Van

The first thing Van noticed upon awakening was the strange smell. Not unpleasant, precisely. Simply different. Her sheets rarely lost the fresh scent of laundry detergent because Paula changed them every other day. If they went into a closet between use, it was only for the time between changes. The sheets pressed against her nose currently bore the odor of something that had sat too long. A bit woody and stale, and when she rolled to her back, the movement released another scent- a hint of mildew.

Sitting upright- slowly because her head was pounding- she sought to recall what had happened earlier in the day. The arcade. The warehouse. Luca's house. Her memories swirled around a series of places, each one bringing different emotions, but she couldn't recall much after walking inside the old farmhouse with Nancy.

She grabbed her phone. A message from her father was on the screen. Thankfully, it was recent enough to have not been followed by a frantic second or third message, or worse- a phone call.

Abe: I don't think I'll be coming home this evening. Paula can make whatever you'd like for dinner, or you can order takeout.

As much as she wanted to ignore him, Van saw this for the blessing it was. He didn't know she was gone, and she needed it to stay that way as long as possible.

Van: K.

Abe would read that and be irritated, but he would remember she was angry with him. To send something upbeat and perky would be suspicious, and she didn't want to commit to takeout or Paula cooking as either of those things would be easy to check up on.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she massaged her scalp with her fingertips, urging her memories to return while looking at the room. Like the rest of the house, it was outdated but clean. Panelling and wallpaper continued in here, and someone had thrown rugs all over the floor to hide the worst of the scarred wood. A beaded lamp sat on the bedside table, and beneath it was a gold picture frame. In the photo, a redheaded girl flashed a gap-toothed smile while holding up a fish. It was small, little more than bait, but her pride was obvious. More obvious was the resemblance the child bore to Van when she was that age, but she'd never gone fishing in her life.

The barrier around the rest of her memories crumbled, as if the picture had struck it like a wrecking ball. An adolescent boy, about seven or eight, had walked into the hallway. The curls on his head were unruly and fell into his eyes. Freckles stood out on milky skin, and two of his teeth were missing. She'd called him Walker and then fainted.

Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. The resemblance was uncanny. It had been months since he died, but this little boy looked exactly as she imagined he would look now. Taller, a little thinner- only his face holding onto the baby fat. The bit of tan he could hold on to in the summer was gone now that winter had settled in, but as much as she wanted it to be him, it wasn't possible.

She'd touched his cold face while he laid unbreathing in his coffin. They had tamed his curls with so much hairspray that no matter how she tried, she couldn't get them to fluff back up. Someone, she couldn't recall who, had led her away in tears as she shouted that his hair was wrong. So no, it wasn't possible that this child was Walker. Too much stress and dreaming had broken her sanity.

Voices drifted up from the floor below. Either her hearing was improving or the floors were as thin as the walls. Both were possible. She shuffled out of the room, feeling far older than sixteen as her body protested every step.

While she walked, she counted. She, plus Luca and the three they arrived with, made five. At least four guards were posted outside. Nine. The little boy made ten. A few doors along the hallway had lights shining through the cracks, but no one came out when she went to the stairs. She supposed they could all be unconcerned about the energy bill, but it was doubtful. She added three to her count. Thirteen.

Luce had mentioned this was not their only base, but did that mean there was one more or twenty more? So best case scenario in her mind, if there were twenty bases with twenty people in every single one of them, this group might have 400 members. Her gut said it was far less than that, and even 400 members wouldn't be enough to go up against the Slayers, who at last count numbered in the thousands. And that was just the body count. She didn't even want to think about the gaps in their training and resources.

What have you gotten yourself into, Van?

This had all seemed simple enough when she was involved because she wanted to rescue a child, but somewhere along the lines, she'd joined a cause, not a mission. A cause no one had explained to her, and now that she and Luca had seen faces, the chances of her being able to decline their invitation was exactly zero. At least that was higher than their chances of winning this war.

"Why did you pick that horse?"

Van glanced up at her mother, who was watching her with pensive hazel eyes. They were at the Kentucky Derby, and Van wanted to bet on the races like everyone else. Her mom, always willing to accommodate her daughter where she could, had agreed, and they made a deal. If Van's horse won, she got ice cream for dinner, and if Mom's horse won, she had to try one new vegetable every day for a week.

"Because I heard the men saying he was the fastest. That he was..." she searched for the word they'd used. "Bred from champions. Why did you pick your horse?"

Mom squatted down, getting on Van's level. She tapped the center of her chest and winked. "I picked the one with the biggest heart and the most to gain from winning. Don't always go for the obvious signs of strength, sweetheart."

Van's mind returned to the present, and she blinked away tears. She'd forgotten about that day. Neither of their horses had won, but she had ice cream for dinner, anyway. Like any kid, she hadn't given her mother's words of wisdom much thought, but she was grateful they lingered in her subconscious, giving her strength for what was to come. If she had nothing else left of her mother, she would be thankful for that.

At the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated. The hallway she'd seen the child in ran to her left, but another one went to the back of the house. Her nose urged her in that direction as she caught a whiff of garlic and tomato. At the very least, that meant someone was back there cooking, and they could point her in Luca's direction, preferably with a plate of whatever they were making.

"I should probably go check on her," Nancy said. The sound of her voice grew stronger as Van continued toward the scent of food.

But she stopped when she heard Luca respond. "I don't think that's wise. If she's in half as bad of a mood as she was before she fainted, she's not going to want to see you when she wakes up. I'll go."

"Just what is the nature of your relationship with her?"

Van rolled her eyes and balled her hands into fists. All of her earlier appreciation for Nancy's motherly nature fled, but she missed what Luca said in response when a small, warm hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Van, it is you!"

"W-Walker?" The room spun and flickered, but this time she remained tethered to consciousness.

His arms went around her waist, and he pressed his nose into her belly button as he cried. She put her hands on his shoulders, as much to hold herself up as to feel him. To make sure he was real.

"But you're dead," she said, horror in her voice as she pushed him and walked away.

He just shook his head. Hazel eyes like their mother's burned fever bright in his small face, and he took a step forward.

"No, stay there," she hissed, spinning and fleeing toward Luca, needing his solid reassurance that she wasn't losing her mind.

"Luca," she shouted, feet sliding as she took a sharp turn into a dining room. "Luca, there's a ghost. It's Walker..."

Luca shot out of his chair. An odd expression was painted on his handsome features- something pained and panicked. Nancy too looked as if she might be ill, but it was the third person in the room who looked most terrified. She stood, wringing her hands and chewing on her bottom lip the way she always did when she was nervous about something.

"You're supposed to be dead. So is he," Van breathed.

"Baby girl," Mom said, overcoming her anxiousness to rush forward and pull Van into an embrace.

It was a moment she'd dreamed of since waking up in that hospital. Everything was perfect. The floral scent of her shampoo. The silkiness of her arms around her neck. The way her body fit against hers as they rocked together. Physically, it felt like every other time her mother had ever held her, but inside Van was numb.

"Van?" Hands went around her face. "Come help me get her into a chair. I think she's in shock."

Luca made it to her first. His hand rubbed up and down her back, stirring something in her chest. He took the chair at her side, his stance protective as Nancy and Xandra stepped back to give her some space.

Van frowned. Since when was her mother someone she needed to be protected from? Nothing made sense.

"Walker, come here. Don't bother your sister," Xandra said, reaching for the boy as he came into the room.

He ignored her and climbed into Van's lap. His thumb was wet as he made circles on her cheeks. She pulled it away and stared at the small digit. It was pinker than it should be.

"Are you sucking your thumb again?" she asked, giving him a stern look. "I thought big boys didn't do that."

"He started it again after the accident."

"Oh, that's right. The one you died in."

"We didn't die, Sissy. We pretended! Just like Mama taught me."

The numb in her center buzzed and grew hot as rage took center stage. She felt the flush rise up her neck and into her face, and she jerked her eyes to her mother, hoping to see any sign of shock on the woman's face. A denial of her son's words, but there was only truth. Grim and bitter.

"How did you pretend, little man?" Van asked, deciding it was best to get her answers from Walker. He would speak without guile. Luca's hand continued to make its soothing rounds.

"Watch," Walker said, jumping out of her lap. He laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

"No, Walker, don't!" Xandra shouted, but it was too late.

A ripple went over his body, and every ounce of life disappeared. He was a corpse. Stiff as plastic and washed in the blue of death. But in the next moment, he popped up with a pleased grin that faded as all the surrounding adults glared. Van shuddered and buried her face in Luca's neck.

Walker tugged on her shirt. Contrition filled his heart-shaped face, but as she drew him back into her lap, all she could see was the image of him lying in that coffin.

"I like turning into other things better. Especially puppies."

"You're Proteans," Luca stated.

"Yes."

Luca asked the question forming on her tongue. "So, does that mean Van is one, too?"

Xandra chuckled. Her laughter penetrated Van's defenses. It had always been so rich and vibrant, and death had not changed it.

"That's usually how that works. Yes, but," her mother hesitated, "Van has never shifted. It's rare, but it does happen from time to time to hybrids."

"Is that why I can move so fast sometimes? Why I'm strong, too?"

Xandra whipped around to face Nancy. "You didn't tell me any of this."

Nancy shrugged, unperturbed by her friend's anger. "I only found out a day ago."

"Guess not then," Van muttered.

"While it's true that we are faster and stronger than humans, our real power is in our changeable nature. We can do things as simple as changing our appearance-"

Van spat, "To look dead?"

"Or," Xandra continued, ignoring her daughter with the skill she'd honed when Van turned thirteen, "we can become something completely different. As long as we can classify it as living. I think the powers you're showing are the abilities your father would call Blessings."

She mulled over the revelation. It changed nothing. Trixie and Nancy had both attributed her gifts to the Helsing bloodline, but it stung. As angry as she was with her mother for deceiving her, it paled compared to the fury she felt toward her father. She wanted nothing inside of her that belonged to him.

"But we think the Blessings aren't what they seem."

Luca straightened, his brown eyes growing hard. "What do you mean?"

"That's why we asked for the file. Xandra saw it years ago while she was at your father's house, but it was all paper then. She couldn't copy it. She only caught snippets, but it was enough to prove that they built the Holy Asylum of Light on lies," Nancy explained.

"Please, Van. Can we see the file?" her mom begged. "After that, I promise, I will explain everything to you."

Van looked at Luca, and when he nodded, she fished the flash drive out of her pocket. "Fine. But I want those answers, and if I don't like them, I'm out."

"And we get to see what's on the file," Luca added before Nancy could grab the flash drive.

"I don't think that's necessary."

Van's fingers curled over the device. "That's our deal. Take it or leave it."

"It's fine, Nancy. If it's as incriminating as I suspect, then everyone will know the truth soon. That's the only way we can tear them apart."

"Damn," Van said, "At least we agree on something."