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Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Thirteen
by Lianne Burwell
May 2002
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Many people think of the dark as just an absence of light and 
think that they've what it's like to be in the dark. A room in the 
middle of the night with the lights off, a basement during a 
blackout. Little things like that.

But people who've experienced *true* darkness knew that these 
people were fooling themselves. Darkness was more than just an 
absence of light -- and none of those conditions people called 
darkness were ever truly *without* light. Darkness was a taste, a 
touch, a sound. Darkness wrapped you up in bonds that would never 
be fully released.

Darkness was all around, as heavy as a wool blanket, as all 
encompassing as despair. The only sound was water, trickling at 
first, then slowly growing in speed, a strangely malignant sound. 
And the smell was overwhelming, of rot and decay and things long 
dead. The feel underhand was of dirt and slime and concrete. The 
air was closing in, squeezing badly needed breath away, even 
though breath wasn't necessary.

And underlying it all was the overwhelming fear. Fear of what was 
ahead. Fear of what was behind. And most of all, fear of *him*.

In the end, it was the fear that forced reluctant feet to keep 
moving, pressing forward, until the tight walls suddenly 
disappeared, resulting in a bone-jarring drop into fetid water.

And now a choice: Which way to go? Which way to safety? Was there 
even any safety to be found?

And behind, the sound of footsteps and voice calling, both mocking 
and angry.

No time to hesitate. Pick a direction and go.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac woke, thrashing in an attempt to get away from the bindings 
holding him in place. They didn't give, and he panicked. Suddenly 
he could feel the pressure of god only knew how many feet of soil 
pressing down on top of him, slowly crushing him alive, and no one 
was going to find him, no one was going to save him. He was going 
to die there, over and over again, no matter what he did.

"Mac. Mac!"

The voice calling him was familiar, and he latched onto it like a 
life line. Bit by bit, the panic receded. The bindings holding him 
turned out to be only bed sheets. And the darkness was *not* 
complete. The hall light was one, spilling a cheery pool of light 
into the bedroom.

Vic was untangling him, as quickly as possible. As soon as the 
sheet was gone, Mac ran for the bathroom. He hunched over the 
toilet, dry heaving, but nothing came up. He shivered.

"Mac, are you all right?" Vic asked, carefully touching his 
shoulder.

Mac rubbed his eyes, then stood up. His stomach didn't seem quite 
so eager to tie itself into tiny knots anymore. "Not really, but I 
will be," he answered honestly. For the moment, food was 
definitely out, but a shower sounded like a really good idea. He 
stepped into the stall and turned the water on warm. A moment 
later, Vic quickly stripped and followed him.

Mac stood, eyes shut, under the spray, trying to let go of the 
tension left over from his dream. After a moment, He felt a soapy 
sponge go to work on his back, and sighed. There was nothing 
teasing in the touch, no attempt to seduce, just a firm scrubbing 
motion. He let his head hang forward and just enjoyed. Even better 
than a massage, he thought.

"Ready to talk about it?" Vic said when he finished, setting the 
sponge on a shelf. Mac grabbed it and turned around to return the 
favor.

"Not much to tell," he said, concentrating on his task. If he 
concentrated on this, he might be able to wipe away the dream's 
immediacy. "Cramped darkness, with the sound of water and the most 
god-awful smell. And with the sheet wrapped tight around me, for a 
moment I was..." He stopped, not willing to put into words what 
he'd been feeling.

Vic winced, and didn't press. He was a pretty savvy guy: he'd 
probably figured out what Mac hadn't said. "Was it just a 
nightmare?" he asked, turning so that Mac could scrub his back. 
The graceful line of his spine drew Mac touch, and he traced it 
from Vic's neck down to the valley between the cheeks of his 
perfect ass, making the man shiver, before returning to the task 
of cleaning.

"I don't know," he finally said. "It's a little confused. But 
other than the end, it wasn't my memories." That seemed like a 
pretty good dance around the subject to him. "Certainly the smell 
certainly wasn't a memory. I've smelled some pretty rank things in 
my life, but that took the cake."

Vic reached for him, and Mac dropped the sponge in favor of 
wrapping himself around the man. They didn't have time for this, 
but the little bit of comfort was just what he needed. Then they 
turned off the water, dried quickly and dressed. Mac heated 
breakfast for them while Vic called the Agency to find out if 
there's been any news during the day. He listened for a minute, 
then hung up and took the mug that Mac held out to him. "Nothing," 
he said with a frown.

Mac sighed. "Well, in this case maybe no news is good news. No 
news means no body." He shuddered at the thought of Jackie in an 
alley, mutilated like the others. Jackie drove him up the wall at 
times, but he'd actually gotten to like her since she'd joined the 
Agency, especially after he and LiAnn had nearly come to blows 
over Vic's change. He still could hear LiAnn crying that Vic would 
have been better off dead, and that it was all *his* fault that 
Vic was like that. The words had hurt like hell, and he'd wondered 
if she'd been thinking of restarting her relationship with the ex-
cop. He hadn't liked that idea much at all. Jackie, on the other 
hand, had reassured him that he'd done the right thing, and that 
LiAnn was just being an idiot.

Now, between Jackie being missing, and LiAnn missing even longer, 
he was about ready to go nuts, and his only real idea had been a 
spectacular flop, since his dream wasn't exactly something that 
they could use as a map to find their missing partners.

Mac quickly inhaled some blood to replace missing energy, rinsed 
his mug, and put it away. Vic was still standing next to the phone 
still, a frown on his face. Mac fidgeted for a moment, then 
sighed. "So, you got any ideas? 'Cause I'm fresh out," Mac said. 
He was itching to get moving, his instincts demanding action, but 
without a plan, they would just be going in circles.

Vic grimaced. "Not really. Well, maybe one, but..." He stopped.

"Well, what is it?" Mac asked, resisting the urge to role his 
eyes.

"That thing." He pointed at Mac, and Mac looked down, just 
realizing that he was still wearying the pendant. The leather was 
still damp against his neck.

"It didn't work before," he pointed out.

"Maybe. But did it not work because of it, or because both you and 
Jackie were asleep?"

Mac blinked at that. "I never considered that," he said slowly. 
"And when I dreamed of Kata, it didn't really match what 
eventually happened. It was more of a symbolic thing."

"And you wanted to try it this morning, but the sun came up before 
we could do anything but get home. So, why not try it now?"

Mac was still a little dubious. "I still don't know how make it 
work. That's why I wanted to go to Sophia's place; to get her help 
with it."

Vic's expression darkened a little at that. "I called that in, 
asked the tech geeks to do some checking, since you overslept 
sunset by a bit. The address we went to has been officially vacant 
for nearly seven years. The previous owners died, and the heirs 
never moved in and never tried to sell the place. They're going to 
do some more checking, though. I don't suppose Sofia ever gave a 
last name?" Mac shrugged. "I didn't think so."

"Then should we even risk it?" Mac asked worriedly. "I mean, this 
makes me wonder just what she was doing here, so can we trust what 
she did to it?" His hand came up to touch the metal, then 
flinched. He couldn't picture giving Vic's gift up for any reason, 
but suddenly it made him nervous.

Vic looked like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. "You said 
it was giving you dreams long before Sofia even came along," he 
finally said.

Mac considered the idea, then nodded. "It's not like we have a lot 
of choice in the matter anyway," he said with a shrug. "The only 
problem is, how?"

"I haven't clue," Vic said, a small, rueful smile making his lips 
twitch. "I was hoping you did."

Mac thought about it for a minute. "Okay. I'll need the living 
room, and no distractions, so turn off the phones."

Vic moved to do that, while Mac headed into the bathroom for his 
meditation supplies: natural candles and some incense imported 
from China that made him think of home.

He drew the heavy drapes in the living room and turned off the 
lights, then set out the candles on top of the coffee table. He 
lit them, and a stick of incense, then sat down on the sofa cross-
legged. A little soft music might have helped, but he didn't want 
to take the time to go hunting through their music collection -- 
which didn't include much mood music -- for something appropriate.

He started out with deep breathing, drawing in a breath through 
his nostrils, holding it deep inside him, then releasing it out 
through his mouth. It might seem a little silly, since he could 
get by without breathing, but it was traditional, and it helped to 
relax him. He shut his eyes so that the only light he saw was the 
red glow of the candle flames through his eyelids and dropped 
deeper into relaxation, reaching for that half-conscious, floating 
feeling. He pictured himself sinking into the sea, the waters 
growing darker around him as he sank, until all light was gone and 
the darkness wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, 
completely unlike his dream.

As the darkness became complete, he became aware of a point of 
heat, pressed against his chest, just below the collarbone, and 
recognized it as the pendant. He turned his attention to it, and 
wrapped his mental self around the piece of carved metal. He 
pictured the dips and curves of the surface ornamentation and 
followed them, until it was perfectly clear in his mind.

Then, he thought of Jackie, picturing her as she'd been when he'd 
seen her last: The clothing she'd been wearing, the way her hair 
had been styled, the expression on her face.

Immediately, the image shifted. The blouse was ripped, and blood 
smeared her forehead. She was covered in dirt and ash, and 
cursing. She was pushing her way through a narrow tunnel, and the 
smell, the slimy feel, and the sound of water, all of it the same 
as his dream, was back.

>>>~~~<<<

Jackie kept moving as fast as the dark tunnel would let her. She 
hadn't got far before the sun had risen high enough to force her 
to sleep, even if she was far out of the light's reach. She'd 
managed to force herself awake well before sunset, moving on. She 
tried not to think of just what she'd been sleeping in.

The tiny passageway had connected with the storm sewers -- she 
could see light from above through the occasional drain -- and 
she'd been surprised to find that she could walk almost completely 
upright: she'd never realized just how large the sewer system 
under the city was, or how much there was. The drains above her 
were out of reach, other than a few that had turned out to be 
bolted shut, and the number of side tunnels had been dizzying. 
Considering the fact that she didn't have a clue where she was, 
she could easily end up wandering the tunnels for days. Thankfully 
there'd been so little rain for the last while that the sewers 
were almost dry.

Unfortunately, she couldn't afford to keep wandering blindly. Even 
though she had a head start that probably came to a couple hours, 
Sanji was out there, and she had the sinking feeling that he 
probably knew these tunnels better than she did. All she could do 
was keep moving and pray that she found an exit, somewhere, so 
that she could call for help.

"Little night-walker, you can run, but you can't hide."

Jackie hissed at the sound of Sanji's voice coming from all around 
her. It had bounced through tunnels until she couldn't tell what 
direction it was coming from. It seemed like it was coming from a 
great distance, and also from right behind her.

Jackie pushed away from the wall smeared with who-knew-what and 
started moving again. Sooner or later, she was going to find an 
exit, she just prayed that it was before Sanji found *her*.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic watched Mac, doing his best not to fidget. Just a year ago it 
would have been impossible, but the training he'd had from the 
Gangrel in town had helped. Hunting prey required periods of 
waiting perfectly still. He just tapped into that training while 
he waited for Mac to wake up again.

While he waited, he engaged in one of his pastimes: Mac watching. 
If it weren't for the urgency of the current situation, this could 
almost be considered romantic. The candlelight gave everything a 
warm glow, especially Mac's skin, softening all edges. Mac's 
still-wet hair glittered in the flicker, like it had been dusted 
with diamond dust. With his eyes shut and his expression relaxed, 
Mac looked the picture of perfect serenity, like a Buddhist monk. 
Completely unlike his waking attitude.

Vic stifled a snort. He was getting soft if he was starting to 
think of Mac in poetic terms. Of course, he wasn't going to tell 
Mac about it. He'd tried once with LiAnn, but all it had inspired 
in her was a fit of giggles, and he wasn't about to risk that 
again. He just wasn't cut out for the romantic shit, he guessed.

His cellphone vibrated against his hip, and he got up as quietly 
as possible and headed for the bedroom where he wouldn't disturb 
the other man, although Mac seemed pretty deep in his trance and 
didn't even stir as Vic left.

With the door shut carefully behind him, he answered the still 
vibrating phone.

"Hello, Vic."

Vic blinked. He should have been surprised, but somehow he wasn't. 
"Hello, LiAnn," he said in a remarkably calm voice.

"What's new?"

"Oh, not much. A serial killer is running around our city, 
pretending to be you, killing people you've slept with, leaving a 
dead cop outside of the Agency. Oh yeah, and right now, he's got 
Jackie. What's new with you?" His voice had risen during the 
recital, and he closed his eyes and counted to ten. It helped. 
Slightly.

"Oh, a great deal, but I don't think we need to go into that right 
now, do you?"

"And why not?" Vic asked, leaning against the wall, one hand 
holding the phone to his ear and the other arm wrapped around his 
ribs. His eyes were focused on the wall opposite where a print 
hung. The image was a delicate watercolor of an early 
archaeological dig in Egypt that Mac had brought home and hung one 
day. When Vic had asked about it -- it wasn't exactly what he 
thought of as the man's style -- Mac had made a comment about it 
being a reminder. Vic had just shrugged and decided that he liked 
it, so it could stay. Two days later, the Director has given them 
a gift-wrapped package that held two sets of fine cotton sheets in 
shades of ivory and a chocolate brown duvet that went perfectly 
with the print. He'd promptly spent two hours hunting for cameras 
and removing them.

"Because finding Jackie before she ends up dead too is more 
important, don't you think?"

LiAnn had often sounded slightly superior when talking to him 
about work, but she'd never been so obvious about it. Vic bristled 
at the implied criticism. "Well then, why don't you help us. Tell 
me about this Sanji person."

"What makes you think I know anything about him?" The arch tone 
told him that he didn't need to worry about that being the case.

"Well, if you don't know him, he certainly seems to know you. He's 
been stalking you across this country."

"Are you sure? Maybe it's the other way around."

Vic's teeth were grinding together now. "I don't have time for 
games, LiAnn. If you aren't going to do anything but play little 
mind-fuck games, then I suggest you go someplace else." Before she 
could reply, he hit the 'end' button, terminating the call.

The phone started vibrating again almost immediately. He ignored 
it for a few seconds before answering. "Yes?"

"The one you call Sanji is a demon."

"LiAnn..."

"Be quiet and listen. He is a Raksha, one of the servants of 
Ravana, one of the lords of hell. He is a shape-changer." She 
paused.

"I'm listening," Vic prompted. He wasn't sure about demons from 
hell, but the shape-changer part went along with what they already 
knew, so he was going to try to keep an open mind.

"He traveled to the Middle Kingdom -- this world -- on his 
master's business. He killed someone very important, and I was 
sent to destroy him for his crimes. At first I was tracking him, 
but he realized a lot faster than I expected. He turned the tables 
and started hunting me instead. He nearly caught and killed me in 
Bangkok. I escaped, but I couldn't lose him."

Vic could see where this was going. "So you led him here."

"I needed allies."

"If you needed our help, why didn't you call? Jackie saw you 
months ago. Why keep hiding while Sanji picked off the people you 
had... contact with, one by one."

"I've changed. You've changed. When I got here, I realized that 
Mac had changed to. I wasn't sure I could trust you."

"What changed your mind?"

Even over the phone, he could hear her soft sigh. "He's closing 
in," she said. "He's already left me a message, one written in 
blood, telling me that he has Jackie. She's not dead yet, but she 
will be soon."

"Unless?" Vic prompted.

"There is no unless. He's going to kill her. Then he's going to 
end the game and kill me. At least, that's what the jist of the 
message was."

Vic closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. "Do you know where 
he has her?"

"No. But he feeds on blood and violence. As well, the realm he 
comes from is a charred remnant of what it used to be. His kind 
have been known to find lairs that remind them of... home."

Vic made a mental note of that. "We need to talk, LiAnn. Face to 
face."

"Not going to happen." The hard tone of her voice told him that 
she wasn't going to budge on that.

"Isn't it difficult to be allies from a distance? Never mind. Just 
tell me then: What do you plan on doing?"

It was blunt, but then she was just as blunt back. "Find him. Kill 
him. Take his head home."

"And if anyone gets in the way?"

"They better not."

Vic closed his eyes. "What happened to you in China, LiAnn? Why 
haven't you contacted us?"

Her laugh chilled him to the bone, but gave him one hell of a 
boner at the same time. "The Director was right, I needed to see 
my parents, and deal with some issues. I dealt with them."

Somehow, he knew better than to ask for a clarification, and he 
wondered just what had happened to the woman he'd been engaged to. 
Despite their dangerous lifestyle, she'd usually been sweet, maybe 
even a touch naïve at times. There didn't seem to be much of her 
left in the woman he was talking to at the moment. Was it even 
her? "You're not coming back, are you?" he asked, wondering if he 
even wanted her to.

"No. I've found my place. The only thing I need to do to keep it 
is bring the Raksha's head back with me. Vic, if you're smart, you 
and Mac will stay out of my way."

"No can do. He's got Jackie, and we're going to find her. And 
LiAnn, if you do anything to jeopardize that, then *you're* the 
one who should stay out of *our* way. Understood?"

The laughter this time was almost the LiAnn he remembered. "Good 
luck, then. You're going to need it. But watch your back. This 
Raksha is no fool. He'll be waiting for you." The phone went dead. 
A moment later, it seemed to heat up in his hand, and Vic tossed 
it away as it burst into flames. It was just like Jackie had 
described with her phone, and creepy as hell. Certainly, there was 
no way anyone could have planted any sort of incendiary device in 
it, since it hadn't been out of his possession in days.

The flames disappeared almost immediately, before he could even 
think of running for the fire extinguisher, leaving only a scorch 
mark on the wall and carpet, and the melted remains of the phone. 
He crouched down and nudged the lump, but nothing happened. It was 
just plastic and circuit boards.

"Vic? What the hell happened?" Vic looked up to find Mac standing 
over him, a worried expression on his face.

Vic stood, brushing a bit of soot off his hands as he did. "A call 
from LiAnn that blew up my cell."

"LiAnn? Is she okay?" Mac's eyes were wide.

Vic's first instinct was to say yes, but he held back. "I... don't 
know. She said she 'dealt' with her issues, but the way she said 
it... I just don't know."

"Did she say anything else?" His tone was almost pleading, and Vic 
fought off a flash of jealousy. He'd never really been able to 
forget that Mac-and-LiAnn had existed long before Vic-and-LiAnn or 
Vic-and-Mac. Their life together with the Tangs in Hong Kong gave 
them a connection that he would never be able to compete with.

Vic frowned. "She called Sanji a Rashka or Raksha or something. 
Some sort of demon. He's a shapeshifter -- not really news -- and 
he reports to a lord of hell, if you can believe that. She also 
said he sent her a note written in blood to tell her that he's got 
Jackie and that he will kill her. Did you find anything out with 
your... you know?"

Mac's expression was strained, and he looked tired. "She isn't in 
Sanji's hands right now, but he's hunting her. She's in wet 
tunnels that smell, and every so often there's a grill over her 
head, but she can't get out. Whatever the tunnels are, she can't 
get out, and he's coming." He shook his head. "Of course, I can't 
tell for sure that what I saw is real. It could just be my 
subconscious running away from me."

Vic worried at his lower lip for a moment. "Yes or no, Mac. Do you 
think it was real?" Mac opened his mouth, then shut it again. 
"Your gut feeling," Vic prompted.

Mac expression tightened, then he nodded decisively. "It was 
real." Then he sighed. "Of course, I couldn't tell you where it 
was."

"Wet tunnels that smell, with grills above. Could you hear 
traffic?"

Mac tilted his head to the side. "I think so. Faint, though. 
Coming through the tunnels, not the grill."

"Okay." Vic leaned sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his 
chin on a fist, thinking it through. "Sounds like sewers or 
something like that. The traffic being faint implies that it's not 
near any busy streets. And LiAnn said that this Sanji would 
probably look for something that reminded him of home, and that 
home is a burnt wreck." He reached for his cell-phone, then 
remembered that it had been destroyed. He twisted around and 
grabbed the cordless phone off the bedside table, then dialed a 
number from memory.

The phone rang three times, then picked up. "He... Hello?"

"Nathan? It's Vic. I need some information."

"V--Vic? I don't know..."

"No time, Nathan. I need to know anyplace in town that has severe 
fire damage, low traffic, and possible access to the city's sewer 
system and I need to know now. Jackie's life is counting on it. 
How fast can you get me the information?"

"Ah, actually I can think of one location that might be what 
you're looking for," Nathan said, his normal stutter fading as he 
dealt with the one thing he loved: Information. He'd also steadied 
up a lot since Dobrinsky had taken him under his wing, so to 
speak, even if he still was obsessed with conspiracy theories of 
the weirdest sort. "There's an old neighborhood near the warehouse 
distract, mostly flop-houses and boarded up houses these days. 
There was a fire last year that they think was arson, although I 
have my suspicions, and most of the buildings were damaged, if not 
completely gutted. It's on the old sewer system, too, so the 
buildings drain pipes go straight to the old storm sewers."

Vic blinked in surprise at the quick answer, then smiled. "Nathan, 
I owe you one. Can you give me an address?"

Nathan rattled off an address that was for an area of town that 
Vic remembered well from his days as a beat cop just after 
graduating from the academy. "Do you think it was lava beasts?" 
Nathan asked eagerly, and Vic had to fight back a laugh.

"Sorry, Nathan. But we're heading there to find Jackie and the 
hell demon that kidnapped her." He hung up while Nathan was still 
spluttering out questions.

Mac was staring at him with a wary expression on his face. "Do you 
really believe it was a demon from hell?" he asked.

Vic shrugged. "That's what LiAnn said. Ready to go?"

"You think this address is going to be any help?"

He shrugged again. His neck was aching, and the muscles in his 
back were tense. "I don't know, but right now, it's the only 
possibility we've got, and it's better than sitting around here."

"Point taken," Mac said, heading for the door.

END CHAPTER THIRTEEN