+1.29: Escape Plan

Blaise Grigori fished the keys to his Audi Q7 out of his pocket, got in and fired up the engine. Of all the people he’d knew Davrin was the last person he had expected to hear from: Especially after their fallout all nearly 50 years ago.

He had made it to the other side of town in no more than 20 minutes. That was one of the things he loved about Twinbrook. Everything was relaxed, slow-paced and quiet. He clicked the alarm twice – just to make sure. This wasn’t exactly the nicer part of town. He surveyed the land before him. Davrin really couldn’t have picked more of a dump to meet in. Treading lightly over the junk and scrap, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a few dead rats he couldn’t help feel a sense of griminess and grubbiness wash over him.

“You do know what the consequences are, right? You won’t be so lucky this time, mate.” Blaise had already fired up the cannon of reprimands without so much as a ‘hello’ for his old friend.

“Save this shit for later, will you?”  Davrin growled impatiently. The last and only person he trusted enough to seek help from was Blaise. Yet here he was, lecturing him on his string of bad choices.

“Well he’s fine. Just a concussion and bruising. The drugs they gave him are enough to keep him asleep for a few more hours. But when he wakes” Blaise emerged from the bedroom minutes later after silently agreeing to helping his old friend.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I have to.” Davrin cut in, not wanting to think of the short-term ramifications. “Right now I have to see her. We need to go somewhere far from here.” His mind raced as he flipped through his memories of places he’d been, places he thought were safe.

---Somwhere else in Twinbrook---

Restlessly, as she tossed and turned, the bedding getting tangled up in itself, Azaria couldn’t seem to drift off into a comfortable sleep. An encounter with Elvira and Morrigan was enough to keep anyone awake for days even. She eventually pulled herself out of the jumbled mass of linen and made her way to the kitchen to distract herself with a piping hot cup of coffee.

Azaria opened to find a shifty-eyed Davrin, head turning from left to right to check that the coast really was clear.

“I can’t talk to you.” She said firmly and coldly making to close the door.

“You don’t mean that.” His strength over-powered hers and he forced the door back open, inviting himself in. “Blaise is keeping watch.”

“Pack your bags, just the essentials. We’re leaving immediately.” He offered no indication as to where they would be leaving to. He surveyed the house. It was small but neat. And he was sure this wouldn’t have been her ideal choice of home.

“What makes you think I’m going to drop everything and just leave with you? It’s not so easy for us humans to pick up and go as we please.” Her arms remained crossed. Her frustration and anger had got the better of her and she didn’t hesitate to point out a difference between ‘her species’ and his; throwing back some of the prejudice he’d shown her when they had lived together. 

She walked away back to her now cold cup of coffee. She would have left then and there without so much as bothering to pack; had he asked her ten years ago. Now, today, at this very moment, she had responsibilities. And those came before her curiosity over a life with a vampire who had an unimaginable, unexplainable hold over her: a hold that she had allowed him to have. He was suddenly behind her, his hands firmly on her waist.

“Listen.” His eyes bore into hers “However appealing and seemingly truthful that deal is that they made with you, they’ll never see it through. Especially that bitch, Morrigan.”

Azaria couldn’t tell if he was compelling her or not, but she found truth in what he was saying.

“The only reason she didn’t slash you to pieces was because the place was teeming with witnesses. They’re big on keeping the council members happy.”

She remembered a line from somewhere, a movie, a book, a song, she didn’t know. All she remembered was that you can’t trust vampires.

“Fine.” Davrin pulled away when she gave no sign of going to get her things. She wished he hadn’t. Having his arms around her made her feel like things would work out; that she’d get her cake and eat it. But her head kept protesting against it, rooting her to the spot.

“I’ll be waiting by the old airport. If you’re not there by five, I’m gone. And you’ll never see Troye or myself again.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Azaria heard the door slam and the roar of an engine. She slumped down into the chair, debating whether to take the offer or not. Maybe Troye would have a better life without all the drama. Maybe it would be better for him to live with the only family he knew.

She rested her head in her hand, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting up her nostrils. She could barely take a sip. Her eyes stung with sleeplessness, her head throbbed and every limb felt heavy as lead. Yet her mind vehemently refused to let her get some rest. Everything had just gone so pear-shaped: ever since she set foot in Bridgeport all those years ago. Had she known her dreams of a high-powered journalistic career would’ve been over before she even sniffed the newsroom; she never would have left home. She inhaled deeply, shook her head and decided there was no use in whining over the horrible turn her life had taken. It was time she put on her big-girl pants and faced up to what was going on.