10

They had Kayla in a run down farmhouse outside of Toronto, where it started to become more suburban and rural, the urban sprawl receding ever so slightly. They’d kept her drugged so she’d be docile and unable to say what was actually going on, and this benefited them greatly, just in case his abilities - whatever they were (and they hadn’t exactly told him, leading Kier to believe that they honestly didn’t know) - happened to jump to her when he died, if he died. But if they were more than Human, wasn’t she slightly superhuman anyways? Maybe it was always best to keep her sedated from their perspective.

He still wasn’t getting any of this, and while he could see relatively okay, his ears were still ringing a little. He had no idea a flash-bang grenade could be so bright or so loud; for a moment it was a white hot brightness, like the sun, and he thought he and the Russian vamps were going to flash fry into ash. Then when they didn’t, he wondered if it had just fried their retinas, and if those would grow back.

Marc could have warned the rest of them, not just Logan. He was a little pissed off at him for a while, even though he knew he Marc had made the only logical choice: they needed someone who could still function even if they were deaf and blind, and could take on the vampires and Ressiks all alone if necessary. That was Logan; it certainly wasn’t him. Still, a little head’s up would have been nice. Not that it would have helped - the light had screamed through his eyelids like the thin scraps of flesh they were.

There were vamps guarding her, of course, but they were easy to kill. She was unconscious when they arrived, and remained unconscious when they got back to the hotel, so they let her sleep on the bed while they tried to figure out what their next move was. Marc had plastic ties, the kind the cops often used to handcuff people nowadays (precisely what didn’t he have?! Kier bet if they needed a rocket launcher, a brick of C4, nipple clamps, seven 3x5 cards, and a professional glossy head shot Marc would just pull them out of his backpack), so they cuffed both Revol and Sergey and tossed them into the closet, not sure what else to do with them. Kier had an idea, but he didn’t know if they’d listen to his suggestion.

“If this is the entirety of the cult - and it looks like it - we’re done here,” Marc said, between gulps from the can of cherry Pepsi he bought from the hallway vending machine. “Let’s just kill ‘em and get gone. The threat’s over.”

There was a muffled “Hey” from the closet.

“Kill ‘em in cold blood?” Rags replied. He was sitting on the end of the bed, still shirtless and covered in the marks they’d drawn on him. They were still working too; Kier couldn’t get within three feet of him before feeling the burn. “I dunno. I mean, I know they’re vampires and everyfing, but … it still seems wrong.”

“They massacred a whole bunch of people and filmed it,” Logan told him. He was standing against the wall, closest to the closet - a deliberate act, to remind them that if they tried anything, the guy who was never unarmed was right there to free them from their heads. They were being awfully nice and quiet in that closet. Revol had glared at Logan like he thought he could take him, but Sergey was as docile as a lamb, apparently aware he couldn‘t take him, and he didn‘t think Revol had a chance either. “Would you like to see? They weren’t quick deaths.”

Rags shuddered slightly. “I’ll take your word on it.”

“Come on, this is a happy ending,” Marc said. “We don’t get a lot of those. Let’s take it and book before it all turns sour on us.”

“Yer not an optimist, are you?” Rags asked him, somewhat factiously.

Marc shrugged, and blindly held the can of soda towards Logan, who gave it a funny look before taking it from him and finishing off the soda with a singe gulp. They were pretty much an action blockbuster buddy team waiting to happen, only you’d never really believe they’d be in genuine peril, and the trail of violence left in their wake would probably be Tarantino-esque, and he didn’t do buddy action pictures. Also, he’d probably leave out the subtext of Marc having a clear man crush on the straight man he couldn’t have. Kier wanted to scold him for giving into that stereotype when he was so un-stereotypical in every other respect, but after having to swallow a whimper over Logan’s flat, rock hard stomach, he supposed he had to forgive him. If you liked butch guys, Logan was the butchest of the butchies - how did you not love that?

“I should be deciding what to do with them, shouldn’t I?” Kier finally interjected.

They all looked at him, and Logan crumpled the aluminum can like it was a napkin and lobbed it towards the tiny plastic wastebasket near the bathroom. He nailed it. “You really wanna make that your call?” Logan asked him. He wasn’t challenging him, he was just wondering if he really wanted to take on the burden all by himself.

“I want to have a talk with Revol. You can keep Sergey.”

Marc had his protective black goggles raised and sitting on the top of his head, so Kier had a startling look at his big, black eyes, which seemed to be nothing but pupil. Was that why he saw in infrared? He wasn’t sure how that worked; they were just a little eerie, and he kind of wished he’d lower his goggles. Logan had obviously seen them before, as he didn’t react at all. “Sure you wanna do this by yourself kid? I’m more than happy to help.” As he said that, Marc patted his side, where he had his stake hidden.

“This whole thing was about me. It may as well end with me.”

Rags gave him a nervous look as Logan and Marc shared a knowing glance that was both dense and inscrutable. They had their own language and cues; they were enough alike that they almost had a kind of telepathy. Logan opened the closet and grabbed Revol, hauling him out by his arm. “Knock yourself out,” he added, shoving the long haired vampire towards him. “Shout if you need help.”

Revol gave Logan an evil look, but did a shocked double take when he saw Marc without the goggles. “What the fuck are you?” he asked. “Half Beezle demon?”

Marc flipped him his middle finger. “Sit and spin, asshat.”

Kier grabbed Revol by his arm and started shoving him unceremoniously out the door. “With your haircut, you have no right to criticize anyone,” he told him, pushing him out into the hall. There was no one there to notice him, the nobody actor with many a B movie under his belt, shoving around an ‘80’s hair band reject with his hands cuffed behind his back. He was glad, as he had no idea how he’d explain it. They were making a porn video? Revol would probably hate that, so yes, that was exactly what he was going to say.

He pushed him into the elevator, and said, “Please try something. Please. I just need an excuse.”

Revol stared at him, his eyes colder than those of any casting director he’d ever encountered. “Aren’t you going to get these cuffs off me before you execute me? Or are you that scared of me?”

He scoffed. “That was the best you could do, huh? Logan must have really rattled you.”

“He’s a Human. He’s cattle.”

“Oh? Go up and kill him.” Kier went to the elevator’s control panel and slapped the stop button. “Go on, I dare you. Here, turn around, I’ll cut the cuffs off so it’s a fair fight.” He made a “turn around” gesture with his hand, and Revol continued staring at him.

“Is that the best you can do? Sic your freak on me?”

“Sic him on you? How do you make cattle sic anyone? They just stand around and moo. Oh, wait - did you just admit you‘re too scared to go do it? Very subtle. The German judge gives you a five point four for honesty, but the French judge only gives you a two. Aww, but you know the French - they hate everyone who isn‘t them. Like Americans, but with better cheese.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, his upper lip curling in a sneer. “I can’t believe you’re the Ascendant. A pretty little fag who still has a hard on for humanity. Your sister would have been better.”

“Kayla was better at a lot of things than I was. She studied, for one thing. Me, I have a horrible time doing what people expect me to do - I’ve spent my life disappointing people. I think I’m doing a little better undead, but it’s hard to tell since I fuck up so much.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

“I didn’t think I would.” He walked right up to him, forcing Revol to back up until he was pressed against the wall. He looked uncomfortable, and smelled worse. “Tell me, oh fearless leader of Vestus, what happens to your king now? If the ritual isn’t performed, if the usurper vamp remains inside me, what becomes of the thing I’m supposed to be?”

“Vestus is always with us; he is eternal. We can find a way to bring him back without your … corrupt body.”

“Really? That’s funny, ‘cause I thought this whole thing was all about the fact that only one person could be a vessel for him, and that was me.”

Revol’s look was like stone. “If we’d known exactly who you were, we’d have found a way around it.”

He smiled, but it had no warmth; it was just a smirk at his own thoughts. “That would have been better for everyone, don’t you think?” He grabbed Revol by the shoulders and felt him stiffen as he spun him around and slammed him face first into the wall, using one hand and his knee to pin him there as he reached around to the back of his jeans.

“What are you doing?” Revol asked, his voice tight with restrained panic.

He thought of several evil jokes he could make, including telling him he had a really nice ass, but he wasn’t in the mood to torment him. Kier suddenly felt exhaustion and a low grade depression settle on him like a lead cloak. He was born to die, and somehow he even fucked that up. He wasn’t even made into a vampire correctly; the wrong one got a hold of him first. They didn’t make a self-help book to cover that particular problem. “I’m getting the cuffs off you, jackass.” He pulled out the knife he’d borrowed from Marc earlier and after a bit of sawing, he finally cut through the plastic. It was surprisingly tough stuff.

“You aren’t letting me go,” Revol said, nearly making it a question so full of hope it could’ve broken his heart. If he had actually cared; if this son of a bitch hadn’t kidnapped his sister and been planning to sacrifice him for his god.

“What if I was? What kind of traitor would that make me?” He tucked the knife in the back of his pants, but kept Revol pinned to the wall. “What if you got the wrong impression of me?”

He licked his lips nervously, and did his best to look at him with his head turned to the side. “Did I?”

Kier considered that a moment. “No.” He slammed the stake home, straight through Revol’s back and out his heart. He shrieked and turned into dust, making Kier fall into the wall as he quickly regained his balance and put the stake back in his coat pocket.

All he wanted to know was if Vestus would be dead without him. If Revol was telling the truth, no, but it wouldn’t be that easy to bring him back in someone else. He supposed that would have to do.

Glancing down at the pile of ash, he hit a button on the panel and the elevator ground to life once more, returning to its slow descent. He was sorry housekeeping was going to have to clean Revol up, but all in all it could have been a lot messier.

Not that he cared that much. Right now, all he wanted was a drink, and a quiet place to go and feel sorry for himself.

****

Logan and Marc decided to take Sergey out for a drink. Actually, Logan intended to do it alone, but Marc insisted on going with him. Maybe to keep an eye on Sergey, maybe because he wanted a beer - who knew?

They uncuffed him before leaving, because Sergey seemed to be under the impression that they were old friends - war buddies, as it were. Of course Logan didn’t remember him, or it, or anything; he knew he’d supposedly been in World War Two, but no memories came with the name.

They got their beers at this dark little pub that was still open, just for sad sack drinkers like them, and Sergey told him about himself back then. Apparently the Russians were expecting a “soft” Westerner, some kind of prima donna they’d have to put up with until he got scared off or killed, whichever came first. But he surprised them by not caring about deprivation or low ammo or how cold it was, and eventually they considered him an honorary Russian. He could drink them all under the table, and had incredible luck, apparently surviving a direct grenade attack, and several incidents involving snipers and machine guns. Although Sergey admitted now that obviously luck had nothing to do with it.

Logan wasn’t really surprised to hear any of this: he could fight, and could survive just about anything. No shock there. He didn’t talk a lot, kept to himself, and eventually there was a falling out between him and the rest as he beat the shit out of a gunner that he thought was abusing a woman. As it was, the Russians and the Allies weren’t able to work something out anyways, as neither side truly trusted the other, and logistics was too much of a bugger. But the general assessment of Logan by the Russians was they were shit scared of him, but no one was going to admit it. They figured the Allies had sent a “tough guy” so the Russians didn’t think they were a bunch of “softies”.

Logan listened to him speak, and wondered when he had made the decision to move on. He still wanted to know about his past, what he had missed - he’d had lives, and he wanted to know of them. He had two wives that he knew of, one son, all dead before their time, all because of him. But in his mind he had drawn a line, a line of his past that he decided to write off because it was too far from him now. He knew that the Logan Sergey was talking about wouldn’t recognize the Logan sitting at this table, and vice versa - they’d be strangers to each other, sharing only the same face, the same body, the same damning curse in their veins. Their memories would diverge, their lives, even their personalities. This Logan, Canadian Special Forces Logan, was obviously a good soldier, a good man, a great Nazi smasher, and he was glad he’d been him at some point in his life. But he wasn’t him anymore - that Logan had died a very long time ago. He just didn’t know when he’d made the consc! ious decision to let that part of his past go. Maybe it was because he just had too much to look for, he knew he had to jettison some to keep himself sane. At some point, you just got tired of looking.

Marc seemed to be more interested in hearing the stories than he did, so he let him take over the conversation with Sergey and drank his beer, hoping Kier was all right. This was a lot of shit to get dumped on you all at once, and he was pretending that none of it was effecting him, but he just wasn’t that good of an actor. At least they’d found Kayla alive - he hadn’t expected that.

Once they’d finished their beers, he suggested they get going, as even this bar closed, late as it was. He tried to send a message to Marc to stay back, and he must have gotten it because he did, letting them take the lead and trailing ever so slightly behind.

Sunrise was a couple of hours away, but it was obvious Sergey felt it, as he was starting to get antsy. “So what are you gonna do to me?”

Logan just looked at him sidelong, not pausing in his gait. “What do ya think we should do with you?”

“I’m sorry about everything. If I’d known you were involved, I’d have told Revol we couldn’t do this.”

“Out of respect or out of fear?”

Sergey stopped and turned a smile on him. “It’s all the same, isn’t it? Or at least that’s what we used to say.”

Logan finally stopped and stared at him. He was what, thirty when he was changed? “See, we didn’t. I have no memories from that era; that Logan is as good as dead. And Sergey, you aren’t you - you haven’t been you for a long time. You’re a vampire. And you filmed Revol in that club. You even helped with the killings, didn’t you?” Revol was stronger than he looked, but Sergey looked powerful, muscular like Revol wasn’t - and as a good Russian soldier, he was sure Sergey had been - and strong enough to nail those people up to the wall. That’s why the film didn’t show Revol doing it; he may have done one or two of the small ones, but only Sergey was big enough to do the rest of them.

His smile died, and light in his eyes began to fade as he realized that Logan knew. To his credit, he didn’t try and deny it. “I’m still a good soldier. I do as ordered. Surely you can understand that.”

“We didn’t accept that excuse from the Nazis, did we? And I’d never follow an order I didn’t agree with - why do you think I’m not military anymore? I’m sorry, I really am. You probably deserved better than this.” He didn’t give Sergey time to ponder that. He simply swept up his arm, and popped his claws at the last second, cutting through his neck like butter. He was dust before his head could complete the fall from his shoulders.

“The real Sergey would have appreciated that.” Marc said. “I mean, how fucked up is it that the thing that kills you gets to take over your body? At least serial killers only bury you in a landfill. Well, if you’re lucky.”

He raised an eyebrow at him. “I forgot how morbid you are.”

“I’m not morbid. I haven’t brought up cannibalism yet.”

“I admire your restraint.”

“You oughta.” He flashed him his patented shit eating grin, and Logan had to look away before he caught him grinning too.

They started walking back to the hotel, and while the noise of cars was an ever-present background sound, it was easy to believe they were the last two people on planet earth, as the entire block was deserted save for them. But then Logan heard the slurred obscenities of a drunken fight starting on the next block over, and the illusion was ruined. “So what’s up for you now?” Marc asked.

Logan shrugged. “Gotta go back to L.A. and fill in Giles on this whole mess, I suppose. Then I have no idea. Why?”

“I got a gig coming up, and I could use you. It’s just a corporate espionage gig, but I could use somebody to watch my back, and having an interpreter along wouldn’t hurt either.”

He sighed dramatically. “People always want to use me for my body or my mind. Why doesn’t anyone want me for me?”

“Because you’re a curmudgeonly pain in the ass.”

“Fair enough.”

On their way back, Marc told him about the “gig”, and it didn’t sound so bad; it didn’t sound like he’d be shot up and have to jump into a chopper a few dozen stories over Hong Kong, which was always a bonus.

Besides, after all of this, a change of scenery might be a good idea.

When they arrived at Angel Investigations, things looked perfectly unchanged.

Xander was on the couch, pointing something out in a magazine to Naomi, who looked only half awake, even though it was afternoon. Bren was behind the desk, working on his computer, although the only difference this time was Saddiq was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder.

As they came in, they all looked at them. “Hey hey, where the white women at?” Marc exclaimed cheerfully, and Logan grimaced, trying not to laugh at his stupid joke. He figured Marc could teach him something about always keeping your sense of humor, but it was possible that what Marc made funny would only seem obnoxious coming from him.

“Marc!” Naomi replied happily. “How are you?”

“Kicking ass, taking names, you know the drill,” he said.

Bren got up and came around the desk. “Kier? I thought you were gonna call me -” His slightly scolding sentence was cut off as Kier embraced him desperately, holding on to Bren as if for dear life. He looked puzzled, but hugged him back. “Uh, okay. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just missed you,” Kier told him. Logan had no idea if he’d ever tell him the truth or not, but that was his decision.

Giles came out from the back office and looked at him expectantly, wanting to talk to him but not eager to tip his hand and admit it. To make it easier on all of them, he asked to talk to him in private, and Giles invited him back into Angel’s office. Angel had a late night last night, and apparently wasn’t up yet.

Logan told him what had happened with the Brotherhood of Vestus and how Kier was apparently the Ascendant, which seemed to surprise him. Giles had a story of his own, involving the Watchers and Mordred, and how he’d reached a kind of détente with the Watchers Council. He wasn’t reinstated, but they weren’t going to try and kill him or erase his memories, which was a victory of sorts. He got a sense that Giles was holding something back, not telling him something, but he figured if it was important he’d have coughed it up.

Out in the main office, Marc was still entertaining everyone with stories he was probably making up or embellishing wildly, and Xander looked a little annoyed at having his thunder stolen by a much more entertaining person. Kier was still sticking close to Bren, he had his arm around his shoulders, and he hoped those two worked it out. They did make a cute couple.

When he and Marc finally left, Saddiq followed them out into the hall. “Where are you guys going?” he asked, almost nervously. That was nearly rude of him, although it wasn’t rude at all - but in Sid’s perception, it was bound to seem that way.

“Zurich,” Logan replied, and gestured to Marc. “He’s got a gig, and he doesn’t speak Swiss.”

“I dig the cheese, though,” he added with a smile.

Sid looked slightly confused. Oh, he got humor, he just didn’t always get Marc. “Oh. Um … I was wondering if … I mean, if you don’t mind …”

“Spit it out, kid,” Logan told him, not unkindly.

He took that as a direct order from a superior. “I was wondering if I might go with you. Sir.”

“Knock off the sir shit,” Logan advised him, then looked at Marc. “What d’ya think? He’s good muscle.”

Marc made a show of studying him, hemming and hawing, before finally asking, “Why you wanna go with us?”

He looked down at the floor sheepishly, his dark olive complexion hiding the blush that was surely there. “Because I’m bored.” It never even occurred to him to lie.

“Good enough for me,” Marc said. “Let’s roll.”

As he headed down the hallway, Sid looked to him for guidance. “Is he serious?”

“Believe it or not, yeah.” Logan clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Follow our lead, kid, and you’ll do just fine.”

He nodded with almost heartbreaking confidence. Well, this was going to be a learning experience for Sid, no doubt about it.

Logan just wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

****

So Kier was the Ascendant? That made things … difficult.

It did explain some things about him, though. He’d never been precisely a “normal” vampire, if there even was such a creature, and perhaps it explained why Wolfram and Hart selected him as the “mole”.

Which Giles knew was just another problem If they knew Kier was the Ascendant and if they found out the Brotherhood had failed, they might try to bring Vestus back in Kier just to cause those problems on an apocalyptic scale. Hamilton was right - the continuing existence of the Ascendant was a threat. It would be difficult to bring back Vestus in a vampire, but not impossible, certainly not for a group with Wolfram and Hart’s resources. The best thing to do would be to kill him now, ending the threat once and for all.

After several moments of agonizing soul searching, he called Gordon and informed him that both the Brotherhood and the Ascendant were dead. Technically it wasn’t a lie - being a vampire, Kier was dead.

He hung up the phone and sat behind Angel’s desk with his head in his hands. It may have been the right thing to do, but he still couldn’t see himself killing Brendan’s boyfriend. Besides, a “good” vampire was hard to find, and always worthy to have in battle on your side.

Unless he turned on you, of course. Unless he was taken over by a powerful vampiric spirit, capable of uniting all the world’s vampire clans into a single fighting force.

Oh god, he hoped he didn’t live to regret this.
 

The End ...