Time, Death & Scar Tissue...

Author's Note: It is not my intention to offend anyone's religion. The opinions expressed by the characters were derived from what makes logical sense in the context of their own personal histories.
psyche b.

38. Roads

Kathryn rose even earlier the next day. They shopped and she did manage to find something a bit more flattering than the jumper. When she and Minerva returned to the house at two they found that Lucien was still sleeping.

“What are your plans for decorating this year?” Kathryn asked, looking around the sitting room.

“I don't know really.” Minerva sighed a little. “I suppose we could put up Michael's tree, somehow I can't get very excited about that though.”

“If we do we'll have to cut half of it off, it's way too big to go anywhere in this house.” Kathryn said. “I don't know what Uncle Michael was thinking.” Her Uncle Michael sent his mother a tree every year for Christmas, or someone he paid did. Kathryn doubted he put much thought into it, but she kept that to herself. The tree was kept in the garage until Kathryn got there.

“What he's always thinking of, himself. A tree that size would fit easily into that cavernous entry of his. Still, I suppose we should do something with it.” Minerva didn't sound excited and Kathryn didn't like the idea of trying to cut a tree in half with her grandmother's uncooperative hand saw.

“I have an idea, though if you let me do it you won't have a tree left.” Kathryn said, a little smile on her lips.

“I'm all ears.” Minerva was smiling a little too.

“Let's make garlands and wreaths.”

Minerva thought for a moment.

“I like it, but people will be expecting lights.” She said finally.

“They'll have lights, I just need a few supplies.” She grinned.

“You know where the keys are.” Minerva said. “Bridey and I will start on the tree while you're gone.”

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LaCroix came downstairs to find a trail of pine needles through the hall and the door to the sitting room closed. He heard Kathryn's laughter first, the Minerva's. Bridey walked through grumbling about the mess.

“I'm going out Bridey.” He said simply. “What are they up to in there?”

“Paving the road to Hell if you ask me. You can't have Christmas without the baby Jesus in the manger, but try telling that to those two.” She continued through to the kitchen, still grumbling about living in a house full of heathens.

He hunted quickly, mechanically. In the beginning the kill took all of his attention. It was a sensual experience that involved every fiber of his awareness. Like so many things though, it had become routine over the centuries. There were more times than not that he still gave himself to it completely. Mortals enjoyed a good meal, so did his kind. Tonight the need was there, but the desire to waste time in the pursuit of a simple physical need did not appeal to him. Besides, he had noticed that the number of choices around the holidays sharply declined. He had no desire to try and find the least wretched of the dregs of society.

He returned to Minerva's house and found Kathryn vacuuming, he tried not to grimace at the sound. She jumped slightly when she saw him.

“I thought you were still sleeping.” She said, after turning off the machine. Just like excessive light of this age disagreed with his eyes the excessive noise grated on his hearing.

“Bridey didn't tell you I had gone out?” She reached out to take his coat but he hung it himself before kissing her softly.

“No. I guess she was busy.” Kathryn smiled a bit but couldn't meet his eyes as she said it.

“She made it sound like you've been busy too.” He said, a little smile touching his lips when he thought about her laughter.

“Of course, it's hard work single-handedly destroying Christmas.” Kathryn laughed a little. “Come in, see what you think.”

The thought of celebrating the birth of a Jewish peasant who had the power to rouse other malcontented peasants to rebellion had never seemed entirely logical or appealing to him. The religion that grew up around that peasant further angered him in the way it attempted to compel faith through violence. Kathryn had been right when she said ritual was a bound people together, it was the part of religion that took little if any faith at all. It required no faith in the god or goddess to make a sacrifice, but it did connect you to others who were sacrificing. To him, the act was all that was necessary to maintain social order. That was the ultimate function of any religion anyway. Faith was an ephemeral matter that he had never cared to speculate about.

LaCroix had to admit he was surprised by the transformation of the sitting room. He had been expecting a decorated tree, but was pleasantly surprised to find evergreen boughs arranged on the fireplace mantle, on the windowsills, the tables and over the doors. In most of the garlands wheat and apples had been arranged with the greenery. Candles glowed softly from several locations. When he looked closer he noticed that multiples of twelve appeared everywhere. The greenery was a bit different, but it reminded him more of Saturnalia than the Christian holiday.

“Where did you get this idea?” He asked softly, barely able to resist the undertow of familiarity that pulled at him.

“For what?” Kathryn said, he realized she looked a little concerned and so did Minerva.

“The way you put this together.” He regained his composure. “It's beautiful, just not what I was expecting.”

“I had a dream about a room like this last night. It wasn't JUST like this. The room itself was completely different and I don't remember much else but I remember bringing in greenery and there being lights and it was some kind of celebration. Weird writer's imagination I guess.” Kathryn shrugged a little and looked at Minerva. “I just hope it isn't too drastic for the family.”

“They'll manage. If they don't, they can stay home next year. I think it's beautiful.” Minerva said firmly.

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“Tell me more about your dream.” He said softly as they lay in bed. The tug of familiarity he had experienced earlier had been too great to let it rest. He had spent most of the rest of the evening trying to assemble the scattered pieces in his mind and finding that he was still unable to see the a picture emerge.

“What dream?” She asked sleepily.

“Your decorating dream.” She was on her side and he was spooned behind her. She had mentioned once that when he wrapped around her like that she felt protected from the world.

“I don't remember anything else. At first I thought it was going to be my nightmare, I felt like I was the same person as in the nightmare, but then it turned out to be a good dream.” She was smiling a little as she said it. He decided to pursue the point a little further.

“What made it feel different?” He asked softly, one hand casually stroking her stomach. He noticed her brow knit slightly.

“I felt safer. Like for a little while I didn't have to worry. Even before the other one turns bad I always feel like there's some kind of danger.” His hand hesitated for a moment, the tug making him close his eyes. LaCroix decided to risk one more question.

“What were you safer from?” When she was silent longer than he expected he listened carefully to her heart and breathing and realized she had slipped below the surface of sleep. LaCroix realized from the beginning that she was very good at giving the impression of fearlessness, but that was only her armor. Her fears sometimes made sense, often they didn't. He began to wonder if they made perfect sense in the context of the past. He looked down at her small hand resting on his and very carefully made sure that she wouldn't remember his curiosity. He found that he disliked manipulating her like that and the fact was he did it very rarely, but he wasn't ready to tell her why he was so curious about something so trivial.

LaCroix searched through his memories of the dim past until he fell asleep. He knew that she was connected to Fleur in some way, but he was now convinced that she was someone from his mortal life. Something would trigger his memory and he told himself that when he did he would have to keep his emotions strictly controlled to insure she wouldn't think him mad.