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lexiseigneur · 4 years

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Part 2 Chapter 2: Out of the light, into the unknown

Lexi showered to rid herself of the stench of the city. Then she read, cozily tucked in her blankets. At some point, she fell asleep, her book forming a tent above her chest.

The slamming of a car door woke her. She frowned because this was not Quinlan. Whoever this was entered the house, and she jumped out of the bed and listened. Then because she did not want to meet that person in the confines of her bedroom, she flew toward the stairs and collided with him. Her brain was overwhelmed by dissonance.

This was clearly Quinlan. But it was not. She was screaming his name in her mind and the words sounded flat. They were not going anywhere. He could not hear her. The Bond was gone. His expression exacerbated her anxiety. Quinlan was as lost as she was.

“How?” she whispered.

She sighed when he touched her and his skin was rough and familiar. His arms around her were almost crushing.

“Are...are you hurt?” he asked.

“No. You?”

Lexi did not feel better that he was already looking for a solution. It only highlighted how clueless they both were. What good were two thousand years of experience in such a situation? He knew as much about the Bond as she did. And she knew very little.

“I am unharmed.”

“There...there must be a reason this is happening.”

Quinlan buried his face in her neck.

“We will fix this.”

His words were a little muffled and she wanted to cry because in the Bond, they always rang clear.

“There are only so many reasons the Bond can be disrupted,” she said. It was just another problem to solve. And together they had solved the impossible. They could do this. They had to.

“There is distance...” he said.

“Dense metals...”

He stood straight and alert.

“The jamming devices.”

“What? They don't work like that.”

“You deducted that we function on another plane...another frequency than the Strigoi. We could even perceive the original devices. Is it such a stretch someone might have modified them to produce this effect?”

“I really don't see how or why.”

Quinlan let go of her and drew his sword.

“With such interference, we are distracted… weaker. Perhaps whoever did this was not expecting my return to occur quite so early.”

It made sense. Lexi strained to listen to the sounds around the house. Mice, deer, birds, a few squirrels fighting nearby. No humans.

“I don't hear...”

“It does not mean they were not here. The range of the devices is limited, but they could be lying in wait on the edge of our perception.”

And with those words, he rushed outside and lifted his face to the breeze. Lexi imitated him and picked up irrelevant traces near the cars. Quinlan disappeared between the trees and she followed, hopeful. Had he detected something she had not? In those matters, he still had the advantage of his considerable experience.

Then he veered, one time then two then three and her hope died. He was not following a trail, his changes of direction appeared random.

After almost one hour, he stopped. His sword fell on dry leaves and his shoulders slumped. She could not feel him, but she was not completely blind.

“I don't know what to do,” he said.

His voice was hoarse and suddenly the possibility that the Bond might never be restored hit her.

“Quinlan…If we don’t find it...”

He winced. She took his hand and faced him. His eyes were fixated on a point on the ground, unseeing. Lexi knew that expression. He was looking for the silver place. If he unleashed his soul to surround her, its warmth didn’t reach her.

“I’m sorry, I failed. Please, try to find it,” he said still looking at the ground.

Lexi couldn’t bear his looking away. She reached for his face, caressed it, begging. Quinlan arms snapped around her. His hand dug into her hair, pressed her face against his chest.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

His heartbeat was familiar. Calming. Anchored by his familiar music, she plunged into herself.

Lexi opened her mind’s eyes, intact in that realm. She stood in the house that was her psyche. On her right, the plain wall used to be the entrance to a dark basement.

She faced the front door and ran to it. It was locked. So she pulled and kicked and even pleaded, but the door remained locked. Then she ran to the nearest window and pulled the curtains open.

There was no window, only another wall. She checked another curtain and met the same light green tapestry.

Lexi was the problem. The silver place was out of her reach, not Quinlan’s.

She opened her real eyes.

“I can't find it. I mean...it's blocking me. The door there is locked. I'm the one who changed. What did I do wrong?”

“You cannot be sure it's anything that you did. This is not something that ever existed before. We are wholly ignorant of its inner mechanisms.”

She mumbled how scared she was, but she wasn’t sure he could hear her.

“Lexi…I loved you without the Bond, and I will continue no matter what happens.”

She believed him but his absence in her head left a crippling abyss. For just a moment, she needed that pain to go away.

So she kissed him. In between those desperate kisses, she whispered words of love that now needed to be passed from lips to lips.

When they fell on the damp and uneven forest ground, she didn’t care. It only mattered that when he pressed himself inside her, the ache in her soul was forgotten.

After that moment, they continued kissing until her lips felt bruised, because that also dulled the emptiness.

They stayed on the rotting leaves, tucked inside Quinlan’s coat, until rain forced them back inside the house. Lexi wanted to drag him to bed and sleep. But Quinlan had other ideas.

He stood in the middle of the living room, dripping on the hardwood floors from the rain, seemingly lost in thought. Lexi knew better than to interrupt.

“The book might have answers,” he said and started toward the stairs.

She followed closely.

“What?”

“The Occido Lumen.”

She had not thought about it in years. Quinlan yanked open the metal trunk sitting in a corner of their bedroom and took out a wooden box. Inside the box, the pages of the Occido Lumen were bound together by string.

“I thought it was just a bunch of allegories and stories about Strigoi hunters.”

“When I translated it with the Professor and by myself, I focused on mentions of the Master and the Ancients. I only glazed over those that were not useful. But this would be the only place containing knowledge about our kind.”

The velum was yellowed by time but the illuminations still brightly colored. She recalled a conversation on their first encounter.

“There were others before you? You think they are mentioned in there?”

“I recall explanations about the silent voice of the Master. Perhaps we can find similar texts about the silent voice of the half-breeds.”

“They could have shared the Bond, if they met.”

“Indeed.”

He shed his harness and coat, dried himself and unbound the pages. Lexi did not have the desire to smile but it was close. If there were any clues to be found, Quinlan would have them sooner or later.

“Let's get to work,” he said.

Lexi assisted where she could. Mostly by waiting until the sun shone bright and high to take pictures of the hidden scriptures. As he studied the texts, she associated the pictures with their translations. She made three piles, one for the useless ones, another for the ambiguous ones and one for those whose content was unknown and possibly useful.

This took four days. When he was not working, she listened to his retelling of the contents he had just translated. That night they drank their lab-grown blood in front of a roaring fire.

“In the 9th century, a village on the coast of France became deserted in the span of three days. The author describes how strangers came with weapons and dug out the villagers from a nearby beach before killing them and burning their bodies. Those strangers never showed their faces as they wore hoods and masks.”

“Sun Hunters? Cleaning up the Master's mess?”

“So it seems.”

This story would join the pile of useless anecdotes.

“It highlights a particular point that has been nagging me,” said Quinlan. “The book is supposed to be a translation from Sumerian, from tablets found in Mesopotamia in the 16th century.”

“Yeah...unless whoever made the tablets was a time traveler, there is a problem there.”

“The author added much more than what the original texts contained. However, if I learned anything from my travels is that much is lost in translation.”

“You want the tablets?”

“I do. A primary source of information is always most valuable.”

“Where are they?”

“Destroyed by a French king when the author showed him those heretic writings.”

Lexi scowled. What was the point then?

“The Occido Lumen was also ordered destroyed,” he said and had a small grin. “One can surmise that whoever saved the book might also have saved the tablets.”

He seemed so convinced, she could not tarnish his excitement with her pessimism. Lexi could not afford to base her hopes on mere speculations.

“Where would we even begin to start looking for those things?”

“Where they should have been destroyed. In Paris.”

Her stomach dropped a little. She had not been back in that city since she had been human.

“Professor Morecci's connections could open doors in that milieu,” he said, finished his glass of blood and picked up the phone from the wall.

Lexi glanced at the time. It would be ten in the evening where she lived. Calling at this time might seem a little rude. But Morecci picked up after only two rings.

“Mr. Quinlan? How unexpected!”

This was followed by small talk that Quinlan generously indulged. Then he cut to the chase.

“I need help tracking a Mesopotamian tablet. It surfaced around 1667 in Paris and ordered destroyed.”

“That’s vague.”

“It might have last belonged to Madame de Montespan.”

“Now that’s better.”

“I’m sorry to say this but it is a matter of great urgency.”

“We are historians, for us there is no such thing as urgency.”

“Ciara, please.”

“Do you remember what we discussed last year?”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. This strange behavior would have amused Lexi in less problematic circumstances.

“Fine. I’ll do it. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Not really, you’re just unusually stubborn about very small things.”

“When would that be then?”

“I will let you know. Maybe Reykjavik.”

Quinlan sighed, wished her a good evening then hung up.

“What was that about?” asked Lexi as soon as he put the phone down.

“The professor has attempted to obtain my services as a speaker for those gatherings with her colleagues.”

“A conference, you mean? Why did you say no?”

“I am not a zoo animal.”

“They would come to hear you speak not to throw peanuts at you.”

Quinlan grunted and this time she could not help but laugh. It also dulled the emptiness.

***

The next day, they received a call from the curator of the Louvre Museum informing them they were welcome to examine their collection of Mesopotamian tablets. It was fortunate, since they were about to embark a plane bound for Paris. Quinlan had not considered the possibility of a refusal.

Inquisitive eyes followed them everywhere from the moment they entered the airport, until they sat in their first class chairs. They were blessed with a professional flight attendant who did not even flinch at their appearance. The other passengers ogled and whispered.

“Beverages?” she asked and leaned forward.

“No, thank you,” said Lexi.

Quinlan shook his head and the attendant walked on.

“You usually have a coffee at this point,” he remarked.

“I don't feel like it today.”

Several hours into the flight, two boys seating ahead of them still observed. Their heads poked from the sides of their seats and fascinated eyes followed Quinlan and Lexi's every move. Quinlan ignored them and focused on a troublesome passage of the Occido Lumen.

Signs of the author's madness were becoming more numerous. When he looked up, the boys still stared but much more quietly. A long and thing object protruded from the side of the seat in front of Lexi. It was an amalgam of straws, taped together into a lengthy stick. Its tip poked Lexi’s knee. She slept and didn’t notice. Quinlan sighed, and hailed the flight attendant. Intervening himself would likely involve the children screaming and crying. No need for this raucous.

The attendant confiscated the stick with stern warnings, and apologized quietly. Quinlan only wished for Lexi to rest. He hadn’t even notice when she had finally fell asleep.

Her hands twitched and her eyes moved rapidly, but he could not hear her dreams. It was tempting to lean back in his seat and let himself be submerged by their loss. Quinlan sat straighter and resumed his work. Self-pity did not solve problems.

Le Louvre had once been a royal palace built over the span of eight centuries. Quinlan had not visited Paris often across the centuries, merely a dozen times. But with each visit, he had witnessed the erection of yet another luxurious addition to the monumental palace.

Had this been travel for pleasure, Quinlan would have loved describing this remarkable endeavor to Lexi. At night, the city of light had not yet found itself. The streets were deserted, and it took lengthy negotiations for a taxi driver to take them to the museum. They stopped in front of the eastmost façade of the palace, an entrance exquisitely sculpted and divided by thirty-four columns. In the center, the large wooden doors opened and a tall black man ushered them inside.

“I am Jean-Pierre Abenon. Welcome to Paris.”

His accent was very thick. Quinlan shook his hand, much larger than his. When Lexi did the same, her tiny fingers were engulfed within his grip. When he spoke again, she had a vague smile. The historian took them to the secret and unseen parts of the buildings. There, beauty was replaced by the practical, with concrete and innumerable shelves. Under the Richelieu wing were stored the antique treasures not currently shown to the public.

“I took the liberty to start a little,” said Jean-Pierre as he rolled up his sleeves. “Here is a list of artifacts that could have belonged to Madame de Montespan.”

He gave them a binder containing a hundred pages. Each sheet represented one tablet and a summary of its history. Quinlan lifted a brow and exchanged a look with Lexi. She mouthed a quiet “wow”.

“Do you know Rabbi Avigdor Levy? He was a scholar executed by Louis XIV.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. How is he involved?”

“The tablets would have belonged to him beforehand. It doesn’t matter, your initial research is of tremendous help. Thank you.”

“Initial being the operative word. Please check what I gave you, and I will continue looking,” he said. He directed them to a desk with several uncomfortable chairs. Jean-Pierre trotted from shelf to shelf before returning to his computer. He repeated this dance over and over again with no sign of slowing. From time to time, he smiled to himself and printed another page.

Quinlan and Lexi poured over the considerable list. Those that were accompanied by a brief translation were easy to discard. None of them spoke of bloodsucking creatures. Most were bills, or simple letters. The desk was soon covered in neat piles arranged by Lexi.

“Here are the ones that are a definite no. Those are a maybe and those are really interesting.”

The first two nights they spent trimming away the tablets that were certainly useless. When they returned the third night, Jean-Pierre waved them in and positively ran toward the stairs leading to the basement. He babbled the entire way.

“I have found something that might be very useful to you! I’ve been sitting on that all day.”

“Jean-Pierre…when do you sleep?” asked Lexi.

“I had a few hours today. I don’t need much, never have. That’s why I work nights.”

“What have you found?” asked Quinlan.

“Trash. I found trash.”

“Excuse me?” said Quinlan.

Intrigued, they approached the desk on which a metallic chest rested. It was the size of a shoe box. Quinlan’s heart lept.

“Is that…?” asked Quinlan.

“It must certainly is.”

“Why did you call it trash?” asked Lexi.

“Well…”

Jean-Pierre put on gloves and carefully opened the chest. Lexi made a pathetic sound, and Quinlan wanted to scream in frustration. The chest was divided into six compartments filled with sand and loose stones. On closer inspection, letters that he now recognized as Sumerian were engraved on the largest fragments.

“Oh…I guess you wanted them intact…”

Jean-Pierre scratched the back of his head. There was a page tucked in the lid of the chest and Quinlan took it. The historian seemed to want to protest, then thought better of it. The paper stated the king had ordered the destruction of the Occido Lumen and six clay tablets.

Quinlan stared at the remnants, as though his gaze could reverse time and bring the pieces back together. He had been so convinced that the answer was there. That something in those strange etchings would bring back their home.

“That’s bad luck but you still have the seventh to work with.”

Both Dhampir turned to him as one, and Jean-Pierre startled.

“After you gave me the name of the person who possessed them before their destruction, I found proof he bought the tablets in 1606. It mentions seven tablets.”

“Where…”

Quinlan could not finish that sentence. Was it lost as well?

“The six tablets have peculiar compositions unique to the region where the clay was extracted. And there is only one other with the same composition…”

Jean-Pierre took a page still waiting in the tray of the printer.

“It’s in Cairo but it’s…weird.”

Under the picture of the tablet, there was a paragraph which included the word “gibberish”. The tablet was written in what appeared like Sumerian but besides the first line, nothing made sense.

“I don’t want to be touting my own horn but technically, I am the foremost specialist in the Sumerian language and this…”

He pointed at the page clutched in Quinlan’s hand.

“…is not it.”

“How is that possible?” asked Lexi.

“I’m not sure...Sumerian is not written like English or French, it’s closer to Japanese kanas. The symbols represent syllables. I see a pattern. It’s not random. But it doesn’t fit anything found in that region at that time, or even right now.”

His large smile was back.

“I like a challenge so…just give me time.”

“We don’t have time,” whispered Lexi.

“The tablet is 3000 years old, hardly news…” he said with a shrug.

Those historians. Quinlan closed his eyes and stopped himself from punching him. The man did not know, and he was helping.

“How long do you think this would take?” asked Quinlan.

Jean-Pierre’s gaze shifted from Lexi’s gloomy expression to Quinlan’s closed fists.

“It took decades to decipher Sumerian last time but…I have tools my predecessors didn’t have. If you hoped for an answer during your stay here huh…I’m sorry but that’s not realistic.”

***

During the flight back, Quinlan finished studying the Occido Lumen and found nothing of value. He did not tell Lexi. She rolled onto herself, staring at the carpeted floors. There was nothing else to do.

Lexi was sound asleep as Quinlan drove them to Greystone. When they arrived, she did not wake. Quinlan kissed her brow, where her stripes split toward her cheeks. Then he carried her inside and tucking her in bed. Exhausted, he hugged her, breathing in her loose hair then authorized himself to sleep.

He stood in a Parisian street, and carriages pulled by horses passed by him. When he looked down he did not wear the suit he expected but the rough cloth that had been his first garment. The sun did not burn. Another dream. Across the full street, Ancharia smiled.

“Mother?”

“One of them.”

She smiled and walked away. Quinlan’s mouth fell open and he forced himself to wake up. With a jerk, he opened his eyes and reached for Lexi’s shoulders.

He wanted to kick himself for being so unfathomably dense.

“Lexi…wake up.”

She grunted and buried her face in her pillow.

“II know what is happening. Why the Bond is gone.”

She turned to him.

“What?”

“We were wrong…we thought only three situations could cut off the Bond.”

“We know only three. What else?”

“How was I born, Lexi?”

She squinted, wiped her eyes and growled.

“I…Your mother was infected.”

“By the Master.”

“Yes? So?”

“Why would she flee? Why would she stay away from him? How did he not find her as she gave birth to me?”

“She was cut off from him,” Lexi murmured.

She shook her head.

“That can’t apply to us.”

Now Quinlan wished she would remain quiet for a moment, so he could listen.

“Quinlan? That doesn’t apply to us. We’re half-breeds. Hybrids are sterile. You never had children.”

“I never had a child with a human.”

“It doesn’t matter…the chromosomes they…they…”

Then she stuttered, unable to complete another sentence. Her heart knocked violently against her ribs.

“Lexi.”

She stopped mumbling and looked back at him. Her eyes were filling with tears. He had to control his own breathing as his heart felt too big for his chest. Quinlan pulled her close and waited until she quieted down. He had never wished for silence harder in his life.

“Lexi, listen.”

Together, they held their breath and focused. Quinlan cursed the house with its creaking bones, the wildlife scurrying about, and that damn wind.

…Oh.

Quinlan half choked. He held Lexi tighter and nuzzled her neck. She gasped because she had found it as well. It was tiny, less than a whisper, quieter than a mouse. A third heartbeat.

#Mr. Quinlan #Mister Quinlan #the strain fx #the strain #quintus sertorius #the strain fanfiction #The Strain fanfic #part 2

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