*
Closing the front door behind her, leaning into the black glossed wood, Rowan closed her eyes and drew a deep, cleansing breath. Alucard had unnerved her more than she first thought. She had not expected to find a cynical sense of humour in a vampire. Standing straight, she dropped her house keys and bulging handbag on the hall table. Shuffling off her shoes, she stood barefoot on the on the varnished boards. Feet at hip distance apart, she concentrated and grounded herself, sending streaking feelers of thought surging through into the earth below the foundations. Picking up a small, decorative green vial, she rubbed it between her hands like she was moulding clay. Popping the hinged lid, she dipped the index finger of her right hand into the neck. A sweet, pungent smell immediately perfumed the air. She slowly began to draw an invoking pentagram, starting from the upper left. Traceries of silver fey light emitted from her fingertip, suspended in midair.
"My lady goddess, hear the cry of your priestess, your child! I ask your blessings and protection this night. As above, so below, and all in between that flows. Strengthen the ward I cast so none that mean me ill can pass. Empower it threefold by three. This is my will, so mote it be!"
Catherine wheel bright, the pentagram blazed and spun, suddenly dissolving into a glittering mist that permeated into the structure of the narrow Victorian townhouse. Breathing slowly, Rowan tested the boundaries of the warding, pressing it with psychic fingers, prodding it like gelatine. It held firm, yielding softly to her touch, yet impenetrable.
'It mightn't keep him out if he decides I really am a chew toy, but I'll certainly know if he tries to get in. The fact he can't read me like a remedial level book has piqued his interest.'
At that moment, her mobile phone chirruped like a cricket in her handbag. Lowering her arms, she retrieved it, relieved when a familiar voice greeted her.
"Hello you. How goes the good fight?" Warm, affectionate and implicitly teasing, with a strong Mancunian accent, the voice was more than welcome.
Smiling, she sat on the bottom of the stairs, tucking her legs around. Shouldering off her jacket, she transferred the tiny phone into her other hand.
"Hi, Corrin. Work is fine, thank you. though I did run into You-Know-Who earlier."
There was a short pause on the other end of the line, interrupted by crackling interference. Massaging her toes, wiggling away a day confined in high heels, Rowan sighed thankfully.
"You okay?" Concern had replaced the humour in his voice. "I got a fizz about an hour ago, which is why I rang. We've not seen you since Beltane, Rowan - we miss you in circle."
Kneading the bridge of her nose, she quashed the lonely ache the pleading note in his voice caused in her chest.
"I know. I miss you all too. But I've work to do here - you know that. I've got to be careful when I take my holidays. If they all fall around the sabbats, someone is bound to notice, probably one of my frighteningly clever staff. If Lady Hellsing gets a whiff of anything Pagan, she'll fire my arse in a heartbeat and ruin any chance I have of finishing this thing off. And yes, I'm fine, O dutiful High Priest."
A dismissive snort echoed through the small speaker at her veiled hint to drop the subject. Turning her wrist, Rowan peered at her silver wristwatch and groaned.
"Listen, Corrin, it's gone one thirty. I have to be up for work tomorrow - there's a raid planned on a monastery in Cornwall and the military bods want somebody who can translate Dark Age magickal sigils. They think the place is spell-rigged. Goddess knows how a load of chipped freaks managed that, but they did. I need to brush up on local variants before I go in."
Corrin huffed disgustedly, "Well, just don't go getting horribly maimed or anything, our kid. All those guns and ghouls. I must be getting old, 'cos this stuff rattles me."
Laughing softly, knowing nothing short of an all-out global disaster frightened the stoic, iron-haired priest, Rowan picked up her shoes.
"I believe you, thousands wouldn't," she smiled. "Tell the others I said 'hi', okay?"
She could almost feel his answering grin, perpetually bewhiskered and somewhat rumpled. He chuckled quietly.
"Will do. Oh, before I go, the Council will want a report soon. Certain people are getting uppity. I think you can guess who. Things are set to move up a notch in the next few years, and we can't have Alucard as a potential fly in the ointment. I don't think old man Hellsing knew the half of it when he managed to seal-bind him. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Blessed be."
Echoing the parting blessing, Rowan thumbed off her phone. She could not help but agree. Well meaning as Hellsing Institute was, Integra's blind devotion to her search-and-destroy mission could jeopardise everything. Her single-mindedness only allowed her to see a small portion of the larger picture. Abruptly tired, head crammed with conflicting thoughts, Rowan trudged wearily upstairs to bed.
*
Closing the front door behind her, leaning into the black glossed wood, Rowan closed her eyes and drew a deep, cleansing breath. Alucard had unnerved her more than she first thought. She had not expected to find a cynical sense of humour in a vampire. Standing straight, she dropped her house keys and bulging handbag on the hall table. Shuffling off her shoes, she stood barefoot on the on the varnished boards. Feet at hip distance apart, she concentrated and grounded herself, sending streaking feelers of thought surging through into the earth below the foundations. Picking up a small, decorative green vial, she rubbed it between her hands like she was moulding clay. Popping the hinged lid, she dipped the index finger of her right hand into the neck. A sweet, pungent smell immediately perfumed the air. She slowly began to draw an invoking pentagram, starting from the upper left. Traceries of silver fey light emitted from her fingertip, suspended in midair.
"My lady goddess, hear the cry of your priestess, your child! I ask your blessings and protection this night. As above, so below, and all in between that flows. Strengthen the ward I cast so none that mean me ill can pass. Empower it threefold by three. This is my will, so mote it be!"
Catherine wheel bright, the pentagram blazed and spun, suddenly dissolving into a glittering mist that permeated into the structure of the narrow Victorian townhouse. Breathing slowly, Rowan tested the boundaries of the warding, pressing it with psychic fingers, prodding it like gelatine. It held firm, yielding softly to her touch, yet impenetrable.
'It mightn't keep him out if he decides I really am a chew toy, but I'll certainly know if he tries to get in. The fact he can't read me like a remedial level book has piqued his interest.'
At that moment, her mobile phone chirruped like a cricket in her handbag. Lowering her arms, she retrieved it, relieved when a familiar voice greeted her.
"Hello you. How goes the good fight?" Warm, affectionate and implicitly teasing, with a strong Mancunian accent, the voice was more than welcome.
Smiling, she sat on the bottom of the stairs, tucking her legs around. Shouldering off her jacket, she transferred the tiny phone into her other hand.
"Hi, Corrin. Work is fine, thank you. though I did run into You-Know-Who earlier."
There was a short pause on the other end of the line, interrupted by crackling interference. Massaging her toes, wiggling away a day confined in high heels, Rowan sighed thankfully.
"You okay?" Concern had replaced the humour in his voice. "I got a fizz about an hour ago, which is why I rang. We've not seen you since Beltane, Rowan - we miss you in circle."
Kneading the bridge of her nose, she quashed the lonely ache the pleading note in his voice caused in her chest.
"I know. I miss you all too. But I've work to do here - you know that. I've got to be careful when I take my holidays. If they all fall around the sabbats, someone is bound to notice, probably one of my frighteningly clever staff. If Lady Hellsing gets a whiff of anything Pagan, she'll fire my arse in a heartbeat and ruin any chance I have of finishing this thing off. And yes, I'm fine, O dutiful High Priest."
A dismissive snort echoed through the small speaker at her veiled hint to drop the subject. Turning her wrist, Rowan peered at her silver wristwatch and groaned.
"Listen, Corrin, it's gone one thirty. I have to be up for work tomorrow - there's a raid planned on a monastery in Cornwall and the military bods want somebody who can translate Dark Age magickal sigils. They think the place is spell-rigged. Goddess knows how a load of chipped freaks managed that, but they did. I need to brush up on local variants before I go in."
Corrin huffed disgustedly, "Well, just don't go getting horribly maimed or anything, our kid. All those guns and ghouls. I must be getting old, 'cos this stuff rattles me."
Laughing softly, knowing nothing short of an all-out global disaster frightened the stoic, iron-haired priest, Rowan picked up her shoes.
"I believe you, thousands wouldn't," she smiled. "Tell the others I said 'hi', okay?"
She could almost feel his answering grin, perpetually bewhiskered and somewhat rumpled. He chuckled quietly.
"Will do. Oh, before I go, the Council will want a report soon. Certain people are getting uppity. I think you can guess who. Things are set to move up a notch in the next few years, and we can't have Alucard as a potential fly in the ointment. I don't think old man Hellsing knew the half of it when he managed to seal-bind him. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Blessed be."
Echoing the parting blessing, Rowan thumbed off her phone. She could not help but agree. Well meaning as Hellsing Institute was, Integra's blind devotion to her search-and-destroy mission could jeopardise everything. Her single-mindedness only allowed her to see a small portion of the larger picture. Abruptly tired, head crammed with conflicting thoughts, Rowan trudged wearily upstairs to bed.
*