Paradise - Act 3
Pearce’s head slowly slumped off the heel of his hand and hit the book, waking him with a start. Shaking himself to clear the drowsiness, he straightened in the chair and tried again to concentrate on the open book before him. Frowning, he used his fist to wipe away a drool smudge. Blinking he turned the page — and his vision suddenly focused to such an intensity that he nearly fell out of his chair. “Here it is!” he exclaimed, catching the attention of Logan who was still sitting by the couch and silent figure laying there.
The man stood and approached the table and the vampire who was hunched over the page. “What does it say?” Logan asked groggily. He rubbed the back of his neck impatiently and cracked his shoulders. Pearce had been researching for hours and had given three false alarms. Logan would have been annoyed if he hadn’t found himself so exhausted with worry.
“Blade of Quetzalcoatl,” Pearce read, indicating the picture which had caught his attention, “or alternately the Blade of Paradise,” his finger skimmed the tiny text printed in the book which happened to be the second from the bottom of the stack he had been sent from the Council in light of his new occupation. “...Aztec... ...Cholula... ...Teocalli... ...Tlucoaltac...” he muttered, finding the words of importance.
“In English, before I hurt something,” Logan said tiredly.
“Here... ...is thought to have been used in the rare and little understood ritual sacrifice of selected high priests and especially royalty captured in battle...” The vampire muttered a little more under his breath and his fingers slid down the page until it came to the last paragraph. “...drawing blood with the Blade of Quetzalcoatl sends the victim into a deathlike trance with mystical similarities to most native Mesoamerican dream quests. The purpose of the use of this specific blade for the selected sacrifices was to ensure the souls of those honored prisoners were...” Pearce stopped, tilting his head with an odd look on his face. “Hm.”
Logan’s interest made him shove the vampire out of the way and he leaned down to examine the text himself. “...ensure the souls of those honored prisoners were conveyed directly to the life beyond. Death is the eventual result of any injury sustained by the blade...” Logan paused, slowly turning his gaze to the motionless figure on the couch in the darkness of the livingroom. With a small breath he turned back to the text. “...though much speculation remains unresolved as the location of the Blade has remained a mystery since it was lost in 1519 C.E.”
Logan sighed and slowly closed the book. With a look of resignation he trudged back to the couch and knelt, slowly stroking the pale cheek of the woman who owned his heart.
“Hey,” Pearce said defiantly - argumentatively. “Speculation; that’s all this is.” The vampire snatched the small book Logan had taken from his bag and tossed it to land on the carpet beside the kneeling man. “You’ve got mojo – use it.”
Logan looked down regretfully at the book of dark arts. “Attack and defense,” he said tiredly. “No healing or resurrection.” He made a little laugh. “They were both on the booklist, but I went with this one.”
Pearce sighed. “Hindsight’s a bitch.”
“Fuckin’ A,” the other confirmed. There was a long silence as Logan looked miserably into Niki’s strangely blissful face.
“Hey, hold on,” the vampire opened the book again and found the passage. “...deathlike trance with mystical similarities to most native Mesoamerican dream quests. There are plenty of simple spells concerning dream quests we could try.” Logan didn’t look particularly convinced and the vampire shrugged. “Are you opposed to trying?”
Pearce waved the stick of incense around the couch and chanted the relatively few words necessary for the spell. As Logan watched, the dreamy expression left Niki’s face and she appeared simply to be sleeping. The man looked up with concern to the vampire. “What happens now?”
The vampire shrugged and grabbed the Slayer by the shoulder. “Hey Knicks, wake up!”
Niki sat bolt upright on the couch, her eyes focused on something that wasn’t there. Where were the fields? Where were the clouds and the sunset? Where was the man — she swallowed and looked over to the relieved face of Logan Kilpatrick. The beauty of the symphony dissolved.
“Thank God you’re awake,” he said, grabbing her into a tight hug from which there was no escape. “I was afraid...” he blinked. “I was scared you were dead.” Without waiting for her to say a word, he drew from the hug and pulled her into a forceful kiss. He was too relieved to realize how repulsed she was by the very world around her. With its lack of harmony. With his eyes closed he gripped her tight and forgot any reason to ever let her go.
Niki awoke groggy and confused, naked under the covers of her queen size bed. She had that characteristic ache which meant she had spent the past few hours having noisy and usually gratifying sex and looking over to see Logan sleeping next to her confirmed this.
She stood, drawing the covers from the bed and its other occupant to wrap around herself as she made her way to the window that looked out at the city. Sliding it open she breathed in the cold air of a New York autumn morning. The sun had been up for some time and Pearce had no doubt gone back to his condo. Without knowing why, the Slayer found herself sitting beneath the window with the blankets wrapped around her, tears streaming down her face. Her breath fogged and her vision blurred.
“Shit it’s cold,” Logan muttered, half conscious, reaching for covers which weren’t there. He eventually opened his eyes and gazed sleepily around the quickly cooling room. Breath fogging, he rose naked from the bed and knelt by the curled up Slayer. “What’s wrong?”
Niki shook her head, her tears making their way down her still angelic features to the hem of the sheet that she held tucked under her chin. “This is all wrong,” she said, almost pleadingly. “You have to go back to Rachel. Go back to Hanna.”
Logan’s face clouded over. “What is this about?” Their breaths mingled in the continual cloud formed between them. “What happened to you?”
“I don’t know,” she said with the same tone, as if answering might make all this living nightmare stop. “I don’t know – I can’t remember any more.”
Logan laughed, almost dismissively. “So then what’s the problem?”
She looked at him as if he were crazy. Her nose red and her eyes still pouring tears down her face, she sniveled. “What’s the problem?” she asked incredulously. “This is all wrong. That’s the problem. This... this isn’t perfect! It can’t be! Rachel—”
Logan shook her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. “Get a hold of yourself.” And she was silent. “Look, I don’t know what happened – I don’t know where you went, but everything’s fine now. You’re back. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” His words sounded very comforting in his own ears but she reduced her look to a glare.
“You can’t have me,” she said venomously. “You can’t because you’ll never understand. You can’t see how wrong it all is.” She stood and pulled herself from his grip. “Get away from me.”
Logan slowly backed away. “What did it do to you?” he asked in amazement. “Can’t you hear what you’re saying?”
“Can’t you see what you are?” she countered, pulling the blankets closer about her in the cold air. “Go back to Rachel. You have a family.”
Logan blinked. Suddenly, with the strong, deliberate motions of frustration, he pulled his shorts and khakis on, leaving his shirt and marching straight out of the bedroom, through the living room and into the kitchen where the light was still on, even though the sunlight flooded through the windows. He slapped aside the old books and grabbed what he was looking for.
Marching into the small room Addison had used as his bedroom when he had lived here, Logan slammed the door and lifted the copper blade into the shaft of sunlight coming through the window.
Gritting his teeth more from the frustration of the entire situation than from his intentions, he drew the corner of the blade down across the right side of his chest. As soon as the warmth of the blood began to sooth the gooseflesh on his chest, he collapsed to the floor, the Blade of Paradise slipping from his hand.
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