The Lamia Hunt

Chapter Thirteen: Landing

08:13 08/03/2015

From the moment she caught sight of the hill, she knew that it was the place. Almost enveloped in a layer of forest, with only the bare peak visible, it was exactly the place, and she would have known it, even if she'd never seen it before. Technically, of course, she never had, but Fidèle had made sure that she knew it, so that she would know where to return to when they were separated.
Funny, that, how they'd always known that it would be when, and not if.
She tightened her grip on the handle of the briefcase, sighing at its weight. It wouldn't have been much if she was in human form, and walking, but she wasn't walking, and she wasn't in human form. It was faster this way, and there was less chance of her getting caught, but that didn't mean that her wings didn't hurt like a bitch, or that she was too tired to continue.
Fortunately, she didn't have to.
She descended as she reached the hill, gradually making her way to a place she could land safely, as well as looking for the exact spot that they were meant to meet. The description was etched into her mind more strongly than anything else she'd ever known, and there it was, exactly as...
At that moment, she was distracted by the sight of a man dressed in white, his head bowed and turned away from her. Without a doubt, it was him. She'd been right; the Praedatori had lied. If she hadn't been so relieved, she would almost have been angry with them. As it was, she had room for nothing but joy; she felt her heart skip a beat, and lost control of her flight. The briefcase fell out of her claws, and they were no longer claws, but feet, and she plummeted downwards, her wings too small to support her human weight, and even so, she held them out in front of her as she landed, and felt them crack under her before they, too, became human along with the rest of her. The ground onto which she had fallen was chalky gravel, and one side of her face was grazed, and would probably bruise. Her arms were in a worse state, though. Much worse. She didn't try to look at them; she wasn't even sure if she could, and, from the pain that she could feel blossoming around her elbows, she didn't want to.
She heard footsteps near her, and swivelled her head enough to see the calves of someone running towards her. The person she'd seen from the air. Fidèle. The faintest hint of a smile appeared on her face. 
He slowed as he came to her, sitting on his haunches, his arms crossed over his knees.
"Are you alright?" He was struggling not to laugh at the hilarity of the question.
Lucy coughed, and Fidèle sighed, balancing himself with one knee, and rolled her over until she was lying on her back.
She winced, her arms - or most of them, at least - rolling onto the ground.
"Shit."
A grin broke out over Fidèle's face. He laughed, nervously.
"That was impressive."
She glanced downwards at her mangled limbs. They were squashed, both of them, the skin broken, shattered fragments of bone poking out of exposed flesh.
Fidèle followed her gaze. "You're lucky, you know."
"I don't feel it."
He made to answer, and she continued talking. "I brought files from the Praedatori. Thanks for that, by the way; it was great getting taken away by them."
"Sorry." He looked away from her, to where the briefcase had fallen and split open, the papers within it flapping listlessly in the breeze. "How did you escape?"
She shuddered, laughing, and felt a sharp, tight pain in her chest.
"How else?" Her gaze drifted towards the sky. "I insulted my interrogator until she left."
He nodded.
"I see." He stood up, and meandered down to the case, which he picked up, along with the papers that had fallen out of it, before returning to where Lucy was lying, and sitting down next to her. He lifted the first page he could find from the case, his eyes skimming over it, and smiled.
"'Taite was provided with lodgings in Port Lennings, Cornwall, as there was reason to believe Fidèle had taken refuge there. In this house, he was burdened by the care of an infant female he'd found inside, as it displayed several characteristics of Lamiae-'"
"Yeah, yeah, hilarious." Lucy did wonder why her interrogator had bothered bringing all of this with her, and then not used them. It was interesting, though, to hear that Taite had thought she was a Lamia from the start.
Had something happened to convince him that she was human, or had he just been waiting for some kind of confirmation? And what would have happened if he had?
Fidèle laughed, and lifted out another file, which he flipped through, saying nothing. Lucy couldn't see whose it was, and she coughed, loudly. He didn't respond, and his eyes narrowed as he turned to a new page, before saying, quietly,
"Was there any mention of Ling Lu in your conversation?"
"Yeah, actually. It was her daughter who was interrogating me."
His eyes widened.
"This daughter... She-"
"Demi-Natus; I'm sure of it. Highly strung. It was too easy to-"
"Was there any mention of her father?"
Lucy shook her head.
"Not aside from the fact that he was a Lamia. It was enough to piss her off. Why? Is there any mention of him in there."
Fidèle shrugged.
"A bit." He didn't elaborate, and Lucy didn't ask him to. Frankly, she'd be happy never speaking of the Praedatori again.
"Anyway," she said, staring at the bloody remnants of her arms. "What am I supposed to do now? You know, seeing as I'm well, broken."
"Are you in pain?"
She shook her head.
"Of course not. I mean, why would I be, seeing as I just fell out of the sky and landed on my arms, which are just the tiniest bit connected to the rest of me, and just a little necessary for my existence. But no, I'm fine."
He rolled his eyes.
"Be serious, Lucille. If you're not in pain, then I can help you."
"What?"
He sighed. 
"Did I never tell you that Lamiae - mostly Consumptii, but others, too - can't regrow flesh. They don't bleed, either, so most wounds can quite literally be stitched back into place."
"Oh." She didn't think she'd heard that before. "And they don't feel pain?"
"No. Tell me truthfully, does it hurt?"
"I guess."
He frowned, turning back to the folders.
"I need a definite answer. Now, what else did you bring? Oh, look here's a file on... It's that hunter I left alive."
Lucy nodded.
"Poppy Jordan. She's dead, apparently."
He opened the back of the folder, and read.
"Oh, a suicide. I suppose that's my fault."
"Claire Lu seemed to think so."
He smiled.
"You don't seem too enthralled with her. Remind you of people you knew?"
"No."
Fidèle raised his eyebrows.
"You sure about that? I've found that hunters are all the same. They've got the same morals, the same attitude; they've been drilled with the same points, again and again. There's no end to it, either."
"That's true. But she was just angry. Extremely so. Can you fix my arms?"
Fidèle placed the file neatly in the briefcase, snapping it shut and turning to her.
"Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"
"For fuck's sakes, yes." This was a lie. Her arms were in pain, more pain than she had felt in a long time, and, had she been able, she would have knocked herself out to avoid it. She did not plan on telling Fidèle this. "Just hurry up."
"Alright, alright." He slid one of his hands underneath her arm, lifting it into the air and tugging at it. The flesh stretched, and her hand, as well as most of her forearm, disconnected in his grasp. Lucy exhaled loudly, swearing under her breath.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Yes." Fidèle paused."Do you have any thread?"
"Yes. I always carry it around with me, just in case my arm falls off, and I need to fucking sew it back on. Happens all the time."
"Be serious. It was a valid question."
"No, it wasn't."
He didn't respond, and began to unbutton his shirt.
"Hey," said Lucy, half-laughing. "What do you think you're doing? This is hardly the time."
He placed the shirt on the ground, smoothing it out before picking it up and ripping off one of the sleeves, which he slipped onto the stump of her arm. He picked up the hand that had fallen off, and held it in at the other end of the sleeve, before ripping a long strip from the remains of the shirt, which he knotted around the join between them. 
"I don't know whether this was lost in translation," remarked Lucy, grinning. "But I don't think that this is sewing."
He rolled his eyes.
"It's just temporary. Let me do the other arm."
She closed her eyes, and felt fabric being wrapped around her. She let out a sigh, and realised how tired she was in the moment before she drifted away to sleep.