The People v. Eleanor Warwick

She wasn’t expecting a crowd.

Eleanor sent word to a few of the city’s vampire covens, but they were never much for honoring their dead.

She stood alone in front of the handsome headstone she purchased for her. Eleanor doesn’t know what year she was born, so it only reads Here Lies Angela Bowe.

Angie was unlike most of her kind. She still fed on the living. There’s no way for any vampire to avoid doing so, no matter how well-intentioned. Angie took no pleasure in the act, nor in her supernatural powers.

She struggled to control her predatory nature, not always successfully. Eleanor did what she could to help. She never judged Angie for her slip-ups. Well, almost never.

Angie’s affections for Eleanor went beyond friendship. Eleanor could not return them. She cared for Angie a great deal, but the tall redhead was too familiar. She brought to Eleanor’s mind a lost love.

Their relationship ended with Eleanor calling Angie a monster. She shakes her head at the memory. It was a moment of high emotion in a week of tension and anxiety.

She never had the chance to apologize. Angie was killed mere minutes later by a vampire hunter called Vincent Chandler. It turned out her murder was part of a larger scheme by wizards Jon Lassiter and Morgan Cross.

All three men met a similar fate, but that hasn’t eased any of the guilt Eleanor feels.

She notes Henry Willard stepping up beside her. Her mentor and former legal guardian stands much taller than her meager height. He has a strong build for a man in his sixties with handsome features. Henry adjusts his ridiculously expensive coat, attempting to maximize its protection from the chill. A fur felt fedora rests on his balding head.

He remains quiet for a moment. He glances around them at the immaculate green lawns dotted with hundreds of headstones. “Just us?”

Eleanor offers an affirmatory grunt.

“I would have thought her to have had a number of friends and admirers.”

Eleanor offers nothing at all.

“Okay, girl. I get it.” Henry turns to face her. “You’re still upset.”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Then why the cold shoulder these last few weeks?”

“I just needed some time.”

Henry nods and looks back to the headstone. After an awkward silence, he clears his throat. “It occurs to me I never apologized for my role in her death.”

“I thought you didn’t have a role.”

“I never said that. I simply rejected the notion that I was to blame.”

“Relax, Henry. I’ve been thinking about it and Angie’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“Quite.”

“It was mine.”

“What?”

“I called her a monster, sent her away. Right into Chandler’s path.”

“That’s ridiculous, girl. I’ve told you before, Chandler is the only one responsible.”

“And logically I know you’re right, but I can’t get rid of this guilt.”

Henry sighs. “Girl, I understand. Believe me. Guilt is a natural byproduct of tragedy. What one has to consider, however, is whether one is truly responsible, or is one perhaps merely wishing it to be so.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Because it lets you feel as though you had some measure of control. If you are to blame, then you could have stopped it. You take the blame on your shoulders because you prefer that to the feeling of helplessness caused by living in a cruel, indifferent universe where bad things happen to good people.”

Eleanor considers this for a moment. “Still, I called her a monster. Me. The person she thought didn’t judge her that way.”

“Did you mean it?”

“You know I didn’t,” she responds, her voice sharp.

Unfazed by his protégé’s tone, Henry speaks calmly. “So did she.”

“Maybe. It’s just not how I wanted her to remember me.”

“Look. Pick up your lip, girl. First of all, you are at someone else’s funeral and you’re whining about how you will be remembered. Think about that for a second.”

Eleanor does so and the thought brings a grimace to her face.

“Secondly, you are not giving Angie any credit at all. If her last thoughts were of you, entirely possible, she was not thinking about the last thing you said that hurt her feelings. She remembered the fact that you helped her, when most would have just killed her and been done with it. That, crybaby,” Eleanor cocks an eyebrow, “is how she remembered you.”

She smiles slightly. “Thanks, Henry.”

The two stand at the grave for another few minutes before walking away. Eleanor continues to mope as they leave the grounds. Henry knows the best way to help is to give her something else on which to focus.

“So I’m dying to know; how is the grand experiment?”

“America? It’s been a rough couple of years, but no civil wars yet, so I’d call that a win.”

“Your sarcasm is delightful. I was referring to your partnership.”

Just the thought of how things have gone with Jessie makes her grit her teeth. “Fine.”

Henry offers a withering, sidelong glare.

“By the end of the week, one of us will be dead.”

The news clearly pleases Henry. He was against the alliance from the beginning. “Aw. What a shame. I was really pulling for you two crazy kids.”

“Bet you’ve heard that a few times.”

The elder wizard snorts at the mention of his numerous failed marriages. “Touché. What’s the problem?”

Shrugging, Eleanor tightens the scarf around her neck to brace against the cold. “I don’t know. We’re just at each other’s throats all the time. You know how you have two people who get along really well, and like and respect each other? But then they start spending a lot of time together and pretty soon every little thing about the other starts driving them nuts?”

Henry again reflects on his past marital relationships. “I’m...familiar with the phenomenon.”

“Now imagine that the two people in question never got along all that great to begin with.”

“I can see how that might get ugly. You seemed to get along all right before.”

“Sure, when I took all her attitude on the chin. I’m not doing that anymore. She’s here by choice now. Heck, I’m paying her.”

“I still can’t believe you’re paying her.” Henry chuckles. Noting his protégé doesn’t find the same humor in the situation, he decides to offer something more constructive. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the situation with the Blackwells. It’s possible that we aren’t in as much danger as originally thought.”

“We?”

“Don’t act so surprised, girl. Just because I’m against this partnership, doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you twisting in the wind when it inevitably blows up in your face.”

“I wouldn’t say inevitably.”

“The Blackwells rely on fear to maintain their grip on the other Houses in Boston. If it became public knowledge that they created a hellblood, but it-”

“She.”

“Of course. She got away from them, it could be a source of some embarrassment. Not to mention if it got around that the hellblood in question was one of their own and she is ungifted.”

“People start to think Old Man Blackwell’s lost his edge?”

“Careful, girl,” Henry warns. “Alexander is younger than I. But yes. It’s entirely possible that they would just as soon let Jessie go and make another one than take the chance of their failure coming to light.”

Considering the theory, Eleanor tousles her curly blond mop. “What about his wife? Jessie killed her when she escaped. You don’t think he’ll want revenge?”

“Most definitely, but not at the expense of his House’s dominant position.”

The idea that Jessie’s family is satisfied with letting her walk is certainly a pleasant one, but Eleanor has her doubts. It seems too good to be true. “It’d be nice if we had some idea what they were up to.”

“Seems like something Penelope could handle.”

Eleanor scowls at the mention of the wizard who moonlighted as a psychologist who moonlighted as a dominatrix. “Fat chance.”

“What?”

“I tried to go see her a few days after she stormed out.”

“And it didn’t go well, I assume.”

“I never got to her. She had Jeremy stop me in the lobby. The jerk smiled the entire time he was throwing me out.”

“She is the wrong woman to upset. She can carry grudges for years.”

“Well, I’m not groveling.”

“You’ve done enough of that over the years.” Eleanor shoots him a look, but he ignores it. “Perhaps there’s another option.”

“Other than Penny? Like what?”

Willard smiles. “I know a guy.”