?”

“I really don't see how or why.”

Quinlan let go of her and drew his sword.

“With such interference, we are distracted… weaker. Perhaps whoever did this was not expecting my return to occur quite so early.”

It made sense. Lexi strained to listen to the sounds around the house. Mice, deer, birds, a few squirrels fighting nearby. No humans.

“I don't hear...”

“It does not mean they were not here. The range of the devices is limited, but they could be lying in wait on the edge of our perception.”

And with those words, he rushed outside and lifted his face to the breeze. Lexi imitated him and picked up irrelevant traces near the cars. Quinlan disappeared between the trees and she followed, hopeful. Had he detected something she had not? In those matters, he still had the advantage of his considerable experience.

Then he veered, one time then two then three and her hope died. He was not following a trail, his changes of direction appeared random.

After almost one hour, he stopped. His sword fell on dry leaves and his shoulders slumped. She could not feel him, but she was not completely blind.

“I don't know what to do,” he said.

His voice was hoarse and suddenly the possibility that the Bond might never be restored hit her.

“Quinlan…If we don’t find it...”

He winced. She took his hand and faced him. His eyes were fixated on a point on the ground, unseeing. Lexi knew that expression. He was looking for the silver place. If he unleashed his soul to surround her, its warmth didn’t reach her.

“I’m sorry, I failed. Please, try to find it,” he said still looking at the ground.

Lexi couldn’t bear his looking away. She reached for his face, caressed it, begging. Quinlan arms snapped around her. His hand dug into her hair, pressed her face against his chest.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

His heartbeat was familiar. Calming. Anchored by his familiar music, she plunged into herself.

Lexi opened her mind’s eyes, intact in that realm. She stood in the house that was her psyche. On her right, the plain wall used to be the entrance to a dark basement.

She faced the front door and ran to it. It was locked. So she pulled and kicked and even pleaded, but the door remained locked. Then she ran to the nearest window and pulled the curtains open.

There was no window, only another wall. She checked another curtain and met the same light green tapestry.

Lexi was the problem. The silver place was out of her reach, not Quinlan’s.

She opened her real eyes.

“I can't find it. I mean...it's blocking me. The door there is locked. I'm the one who changed. What did I do wrong?”

“You cannot be sure it's anything that you did. This is not something that ever existed before. We are wholly ignorant of its inner mechanisms.”

She mumbled how scared she was, but she wasn’t sure he could hear her.

“Lexi…I loved you without the Bond, and I will continue no matter what happens.”

She believed him but his absence in her head left a crippling abyss. For just a moment, she needed that pain to go away.

So she kissed him. In between those desperate kisses, she whispered words of love that now needed to be passed from lips to lips.

When they fell on the damp and uneven forest ground, she didn’t care. It only mattered that when he pressed himself inside her, the ache in her soul was forgotten.

After that moment, they continued kissing until her lips felt bruised, because that also dulled the emptiness.

They stayed on the rotting leaves, tucked inside Quinlan’s coat, until rain forced them back inside the house. Lexi wanted to drag him to bed and sleep. But Quinlan had other ideas.

He stood in the middle of the living room, dripping on the hardwood floors from the rain, seemingly lost in thought. Lexi knew better than to interrupt.

“The book might have answers,” he said and started toward the stairs.

She followed closely.

“What?”

“The Occido Lumen.”

She had not thought about it in years. Quinlan yanked open the metal trunk sitting in a corner of their bedroom and took out a wooden box. Inside the box, the pages of the Occido Lumen were bound together by string.

“I thought it was just a bunch of allegories and stories about Strigoi hunters.”

“When I translated it with the Professor and by myself, I focused on mentions of the Master and the Ancients. I only glazed over those that were not useful. But this would be the only place containing knowledge about our kind.”

The velum was yellowed by time but the illuminations still brightly colored. She recalled a conversation on their first encounter.

“There were others before you? You think they are mentioned in there?”

“I recall explanations about the silent voice of the Master. Perhaps we can find similar texts about the silent voice of the half-breeds.”

“They could have shared the Bond, if they met.”

“Indeed.”

He shed his harness and coat, dried himself and unbound the pages. Lexi did not have the desire to smile but it was close. If there were any clues to be found, Quinlan would have them sooner or later.

“Let's get to work,” he said.

Lexi assisted where she could. Mostly by waiting until the sun shone bright and high to take pictures of the hidden scriptures. As he studied the texts, she associated the pictures with their translations. She made three piles, one for the useless ones, another for the ambiguous ones and one for those whose content was unknown and possibly useful.

This took four days. When he was not working, she listened to his retelling of the contents he had just translated. That night they drank their lab-grown blood in front of a roaring fire.

“In the 9th century, a village on the coast of France became deserted in the span of three days. The author describes how strangers came with weapons and dug out the villagers from a nearby beach before killing them and burning their bodies. Those strangers never showed their faces as they wore hoods and masks.”

“Sun Hunters? Cleaning up the Master's mess?”

“So it seems.”

This story would join the pile of useless anecdotes.

“It highlights a particular point that has been nagging me,” said Quinlan. “The book is supposed to be a translation from Sumerian, from tablets found in Mesopotamia in the 16th century.”

“Yeah...unless whoever made the tablets was a time traveler, there is a problem there.”

“The author added much more than what the original texts contained. However, if I learned anything from my travels is that much is lost in translation.”

“You want the tablets?”

“I do. A primary source of information is always most valuable.”

“Where are they?”

“Destroyed by a French king when the author showed him those heretic writings.”

Lexi scowled. What was the point then?

“The Occido Lumen was also ordered destroyed,” he said and had a small grin. “One can surmise that whoever saved the book might also have saved the tablets.”

He seemed so convinced, she could not tarnish his excitement with her pessimism. Lexi could not afford to base her hopes on mere speculations.

“Where would we even begin to start looking for those things?”

“Where they should have been destroyed. In Paris.”

Her stomach dropped a little. She had not been back in that city since she had been human.

“Professor Morecci's connections could open doors in that milieu,” he said, finished his glass of blood and picked up the phone from the wall.

Lexi glanced at the time. It would be ten in the evening where she lived. Calling at this time might seem a little rude. But Morecci picked up after only two rings.

“Mr. Quinlan? How unexpected!”

This was followed by small talk that Quinlan generously indulged. Then he cut to the chase.

“I need help tracking a Mesopotamian tablet. It surfaced around 1667 in Paris and ordered destroyed.”

“That’s vague.”

“It might have last belonged to Madame de Montespan.”

“Now that’s better.”

“I’m sorry to say this but it is a matter of great urgency.”

“We are historians, for us there is no such thing as urgency.”

“Ciara, please.”

“Do you remember what we discussed last year?”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. This strange behavior would have amused Lexi in less problematic circumstances.

“Fine. I’ll do it. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Not really, you’re just unusually stubborn about very small things.”

“When would that be then?”

“I will let you know. Maybe Reykjavik.”

Quinlan sighed, wished her a good evening then hung up.

“What was that about?” asked Lexi as soon as he put the phone down.

“The professor has attempted to obtain my services as a speaker for those gatherings with her colleagues.”

“A conference, you mean? Why did you say no?”

“I am not a zoo animal.”

“They would come to hear you speak not to throw peanuts at you.”

Quinlan grunted and this time she could not help but laugh. It also dulled the emptiness.

***

The next day, they received a call from the curator of the Louvre Museum informing them they were welcome to examine their collection of Mesopotamian tablets. It was fortunate, since they were about to embark a plane bound for Paris. Quinlan had not considered the possibility of a refusal.

Inquisitive eyes followed them everywhere from the moment they entered the airport, until they sat in their first class chairs. They were blessed with a professional flight attendant who did not even flinch at their appearance. The other passengers ogled and whispered.

“Beverages?” she asked and leaned forward.

“No, thank you,” said Lexi.

Quinlan shook his head and the attendant walked on.

“You usually have a coffee at this point,” he remarked.

“I don't feel like it today.”

Several hours into the flight, two boys seating ahead of them still observed. Their heads poked from the sides of their seats and fascinated eyes followed Quinlan and Lexi's every move. Quinlan ignored them and focused on a troublesome passage of the Occido Lumen.

Signs of the author's madness were becoming more numerous. When he looked up, the boys still stared but much more quietly. A long and thing object protruded from the side of the seat in front of Lexi. It was an amalgam of straws, taped together into a lengthy stick. Its tip poked Lexi’s knee. She slept and didn’t notice. Quinlan sighed, and hailed the flight attendant. Intervening himself would likely involve the children screaming and crying. No need for this raucous.

The attendant confiscated the stick with stern warnings, and apologized quietly. Quinlan only wished for Lexi to rest. He hadn’t even notice when she had finally fell asleep.

Her hands twitched and her eyes moved rapidly, but he could not hear her dreams. It was tempting to lean back in his seat and let himself be submerged by their loss. Quinlan sat straighter and resumed his work. Self-pity did not solve problems.

Le Louvre had once been a royal palace built over the span of eight centuries. Quinlan had not visited Paris often across the centuries, merely a dozen times. But with each visit, he had witnessed the erection of yet another luxurious addition to the monumental palace.

Had this been travel for pleasure, Quinlan would have loved describing this remarkable endeavor to Lexi. At night, the city of light had not yet found itself. The streets were deserted, and it took lengthy negotiations for a taxi driver to take them to the museum. They stopped in front of the eastmost façade of the palace, an entrance exquisitely sculpted and divided by thirty-four columns. In the center, the large wooden doors opened and a tall black man ushered them inside.

“I am Jean-Pierre Abenon. Welcome to Paris.”

His accent was very thick. Quinlan shook his hand, much larger than his. When Lexi did the same, her tiny fingers were engulfed within his grip. When he spoke again, she had a vague smile. The historian took them to the secret and unseen parts of the buildings. There, beauty was replaced by the practical, with concrete and innumerable shelves. Under the Richelieu wing were stored the antique treasures not currently shown to the public.

“I took the liberty to start a little,” said Jean-Pierre as he rolled up his sleeves. “Here is a list of artifacts that could have belonged to Madame de Montespan.”

He gave them a binder containing a hundred pages. Each sheet represented one tablet and a summary of its history. Quinlan lifted a brow and exchanged a look with Lexi. She mouthed a quiet “wow”.

“Do you know Rabbi Avigdor Levy? He was a scholar executed by Louis XIV.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. How is he involved?”

“The tablets would have belonged to him beforehand. It doesn’t matter, your initial research is of tremendous help. Thank you.”

“Initial being the operative word. Please check what I gave you, and I will continue looking,” he said. He directed them to a desk with several uncomfortable chairs. Jean-Pierre trotted from shelf to shelf before returning to his computer. He repeated this dance over and over again with no sign of slowing. From time to time, he smiled to himself and printed another page.

Quinlan and Lexi poured over the considerable list. Those that were accompanied by a brief translation were easy to discard. None of them spoke of bloodsucking creatures. Most were bills, or simple letters. The desk was soon covered in neat piles arranged by Lexi.

“Here are the ones that are a definite no. Those are a maybe and those are really interesting.”

The first two nights they spent trimming away the tablets that were certainly useless. When they returned the third night, Jean-Pierre waved them in and positively ran toward the stairs leading to the basement. He babbled the entire way.

“I have found something that might be very useful to you! I’ve been sitting on that all day.”

“Jean-Pierre…when do you sleep?” asked Lexi.

“I had a few hours today. I don’t need much, never have. That’s why I work nights.”

“What have you found?” asked Quinlan.

“Trash. I found trash.”

“Excuse me?” said Quinlan.

Intrigued, they approached the desk on which a metallic chest rested. It was the size of a shoe box. Quinlan’s heart lept.

“Is that…?” asked Quinlan.

“It must certainly is.”

“Why did you call it trash?” asked Lexi.

“Well…”

Jean-Pierre put on gloves and carefully opened the chest. Lexi made a pathetic sound, and Quinlan wanted to scream in frustration. The chest was divided into six compartments filled with sand and loose stones. On closer inspection, letters that he now recognized as Sumerian were engraved on the largest fragments.

“Oh…I guess you wanted them intact…”

Jean-Pierre scratched the back of his head. There was a page tucked in the lid of the chest and Quinlan took it. The historian seemed to want to protest, then thought better of it. The paper stated the king had ordered the destruction of the Occido Lumen and six clay tablets.

Quinlan stared at the remnants, as though his gaze could reverse time and bring the pieces back together. He had been so convinced that the answer was there. That something in those strange etchings would bring back their home.

“That’s bad luck but you still have the seventh to work with.”

Both Dhampir turned to him as one, and Jean-Pierre startled.

“After you gave me the name of the person who possessed them before their destruction, I found proof he bought the tablets in 1606. It mentions seven tablets.”

“Where…”

Quinlan could not finish that sentence. Was it lost as well?

“The six tablets have peculiar compositions unique to the region where the clay was extracted. And there is only one other with the same composition…”

Jean-Pierre took a page still waiting in the tray of the printer.

“It’s in Cairo but it’s…weird.”

Under the picture of the tablet, there was a paragraph which included the word “gibberish”. The tablet was written in what appeared like Sumerian but besides the first line, nothing made sense.

“I don’t want to be touting my own horn but technically, I am the foremost specialist in the Sumerian language and this…”

He pointed at the page clutched in Quinlan’s hand.

“…is not it.”

“How is that possible?” asked Lexi.

“I’m not sure...Sumerian is not written like English or French, it’s closer to Japanese kanas. The symbols represent syllables. I see a pattern. It’s not random. But it doesn’t fit anything found in that region at that time, or even right now.”

His large smile was back.

“I like a challenge so…just give me time.”

“We don’t have time,” whispered Lexi.

“The tablet is 3000 years old, hardly news…” he said with a shrug.

Those historians. Quinlan closed his eyes and stopped himself from punching him. The man did not know, and he was helping.

“How long do you think this would take?” asked Quinlan.

Jean-Pierre’s gaze shifted from Lexi’s gloomy expression to Quinlan’s closed fists.

“It took decades to decipher Sumerian last time but…I have tools my predecessors didn’t have. If you hoped for an answer during your stay here huh…I’m sorry but that’s not realistic.”

***

During the flight back, Quinlan finished studying the Occido Lumen and found nothing of value. He did not tell Lexi. She rolled onto herself, staring at the carpeted floors. There was nothing else to do.

Lexi was sound asleep as Quinlan drove them to Greystone. When they arrived, she did not wake. Quinlan kissed her brow, where her stripes split toward her cheeks. Then he carried her inside and tucking her in bed. Exhausted, he hugged her, breathing in her loose hair then authorized himself to sleep.

He stood in a Parisian street, and carriages pulled by horses passed by him. When he looked down he did not wear the suit he expected but the rough cloth that had been his first garment. The sun did not burn. Another dream. Across the full street, Ancharia smiled.

“Mother?”

“One of them.”

She smiled and walked away. Quinlan’s mouth fell open and he forced himself to wake up. With a jerk, he opened his eyes and reached for Lexi’s shoulders.

He wanted to kick himself for being so unfathomably dense.

“Lexi…wake up.”

She grunted and buried her face in her pillow.

“II know what is happening. Why the Bond is gone.”

She turned to him.

“What?”

“We were wrong…we thought only three situations could cut off the Bond.”

“We know only three. What else?”

“How was I born, Lexi?”

She squinted, wiped her eyes and growled.

“I…Your mother was infected.”

“By the Master.”

“Yes? So?”

“Why would she flee? Why would she stay away from him? How did he not find her as she gave birth to me?”

“She was cut off from him,” Lexi murmured.

She shook her head.

“That can’t apply to us.”

Now Quinlan wished she would remain quiet for a moment, so he could listen.

“Quinlan? That doesn’t apply to us. We’re half-breeds. Hybrids are sterile. You never had children.”

“I never had a child with a human.”

“It doesn’t matter…the chromosomes they…they…”

Then she stuttered, unable to complete another sentence. Her heart knocked violently against her ribs.

“Lexi.”

She stopped mumbling and looked back at him. Her eyes were filling with tears. He had to control his own breathing as his heart felt too big for his chest. Quinlan pulled her close and waited until she quieted down. He had never wished for silence harder in his life.

“Lexi, listen.”

Together, they held their breath and focused. Quinlan cursed the house with its creaking bones, the wildlife scurrying about, and that damn wind.

…Oh.

Quinlan half choked. He held Lexi tighter and nuzzled her neck. She gasped because she had found it as well. It was tiny, less than a whisper, quieter than a mouse. A third heartbeat.

[lexiseigneur]

Defiance and Pride, chapter 8.

[lexiseigneur]

Part 2 Chapter 1: The disappeared

2800 B.C.

The queen fled through the trees and the cursed thing followed. She cried out in anguish when it struck, leaving a bloody welt on her shoulder. But she escaped its grasp and ran on. When a river blocked her way, she plunged into its tumultuous waters. On the shore, the thing screamed and paced. She swam fiercely because she had to live. For her people and for her unborn child.

----

Quinlan dreamt. It was obvious as soon as he stepped out of the trees’ shadows. They lined a familiar cobbled road. In dreams, the false sunlight never burned. It gently warmed his skin. On the horizon, the hills and vineyards were blurs, like an impressionist painting. Were he to explore further, the details of this imaginary world would solidify around him. He had done it at times, just to see how intricate it could become.

It had dawned on him recently that the ability to control one’s dreams was uncommon. After Lexi had asked if he missed Europe, Quinlan had explained how he often visited his native Italy and sometimes summoned people from his past to talk to. Her answer had been “You do WHAT?”

While she sometimes noticed she dreamt, she could not influence their course. But Quinlan could, for most of his long life.

Fifty years after their deaths, Quinlan met Tasa and Sura at will. They had been his first motivation at acquiring this ability. Then his pragmatism had taken over.

Mostly, he would use dreams to hone his skills in combat or war tactics. Training was training, whether in dreams or in body.

Quinlan picked up a stone which he rolled between his fingers. Looking, smelling or feeling helped stabilize his dream and assert his control. It had taken a great deal of time to achieve that level of proficiency. Still, the dream could slip away.

Today, he would practice opening his mind further. It frustrated him how he still lagged behind Lexi in that regard. He blamed peaceful times. His quest was over, and some of his drive for perfection had fanned.

For this practice, he elected to summon a guide. It was always the same person. It had been for two thousand years.

“Mother?” he called.

“Quintus.”

He turned around. Ancharia grinned. The intense sun reflected in her grey hair. When she appeared, it was always in the clothes she wore the night of their first encounter.

“You have neglected your training,” she said, surprised.

“I have. Would you like to know why?”

“I cannot imagine a valid reason behind such frivolity.”

This version of Ancharia did not know of his success. Her level of knowledge changed between her appearances. Quinlan failed to understand why. This time her ignorance was agreeable. Who did not enjoy sharing good news?

“Because the Master is dead. Defeated forever.”

Ancharia covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Her eyes turned shiny.

“Oh, my son! You did it! You slew the beast!”

Ancharia hugged him. Quinlan marveled at the warmth of her body and the scent of olive oil in her hair.

“We did. It’s over and we won.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much.”

“You taught me so much, could you help me once more?

“Anything! What do you wish to know, child?”

“I cannot open my mind as much as I wish.”

“I see.”

She took his hand and the countryside melted, replaced by a silver world. His own soul lied ahead and Lexi’s next to it. Everything shimmered with their light.

“Yours is brighter but captive. A firefly in a glass bottle,” said Ancharia with a nod.

Lexi’s soul rippled and danced, free. His was tightly enclosed within a transparent armor.

“How can I break the bottle?”

“You wished it here, simply wish it away.”

“If it were that simple…”

“Oh, but it is that simple. You haven’t done it yet because you are afraid.”

What could that possibly mean? She was part of his mind, so she couldn’t be mistaken.

“You let your light shine through and the feeling terrifies you. It feels like falling. You are scared of breaking once you reach the bottom. As she did.”

Ancharia gestured toward Lexi. Quinlan scowled.

“She is not broken.”

“I said she broke, not that she is still broken. Pay attention, child.”

The tone, soft but full of authority sent him into a whirlwind of nostalgia. Those dreams were wonderful. Those dreams were horrible. Her face turned gentle.

“You love her, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“Then why do you hide things from her?” she whispered.

A man appeared behind her. Sprawled on a concrete floor, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Quinlan knew him because he had killed him. Ancharia peered at Quinlan’s face like a mother would look at a disobedient toddler. He took a step back.

He did not wish to continue this. Quinlan shut his eyes and the dream disintegrated. He awoke. It was not fleeing since this was not really Ancharia.

His Strigoi senses informed him that the sun was still high. Lexi slept deeply, undisturbed by his malaise. He preferred keeping it that way and attempted to fall back asleep. Her cell phone emitted a shrill sound. Lexi slammed her hand on the device then grunted when it rang on.

“This was not the alarm, someone is calling you,” Quinlan said.

She dragged the phone across the nightstand then her pillow. The glow of the phone made them squint. The screen was now shattered but still functional.

“Ha crap…not again,” she mumbled.

Gus’ name was barely visible between the cracks webbing across the glass.

“Gus? What’s happening?” she asked after taking the call.

She slurred her words from sleepiness.

“Yo…Did I wake you? It’s business hours ya know? Not very serious if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Screw you.”

He laughed.

“We’ve got a mission. It’s one of those collab settlements. Argentina this one. They had just started building stuff so it’s just a handful of people. They didn't give news for the last three checkups. This morning, their families went to find them. They cracked their car windows open, smelled ammonia and high gated the fuck out of there.”

Due to constant persecution, which had turned systemic after the passage of discriminatory laws, collaborators of the Strigoi regime sometimes chose self-exile. They built villages in remote areas with elaborate anti-Strigoi protections which required considerable preparations. Healthy and capable settlers arrived first and more vulnerable members of their families followed. Lexi looked at Quinlan and grimaced.

“Hey, Gus…I’m sorry but…”

“No,” he said instantly.

“I’ve got to be at the lab tomorrow…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s not something I can postpone.”

“Fine…fine. You gonna owe me for this one again. What about Q?”

Quinlan took the phone. Lexi buried her face in her pillow, and he stroked her back.

“The locals say there are caves nearby, a whole maze of them. We think they hide in there. A damn death trap.”

“Are those caves mapped?”

Gus had a sardonic snort.

“Not even a little.”

“I can still manage by myself and Eva can take Lexi’s team. When do we depart?”

“In six hours. See ya.”

He hung up which prompted Lexi to bury her face deeper.

“He will forgive and forget eventually. Not that there is anything to forgive. Having both of us for such a simple mission is redundant,” said Quinlan.

“He is so pig-headed…last time I missed a mission he called me ‘ma’am’ for a week.”

“Perhaps I should miss missions more often…”

Just a week prior Gus had called him a “snarky stuck-up party-pooper”. Whatever that meant.

Lexi looked at him with one eye and her cheek rounded from a smile. Of course, she would remember as well. It had been a source of great hilarity.

“I guess I should get ready and leave with you if I don’t want to run to New York,” she said and stretched out of bed. They had only one car.

“We still have plenty of time…if I drive.”

The mission might take anything from two days to a week. It sounded short and in the scope of his lifetime, it was laughable. But every second out of each other’s light felt like an eternity. Quinlan gently pulled her back to bed.

****

Raul was quiet and grave after he picked Quinlan up from Manhattan. He should have been sharing the details of the mission and the plans he had no doubt already devised with his cousin. Something was bothering him, and Quinlan detailed his face for a clue. Unshaven and dull-eyed, the Sun Hunter formed a sorry picture.

“You are distracted,” said Quinlan.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

Quinlan would not ask for more. It did not appear like the issue was relevant to the mission. It was likely a personal matter.

“Eva and I broke up. She wants kids and I don’t. T’was mutual but shit it still sucks.”

There was a moment of silence. Lexi would have described it as ‘awkward’. She also would have encouraged him to support Raul in this trying time. Humans liked to have their choices validated.

“It sounds to me like you both made a sensible choice. Procreation is not a subject that allows for compromise.”

Raul looked at him in complete disbelief then burst out laughing.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the one who actually gets it. Everyone from Gus to my fucking mailman thinks I’m an idiot, and I should just have a kid with her because I would end up liking it anyway.”

His lips rose in disgust.

“What kind of fucked up advice is that? Like what if I don’t end up liking it? I can’t return the kid, can I?”

“No, I do not believe there is such a thing as a return policy on offspring.”

“Thank you! They all act like I’m some kind of monster. And I want to scream at them that they are the messed-up ones.”

Quinlan did not want to encourage Raul’s ranting but this last point picked his curiosity.

“How so?”

“Those guys from Iceland…you read their report? Yeah, so they say we won’t get rid of the Strigoi at this rate. Except if we make a vaccine. And the handful of brainiacs left say it won’t happen. I’m not having a kid if there is a single chance they might end up infected and then they’d have to swallow a fucking pill and I’d have to hold their hand while they die. Or worse.

“They would not swallow that pill and they would turn and I would have to hunt them down and look in the face of my kid, with their brains too scrambled for them to understand who I am. Then I’d have to kill them. Like when Lexi killed Amir. I’m not doing that.”

“You think the others irresponsible for not having such considerations?”

“You bet your ass I do. But I’m not gonna tell them that. Would be social suicide.”

Raul shook his head.

“And I get it, you know? I love Angela, and I would die for her but she ain’t even mine and I worry all the fucking time.”

Quinlan worried about those humans as well. And above all, he worried about the Sun Hunters. But his fear was different. Humans did not expect to bury the children they loved while he lived with that certainty. He worried their ends might come too early or too painfully. Quinlan considered his fellow Hunter under a new light and with more respect.

“You know Amir would have been twenty-five tomorrow?” asked Raul.

Lexi had told him, but he found it too crushing to keep track of such anniversaries. Should he maintain that habit, his entire year would be spent grieving.

 The airport was almost empty. Few New Yorkers were willing to leave the safety of their city. After the first checkpoint, Raul and Quinlan waited in the quarantine area for two hours. In that room, the walls were covered with various instructions and information. Posters gave advice on avoiding Strigoi abroad (staying inside at night, avoiding forests and countrysides etc…). In a corner, a smaller placard showed the faces of collaborators on the run, including the two doctors who had so far escaped their execution following the Manhattan trials. The larger posters encouraged travelers to report any person showing symptoms of infection to the dedicated hotline of their destination countries. Such telephone numbers were listed underneath.

Raul took this time to share all that he knew about the mission. Seventeen men and two women were missing and drone sweeps had found nothing. The locals would direct them to the caves but were instructed to remain put for the moment. Quinlan agreed with that order. It would be stupid to send humans to their deaths when this was a trivial task for him.

Nurses came with U.V. lights. Unsurprisingly, Raul was not infected and they did not attempt to check Quinlan for worms. The flight would last fourteen hours and to prevent Raul from opening up about his feelings once more, Quinlan extracted a book from his pocket.

“Watcha reading?”

“A Tale of Two Cities.”

“Dickens, huh? A bit modern for you, no?”

Quinlan looked up, mildly surprised Raul knew about that novel. Then he read on as Raul took out a familiar comic book from his bag.

“You read this drivel as well?”

“Lexi is right you know, this is tight.”

-----

Their New York apartment was small, but the simple decoration made it feel bigger. Though the population in the city had decreased dramatically after the Fall, real estate was still rare despite laws promoting their availabilities. Buildings close to the blast of the atomic bomb had been deemed too structurally unstable and were being demolished one by one. Other flats and houses still required thorough decontamination. No one wanted another plague because a worm had managed to survive in a carpet.

Lexi waited for opening hours by watching TV. Since Quinlan did not care for this form of entertainment, she took advantage of his absence to enjoy shows. Some of them had laugh tracks, and she could only imagine the judging looks Quinlan would have given her. It was soon time for her to go.

The neighbors often rushed to their doors to watch her leave. She pretended she could not hear their hurried steps and their breathing when she locked her door and made her way to the elevator. It was time to abandon this flat. Humans here had grown too curious. Perhaps this time they could find something more isolated. She would insist on it.

A delivery man grunted a hello without looking up from his phone when the doors slid open. Somewhere after they passed the tenth floor he must have looked up because his heartrate became deafening. She also ignored him.

A few years ago she might have attempted a nod or a smile, but she had since learned it was pointless. Adults stared or attempted too hard not to. Children old enough to have seen Strigoi sometimes cried and once a very old woman had fainted.

Fortunately, Lexi could drive from her building parking lot to the one in her office of her company, Lifeline. Her assistant welcomed her with a pile of papers to sign. The red circle logo of the company and its name, Lifeline, was printed on each page.

“Could you get me a replacement phone and send this one out for repair?” she asked.

She took her sim card and memory card out of the phone before handing it out to him.

“At this point, you might want to consider buying screens in bulk.”

“Or they could make them sturdier.”

“I doubt anyone is making anything of this brand at the moment. The prices increase all the time.”

“Thanks for the info. Look up if they are any companies making phones and get me one of those.”

It was a common problem. Qualified workers and infrastructure were used for essentials and as long as old electronics were available from the pre-Fall times, resources were rarely spared to produce more. For her own company, it had also been a struggle. Most of their equipment during the first year had come from local universities whose labs were deserted. Three-quarter of the staff working with this equipment had been trained on the job.

Things were finally running smoothly. Now they were producing blood locally in other countries. Today a German envoy had come to open another lab in Munich. They had the equipment and needed cell cultures and know-how.

Lexi stood behind a two-way mirror, a small microphone against her cheek. The receiver was tucked neatly in her employee’s ear and hidden by her thick dark hair. Her name was Claire. The prospective client entered and they greeted each other then sat on each side of a large desk. Humanity was not ready for a Dhampir selling blood.

“So you are interested in opening a production facility with us…” said Claire with an impassible face.

“I believe there’s been a mistake.”

The man smiled without any sign of confusion. Lexi decided she did not like him.

“You’re not interested in buying blood? We don’t sell anything else,” said Claire without returning the smile.

“We are interested in all of Lifeline. The entire company.”

He took out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and deposited it ostensibly within Claire’s reach. She didn’t acknowledge it.

“It’s not for sale.”

“My employer has the infrastructure to produce and distribute blood to half the world.”

Lexi rolled her eyes. The half of the world in question being the one that could pay generously for it.

“It changes nothing,” said Claire as she got up and pulled down on her blazer jacket.

“Your unwillingness to expand this enterprise kills people.”

Claire tilted her head and Lexi stopped herself from growling.

“What we’ve done so far has saved plenty, and we‘ll continue doing so by ourselves.”

“Make him leave. You don’t need to be polite,” said Lexi.

“By coming here under false pretenses, you wasted your time. Worse, you wasted my time. Security is on its way.”

Lexi chuckled. Unless Claire had telepathic powers, no one was on their way. The man shrugged, tossed a card on the desk and strutted out of the room. He did not linger in the building but he also did not rush.

Claire sat back down, undid her tight bun and kicked off her shoes.

“We were preparing for this extension for weeks. You should eat him.”

“I cannot eat people just because you don’t like them.”

“Not with that attitude,” she mumbled.

Lexi removed the earpiece and returned to the office.

“Let’s hope the next one isn’t a capitalist pig,” Claire said as she picked up her shoes.

“I’ll close the file and join you at the lab when I’m done.”

Lexi took the card and sat down. It was the man’s name and number as well as the name of his company, Axatus Inc. and its symbol, an infinity loop. She shoved it in a drawer on a pile of dozens of such cards. Lexi ground her teeth. Quinlan had gone on a mission without her because of a dick who thought he could make money on the backs of the sick. She opened her laptop and searched for the next flight for Argentina. Only the next day. At that time, the Sun Hunters would be at the mission site in the middle of nowhere. Possibly already finished. Today would be another day of boring lab work and phone calls. She held her head. It felt so empty. Of all days to be alone, this one sucked. Lexi took a deep breath and went to work.

***

The Belvedere Castle’s exterior had changed since the Master’s head had rolled on its terrace. The Mayor had converted it into a museum about the Fall. Or rather a warning that betraying one’s race would not be forgiven nor forgotten. The only “frivolous” spending authorized by the city’s administration.

With a handful of flowers bought from a nearby vendor, Lexi strolled the path leading to the open-air theater. As the sun set, the clear skies were more golden than ochre. Facing the pond, slabs of granite stood erect. The names of the fallen were etched on the stone. Those who had fought the Master but not lived long enough to see victory. The list was not in alphabetical order. On the first stone at the very top, she read the name Abraham Setrakian. Followed by Dutch Velders, Vasily Fet, Nora Martinez, and Ephraim Goodweather. Next to the names were holes just large enough to accommodate the stem of a flower. When she knew the name, even vaguely, she deposited a white rose. When she reached the last name, a stone weighted her stomach. She spoke to him in her mind, and she imagined the words forever lost in the silver place.

“Happy birthday.”

She could almost hear Amir laugh at her. Others were coming and she left before fearful humans could spot her.

Lexi needed to run an errand then she could return to Greystone. There was no way she would face Gus without an apology. And those worked better in the form of a gift.

Lexi seldom shopped in New York. She also took care to never do so with any regularity or discernable pattern. At every gate leading to the city and at the main exit at the airport once could read the city’s motto: “New York, safest city in the world.”

And it was true by any measure. Little to no crime, no homelessness, and above all, no Strigoi. But Lexi had not felt safe in the city since the Manhattan trials.

Only a handful of people roamed the supermarket when Lexi entered. She made a detour in the aisles to avoid them and reached the back shelves. Bright red and with random goods carefully displayed. Some were secured down with chains, others were attached to bulky anti-theft devices.

Lexi had noticed with the years that while Gus shared liquor or wine readily with other Hunters, there was a bottle he didn’t. In a state of drunken cheerfulness, he had shared how his mother had given him his first drink on his eighteenth birthday in the form of cherry liquor and coke. Of course, it hadn’t actually been his first drink but still. Every birthday, they toasted with it. By Lexi’s estimate, Gus had two birthdays worth of cherry liquor left, and the coke was long gone.

After calling half a dozen shops, this was the only one still stocked with those products. With a satisfied grunt, she grabbed the bottles. Finding the perfect present was always a thrill.

Only one person stood at the cashier’s desk and she waited with her head down. Under those lights even with her hood and her tinted glasses people would notice her skin if they paid attention.

“That’ll be 75 dollars,” said the cashier, a young man, with an empty expression.

“But no…I used my food card. This is all food.”

Lexi sighed quietly and took a step back. This would take a while. The cashier rolled his eyes and pointed at the groceries.

“Green labels go on food cards but not blue or red ones. If you put back the steaks and the pancake mix then you’re golden.”

“But…”

“Look, you can either pay for those or put them back. There is no haggling here.”

“Fine,” he said and tossed the two items toward the cashier. Then lower he added “stupid commie system.”

The cashier looked at him with the wounded pride of a New Yorker.

“You can go back to Chicago and starve with the rest of them.”

The customer turned bright red, almost swelling from his anger. Until the security guard walked by as if taking a stroll. After scanning the food card once more, the total fell to zero dollars but a warning appeared.

“Are you aware this will max out your card for a week?” said the cashier in a rehearsed tone.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Are you aware your choice of items lacks sufficient intake of a vital nutrient?”

“That’s ‘cause you took my damn steaks.”

The cashier clicked another button and a table listing vitamins popped on the screen.

“We advise you to consider switching to the iodine enriched bread or including serving of seaweed salad. Both those items are currently available here, for your convenience.”

“Fuck you,” said the man and left with his groceries.

“Charming,” whispered Lexi.

For a moment the cashier nodded in agreement until he looked at her face. He made a strange strangled sound, but still scanned the items.

“It’ll be 205 dollars,” he said. “Please.”

His voice was suddenly high-pitched. She paid and left quickly. With a stone in the pit of the stomach, she rushed out of the city.

-----

The situation perturbed Quinlan. Details stood out as soon as they reached the cave.

Its entrance formed a wound in a wall of sharp stone and bled a trickle of water. The Sun Hunters stayed behind and stared at the wet sand with similar apprehension. The soil stretched undisturbed, save for Quinlan’s boot prints. For good measure, he closed his eyes and focused. Sterile water and the mineral scent of old places. In the depth of the cave, the rushing of an underground river. Strigoi could not inhabit that maze and he would not risk venturing deeper.

“Is there another entrance?” asked Quinlan as he returned to the hunters.

“The locals say that’s the only one,” said Gus.

“They assumed the villagers were gone but I doubt they searched their houses thoroughly. If their first idea is that Strigoi are suddenly able to cross streams, I’d think twice about trusting their every judgment.”

Raul waved over their local guide and asked him in Spanish if they had searched the village. He looked at them with incredulity.

“Ni en pedo,” he said. He maintained a good distance between him and Quinlan.

“What did that mean?” asked Quinlan, unfamiliar with the expression.

“Don’t know but it doesn’t matter, we’re gonna check anyway,” said Gus.

Then he grumbled about “weird-ass vanishing Strigs”.

 A dozen houses surrounded a hangar. The buildings nestled within the confines of high fences surmounted by U.V lights. The gate hung wide open. The Sun Hunters divided into units to search the habitations. Piles of beams, bricks and power tools stood by most. Half the buildings lacked windows. One didn’t have a roof.

Quinlan squinted despite his sunglasses and hood. Sunlight fell mercilessly on his head. In the distance, a chain of mountains appeared almost as blue as the sky. Not a trace of civilization as far as he could see. The vegetation was sparse but the settlers had had no intention of cultivating the ground classically. Even with more regular sunlight than up north, indoor farming remained more reliable.

The teams emerged from the houses empty-handed. Unsurprising. The ammonia scent was diffuse and he could not hear the savage sounds produced by Strigoi.

Only the hangar remained unsearched.

“Get the spikes,” he asked a Hunter.

For Strigoi hiding in soil, they used javelins coated with silver. The hangar reminded him strongly of the lowest level of the bunker. It smelled of wet dirt and fertilizer but not of sap. They had not yet planted anything. Soil filled half a dozen elevated beds deep enough to accommodate trees. And slumbering Strigoi.

Eva and Raul’s units had the spikes. It satisfied Quinlan to see them work together without a trace of awkwardness. When he glanced at Gus, he could tell he was making the same observation. Quietly, a dozen hunters spread and lifted the metal spikes above the black dirt. The rest stood at the ready with carefully aimed rifles. Quinlan also prepared, wounding up his leg muscles and drawing his sword.

Eva and Raul looked at each other, and she raised one finger, then two then three. At that mark, the Hunters stabbed down as one. The spikes pierced the soil. Quinlan tensed, his gaze sliding across all the visible earth. Nothing happened.

Strange.

Gus pinched the base of his nose and exchanged a look with Quinlan. He slashed at his own neck with his hand and Quinlan nodded.

“Listen up, guys! Pack all the gear except for the drones. Marcus, we do a last sweep, I’ll drive.”

The Hunters just as disappointed as their boss returned to the SUVs and loaded back all their equipment. Marcus tweaked with his drone by the jeep.

“You can smell them, right?” Gus asked.

“I do but only in the settlement and its repartition is unfocused. Rather unusual.”

“This shit ain’t right.”

“Agreed. I will investigate the houses.”

Gus departed with Marcus. The buzzing of the drone soon crisscrossed the clear sky.

The houses were Spartan and all identical. Merely blocks of wood and concrete built for safety without any regard for aesthetics. Inside each finished house, he found signs of struggle. Broken furniture, smears of dried blood already swarming with flies and the diffuse stench of ammonia.

Something about the blood also bothered him. He could not put his finger on the exact reason until he reached the kitchen of the last house. There had been a fight in there. The table was broken across the middle and the floor spattered with the remnants of an uneaten meal.

Quinlan ignored those distracting scents. He followed a faint trail and found his target under the fridge. Without much effort, he tossed the piece of furniture aside. Underneath, he found dust, more spilled food and a thin metal cylinder the size of a battery. It ended in a vicious barb covered with blood. The probe of a Taser.

Quinlan brought the object up to his nose. Now he knew. This was what he should have been smelling until now. Pure human blood, this one O negative. In the other houses, the blood had been what he expected from a bag. Old blood with the tinge of a mild anti-coagulant used for preservation. He had spent so long consuming such treated blood that his nose had grown accustomed to the perfume of the drug. Quinlan put the probe in his pocket and went back to the SUV. He hailed Raul.

“I need a UV lamp.”

Raul, without question, rummaged in one of the trunks and tossed him a heavy torchlight.

Quinlan returned to the kitchen and closed all blinds. He switched on the lamp and the purple glow filled the room. Fluorescent yellow specks covered the floors and the lower parts of the walls. Strigoi guano. Like a mist. It made little sense for a Strigoi to release its waste that way. It also made little sense for Strigoi to use weapons on their prey.

“Call Gus and tell him to come back,” he told Raul as he handed him the UV lamp back.

“You found something?”

“I found evidence that no Strigoi ever stepped inside this settlement. This is a simple case of human on human violence. Not our problem.”

“What the fuck?”

He showed him the Taser probe. Eva stared with keen interest.

“I don’t recognize the brand. Must be a new one,” she said.

“Someone sprayed Strigoi guano inside the houses as well as bagged blood. This was staged.”

Eva made a wry face.

“You think someone didn’t like the idea of collabs living the high life?”

“A highly trained and resourceful someone then,” said Quinlan.

“Yeah, so they won’t ever find them and if they do it’s gonna be in tiny pieces.”

“Possibly, but it does not involve us.”

When they informed their Argentinian guide, he was relieved.

“So there are no Strigoi here? It’s safe?” he said in Spanish with an accent that made it difficult for Quinlan to follow.

“Yes, but you might want to call the police since…” said Raul.

“Of course,” said the guide insincerely.

“Give them this,” added Quinlan and he handed the probe which the guide took reluctantly.

He held the object as if ready to toss it away as soon as he was free of their gazes.

“We’ll call in a few days to check that you do,” said Raul.

The guide waved impatiently and after more pushing from Raul, promised to inform the local authorities. Quinlan doubted the investigation would amount to anything. After all, who cared about a handful of missing collaborators?

***

Quinlan was not in a pleasant mood when they landed in New York. None of the Sun Hunters were. They dragged themselves out of the plane and toward the luggage retrieval area. No satisfaction of a job well done counterbalanced their fatigue.

“Maybe I should just retire,” Gus said after sipping at a cup of cheap coffee bought in the airport.

A few white hairs peppered his temples and looked away. By human standard, Gus was young, merely in his thirties. By Hunter standards he was well within his rights to quit and enjoy a comfortable pension.

Of the Sun Hunters who had celebrated the cleaning of New York, few remained. The crowd of Hunter attracted looks, friendly nods and a few cheers. Quinlan cared little for such attention but it helped his human companions.

When they made their way to the parking lot, they stood straighter. Quinlan took the wheel and Gus sat in the passenger seat while in the back Raul and another Hunter snoozed.

“Will you? Retire?” asked Quinlan.

“Dunno. I always feel like that when something goes to shit. Let me finish my coffee. When my brains start back up, maybe I'll know.”

He raised his cup and took another sip. When Quinlan pulled up in front of the Sun Hunter headquarters, he could not feel Lexi within the city. Quinlan checked his phone. She had gone back to Greystone as her work deal had come short. On the last line of her text, she wrote,

“If you focus I'm sure you would be able to see me from New York.”

He borrowed a car then left the city. The canals running through the streets had been decommissioned threes year after New York’s clearing. It was dark but the streets were bright and bustling with life. It was always jarring when they traveled to other cities. In most of the world, humans stayed inside their homes at night. Most shops opened and closed depending on sunlight hours.

New York was free of those concerns. While here humans felt safe, it did not change how hideous those buildings and streets were.

He stopped in a deserted road still hours from Greystone, cut the engine and used the silence of the countryside to look within himself. Dream Ancharia’s words distracted him for an instant but he succeeded in pushing them away.

Lexi had told him to find the door that would lead to the silver place. But its doorknob was round and smooth and slippery. The whole exercise frustrated him. Through this door, he would be able to see but most of the time he didn't. He simply attempted to relax until he felt warm all over. When he did that near her then he felt her as though touching her with invisible hands.

He tried both. Failed at the first then also at the second. He tried again until the frustration made him growl. It was pointless. Quinlan took the road again.

When he reached the familiar forest of Greystone, he still could not feel Lexi. He was surprised since at that distance the Bond should have been back. The deeper he drove, the more his surprise morphed into worry.

“Lexi?”

There was no answer because she was not there. But her car was. When he entered, her bag sat in the entrance.

The wooden floor of their bedroom creaked. He focused on that sound and found another. A heartbeat. Someone was in the house. He tried again to find the Bond and failed.  

This was his home and someone had violated it with their unwanted presence. A burglar? Or someone with more nefarious intentions? His thought went to the terrorist who had almost blinded Lexi.

Quinlan growled lowly, unsheathed his sword and ran up the stairs. A body smashed into him and his sword left his grip. As they tumbled down the stairs in a mess of limbs, Quinlan noticed several things.

White hair, inhuman strength and the perfume of limes with a sweet finish. Their fall ended abruptly as they collided against a wall. Both jumped to their feet in a eerily similar fashion. She stared at him with wide eyes and he gawked back. It made no sense.

As thought in pain, she touched her temples and shook her head. She looked the same, smelled the same but she could not be here because the Bond was not. Their home, the real one, the only that mattered, was gone. If he had been able to vomit, he’d have done so.

“How?” whispered Lexi.

----

The woman tossed a piece of paper on the table. It was a police report in Spanish.

“They were sloppy. This can’t happen again.”

“If this new formulation works, there won’t be any need for more subjects,” said the man.

“You actually think we are going to find a formulation that works?”

“Well, yes…you don’t? Why the hell did you accept this then?”

“Because I was tired of hiding and if another rich idiot wants to waste his money on this wild goose chase, who am I to refuse?”

He shook his head.s

“If we manage we won’t need to run. It would dwarf the invention of vaccines or the discovery of antibiotics. We could help peop…”

“Shut up. Don’t give me the help people crap or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Fine. But at least tell me you understand this is our way out of this mess.”

“I do, I also think it’s not the only way out.”

[lexiseigneur]

The Strain-quinlan vaun by sher05 on DeviantArt

Cool painting by sher05

[lexiseigneur]

Wip by randis on DeviantArt

Beautiful portrait by randis.

[lexiseigneur]

Quinlan 1 er by erikRose on DeviantArt

Quinlan 1 er by erikRose

Beautiful!

[jaylidays]

(ʃƪ¬‿¬)

[lexiseigneur]

250815:knight by Creature13 on DeviantArt

250815:knight by Creature13

[lexiseigneur]

p13

[lexiseigneur]

p12