Fade to Black


The New York Observer
Убийца отца практически дышал ей в затылок, и эти еле ощутимые вибрации мертвеца, который обязан гонять по лёгким воздух, чтобы издевательски посмеиваться, липким чувством бессилия бежали по коже. Будто собака из эксперимента Селигмана, Клэр осознавала: новая боль наступит, и с этим ничего не сделать

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we are all bound by laws

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WARNING! English



A late call from Adrian Blackett was sudden, but expected. Не knew that an elder lord would call him, would ask for a meeting or at least a small talk one by one, without bothering lights or others who were still trying to understand — how it could happen. Raynald tried too. He tried himself to realise it, although he didn't call him "lord", although there were only two of them who were ready to show their interest: Blackett and Laeticia, the later seemed even more worried than his own family. Seemed only — he knew well how they had spend this week, terrible, terrifying and nervous if they don't lie and don't exagerrate.
They didn't need to. He didn't feel well even now, he felt exhausted, worn and shallow after the memorable encounter with Richard who had desperately tried to take over. A week had passed, but Raynald hadn'd fully recovered and now was carrying a dragging feeling of his haunting presence inside which followed into the dreams full of pain and agony, grabbed him during the night until dawn when he was jaded by the shadow of his own brother, a killer and a victim, dead and alive at the same time. Richard's mind seemed perverted, his visions dire and ghastly, and he couldn't tell himself amidst them, couldn't help sinking into the shadows of their common past, losing the ground and dissapearing in another's thoughts. He was told than that even his voice changed and in the most dreadful moments he had fire in his eyes as if Richard Leary had been there and Raynald Hayes had died instead. He was told that Declan had been sitting at his bed for days and nights, clenching his hands and face, and through a dense haze of his fever Raynald was able to get a subtle whisper of his other brother's voice — don't go. You are not him. You won't be. Ray, listen to me...listen. I love you. We love you. Don't.
He has never heard such a tenderness since then.
It was only by the end of the seventh day when a stranger soul surrendered. Let him go. It was by the end of the seventh day when their community learned the truth about the death of Richard Leary and started rumouring about the consequences and the future of the Fianna clan. Too slow — he was suprised to find the nest calm, nearly silent after a week of his absence and strangely confident. It seemed that everybody had been preparing to defend the clan in case he would not live through, and nothing happened as they saw him crawling out of his room downstairs. Raynald couldn't sort it out what exactly he waited for. It was a strange and obscure feeling as if he had missed something.
He could have waged a war — but didn't.
And now Adrian Blackett was waiting for his responce — Raynald had asked for a little time to think of it, to figure out the reasons and aims of the one who had always been on his mind and prefered waiting to acting. Who had been cautious in his preferences when choosing a side to ally with. He was still more transparent than Madaras but nevertheless less understandable.
— Is he going to offer you something?
Just a plain guess, Declan tried to make him think in a situation when it's far better to let go of it. Raynald kept silent for a while.
— Even if so, what then? I haven't heard it yet.
He wasn't sure that he needed to.

It was snowy that night, and the city trew a shimmering neon glow on the cloudy sky as if it had been a cold, frosty dawn above the rooftops which were casting long, unquet shadows. They were supposed to meet there, in the middle of nowhere, on a no man's  land at the city outskirts, but Raynald was sure that he had brought his minions with him. Humans, shifters, vampires... no matter. He could feel them it seemed, but said no word about.
Adrian's long gentle figure appeared from swirling twist where snow was dancing, dark and gloomy as always, but an unusual shade of curiosity laid upon his face when they met with glances.
Raynald suddenly felt uncomfortable. So feels an insect in a plastic box, maybe.
— Lord Blackett, — said he calmly, slightly bowing his head.
So, it begins.


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