Author's Rating: R leading into X (mostly for deviant erotica)

Author's Note: For any introduced to my Cerise stories, this takes place over a year after her undercover mission in the Skin Trade failed and she was sold to Anton Koslov, 7 or 8 months after she was rescued, and about 3 months after she was released from Bethlehem and activated as an Operative again. She has been visiting and surprising people who had thought she was dead. A pair of Necanthropes, Whisper and Dark Angel--sort of "unofficial" patrons for Cerise--are aware that she is anything but dead, though she has yet to visit them again. This story explores Necanthropes in some ways and also a particular setting in Rob Wood's WoP, Macabre: a BDSM club favorited by Necanthropes.

The action of this story picks up after Trent Morgan has attacked a university student and left her for dead. Cerise and Inspector Jagger uncovered another student near the crime scene that had given Morgan her phone number because she thought he was "hot." Cerise confiscated her phone for when Morgan would call the number for Jagger could hopefully trace and triangulate his location.

And of course he did call that phone.

Wither, Blister, Burn and Peel

with a nod for a great title by Stabbing Westward

Written by Rob Wood & Aimee Yankowski

Edited by Aimee Yankowski 

You’d better hope and pray/That you’ll make it safe

Back to your own world.

You’d better hope and pray/That you’ll wake one day

In your own world.

‘Cause when you sleep at night/They don’t hear your cries

In your own world

Only time will tell/If you can break the spell

Back in your own world.

----“Stay With Me”, Shakespeare’s Sister

*************

Mort City, Suburbia.A residential neighborhood near Seritia University.900 SD.

“Everyone has boundaries where they break.Yours are just further out.I haven’t even really tried to reach them.Yet.”Trent Morgan’s voice is just as she remembered it.It had been alternately smooth and slick, flat and terse, angry and hungry.Now it was smug and challenging.

“Try to find them and you might not find your way back.”

The conversation had been almost nothing but parrying and blocking, feinting and thrusting.And both had been causing damage.Both were bleeding hate.

She believes, though, that she made a mistake earlier, mentioning a name she shouldn’t have, and she would find out sooner or later what the consequences were.Probably sooner.

Former Cloak, betrayed by Cloak, and a survivor of the Skin Trade, Cerise has one last question.“Were you hoping I’d turn out like you, Trent?”

And after a pause, she could picture that smile with flashing dark eyes when he answered.“Yes.”

There is her answer after thinking…after wondering if she was right about his past, wondering if what she was told was true.

The same hell doesn’t create the same monster.

Cerise hears noise from the road as a car skids to a stop and is rear ended by another behind it. Suddenly, the street is filled with white light as a Killcopter hisses overhead.She manages not to gasp in alarm into the phone as Trent began to chuckle but realizes something is seriously wrong and that she can't run. Maybe they were responding to that one slip of her tongue already. Even then...she still doesn't want to give Morgan the satisfaction of listening to the shots and possibly her scream, her death rattle.

She disconnects.

Dark figures drop through the rain and whirling mists, their cloaks rippling as they fall boots forward into the awaiting shadows. A hood of a car crumples under an impact and tall figures in armor flit between the blinding light and absolute gray.

Knowing what they are, even where they came from, Cerise only thinks, I'm dead.And presses her back against the wall, standing still. No bargaining, no distracting, no running, no fighting.Not with them.

Something charges towards her from the darkness of the alley and the cabbie in the rear-ended taxi peers out, shielding his eyes as the Killcopter makes another pass.

Two seconds later, she sees a Death Mask rushing towards her with a raised weapon…

…a red line lances through the mist to touch her chest.

She closes her eyes. So much for Life Number One.

…the darkness, split in a flash of light.

…and the world spins into darkness.

She comes to lying on a stretcher at the back of a SHIVER APC. Inspector Thom Jagger and a very feral-looking Agent Maxwell talking on a phone are watching over her. Thom brushes blonde hair from her forehead when her eyes open. Absent the roar of the Killcopter, the surroundings seem abnormally quiet.

Cerise stares at him, at his shaven head and deep brown eyes and determined press to his mouth. Her eyes suddenly fill with tears when he touches her forehead, beginning to leak out of the corners and down toward her ears. The wounds Morgan had torn had been mostly numb while she was focused on the phone. Now that she knows he had gotten away again and she’s made a palatable mistake, they start to hurt. Badly. She isn't sobbing, but the tears won't stop seeping out and her throat works, swallowing.“What…happened?”

“SA got their wires crossed and traced both ends of the call,” Thom says quietly. “An element got overzealous and hit you with a safety round. Kickstart’s taking the bruise out now.”

It didn’t work. We didn’t get him.

After a few moments, Maxwell hangs up his phone and looks at Jagger, the two men of similar posture and expression—clearly indicating former Militia on a War World to those who know what to look for—but Max is leaner than Jagger’s notable bulk, his skin much darker, the color of chocolate.And Max has a full head of hair.

“Report,” Thom says and the Agent nods.

“The decoy was some guy Morgan had been sleeping with,” he says. “He didn’t even know his phone was routing the call.”

Thom’s brow furrows. “And?” he prods.

“We traced the call but the reroute ghosted,” Max says.

“AND?” Jagger says and rises along with his irritation.

“It’s complicated, Sarge,” he says.

I’ll bet it is.... Her stomach felt cold, as did the tears soaking the finer hair at her temples.

The two men step away to talk quietly and Jagger looks as if he’s about to blow a gasket. He paces for several moments and walks back to Cerise. Maxwell looks glad that he’s not the one being glared at anymore.

Cerise already knows it is bad news; she knew from the moment when she opened her eyes.But at least she did open her eyes, so hopefully it isn’t cripplingly bad news…

“We missed him for now and it’s not entirely up to us to get him,” he says. “Higher powers are involved and we’ve been told to stay out.”

Shit.The name she’d mentioned.

He swallows. “Morgan won’t get to you or anyone else tonight.”Her friend’s eyes are dark slits as he stares out at the buildings reflective with rain. “He’s at Headquarters.”

Yes.Hiding behind her.Like always.

Cerise knows she isn’t any more use here; she’d tried to draw out Morgan, to get him to say something damning or at least hold still so Thom could grab him for interrogation.It hadn’t worked.Now the scabs from before he’d sold her in the Skin Trade have been ripped open again and she has to leave to let the Inspector do his work…and there is no Michael Mason to go to for comfort now.Not like before, like the last time she had been dealing directly with Trent.Mike is beyond her reach now; she needed a Cloak-approved reason to make contact with a subversive, even one filed as an “asset.”It isn’t the same as when she was undercover, when she could knock on his door and borrow his shower and his couch and his shoulder…

Thom motions for her to sit up and exit the SHIVER APC with him.She tiredly gets up and steps out and he looks at her for several moments.

“Why don’t you go to my apartment?” he asks softly. “Its safe but it’s…pretty boring.”

He smirks at the admission and his eyes meet hers.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Cerise stares at nothing for a few moments, seeing his suggestion in her mind's eye: locked alone in a suite, afraid, waiting...

"I-I need to be with others," she says as softly, looking at eyes dark as hers. "Thank you, Thom, but I couldn't...stay alone in a locked room. Not right now. He wrenched the box open...all I could do at your place is lie there and...remember."

She keeps thinking a moment. Just going somewhere crowded will not help.It isn’t safe and might tempt Trent too much.She could dance perhaps...but she'd almost still be alone in her head. So...who? Where? Not alone...somewhere without a locked door, without boundaries, where there was presence and energy and somehow…comfort.

She starts to get an idea. Even if it is strange comfort by most standards.The kind Morgan will not come near, the ones that he can't hurt only to hurt her. Those who could reach her despite locked doors and security, who knew her pain but gave her strength and reminded her of the mark on her back both older and more important than the one Anton had carved into her skin....

Cerise looks at Thom. "Could you take me to Macabre?"

He squints and draws in a low breath. He nods. “You’re sure?” he asks. “You want Necanthropes getting at what’s in your head?”

"Yes, I’m sure."She pauses to think how to explain. They’ve known everything before; I gave it to them."I know it sounds strange but...yes, I do want that.Specific ones.See…locking myself up in my own mind, with nothing to do for any of this...would hurt me now. I need contact to keep it from festering.And Morgan would never reach me there, by phone or otherwise.I can relax. Make any sense?”

He nods slowly, maybe it makes a little sense to him or maybe he just doesn’t want to contradict her at the moment.He looks at Maxwell. “Detour, Max, we’re taking her to a safe place before heading in.”

The Agent nods without hesitation and strides to the waiting APC where rows of Dark Finders sit inside like statues. Thom climbs in and pulls down a harness for Cerise while Max waits and closes the ramp behind him. Once Agent Maxwell is near his seat and opposite of Cerise, Thom sits beside her and pulls down a minicomp on a flexible arm and types in information. A moment later he leans forward and speaks in a loud, very military voice.

“Egress 2253 Chrysalis Boulevard, Club Macabre,” he says.

“Confirmed. 2253 Chrysalis Boulevard,” a deep, mechanical voice responds and the APC rumbles off the curb and into the street.

The APC’s interior lights dim to an ambient green after a minute and Thom reaches to take her hand.She squeezes back.

“ETA eighty-five minutes,” he says. “Try to relax. You can sleep if you want.”

“Hmm,” she comments dryly, feeling the heavy grind beneath her ass and cocks an eyebrow.

He chuckles. “Yeah.I could never sleep in a Crawler, either.”

The ambient noise of the air scrubber and the heavy wheels on the pavement form a low white noise that make talking and hearing difficult so Thom goes quiet. As they wait, he leans his head back into the recessed seat and tries to relax.Cerise does the same, still holding his hand and replaying the phone conversation carefully, not to torture herself but to glean any insight she could use later… She may very well need it.

“Destination two minutes,” the voice says and the Dark Finders immediately transform from statues to alert soldiers. Thom straightens and yawns as Cerise blinks and looks around, feeling immediately how sore her backside is.At the announcement of the thirty second mark, the Dark Finders unstrap themselves and ready their gear. Thom shakes his head and leans to Cerise’s ear chuckling.

“They’re like DACs,” he says. “Mention the word ‘Deploy’ is like saying ‘Go Out’.”

She smiles at that.It blunted slightly the fear she had felt as they’d sighted on her with a “safety round.”Thank Slayer they had been trying to take Morgan alive or the bonehead miscommunication at Station Analysis would have been the end for her.

The Dark Finders slide two heavy handguns that resemble Thom’s in holsters at the square of their backs, slide a leather strap across their coats, and pull on their wide brimmed hats. Several unlock heavy, brutal looking rifles from the walls above their heads and lock and load. All is done without a single word – each knows their duty and there’s no sense of camaraderie, just “Us” and “Them.”

When the APC pulls to a stop, the driver drops the rear ramp and the Dark Finders pile out in two lines and spread out. Thom and Max make no effort to stand up until they’re out and Cerise follows their lead rather than get plowed down by a pack of jackbooted guard dogs.

The air filtering in through the open ramp feels familiar and charged and stepping into the street to look at the gentle, organic façade of the building brings back old memories and sensations.Fibers as large as lamp posts rise from the street to twist upwards into walls of black muscle and glass. Some sections are vaguely opaque and she can see shapes shift beyond them.

They are watching.

Ohhh... Sniffing, feeling the air on her fingertips, suddenly Cerise feels a touch of her old-self...eighteen, green out of Meny, still under her first financier’s vicious boot heel, fretting about Godspawn, with none of the discipline or discretion learned with the Rangers, none of the Cloak training, none of the Skin Trade or anything that happened after.

And Whisper telling her good-bye that last night...that this was farewell for a long time…Cerise recalls her own distress and confusion and...mourning. What day is it inside, anyway? Mournday? Teaseday?Woundsday?

Thom steps out next to her and looks at her face.  “You’re sure you’ll be okay here?” he asks again.

She pulls herself back to the present and looks at Thom; he is almost out of place in this picture, standing there...But no, he’s not…he’s one reason I'm even here. The path that would take me away, just like she predicted. Such a hard path...but I'm back.

"I'll be okay. I have a...mark..." she touches her shoulder, "that will tell them who I wish to see and that I’m invited. I know the protocol here."

He nods hesitantly, looking at the building as though it might reach out a tentacle. “Okay, but call me if you need me. We’re in the area for another ten.”

She offers a sincere smile. "Yes. I would. I will. Thank you." And she really meant that.Impulsively she steps closer and kisses him on the mouth.

To her surprise Thom doesn’t flinch and instead returns the kiss, more comfortable with the public affection than she would have guessed.She’d half-expected him to stop her, to give her a look asking for self-restraint, but since he doesn’t…she lingers.It feels good, eases some of the strain.She hopes it does for him, too.

Dark Finders stand like statues and several of them turn their heads slightly to stare. One tilts its head as if it doesn’t understand what they’re doing but all quickly return their attention to securing the area.

When she leans back, Max is grinning widely and looking very pleased, winking at her with a thumbs-up as he stands behind Thom. Fortunately for him, his boss doesn’t see his reaction and Max looks damn near placid and glancing over through the rain when the Inspector turned.

Cerise nearly laughs but smiles and nods at her self-appointed guardian instead.“Take care, Thom.”

He nods and circles his fist in the air and the DFs pile back in, followed by Max who nods a goodbye.She smiles and waves at the Agent, then realizes the Inspector is waiting for her to climb the stairs.He watches until she’s at the doors and then vanishes into the APC.

Taking a focused breath, Cerise reaches for the doors after the APC is closed up.

And the world opens again, shifts to energy, darkness, and sensation…