The early spring sun rose softly over the water as the markets stirred to life. The unseasonably warm weather had expedited Esmerie's return to New York. A full three weeks ahead of schedule, her caravan descended upon the streets of New York for their yearly debut. For the next two months, their brightly coloured wagons and embroidered tents would grace the open-air end of the market like gems and jewels, but far less precious. 

The rules were simple. Keep your head low. Don't swindle the wrong person. And stay out of local business at all costs. 

Esme always found them easier than most. Where her 'family' tended to play up their roots and their wares, Esme preferred to play DOWN her gifts. She was perfectly happy for people to lump her in with the other fakes and floozies, satisfied to hide beneath the patina of 'gypsy' stereotypes. A true seer masquerading as a  charlatan. It was almost comical. And yet, it afforded her a life of freedom, sanctuary, and anonymity that was unavailable elsewhere. 

This morning was no different. The bright morning sun sparkled down on her Faberge hovel illuminating the rich silks and tapestries that draped her home. At a small table amidst the boho vomit, sat a frail old woman in an extravagant Sunday hat... rambling aimlessly about her late husband and the absence of a will or inheritance. Characteristically bored with the greedy minutiae of humanity, Esme languidly awaited a break in the conversation... planning a cliched circumferential spiel that would extricate them both from the woman's acrid resentment. 

The truly fated moments in life were few and far between, even for a fortune teller. The things people asked usually had little real bearing on the state of their lives, little effect on their happiness. But few were ever interested in that. No one wanted to hear what she had to say. No one wanted to truly make change for themselves. They just wanted short cuts... to the money, to the fame, to the specific guy or girl (who was rarely actually 'the one'). It got old. It got stale. But... it paid the bills. And it made those rare moments of true destiny all the more unexpected and precious. 

And despite the tired trope of a hag that drained her time and attention, today would... in fact... prove to hold a touch of destiny and a great many surprises. 

Movement from behind 'the hat' caught Esmerie's attention. And over the woman's shoulder, she locked eyes with the most striking set of beautiful blue eyes the world had ever known. She wasn't quite sure, but she thought she felt her heart skip a beat as it leapt into her throat. And for the first time in a long time, Esme remembered what it felt like for time to stand still. In that single breath, it felt like the whole world stood still; the whole universe holding its breath in anticipation of her next decision. 

In the stillness, she could see every possible path unwinding, stretching out like a spider web of infinite chance and probability. Amidst the tangled ribbons of fate, a single line stood out... vibrant blue amidst the sea of familiar red. The longer she stared at it, the more she longed to reach out and touch it. But, also, the more she stared at it, the more she felt her heart inexplicably splinter and break... because it was the faintest line of all. 

As the man turned away, unheeding and entirely unaware of her, a lump of silent grief welled up to usurp the throne of her throat because she thought she'd happily die for just one chance to touch that fading blue glow... and she feared if she didn't that every day after would be a slow death of apathy and disappointment. The kind of death she watched her clients die every day of stubbornness and stupidity. 

They say if you stare long enough into the void, the void stares back into you. And staring at the tall retreating form of her blue-eyed stranger, the fear in her chest assured her that surely he must have been born from that dark place. But gods, she was dying for him to look back at her like that... to look into her... to have even the slightest glance of him in her. 

"Why does fate always feel like staring death in the face and whispering 'I dare you'?" She asked softly, drawing a confused snerk from the woman she was meant to be reading... jarring her from her brooding. "I'm sorry. I have to go," she said simply, handing the woman back a portion of her payment. Looking through the old hag for the briefest of moments, she pressed the bills into her hand, "Look in the old armoire... in the ammo tin." And with that, Esme left the old woman scoffing and flustered on her doorstep as she disappeared into the crowd after her Blue.

Hiram looked at Amelia... It wasn't often he stepped out of the house with her. Much less often that he went to the markets; especially these markets. However, Amelia was bounding back and forth from stall to stall; purchasing a trinket here, or sampling a fragrance there. Of course, Hiram always had to sniff the scent to see if it was overbearing or not. He truly wished Salvatore would have brought her, but the unfortunate truth was, Sal had no business trying to control himself in a market of traders and fortune tellers... The emotions of those who frequented the places would have put him in a tizzy.

"Are we almost done yet? All I see here are fakes and frauds," he whispered quietly in Amelia's ear, who turned around and glared at him. "It's fun, and you know it... It's a much needed relief for the people in these times. Plus, it gives them something to hope for." Sticking out her tongue, Meli turned away from him and hopped over toward another stall. Hiram, finally catching scent of something interesting, looked around.

"THERE!" he thought to himself before signalling to Amelia.

"I'm going over there, they have roasted corn..." He pointed off to a food stall from where a wonderful aroma was permeating the air. Amelia nodded and returned to her tasks. She still very much wanted to get her palm read! It was always fun!

Hiram picked his way through the crowd and stepped into the line. Letting his mind wander, he found himself near the front rather quickly. Chuckling at his own absent-mindedness, he approached and smiled. "One cup of the corn, and add the extra spices please."

Nodding, the man behind the counter set forth on making the cup and dashed all manner of different things in it before squeezing a lime over the top. Setting it on the counter and grinning, the man pushed it over the table to Hiram. "How much do I owe you?"

"Thirty-five cents, sir," he replied, and Hiram laid a few coins on the table.

"Thank you." Turning after taking his corn, Amelia was beside him again. "Well, I've got everything I need. We can go now..."

"Good!" Hiram chirped happily. Taking one last look around, his eyes landed on a beautiful woman giving a reading to an old crone... Or had they? It was such a fleeting second as he scanned their position, and then he and Amelia disappeared into the roaming crowd...

Esme was fast, but the crowds closed in faster. In a split second, she found herself drowned in a sea of unending silk and bustling bribes. Her bare feet padded the warm cobblestone streets in consternation, her loose skirts dancing as she twirled, eyes alert and straining as she tiptoed to peer over the crowd. ... to no avail. 

This was going to be much more tiring than she'd expected. 

Taking a slow, deep breath, Esmerie closed her eyes... drowning out the roaring noise of the crowd as she turned her attention inward. Stillness. Calm. Knowing. In her mind, a sea of stars swirled dizzyingly as she fought to find the threads that came to her so easily for other people. Slowly... painfully slowly... the familiar crimson lines faded into view like rivers seen through a heavy fog. And now: the monumental task of sorting through an ever-shifting rat's nest of infinite possibilities to find a single strand of continuous possibility. 

To her surprise, amidst the gnarled, twisting chaos of intersecting, overlapping, knotted ribbons, faint blue tangles peeked out here and there at odd angles and loops. 'Make it simple' she reminded herself silently. Left, Right, Straight? 

The web of invisible threads thinned and stretched, an infinite number thinning down to a mere dozen or so. And in it, a single thread of pale blue... straight ahead. With each step, the net twisted and morphed. Old threads fading away as new ones formed and others twisted or changed. It was straight until it wasn't straight... a twist here a turn there... backtrack, loop around, lose focus, start over. 

It was late evening when her focus finally shifted back to the physical world. The cement sidewalk was cold beneath her stinging feet. The city lights just beginning to flicker on as darkness settled over the warm houses. It was early enough in the year that many of the chimneys still smoked with fires to warm the brisk night. Blinking against the crisp chill of reality, Esme stared up at an ornately forged iron gate, and through it a sprawling mansion estate. Dumbfounded, she snerked sardonically. Fate always seemed to have an artful knack for irony. 

Shaking her head, she ran her hands along the high stone walls that led to the gate; the bricks inlaid with beautiful masonry, the gate decorated with an intricate pattern of discreet but familiar symbols. This home was protected. Shaking her head, she cursed softly under her breath. Of course. Why wouldn't it be? But then... it was an old house. The design would have been part of the original plans. Perhaps the current owners didn't know what a gem they owned. 

Pursing her lips, she wondered whether that would be better. 

She stood there for a long while, staring up at the house. She'd come all this way, and suddenly she found herself at a loss... scared to even look beyond the physical. The weight of it made her sweat... like the air was jello, and she was a fly stuck within it. Heaving a deep breath, she blinked at the gate, and it was crystal clear. Blue within and red without... like a line drawn in the sand. There was no other choice, she HAD to get in. It was the only way. 

With a resigned sigh, Esme tied her long, layered skirts up securely before hoisting herself onto the iron gate. It was tall, sharply cold, and spiked. Climbing it would be no small feat. But seeing as the walls gave no holds, it was her only option. One step at a time she carefully manoeuvred herself up the scrolling metal with strained determination. Agonizing seconds stretching into long minutes as she fought for hand and foot holds amidst the slick, looping arches. With painstaking effort, she slowly reached the top, fingers aching and arms shaking from the effort. Flipping one leg over she instinctively inhaled... as if she could 'suck it in'... as the spear-like barbed scratched at the delicate fabric between her legs. Clenching the topmost spikes with white-knuckled fury, she carefully crested the top of the gate... and promptly lost her grip. 

With a soft gasp, she slid down the iron bars, crumpling to the ground with tired familiarity... head low as her hands came down to steady her landing. It wasn't flatfooted, but it was far from clumsy. Just how many times had she done this? 

Panting softly, she turned and smiled up at the towering house... all aswirl with dancing blue ribbons. She was so close she could almost taste it. And the pure exhilaration was almost intoxicating. But, beneath that elation, the stark reality of her situation began to set in. Just what, exactly, was she thinking? But... the soft alluring and siren-like coaxing of those blue eyes drowned out all sense of reason as she glanced up at the empty windows. Even if she were jailed... or worse, it would be worth it just to touch the quiet fabric of fate that she only ever experienced for others. Now all she had to do was come up with a good excuse for being behind the gate...

Inside, the house was abuzz with bustling preparations. They weren't even supposed to BE in New York. But, there were things here than needed to be gathered before they settled into a new life in L.A. Sal was hurriedly packing his bags; Amelia by his side overlooking the preparations. Christian was gathering papers and scrolls form the office. Hiram shuffling though books in the den, a bowl full of ice cream in one hand as he riffled through pages on the hunt for something inexplicable. 

As Esme's feet touched the ground outside, a soft ripple rolled through the house. The hair on Hiram's neck raised as he heard the door of Christian's office close with a sharp 'click'. In a flash, the two met in the hallway, Hiram speaking first. "I think... " 

"I know," Christian cut him short as they both moved for the door. "How," came Hiram's next remark. "I don't know," Christian clipped, nodding to the door. There were two ways they could do this...

The two moved to the door and just as Christian's hand touched it, Salvatore was by their side. Nodding to each other, Christian opened the door and the three stepped out onto the stone landing. Hiram's head immediately tilted to the side, a confused look on his face. Salvatore smirked, feeling the girls wonder and amusement. Christian, however, reminded himself to move slow, and took a few jostling steps down the stairs and called out.

"Well met, stranger... Pray-tell, what brings you inside our unopened gate?"

Hiram joined Christian and placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly into his brother's ear before the staunch of the two took the bowl of ice cream from his brother and nodded. Hiram spun to approach the young woman with an awkward smile on his face. Christian turned and moved back to Salvatore, handing him the bowl and motioning for him to take it inside. Salvatore took the bowl and nodded, leaving Christian to watch the exchange between Hiram and the stranger.

Hiram jogged down the walkway and beyond the fountain, calling softly as he approached, "Forgive my brother, madam, but he does beg a good question... What brings you to us, and inside our gate without a call none the less?"

He paused a good ten foot from her, hands clasped behind his back as he smiled. Blue eyes, the same blue she'd caught at the market, now stared at her unabashedly, curious to know why and how she'd gotten there.

"However, I have other questions. Now, I seem to remember you from the market, yes? So I assume that means you've followed me, somehow, which is actually quite irritating considering I didn't sense it. I must know, what business you have and, even more importantly, -how- did you arrive at our humble abo-..." He looked over his shoulder and smirked before returning his gaze. "Less than humble abode?"

Accosted with both their sudden presence and their questions, Esme stared up at the men a bit befuddled. How does one answer a question they don't actually know the answers to? Blinking up at Hiram, she blushed; her lips moving as if to answer several times... closing again each time without a sound... as she struggled to find the right words to form an answer with any semblance of sense. 

"You... talk funny," she finally broke the ice, bewildered by the archaic cadence and verbiage of their questions. 

Shaking her head, she silently scolded herself. That was no way to start this conversation. 

"I'm sorry. I don't... It's hard to..." she struggled, knowing full well she must seem both a threat and an utter imbecile. 

Her bare toes wiggled against the pea-gravel of the driveway, the feel of it somehow comforting as she dug her toes in like a child at the beach. "I saw you at the market," she admitted, forcing herself to fit the pieces together in a cohesive order, "And I followed because of what I saw. It wasn't hard. You have a very unique trail. Which is... I suppose... why I'm here. It's somewhat difficult to explain. And I doubt you'd believe me even if I did. I just... felt like I had to. I felt..." she paused for a long moment before deciding 'fuck it'. She was already in over her head. And they were sure to think her mad anyway. So, she might as well go all in., "...fate." The word came out breathless and weighted, almost a whisper heavy with reverence and inexplicable meaning. "I felt like I could die if I didn't. A slow, apathetic kind of withering death that takes a whole lifetime of regret to kill you," she shrugged softly as if that feeling were the most natural thing in the world. 

"I watch other people die that way all the time. Every day. And... I don't want to go like that. So when I saw it in myself... I just... I followed you and I climbed the gate. Because prison is no big deal compared to a life of creeping indifference and lament. And even a quick death would be preferable." 

Again she shrugged. She was nuts. She already knew it. It came with the territory. "I don't know you or I would have called. And I needed to... which is why I tracked you here." 

TRACKED... the word settled over Hiram like a ball and chain... dragging him down with disbelief, disdain, and flighty loathing. Impossible. No one tracked him. EVER. 

She must be lying. 

And yet the pace of her heat, the temperature of her shivering body as she buried her toes in the driveway gravel, the evenness of her tone, and the honest conviction in her eyes made Christian think... for a singular moment... that she might just be telling the truth.

TRACKED!

No one tracked him. His face studied her as he took one step back, not certain if he'd heard properly or not. Not certain if he could believe her or not. It all seemed so, strange. It was certainly a foreign concept to him. Regardless, he returned his back foot forward and stood, feet together again.

"Forgive me, but I am not one to often be... Tracked." He said the word with a weight of disbelief to it. "You say you followed what you saw, followed a trail, and mine was unique. Do tell. I'd like to hear this one. You may be surprised in the things I believe."

Christian walked up beside his brother and whispered something in his ear before Hiram lofted a brow and looked at him. "You've got to be kidding me?"

Christian shook his head and looked back to her. "No, no I don't think that I am, but let's wait to hear what she has to say... Something tells me, it's her truth."

"Please, young one, do explain the trail you followed. I'd like to understand what it is you think you saw, and perhaps why you felt so strongly on following even if it might mean your end." Stepping forward, he offered his hand, "I'm Christian Black, and this is my eldest brother Hiram."

'Hiram'... she mouthed it with a goofy smile, shaking Christian's hand with a suspicious glance but refusing to give her name just yet. 

"What are you?" the question tumbled out with an air of 'I know enough to know enough but not enough to know you'. 

The wind stirred her hair from over the house and the scent of bourbon and vanilla danced on the breeze. Suddenly, with eyes inexplicably wide, she yanked her hand away as if she'd been bitten. She knew that smell. She couldn't place it. Didn't know why. But the dark, gaping hole in her memory didn't lessen her body's learned stress response. 

Backing away slowly she pressed her back flat against the gate, suddenly scared, confused, and utterly regretting her life decisions. 

Her eyes went vacant and glassy for a moment. She looked at them and through them and past them all at once. 

It happened in the blink of an eye... a split second. Her eyes flickered as if watching still frames at highspeed... a blur to anyone else, but clear to the brothers - especially Christian. None of it ended in violence. None of it justified the uncontrollable fear she felt.

Tell? Not tell? 

No. Definitely tell. 

Okay, then. Here goes nothing. 

With a deep breath, it almost seemed as if her soul settled back into her body. She physically recoiled as her eyes adjusted to normal reality. Blinking, she smiled sheepishly. "Esmerie. My name is Emerie. You may call me Esme. And I don't expect you to believe me, but I followed your threads. Well... not so much YOUR threads... fascinating though they may be. How do I explain? Technically I read MY lines to get here... each decision and outcome, each direction and whether or not it would lead to you. It took hours, but it finally did. And then I got here and there was the gate... nice gate by the way. And... everything I was looking for was inside, and none of it was outside. And so I climbed the gate. And now I'm here. And I don't know what you are, but you smell like fear and forgetfulness. And I'm a little terrified. But I also know I've never seen anything so clear or so strong before. And I know... more than I've ever known anything... that I'm supposed to be here. So here I am. And what ARE you?" 

Her head tilted to one side as she stared up at them, her gaze shifting between the brothers and the house... the physical and the not.

Both Hiram and Christian raised a brow in consternation as they took a step toward the somewhat cowering and frightened young woman. Christian, however, placed a hand on Hiram's chest to keep him from continuing forward as he himself moved closer. He studied her eyes, and a smile slowly started to form on his features as the wind lightly floated across the area...

"Well," Christian started with a chuckle. "As I said, I'm Christian, and this is my brother Hiram. He's a Welshman. I, myself, am Romanian. The other on the landing above that you saw and," as he peeked over his shoulder with a chuckle, "can still see in the window, is Salvatore. He's Italian." Returning his gaze, he smiled at Esme. "Pray-tell, Esmerie, what are -you-?"

He chuckled as Hiram stepped closer despite Christian's obvious wishes for him to stay back and not crowd her. Looking at her, he smiled. "She's Roma... Like your mother, Christian." He sniffled, almost like allergies, but Christian knew better. He'd caught scent. "And the only one worth her salt in that caravan if I had to guess. Girl, do they know you have an actual gift?"

"The girl, has a name, Hiram," Christian chastised as he stared at his brother. "Esmerie..." He turned and looked at her again. "Are you aware of just how special your gift is? You read lines... but it's not that simple, is it? You don't just read them, you actually -see- them as plain as you see us in front of you, don't you?" Christian smiled, stepping closer to her. "An extraordinary gift if I must say so. It would be nice to have an Oracle on our side, would it not, Hiram?"

Hiram, smiling as he looked at her, nodded. Everything was making sense. Of course a soothsayer could track him, it made perfect since. It also meant he wasn't loosing his edge. He couldn't outrun a seeker if he wanted to, same as he could never loose Christian in a game of hide-and-seek. No matter how far away in the world he'd tried to hide.

Mesmerized now, since he'd calmed his worry, he gave the woman a once over. "On top of an exceptional gift, she's an exceptional specimen, wouldn't you agree Christian?"

"HIRAM!" Christian scolded... "That is -no- way to speak of a lady. Especially in front of her. You of all should know better than this." Reaching over, he smacked his brother in the back of the head, causing a scowl. "But, you are not wrong. She is quite the woman, Hiram." He followed the head smack with a pat on the shoulder and turned his back. "Feel free to attempt to salvage this situation for yourself, but do remember, we need to join Sullivan in L.A. in three days time."

Hiram nodded as Christian made his way back up to the house before focusing his attention on Esme.

"So. An Oracle, explains how you tracked me." He chuckled. "I'm impressed. So if you're a gypsy, do you believe in all the fairy tales as well? I'm guessing you could tell our home is well warded." He smiled. Had they successfully dodged the 'What are you?' questions? Or simply made them worse now? Probably worse, Hiram thought to himself... She had to know they were different at this point. She was too far in the know to not understand her situation...

Esme lurched and reached for Christian's hand. 

"Wait... wait, wait. Yes. I am Roma. If what he says about your mother is true, then that makes you poshrat. But that doesn't explain what you ARE. How do you know about my gift? How can he tell what I am just by sniffing? And why are his lines BLUE when I touch them?"

She paused, giving Hiram a frustrated gesture as if he were the ONLY odd one. "You're unlike anything I've ever seen. Your lines are ALL twisted. There's... too much. Far, far too much. More than could ever fit into a single lifetime. And houses aren't BUILT like this. Not any more, certainly not on this continent. You talk like you're from another century, in another country... asking about folktales that even WE hardly put stock into anymore beyond fraud or simple tradition. And you SMELL like a memory that I can't remember, but I know replaces my marrow with cold terror. Why? How?  Please... from one of us to another." 

Her fingers were like ice as she gripped his wrist. She was cold, and likely exhausted from her long journey. Yet she held him with the chilled and unwavering determination of iron shackles, "Please."

"Poshrat..." Christian paused as she gripped his wrist, turning to look at her. "Now that's a word I've not heard in nearly a century." A century... One hundred years. So it -was- more than one lifetime. But how was that even possible? What were these people? No, things?

Hiram and Christian both could see the wheels turning behind Esmerie's eyes as everything tried to piece together impossibly. Her look at Hiram like he was odd, and mentioning blue threads? That made Christian look at him too in a weird way. He'd never seen Hiram's threads as blue... Then again, he'd never actually seen the threads of fate themselves. He wasn't a soothsayer like her, not an oracle. He was merely a sorcerer of sorts...

Smiling, he twisted his hand from her tired, cool grasp. "We're special, like you. We're also much, much older than you. Or anyone in your caravan I'd venture. Especially Hiram. He's more than twice my age."

Christian smiled, his eyes their typical icy-blue, unnatural color as he reached a pale hand out toward the woman.

"We ask if you believe in fairy-tales and folk-tales, because we are those tales, my child. I may be poshrat, but I'm probably more Romany than most of your caravan considering my father was not human."

Stepping closer again, he softened his touch as he brushed her hair from her face. "I cannot help you with the memory, aside from perhaps unblocking it if there is one... However, I know I'd remember you, and Hiram never forgets a face. Our younger brother does not venture into markets, and our youngest, well, he wouldn't be able to manipulate a memory beyond last week... And I doubt he's met you since he's not been to New York in well over twenty years."

"I'd venture, that since we make your marrow run cold, you've encountered one of our kind, or even more specifically, our father. Which of those is the truth, I'm not sure... However, you should join us inside. At least we can offer a hot cup of tea or coffee and a fire to warm your worn soles."

He looked up at the world around them, scanning the horizon, thousands of thoughts and possibilities running through his head as he scanned everything around them, reading everything around them in his own way... A slight trickle of blood found it's way running from his nose as he stressed his ability far beyond it's normal constraints, but he was oblivious to it as he traced... Esme would recognize the look in his eyes as they seemed to flick back and forth far quicker than should be humanly, or inhumanly, possible.

Esme was frozen for a moment. Was she really expected to believe...? And yet, with a single glance, all the world made sense... even in its nonsensical madness. The sight of Christian's blood jarred her from her musings as she tugged a silken kerchief from one of her MANY pockets. 

"Not so hard," she coaxed him softly, tiptoeing up to dab his face clean. "Even you have limits. And fate is not gentle with those who push beyond her boundaries." Her cold fingers were amazingly tender and gentle as she compassionately drew him back to their physical world. 

Her kindness was a gift even rarer than her sight. How was it that his family continued to attract humans... soft, squishy, impermanent, unheeding humans... who knowingly would care for monsters?

Pressing the kerchief into Christian's palm, she reached for Hiram's hand. The petite softness nearly shocking him and his fingers instinctively gripped her close. Blue... for a split second, the whole world was an unfurling of gossamer blue... like crepe paper peony flowers and silk ribbons. Blinking, she smiled up at him... choosing NOT to press that particular issue for the moment. But Christian would note the instant flash of sense as she shook it away. They understood each other that way. 

Nodding, she tugged toward the house. "Tea sounds nice." 

She had many questions... as she was sure they did as well. But, the rules of hospitality were always to be honoured. So, they would start with tea.

Inside the house, Hiram set quick to make tea while Christian joined Esme at the table. Salvatore and Amelia joined as well, and Amelia quickly took over for Hiram, shooing him to the table to be with their guest.

"Thank you, first and foremost," Christian said as they sat, gesturing to his nose. "I'm well aware that fate is not kind to those that push their limits... But I've been much further in than that before." He chuckled.

"Fate has a tendency to enjoy keeping my brothers and myself around. Apparently." He gave Salvatore and Hiram a knowing look.

"Anyway, I'm certain you have many, many questions..."

He nodded as Amelia brought around tea cups for the four of them. Turning back to Esme as Amelia made a fifth cup and joined the table beside Salvatore.

"A toast, first, to newfound acquaintances. Hopefully to newfound friends." With a few clinks of cups, they all took a drink of the tea.

"Anyway," he continued, setting his cup down, "there is creamer and sugar if you need it. Just ask. As for me, I have questions... Where is it you are from, dear child? And how long have you known your gift?"

"And are you familiar with different creature folk-lore? I'd love to hear your guesses as to what and which we may be." He grinned, giving a look to Hiram and Salvatore who shared in the chuckle that followed.

"It's not often we meet someone who knows enough to know, but not enough to know what."

Esme wore a rather odd expression as Amelia joined the table, her eyes flicking between Sal and Amelia. She did her best to control the look of accusatory curiosity that played havoc across her features but it was little use. Her brows knit, her lips trembling with unspoken questions as she searched for words that would not seem uncouth. Biting her bottom lip she finally decided that was a conversation for another time. When she was more well-adjusted to their way of speaking. 

Instead, she settled with, "I saw you in the market today. I do hope my... colleagues... were... let's say 'gentle' with you?" 

Turning her attention to Christian, she paused. That was always a tricky question to answer. But... it seemed, at least at the moment that blunt honesty was the norm here. So, without withholding, she answered, "I was born a stowaway on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic. My mother died in childbirth. And my father... well, all I know is he didn't make the journey. Whatever his reasons, I never knew. I arrived here nameless, motherless, and countryless... a wanderer in the truest sense." 

She smiled over the rim of her cup. The years she'd had to process her life's beginning left no malice or pain in her statements, just cool facts. 

"As for my gift, it has been with me since tore my way from her womb. Prize or penance - you may take your pick. And to answer your previous question, Hiram..." an uncontrollable smile curled around her lips as she spoke his name aloud for the first time, "Precious few know the truth of my business. It is easy to hide such things among the people who raised me. The woman who took me in knew... and trained me to both use and hide it as necessary... for a fee, of course. Nothing is ever traded for free. When the time came... I took my paltry savings and bought a wagon in lieu of taking a husband. And such has been my life ever since." 

Chuckling softly, she asked Amelia to fetch the sugar, which was delivered to the table with a chipper smile. Three whole cubes disappeared into her small teacup before she continued. "So, that explains what I am... at least a bit. As for you... I'm not sure. You can smell me," she smirked at Hiram, "At least a bit more than the others. But it's not just my scent, is it? I don't think so.  The moon is full, and you are here. So I doubt you are loup garou. Your gates are iron and your house is warded. So you cannot be sidhe. ...thank god, or you would own me with this tea." She chuckled lightly at her own joke before continuing,  "You say your father was not human, yet given your ethnicities, it's safe to assume that your mothers were. May they rest in peace. So... what does that leave?" 

She stared into her teacup for a long while, swirling the liquid as she contemplated her options and read what she could. Suddenly, it was as if a light clicked on behind her eyes. They went wide with sudden understanding and fear. The cup in her hand tinkling ever so slightly as she placed it into its saucer with shaking hands. "You're ancient... and undying. It's not fate that keeps you alive. Is it?" She looked up at Christian with determined understanding. 

"Dhamphir." 

The word was simple, matter of fact, flat. But behind her bright eyes a telltale flicker of apprehension belied her concern. Just what had she gotten herself into?

Christian smirked. She was smart on the uptake. Looking at his brothers, he nodded, and Hiram stood. Quicker than a blink he was gone and she heard the door to the front of the house lock behind her. Turning she saw Hiram there with a smile... Then he vanished again. She felt the rush of breeze softly pass by and as she turned toward it, he was back in his seat and taking a sip of his tea.

"Damphir. Not a word heard often. But true. Half-human, half-demon. Upyr if we are to be specific." He smiled and drank from his cup, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"You pick things up quickly. You're also right that it is not fate that keeps us here and alive. It is a curse, an ability, magic, our natural course... Whatever you wish to call it, anything but fate. We are abominations, born of our father's greed and lust."

Taking another drink, he sighed. "But, we are not with him."

Hiram and Sal nodded, leaning forward. "We do everything we can thwart his plans. We actually try and maintain a peaceful boundary between our worlds. Christian acts as an ambassador or placed official for the eastern coast, a kind of judge and jury for 'others' in our area. Our uncle, Elyan, controls the West coast in a similar fashion, though his is more of an elected council of elders." Hiram smiled as he spoke, leaning back as he finished.

"Hiram here is more of the family bounty-hunter. He's the one we send away to fetch those that would do harm to the peace that we've fostered. My name is Salvatore, and I'm the undead son of God in the family." He chuckled, and leaned back in his chair as Hiram, Christian, and even Amelia rolled their eyes. "Okay, okay. While I am ordained as a priest, I'm the empath of the family. I feel pain... Confusion..." Looking directly at Esme, he smiled. "Unexplainable fear..."

Christian nodded and then looked back to Esme. "I can assure you that you have absolutely nothing to fear from us." At that point, Tsukina joined them in the room and Christian smiled at her, offering his lap for her to rest. "But, I know that is not as easily believed with my words alone... More with actions."

He kissed Tsukina's cheek as she sat on his lap, the woman turning to face Esme and offering a smile.

"Amelia, would you, as the human, have any words to help assuage our new friends doubts?" The table turned to look at the woman who'd finished making the tea... "Or perhaps Tsukina, you have words for our newest guest?"

Esme smiled and shook her head, "No need. Your truth is clear to me... as I can see now mine was for you just outside." Her expression gave away her curiosity once more as she glanced between Tsukina, Hiram, and Christian. Boy was there a story there. Silently, she wondered if ALL their lives were so complicated. 

With a soft sigh, she eyed them. "Jesus, Vampire Van Helsing, Alucard, and..." She paused as she landed on Tsukina, pondering for a long moment, "Ukemochi," she finally nodded with finality. The reference to her Shinto religion drawing a smile from Kina's lips. 

Turning to Sal she asked softly, "If you know my fear, is it as unexplainable to you as it is to me?" 

And then to Christian, "And why is he blue? No one else is blue... And... can you find out? Would it be difficult? The fear, I mean. Do you ALL smell the same? Or just your family? Because I know the scent."

Nodding, Sal apologized silently. "I cannot see what makes you fear if you cannot..." Looking to his brother, he pointed. "Christian may be able to help with that though."

Christian chuckled and nodded. "All of our kind, at least of our line, favor that scent. I'm sure there are similarities betwixt others like us, but that is ours and more than likely ours alone. I've not had many chances to meet other Damphirs. Most of them are killed by their makers. As I'm sure you know, we don't often see eye to eye with our creators so they end us. Our father had a different vision I believe..."

Christian shrugged and leaned back in his seat. "But if you want to know the fear, I'm certain I can trace it through your mind... It will be uncomfortable for you, and may bring tears or even more, currently, unimaginable fear..."

Sighing, he tapped out a light beat with his fingers on the table before smacking his hand down on it. "But I doubt it would be too terribly difficult unless you've warded, or had your mind warded. I can easily trace our blood contact with your life though. That's no concern."

Turning and looking at Hiram, he smirked, "As for him? I've never seen or heard of someone being blue in an Oracle's vision. The only thing I can assume is the multiple lifetimes of sadness, and perhaps the first sadness upon which he committed himself to this life."

Hiram shrugged, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "I'm sad, we know this." He chuckled. "I'll live... Well. Somewhat." They all laughed at his light joking.

Esme frowned, "I've seen sadness before. It doesn't change the colour. You're... different. ...somehow." She looked at him as if he were an utter enigma. And the intensity with which her dark eyes regarded him somehow made his skin crawl. 

Nodding to Christian, she downed her tea. "It is tied to your scent. I didn't feel it until the wind kicked up outside and it stirred. The second it settled on me, I felt it... instinctively viscerally terrifying, but inexplicably familiar. I just can't remember why. The whole thing is just a dark void. Even looking at what I can see of my lines... nothing. And that just won't do. So... do what you must. I'll make due." 

Glancing at Sal, she smiled sweetly. "You probably shouldn't hang around for this part," she chuckled sweetly, giving Amelia a knowing nod. 

Turning to Hiram, she whispered softly, "If you wouldn't mind... will you stay?" She blushed a little, head low as she tried to hide her expression, "I think it would give me some comfort and courage."

Christian nodded, allowing Salvatore time to vacate the area and Amelia to keep him preoccupied. After a few moments, Hiram shifted over to Esme and held her hand. Tsukina stood from Christian's lap and he approached her, his thumb in his mouth. A quick bite and rip tore the skin and he stared at the blood as it pooled up on his skin slowly.

"Hold out your tongue..." he instructed, looking at Esme. She raised a brow, but Hiram whispered in her ear. "Just trust him, it's how it works for him. It allows him inside. Once you feel it hit your tongue, pull it inside and close your mouth tightly."

Hesitantly sticking out her tongue, Christian took his thumb and pressed it against her forehead and chanted in an old tongue, unfamiliar even to her as he drew a line of blood down the center of her face, finishing at the tip of the nose where he squeezed his thumb tightly against his fist and drew a single drop to fell on her tongue. Doing as instructed, Esme's tongue darted back inside of her mouth and her lips sealed tight. Christian's hand was upon her face in an instant and she swore it felt as if she was burning up...

But what flashed through her mind's eye as they both delved back was interesting to watch for her. Almost as if her life flashed backward before her eyes, she relived pain, hurt, loss, excitement, and anything life's wonder had to offer until. Far beyond the reading from earlier that morning and her trek there. Christian bore witness to it all as her life backtracked until falling into a black, cloudy void. She felt his hand shift to the side of her face, and his other hand grip the other side.

"Esmerie... Can you smell it? Can you see anything?"

She couldn't see the brothers, but Hiram watched as Christian's eyes rolled back in his head and Kina tended to the blood running from his nose and ears as he worked to undue their father's hold on the young gypsy.

But what she saw in her mind, and Christian saw with her as the cloud slowly rebuilt itself, was enough to let them both know that it was Carlisle that had erased her memory of what he'd asked of her. Now if that could just become clear... He dove deeper, their minds intertwined and linked in the moment. From where she stood, it felt as if Christian stood right beside her, but when she looked he wasn't there. "I'm with you, don't worry. I see what you see. Try and focus. I need your help here now, too... It's clearing, but as you remember things it will clear faster. Which helps me a lot."

He could feel his body trembling as he unlocked layer upon layer of Carlisle's lock. "The more you remember, the quicker the barrier deteriorates... Is there anything?"

He felt Kina's gentle hands wiping his nose and ears. This was, by far, the hardest Carlisle had locked up a mind that Christian was aware of... He was almost positive this would become the new normal for them as they continued to age, until they could remove Carlisle permanently.

Christian carried her just passed the void... the instant that bordered its cavernous edge. It was warm... the sound of the market and the bay echoed outside. But she wasn't outside. Why wasn't she outside? She never allowed clients in her home. That's what the porch and tables were for. Turning to the door everything went black. And peering through that darkness, images came in clips and flashes. 

"Black patent shoes. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Sharp features. ... he... wants a reading. 'The real kind'. ...dear gods, I've never seen that much money in my life." 

Christian watched as his father sauntered into her small wagon home, smooth as silk and greasy as a used car salesman. The amount he laid down was, indeed impressive. But Christian knew, he never intended to let her keep it. 

Esme sat across from him on her couch, and Christian could see the threads of fate... see them the way she saw them... stretching out like spider web of lies and chance. In her head, she reached for Carlisle's hand while in reality, she squeezed Hiram's tighter. Her hands shook as she gasped, her closed eyes visibly rolling back beneath her eyelids as Christian began to tremble even more. 

Fighting through the moratorium on her memories, Esme gasped and gagged, seeming - almost - to seize as forbidden prophecy spilled from her lips. 

"One is coming who will shift the balance of power. When each has been made whole through the consecration of that original sin which cast the demon low, then shall He rise. The child of life and death... born from the blood of witch, wolf, and bat. FEAR will be his name. He will reign over all the elements of our natural world. And in Him the Gift shall be returned to wholeness. Then shall the world bear witness to the Truth of ages and final judgement be won. If He be swayed to violent delights, your world will know the most violent ends. But, lo, should he rise from the blood of the underworld through the consecration of the Light Bringer, then shall YOUR end finally be secured. He is the destiny you have run from for an eternity. By love or by hate, He will be your fate!" 

Esme thrashed and screamed, one hand instinctively gripping her left shoulder as Christian watched his father descend on the poor girl. 

"Teeth and iron. Bourbon and vanilla. Blood and blackness," she panted softly, slipping away ever so slightly as Christian witnessed the attack. Carlisle had bitten her... fed on her. But not enough to cause the shift. Instead, he locked her away in her own mind... leaving her to bleed on the wagon floor as he alighted from the wagon's porch. Why hadn't he killed her? What was she to him? And how was it that they kept collecting women touched by his cruelty and madness? 

The scene dissolved once again into blank blackness, as Esme - in the memory - passed out. The next flickering image was swirling sunlight filtering through her gossamer curtains the next morning as she struggled to pull herself to her feet. There was nothing else to be known. Hopefully, that was enough. 

Retracting himself for her mind, Christian collapsed into a chair... shaking hands reaching for the teapot as Esme turned her face into Hiram's chest. Instinctively, he cradled her... pressing his chin to the top of her head. 

She smelled like cedar chests and ancient paper, incense and mountain sunlight... and he was unprepared for how it pulled at his heartstrings. 

Gripping the bridge of his nose, Christian gestured to her arm, "Check her shoulder, Hiram." Esme giving no protest as Hiram slid the shoulder of her dress down. Sure enough, the delicate skin bore a deep and vicious scar... almost human if not for its bestial nature. Now, they had a problem.

Hiram placed the shoulder of her dress back and slumped into his chair.

"She's going to need to come with us," Christian stated bluntly. "She won't be safe here. Especially if he finds out she's made it here. I'm certain he probably left a ward that would let him know if his locks were undone and the layers uncovered."

Christian looked up, his eyes red with exhaustion behind the glowing blue, a cold sweat dripping down his face. "I think you should try and convince her to go with us, Hiram... You're better at that than me. Especially right now." Christian held his hand out to Kina who steadied him as he stood, and with an arm over her shoulders, he made his way out of the kitchen and left the two... Down the hall, they would both hear the door to Christian's study shut and click.

Hiram looked at Esme and wiped her forehead of sweat and blood. "Are you okay? What was that about a witch, wolf, and bat? And some light bringer?"

He grabbed a towel and wet it at the sink. Wringing it out, he placed the cool, damp towel over her forehead.

"Also..." Taking her hand, he chuckled at himself, "I know I just met you, and this is going to sound crazy... But would you consider calling and letting your people know you're going to be gone for a while? Maybe?"

Looking through the window, he thought quietly to himself for a moment while Esme thought about his words...

"You're going to need some things I'm sure. We can make a run back to your wagon if need be. Tell them in person if you'd rather."

Looking back, he smiled, "That's if you'll agree to go with us to L.A. so we can keep you safe from our father. Not to mention, I think I might like you. The way your hair smells tickles deep and brings a sense of comfort I've not felt in... Lifetimes."