Regrets of the Blood

The spa, a land of dilettantes and the nouveau riche, littered its bulk across the carefully cultured domain of wild flowers and transplanted greenery. Here the famous slipped into the shadows, emerging glorious in cocoons of glittering perfection. All illusions of drugged up failures and ego caused craters to careers washed away by bubbling mineral water scented with the faint tingle of renewed life. Here the dead never died. They resurrected.



Rivington flicked the week old newsprint he idly scanned for important tidbits hidden between the lines as smooth jazz filled the interior of the Phantom One. “Looks like it’s closed,” he commented dryly while calculating stock prices and caching up on Dear Abby.

Slanting him a clearly interpretable expression, Quinn sighed. A sharply smooth turn took the sleek black car down a slender slip of a path. The full glory of autumn bloomed forth as dappled trees leaked moonlight and winter promises. The rustle of leaves against the crisp night air eased the ever present pressure of what is beyond. This is the season for the tormented soul to be at ease, Quinn thought as the car came to a gentle stop, it’s near silent engine a sleeping beast waiting for command.

Rivington lowered his paper, taking in the canyon’s sheer drop to a mortal death as it gave way to a breathtaking landscape beyond. “Huh.”

The flat expression on Quinn’s face coupled with the high hunch of her shoulders was followed swiftly by Rivington’s rapid removal from the passenger’s seat. It did not, however, stop him from grinning his Cheshire’s grin as he opened the driver’s door for the Prince. Nor did it prevent the slug to the shoulder he took; rocking comically on his heals to placate Quinn’s Toreador sensibilities.

Side by side they walked the stone path towards a building made of glass. Its cornflower trim holding up a roof thatched in fairytale fashion. The sign in the window read CLOSED despite the shadow of movement against the faint glow of interior lighting.

With all the callous cunning of the Ventrue, Rivington rolled his eyes and tilted his head as his hand swept towards the door. “Well,” he said. “You brought us here.”

"Geeze, River,” Quinn groused while tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, “let me at least admire the ambiance. It's not like I get to go to a spa much myself."  Breathing in the scent of late blooming blossoms as her eyes closed, Quinn focused on the sound of leaves, then the whirling of the wind. From there she brought to the forefront the cold hard edge of obvious sound and dismissed it, letting the low whispers of ambient surroundings take the stage. Rising with a tug of her ear, she lifted a brow while looking at the frown on Rivington’s face.

Stepping forward, the hard sound of heals cracking the stones beneath forced her to smile as faint strands of peaceful music floated on the air just beyond the glass house. The bridge work on the seventh string was masterful, an old and mournfully aware violin called memories into flight.

Rivington cocked his head as he rubbed his temple.  “You brought me to a spa to stand outside and listen to music?”

Her teeth bared as elegant claws taped on the glass in an unfinished rhythm designed to drive the fastidious lawyer subtly nuts for the rest of the night. "If I didn't you wouldn't be able to say you do something more with your night than read dusty books, would you?"

“Oh, honey,” his smile mischievous, “I have plenty to do to occupy my time.”

"Giovanni,” she said sowerly, “do not count as ether 'doable' or any sort of night time occupation I want you associated with.  It looks bad on me. I don't like looking bad. Ruins my vibe."

Rivington’s smile faltered as his eye twitched, “I told you; I'm not learning from, or associating with, the Giovanni anymore.”

Quinn’s reply was cut short by the creaking of the door. A debonair man with attractive greying and dressed well but not ostentatious, opened the portal and with a single gesture offered admittance. Quinn starred at him, his shimmer of beauty dissipating before the haunted look in his eyes that spoke to the state of his soul.

Rivington paused, his gaze sweeping over the stranger dismissively as Quinn bowed her head curiously to the well-spoken older man. He repressed his predatory sneer as the Torrie presented him. "May I introduce my compatriot, Mr. Anderson," she purred as the golden haired Harpy perfected a bow.

The stranger’s voice was rough silk over the raw edge of Quinn’s ears, cultured and just slightly foreign. "Good evening, will you have a seat?"

As the pair made their way towards the delicate confection of a table with its view upon the valley below, Rivington leaned into Quinn’s shoulder, whispering. "I think he may be a Hunter."

The scrape of the door closing grated on heightened senses while Quinn watched Rivington positioned his back to the view and mentally calculate the distance to the door. Resisting the urge to shake her head she took the seat that gave the spa owner the door at his back, letting herself drink in the delicate refinement of the porcelain tea service laid out for a nonexistent party. The distant city lights gave way to stars that refracted colored auras about the crystal decanters with their shades of wine on display. A deep, rich aroma floated from somewhere that was not the Ventrue.  The gentleman sat down and took a fragile breath.

“Can I provide refreshment?"

"I would not mind a spot,” Quinn confessed, “though it looks like you have tea rather than coffee."

"I have a fondness for coffee as well, though it's not very healthy" he chucked while reaching under a nearby cart to retrieve a thermal pitcher, and then poured a thick, dark brew into the waiting cups.

The golden haired lawyer eyed the draught with caution. "Thank you, Mr...?"

The man paused as if trying to recall a distant thing, his smile a quiet shield against Rivington’s question. "Oh! I apologize,” he said as he sat down the decanter to thrust out his hand. “Dr. Steven Osager."

"I apologize, Doctor,” the barrister returned with an icy grip, "As Quinn has mentioned I am Rivington Anderson."

"Delightful to meet you Mr. Anderson, I have heard good things about your work." The Doctor turned towards Quinn and her Madonna’s smile. "Now my dear, you wished to speak with me?"

"I did and I do. We have somethings in common and a few that we do not. However I have so much to share and yet... my caution, you understand." Her charm was not that of seduction or clever beguiling, it was the earnest and honest desperation of one reaching out for a friend, afraid of being reprimanded for it. "I don't know where to begin."

"I find,” Dr. Osager replied with the wisdom of a grandfather, “if there is a problem you need help with, explaining that may be useful."

"I...” Her eyes flickered to the reassurances of Rivington’s strong presence. His hand cupped one of her smaller ones, patting it gently in encouragement. A deep breath entered her body before she turned back to the graceful Doctor and swallowed bravely. “I have several problems but one that ... well it concerns your spa. You see…” she hesitated, lost in searching for the correct turn of phrase until the Harpy squeezed her fingers, a silent signal to press on. “You see, people come in and leave with..." Quinn searched Rivington’s unwavering gaze. Seeing no objection she locked eyes with the Doctor, a gasping confidence blurted out in innocent shyness, "Can I speak frankly Dr. Osager? Can I count on your confidence?"

The Doctor’s concern was palatable as he answered. "Of course"

Quinn took another deep breath as she gave a shaky little shiver. In conspiratorial tones she leaned forward, rapidly disclosing secrets. "They come in normal and leave changed at the biological level. Their… well, I don't know how to say it, but…it's like their blood is being altered and they don't even know it."

Dr. Osager’s eyes widened as his color drained. As faint gargle hit the back of his throat, a catch that he seemed unaware of. "At my spa?"

Her voice took on a relieved tone, grateful that he hadn’t pulled out the wooden stakes or cried logical-nonsense foul on her accusations. "Yes. Here and one other place. That other place has been informed, but Dr. Osager... this is the first place it was noticed from. At first I was afraid someone was using your health clinic to sell drugs or poison people, but... Well," she unsure how much to tell. It was a fine line that separated potential allies and breaches of the First. "I kinda didn't think so after I saw what your marvelous treatment does for people. Why would someone so dedicated to helping people stay healthy do so much damage at the genetic level? Oh I am so confused!"

“That's not possible, no one would do that to any of my guests! There are rules!" The Doctor twisted his fingers together, stress palatable as he tried to calm himself, "I am sorry we cannot talk longer Ms. Quinn, I have to look into this."

"One piece of information, Dr. Osager," Rivington said in cold courtroom tones. All eyes turned towards him as he rose, natural charisma rolling off his designer suit.

"Yes, of course.” Dr. Osager seemed to calm down, focused as he was on the glittering aquamarine of Rivington’s gaze. “What is your question?"

"We're concerned for you, and those that come to your spa. It appears that there is something being added. I'm not sure what that may be, maybe something in one of the supplements or other treatments. You are more knowledgeable of the medical field than I. Do you know of anything that could do that? "

"Not in this Spa, never. I..." The Doctor sat heavily, unable to break the hard penetration of the lawyer’s entreaty. "Some of the higher end treatments and creams, I boosted them to help with cellular rejuvenation, a little spell is all. It couldn't possibly get past the skin and into the blood, that's not how it works."

The covetous glitter in Rivington’s eye as he sat back down was not lost on Quinn as he pressed his advantage. "Is there anything that would alter cellular structure magically?"

"Oh, very likely, but not in my Spa. Never in my Spa. If there is some kind of sickness, I would be happy to help. Are you sure my guests have been effected?"

"Yes sir,” Quinn said with respectful tones. “I didn't want to think so, but I wanted to let you know..."

Even the lawyer managed to fake a sympathetic look, "Yes, we've tracked it back to your spa. In fact, the symbol for your spa appears in the protein. Anything you can think of as to why that would be?"

The doctor’s frown was deep "You tracked it here, or my guests have this...sickness? There is nothing in my spa that would affect the blood."

Rivington shrugged off the illusion of humanity as he spoke with frank curtness. "Both, it appears that people who are guests at your spa have this extra bit added. This sickness. We were hoping that you would be able to look into it."

"Of course, I will. No one who leaves my spa should be altered in any way." Dr. Osager’s small smile was sheepish. "Well, save for the aforementioned beauty creams." His gaze became pleading, "Please don't mention that my dears? It's just a bit of hedge magic, nothing harmful."

"Of course not,” Rivington reassured. “We do not want to get you in trouble. Quite the contrary. We hope to stop a problem before it gets out of hand."

"Thank you so much for bringing this to my attention. Is there a way I can reach you with any results?"

The silver case slipped from the Harpy’s pocket as if appearing in his hand by charm. With a practiced movement he slid his card across the table to the mortal man. "Please do not hesitate to contact me with anything that you find. I'm assuming you already have Ms. Quinn's information as she had contacted you?"

"Sadly, she found me through intermediaries."

"Well, then. I'm sure,” the card case snapped shut, disappearing as neatly as it had appeared, “that could be remedied."

"I think we need to keep in contact, sir. I don't...” Quinn’s smile was all sweet cream and strawberry lip gloss, “well... I am afraid. My people, your people. They need protecting and someone is... Well it's just a violation, that's what it is. Anything you send to his office,” bobbing her head in Rivington’s direction, “will find its way to me. I am trying to learn law so I spend a lot of time there as it is."

"Of course my dear,” Dr. Osager agreed. “Thank you so much for bringing this to my attention."

"You are very welcome,” Rivington returned with a curl to his lips. “As I said, we're looking to stop this. Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated."

"Sir,” Quinn hesitated, “Doctor Osager, please... keep in touch. I want so much to be able to trust someone in this. I have so few friends who truly understand." A hauntingly childlike expression broke a show of genuine concern. "Thank you for seeing us. I appreciate it greatly."

"A good evening to you." Rivington stood in a silent message that the meeting was now at an end. Putting his hand out for Quinn's, he waited for the last words of fairwell to echo away.

Slipping her small hand in Rivingtons well cared for one, she rose with a gentle touch of the Doctors shoulder, letting it linger with an undercurrent of comfort. "Be well, good sir."

"Of course my dear, thank you." The Doctor turned to watch them go.

As the door clicked behind them Rivington looked out upon the cool night before whispering, "Listen to see if he is on the phone or what?"

"No, River,” she teased the lawyer, knowing full well how much he hated the nickname. “He will come to us when he sees fit. We must trust. It is not just we at stake, but the memories of his past that haunt him. I see he is trying to make up for some long ago ill, something lost he cannot regain. We will help him and so have a strong foundation of understanding. He also makes a good cup of coffee, judging by the smell."

"If you say so my dear,” he returned as he opened the car door for her.

Quinn stood, biting her lip. Rivington sighed, shutting the door and leaning against the sleek auto, a glance spared for his watch. He knew she couldn’t help it any more than he could appreciate a sunrise. Looking up he raised a golden brow. He’d give her one minute. Not a second more.

Quinn turned on her heal, steps destroying the distance as she found the source of distress. Dr. Osager’s head rested on the table, shielded by his curled arms as quiet tears salted the cloth below. Her claws reached out with exquisite tenderness to lift his face. The understanding flicker of loss and things that lay beyond echoed the sorrow in his elderly gaze.

Weapons were words. Salve was a sword. Right now Dr. Osager needed to be armed against the darkness trying to claim his soul.

"I thought I knew what beautiful souls look like…” she quoted with tones that reverberated to the unknown, “until I saw yours. Broken and hurt, black with the dust of cruelty... Still... Brighter than the sun." Leaning down to place a soft kiss on his forehead, her whisper reached his ears. "When you are ready."

Rivington was waiting for her return. As she drove them off into the distance, she mused unobtrusively. "Sometimes, Rivington, sometimes I forget what it means to be human."

The cold flick of the paper was his only reply.