L'Ange Noir - The Chronicles of Keliah Angelis

I have arrived in Ravenhurst. Okay, so I happened upon Ravenhurst since I have chosen to remain coastal on my sojourn North. Arrival makes it seem deliberate and really, it was mainly just a meeting of myself and a mass of land. Land that had food. Keeping deliberately low on the radar, I had been dining on animal blood. It keeps the body moving and nourished, yet it does not satisfy. Here was a sleepy little town that smelled of rich earth, fresh snow, salt, and human blood. Human. Blood. Gain access to the island was pretty easy, but the first thing I noticed? That scrumptious smell of humanity was fouled. Mingled. With fucking wolves.

Great! I've wound my way into a haven of dogs, or so I'm thinking. I don't linger long in the woods, afraid I will be sniffed out by the canine patrol, and I headed into town to the nearest honky-tonk which we all know is the best place to canvas a meal. Of course it would be my luck to run in to another fucking vampire while trying to score a bite to eat. Pun intended.

Giles is his name, or the "blonde harbringer" as he called himself. At that moment, I didn't care what his name. He was here. That meant there were more of us stalking this island, which meant that this island had a system. An Elder to watch over the younger generations and maintain order. Eating from here without permission? Fuck it. It's like hunting deer in Prince John's forest. I would be punished. What choice did I have but to go and beg? I was starving. Near the point of bloodlust and the idea of eating more mamalian blood was as appealing as stabbing myself in the arm with a blunt fork.

So I followed him to the vamp hangout to meet the elder. Charming girl. Her re-birth had to have been at a young age. She's dainty and quaint. Cute, even. I appreciate a woman who has flaming red hair, though. I especially appreciate her age, no matter how angelic and youthful she may appear. I'm alotted permission to find a decent meal provided that I stay behind and attend the council meeting to be held later in the week. Mentally, I give a sigh. Vampire politics. It's been too long since I've been involved. I'm far too used to footing it alone. I agree to her conditions. She is an Elder and I am a stranger on her lands; I'm not in the business of pissing off clans of vampires. I might be solitary, but I'm no shit-stirrer. Free to hunt at last! Which turns out to be an easy feat.

The next night I decide to take a feel for the place. Spend more time with the elder and the locals. Talk to other vampires. I learn...of some tension. Something is amiss here. Something I can't lay my finger on. It speaks much more of the normal rivalries between vampire and wolf. The air here sizzles and pops with an underlying current of tension. Anyways, because I'm not in love with the idea of sleeping in the woods and being unearthed by a werewolf, I check in to the local motel. It's rickety and moldy. Awesome. It's also sufficently dark and cheap. My room has tons of books.

After sleeping on a full belly, I wake up to find a lame little flyer on my door. I say lame because there's a heart-themed advertisement about a local valentine dance. Semi-formal! Seriously? Really? People still do that?

I'll admit, I'm intrigued. For one, I enjoy getting gussied up. Second, it could be an easy means of scoring a meal. So, in my slimmest skirt, tightest top, tallest heels, and crystals glinting on my ears I am on the hunt. Doesn't take me long to find a willing prey. We dance to the catchy beats of 80's synth pop, exchange random banter, and I watch the people. That is..until smoke bombs start exploding all around those gathered. Some bastard crashed the party and then left souveneirs: A vampire mask, fairy wings, and a wolf mask. It put the town in to a frenzy. The Elder was furious. The civilians were frightened. Someone had left a very cryptic message. Naturally, I tried to catch a glimpse of the perp, but it was too late. He was long gone. Picking up a scent was impossible. Between the mingling of all the people and the heightened adrenaline pumping all those mortal hearts, singling out anything was impossible.

So, the next evening, begrudgingly, I drag myself down to the Sherrif's office and offer my services. For military, private freelance clock-cleaner...can be a regular ole police officer, right? Right. So here I am in Ravenhurst, eating the people, but protecting them all the same.

Officer Angelis at your service.

Vivre Avec les Mortels

I’ve been immersing myself in Ravenhurst’s populace now for a little more than a week. Everything that I’ve given up for the past twenty years has come back in a rush. I had forgotten what it was like to live among people rather than prey upon them. Honestly, if I were to say ‘live among’ people, I haven’t really done that in many, many years. Not counting the fact that I am dead, most of my years have been devoted to controlling mortals at the bidding of my clan’s Elders. I thought of them merely as that.

Mortal.
Beneath me.
Prey.

Even though I was living in a human society, I was not living as a human. I had compatriots that I served with. Men and women that I depended on who in turn depended on me. Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure demanded this of me; my Elders expected it of me. So as I served a country I no longer considered home, there was no feeling there. This was part of the reason I left. Suddenly, no longer so in love with the idea of my new state of being, I began to mourn my humanity.

Washington was what steered me closer to the brink of isolation. In Washington my work was mostly solitary. When I had a squadron they acted as my subordinates and were thus indifferent and segregated from me. Social protocols and all. All this stuff I’m saying is merely rabble. I’m talking about the now. Ravenhurst. Sure, there are the vampires here. The wolves. The others. We’re all sucked into this web together and live as a people. It’s disconcerting and thrilling all in the same turn.

My job as a deputy has mostly been uneventful. Because I have the night shift, nothing really trickles my way. Though I lament the fact I’m not on the cases of recent maulings, I am comforted by the fact that I am on patrol during the night when my brethren are at large. So I can protect them. Then again, there are members of my brethren that are less than stellar. Take Bob. Robert. What ever. He’s more of an asshole than a vampire. Those who are insanely beautiful tend to be. I caught him tempting mortals with recreational drugs and offering them roles in unsavory movies. So I guess I also protect the mortals from the likes of Bob. Except Marilyn. Marilyn Manson, another new face, seems to have taken a liking to him. I always seen them together.

So, about the maulings. Our tensions are still on high; our proverbial hackles raised. Riley has proved to be an excellent gathered of intel. She has garnered many names of the local wolves for us. Even sweet O, who works for the Sheriff’s Department as well, is one, but I knew that already. Mostly because she called me out on what I am by offering me what blood there was in the fridge from the last blood drive.

I know these maulings have got to be the wolves. Why are they doing it? And what’s even more..why do I care?

My “morning” was spent at the keys of my computer, searching the thousands of furniture options from Ikea. I had just received my couch that I ordered along with an ornate new bed; dark and cold just the way I like it. I love having a home. A place that says ‘A person lives here’. Sure, it’s not the Ritz but I don’t really need that. The walls are a ghastly purple color, the carpet even darker. I sorted through my freshly washed laundry in search of a warm shirt and jeans. I slid a comb through my hair and pulled on my boots, ready for the night.

I see Riley (along with a bizarre girl) in the cemetery. Riley is usually there this time of the night so I didn’t believe I would be interrupting a potential meal and thus felt it was okay to say hellos, but before I could ask her any questions she left. Left me alone with Mademoiselle Weirdo (Thanks, Riley!) I made my business to learn as much about her as I could tolerate. Her fidgetiness and apparent lack of communication skills left much to be desired. So far I’ve assumed she’s human. She seems too meek to be a wolf.

Just as I turned to go, some heavy movement catches my eye. The staunch scent of blood assaults my senses. So much of it. Just as I’m ready to groan out of discomfort – for it appears I am ONCE AGAIN the paramedic around here – I realize that the mortals are relatively unscathed but the mess that they are struggling to carry between them is Bob and he’s not so lucky. Ripped to shreds. Gored. Bleeding every where. Even if there was a hospital with a real medic they would not be equipped to handle Bob’s needs and I can’t have a mostly dead vampire out in the open. What choice do I have but to hole Bob up at my house?

So now I have this asshole mending in my fucking apartment. So far he owes me a new couch, a new rug, and my sanity. With Frigg (the girl that carried Bob’s feet, bless her) safely out of my apartment, it’s just me and Marilyn Manson left. I give him a key to my house, leaving him in charge of Bob duty when I’m not around. He likes Bob, I guess. How anyone can like that son-of-a-bitch is beyond me.

Anyways, I take a statement from Marilyn. Get a recall of what he knew. Frigg knew nothing. She was late to the party.

Bob was found in a cave out in the woods and there were three wolves, one being very large. He said they were aggressive. That the large one snapped at him. I can only surmise that this large wolf is none other than the alpha of the pack, but that’s impossible to know. I just have a feel for these types of things. It’s part of my undeadly gifts. Go with your gut, you know?

Que de Bob?

Sleeping beauty finally awoke. The first thing he wants to know is where his fags and his phone are. Really, Bob? Mauled, bandaged Bob wants a cigarette and to return text messages. No curiosities as to what happened or what was going on. Still, the look of dismay upon seeing me was some satisfaction.

I’m not going to talk much on this subject. Only that I’ve confirmed what Marilyn has told me. I can’t determine if this attack on Bob’s person is Bob’s fault or if it just boils down to the age old rivalry of wolf versus us. All that matters is that the elder knows.

I did my best by Bob as I could. I gave him some of my blood to eat. I know his little blood doll has been doing his best to keep his lover fed as well if appearances can tell anything. Marilyn looks awful. Not appetizing at all.

“Why did you save me?” Bob had asked.
“Because you’re a vampire” I replied.

That’s all. It’s all I needed. I never leave a man behind. Even if said man is an asshat.

“Well, thanks.” That was all I got from Bob. Truthfully, I’m surprised I got that much. I’m sure that saying such a casual regard to me was worse than having his fangs ripped out.

The next evening I deemed him healthy enough to travel. I rented a car from the next town over. In the darkest dark of night, when the town was tucked in their beds, I lifted Bob from my couch, carried him down my stairs as if he were my sick child (never mind that he’s taller than me), and placed him in the vehicle. I drove him to the ferry where one of his ‘people’ awaited me.

I haven’t seen Bob since. Haven’t really had the desire to. I’m sure we’ll see him around soon enough and he’ll forget that he owes me a new couch.

Fragilité Mon Nom est Verity

It’s my night off, but I still mosey on over to the Sheriff’s office. Only because I’m wanting to check the daily reports. Are there any more attacks? I don’t make it that far because I find Verity perched on the bench just outside of the Melnick’s store. She’s so pretty there. Like a tragic little flower left to wither in the rain. I can’t help but feel a bit more predatory. I remember the way she tastes.

Moving to her, we talk of casual things. I hadn’t seen her since the day she stumbled bleeding in to my office so I inquire about her health. We exchange pleasantries; I accept her awkward thank yous. Nevermind the fact that as we speak a large wolf type of dog pads its way along the street. Shocking? I guess not. Not in this town. The animal ignores us and just seems intent on going from point A to point B. My senses are so tuned to Verity that I fail to find out if the animal was a beast or not.

If it is, I’m not too pleased to know that one of them can wander around town yet none of us can go into the woods. It pads off towards the lighthouse. I pull out my cell phone and call Linz. Just for her to keep her eyes out for a mutt.

I suggest that Verity and myself head to Tom’s for a cup of coffee because it is beginning to snow and I don’t desire to strike up an acquaintance in the elements. To the diner we go. Honestly? I hate the place. It reeks of grease and rusting metal. Not to mention a few decades of bodies and well-used grills that have been cooking up dead animals. No matter how unpleasant the odor is to me, Verity smells sweet. Besides, I want her to eat.

Talking to her is somewhat like pulling teeth. She’s not prone to share much and is somewhat guarded, but I can feel her shifting underneath my influence. Her guard becomes more relax. Open. Supple. She’s an easy mark and very susceptible to the charms of vampirism and because of this I hold her in high regard. I feel like her lover as I take on the masculine task of paying the bill, and as I stood there at the counter I confess I thought of Tall, Dark and Handsome, having not seen him since the night he and I briefly spoke.

Verity lives in a room across from the garage. It’s cozy but drafty and it reminds me more of an attic than a room. Verity floated inside and I closed the door, locking us in.

“Come here, Verity.” I beckon her, gathering her warm hand into mine. I draw her near. She’s so beautiful and so helpless which make me desire her all the more. Wrapping my arms around her slender waist and drawing her near Verity, as if driven by instinct, offers her neck for my Kiss. Her blood gushes into my awaiting mouth. Nothing can compare to the ecstasy of the first rush. I feel her. Her life. Her essence.

I. Want. It.

As I drink from her I hold her close and when I’m done I lay her gently into her big, over-stuffed chair. I want to stay with her until she wakes up, knowing how blissful she’ll be when she does. I want to share the afterglow with her, but I can’t. Like the phantom I am, I slip quietly out of her apartment and into the wet, rainy night.

I never really make it to the sheriff’s office to do what I had planned. In passing, I noticed an envelope propped against the door and it seemed the thing was doing it’s best to remain dry. I pick it up and bring it inside.

I smell it. It just smells like wet paper.
I open it.
It’s full of money, credit cards, and wallets.
What the fuck?

Well, I leave it for Jericho. The weather doesn’t really warrant strolling around town. It’s definitely a graveyard dance kind of night and so I go down to the lighthouse where I meet Luna. New vamp. There’s not much to tell other than that Ravenhurst now has two new faces. Luna and Michael. I’m comforted by this in case war breaks out between us and the wolves while we’re a man down.

Le Renard N'est Pas Mon Ennemi

Not much to say. I’m stuck somewhere between shame and giddiness. My pride is offended and so thus is my conscience. I feel so alive and yet I feel that the price for feeling this way is too high.

I found Blondie at the Haven and along with it a trio of mortals, one of which was poking his head around our lighthouse. Now this boy was bizarre. His mannerisms were animalistic. He didn’t speak. I thought him to be either some sort of wolf on dope or a ‘slow’ person.

Apparently Blondie thought something amiss with him as well and she lured him into the confines of the Haven. My first thoughts? I jump to the conclusions that he might be a spy. I’m also agitated because here is one of them roaming around OUR territory. We are barred from the woods, but they can roam around here? Not without consequences. I thought of Bob. Bob had paid consequences.

The second we are in the lower level of the Haven I turn on my vamp switch. So does Nia. The boy is tossed to and I hold him close in my powerful grip, savoring the smell of his adrenaline powered heart. It’s beating so fast. I’m about to take a bite except Linz halts our party.

I know he is a were because I am holding him. I can feel his body growing stronger, his anger tensing his musculature. I’m afraid that he’s about to burst forth into a wolf, but Linz makes him stop by her eyes. Her stare is so much more powerful than mine.

While she tries to interrogate him with her Vulcan Mind Meld, Angelika comes sauntering down the stairs, tips the boys head to the side, and takes the first bite. The sudden perfume of his blood drives me crazy. Linz takes the second bite and I take the third.

The rush is…amazing. I feel…well, I just feel! Almost as though my dead heart would come to life in my chest. My skin becomes flush. I can practically make out my freckles.

He is most definitely a were. I’m sort of reminded of that funny, modern song that came out about a decade ago that says, “How many people want to kick some ass!” I know I do. I want to beat this now helpless wolf to a fucking pulp and leave him for his brethren to find. Just as they’ve done to us.

Linz takes the first blow, landing a solid punch into the boy’s jaw, rounding out her combo with a kick. Our wolf goes down…and then gets smaller. Smaller still. Shifting right before our very eyes into an average fox. Talk about a kill joy. I can’t very well pick on this helpless creature. What would leaving a bloody, battered little fox on the wolves’ doorstep say? I have tormented and tortured this innocent life. It might be a werecreature, but it is not my enemy.

I am sorry, little Fox.
I might as well go beat the shit out of some tiny mouse.
How about I beat up a kitten?
Yeah, I’ll be real bad ass then..

Deux Moitiés d'un Tout

I no sooner check in to the office to assume my shift and a woman comes in to report a crime. That's not so unusual. What’s unusual is the perps and the fact that Jericho, my boss, and I are on the case together. Hell, even O is there. Party, right? Yeah. Not so fast. The moment the girl starts recounting her experiences to us ALL of us know who she's talking about. Abduction of two known hunters by three known vampires.

I don't know what the others are thinking (Jericho and O) but I know that as soon as I put two and two together, all I could think of was 'good'. The kids were hunters. We ALL needed Winter in custody. I was more than willing to bury the incident under inconclusive paperwork and allow the vampires to take care of the ‘investigation’.

Then the Sheriff gets a text from Reen that simply says 'Help'. My first thoughts? I thought Angelika must have been in some kind of danger. Why would Reen call Jericho otherwise? Except that when we get there, Angelika is fine. Reen is sitting on the bed looking pained. Somewhere behind the stone wall that leads to the cave Nicky is being tortured by Giles and Jordin.

This is where I feel torn. Angelika shouts at me that I've brought the Sheriff. I'm pointed at, scrutinized, and at this very moment I feel both shame and righteousness. My Elder seems to lack reason. Maybe she's partly why everyone who lives here that hides behind the veil is so uptight and tense. She doesn't want to hear my logic and frankly, I don’t think she can. Sure! Let’s point fingers at my faults! How about the fact that she, Linz, and who I'm assuming is Giles abducted Nicky and Fable under the public eye? With human witnesses? Do they all thing that human law and order is null and void? Does she not think that we have to account for something? Has she forgotten that we are living here as a people?

Maybe I'm too young to really understand, or maybe I've just been too long on my own. I've never dealt with authority well when it was shooting fire out of its ass. Reasonable, intelligent authority...yes. Who would not respect that? If becoming a heartless, inhuman shell of something that I used to be comes with age, maybe I don't want to get older…

End rant.

It's times like this that I curse Pa-pere. And right now, I miss him more than I can say. I wish I had his guidance right now. I feel so torn. Angelika is the elder and she deserves my loyalty simply because of this, and blindly I would give it, even if had me do the deed myself to glean what I can of Winter from the would-be hunters.

I don't think I fit in with these vampires. They are all rude and self-serving, which in effect is something we all possess. However, with the tense thread woven between ourselves and the wolves, I wish we were more unified.

Jericho took Nicky and brought him to the jail, locking him up. Probably for his personal safety. The next evening he was still there and I had a chance to speak with the boy. Honestly? I'm not sure anyone is helping anyone, or that people around here are out to get each other. Fable, I was told, really only meant to arm herself against the wolves. Nicky is no hunter. He passed on some magic tricks to some girl he found needing it. Enter Winter, her dumb ass friend, blowing smoke and air. I don't think Nicky is a hunter. He's not even 'human'. His whole family was taken by hunters. I find it impossible that he would be assisting any others to aid their kind.

So all we have, I believe, is a misunderstanding on our hands. It's a veritable fire fueled by anger. I wish that everyone around here would take a step back and see this. Why aren't we focused on the incarceration of Winter? We are we all at each other with pointing fingers and rising tempers? Why won't everyone stop jumping to conclusions?

Nicky said I was 'different'. That I wasn't a monster. That I had reason. For a moment, I nearly believed him. Except I'd love to prove him wrong. To show him, and my brethren, that I to am a monster.

Bonjour, Flanagan

Even though I had been awake for a few hours and had assumed my shift, I still found myself in a day-dreamy daze while in front of the Raven. My mind was on many things. The Elder and our doings, le trio de l'incompréhension, my clan, and wondering just exactly where I fit in to everything. I have my duties, which I am thankful for, but I really do not have anything else.

Society has reminded me as to why I have stayed away for so long. I often think of what Nicky told me. About how I was different. Sadly, I feel he is right. There is such a strong part of me that wants nothing more than to embrace the dark side. The Beast. The other half wants nothing but life. I want to be human and live out my mortality eating crepes and knowing my place in society. I want to watch the sunrise. That…or I want to be alone.

You know, what I really want is a long, exhausting run in the woods…

Anyways, like I said, I was ambling along in la-la land and courting my own thoughts. That is until a truck pulls up to my very heels, clunking menacingly at me, and the driver honks. At first I’m tempted to beat a fist down on the hood and let go a string of expletives, but instead I shout something more PG13 until I get a peek inside the cab. Immediately I allow my senses to return back to the now just for the sheer pleasure of feeling out the driver of my would-be steamroller. My eyes drink in his face. I breathe in deeply of his scent. He smells like woods, old truck, cigar smoke, and underneath it all, mortality. He’s so fucking beautiful that I can’t even think straight. It’s Flanagan, the soldier.

Even though he glares (with those gorgeous eyes) and chastises me (with a hint of amusement) I feel no remorse or embarrassment. In fact, I don’t think I feel anything. I try to find retorts and things to say. He gets out of the truck to take a few puffs off his cigar. I’m so spellbound that the sound of his ancient truck door coming to a close nearly makes me jump out of my shoes, which seems to amuse him on some sort of level. I’m sure by now that he thinks I’m either a space cadet or possess some form of retardation. I want to crawl in to a hole and hide. (Can I drag him down with me?) The only thing I can say is, “…nice car.”

Nice car? Come on, Kel. Really?

We speak very briefly.
Casual talk concerning the Department.
Pointed remarks about my daydreaming in the middle of the road.
Nice.

I’m given another warning to stay out of the woods, as if the treaty between my race and the wolves isn’t already an oppressive burden on my shoulders, but at least it sounds more like a concern rather than a verbal red flag. Instead of complaining, I just smile. Nod. Salute.

Uh-huh. Yeah. I know.

Flanagan jumps back in to his truck and drives away. He might have waved. I can’t remember. As soon as he was gone, I gave a sigh of relief and kicked a rock - or something - cursing the fact that I couldn’t come up with more intelligent things to say or some barb that would have made him smile. Ah. Well. Despite my obvious short comings in talking to members of the opposite sex, I am grateful in the fact that he made me feel human. For a second I had forgotten that I was a monster and remembered I am a woman.

Mises à Jour

Last night our council convened. It was the first time I’ve been around my brethren for days. I confess my inner beast was pleased to be crowded together in Angelika’s lighthouse, despite the tensions that arose – they always do. First and foremost, new faces. There are a number of new brethren here as opposed to last time, and yet I’m missing Riley, whose face I do not see. Judging by the gathered folk, Ravenhurst is clearly being overrun with red-headed vampires. If I could, I think I’d dye the scarlet right out of it to a more unassuming brown.

First order of business are the werewolves. ‘Progress’ has been made with the wolves’ alpha male, Kione. Or so sayeth Angelika. She says that peace between our people is impossible and I have to ask why. We’ve always managed to maintain treaties with the lycan clans back home. Why so different here? So we’ve entered into a sort of truce. The woods are open again to my race, provided that we know our asses could possibly be kicked and there will be no retaliation against those who initiated said kickassery. I’m kind of thinking that’s not fair, but in the same token, no retaliation will be taken against us should we deliver the kick ass.

It is a step in the right direction, I suppose.

In other news, it appears Linzee killed the huntswoman, Fable. Or so she says, though there was a measure of uncertainty in her actions. Scottie, our humanist, was quite angry. I’m afraid he might go trampling through the woods searching for her. Alone. I guess the issue is still open. Part of me is hoping she is dead, simply so the whole ordeal will be over with, but part of me defers back to what Nicky said. That she was just a girl under the influence of ideas and tales poured in to her head from Winter. I suppose that we’ll have to search for her now and see. I’m hoping we can disguise it as police business. The only thing that matters now is Winter. Linzee and I, by order of Angelika, are on the hunt. I have in my possession Nicky’s affects, including Winter’s number, so I am anxious to try my hand with a few FBI tricks of old. Except that technology has changed so much. I might be able to call in a few favors, though.

Nothing else really occurred of merit. Talks of ghouling, children running around without their sires, the Pitchfork Brigade meeting at the church. So on and so forth.

In other news, I have acquired a childe of my own, though I’ll digress and call her my room mate. She’s not really my childe. She’s only a wayward, unlearned girl who happens to be older than me. How amusing. Quite bizarre to have a childe of some 150 years unable to function independently, but I was always fiercely independent even in the first years of my Death. We’re going to change this real quick. Turn her from lost little girl to ferocious warrior. Her name is Celeste Thompson though I’ve already mentally acquainted her as mon petit rossignol. She’s a singer, apparently. What good that will do her here at Ravenhurst is beyond my ken. Soon, I’m going to run her through combat training. Maybe take her hunting in Seattle.

Maybe.

Écouter la Paix

After taxing days, with the ban lifted from the woods, I decided to take the risk. They (the woods) were simply beckoning to me. It’s funny how most fictional works acquaint my race with looming, gothic castles, expensive, velvet surroundings, and elaborate fashion that nods back to the past. We’re portrayed as reclusive, sheltered creatures when in fact most of us love the dirt between our toes rather than adorning them with polish and slipping them into a fashionable, Italian pump (hey don’t get me wrong, that’s nice to).

And so I take the worn path into the glen, which is used by many of Ravenhurst’s citizens, except that I press onward past the comfort of safety, stepping alongside the inlet banks until I came to a small lagoon. Much to my delight, it’s already occupied by Angelika. I’m not alone in my desires to simply be.

We speak of nothing, nor say any words. We’re both here for the same reason and that is to simply get away. Stripping down to the lacey brief I wear under my jeans, I join her in the cool, crisp water.

Hello? Heavenly!

As is my want, I begin dancing. Dancing? I love it. It helps me phase out the constant barrage of meaningless flashes of foresight that I’m constantly assaulted with. Like moving the body in such a controlled fashion eliminates all worldly thinking and I am ascended to a higher space in my mind. (I know. How groovy, right?) It doesn’t take long for the wolves to find us, and they find two moon-bathing beauties who soon become three, then four, then six. Six naked bodies coiling, undulating, dancing, grinding, playing, and laughing in the water despite our races, our prejudices, and the way of things. We each consorted with our enemy and found joy being what we are, who we are, and the humans we all used to be. Are we really so different from each other?

Who says there can not be peace? I beg to differ.

Une Personne a Perdu; Seigneur Fae

With my reports in arm, I head over finally to the Red Dragon. Haven’t been here before save to stake out the front entry upon dealing with Fable’s little friend, Harry Potter. My mission here is to find my vic’s father and I don’t have to search overly long since he is at the sliding door ready to make his exit the moment I dash up the foyer stairs.

He’s a pleasant looking fellow. Slim. Wise. Mortal. Dressed as he was, he reminded of one Mr. Rogers what with his cheerful, yellow coat and all. He seemed polished and sincere despite the lecherous once over he gave me (of which I am used to).

We sojourn to the department office, tucking ourselves into the office Jericho and I share and we begin to speak. Seems he hasn’t spoken to his daughter since Christmas past,
Here is what I have:

Susan, a pre-med student, came up this way on a little road trip with two friends in hopes to check out some scenery from a favorite occult novel (vampires. Oh, my.)
The vic’s father was not aware of her disappearance until New Years.
Vic drives a silver Beamer.
Last known location is at a gas station near here according to credit card receipts.
Vic’s father confirmed one of the ID’s from our mysterious drop-off as a person known to the vic.

Our interview was pretty short. The victim’s father became visibly upset at the discovery of the ID and had to leave. I’m no murder investigator. Hell, I’m not even all that much of a police officer. I’m a fucking soldier, Goddammit. I let him leave without further perusal of this newfound evidence and decided that I would find him at a later day after he reigned in his emotions.

I did, however, make a promise. I intend to do whatever I have to in order to fulfill that promise: We will find her. Even if it means her bones to bring home.

As soon as he left, Jericho and I took to a run. Nearly at break-neck speed. It was our intention to go hunting for evidence, but it was my first actual flight through the woods since my arrival (save the actual night of my arrival) and both of us were ecstatic to simply be. We began to play, I guess. Our immediate mission was forgotten. We chased after each other, shed little bits of our humanity, and simply had fun. It’s refreshing to rip little pieces of the veil and out yourself to someone who understands. Around vampires? I’m never so carefree.

“Some day I’m going to show you my true form,” He said to me.
I think that made him happy.
I know it did me.

Bel Homme de l'Irlande

I’m trying to do what I can in order to further along my investigation by stopping citizens and talking to them. The main reason, besides my promise to the old man, is to keep me away from my brethren. I’m quite put off with them at the moment, specifically Linzee. The trial of Angelika Grimm is a joke. Linzee has no rights to lord over us as our sovereign elder seeing as she was also involved in the frolic. I don’t understand what it is we are doing here in this retrospect. I just know it’s the politics of vampirism that sent me on a one way trajectory of solitude.

I suppose I should seek her out.
Find her.
Find one of them.

Secondly, I do not wish to venture out in to the woods alone. Not with out the Sheriff by my side. I’ve already been warned by Tall, Dark, and Handsome and I take his heeds to heart.

Last night I am delivered the same warning. Again.

“Let me handle the woods, no matter what the Sheriff says,” He said to me.

I found Flanagan standing solitary in the middle of a recently constructed court yard that stands beside my apartment appearing all sorts of tall, dark, and handsome and so I pick my way over to him to take a stance at his side and thus peer as he does at the polished, new cobbles, stone arches, and tranquil fountains.

He asks me, politely, how things are and I tell him about our high profile case. Honestly, despite that fact that being near him sort of thrills parts of my anatomy that I have sort of forgotten and that I desire him in unseemly ways, my desire of his opinion in regards to this case are more important.

He seems disinterested and unsurprised until I tell him of the evidence. The ID? From the girl? While he was calling the lawful shots around here, there had been evidence of a serial murderer. My ID fits in with that specific case, apparently.
I ask him to meet with me.
He tells me to go check out the mines.
I ask him to show me.
He tells me to get back up and go during the day, proceeded by an all-knowing chuckle.

I am not amused. I kind of want to pull a Reen and shoot him in the foot.

La Colère

I have nothing to write and yet so much to say because I am a mix of both disgust and shock. I don’t understand what it is about this island! How is it that this tiny little piece of Northwestern America can’t overlook their differences and let the other be?

Look, I’m no fan of the wolves. I’m not their best friend. But I’m not their enemy, either. I don’t know, I guess I just can’t see why Le’ Angelis, the Faust, and Le’ Rouge – some of the oldest in France – can make a beneficial and working truce with the Lycan clans of Europe and this small little town can’t. Won’t.

Kione called us abominations. I admit I am a little miffed at this. Were we abominations whilst dancing and writhing in the moonlight? Was Linzee a monstrosity when he took her into his arms? No. We were women. They were men. Who’s the abomination, really? Death is a natural process of the human body. We die. All of us. Some of us just die differently. How is a person who turns into a fucking dog NOT an abomination? How are they natural and we are not?

Now it’s back to the tensions with the prospect of war on the horizon while Angelika slumbers away in her ‘punishment’. Death threats. Accusations. Blind hatred. Again, it is decreed that there is no accordance between ourselves and our entry in the woods will not be tolerated. What choice do we have? The wolves have all the power here. There are more of them than us. United they are stronger than our handful of hissing cobras. There is no loyalty amongst our kind and if there is I have yet to see it. We are each full of our own self serving interest, though I believe in both Angelika (for all her absurd crankiness, she is selfless) and in Linzee (who has a wise and logical head on her shoulders).

So. Now what?

I’m stuck in a place where my conflicts of humanity grate against my needs to be a vampire. I speak of Skip and my investigation in the disappearance of his daughter. I made a promise and now how am I going to keep it? Should I really give a shit?

The problem is that I do. I want to take this guy’s wrongs and hurts and make it better for him. I want to find out what killed his daughter (for surely she must be dead). Even as I fantasize about sinking my fangs into his neck and slaking my thirst I want to prove to him – somebody - that I am still human and not a monster.

And so my eyes are on the wolves.
And because my eyes are on the wolves, I’m going to make sure everyone’s eyes are on the wolves.
I’m going to make sure that our good citizens of Ravenhurst are rummaging through their thickets, their caves, and their territory with their pitchforks and torches.
And I’m going to make sure it’s all on film.
News crew, the paper. Anything.

Watch those bastards try to stop me from my quest with all of Ravenhurst at my back.

…and what’s with the weird fuck in my graveyard?
Hope he’s not going to stick around.

Pas Pensé Agitée

We have a new brethren amongst our mix. I found him hanging out in the graveyard. Cleansing his nose, perhaps. Angelika’s Haven does smell deathly pleasant. His name is Remi. He’s a New Orleans kid (Well, a three hundred and thirteen year old kid) and comes from an old French bloodline, like much of New Orleans. As for Remi? Not French. Pure Creole. His accent, as I compared it, is like honey on butter. At least from what I remember of honey and butter.

He’s a brutal little thing, kind of mental, and has so much metal in his face that I have to wonder if he’ll light up like a light bulb if he so happened to be struck by lightning. Small, lithe, but a powerhouse of a soldier none-the-less with a willing arm to fight against the wolves should the need arise. I asked him the normal things we are all greeted with upon our arrival upon the Island. What he was doing here, and if he was going to contribute to our society if granted hunting rights to our ‘cattle’ as Riley has described them.

Still, I told him to find Linzee when she arose. I can’t speak in place of our noble Dynamic Duo, but I offered hunting rights anyways. I can’t really run the risk of having some vampire frenzy on this Island while Angelika sleeps. I hope I wasn’t out of bounds in giving him permission to go hunting.

In fact, I wanted all of us gathered to go hunting together. To experience a little unity. Maybe pick up a wolf from the streets, feast on wereblood, and then send the victim running for the hills. Wouldn’t that have been fun?

Except Nia ran into the weirdo magician at the graveyard and used up most of her blood to lob things at him with her brain. Remi dashed off for the bar.

With Remi gone, Nia recovering, it was just me and my ward, Celeste. We talked of the possible fight and Angelika, our opinions on the matter varying. It seems our opinions vary on many things. What is Michael filling her skull with?

“Are you ready for war?” I asked her.

She nodded, spoke softly, and said yes.
I’m not convinced.
One doesn’t go from songstress to battle-ready so soon. In her case, because she is my responsibility, I’d rather her mist away to safety.

She left shortly to find Michael and I am left to my own thoughts while in the safety of the Haven, musing over the things I have set off to do. Letters have been sent. One to Tabbie, the leader of the Pitchfork Brigade. Another to Catty and her little behind-the-scenes crew of crotch-grabbing, lung-hocking ingrates. Third, to Flanagan the woodsman.

I also have a note with a number. Reen’s parents. I don’t know what to do. I told Jericho I would call them for him. I should tell them that he’s dead. It’s my first instinct. For one, it’s not a lie. Secondly, I would save Reen from the grief that we all know when we are faced with those who we loved in our mortal lives and we immediately wonder what they taste like. Wanting to eat our families is never a pleasant experience.

I just…is it really my right? I have to call them. Tell them something.

Voicemail to Mr. and Mrs. Nyoki

Receiver poised in her hand, Keliah stood anxiously over the telephone, the paper bearing the phone number for Reen's parents staring back at her. "Do it, Keliah. Just...fucking do it." This had been a job for Jericho, but in a sudden act of compassion, Keliah took it upon herself. After all she was what she was. Jericho would never understand really just what Reen was going through. "Just tell them," Talking to herself, "That he's dead. That he had gone hiking in the woods. Found his things up river. Sent out a search party and all of that. Make up something. Just...."

Gathering her resolve she quickly punched in the numbers and waited, with baited breath for someone to pick up the phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Click.

"Hello." Said a pleasant voice into the receiver. A voice that quickly launched into the voicemail speech, "You have reached the..."

Keliah phased out, staring blankly, her eyes focused on the peeling wall paper along with the rather darling, if not inappropriate poster of Betty Page. Do it, Keliah. Just..tell them their son is dead!

Beep!

She opens her mouth to speak, but her tongue is coated in sawdust. Do it!

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Nyoki. This is Keliah Angelis, deputy Sheriff to RHPD. I'm sorry for the belated phone call and hoped to catch you. I've just received your messages about your son. I wanted to inform you that Reen is just fine. He and his girlfriend," Grabbing the word out of thin air. It was the best she could come up with, "..decided to take an extended long back-pack trip through the mountains. To have a romantic 'roughing-it' getaway. We've been very busy here in the office and so I'd like to extend my sincere apologies for failing to return your call in a timely fashion. He's due to check in very soon. By the end of the week. I'll make sure he calls you first thing when he gets in. Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any questions. Thank you. Have a nice day now." And she threw down the receiver. Chicken.

Incendie Énorme
(Fire bad!)

Rising from the tomb that is my apartment is beginning to make me wary. Instead of looking forward to my wakeful hours I am apprehensive and cautious. Yesterday? I woke up the sour smell of doused fire. Ruined furniture and acrylics. It did not possess the same scent as one might expect from burned wood, which is not uncommon around here. That smell? I find out later from the lips of my ward that it was the Lighthouse. Our very own Haven.

Something is deeply wounding about this knowledge. It’s not just that some little punk-fuck decided to go and play the arsenic. It just…so disheartening.
Disrespectful.
Sad.
The safe zone is apparently no longer a place of safety and I weep for it.

My first thoughts are for Linzee. What if this fire had taken place during the day? What if Linzee had been sleeping there? Blessedly there are no remains of my people and I smell nothing amiss upon our investigation. No casualties that I know of. Not even Reen’s little dog.

…the little dog is gone. Reen hasn’t been unearthed, has he?

And so I go to the Sheriff’s office. I smell Jericho near, but he’s not there. What IS there is a fucking helicopter and an awaiting message by one Michael Pelazzi. Celeste’s boyfriend.

A donation? To the Ravenhurst Police Department courtesy of his company to further our efforts in tracking down Susan Zelin and company. I won’t lie if I say I’m not tempted to hop in the bird and shine spotlights on Kione’s house. His little cave. Hell, anywhere. Just for the satisfaction of earning his middle finger. After I at it in both awe and childish glee Jericho, myself, and the FBI agent (Who I don’t really know and plan in dealing with as little as possible. Not that I think she’ll ever be able to uncover me. I wonder what she would think if she knew many of her colleagues and supervisory personnel were strategically placed gouls and vampires?) We climb into the chopper and after being threatened with a gunshot to the knee if I fuck up by Special Agent Sassypants we take off.

Ravenhurst grows small beneath us as our bird soars into the sky. Unfortunately? There’s not a lot of room to land anywhere and so we sojourn to the landing pad docked off in the bay behind our office. If we were going to go check out the mines, probably the best course of travel would have been our very own feet. Still was awesome to ride around in a helicopter, though. I haven’t been in one since 1963 and that circumstance had been rather impromptu.

The minute we land, who do I see admiring my new little toy but Flanagan. Here to answer my letter.

I hate having to rely upon the woodsman.
Especially since I’m pretty sure the man is a wolf in the sexiest costume I’ve ever seen. I’m out of options, though. Jericho and myself are stretched to the limits and now with war upon my head and entry into the woods under threat of death how am I ever going to keep my word to the professor? Flanagan is the only one who I can trust with my plight because he was the Sheriff. He knows the problems. He was also a soldier. In a way, this makes us ‘brothers’ even though our filial lands are different.
Probably different wars to.
Even if he is an immortal.

I ask him to help me find the car because as much sea as I’ve combed, I’ve not found it. The only place I’ve not looked is the woods, which you have to admit takes up most of the mass of Ravenhurst. I then inform him of my plan to drag the Pitchfork Brigade into the wilderness and I’m not met with understanding. Not that I expected him to.

He’s testy about it. Defensive? I’m told that there will be even more deaths. More missing persons. That I need to find another contingency under what I believe was a threat from him upon my own life.

I’m out of options, Flanagan! I explain this to him, then add rather pointedly that I am tired of death threats.

Maybe that changed his mind. I don’t know. His tone changed from one of caustic displeasure to one of more understanding.

Send them out in groups.
Make sure there are people who know the woods.
I work alone.

(Jeez, Flanagan. It’s not like I expected you to be the Robin to my Batman.)

With that he left before I could even say my thanks, apparently on a mission. As I came running down the stairs I watched him light another cigar (the previous one put out on Jericho’s desk), toss the flame, hop in his truck, and take off.

Because I’m inside, I don’t smell the gasoline. Don’t realize of the plot that’s been engineered against an innocent little machine.


A caustic, violent explosion shakes the Sheriff’s office. The backdrop of flames casts an eerie, orange glow through the windows. Upstairs I hear glass breaking. Running outside, scared out of my wits from the potential disaster to the wharf-side street, I make it in time to see the newly erected landing pad that bore what used to be my helicopter sink into the sea.

Sigh.
I can’t have nice things.

Le Gilet Gris

The past two days have been…well, let us say they have just been. I half expected things to come crashing down around town what with Jericho being gone away on business. Instead, things came crashing down at the lighthouse. Angelika has awoken. I’m not sure who dug her up, but thus it has come to be...


The evening began with myself running into Linzee upon what I liken to as Tony’s bridge. I smelled her from the Sheriff’s office, her sweet sent rolling along the cobble-like street with the Washington fog. I find her seated upon the bridge and looking out towards the sea looking thoughtful and very much alone.

I’m happy to see her. She’s not dead by fire.
She is not happy to see me. (Then again, I don’t think she is ever happy to see me.)
We talk, but my words and hers are left to the wind because all I can think about is how changed she is.
How different she is.
How human she seems.
Whatever monstrous mask she dons is cracking at the seams and I can see little glimpses into what lies beneath.

We speak of vampire matters. Mostly Angelika and her inevitable rising from the grave. Linsee is worried. Almost nervous. I can’t understand why. She senses something dreadful on the horizon and I try to assuage her anxieties.

"You're a good soldier, Linzee."

Remi appears, and looks…mauled. Yes, mauled. Great weals of red appear upon his skin and he starts to bleed. He’s in pain. His little body withdraws onto itself and he begs me to bring him to the church. (Church?) Under Linzee's command, I gather his body under my wing, throwing my arm over his slender shoulders, and we proceed to walk along. Our steps are slow, but at last we get to the church. Remi continues to bleed and curse his Frances. (That’s a whole story in itself)

I don’t ask.
It’s not my place.

Thankfully the only reason why Remi wants to be lead to the church is because he feels comfortable enough from that particular to find the way to the Lighthouse all by his lonesome. As his footing falters on the stone, unfamiliar and blinded by wounds, I walk behind him as he picks his way.

He opens the gate and we step in to the cemetery, but I already know what awaits. Angelika is home. I can smell her. Linzee to.

My eyes are delighted as I stand there amongst the dead. I’m happy. Because our Elder has come home. Until I realize that things are just a tad off. Furniture everywhere, mainly chairs, and Angelika has Linzee by the throat.

“Hello, Keli.” She says to me, and not without malice. Anger.

Things happen so fast. So, so fast.

Remi falters and I am there to catch him.
Angelika and Linzee say unheard things. (Linzee falls.)
I can not catch her. (Not with Angelika there.)
Angelika throws Linzee to the sea. (Dead?)
So much blood. (It’s everywhere.)
Then Angelika goes.

I barely remember speaking to her, so horror-struck at the ongoings and the permeating scent of blood.

“Why are you doing this? Did she not obey your commands? Did she not do as you wished?”
She unceremoniously dusted her hands, as if she’d completed a satisfactory ‘job well done’. “No. She did not.”

I don’t understand.
This whole mess was Angelika’s idea.
Her own doing.
How could she do this to the one who supported her in this ridiculous charade?

“Let this be a warning to any who dare cross me, I will not be kind. I leave you all to your own devices! Keep the veil and you will have nothing to fear of me.”
Parting words from our Elder, Angelika Grimm.

Angry and bewildered, "You wanted the trial. She told me! She condemned you in the face of our own hypocrisy because that was what you wanted... Right? And….where’s Reen?” Concerned.

“Of course that's what she told you. She lied," Angelika shrugged as if it was all for nothing "I called the trial yes, but after that she didn't do what we discussed. And Reen? He's missing. Someone dug him up after he slipped into torpor.” And then she added, “Stay out of the fucking woods if you want to stay alive."

Again. The woods.
(For the MILLIONTH time! I fucking KNOW!)

“Go get Linzee before she dies.”

I dashed into the sea to collect my Second in Command.
Brought her to land.
The damage was extensive.

Remi, in his agony, and I in my emotional turmoil begin digging Linzee a cozy grave. I chose to do this in order to keep her safe. Contained. The lighthouse is not a Haven any more.

Giles shows up.
He demands to know the goings on and not in his typical asshole way.
It’s kind of endearing the care she shows on Linzee.
With him are two vampires I know nothing of.

In the darkness of the night, I heave my coffin from my little apartment, and drag it into the cemetery and after that I leave. I can’t take it anymore. Angry. Sad. Confused.
Let Giles take the lead for a little while. He’s older than me, anyways.
__________
Part Deux


Linzee is buried, nestled into my own coffin. Probably I’ll be thought cruel for this action, but I do it only because I have a care for her. Should she unearth in a frenzy, well, I can’t imagine the consequences for not only our race but for Linzee herself. Tomorrow I will check on her. Unearth her. Try to feed her provided the wounds to her throat are able to allow this.

I spoke with Celeste, my ward

“It’s not safe here,” she says. She’s right.
“What will you do?” She asks of me.
“I will continue to do my job.” I say. “I will scout. I will protect the veil.”

I sojourn to the office early into the morning and find, much to my dismay, a report filed by the Professor. My heart sinks. I don’t know why. It just sinks. Perhaps it was the proverbial straw to my camel. The cherry on my angry sundae. Whatever human euphemism I can use that portrays that I’ve reached my boiling point and simply can’t deal then let me write it here.

Even though I was thirsting, I ignored it. I just did not have the energy for the Hunt. Instead I stepped to the dock behind the office and leapt into the sea.
Just me and silence.
Oh, and my helicopter.

I stayed down there for a very long time. Walking along the bottom of the Ocean, swimming through the currents as a weightless corpse. When I could see the tinges of sunlight touching the surface I buried myself on ocean murk until the day had long passed and evening had long begun it’s shift.

Wet, dirty. I feel like a filthy wraith as I walk along the street towards my home. I don’t really care who sees me, I’m sure I’m not very recognizable with my hair down and plastered against my gleaming skin. Makeup (God bless waterproof) smeared along my cheeks. Grime and grunge on my skin.

Except who do I find on the road? The Professor.

Even though I am still so very upset seeing him makes me feel better. There he stands in his worldly suit twirling his cane. His scent is so very comforting. Impulsively I slip my hand into his, curling my fingers around his palm, and tell him how glad I am that he’s okay and that, if possible, I would like to meet with him on the morrow to talk about his break-in. Like any gentleman he offers me an article of his clothing because I am wet and cold (Not really cold), commenting with his dry manner of humor about my swimming and I wish I could tell him I do as I do because I can’t hear the bustle of town nor smell at the bottom of the ocean.

I don’t linger long. I want the comfort of home. To hide even more. To waste away the evening watching mindless television programs and pound away at the piano.
Really, I want to run. I want to vanish in to the woods. Be free. Be quiet.

“Stay out of the fucking woods if you want to stay alive."
The words ring in my head.

Kristof


I wait. On edge. If I had a living heart it would be pounding with both anxiety and excitement. However, I don’t need a working heart to feel these things. I confess I have been putting off the phone call simply because of how overwhelming it is. I haven’t talked to him in ten years, which have felt much like an eternity and ‘a blink’ all in the same turn. Sure, there have been little letters sent to and fro, but to hear him. To actually hear his voice.

I settle into my couch, curling my legs beneath me, my body crushed against the pillows, and I worry the cell phone in my hand until, at long last I begin to dial his personal phone number. It rings in the merry way that European lines do. Quick little ring-rings and then the ‘tap’ of the receiver being lifted.

Silence.
I know he’s trying to gauge who’s on the other line, thinking his perceptiveness can extend through the miracles of sound waves and satellites.
He is so very old and so very wise that the lack his knowledge – perhaps downright ignorance – in regards to modern technology is endearing.

“..Huh…Bonjour?” He says.

Have you ever seen a looking glass crack? Or ice? How the surface begins to break, the lines begin to spread outwards, and then eventually pieces begin to fall?
That was me. I cracked and broke at the sound of his voice.

“Pa-pere..” It all came out in a breath.
He paused and gave me a gentle sigh, his breath rusting into the receiver.

“J'ai entendu le rossignol chanter et jamais il n'avait paru si belle à mes oreilles.”
“Oh, Pa-pere. Pa-pere,” I wept into the phone.
“Petit Rossingol,” He says, “Ne pleure pas, mon Keliah. Ne peignez pas les roses.” Referring to my tears.

I tell him everything. Everything that’s been going on. Not just about the vampires. I actually don’t talk much about them. He’s not fond of politics. They offend his poetic ways, I suppose. Part of why I love him so much. His gentleness and romanticism has always tamed my violence. I also do not remark much on the wolves. If I did, I’d probably have someone here on the morrow to forcefully whisk me back to Paris. I tell him all the little mundane things of my current life. That I have a bonafied job. That I have a ward. When I tell him I’m a police officer, he chuckles.

“Aimez-vous cela??” He asks.
“Oui,” I say.
“Vous êtes si fort. Comme le charbon ou de la roche.” I can nearly hear him smile, but I can not tell if his is disappointed or amused.
“J'aurais été un diamant si je n'avais pas mourir,” It’s a long running joke between the two of us.

“Êtes-vous heureux?” He asks.
“Oui.” Not really, but I have purpose, “Je suis très occupé.”
“Trop occupé pour appeler votrepère?” (Ouch.)

I knew that was coming.

“Chasseurs, Pa-pere. Je ne pouvais pas prendre le’risque. N'oublions pas Mystro interdisant mon contact avec vous…”
“Dix ahns, Keliah,” He chided, “Mystro ne tient jamais ses rancunes pour longtemps. Il veut que tu reviennes pour nous. Pour prendre votre place dans notre petit pont de cartes. Plus important encore? Je veux que tu viennes à la maison,” And then he paused, “Tu me manques, mon enfant.”

The call to come home was so powerful.
Part of me wanted to drop everything and just go.
Run for the East and just keep running until I was at long last in my Sire’s embrace, whole again.
Run.

“Tu me manques…” Surely he can hear my weeping into the phone. I make no attempts to disguise my feelings from my parent.
“J'ai besoin de sang, Pa-pere.” Steering our conversation towards business, “Y at-il de la famille à Seattle?”

And thus we spoke until the battery in my cellular phone gave up. Talking about business, about Angelis, and life in general.

The next day when I awoke my phone’s little message light was aglow and blinking.

“Juste appelé pour dire Je t'aime.”

Promptly after listening to it, some swain from Access Labs rang my doorbell with my request.
He stayed for dinner.

La Vipère est Vivant

My father has done as he promised. Sure enough, just after sundown, my doorbell rang with a special delivery from Access Labs. Blood. And as the delivery man sped off in his company vehicle, I decided that rather than refrigerating the supply and waiting I would go and unearth Linzee to see for myself how much of her flesh had knitted back together.

Cracking open her (my) coffin was a game of heads or tails. Either I would be greeted by a serene sleeping beauty or a mother fucking cobra.
I got the cobra.
Linzee sprang to life and lunged for me, fangs at the ready and snapping. For anything.
It had been a long time since I found myself in that situation, that I had felt the Frenzy. We fought. Her on the offence and myself at the defense.

Honestly, I don’t know how I would have gotten a handle on the situation if Jericho hadn’t shown up.

“If I don’t respond in 10, I’m in the graveyard.” I had told him through the radio.

Linzee, despite her injuries, was stronger that I could have fathomed. I should have been more on my guard. More equipped to deal with her Frenzy. Between the two of us, Jericho and myself, we managed to subdue her for she easily tired and Jericho took the task of nursemaid and fed her bags until at long last, with a single crimson tear slipping down her hallow cheek, she rolled onto her side and spoke one little word. “Fine.”

I’m not sure if it was in response to my apologies for the bagged blood or if she’s telling me that she is OK.

I know Jericho doesn’t have much love for Linzee, but he still had a care for her. He gathered her up in his arms as if she were a fragile little girl rather than the powerful, wicked monster she is and carried her into my apartment because if I had done the deed it would have looked quite strange to mortal eyes.

Especially with the goings on that I was unaware of in the bar.

Jericho laid her on my bed and I tucked her in, despite the fact that she is a bloody mess. What’s a little blood between comrades?

Now, I wait. For her to get strong again. To knit back together.
So I can get the whole story of the goings on between herself and Angelika.

Bon Appétit

Tonight I have truly fed. Cal laid out a veritable feast that I scented from the shore whilst on my own hunt. The victim was a young woman I had seen often around town. A pretty thing with long, dark hair. Dusky skin. Curves in the right places. I found them both in the aftermath of a knife job.

The scent of rich blood invaded me. Took over. I reached for her hair and wrenched her neck aside.

I know her face.
I recognize her.

“Don’t. Control yourself.” My thoughts echo at the back of my head, but the monster doesn’t hear. Fangs extending, I sink them into the girls neck…

…and she’s a werewolf.


Kathump, kathump, kathump (Fast)

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump (Slower)

Ka. Thump. Ka. Thump. (Slower still)

Ka…thump. (The end is near)


I nearly drain my enemy dry. My senses immerse with hers and her heartbeat reverberates throughout my whole self. I release her neck and fling her to the side wanting to scream. To dance. To fly. Her blood enriches me. Enhances me. I feel her vitae changing me.
I feel so fucking alive!

Foggy Nights

It’s official. We’ve become a Stephen King novel. Fog seeps into town and the whole population grows edgy.

So far I have:

1 Shooting
2 Missing Persons
1 Suicide Jumper
3 Assaults

The list keeps growing.

No one seems to know who is behind it and I feel rather foolish standing behind the desk of the Sheriff’s office with naught but a blank look to all the Supernatural folks who want to ‘What gives?’. No one knows. At first I suspected the witches because who else could summon a terrible fog? I’m not so sure now. Apparently, this circumstance has happened before and it was the witches who cast it away.

I’ve been on edge. On. Edge. Since the fog rolled in my temper has been hard to contain. (Then again, people have been acting like assholes.) I’m paranoid. Stifled. I want to hunt and kill. The monster that is me lurks with more presence than this human charade I have been trying to pull. Because of this I linger ever closer to the light house and am afraid to speak to others of the mortal variety. I can NOT become the monster.

Our Brethren grow all the more every day, it seems. There are newer faces all the time and each seem eager to take up arms should the need arise to do so. But more importantly, I hear, there are two Black Spirals. Wyrm tainted wolves as Ophelia has called them. Here to alley the vampires, it seems. We conferred on this, she and I. I told her I knew of no such individuals and suggested that perhaps they were with our Elder vampire, but…I don’t think so. If they are here to ‘work with us’ then why haven’t they presented themselves to the Council?

Why, oh why, can there not just be peace? We should be united in this common goal of lifting this fog, finding the cause, and destroying IT before we go along with destroying each other. At least Ophelia and myself can see the sense of this.

So now what?
Now I must convene the council so we can claim our democracy as Angelika wills and discuss this new turning leaf of the Spiral Dancers.
And the fog.

On more mundane business, I printed Skip’s milk carton (of all things) and the door to what was Tabbie’s room (Now Remi’s). I’m always delighted to spend time in Skip’s company, even if it’s just police related. I rather like the ‘old man’. Well, as much as I am capable of liking a person. He is the only mortal I have a care for and it pains me much to know that soon I will unearth his daughter’s bones and tell him this heartbreaking news that we both know will come to pass. Showing him the picture of the flashlight Jericho and myself discovered was already too much for me to watch.

I’m sorry, Professor.
I truly am.

Never have I been more thankful for Jericho’s hiring of a deputy before. I’m so glad that I have someone to share the town with, someone who can take the calls. I simply can not do it. Not right now. I’m so edgy. Angry. Feeling unstable. Razor sharp.

The first thing I do upon my waking is radio Jericho. No answer.
I creep towards the Inn to look for signs of Skip. Nothing.

I can’t control the panic that wells up in my chest. It chokes me. It…hurts.
Where are they?

Because I can’t tolerate anything and because I want to destroy everything that enters my personal radar I flee the eyes of the town and stay to the lighthouse. I’m not alone for very long. First, there’s Remi. Personally, I’m glad to see him. I like Orleans. He’s a nutjob, but a sane nutjob, and he comforts me with his vampiric presence. His lack of pulse and sweet, Deathly scent draw me down. Grounds me. But it’s not just me and him. From the fog comes Chloe, speaking rather proudly about upsets she had caused in town and again with inappropriate feeding!

She is the first target to take the brunt of my anger. My fist slams into her jaw. The bones cracking beneath my fist feel so fucking good. The monster in me is pleased.

“Do you know what happens to those who do not obey?” I asked her, sneering into her face.
“Death?” She timidly asked.
“Death!” I laughed, drawing my fist back and pummeling it into her stomach. She goes flying and in a blur I am on top of her, my hand prying open her jaw while it begins to heal, thus negating it’s progress, so I can expose her teeth. “I will have your fangs for earrings where you will rot under this lighthouse and starve for eternity.”

Done with her nonsense, I tossed her at Remi’s feet.
Before I could say anything else, my Brethren began to appear. One by one.
Trailing behind the Brethren was a man. A handsome man with long, dark hair. He’s stocky, tall, and big. He’s also limping, bleeding from his leg.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. His blood assaults and invades my senses and I am drawn like a moth. He is prey. Fool! Poor, little fool he is for stepping into the nest of vipers.

“Do you know where I can find a Doctor?”

The question barely touches me. His words fall on ears that are focused solely on the beat of his heart and the breath of his lungs.

I want.
Give me.

I warn him to leave and he defies me. Stupid fool! I’m trying to save you!

I want to shout, flair, and maul. My fangs, unbidden, extend behind the veil of my lips. Perhaps drawn by the scent of blood, the wolves appear. Three of them. Ophelia, the girl known to me as Ace, and a man I do not know. They gather around my would-be victim and I look at O, trembling. My Frenzy begins to eclipse and I know very soon I will no longer have control over the monster.

“GO!!” I shout at O, knowing she knows me. Knows what’s happening. It sounds like an angry demand, but really it’s a plea. I’m a danger to the veil out in the open like this. And this blood, which I am now most assured is wolf blood, is the catalyst.

They all leave, except one wolf. Seen him about town, but I’ve never spoken to him. With the absence of blood I am able to contain myself, but our verbal exchange ends with guns drawn on both ends and because of the sheer heated power he exudes, I know him for an alpha. Or something just as powerful. Never had I wanted to fill something up with bullets than this guy who does, eventually, wisely, makes his retreat.

As the tensions pass, the Brethren break and go about their various business. Hunting is in order for all of them, I am sure. I gather Nia and Celeste to me like a mother protecting her children. Never mind that I am younger than both, still, I suddenly feel so very old and I take Celeste home where I mean to hide for the rest of the night and unpack the boxes my Sire has sent me from France. Celeste curled up on the sofa and fell asleep. While I hung old, damask curtains, I am drawn by the sudden increase in visibility. The fog has abated.

With it’s dissolving, I suddenly felt…different.
I was more whole. More at peace.

I took a breath and expelled it, and then sped off towards the Red Dragon in hopes that the lifted fog would reveal the Professor. Paying no heed, I leapt his balcony, gripping the bars, and flung myself over.

I can’t smell him and the room he rents is dark and vacant. Nothing.
“Professor!” I shout. Silence.

Tears well unbidden in my eyes and carve stark, red lines down my cheeks. Not only have I failed in finding his daughter, I fear I may have lost him to.

J'ai un appel téléphonique

It’s 4:00 pm and my house is completely dark.
I move towards one of the windows and cautiously move aside a curtain. No sunlight streams through. Outside, there is nothing but darkness.

Emboldened by the time I pry open that window and leap from it, knowing what ground will be there to catch me. Then I smell the wolf from yesterday and remember the scent of his blood. Before I can do naught, the Monster claims me.

I want to hunt.
I want to feed.
I want to kill.

I barely remember the act of leaping upon his back and sinking my fangs into his neck. I know there is another vampire amongst us, but I can’t see her. I can only smell her. She’s a fast, wicked thing, and she attacks my wolf with silver. I just drink until he won’t allow it anymore. He twists and flails, grabs me by the neck, and hauls me off of him. And then comes the knife.

The whole thing was such a blur and my brain was in such a violent frenzy that I barely felt it. I remember laughing at his futile efforts to injure me for my body pulsed with his shifter’s blood and my wounds healed the moment his knife made it’s exit.

Suddenly there’s an explosion of silver and the wolf who attacks me flees, leaving me in the fog. Still half-frenzied, I roll to my side on the pavement and scale up the boulder. I smell…someone else.

“I can smell you.” I’m an unseen voice in the mist. That ‘someone else’ wastes no time and begins shooting towards my general direction. I turn and flee, but not before a bullet hits me right in the calf. Again, I laugh.

There’s no where to go but up and so up I go, scaling my own home and then the apartments above me until I am on top of the roof.

I have to go!
I have to run!
I want to fly!

This is the sensations brought to me by the wereblood. I feel so powerful, like I could single-handedly dispose of all this fog just by putting my lips together and blowing it away with a single breath. I barely feel the tiles of the roof beneath my feet as I sprint along and as I take my leap for the next, my phone rings. I decide that it can just go ahead and ring, but something makes me second guess. I answer it as I take the jump for the next roof.

“Hello?”

It’s Skip!
Calling from Seattle.
Skip, oh Skip.

I hope he didn’t hear the frenzied panic in my voice, or the sudden onslaught of joy driven fury behind it. I hope that was all drowned out in static.

“Is this a bad time?”

I remember him asking me this and I want to laugh. He could have called me 10 minutes ago while I was being shot and stabbed and it still wouldn’t have been a bad time. I could be five minutes away from watching the sunrise and it still wouldn’t have been a bad time.

I don’t know what gives, but I’m supposed to meet someone at the Sheriff’s station. When, I don’t know. Truthfully, I don’t care. All I care about at that very moment is how happy I am because Skip is safely away in Seattle. I can breathe a little easier, or so the saying goes.

“Don’t come home,” I told him, but I wish he would. I want to see his face.

The evening progresses in more of a downward spiral: Gun shots at the motel, a murder-suicide, an FBI Agent who tells me how to do my job, and a deputy who leaves me to clean up the mess.

To top things off, I return to the Sheriff’s office to pick up a change of clothes (seeing as I look and smell like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre), I find…Sho. Oh. Yeah, I’m suspicious. The last time he left my premises my helicopter exploded.

The forest rangers are missing. Bernard, our desk jockey, attempts to get them on the walkie at Sho’s command. No. Nothing.

“It’s just me and Sheperd,” I said to him. “Jericho is missing.”

I laid my hand on his shoulder to reassure him I was doing the best I could and in reply he just gives me more guns and tells me keep my people out of the woods. Perhaps he means the townsfolk, but really, I know he means the Brethren. That very same Brethren who had just left moments ago to hunt down the alpha wolf, Kione.

“My people will do as they wish.” I said, amongst other things. “And I’m sick of you telling me to stay out of the woods. Can’t you say something else for a change? Like ‘have a nice day’ or..or..Christ, just something else.” I KNOW that I’m supposed to stay out of the woods for fuck’s sake! How many more times does he need to tell me!

I…pissed him off. He left with an angry fist in which he used to smite the front door of my office. Fog rolls in and Flanagan disappears within the mist like the protagonist to this Steven King novel that he is. Woah…

I can’t be mad. I sort of understand. I’m carrying an angry torch to. I know his words were advice of good intention, but I can’t be at ease. Even knowing Skip is safe.

“Bernard, fix the door. Need me? Just call,” My phone rings again with another call for help, “…and keep trying to reach Jericho.”

Sang de la Vie


After spending most of my evening tucked away in the safety of my home, buried in paperwork, and when I finally make my way to the Sheriff’s office to leave it for O I find Flanagan fixing the door. How good of him, no?

He starts as I speak, even though my footfalls are true and audible on the wooden slats of the boardwalk. (Win for me, we are now evenly matched.) With the door attached and working, he holds it open for me with a single word, “Inside.” I don’t argue, but apologize for my abrupt words the previous night. He doesn’t seem to care, really. He’s more intent on taking me upstairs and shutting us both in Jericho’s office.

I won’t lie and say I wasn’t nervous, because I was. I had no idea what was coming my way from Flanagan and I assumed he was going to rip me a new one. Turns out I have cause to be nervous. His first order of business was to inform me that the ranger stations were destroyed, the two men stationed out there dead.

Dead.

Barely any remains left.

And? I can smell him. He smells like…blood. Under his sweater, he bleeds. It smells like nothing I have ever smelled before.

Sticky sweet.
Powerful.
Life.

Police matters turn into an attack on my person. My clothes. My shoes. (He hates on my legs!) I can’t say I’m all that offended at his verbal disapproval over my appearance. Stable shoes and free legs make me a faster runner and more able to scale, land, whatever. Besides, I’ve listened to it before. Hard to avoid the slinging of testosterone in the field Mystro Angelis put me in. He’s trying to anger me, and worse, he’s trying to bait me by provoking me with petty insults, but it’s not his words that get me, it’s his actions. He knows what to do to tempt the Monster.

His heart rate increases.
The heat of his body rises.
Tilting his head to the side and exposing his neck, I can see his jugular pulsing beneath his flesh.

The Monster will not be silent. Please don’t do this, I think to myself. Control yourself, Callie. But I can’t. The scent of blood increases and I lose myself in it.

Slamming my hands hard on the desk, it splinters. My nails claw along the surface as I am overtaken by the Frenzy and when I turn around, I am not Callie any more, but the Vampire Keliah.

“I can smell you.” I taunt, stalking forward. Stop.
“I can hear you, to.” Voice of the viper. Another step. Stop.
“Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump..” I sing in time with his heart.

And then I’m upon him, my hand upon his throat, fangs exposed and at the ready to take what he’s offering, except he’s just as fast as I am. Maybe even faster. I’m suddenly the one who’s held, who’s forced. Flanagan changes in a blink to something not human, but not wolf. He’s something in between. He’s bigger, stronger, and he bends me over Jericho’s desk. If I were myself, I think I might have fainted, but the Monster protests and wants free. It wants blood. My struggles cease because…there is blood.

His wrist is pressed to my lips and my instincts of fight or flight are waylaid with this pacifying offering. I claim the arm as though it were a cup with my strong hands, holding him fast and waste no time in taking what is offered. I’m not aware of his strong, powerful body pinning mine, nor the fact that his hips are pressed into my curves.

I’ve never slaked my thirst on anything so pure as this. His vitae nourishes as I’ve never been nourished and I am lost in the body that gives me what I need. I pulse with his pulse, tuned to the thumping of his heart so that I might monitor it’s recessive beats. Flanagan’s heart doesn’t do this, though. It continues to thrum nobly.

“Take only what you need,” He warns in my ear with a voice that is not his.

Ripping my fangs away from his veins was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but logic has taken a hold back into my conscious. I return. The Monster dissipates. Flanagan keeps me cautiously pinned (because you just don’t walk away from a cobra) and then slowly withdrawals and when I turn about-face, he is Sho again (albeit with slightly disheveled clothes).

I am scolded like a child and told that I need to take care of myself. I then realize that this whole scenario was to my benefit. A kindness. That he purposefully came to nurture me.
Licking his blood from my lips, “It’s the fog. It’s making me crazy.” Because I’m not normally like this. I’m usually so cool, so in control.

We sort of strike an accord, if you could call it that. He asks me to trust in him and to leave the woods in his “capable hands”, which I sort of always have done. Now that my suspicions of his lycanthropy are confirmed (for his blood is still fresh on my tongue) I trust him more than ever to guard the woodlands. We are unified, at least, in the protection of these lands.

We both share the call to serve as he pointed out.
We are soldiers.

That’s two accords with two different wolves.
Am I a traitor or am I human?

Qu'est-ce que pour manger?

The fog has abated thanks to some dedicated witchery, though insight as to what it was is still out in the air. Most people have told me that in order to better understand I should watch a few movies.

The Mist, The Birds…

Really? Movies? Right.

I’m coming to the conclusion that no one truly understands. That it’s perfectly acceptable that a vicious, angry monster dwells within fog that makes everyone go ape shit. That it’s somehow tied with the long-ago deaths of the indigenous people that once lived here.

No matter. It’s over for now.
I know Skip is safe, so I can stop worrying and shy off.
Jericho is home and back at his desk.
All is well.

I’ve spent the past couple days sleeping in the dark recess of my bedroom, playing Chopin and Beethoven sonatas, dancing in my underpants to Bon Jovi, watching vast quantities of late night television, and generally ignoring everything that’s been going on outside my window. Let Bernie and Sheperd handle the phone calls.

I finally venture out, for hunt I must, and afterwards my intentions are to go and check on the Professor. This doesn’t happen for I find Verity in front of the garage, radio playing, and she’s dancing. Like I can turn down dancing in front of a garage.

At that moment I choose to ignore the thirst and be a simple, human woman. Dance to music I know not the words to but pretend I do, laugh over the faults of Seattle as if I understand the empire of Starbucks, and speak of pop culture as if the past twenty years hadn’t passed me by in silence. We part ways, and I left not feeling human at all. First, the silent indifference from the she-wolf, Aria, reminds me all too well who I am. Secondly, the scent of Verity lingers on my senses. All that dancing and moving around and its effects on her pulse…I think about the way she tastes.

I must hunt!

Yeah, I’m not going to go see the Professor while thinking thoughts of blood, lest I get all lusty on the man. I’m not talking about wrapping my naked legs around his hips either. I veer off and away, the street blessedly empty, and my thoughts keep bouncing between my legs and the professor since the idea is in my head (nice, Kel) and Flanagan’s blood, the blood being the more desirous above all things.

I’ve been thinking about that blood.
His blood.
How perfect it was…

I think of Verity’s blood and how sweet it is.

I seriously must hunt.

The evening isn’t an entire bust. I did somehow end up slow dancing in the graveyard with an eccentric, old vampire. A William of no famille. Like all of us damned, he was beautiful and slightly crazy. Random things such as these remind me that I’m not entirely dead, even if one’s dance floor is a graveyard and you and your partner are just as dead as the inhabitants sleeping in the dirt.

Still...

Legs.
Blood.

I just don’t want to think about anything else.

Where is Reen?

And so I sat down at my kitchen table in my cozy, atypical American abode with Skip Zelin and told him that I was a vampire. I thought it was only fair, seeing as I knew he hadn’t been to Seattle. Besides, he was asking me about what I was about regarding Reen, concerned that the media circus was ready to descend upon our little town.

Frankly, I hadn’t really thought him that concerned. I guess standing on this side of the veil puts things in to a different perspective. It’s crazy, huh? I’d thought Skip sort of an eccentric, uptight, rich guy when I first met him. As I got to know him, naturally I felt more inclined since that first interview. Then he became more mysterious to me and now I know why. Here we both stand, two mighty warriors with a common cause. (Not sure if I can equate the word ‘mighty’ and ‘Professor’ together.)

“So that’s why you can’t go in to the woods.”
Yup, Skip. That’s why.

And so the three of us, for Celeste was home, talked about Reen. Honestly, don’t know why the focus went that way, but it did and there you have it. Truth be told, I wondered why he cared besides the possibility for media poking their noses into Ravenhurst’s business.

And so I explained what Reen did was by choice. That he was making his own decisions. That when the Council found Angelika guilty and her sentencing was carried out, that Reen chose to join her. Now that he was unearthed? Who knows where he is or what he’s doing. Maybe he is dead, or maybe he and Angelika are tucked away in the forest. Maybe he chooses to live as the wolf that he surely must have inherited from his gangrel sire.

And then I remember Angelika had said he was missing.
I have not seen Angelika since then, which leads me to believe that he is found.

We hash out a plan. That Skip will talk to the witches and see what can be done. If nothing comes of that, then I said I would falsify some remains and pass them off as Reen as was suggested.
I’m not in love with this idea.

In the meantime, I will focus on Susan.

As soon as Skip left, I called Kione and left him a message from one officer to another, and told him to call me in regards to the Zelin file. Lets see if RHPD and the Rangers can get together. Screw waiting for the Pitchfork Brigade.