Chapter Text
*
[Fort Salem Woods, War College Knower Exams]
Tally stopped sprinting and doubled over, clutching at her side. She spat in a failed attempt to rid the taste of iron from her tongue. Intercostal muscles stretched towards snapping as her lungs swelled in desperate search of air. She grimaced at the sensation, then sneered as she glanced over her shoulder.
Long gone are the days of the dollhouse.
Bracing herself with a flat palm against the bark of a nearby maple tree, she scratched at its wooden skin. Unpicking the organic debris from under her middle nail, she ground it between the pads of her finger and thumb. Raising the dust to her nostrils, she let her eyelids close and inhaled deeply. The damp, earthy fragrance sparked a genuine smile.
This tree is real. A hybrid hallucination. Clever. Very clever.
A branch snapped in the distance. Tally dropped instinctively to a crouch, tilting her head like an apex predator, her gaze unnaturally wide and fixed. To the untrained eye, there was nothing there, just an eerie mist that clung to the forest floor, penetrated in places by pale moonlight. Tally, however, could see it, a crimson light shimmering in the distance, a hundred metres out.
There you are.
Tally snapped her head to the left, feigning deep interest in another direction. If this was to work, she’d need them to think she hadn’t tracked their signature. She unclipped her scourge as Camarilla agents began to spill from the trees like ghosts turned solid. She sliced, twisted, jumped and kicked her way through the assault. After a decisive blow, beheading one, she risked a glance down towards her right shoulder, noting the crimson light was much closer.
“URGH,” Tally whipped her scourge around her head as she took out two more, panting heavily.
Tally knew she couldn’t physically keep this up for much longer. The Camarilla suddenly stopped in their tracks and retreated backwards into the darkness. Their limbs twitched unnaturally, bodies crumpled, bones snapped, skin split and they oozed; a thick, black, viscous liquid pouring forth onto the soil.
Witch plague? Seriously? That’s a smidge sadistic.
Tally was surrounded, the plague snaking towards her. She could sense the source right behind her now, moving in for a front row seat to her demise. She dropped to her knees as the plague enveloped her, nudging at her nostrils and lips for admission. It was all a little too familiar. Her body betrayed her with an involuntary shiver – the seed of fear.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not-
Tally spun onto her back and emitted a forceful wind strike at the crimson signature. Her fabulous white teeth contrasted the plague encasing her as she flashed a victorious grin. The black organism receded, the fog cleared and what was a winter’s night transitioned to a summer’s day. Tally collapsed back onto the ground in pure exhaustion, casting her arms wide, laughing wholeheartedly.
“Did that wind strike really need to be so vicious?” a familiar voice grunted.
Tally raised her head off the ground, warmed by the sight of a slightly dishevelled Nicte Batan picking herself up off the forest floor.
*
“That was an amazing working,” Tally chuckled, letting her giddy head fall back.
Nicte paused and considered Tally, her dimples in full bloom as she gazed up at the clear blue sky, interrupted only by the foliage of the forest. Her chest continued to fall and rise, albeit with a lessening sense of urgency. Nicte, realising she was staring, shook her head like a wet dog.
“Evidently not amazing enough for the knower of a generation,” she extended a hand to Tally.
Tally took it, beaming at the woman. Nicte pulled her up easily. As she stepped away, Tally swayed and Nicte instantly moved back in, securing an arm around her slender waist. She could feel Tally’s blush radiating to her own cheek.
“Thank-you… Sergeant,” Tally breathed.
Nicte coughed at the title, keeping firm hold of Tally’s shoulders as she distanced them.
“Are you steady, Private Craven?” Nicte teased, a wry smile lifting her cheeks.
“Yes ma’am,” Tally nodded curtly, dipping her head in some form of mini-bow and instantly looking mortified.
Nicte would normally give Tally a lot of grief for being an awkward lemon, but the redhead had already turned on her heel and paced away in an attempt to dodge her remarks. The pair had spent months on the road in the peak of the Camarilla’s tyranny. They were close, at least as close as Nicte had let anyone get in a long time – aside from one other. Nicte jogged to catch up with the lanky-legged redhead, falling into step a few paces behind.
I’ll let it go… this time.
As Tally exited the tree-line, unable to hide her smile, she was nearly knocked into next Sunday by Abigail and Raelle. The three shared a messy embrace while they jumped up and down, screaming with joy. Nicte smiled fondly as she lurked in the shadows. She quickly schooled the uncharacteristic softness from her features as she met General Alder’s gaze. The General cocked her head inquisitively.
“She aced it,” Nicte informed Alder via farspeech, “and no, I didn’t hold back.”
“Good,” Alder responded.
Emotion didn’t translate well through farspeech, but Nicte could tell by the twitching at the edges of her mouth and the welling in her eyes, the General was beyond proud of one Private Tally Craven.
Magda Verger had joined the Bellweather Unit, clapping her top student on the back. Anacostia appeared next, practically bouncing over to them with all sense of decorum tossed out the Bat. Abigail and Raelle had already passed their respective war college exams. Abigail had controlled her weather with never-before-seen precision to take out multiple targets amongst a sea of riled up sheep. No sheep were harmed, which was a surprise to all involved. Raelle had healed every occupant in the minor injuries unit of a nearby civilian hospital before even breaking a sweat. This unit was special and everyone knew it.
Now their graduation was just around the corner.
*
Tally pranced around their dorm like a sugar-saturated fairy, positively buzzing since breaking free of Nicte’s working. She could feel the ghost of Nicte’s touches where she’d helped her back to her feet. Tally stared at the window, reliving that precise moment.
“Have you finally run out of juice, Tal?” Raelle goaded.
Tally thought about how close their faces had been. For a moment, she’d even considered they might…
“EARTH TO TAL-FACE,” Abigail bellowed.
Tally jumped a foot. She rounded on her sisters as they collapsed on their respective bunks, rolling around laughing.
“Not fair,” she sulked.
“Which of them was it this time?” Raelle teased.
Abigail drew back her shoulders, pulled her hair up into a tight bun, narrowed her eyes and thrust her chin outwards.
“The spectacular-looking, resurrected, three-hundred-and-twenty-nine-year-old, gazillion-star General?” Raelle gestured towards Abigail like she was selling a toaster.
Abigail got down on her knees, mussed up her hair into a lazy ponytail, tilted her head and popped on her crazy town eyes.
“Or the equally attractive, globally renowned, rough-and-ready, mind-fucking war criminal?” Raelle narrated as Abigail equipped her jazz-hands.
Tally ran her fingers through her hair and gripped it, blowing her frustration out in a sigh.
“Come on, Tal,” Raelle rubbed shoulders with her, “we’re only winding you up.”
“Precisely, my little lovesick, teacher’s pet,” Abigail pecked her on the head.
Tally resembled a volcano about the erupt.
“Aren’t you guys ready yet?” Scylla leaned against the doorway; arms folded as she surveyed the state of the room with mild amusement.
Tally, delighted for the distraction, continued rifling through the various army and civilian clothing piled high on her bed in search of a better bra.
“First dorm on the crawl is Gregorio’s,” Scylla informed them.
As if heralding Scylla’s words, a chant erupted in the hallway.
“We like to drink with Greg, ‘cause Greg will graduate! And when we drink with Greg, he finishes in 10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!”
A mob of Sekhmet coven charged down the hall past the dorm, a very tipsy Gregorio hoisted above their heads, clutching a red cup and looking at little green at all the irregular bouncing.
“Yeah, come on Tal,” Abigail and Raelle joined Scylla at the doorway, “we’re missing out!”
“I’ll follow you now in a minute,” Tally smiled.
The trio wasted no time in chasing after Gregorio’s chariot. Tally fussed with the clothes on her bed before shoving them aside with anger and huffing. The dramatic act revealed her red bra, crimson almost. Tally’s mind drifted back to Nicte’s magical signature in the woods. If she closed her eyes, she could almost locate her precisely…
The noise of liquid splattering against a solid surface to a chorus of ughhhh’s and ewww’s robbed her attention.
“Tal,” Raelle panted at the doorway, holding her side from laughing, “come quick, Greg’s just decorated his dorm!”
Tally rolled her eyes and followed her sister down the hall.
“We like to drink with Abigail, ‘least she can hold her drink…”
*
Sarah tilted back in her desk chair, bringing her hands behind to cradle her head. She couldn’t erase the memory of how happy Tally looked as she emerged, victorious, from the forest earlier that day. Nor did she want to, if she were honest.
“And what has you grinning like an idiot,” Nicte remarked as she closed the office door, locking it behind her. “Or should I ask, who?”
Sarah rose to her feet and stiffened. Nicte plonked unceremoniously into a chair and dropped her muddy boots onto Sarah’s mahogany desk. Sarah glared at Nicte’s feet as if willing them to separate from her body and burst into flames. Nicte boldly held her position and Sarah settled for a gentle windstrike that sent Nicte spinning in the chair.
“Definitely who, then” Nicte smirked as the chair’s rotation slowed to a stop, facing Sarah.
Sarah forcefully exhaled and turned to the window. It was getting dark and she knew the usual war college dorm celebrations would be in full swing. She sighed sadly and Nicte placed a steady palm on the small of her back.
“What is it, Sare?” Nicte asked gently, contrasting the firmer pressure of her fingers on Sarah’s spine.
“We’re going to lose her,” Sarah glanced up at the ceiling, her emotions overtaking her.
“Lose? Who?” Nicte spun Sarah to her, “Tally?”
Sarah sniffed, nodding at a letter amongst her things. Nicte approached the document as if it were armed and dangerous. She flipped it, noting the unmistakable seal.
“The Hague?” Nicte growled in distaste, dark eyes snapping up to survey Sarah.
Sarah only nodded, pouring herself a generous whiskey. As Nicte got to the end of the letter, she slumped back against Sarah’s desk, massaging her forehead.
“She might not want to go,” Nicte suggested weakly.
“It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, Nic,” Sarah was resigned, “of course she’ll want to take the post – and so she should.”
“Well, she needs to know all of her options then!” Nicte raised her voice.
“What options are those?” Sarah looked defeated.
“Oh, Sarah,” Nicte shook her head and raised a hand to her cheek, “now is not the time to be...” Nicte gestured in Sarah’s general direction, “whatever this lovesick puppy bollocks is!”
Nicte tossed the letter aside and strode towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Sarah frowned.
“To inform Tally of her options,” Nicte announced as she exited.
Sarah was frozen in place.
She can’t mean…
“NICTE!” Sarah shouted, grabbing a uniform jacket and tearing after her.
*