The People v. Eleanor Warwick
Monster

Carmadie

Present Day

Indecision paralyzes Eleanor.

There’s too much new information thrown at her. Sandy Crane was not Cassandra Crane’s ancestor; the two are one and the same. The implications are staggering.

How has she lived so long? What does it mean for her accusations of betrayal? How could she possibly defeat someone who has been preparing for their encounter for over a hundred years?

She prides herself on being able to adapt and think quickly on her feet, but in this particular instance, Eleanor is at a loss. As Cassandra rises to her feet, glaring at her like a fox staring at a wounded rabbit, Eleanor only stands there, staring back.

Cassandra’s eyes are a watery red from her wailing, but their focus is sharp and dangerous. Azure lights circle the Stone with increased intensity.

“Okay,” Eleanor finally manages to say, a nervous tremble in her voice. “Okay. You’re Sandy Crane. This…changes things a bit. Can we, uh, start over here?”

“There is nothing you can say that would spare you.” Cassandra’s grip tightens on the artifact and the energy stirs even more.

“Look, we don’t need to- .”

“Enough!” Holding the Stone at arm’s length, Cassandra unleashes its power. Translucent tendrils snake through the air and plunge into Eleanor’s chest. “I will use your own power to help me erase your House from existence!”

Eleanor lifts off the ground as the tentacles dig into her. Her eyes shine blue. She feels as though the energy is scrambling her insides. Her magic twists and warps under the force of the artifact.

Cassandra glares hatefully as the cobalt veins spread across her victim’s skin. Her glare softens slightly when she senses another presence in the room a split second too late to do anything about it.

Jessie barely weighs a hundred pounds, but she slams into her foe with the force of a Pro Bowl linebacker. She interrupts the magic-stealing power of the Stone as she drives Cassandra to the ground, sending the rock skittering across the hardwood floors. Eleanor lands on her feet as the blue tendrils dissipate, but quickly stumbles and drops.

With a ferocious snarl, Jessie seizes Cassandra by the collar and yanks her to her feet before violently whipping her into nearby table. Cassandra’s carefully tended plants crash down from their pedestal, dirt and leaves scattering about. Pouncing on her, the hellblood balls up her tiny fist and strikes her across the face.

The ringing in Eleanor’s ears and the swimming in her head subsides quickly, but the sunken feeling in her stomach lingers. Sitting up slowly, she sees Jessie on top of Cassandra, pummeling her. Fighting off a sense of overall weakness, Eleanor scrambles to her feet.

Cassandra stares past her attacker with a dazed expression. Blood oozes from her nose. Jessie is far from satisfied.

“You- !”

Another strike opens up the Cassandra’s cheek.

“Fucking- !”

A third leaves a raw whelp above her eye.

“Bitch!”

As she reaches back for the fourth blow, Eleanor grabs her arm with both hands. “Jessie! Stop!”

Whipping her head back, the hellblood glares at her with wide, black eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Grabbing her by the back of her jacket, Eleanor clumsily pulls Jessie to her feet. The hellblood easily brushes her off. Cassandra struggles to lift her head, but a hard stomp slams her skull back to the floor.

“No!” With a hard yank, Eleanor pulls her ally away and places herself between her and the wizard. “Jessie! Enough!”

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“Just stop, will you! You don’t understand!”

“Understand what?”

“Just back off! Give me a minute here!”

Throwing up her hands, Jessie turns away. She slicks her hair back and takes a deep breath, but the darkness holds in her eyes. Eleanor kneels beside Cassandra.

The hellblood’s strikes did a number on her face. She lays motionless, her eyes shut, one of them swollen so.

Eleanor is still wrapping her head around Cassandra’s identity. Largely because Sandy Crane was born in 1802, but also because Eleanor believes her now. About her House, about Martin Warwick, about everything.

She was a loving wife and mother once. A woman of some character if Martin Warwick’s own journal is to be believed. That was before her husband was taken from her and her life destroyed. Destroyed by a man bearing the name of Warwick.

Brushing a few strands of copper from her face, Eleanor takes her head and mutters magic words. As Cassandra’s wounds begin to mend, a sudden shout nearly makes Eleanor lose concentration.

“What the shit are you doing, you stupid fuck?”

Ignoring her, Eleanor continues her efforts until Cassandra’s face is clear of abrasions. Gently resting her down on the floor, Eleanor rises and smooths out her coat.

She turns to find Jessie, her eyes returned to normal, staring at her expectantly. Without a word, Eleanor steps past her, crouches down, and carefully lifts the still-glowing Tempus Stone.

As she turns it over in her hand, a pulse of blue energy ripples up her fingers and disappears beneath her sleeve. The void Eleanor felt inside fills suddenly and her energies replenish.

Dropping the artifact into her satchel, Eleanor rises and walks out of the apartment. Approaching the elevator at a calm pace, Jessie overtakes her easily and stands directly in front of her, the very familiar expression of anger on her face. “Hey! Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Stopping, Eleanor looks at her with troubled eyes. With a heavy exhale, she responds with a regretful tone. “My great-great-great-great-grandfather was a monster.”

Without another word, Eleanor steps past Jessie and into the elevator. Jessie slips in as the doors close. “So, what? You believe all this poor me bullshit now?”

“She’s not who we thought she was. Besides, you didn’t see her. Didn’t hear her.”

“Actually I did.”

“Then you know what I mean.”

“I know she was shrieking like a fuckin’ maniac,” Jessie clarifies.

“She was in pain, Jessie. Her whole life was destroyed.”

“And she’s just going to let that go because you saved her sorry ass?”

The duo exit the lift and step out to the street. The Hornet awaits them as the night grows bitterly cold. “Not likely,” Eleanor continues, “but without the Stone she won’t be doing any time editing. If she comes after me again, I’ll deal with it. Hopefully we can resolve this peacefully.”

“You’re gonna end up wishing you’d let me kill her.”

Eleanor only shrugs as she lowers into the driver’s seat. “Maybe.”

As the Hornet pulls away from the curb, Warwick’s cell phone chimes. Upon digging it out, she spares a quick glance at the ID, but UNKNOWN NUMBER is all that was displayed. With a hunch of who it was, she answers. “Hello?”

“Ms. Warwick. Do you have something for me?”

“Agent Grey.” Jessie snaps her head toward her, a sneer forming on her face. “Is your watch broken?”

“Spare me the banter, Ms. Warwick. I strongly suggest you bring me what I asked for.”

“What’s the hurry? I still have a few hours.”

“This is your only warning, Ms. Warwick. Don’t think you can run from the United States government.”

“Oh, yeah. That would be crazy. You guys always get your man. You should write a book; How to Kill a Terrorist Leader in Two Easy Wars.”

“Ha!” Jessie smiled. “Good one.”

Taking her phone from her mouth, Eleanor giggles. “It just came to me.”

The line is silent for a moment. When Grey’s voice returns it’s hard as rock. “Suit yourself, Ms. Warwick.”

Eleanor tosses Jessie her cell and returns both hands to the wheel. “We have to get back to the House. Call Henry and tell him to head there.” After a moment’s contemplation, she decides to cover all her bases. “And call Penny and tell her to stay inside. Be warned. She might not- .”

“Warwick!”

Jessie’s shout calls her attention to the side of the car. Eleanor barely registers the black SUV before it slams, head on, into the Hornet.

The force throws the two passengers to the side and lifts the tires from the pavement. A loud, metallic crunch echoes through the concrete canyons of the Carmadie streets as the Hornet collides with the side of an apartment building.

Both vehicles come to a stop, with a single hubcap rolling away on edge. It rounds into tighter and tighter circles before coming to a clanging stop.

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