Carpe Diem *HF* Chapter Eight
By StevenBlueKing
Chapter Eight
“I’ve asked you nicely, Miss Brachode, to return back to bed, please return the hospitality,” Dr. Morgan said, before he felt his diminutive frame rise through the air, smashing him into a tray of utensils with a thud. Morte smiled as she walked out of the ward and towards the Purple King’s room. She’d be damned if she had to spend another second in that ward. Anything was better, even going to see the Purple King. Boisterously, she flung open the sliding doors of the room and entered. Steven, who was reading over some papers in front of him, his glasses dangling precariously on the end of his nose. A warm, affectionate smile washed over him as he noticed the Purple Rook’s presence.
“So lovely to see you Sabrina,” he said in a cheerful tone, his eyes still focused on the papers on his lap, a smile curling the corners of his lips, “how are you doing.”
“I’m okay,” she said in a mischievous tone, “it’s Dr Morgan I feel sorry for.” With a sigh, she pulled up a nearby chair.
Steven’s eyes grew with concern. “What have you done to him?” he said, a serious, yet friendly tone in his voice. Morte just laughed.
“Anyways, how are you feeling?” Sabrina asked, her voice filled with genuine unease. Ever since she had come to the Hellfire Clubs, her relationship with the Purple King had grown closer and closer. She looked upto him as her father, as a friend who she felt safe with, a person who she knew loved her and would care for her. A friend.
The King rubbed the back of his neck as he removed his spectacles, placing them on top of the papers. “It is weird, but I feel like my mind has been stretched open by a vice and it is refusing to close. I know my telepathic powers are there, but I can’t ‘feel’ them. My telekinetic powers however are running wild. Something I am a little more concerned about is my inability to teleport.”
Morte raised a questioning eyebrow. “Well,” Steven continued, “earlier today I did a telepathic scan of the area, that went well. I moved some stuff with my telekinethesis. I managed to phase and I think my kinetic telepathy is intact. But I couldn’t teleport. It is strange.”
“Perhaps your body just needs time to adjust,” Sabrina said courteously, “according to Epyon you burned up real good fighting those sentinels.”
Steven nodded. His gaze suddenly became much more anxious, much more paternal. Slowly, his hand out stretched, slipping into Morte’s. Being an External, her power to kill organic matter on touch didn’t affect him. “Sabrina, what is wrong?”
The Rook turned to him, tears welling up in her eyes. “Nothing,” she said through gritted teeth as she tried to repel the droplets that formed in her eyes. Suddenly, she pressure became too much for her to bare and she let out a wail. “Today is Lenore’s birthday.”
“Lenore?” Steven questioned.
“I haven’t been totally honest with you about my past,” Morte sobbed as she began to dab her eyes, wiping away the tears and smearing her running mascara, “but it is time I got this out in the air.”
Steven looked at her with pure sympathy. “Take your time my dear,” he said soothingly.
“I was a prostitute when I was about 11 years old,” she said with a quiver, “living on the streets and climbing into anyone’s bed for a little bit of money just to survive. Well, this one time, I was 13 years old, this rich old man, he got me pregnant. A regular client. Well, I lived with him for a while and gave birth to Lenore, my daughter. But I ‘died’ at birth and when I came back to life, she was adopted. So I moved on.”
There was a solid silence between the two of them as Steven’s gaze fixed attentively on the young woman. Water began to flow into his eyes but he steeled himself. One of the benefits of being the King of England was you were bred to shield your emotions. A helpful tool for a Hellfire Club King. Suddenly, he broke their hand lock and threw his arms around her, allowing her head to nest on his padded pyjama top. “There there Sabrina, it is okay,” he said quietly, “we’ll get through this, you and me.”
His fingers danced over the keyboard with fluent diligence, his analytic mind whizzing around within his skull. Around him machines blared and computers spat out facts. A typical day for the Purple Knight. Epyon span around sharply on his swivel chair, gliding over to the large steel table that lay in the middle of the room. On top of it laid a broken, deactivated sentinel, a large, spindled, alien-looking machine hovering above it. The young man sighed.
“How is the analysis going?” a sombre, professional voice declared as Ian Fitzroy, Blue Advisor said, as he glided confidently into the Knight’s lab.
Epyon rose to his feet, his hands running through his long, flowing cerulean hair. “Good and not so good.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Care to elaborate, my friend?”
“Basically, the sentinels Steven were fighting were mutated by Isambard. The energy blasts held a chemical within them that amplifies mutant powers, and in this case, when Steven used more and more energy to fight them, he was merely increasing the effects of the blasts, until he exploded,” Epyon said matter of factly.
“Will Steven recover?” Ian quizzed.
“Too early to say,” Thomas evaluated, “we’ll need to wait until he is strong enough for a full body scan. But I don’t think even his mind could take so much strain.”
“Well, I need to speak to Rage now,” Ian mumbled as he headed out the door. With a heartily groan, Epyon returned to his work.
The Next Day
“Here’s the deal gang,” Rage said as she stood in front of the assembled Inner and Outer Circle, her attire consisting of a long sleeved red velvet shirt, black pants and trench coat, a smile spread across her beautiful face, “Steven’s off the medical ward, but has been confined to his quarters to rest. Until he returns, I am incharge. Shadow is visiting today with Porscha, and after that he is going on semi-leave for a month. Basically, he’ll be here if we need him. Everyone is doing well, Waya and Morte sorted out the publicity surrounding the attack. Epyon has a full analyst report on the sentinels, Joseph and Felicity are staying with us for a while and the detained BLHC members have all been arrested. Ian pulled some strings and had them arrested for fraud. Kinda gets them outta our hair.” The young Queen went silent for a moment, catching her breath. It still made her a little nervous getting up in front of people and talking, but she was over the rest. She couldn’t believe she was the Purple Queen, leading a real life Club that dealt with real life issues. Sure, she’d been the Red Queen before, but Steven did most of the work involving that. Then, at her posts within the Grey Court, she was more like a cog in the machine; the responsibility fell on the shoulders of those above her. But now she was the one in charge.
“If I may,” Joseph said in a quiet, reserved voice, “what are your plans regarding the Illuminati. Sure, we beat them, but that demon thing is still out there.”
Rage winced for a moment as a scowl sprawled across her face. “I am aware of that. But there is little we can do until they resurface. Xeus is going to investigate, but we are kind of at a rut.”
“Great,” Salvanza muttered, “sitting ducks.”
“I’m afraid so Roberto,” Charlotte sighed. And with that the PHC began to file out of the room in a steady hum of conversation.
The Queen sighed as she flopped into the luxurious cushioned chair, allowing the expensive material to wrap around her. Her eyelids slowly closed as she tilted her head backwards, allowing the streaming sunlight that flowed through the glass to caress her face. The thud of someone sitting down besides her dragged her back to reality.
“You look tired,” Tyra Waya Coyote, known better to the Court as the Purple Scribe, her curly black dredded hair spilling over her immaculate mocha coloured skin. It was true to say that the Cherokee woman was as deadly as she was beautiful, which the ability to command the four ancient elements. Her coral blue eyes looked concurringly over the pale skinned Queen.
Rage smiled. “I didn’t sleep too well last night, all this stuff kept me awake. It is weird to have so much responsibility. Back in the Grey Court I did little more than sit on my butt all day. But now, that’s different.”
“You knew it’d be like this,” Waya said as she rose to her feet, “and I know you are good enough to be the Queen, you just need to rest. Go and take a bath, have a few hours to yourself. Even you glamorous Queens need a rest every now and then.” A mischievous twinkle glistened in Waya’s eye.
“I think I’ll do that!” Rage said in a singsong voice as she rose elegantly to her feet.
“I can’t believe it,” Porscha said as she strolled slowly along the hallways of the castle, her stilettos shoes digging into the thick, plush carpet, “you guys actually live in a place this great. I thought my uncle’s mansion was great, but compared to this, it is an outhouse!”
Kyle smiled broadly at his fiancé. It felt a little strange to be engaged to a girl, bringing her home to meet his father. Ever since his mutant powers emerged, he thought the prospect of living a normal life was out of his reach forever. But over the past few months his life had taken a turnaround for the better, and now he was getting married to a beautiful woman and having a baby. He’d never been so blissfully happy. “Hey, my dad’s a multi billionaire. Did you expect him to live in a dumpster?” the Purple Prince joked.
“Still, this place is great,” Porscha, giggled. Suddenly her facial features became much more serious. “Do you think he’ll like me?”
Shadow sighed loudly as he swept her into his arms. “He’s gonna love you. Now come on, we’re here.” Kyle walked slowly towards the immense oak door, carved with intricate statues of jungle animals. Two men dressed in a crimson uniform stood motionlessly outside the vault. “Hey Ben, Dan, meet my fiancé, Porscha.”
The two beefy guards turned to face the woman, greeting her with a huge smile. “Go right through Kyle, your father is waiting for you.”
With that, the guards opened the door. Porscha walked into the softly illuminated room, her eyes gawping in awe as she looked at the immense room. Her gaze fell upon the miniature waterfall fountain in the centre of the colossal room, its soft trickling waters rippling around the room. At the back of the large office was Steven, sat behind his huge oak desk. As the two entered, the Purple King pushed back the leather desk chair, rising to his feet to meet his future daughter in law. As usual, the King was dressed in a wonderful Italian silk creation, its blue and silver threads almost twinkling in the chandelier’s glow. Slowly, his cane in hand, the King greeted Shadow.
“Hiya dad,” the Prince said nervously, “this is Porscha, my fiancé.”
Steven’s brow furrowed as his eyes ran up and down Porscha. He could see why she had caught Kyle’s attention! The sleek purple dress clung to her body like a second skin, covering every nick and cranny. “I am Steven Booth,” the King announced in a loud but gentle voice, taking Porscha hand and kissing it, “and you are the woman who is making my son so happy. It is so great to finally meet you my dear. Won’t the two of you join my for afternoon tea?” Steven motioned to the table decked with silverware. Porscha smiled as she followed Kyle to her seat.
“Fiancé?” Steven said as he recalled Shadow’s words, “did you say fiancé?” A look of bewilderment spread over his wrinkled face.
Shadow glanced nervously at Porscha before rising to his feet besides Steven. “That’s right dad, Porscha and I are getting married.”
“Married?” spluttered Steven, “but you have only known eachother for a few months. Are you sure about this, I mean have you thought it through?”
Porscha rose gracefully to her feet. “Kyle and I are in love, and couldn’t imagine life without one another,” she said in a quiet tone, “we want to spend our lives together with one another. We ask for your blessing.”
Steven was silent for a moment, his body hunched over his ruby tipped cane. A strand of his golden hair loosened from its position. Straightening up, he placed it back on top of his head. “Are you two sure about this,” he said, “marriage is a big commitment. Not something to take lightly.”
The two nodded. Steven winced, before a huge smile spread across his face. “Well, I don’t think I could stop you if I tried. I give my consent. Whatever makes you two happy.”
Shadow smiled, shaking his father’s hand. “Thanks dad, we really appreciate it,” he said cheerily, “but there is still one surprise to tell you. You might want to sit down.”
The King frowned at Kyle as he edged into one of the over elaborate Edwardian chairs. “Porscha and I, well, we are going to have a baby. Porscha’s pregnant.”
“WHAT?” Steven yelped as his eyes opened wide with shock. Shadow shuddered physically as he prepared for a barrage of ‘what do you think you are doing’ and ‘you are messing up your life’ from his father. But Steven just sat there quietly. “I….I… am going to be a…a… grandfather?” he stuttered. Porscha nodded. “Well, this calls for celebration!”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stood on the balcony of her suite, her hands wrapped around the cast iron railings. The bitter wind cut through her, rustling her clothes like a relentless predator. Her whole body shuck in contorts of shivers. But she didn’t care anymore. She was too cold inside to feel the pain anymore. With a sob, she wiped away the tears and staggered into her bedroom, collapsing onto the four-poster purple quilted bed, her wet face buried in a fluffy pure white pillow.
“Why did you have to leave me Scott?” Lark wept, “we had a future together. We were going to go and get married in the summer, THIS summer, on a desert island. Just the two of us. We had a whole life in front of us. But it was stole away.” Her voice cracked as she bellowed out more tears until she could cry no more. With an effort she rose to her feet, walking lethargically to the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, her hair tangled and her face haggard. With a fit of rage she picked up a nearby table lamp, throwing it with immense force at the mirror, her mutant powers charging it with energy making it explode. A heaving sigh of rage echoed from her body. “I swear to you Scott, I’ll avenge you,” she said through gritted teeth, “every vampire on earth will pay.”
Rage’s eyes grew heavy as her vision blurred. Slowly, she slipped further and further down into the alluring leather chair and before moments a gentle snore oozed from her body. The hospital ward had long retired to the temptation of sleep, leaving its halls deathly quiet.
The revolving doors of the ward pushed open as a figure slipped through, his steel capped loafers rapping loudly against the tiled floor, arousing the Queen from her slumber. Rubbing her eyes she gasped at the visitor. “Steven?”
The King stood broodingly besides the bed of the injured boy, his eyes focusing on his unmoving body. “How is he?”
“He’s okay,” Rage said as she stretched, “I thought you were resting.”
“I’ve had enough resting,” he said in a deep, unnatural tone, “I must learn the truth.”
Charlotte’s brow furrowed in concern. “Perhaps you should do it when you are better, when you have all your strength back.”
“I CANNOT WAIT ANY LONGER!” the King shouted, “I will not wait another moment. That boy there could be my son. The son I have abandoned for 21 years. I’ll be damned if I wait another moment to find out.” His icy blue eyes burned into Charlotte who rose from her chair, backing away slowly. Steven grunted as he stepped forward, placing his fingertips on the boy’s forehead. Sparks of purple energy sprung to life, racing over the injured man’s forehead. With a scream he rose from the bed, only to collapse back into Steven’s arms. The King’s eyes grew wide as he held the boy. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m here now. Dad’s here now.”
Charlotte’s eyes watered as she looked at Steven. The pain was evident on his face. For twenty-one years he had been denied the existence of his sons because of the perverse plans of two sick people. And with the recent events surrounding the Court, she wondered if the concrete foundations that held the King together were truly strong enough to withstand this latest bombshell. “I’ll let you two be alone for a moment,” she said as she glided out of the room into the shadow-engulfed corridors of the hospital.
Sleep had set in the castle, as the PHC members succumbed to its tempting will. She too would soon be in her own warm bed. As she rounded the corner into the Courtier’s quarters, she noticed the gentle hum that seemed to vibrate through the castle. Within seconds it became louder and louder until without warning an immense explosion roared through the hallways of the castle, smashing stone and metal as it broke through the building, plunging the Queen underneath a pile of rubble. Standing next to the giant hole in the side of the castle, Diamopher smiled, showing his rows of razor sharp teeth, before sending a bolt of energy into the left turret, dragging the colossal structure onto the castle.
“Let’s get ready to rumble,” the demon said with glee.
End Chapter Eight