Bloodlines

Ankh was burrowed under the covers of Ridley’s bed. The huntress was out in the endless gardens, jogging her daily jog. The January cool let off a frigid breeze through the huntress’ genetically straight black hair. She slowed in the hydrangea maze before completely halting at the statue of Saint Thérèse of Lesieux, surrounded by marble flowers. Ridley sized up the marble likeness while hearing footsteps along the gravel route. “She was such a sweet woman. Nicknamed the ‘Little Flower’. Born to a poor goldblood family. Regardless, her family still welcomed me. Strange. They feared me but they welcomed me.”

“The statue was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“The du Luqs don’t care about what happens in their garden. As long as it is ‘beautiful and tranquil’, as Lady Dominique says.”

The huntress slowly spun to meet the Source’s sweat-drenched face. His resemblance to Marcus was understandable but still eerie. Still, Earnest gave her a small grin. “I have questions about...”

“I suspect you do,” he cut in then started circling her. “Correct me if I am wrong; you are... blackblood human?” Ridley nodded wordlessly with furrowed eyebrows. “Hm. Well then, go ahead and ask.”

The huntress tilted her head to the side slightly. “Okay,” she deflected. “You’re from the... Middle Ages. I-I met a First Gen from Ancient China... h-how...?” Earnest looked around the hydrangea maze then tore off his gardening gloves.

“There is more than one Source.”

Ridley’s face went pallid and her eyes went wide. “How many more? Y-you have to-” She started pacing around the statue then combed through her hair roughly. “That means the Consortium is looking for-”

“You have nothing to worry about,” the Source cut in. “They’re dead. Technically.” Ridley huffed at him. “Bear with me, Ms Axel, it is not easy to explain. The Source is hardly a person. It is a bloodline. When one Source tires of their life, they need only transfer the bloodline into another vampire. After this, a new Source becomes and the previous dies.”

“How many... other...”

“I am the fourth to hold this title. The third, coincidentally, gave me his curse the night my parents died in that fire. Needless to say it was a poor decision to make. Had I known Marcus was still alive I... I don’t believe I would have made the same choice.”

“Does anyone else know what you are?”

“A select few. A vanguard of sorts.”

“First Gen. Mr Wu, he’s a private investigator, he said that he and others protect the Source.” Ridley combed her hair then leaned against the marble saint. “The Consortium, the Order, the Vanguard. Is there another group of goldbloods on the Source train?”

“Hundreds,” Earnest replied. “In the shadows of history they were formed. Some even became famous. Illuminati, the Templars, the Crusaders. The lot, but clearly it’s been tits up since,” the Englishman concluded. “Strange. All these people and it’s just me.”

“It’s lonely.”

The Source beamed at her then rested a hand on her shoulder. “Who better to understand loneliness than the ‘Sororicidal Senior’, herself?”

“You read the article?”

“Tomás has a subscription to The Hunt Times.” Ridley rolled her eyes then glanced back at the grand castle behind her. “He must really love you.” The huntress furrowed her eyebrows at the Source. “He read that article and his immediate reaction was to hold you. People say that there’s nothing stronger than a mother’s love. A brother’s love... it is exponential. Cherish Tomás, Ms Axel. When you lose him, it will be the most unbearable agony you will ever face.”

“Why don’t you go see him? Marcus.”

“More than anything I would love to. I do miss him terribly. Yet... I cannot. He will have questions and those answers I cannot give. He may never know what I am. I entrusted this burden to you, simply because you are objective. I also need your help, Ridley. This masquerade is a trap. The Consortium believes that King Louis is the Source.”

“Louis?”

“They have an elongated list of suspects but they suspect it mostly likely is Louis. Regardless, they will have mercenaries to take him and everyone else they suspect.”

“I can’t go to the Order with this; they’ll want answers.”

“Tell them where you got your answers just not who they came from. Aimée is not a woman of word-of-mouth,” Earnest went on while taking off the vial that hung around his neck. He handed it to his personal bodyguard. “I take it you’re familiar with this substance.”

“It looks like regular goldblood’s blood.”

“You don’t have vampire sight. Trust me. They can tell.” Earnest cupped Ridley’s cheek then squeezed the vial into her hand. “It is a great burden I am making you bare, I know. Please.” Ridley nodded sullenly. “Hm. The masters of the house are having breakfast. You best get going.”

Ridley nodded then spun on her heel to exit the maze. “Wait,” she began. Earnest also looked back to meet her face. “You can see other ampyra through your... Source psionics. There’s someone I...”

“Esmeralda is fine. Her baby is perfectly healthy, though I can tell he will not be a vampire.” Before Ridley could go on, Earnest cut in, “Dane Sorensen is also well. He is currently on patrol around the swimming pool with the newest hunter recruits. Sayeed Badr too is among them.”

“Thank you.” Earnest nodded politely. “Earnest,” she began thoughtfully, “can you tell if I’m...?”

“I cannot. I admit, sometimes I can and other times I cannot. I have never experienced anything like you. Neither have the past Sources.”

“I’ve been dreading eating in front of the de Luqs since I met them.”

Ridley clasped her hands with the vial in her hands. Still she nodded. “I am sorry, Ms Axel.” Ridley curtsied then finally left the maze.

The castle was quiet and servants were dead quiet in their duties too. Along the staircase, the huntress paused then retreated down. Again she paused at the foot of the stairs then furrowed her eyebrows. “Huh.” She ascended to the top of the stairs to see Genevieve with a basket of Ridley’s washing. “Genevieve, where’s the breakfast room?”

“The third floor, mademoiselle. The third set of white double doors on your left.” Ridley combed through her hair. “Shall I have the humans prepare a meal?”

“Um... no. No thank you. Thank you, Genevieve.”

The maid curtsied then left. The huntress followed the directions. Dominique had a petite young woman on her lap. The goldblood had her face buried into her neck while Aimée was buried into a young man. Sebastian had bowl of muesli on his lap but didn’t eat because Tomás was buried in his wrist.

“Morning,” the English human greeted, unfazed by his bleeding wrist. “Coffee? Tea?”

Ridley froze, feeling the craving for blood burn in her neck. “I’m good,” she replied stiffly.

Tomás looked up from Sebastian’s wrist. “You look dreadful, dearest,” he stated then stood up. “Are you unwell?”

Sebastian stiffened at the burning sensation of applying alcohol to his wound but still offered, “perhaps a herbal tea will help.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure. You look faint,” Aimée voiced. She tossed the boy on her lap to the floor. “Pick up,” she ordered casually. Servants lining the walls came to pick up the bleeding human. “Maybe some porridge or broth. Liquids, I hear, are important for a human diet.”

Dominique chuckled to herself then gestured for her stem to get off her lap. “Must you all be so obtuse?” Ridley exhaled heavily then settled across from Sebastian and Tomás. “Our lovely guest is omnitarian. She is merely unsettled from how you would react.”

Aimée only hummed. “An omnitarian? Well, don’t you become more intriguing by the minute.” Ridley covered her nose and mouth, smelling Sebastian’s blood and feeling her mouth water. “A rare and wondrous find, indeed,” Aimée went on. “Bring her someone to feast on, immediately.”

“Sister?” Ridley avoided looking at him. “There’s no shame is such things. Why did you not say?”

“I didn’t know it was a thing,” she admitted coldly. “I didn’t think there was a name for it.”

“Monteirians,” Dominique commented sourly. “A skittish people.”

A young woman fearfully curtsied beside Ridley then knelt next to her. “I’m not hungry,” the huntress admitted. The woman let out a relieved breath then nodded before retreating.

“Good,” Aimée voiced as she stood up. “We have a long day of exploiting your expertise.” The more levelheaded of Renee’s sisters led the way to the doors. “Come, come. I already had the targets set up for archery.”

Dominique rolled her eyes defiantly then stood up to reveal she was wearing a blue day dress, straight from the eighteen century. “My little sister. So determined to be such a brute,” she commented then followed Aimée.

Ridley swallowed her hunger then tucked the vial of Earnest’s blood into her pocket. Sebastian and Tomás tailed behind her as they made for a different part of the rear garden. A tranquil meadow with benches seated strategically underneath trees.

Dominique planted herself onto the rattan settee and crossed her ankles while putting on sunglasses, despite being in the shade. Genevieve came rushing up to them with Ridley’s bow and quiver resting on a velvet pillow. Aligned with the targets were other castle servants, also carrying bows and quivers of arrows - one for each goldblood, save for Dominique.

The young huntress sighed defeatedly at her less than promising trio of students. One was a two-thousand-year-old French aristocrat who burrowed into books and had noodles for arms. The second was her nephew who looked far too frail for such a muscle-built skill. The third was an English human who was over two hundred years old and unnaturally pessimistic.

Despite that, the band of misfits showed something Ridley never saw in Ryan; determination. Seeing her family like this, it made Ridley wonder how Ryan would feel to know them. To be there with them. What would she say? How would she teach them. Then again, Ryan’s work was always chaotic and unorganised.

Guns seemed to contradict that; a simple and effective weapon. Load. Aim. Fire. Guns simplified an otherwise complex mind. Maybe that’s why she appreciated them.

The hunter among vampires exhaled heavily then slung her quiver over her shoulder and took her bow from Genevieve, who just hovered around her annoyingly whenever she moved. Aimée took that as her cue to arm herself. Tomás and Sebastian took hold of their bows and quivers too.

“This isn’t something that you can master in a few days or weeks,” Ridley began squarely. “Any form of archery takes months or years of dedication and concentration.” Aimée was the only one who nodded understandingly. “The key is repetition. Doing the same thing over is the only way your body learns precision.” Sebastian glanced to Tomás unenthusiastically but didn’t waver from his determination. “You can’t use stationary archery on a moving target. If you’re learning to fight, you have to move with your target.”

“This ought to be good,” Dominique commented softly while nestling deeper into her cushions.

Ridley took a tray and positioned it in a nearby servant’s hands. “Run,” she ordered. The frazzled man gasped then took off bolting towards the hydrangea maze. Eyes locked, her notched arrow followed the man, only for it to fly straight into the tray.

"Manifique, soeur!"

Tomás’ comment fell on deaf ears as his sister notched another arrow and fired it straight through the first. ”Bravo,” Aimée bellowed with a matching applause. ”Bravo. Très bravo!" Ridley exhaled steadily then slung the bow over her shoulder. “How long until we shoot like this?” The servant cautiously returned and Aimée grabbed the tray from him. “This is incredible!”

“I’ve been alive for eighteen years. It took me sixteen to master that shot,” Ridley replied and her aunt went pallid. “You don’t have sixteen years. Hell, you don’t have sixteen days. This masquerade, it’s a trap. The Consortium is using it to round up everyone they suspect being the Source. King Louis, among them.”

Dominique straightened up and raised her sunglasses onto her genetically black hair. Despite her cheeks fuming red, it was Aimée to ask, “how do you know that?”

“The Source told me,” the hunter admitted and Dominique sprung to her feet. Ridley carefully unearthed the vial of Earnest’s blood. “He said that you would be able to see that this is his blood.”

Aimée grabbed it while Tomás eagerly spectated as his aunt pried the lid off. She dipped her pinkie in. The wallflower du Luq sampled the blood on her finger and gasped while Dominique and Tomás did the same. "Invraisemblable,” Dominique hissed. “How is this possible?”

“Who else knows about this,” Aimée asked cautiously but Ridley shook her head. “Not a word of this to Viggo! Nor anyone.”

“I thought Viggo was an ally,” Ridley pointed out, though she too had her scepticism.

“He is,” Tomás answered.

Dominique shook her head. “In games like these, the only players you trust is family. Not even the servants may know about this.”

“Sister, can you guarantee that the Source is at least safe?” Ridley nodded assured. “How do you contact him?”

“No,” Aimée hissed. “The less we know, the safer he will be.” Sebastian stepped away skeptically. “He must be majestic to see,” she went on dreamily while studying the vial. “That power must radiate off of him.” In a fit of irony, Earnest was at a nearby hedge, levelling it. “He must be intimidating and awe-inspiring.”

Ridley raised an eyebrow at him with the shears. “Not really. He’s like an everyday ampyra.”

“Let her bask in the fantasy,” Tomás replied softly.

“We haven’t time for such! The masquerade is at the end of this week,” Sebastian jeered. “If we are to protect our guests and the Source, we need to be skilled in long-distance combat as well as melee combat. Ridley, surely there must be some or other shortcut to your archery? A trick in the string o-or a twist in the arrow. Something!”

“There’s always shortcut archery,” Ridley suggested. “It’s crossbow archery. It’s mastery is, like, five to ten minutes. I saw a few revolvers with bolts for automatic crossbows. They’re not common but I’ve used them middle school.”

“Good Lord, girl,” Dominique jeered. “Did you never spare a minute for shopping?”

“No,” was Ridley’s only reply.

Dominique let out a dramatic fainting gesture then glided back to her settee. “Gabrielle, where are you when I need you?”

“Gabrielle? Mini, you are a genius!”

Dominique shrugged as if it were nothing. “Oh, I know.” The goldblood aristocrat crossed her ankles while lounging back on her settee. After a moment she straightened up out of fright. “Is that what you’re suggesting? A shopping spree through Gabrielle’s collections? Are pigs flying today? They must be. My sister is indulging in some much needed vanity!”

“What? No! I mean for Ridley.”

“Oh. Well, that will work too. Considering what a heinous crime she’s wearing.”

“No, no, no, sister! I mean camouflage.” Aimée looked back at her niece and circled her thoughtfully. “Yes. Camouflage for the ball. A gown you could hide knives and your bow and other things you would need to stop the Consortium. You are the only one with expert fighting skills.”

“You’re going to leave this to a child,” Sebastian jeered. “No offense.” Ridley shrugged it off. “At best, the Consortium will send one man for every suspect of which we are only aware of one. We cannot leave this to one person. Especially not one so young.”

“Leave the planning to the strategist,” Aimée ordered gesturing to herself. “I will handle the nitty gritty of it all and Dominique can flounce about with the flowers. As for your three, don’t you have a date with Julien Bassé?”