A death in the family

[seph-hazard.livejournal.com]

“Just concentrate,” Hélène whispered, one strong hand planted firmly onto each of Eliza's shoulders. Pain coursed through like electric fire, seeped blackly into every corner of her. She couldn't take her eyes from the bloody stump that had been her elbow, but if she closed them for just a moment she could still feel her arm intact. “Concentrate on the blood”, Hélène repeated, almost the only real thing left in the world. “It will heal.” And somehow, with some mammoth force of will, Eliza managed to concentrate for long enough to stem the flow. Things began to come back into focus, the world expanded to contain more than just the overwhelming agony and Hélène's steady murmur.

The funeral had been at least in part appropriate and fitting. Eliza couldn't help but feel that slightly too much emphasis was put on Corben's debauchery and not enough on his substance, but she thought – ruefully – that her own funeral was likely to be just the same. And the Lacrima was a nice touch; Eliza was looking forward to it, and had pretty much decided to abstain from intoxicants entirely until it was ready. There was a lot missing, she thought, but she knew that the family would probably have that in hand in some other more private ceremony. After the funeral and interment, after the rose bush had been planted and cajoled to grow, Father Gabriel had turned to her with a glint in his large black eyes. “It seems appropriate”, he began, “to ask this question by Corben's graveside. Eliza: will you join the family?”
She had hesitated for a moment, but it hadn't even occurred to her to decline. She paused only to savour the moment: here at last was something she had secretly wanted for some months, something that would solve so very many of her current problems. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, of course.”

After she had sworn the family oaths he smiled, that dangerous smile that still made Eliza a little weak at the knees despite herself, and looked back out over the assembled. “And now, I need a member of the Circle who has an arm they can spare for a few nights.”

It was a test, that much was obvious. She had accepted the offer and agreed to the oath, but this was the moment when she would really join the coterie. Others perhaps paused, asked questions, but without a moment's wait Eliza offered her left arm outstretched, wrist up. A sacrifice. Father Gabriel smiled.

Bollocks to William the Painter, Eliza thought. Bollocks to all those years I spent trailing round Europe wishing he would stop for me. Screw Jack Morrgan, who let me trust him more than anyone and then left with only two short words. Fuck the lot of them, but most of all: fuck you, Uncle Luc. For wanting to change me. For nearly – Goddess! So very nearly – managing to make me think that I needed to sand myself down to slide in next to you, making me think that there was anything you could offer me that was worth changing who I have always been. Fuck it all. She had a new family now. A real family: one she had chosen, and who had chosen her. One who knew her, and appreciated the not inconsiderable talents she already possessed.

Hélène moved round to stand behind her, supporting her firmly with a strong hand on each shoulder. Eliza tensed, concentrated, waited for the blow. “Ready?”, Hélène whispered. “This is going to hurt.”