recover quickly. Taking quick stock of the situation, he saw that Elizabeth was struggling to get up, though not very successfully, and Vlad, while injured, was far from down for the count. He grunted, struggling against the pain in his ankle through the peyote haze. He had to recover the talisman. Letting his thread fall into someone else’s hand would be disastrous.
***
Clotho the Moirai
Stars soared by as Clotho hurled towards the reality below. Gods travelled through concepts, not space. The time to get from the concept of racial memory to a single conflict at night was vast, like trying to spot a falcon while staring at a sunny sky. Fate was different though. Fate didn’t have to spot the falcon, Fate just had to know where the falcon would be, and keep a watchful eye out. The Spinner of the Threads of Fate had very good eyes indeed.
***
Elizabeth Bathory
Fire raged across her face and through her veins. Every effort made was a fight against the pain. Whatever that damned food had stabbed her with hurt like a bitch. She struggled to her knees and opened her good eye. Vlad was dancing in pain like a madman, shaking his hand. She could smell the silver and salt on him from here, but there was something more in it. Something deadly.
Food shouldn’t know about tricks like that. Her Lord, Vladimyr Tepes, had sent Renfield into the world to have that stupid book written just so that they could avoid these situations. The food should have tried garlic or something else equally ineffective. Speaking of food …
She looked around, struggling to ignore the pain in the right half of her face. There he was, fighting to stand up, tangled in the shrubbery next to the sidewalk. Focusing her will, she fought her way up to her feet. The food would pay, and dearly at that. Stumbling forward, she began to move towards the prey. Every step gave her more strength.
She stopped briefly by Vlad, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. “Will you be okay, dearest?”
Vlad recoiled a little when he saw her face. “I shall. And you?”
She nodded. They turned towards Robert, amused through their pain at his feeble struggles to untangle himself. And both froze.
A light, as intense as a thousand suns, though only about six feet around, appeared between them and the food. Disembodied and apparently coming from the light, a voice echoed, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit ohshitohshit …” Something vaguely human sized pulsed in the light.
The concrete below the contained explosion cracked loudly, then shattered and erupted outwards. Detritus went flying in every direction and the light refracted, splitting in two and floating gently to either side of the crater.
An old woman, clutching a walking stick for balance, stood from the impact. “Hello dearies.” She glanced left and right, then sighed, obviously put upon. “You followed me. You weren’t supposed to follow me.”
Much more gently the light that had drifted to the right of the crone pulsed once and a woman in her thirties—with the sparkle of mischief in her eyes—stepped out. “Well, you didn’t tell us not to, did you?” She smirked and started digging through her handbag.
Bathory didn’t wait for the third light to reveal its occupant. She knew what was coming and lunged straight for it.
Vlad had the same idea as her, though he went for the crone. “Welcome to Earth, sisters Moirai!”
A little girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, stepped from the third light just as Bathory landed in the space. The Vampire tackled the child Goddess, the two going down in a tangle of limbs. While the two scrapped, Vlad squared off with the two elder sisters. The food lying in the shrubs was frozen in shock, barely visible on the edge of the thickening fog.
Vladimyr, fended off a swift swat of Clotho’s cane, put his back to Bathory, facing the two Moirai, crouching low. With a flick of his wrists, his fingernails extended, becoming six inch long razor sharp poisoned
***
Clotho the Moirai
Stars soared by as Clotho hurled towards the reality below. Gods travelled through concepts, not space. The time to get from the concept of racial memory to a single conflict at night was vast, like trying to spot a falcon while staring at a sunny sky. Fate was different though. Fate didn’t have to spot the falcon, Fate just had to know where the falcon would be, and keep a watchful eye out. The Spinner of the Threads of Fate had very good eyes indeed.
***
Elizabeth Bathory
Fire raged across her face and through her veins. Every effort made was a fight against the pain. Whatever that damned food had stabbed her with hurt like a bitch. She struggled to her knees and opened her good eye. Vlad was dancing in pain like a madman, shaking his hand. She could smell the silver and salt on him from here, but there was something more in it. Something deadly.
Food shouldn’t know about tricks like that. Her Lord, Vladimyr Tepes, had sent Renfield into the world to have that stupid book written just so that they could avoid these situations. The food should have tried garlic or something else equally ineffective. Speaking of food …
She looked around, struggling to ignore the pain in the right half of her face. There he was, fighting to stand up, tangled in the shrubbery next to the sidewalk. Focusing her will, she fought her way up to her feet. The food would pay, and dearly at that. Stumbling forward, she began to move towards the prey. Every step gave her more strength.
She stopped briefly by Vlad, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. “Will you be okay, dearest?”
Vlad recoiled a little when he saw her face. “I shall. And you?”
She nodded. They turned towards Robert, amused through their pain at his feeble struggles to untangle himself. And both froze.
A light, as intense as a thousand suns, though only about six feet around, appeared between them and the food. Disembodied and apparently coming from the light, a voice echoed, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit ohshitohshit …” Something vaguely human sized pulsed in the light.
The concrete below the contained explosion cracked loudly, then shattered and erupted outwards. Detritus went flying in every direction and the light refracted, splitting in two and floating gently to either side of the crater.
An old woman, clutching a walking stick for balance, stood from the impact. “Hello dearies.” She glanced left and right, then sighed, obviously put upon. “You followed me. You weren’t supposed to follow me.”
Much more gently the light that had drifted to the right of the crone pulsed once and a woman in her thirties—with the sparkle of mischief in her eyes—stepped out. “Well, you didn’t tell us not to, did you?” She smirked and started digging through her handbag.
Bathory didn’t wait for the third light to reveal its occupant. She knew what was coming and lunged straight for it.
Vlad had the same idea as her, though he went for the crone. “Welcome to Earth, sisters Moirai!”
A little girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, stepped from the third light just as Bathory landed in the space. The Vampire tackled the child Goddess, the two going down in a tangle of limbs. While the two scrapped, Vlad squared off with the two elder sisters. The food lying in the shrubs was frozen in shock, barely visible on the edge of the thickening fog.
Vladimyr, fended off a swift swat of Clotho’s cane, put his back to Bathory, facing the two Moirai, crouching low. With a flick of his wrists, his fingernails extended, becoming six inch long razor sharp poisoned
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