Chapter Text
"I'm s-sorry? Did you just say da-daughter?" Scylla stumbles over her words like a baby gazelle learning to walk. She looks wide eyed at the woman across the marble island.
"Yes, Scylla. My daughter was supposed to be here with you." The woman cocks her head to the side expectantly as the mushrooms on the stove sizzle. "So what happened?"
"Wait," Scylla rubs her forehead where she suddenly feels a headache forming. "You are Raelle's mom? You're Willa? The mom that she thinks is dead? And you didn't think to tell me this crucial information before throwing me into the mission blind?"
"What would you have done, Scylla?" Willa asks, putting her focus on her cooking once again. "Do you think she would have just believed you if you told her that her dead mother was a leader of the Spree? I would have thought you knew Raelle better by now. You were sleeping with her, after all."
Scylla swallows dryly. It hits her at last. She had been sleeping with her boss' daughter. She had fallen in love with a Spree leader's daughter. Holy shit.
Now was not the time to freak out about it, though; there were more important things at hand. She could panic about this later. Raelle thought her mother was dead. She blames the military for taking her away, but now that she was alive, what would that do to her?
"You let Raelle think you were dead for a year." Scylla says, feeling her blood begin to bubble in her veins. "She has been broken up about it all this time for nothing? How could you give your own daughter that kind of heart break?"
"Oh, sweetheart." Willa turns around again. A faux smile is painted on her lips, but Scylla can see the pain chiseled into the clear blue eyes that suddenly resemble the ones she sees in her dreams every single night. "You wouldn't understand the sacrifice I had to make to keep Raelle safe. This was the only way."
"The only way for what?" Scylla asks.
She steps further into the kitchen as Willa once again brings her attention back to the mushrooms in the skillet. Scylla's stomach turns at the sight as Willa takes a blue plate from the cabinet above her and slides the mushrooms onto it. Mushrooms were the plant of the underworld and as a Necro, it didn't seem right to Scylla to eat them. It was an unspoken rule to the Necros of Fort Salem that mushrooms were sacred to their division and she didn't know of a single Necro who ate them. Scylla is sure that Willa knows of this. Willa places the plate on the island. Scylla's palm is uncomfortably warm and irritating and she absentmindedly rubs at it as she watches Raelle's not dead dead mother.
"I want my daughter back, Scylla."
"Well," Scylla sighs sadly, feeling the weight of the painful truth she was about to say for the first time out loud. "She knows about me. She knows I lied and she doesn't trust me anymore." She hates me.
"If you had just delivered her to me at the wedding like you were supposed to, we wouldn't be in this predicament, now would we?" There's a sharpness in Willa's tone that could cut through flesh like a knife, but Scylla doesn't care. She's already lost the most important thing to her. What else was there to lose?
"I thought she would be hurt." Scylla slices back. "I wasn't going to let that happen to her."
Willa puts her weight on her hands which grip the end of the island as she takes cognizance of the look in Scylla's eyes.
"You love her."
With a defeated sigh, Scylla nods. "She will never listen to me again." She says quietly. "I can't help you see Raelle."
"My dear," Willa walks to the refrigerator and takes out a pitcher of water. She pours a glass and stands in front of the Necro. She offers Scylla the drink and the girl accepts it. The cold glass sooths her burning hand. Raelle's mother takes Scylla's face in her hands and with a determined smile, she says, "You're the only one that can."
Tally cries. Tally cries the entire trip back to Fort Salem. Tally cries as a couple of Lieutenants bring her belongings from Circe to her new shared room. Tally cries all night long, getting absolutely zero sleep and probably keeping the Biddies awake. She mourns for the loss of her unit. She watched helplessly in that bat as Raelle was stabbed through the heart. She watched as Abigail tried to heal her unhealable wound. She watched as her sisters lay, hand in hand, taking their last breaths together. She watched and did nothing.
She wonders if this is what her mother feels every single day.
The other Biddies had tried to comfort her, but nothing could bring them back. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Her girls had died. She had given up her youth to save General Alder without a second thought. The Camarilla had returned and they were more powerful than ever before. And there was that… thing that happened as the bat ascended from the blood bath. What the hell was that? Even in Alder's 300 plus years of living, she said she had never seen such a thing happen before.
Another sob erupts from Tally's body. She wishes Raelle was there to curl up in the bed with her and hold her like she had done to the smaller girl after she believed Scylla was dead. She wishes Abigail was there to take her hand and tell her everything was going to be alright; that she had a Bellweather in her unit so she was in perfect hands.
But they were gone. Killed in a strange place. Tired. Scared. Used up. Wanting to come home. Their funeral would take place in two days. Their caskets would be empty and their medals missing; not a single thing to be given to their parents. The last two of their blood lines. Gone.
One will be remembered in the history books with ease; another heroic Bellweather. The other would most likely be forgotten, save for her fellow Cession witches.
Tally would never forget.
Tally's pillow is soaked and she flips it over to the dryer side. When they returned, Anacostia wasn't even there to greet them. Alder had needed to find another soldier to give herself to the cause as the other Biddy who had been struck with a plague dart died in the bat. Anacostia was nowhere to be seen to help, though Tally was more upset that she wasn't around to give her the comfort she needed.
She had never felt so alone.
It's the middle of the night when Anacostia slaps a hand over Scylla's partially opened mouth. Her eyes shoot open wide as she tries to scramble away before her eyes adjust to the darkness and focus on the owner of the hand. Her eyebrows furrow in shock as Anacostia places her index finger over her lips. Scylla nods and sucks in a breath when the Sergeant uncovers her mouth.
"What the hell?" Scylla whispers through her ragged breathing. "What are you doing here? Did you follow me?"
"What are you doing back with the Spree?" Anacostia growls. Her eyes are black in the slip of moonlight coming from the open window.
"I am the Spree, Anacostia. What would you have had me do? Run from the Army and the Spree? I would be dead within weeks." Scylla sits up and wraps the blanket around her body. She looks at Anacostia in the dark. It's the first time she's ever seen the Sergeant in civilian clothes. She wears a jogger's outfit: sweatpants and a hoodie.
Anacostia takes in her words and nods. "You didn't think I would let you run off without keeping tabs on you, did you?"
Scylla sighs with exasperation. She should have know. She would never truly be free from the Army or the Spree. Like the chronic pain of a once broken bone, she would always have a part of the Army with her. Her connection just so happened to be a Sergeant that won't leave her be. If she was being honest with herself, there was some relief to Anacostia being there with her. In the weirdest way, the two of them had connected with one another in her Necro torture chamber. She knew more about Anacostia, and Anacostia knew more about her than anybody else now. Not even Raelle knew the details of how her parents had died. She and the Sergeant were far more alike than the latter wanted to admit—two sides of the same coin finding a family on opposite sides of a war. She had a comforting trust toward the older woman.
Like a Stockholm Syndrome victim, Scylla was glad to see her past torturer.
"What do you want, Anacostia?" Scylla rubs the bridge of her nose. Crumbles of crusty sleep fall from the corners of her eyes. It was the first decent sleep she'd had in a while. "If you didn't bring a 'thank you for staying at the Torture Dungeon Inn' card and a mint chocolate candy gift, I'm not interested."
"What did they want when they saw you? Were you given a new mission?" Anacostia wastes no time coming straight out with her intentions.
Scylla gapes at the woman before her. She can't help the hushed laugh that escapes her. "You want me to turn spy for the side that tortured me for weeks? You're joking, right?"
Anacostia shakes her head. "That isn't exactly what this is. This isn't for Alder. Or Petra for that matter. This is for me. It's.. hard to explain. But I want to help."
Scylla's mouth is wide open. "You want to join the Spree?"
"Goddess no." The look of disgust Anacostia wears at the assumption is enough to make Scylla laugh again. "I want what is best for this country and the people in it. Civilians and witches alike. You can help if you just trust me, Ramshorn."
Scylla looks at Anacostia with regard. She was being vague in her explanation, but she said this wasn't for Alder. Anacostia was going outside of canon for something that brought a passionate glint in her dark eyes. Scylla was interested.
"My mission hasn't changed." Scylla says quietly. "My mark remains the same. Raelle. They want Raelle."
"Why do they want Raelle so bad?" Anacostia sits on the floor beside the bed and looks up at Scylla.
Scylla shakes her head, still personally trying to process the information she had learned yesterday. "You're not going to believe this, but…" Scylla lets out a heavy breath. "Raelle's mom is alive. And she's one of the Spree leaders."
Anacostia stares dumfounded at the Spree agent and takes silent minutes to gauge this new intel. "Raelle's mother… She's… Does Raelle know this?"
Scylla shakes her head before resting it on the palms of her hands. "She spoke about her like she believed she had died on that beach. I don't think Raelle even questions it."
"Wow." Anacostia says. "This is… unexpected to say the least."
"You're telling me." Scylla stands from the bed, suddenly feeling restless. She begins pacing around the room.
"Do you believe Willa's intentions are pure? She just wants to see her daughter?"
Scylla puffs out an ambivalent laugh. "Do you? She kept repeating, 'she's more powerful than she knows', and, 'she's essential'. I don't know what to think anymore, Anacostia. But all I know is that I have to see Raelle. I have to bring her to Willa to talk. It's my final chance. I don't think they'll accept another failure by me, if you know what I mean." Scylla's hand shakes as she nervously runs it through her hair.
Anacostia comes to her feet and lets out a frustrated breath. "I don't know when that could happen." She says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking carefully at the shorter witch. "The Bellweather unit has been deployed."
Scylla stops dead in her tracks. She looks up at the soldier, her lips parted, and says slowly, "What did you just say?"
Anacostia looks up at the ceiling, feeling her own emotions threaten to overtake her. She explains everything from the Tarim, to the unit confiding in Petra Bellweather about everything, to the puppeting of the President. "Alder found out and kept them from going to War College. They deployed to the last known location of the Tarim on graduation day. It is believed that the Spree are taking out witches now for some unknown reason. The Bellweather line is almost completely depleted now and the Tarim are almost extinct."
Scylla shakes her head and furiously wipes at the tears that snake their way down her cheeks. "No. The Spree don't attack other witches. There's no way. When will they be back?"
Anacostia shrugs. "I don't know. They could be back now."
Scylla's shaking hands fidget in front of her. "Tell me as soon as you can." Her eyes are wet and pleading when they make contact with Anacostia's. "Please."
When Anacostia drives back onto base, the first thing she notices is that nobody is outside except for the gate guards. The second thing she notices when she pulls the Humvee into it's spot and heads to the Command Building, is that the flags are at half-mast. Anacostia's heart thumps hard like a drum as she climbs the steps and enters the building.
She barely presses her knuckles against the wood of the door before it's swung open to reveal a full room. General Alder stands facing the large open window, a glass of whiskey in her hands. Petra Bellweather sits in the chair in front of the General's desk and beside her General Clary crouches with her hand gently placed on her shoulder. Along with them, the room contains Izadora, Witch Father, Bridey, and the Biddies. One of them sits hunched over herself with her back to the door. She's crying. There's another Biddy that Anacostia has never seen before.
"General." Anacostia steps into the room and stands at attention behind Petra. Izadora steps up beside Quartermaine and places her own hand on her uniformed shoulder. At the sound of her voice, the crying Biddy whips around and barrels toward her.
"Sergeant." The voice of the Biddy brings a heavy flip to Anacostia's stomach and she holds her breath as the weak arms tighten around her with every sob coming from the woman.
Anacostia fights the cry that almost hurdles out of her when she sees the familiar honey brown eyes under sagging eyelids in front of her. Tally's cheeks are long and spotted with age and the wet streaks form war trenches bordering her nose and mouth. Anacostia grabs Tally's withered face in her hands and takes in her white hair and wrinkled forehead.
"Craven?" Anacostia breathes. Tally closes her eyes at her Sergeant's touch and nods her head sadly.
"Sergeant Quartermaine." Alder turns around and faces them. "Where were you yesterday?"
Tally steps to the side to allow the two to speak, but stays close enough that she could reach out and touch her former Drill Sergeant.
Anacostia straightens up once more and looks back to the General. "I was tending to some personal things, General. Nothing you need to worry about." She glances at Biddy Tally for a fleeting moment. "How did the mission go?"
Alder slowly makes her way to stand face to face with her. "The mission was a success. We rescued the remaining Tarim." She glances around at the rest of the soldiers in the room. "We were attacked."
"The Spree?" Anacostia asks. Her heart pounds in her throat. The silence and tension in the room reveals it's not such an easy culprit.
Alder shakes her head. "Our ancient enemy has returned. The Camarilla."
"The Camarilla…" Anacostia repeats slowly. She looks behind Alder to the stiff body of Petra.
"We lost many soldiers." Alder says, and her eyes show a sincere sadness toward the woman before her. "Private Abigail Bellweather and Private Raelle Collar were killed in battle."
Anacostia's stomach drops. Her lungs stop working in that moment and she forgets how to breathe as Tally's wrinkled hand sweeps her own up in a tight squeeze. Izadora's hand, which is still on Anacostia's shoulder, squeezes ever so slightly. Her vision blurs and she repeats the words in her head.
Private Abigail Bellweather and Private Raelle Collar were killed in battle.
"This can't be." Anacostia says in little more than a whisper. "This can't be."
"The Camarilla have taken our songs, and distorted them into something wicked. They came from all sides. We were outnumbered. And overwhelmed. It happened so fast."
"Raelle was stabbed from behind after saving a little boy." Tally managed to speak through a broken and cracking voice. "Abigail went back for her. It was too late, but she wouldn't leave Raelle's side. They were together in the end…"
Petra whimpers in front of the desk and her back convulses in her attempt to stay calm and composed.
"I'm sorry." Alder says, placing her hand on Anacostia's other shoulder. "I know how much they meant to you." With a bow of her head, she steps away and places herself back at the window, surely staring at the flags blowing in the breeze. "We will hold their funeral honors tomorrow morning. They will be held together. As a unit until the end. Edwin Collar arrives this evening."
Anacostia doesn't wipe away the warm tears that drip down her face and land like missiles on the hardwood floor. She barely breathes. The Bellweather unit were not even supposed to be there. They had the highest score of all of the units, and she was sure they would go onward to War College. But Alder had prevented it. And because of that, they were gone. Raelle and Abigail were gone, and Alder had taken the only surviving member's youth and innocence. The woman whom she had idolized and viewed as a mother figure for years had become a monster in just days.
"I heard about Scylla." Alder says, breaking the silence and changing the subject. "What happened?"
Anacostia gathers herself together and clears her closed throat. "She got the better of me when I was preparing her for her prison transport. With a food tray… she knocked me out." Anacostia pretends to be embarrassed to have been taken down by a mere silver platter and a 19 year old cadet. She bows her head in false shame and waits for Alder's reaction.
"A second year bested one of my best soldiers and managed to go undetected through the base?" Alder's jaw clenches and unclenches as her eyes stay locked out of the window.
"She's a very smart girl, General." Izadora says beside Anacostia with another squeeze of her shoulder. "There's no denying that. As her teacher, I can attest that she is very gifted and smart and.. handy."
Alder looks back to the two women. She downs the rest of her glass and places it on the windowsill. "Yes. I guess that is true. It's not so important now anyway. There are more pressing things we must discuss. The Camarilla are far more powerful than they were long ago. They have stolen our songs and are using them against us and they have even more new and dangerous weapons."
"What can we do?" Clary asks.
"We must stay vigilant, ladies. We must train our cadets with more force and prepare them for anything."
"Do you think she suspects anything?" Izadora asks once they exit the building and head toward Circe under the cloudy sky.
"I don't think we should worry too much for now." Anacostia says, face stoic and tone plain. "She has a lot of bigger things to think about. Looking into how Scylla escaped will be on the bottom of her list."
"Where is she now?" Izadora asks. The way the base seemed completely abandond makes it easier for the two to freely talk as they walk and they speak in only slightly low voices. "That's where you were last night, yes? Following her?"
Anacostia nods. "She's safe for now. She's at a Spree hideout."
"You found a Spree hideout?" Izadora stops in front of Anacostia, her eyes wide with excitment.
"I did." Anacostia says. "It's small. About four agents in it. Five now that Scylla is there. But she may not be safe there for long. Not with the information I will have to tell her."
As the two begin to walk in step again, Izadora sighs. "What will we do now? Now that the Camarilla are back, what do we do?"
"The Spree were trying to warn us about the Camarilla's return." Anacostia says. "I think this changes everything, Iz. We need to come up with something entirely different. But I think this could be good. This is the start of a new time."
They walk under the sun and they walk under the moon. They don't know where they're going, they just know they need to go. Hands clasped together, they continue on. Around them is a barrier of black, gliding and floating around them. They don't know what it is, just as they don't know what's happened to them.
They were supposed to be dead. Raelle remembers being stabbed. She feels the memory of being stabbed. The exact spot where her war charm had been just seconds before. She had fallen, she was bleeding out. Abigail had run to her, had tried to fix her. There was no fixing her. She was going to die there. She told her to break the Link but she refused. She was always stubborn like that. They would both die there.
But they weren't dead. They were alive. Somehow. They were alive and there was no stab wound, only dried blood and dirt and the black powdery residue of the explosion that erupted from their linked hands.
What the hell was happening?