A Reason to Live: A Shadowdance Variation Read online

  A Reason to Live: A Shadowdance Variation

  A Reason to Live: A Shadowdance Variation

  Midpoint

  A

  Variation

  By

  Mark Wooden

  © 2016 Mark Wooden. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the copyright holder or the above publisher of this book except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This publisher does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

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  “SHADOWDANCE” SAGA CHRONOLOGY

  “A Reason to Live: A Shadowdance Variation”

  “By Virtue Fall: Shadowdance Saga Song One”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  You will find several hyperlinks within this text. You may follow these links to the “Shadowdance” saga website for more information about the Initiated of the Shadowdance. Other links take you to various (safe) places on the web for further information.

  Enjoy your dance.

  TOKYO, JAPAN

  DECEMBER 1902

  Illyana Dakanova looked at the battered and bleeding girl lying unconscious on the tatami mat at her feet. “I defied the Daughters only twice in my centuries of existence,” she said. “Both times involved you, Adriana.”

  Illyana held a serving tray carrying a bowl of warm water, a hand towel and a knife. She set the tray down on the wood floor next to Adriana, then sat beside it with her feet underneath her. Illyana soaked the towel in the water then rung it out so that it was damp but not soaked. She then returned her attention to her patient.

  Adriana Dupré was in her early twenties, about seven years younger than Illyana. At least, that was how they appeared. Both women were actually much older.

  Adriana’s dark brown hair was matted with blood, but otherwise retained its curled luster. Though her body and clothing were ravaged with cuts and bruises, she looked angelic at rest. This was how Illyana chose to remember the girl: a peaceful, lovely nightingale — not the merciless vampire assassin she had become.

  The vampire Illyana had created.

  Illyana pressed the damp towel to Adriana’s face, wiping away the blood and revealing her pale skin underneath. Adriana had a nearly symmetrical round face, which tapered to a delicate curve at her chin. Bruises formed from several blows to that beautiful face. Illyana cleaned the blood from the slit on Adriana’s thin lips.

  Setting the towel back on the tray, Illyana picked up the knife. She paused to gaze at Adriana. Shaking off her empathy for the girl, Illyana dug the knife’s blade into the palm of her free hand. She squeezed her lacerated hand into a fist. Blood seeped through her fingers. Holding her bleeding hand above Adriana’s mouth, Illyana let her blood drip onto the unconscious girl’s lips.

  One drop. Two.

  Adriana’s lip quivered, as if sensing the blood. Her lips parted; blood dropped into her mouth onto her tongue, which extended like a thing slowly coming to life.

  Suddenly, Adriana sat up. She grabbed the wrist of Illyana’s bleeding hand, drawing it toward her. Illyana barely had time to open her fingers as Adriana forced the hand to her mouth, sucking at the bloody wound. Illyana wrapped her other arm around Adriana’s shoulders, pulling the girl into her bosom and cradling her head as she fed.

  Illyana savored the opportunity to nurture her maternal instinct.

  A few moments later, Illyana looked down at Adriana. She no longer fed from the wound, merely held Illyana’s arm while resting against her. Illyana gently stroked the girl’s hair with her free hand, consoling her like a child.

  Adriana abruptly grabbed Illyana’s hand. Illyana grimaced in pain from Adriana’s grip. The younger girl pushed away from Illyana and turned to face her. The older woman saw a haunted look in Adriana’s cold gray eyes.

  “What happened to ‘if you go, you go alone?’” Adriana asked in a voice as cold as her eyes.

  Illyana stared at the girl for a moment, then turned away. Grabbing the towel from the tray, she wiped the blood from her wounded palm. “You’re welcome,” she said, a bit more caustically than intended.

  She put the towel back on the tray with the bowl and knife, then picked up the tray. Standing, Illyana walked the five strides required to cross to the front of the room. A short counter and a bucket sat to the right of the sliding door. Illyana knelt in front of the counter, placing the objects on her tray upon it. She felt Adriana’s eyes on her but wouldn’t give the girl the satisfaction of a glance.

  “You have to decide if you are with me in this or if you are not,” Adriana said.

  Illyana busied herself with emptying the bowl into the bucket, then using the towel to wipe the inside of the bowl.

  Adriana would not be ignored. “I need to know if I can rely on you or—”

  “There are so many better ways to spend your immortality, Adriana,” Illyana said. She squeezed the towel over the bucket, draining it. Her grip was tight enough to whiten her knuckles.

  Adriana allowed Illyana a moment to collect herself. In that moment, Illyana threw the damp towel onto the counter and placed both her hands on the counter to steady herself. Her face hung downward, her shoulder-length hair, so blonde it was nearly white, cascading over her shoulder and blocking her view of Adriana.

  It was for the better; should Illyana’s tears come as they inevitably did during this oft-had conversation, she didn’t want Adriana to see them.

  “When you turned me,” Adriana began, “it was for the purpose of finding out what had happened to my family.”

  Illyana remained silent. She didn’t need the reminder. She had been there. And yet Adriana always insisted on making Illyana seem at fault in her choice of death over life.

  “I learned of my sister’s corruption at the hands of the Daughters of Lilith,” Adriana continued, “what they made me do to my ancestors. Would you not have me avenge them?”

  “I would have you live your days in happiness, thankful that you live,” Illyana responded.

  “And what kind of life would I have, knowing those who are guilty go without justice?”

  Illyana turned wildly to face Adriana, her hair thrown to the side. “You don’t want justice!” she said. “Justice would be allowing the elders of the Initiated to decide the Daughters’ fate! You want them destroyed! You want revenge!”

  Illyana’s sudden anger silenced Adriana. Illyana felt horrible that she’d allowed herself to get this worked up. Again. The same fight they’d had for over half a decade. Yet Adriana would not see her side of the argument.

  The silence between them crossed a century, all the way back to that fateful night in St. Petersburg when Illyana made Adriana the offer of immortality.

  The offer to become a vampire.

  Adriana stood. Illyana noted the girl had alread
y used the magic of the blood she’d been given to heal her wounds. “Where are my blades?” she asked.

  Illyana ignored the question. She fought the urge to cry as she rubbed her eye sockets with the heels of her hands. Looking at her bloody hands after, she realized she’d failed.

  When she looked up, she saw Adriana was gone. Turning back to the entrance, Illyana found Adriana standing there. The girl was always silent and fast. It made her a lethal assassin for the Daughters.

  It was an unnerving trait among supposed friends.

  “My blades, Illyana,” Adriana said. There was no insistence in her tone. Instead, she sounded as if she too were tired of this conversation.

  Illyana looked away from the girl. “And if I give them to you, you’re just going back after Yukio.”

  Adriana made no reply.

  “She’ll kill you, Adriana,” Illyana said, the words choking in her throat.

  Again, no response.

  Illyana turned to look at Adriana. This time, she made no effort to hide her tears. “I couldn’t bear to think of a world without you.”

  Adriana met Illyana’s gaze; the blood of Illyana’s tears smeared the vibrant blue of her eyes. The younger girl turned her gaze downward. Illyana couldn’t tell if the move was to cover Adriana’s shame or frustration.

  Or perhaps she had simply grown tired of seeing Illyana cry.

  “You tried to save me from whatever the Daughters had intended for me,” Adriana said. “I appreciate that, Illyana.” She met Illyana’s gaze once more. This time, the determination that made Adriana the Daughters’ most ruthless assassin returned. “You created me, but you are not my mother.”

  Illyana’s gaze lost its focus. She turned away from Adriana, once again gripping the edge of the countertop. Tears of blood splattered upon its surface.

  “Dominique is my blood,” Adriana continued. “I will find her, and I will destroy those who corrupted her. If I should fail, if I should—”

  Illyana grabbed the bowl with both hands and slammed it onto the countertop, shattering it.

  Adriana remained silent. Patient.

  Illyana held a death grip on the pieces still in her hands. “The closet,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Adriana remained still for a moment. Then Illyana felt Adriana’s presence move from her to the closet in the rear of the room. The next sound she heard was the opening and closing of the room’s entrance door.

  It was the last sound Illyana remembered from Adriana Dupré.

  Illyana knew that living in a world without Adriana would be difficult. It proved far more difficult living in a world in which Adriana would never speak to her again.

  She had watched Adriana from afar, had been there when Adriana finally tracked down Yukio in 1912 and, to Illyana’s surprise, defeated the Asian vampire. Illyana had wanted to reach out to Adriana but had stayed her hand for fear of further reprisal.

  Several years later, Illyana found a suitable replacement—Dominique.

  During her duel with Yukio, Adriana’s blood spilt upon the throne in the Daughters’ lair. That blood seeped into the ground beneath the throne, where former Daughters matriarch Cytheria had buried Dominique nearly a century before.

  The blood revived Dominique.

  Once Adriana had gone, Illyana freed the Dominique. The girl was little more than an undead husk in dire need of blood and care. She had no memory of her life as a Daughter of Lilith assassin, no memory of her life with Adriana.

  Illyana took it upon herself to nurse Dominique back to health, adopting her as the daughter Adriana would never be. It was enough to sustain Illyana in her loneliness as a vampire. She chose to keep Dominique in the dark about her true heritage.

  This proved a nearly fatal mistake.

  Illyana’s charade had lasted into the 1970s, when a fateful encounter with a vampire named Kara destroyed the charade. Kara was one of the last Daughters of Lilith, having survived Adriana’s seventy odd years of vengeance. She restored Dominique’s memory. Worse, she revealed Illyana’s connection to Adriana, whom Dominique still held guilty for leaving her behind during the Revolution in France.

  Angered at Illyana’s deception, Dominique convinced Kara to stake and imprison Illyana until she could devise a suitable punishment. Illyana was revived in the late 1990s by a new masked face—Fatale, the new leader of a revived Daughters of Lilith.

  At Dominique’s request, Fatale released Illyana from her prison. However, a Daughter would shadow her for the rest of her unnatural life. That Daughter’s sole purpose was to drive Illyana to melancholy and keep her there.

  Should Illyana attempt to end her unlife, the Daughter would prevent it.

  It appeared that vengeance ran deep in the family Dupré.

  TOKYO, JAPAN

  SEPTEMBER 2013

  When Illyana entered central Tokyo’s Tsukiji Fish Market, she noted a distinct lack of visible security and personnel. This was particularly odd because daily deliveries occurred in a few hours. The world’s largest wholesale fish market should be better prepared than this.

  Despite her disdain for the Daughters of Lilith, they had taught her to be keenly observant of her surroundings.

  Illyana used the Daughters’ teachings to press blood to her eyes, turning the whites red. This allowed her to see inanimate objects as cold blues and blacks. She could see the circulatory systems of animate, living creatures.

  Illyana noticed the blood of several men armed with assault rifles trying to hide in the shadows. The men made no attempt to stop Illyana, leading her to believe they were waiting to spring some sort of offensive.

  It was exactly as she had planned. She thought it fitting that, since she lost Adriana here, she should end her torment here.

  End herself here.

  Upon arriving in Japan, Illyana had contacted an Initiated mercenary she had known from her days as an assassin. Through them, Illyana identified an establishment that was a front for Japan’s criminal underworld—the Yakuza. She had specifically chosen the Okimoto clan because they were rumored to have an Initiated enforcer.

  Destroying several illegal gambling and prostitution dens led Illyana to knowledge of an incoming shipment of ecstasy. She wasn’t trying to be altruistic. She didn’t care about stopping activities that prompted an unfortunate rise in the nation’s gambling addiction and teen drug overdose statistics.

  Murdering Yakuza and disrupting their operations with just enough use of the supernatural would draw out their supernatural enforcer. She’d need this person to either destroy the Daughter on her tail or to kill her in the melee.

  The arrival of the shipment was a trap set by the Okimoto clan. There probably wasn’t really a shipment either. Regardless, Illyana walked into the trap with eyes wide open, hoping that, in the end, her eyes would be shut forever.

  Walking brazenly through a back area forbidden to the public, she finally heard what she was waiting for: the cocking of the firing mechanisms on those assault rifles. She let the blood flow away from her eyes and took in her surroundings through her normal vision.

  Illyana had stopped in the middle of an aisle wide enough for two forklifts to move abreast of each other. Large containers storing incoming fish were stacked on shelves on either side of her. Above her, conveyor tracks held mechanical arms that would move the containers throughout the market. Above these tracks were catwalks for maintenance and unhindered movement to anywhere in the market.

  A person interested in self-preservation would dive for the safety of the containers. Illyana stood her ground. She caught a glimpse of two Japanese men in slick business suits standing up from behind a railing above and behind her. They trained their assault rifles on her and fired.

  A barrage of bullets ripped through her torso. Illyana was just under six feet tall. She had not quite an athlete’s frame but was far from a skinny waif. Still, there wasn’t much to Illyana for the bullets to pass through. There wasn’t much left of her once they did.

 
Illyana fell to her knees, her arms dangling at her sides, barely mobile. Her head hung low. Her blood pooled at her knees, leaking from the myriad bullet holes perforating her undead body and ravaging what little remained of her atrophied internal organs. Being a vampire, these wounds would not kill her, but the pain made Illyana wish it would, and quickly.

  Seconds later, the lethal rain of bullets ceased.

  All around her, silence and the smell of fish and gunpowder.

  “I bet that hurts,” a dainty female voice said in Japanese from the shadows.

  In the late 17th century, Yukio, the Daughter who had brutalized Adriana back in 1902, had taken Illyana and a few other Daughter assassins to Japan. Their mission there was to learn Japanese forms of combat and mysticism. Learning the native language had been part of the deal.

  Illyana had just enough remaining muscle and tissue in her neck to raise her head.

  Moving together in an eerie unison, the two men in slick suits moved to the aisle via a set of metal stairs. Stopping a few yards in front of Illyana, the men stood shoulder to shoulder. Their rifles were trained on Illyana, smoke billowing from their barrels.

  After a moment, a shimmering black mist crept up from the ground behind the two men, stopping at a level beneath their shoulders. It expanded into a human shape. In the next second, the mist evaporated. The men stepped aside.

  A woman stood behind the Yakuza riflemen. She was young, barely out of her teens. She had the wild colored hair Illyana had seen on the kids who hung out in the bookstores reading manga. She was impeccably dressed, but her conservative dark pants and sleeveless top seemed ill suited to the personality her hair and facial piercings inferred.