L'Ange Noir - The Chronicles of Keliah Angelis

I hate arrogant Rookie cops and I hate people who think they can walk all over me – especially since the latter is mostly true for the moment. I’m having a hard time dealing with most things, especially things that require some sort of feeling out of me. Anger and annoyance seem to be the answer of late and anger leads to…well, we've all seen Star Wars. Even me.

“City sidewalks, busy sidewalks dressed in holiday style..”

The ipod device I procured from Tai’s Ebay - the ipod and Ebay being two of the greatest things offered by mankind since my return to humanity - filled my ears with holiday music while I devoted my waking hours to decking the fucking halls. Earlier I had found the treasure trove of plastic lights and all things Christmas while looking for the pressure washer – tired of the paint job done by the Aces on the front of my station. I was going to clean the graffiti myself, truly. Then decided against it. If Naz was serious about working for the RHPD then she would clean it. It was just the thing I would set my Rookies to do. Having her clean up her own handiwork would have been a little poetic justice.

This is my first experience with the merry little bulbs of colorful extravagance. In all honesty, I cold stare at them forever and marvel on the eerie cast of color on my skin while I hold them. The green is profound, the red wicked; the blue so beautiful and the white so pure. They almost look magical. Maybe they are? Naz caught me in front of the police station while I was stringing them along the window frame and promptly refused to clean her handiwork. She was joined by Max, the deputy who had assisted Rabid in the takeover of the Lighthouse. I fired them both. Naz sort of threw a verbal tantrum; Max threw me the finger. He also threatened my daughter. I bit my tongue as much I could so they would leave, all the while contemplating the truce that I was suddenly no longer wanting to initiate.

The door of the magic shop opens and Skip, along with some gent, come spilling out of it to catch the last leg of my argument with my former rookies, a strand of Christmas lights in my hand. They seemed to be on some sort of quest, the two. The man he was with glared at me with open hatred as they passed by.

I spent the remaining evening decorating the Sheriff’s office. The phones were quiet and the work load light – though I was going to have to draw up the official paperwork in regards to the termination of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. I just wanted to focus on this, thinking it would bring me back to the norm. I’ve never had this blatantly displayed sort of Christmas before. I’ve missed most of the days of electric Christmas lights. Besides, we Angelians aren’t really big on the birth of the Savior. My task became sort of a side show. Every so often some passerby would stop to either watch me scale up the ladder, listen to me swear like pirate, or lend a hand. Like Puck.

Reen padded by – more canine than man now, I think. I probably should encourage him to remain more human, but lately I’ve become somewhat co-dependent on his fluffiness. He planted his hunches on the street and watched me, looking more the domesticated wolf than a dangerous gangrel vampire, and tilted his head left to right, probably baffled by me and my Christmas lights.

“What?” I ask. I challenge.

Blank stare from the wolf. Blink-blink.

“Come on, Man.” I scale down the ladder to fetch the next strand. “It looks nice. Cheerful, even.”

Reen flops over onto his back and start wriggling over the cobbles, his legs in the air. Does he have fleas? Is he laughing at me? What? He’s my partner for much of the evening. I swear, Reen has the easiest job ever. Show up and lay around, patiently waiting until it’s time to go hunting. Mock me while I decorate. Woof in glee when I plug in strands of lights that WON’T FUCKING WORK! FUCKERS!

My favorite were the blasted candy canes. Seriously. Big, poofy light-up candy canes. I liked them because peppermint sticks were a real treat for us children at Christmas and their cartoonish novelty was amusing. What was not amusing? Fastening them to the roof. I put one on, the other tips over. I can’t get them all the face the right way. Third to last leans off to the left. Fourth one falls off the roof completely and lands with a loud thud on the stone below. The fifth one won’t even work. So with a loud, “Fuck you!” I gave it a kick. Watching it go flying off the roof was quite satisfying. I hope the bastard has a nice trip sailing around in the Pacific.

“Well?” I asked Reen, “How does it look?”

Reen gave a groan and lay on his belly, covering his eyes with his paws. I was going to add more lights, but the current tangle I hold is obstinate and will not work.

He cranes his neck over his shoulder, ears alert, and he barks off something I do not even remotely understand and pads off towards the cabin where Jake and Celeste live. Shortly, I pick up the scent of cigarette smoke and the familiar scents of Professor Zelin. Then there he is beside me and staring at my handiwork.

“The station is looking quite festive,” He says, just as one of my strands seem to dislodge from the hooks, dangling in mock of me.

“Merci, Professor,” It’s all I can say, my arms full of defected lights and I'm feeling ready to cry in frustration, “It’s my first Christmas since..” Since 1914, “Anyways, I wanted to be normal?”

I love watching Skip’s idleness. Like when he scratches the back of his neck or tugs on his earlobes. I could watch him fidget all day because it’s just that endearing. For now, he scratches at his chin followed by a drag of his cigarette.

“Other than that hanging cord which is probably a safety hazard, it's not bad and about as normal as Ravenhurst gets, I would say. What was all that about earlier? Having problems with the new hires?”

Skip always shows up at the worst of times – or the best of times, depending on how one chooses to view things. Worst of times because I felt small and hated being seen thus. What had Naz told me? That no one took me seriously? Best of times because I really needed him.

So I went on while he helped me with my Christmas lights, trying to get the strand I held to work by painstakingly examining each bulb for defects. We talked about the proposal of truce Thora and I had discussed. We talked of the newspaper article. I spoke of my fears in regards to Celeste and the threats Max had dropped. We even talked about Tiny Tim from Dickens' 'Christmas Carol'.

He asked me of my fateful encounter on the docks. I told him that story to, though I left out how scared and shaken I was. I don’t really think I had to admit it or delve into my personal vulnerabilities – I’m pretty sure he understood. It’s more, though. It’s more than just falling into nothingness and losing time. Or the fact that if I had not been found when I did that I would have been burned up in the rising sun. Rather it was returning to my consciousness and waking up to the gruesome scene upon the deck of Zack’s boat – the scene that I had surely caused. How can I tell him this? Explain the murder I had done? I had gone so long with out killing human life.

He asks about Zack, Tabbie’s fiance. We talk of the war and the wolf packs. We talk about politics and my people. He was fishing for intel, I know, trying to garner my sides of this saga. I, without reservation, tell him most of it. I trust him with my secrets and the welfare of my logic. He either puts me in balance or sends me rocketing in fury, more often the former. He is exactly what council should be and if I were not readying myself to pass the reigns formally to the Malkavian then I would formally adopt the mage into my council.

I tell him, finally, that I am no longer Prince. Technically, it passed to Remi upon my disappearance and I made no claim to resume it. Besides, I had become Prince to prevent this discord between the wolves and vampires, moving satellite to Sho Flanagan. I took the reign of power because our leader had forgotten us and our Brethren were at odds. I succeeded at least in preventing civil war, but between ourselves and the wolves? I obviously failed.

The failure is bitter, especially in wake of the things I lost, including this man who currently stands on the other side of the police counter. Who I love above all things. Who I would give myself to and willingly fork over pieces of my soul until I had nothing left to offer. Who I would forgo my identity as a vampire and remember my womanhood for. Who I would push away in some foolish scheme just to keep him safe because the very idea of his early demise, done so simply for loving me, would be much too difficult to fathom.

I think back to when he told me of my path and how I strayed from it. I muse on how true it is – I had strayed. I was, for the moment, where I belonged in this life time. I belonged here in the Sheriff's office because I needed something honorable to stand behind. To make up for all the death I had caused in my Bairn years as well as recent weeks.

"..and this is what I love. This office is all I have. I'd rather be Sheriff and cling to my humanity then live pretending I have none of it left." I told him thus, opening a crack in my facade, purposefully eyeing him as he stood there. I balk often when it comes to such emotional seriousness, but not when it came to this. Skip was quiet and stared back, his expression mostly unreadable to me, but his regard was heavy.

“I would have found you if I had been here. You know that, right?”

Did I say crack in my façade? I mean I was totally exposed. I’ve never felt more raw and naked.

I don't know what I would have done if you didn't come back," I offer back.

“You would continue on, like you have before. I saw some things...things I can't forget while I was on my journey,” His gaze still level on mine. No one looks me in the eye anymore and it’s disconcerting. He’s very brave, I think and have told him thus before, “What do you want from me?”

He was right and I nodded. I would continue and carry on – I’d have to, eventually. If he allowed me to remain at his side for the rest of his mortal life, well then, I would have to let him go. I’d have to watch him cross to the other side – back to this place where he had so recently came back from. Though I am curious as to what he means by ‘before’. There was very little joy in my solitary life.

"I don't want anything from you, Skip. I just want you. You know, I want to be part of your life. While there is time."

He gave me a small smile and stepped around the counter to join my side. To plant his hands upon my shoulders, “Time is all relative. That's one thing I learned on my travels.” In regards to his trip into the spirit realm. What exactly did he see in here? I’m almost afraid
to ask.

"It is relative. Do you know when Angelika died, when I saw her turn to ash, that I came to you because I realized how so quickly I might be gone forever? I came to you to stay with you because I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could. Because I loved you then, and I love you now," I told him thus because I wanted him to know just how much I had been thinking about time all this, well, time.

He gathered me close to him and lowered his head towards mine, towards my neck. I savored the nearness. He smelled like Skip. Like smoke and fire, whatever he washes his clothes with, like his colognes and soaps, and like the natural scent of his skin warmed by his blood beneath.

“I'm tired of...I'm tired of a lot of things. But I'm most tired of being mad at you,” He briefly pauses and I wonder what is going on in his consciousness. What had he gone through? “In the grand scheme of things, I guess most of it is pretty irrelevant. That's another thing I learned on my journey. So much of everything is just...”

I have a feeling my Professor is cracking under his own façade; Too many things to say and feelings to feel. So I kissed him and after a space he led me out of the Sheriff’s office. Together, his arm curled over my shoulders, we went back to his house. I was home at last.

Le Premier Chapitre

The chill morning of New Years, I had stood upon a stony bridge of the Seine, to peer out at the dark, glassy waters and watch the fire works burst forth in celebration of the new year. To this day I can still see them. Hear them. Remember how dazzling they were on the night-black waters of the river. I remember the lazy passing of boats and the burning lantern lights in the distance. Too, I remember wondering where the patriotic display had come from. Was it France being hopeful? Or maybe it was Germany trying to calm us. Germany. They were everywhere.

"Oi! Callie!"

Callie. That had been my name once. I turned my head, craning to see the cafe in the backdrop. My nursing regiment and a few of France's fighting men in German colors. It was Margaret. Black haired, blue-eyed Margaret was shouting for me, waving me over to come join them for revelry. I shook my head and wandered further away. Little did I know I would be stepping into Death's arms. That soon I would be preyed upon by the Prince of Paris; The Prince of Princes.

Family life would end as I knew it. I did not have to worry about my parents anymore (though I would continue to do so), I would not have to marry the pretentious, snit-nosed Albert. I would not have to saw off gangrenous limbs of dying men and I would not be subject to the politics of war. I would not age. I would never eat a croissant hot from the oven.

On January 1st, 1915, I died. Slain by a prince and saved by his childe, Kristof Angelis, who's message I play over and over again as I sit here at the Professor's desk so that his voice will fill up the room.

"Ce n'était pas une bonne journée pour vous, mais il était pour moi. Joyeux anniversaire, ma fille. S'il vous plaît revenir à la maison..."

There's a pause. I can picture Kristof bent over his own desk, surrounded by the wonderfully old things in his library while bent over his cell phone and decide which button to push. I close my eyes and reach outwards, casting my consciousness to the winds. I search for the link that is always there, but never embraced. It's his. It's there. All I have to do to seize it and I will be one in mind with him again.

But then he will know my soul. He will know that I, a vampire, am sitting in the room of a mortal, grieving over the deaths I had caused. Two deaths. After forty or so years of hunting without a kill, I have taken life. I shouldn't fret over the latter of the two. She was my enemy - an enemy who had nearly slain me. But when she died, her hair long and soft, her face angelic and serene...well, she was not the wolf that had tried to murder me. She was just a woman.

I play the message again.

Kirstof would feel what I feel the instant I joined the link with him. He would know where I was and what I was doing. He would know me as a complete failure to the Angelian clan of vampires. Mystro would find out as well, linked as he was with my sire. And then Morelle...would most likely come after me.

Reen and I

It’s odd having two families. It’s odd to be wedged somewhere in the middle of both of them, feeling constantly on the outskirts, but still belonging to something greater than just your one, single self. I have two identities, one of mother and care taker; of lover and woman. And then, always there, is the beast. It fits nowhere.

I think that’s the problem with being a vampire. No matter how many people you surround yourself with, or how you fill your days, there is always that. The beast. Because of this, I often feel more alone than not. Sometimes I think it’s worse for me than others. The curse I bear with my bloodlines along with Morelle’s tutoring in my bairn years makes it far too easy to become it. Sometimes, I can’t even help it. That’s what scares me the most.

I write on this now because it’s weighing on my mind. Yesterday Doctor Zelin, retired Professor, and powerful magician stood up and took up the reins of power in the very legal and binding sense as deputy mayor to this wayward little town we all call home. His audience and council? Lexie, with her pen and paper. Puck who stood in proxy of my Celeste. Thora, my beautiful fairy friend. Someone that looked like he could be a distant relative of Reen’s , the town historian. Rabid, my enemy. Quite a crew. He seemed less than enthused, and when I asked him why he was doing this, he told me because he thought, more or less, that he could make a difference.

I can relate, that is for sure. For a moment I felt I was staring back at myself as I regarded Skip. His plight strikes a similar chord and even though this is merely a city council on a small little rock, he was very much me taking up the reins of in a type Princedom in hopes that maybe, just maybe, what futile efforts that could be put forth would perhaps make things turn around for the better. At least there are no thorns in the cogs of his machine. Like bone-melting vampires.

For a council meeting, it went pretty smooth. The topic? Generating funds for the township which had been stolen by Willow Islar, Tony’s former skirt and our previous Deputy Mayor. She’s in jail now, but our monies are spent. On clothes, cars, jewelry, trips to Mexico, electronics, and other pricey items. The council has ideas, though most of them are scoffed at by Rabid, the head of the dock union. He has other ideas. Such as publically baiting me and protesting my existence. He also attacks my department, which is already on the fritz, grossly understaffed. Probably so his clan of ingrates can continue their business of painting our town with colorful, ridiculous graffiti.

If I were any more of a vampire, I’d probably be smirking because, in the end, known only to myself, Doctor Zelin, and Mary, I took one of his and sent her to another realm. I took away his kin. I had the last laugh thus far and I tried to think this with a bit of a smugness that I just don’t possess anymore. Mary’s death only makes me sick inside, and despite being my enemy, she still fell to my Beast. I am responsible for her end. And what bothers me the most? It’s that I give a damn about it. I shouldn’t! I’m a fucking vampire!

Maybe this is why I feel so stuck, wedged as I am between those who I care for. Skip and Lexie – and probably Blaise, who is back by the way and round with child – will always expect the worst from me. Even when Lexie carts me around for midnight scooter races or when Skip allows me to curl up beside him in the bed. When Rabid passed me by on his way out of the council meeting to give me more of his irksome words, Skip shot me a look. One full of warning. I don’t need to read his mind in order to guess what he was thinking.
So I went back to the office and did what he bade. I sat quietly in the dim light, manned phones, and put together the budgets for our department. Not only our current for 2011, but the past two years as well. I listened to Bon Jovi. I thought about Pandora’s painting in the hall and missed her. I reviewed and reviewed my budget and then plopped them over on Reen’s desk.

“Did you get your paperwork in order?” I asked him, maybe even startling him, for I hadn’t spoken much of the night.

“You mean the title?” His voice always sounds slightly off to me. Rarely is he a man these days.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, Kel,” He stretched his arms over his head, drawn away from the tedium of number crunching, “Do you think it will do any good? This truce, I mean.”

Honestly, I had no idea. I had my doubts. Especially now. I laid out my official, Angelian document atop his desk to. The truce and my terms. My last task as Leader of the Brethren before I passed the torch to Remi.

“I don’t know, Keliah..” Reen stared up at me with his burning, golden eyes. His wolf’s eyes forever set it his face like two amber stones. They are very beautiful. I’ve told him thus. I pity any woman who looks into them, save for me. I already fell into a pair of grey ones, which were lackluster and plain, but perhaps the most beautiful things I could remark upon. Wise, sharp eyes that cut to the quick and hide a lifetime of secrets that I will never prey upon and fear to ask, “I do not know, either. Reen, if it fails then it fails. I will do my job and do it as best I can and get the lighthouse back.”

“Do you even want it back?” He asked me. After all, we had the old pack house. And then, I had to wonder, if we even had a ‘we’. I haven’t seen others in quite a long time. Sometimes I wonder if Remi is even coming back.

“I just wish for things to go back to what they were. I want to flip the clock and redo everything,” I sighed. For him, for everything that had transpired that he didn’t even remember. For Linzee, who was gone now. For the lot of us and the original council that was formed when I first came here. I considered my lost pup of a gangrel.

“Reen, I am not sure if I even can, but if so, we should perform the rite of the Blood Bond.” I was donning my badge, my gun. I had changed out of the swank dress I had worn at the council meeting for my more favored attire. I shrugged into a jacket, glad it covered the gleam of my skin. “You should, you know, join my family. Officially. Celeste is kind of foolish and impulsive, but her heart is in the right place. Jake is calm and level. Neither, really, relate to me at all. I love them. I’m bonded to them, and it pleases me to look out for them, but…we are very different.” I didn’t want to go on how I felt responsible for Angelika’s death, or that I now felt responsible for the upbringing of this gangrel wolf, “Even if you wish to wait for your natural parents to pass on, you know, the invitation will still stand.”

I let that sit, and before he could answer me, I waved him on and left the room, “Come on, put your uniform on, and let’s go for a drive.”

Once I was in the truck, I patiently waited for the wolf to appear to ride shotgun with me.

I have digressed so far from my original point. Ah, yes. Stuck somewhere in a wedge. Unsure of my existence as a vampire; even more unsure as my identity as a person. Always, always this battle. Yet, despite these things, something in me lives on that could not be drilled out of me by my killers. That decades of murder and solitude could not touch. Once, I had told Pandora that I felt I was going to wrong way. That somehow, I was de-evolving from the person I was expected to be. I felt things too deeply, I was moved more by tenderness rather than anger, and now, as I muse on this, I realize I’m not de-evolving at all. I’m simply becoming more and more like the person I was. Before guns, before war. Before death and the macabre.

Reen eventually comes bounding out of the office and he leaps into the truck, staring at me with his golden eyes and then at the road. I didn’t expect him to answer me right away. Reen is always unsure of himself, stuck as he is in his youthful years – mortal and vampire alike. Reaching around him, I shut the door of the truck to a close, shove the keys into the ignition, and then pull out onto the main street.

“We’re going to the mountains.”

Reen looks at me, his ears perking up.

“There is an abandoned ski lodge up there. I want to check it out.”

He tilts his head to the side.

"And then I want to go to the city and pick up a costume for tomorrow's thing."

Le sang de la convoitise de Reen

“Reen Nyoki Angelis!” I roared into the phone, adding my name to his because all people know that adding that one extra name meant that you were serious. There’s just some sense of finality in calling a person by their full name and I didn’t know Reen’s, so I figured mine would do just fine, “It’s Keliah! Where are you? Hello, kid! You have a damn job to do. Your vanishing acts are getting quite old. Quite old!” I hung up the phone and stared at the colorful screen, hoping that my message was loud and clear. It was certainly loud.

Where was Reen? It was pissing me off. Honestly, all my children were pissing me off. Between Celeste had her constant disregard for anything but herself, Jake who I hardly sense, and Reen… Where was he? He’s a wanderer, that one. Prone to vanishing and coming back. I never much cared. He is, after all, his own man. Still, the day I sat across from the Professor in his posh new office and declared that Reen was my son, I’ve worried a great deal.

The problem is that someone is leaving bodies in my house and bodies in the woods. That’s two gents drained of their vitae and pumped full of morphine. And no, it’s not Remi. I already asked. So, yes. Someone is being sloppy and now Reen is gone. Missing. Is he doing this? Has someone taken him? Is this all just a coincidence?

I hope he calls...

I haven’t written in awhile. There really has been no need to. The habit of keeping a journal was Kristof’s, which he instilled onto me. At first I thought the practice was a waste. Kristof’s library was full of such tomes – journals written in his own hand that spanned centuries of thoughts, feelings, and events. Reading them had been a review of the man’s very soul and they gave me comfort in my early years. Knowing that further down the road to eternity I would still experience things that would move me was reassuring.

“Write, Calliean. Write me stories, write me letters, and write your feelings. Write of home and Christmases past. Write of petticoats and school. Write of mothers and of fathers. Write of war,” He bade me when he gave me the first one. Ever since then, I have written my fill of journals , though there is a few decades of my story missing. I’m sure I can sum that time in a few lines.

I walked. I hunted. I slept. I walked some more.

As for now, I should remark upon the easiness in which the throne has passed from myself to Remi LaBorde. I feel, despite the lingering misgivings I have towards Malkav’s progeny, that he will do well enough. The ceremony was casual. I rented a blood doll from the deceptively obvious “House of Dolls” in Seattle – where there are plenty of men and women who will, for a price, submit themselves to the pleasure of the Kiss. Escorts, some call them. Whores. In fact, the business is guised as an elite escort service to a specific clientele. This is actually true for they cater to vampires.

Honestly, I despise humans who so willingly subject themselves. Granted, It helps one’s morality (if one has morals) to feed off a willing body. Their minds are entirely deceived by their own fantasies. They idolize us vampires. They don’t know what it is to desire blood. To live prey to one’s beast. To forsake your identity and perhaps your very soul and trade it for an existence that grants you eternal life in the dark. I would give anything to be human, even if for a single night. They don't know what it is to kill and what it means to take another's life. How wretched and terrible a thing it is!

I digress.

I know I should write more. Write what had become of London. Write how my nights are filled with guilt. How the beast claws and eats at me because I refuse to partake of human blood. I'm...de-evolving and I don't care.

Perhaps I should write to gloat how I have taken down another of the Ace's. Two, actually. I can't. My heart isn't in it.

Maybe I should write about the the gathering of wolves and vampires in the church so that we might declare truce and how poorly I behaved - but all I could think about was their blood and how hungry I was.

Le Rêve de Trois

“Why are you ‘ere again?”

I’m confused. Where is this voice? It sounds so…familiar. I reach for it and find that I can’t. Why? Why can’t I extend outwards with my thought? I’m trapped?

I feel trapped.

“What do you mean?” I ask with a cautious voice.

“You were just ‘ere wiss me not so very long ago. What ‘appened?” The voice possessed a strong, refined French accent.

That’s a good question. What had happened to me? And where was here?

“Je..nais..” My voice drifts as I try to find the memory, but everything is so murky. I was meeting the Professor, I know. I remember trying to hurry out of my office. I remember putting on my hat, my coat, and my scarf. Bernie..he asked me to bring him back a piece of Rawni’s pie. That’s right, I was going to go meet the Professor at the diner for the dinner hour.

The waitress at the diner – another vampire – was trying to offer me foodstuffs. What was her name, again? And then the link..Celeste...she was screaming. I was screaming!

“Where am I?” I asked the voice as I felt my way through the darkness.

“You’re ‘ere. Every where. No where. Some where,” She said in that familiar voice.

“Am I dead?” It’s the only thing I could think of in reply to so cryptic a thing. Of course I was dead! But was I…finally dead? Panic stricken, I reached outwards, groping madly in the dark. No! I wasn’t ready to go.

Suddenly I felt a hand curl around mine and I was drawn away from the void. I stepped into light.

It felt…like a memory. There were dusky rays of sunlight, fields of gently swaying grass. In the distance I could see the green of orchards crops. The sky was too beautiful be natural. Violets, pinks, and oranges against fluffy white clouds. I let go of the hand I held and sank to my knees as I took in the sun - so warm. So…beautiful.

Was this heaven? Had I made it to heaven?

“Non, ami. You are not in ‘eaven.” As if she could read my very thoughts.

I turned towards the voice and stared. There stood a woman. Her frock was wrought of striped satin and sashed smartly beneath her breast. Firey curls were drawn away from her face, but left to spill down her back. Her skin was flush, pale, and smattered with freckles.

She smiled at me.

“But...”

“Yes,” She laid her hand upon her breast, “I am you. Or part of you. I am Callie De Freyne, your former self. “

Well, it’s not every day once meets their selves – former or not. I crossed my arms over my waist, mistrusting this illusion. Callie - or me? - shrugged apologetically, then gave me a knowing smile.

“I know it’s strange. ‘ere,” She gestured with an extended finger towards the orchard. “There you are as well.”

I was afraid to look, but look I did. There I stood in the distant shadow, a black mote in the light. Hair combed and pinned tight. Dark boots, dark pants, and a dark jacket. There were knives at the belt. She was battle ready.

“It’s the beast” I said.

“That is so.”

“And you are my human self.”

“yes.” Callie smiled warmly.

I stepped away from her, edging close towards the other, and stood between them.

“You are dreaming, you know.” The beast says. Her voice sounds different to me. Cold and unfeeling. Almost insulting with her menace.

“Yeah…” I see that. It made sense. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“A few days,” Callie says. “Isn’t it wonderful? To stand ‘ere in zee sunshine? So peaceful.”

“A few days too many,” The beast suddenly advances. Her face? It’s my face! Pale and without color. Her eyes are vicious and black. Her mouth is full of sharp, jagged fangs. Her expression is twisted into something horrid. She darts, swaying on her feet, and clenches her fist. “I’m STARVING!”

“Look at you, you sniveling little FOOL!” The beast continues. Her shadow oppresses me. I feel like I’m sinking in her wake. “WHAT are you becoming?! Prey to your sickening human feelings, prey to your morals. You are a MONSTER! BE a fucking MONSTER! Bring me the BLOOD of life!”

I felt her rather than saw her. I crumbled into the grass, weeping, because I felt her. Felt the gnawing in my body, the primal and aching need for blood. The thirst BURNED in me. Consumed me. The sun in the sky felt so painful to me.

“Shh..” There was a hand on my hair. It nurtured and assured me, “It’s just a dream.
I felt so young. Like a child. Like this girl – this image of myself – was my mother. Her words brought me calm. Also? I felt…courage.

“This is a pretty fucked up dream.” I said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” The gentler side of me went on, “You being with your consciousness isn’t so far fetched, is it? I’m sure you’ve dreamt worse. Keliah, you need to balance us.” She glanced away and stared towards the beast.

“You’re hunger is beginning to take it’s toll. Look at you, asleep for three days. If you had the proper nutri-“

“Don’t even go there,” I interrupted myself. “It’s not that easy. I just..I just can’t anymore.”

“Get that HUMAN! Get that HUMAN’S blood! The one you like to smell and feel – Why don’t you EAT him. Such easy prey! So close all the time. I’m SO hungry!”

“You mean…Skip?” I asked, horrified. “No! Never!”

The beast looked positively exasperated.

“You love him? How fucking worthless. Ask him. ASK HIM!”

I wanted to get away from it. I tried. She was always there at the backs of my heels, no matter how far I ran away from the hillside. And I ran smack right into the arms of Callie.
“It’s so good of you to choose life. It is. I know ‘ow much we value it, but Keliah…you have to find peace somewhere. You ‘ave to balance it. You ‘ave to bring us order. We’re so lost..”

Lost? We?

I sank to my knees and regarded the setting sun. It seemed so far away. I suddenly felt pretty lost.

“But I killed…”

I wept in my hands – still tears of blood in my dreamscape. Callie knelt before be and guided my head to rest upon her lap.

“I don’t want to kill anymore,” I sobbed, “ I was so...clean! I hadn’t killed in so long! I don’t want to thirst anymore. I don’t want to thirst…”

“Well, zen don’t wake up.” The projection of Callie said.

“I have to.”

“Why?”

….Why? It’s a good question. More importantly, how? How can I wake up?

La Maison de la Route

How do the words go? The song Americans sing before the almighty sports event.

And the rocket’s red glare;
The bombs bursting in air.

I don’t think many of America’s people really know what it’s like to be in the middle of such goings on. To be marching under gunfire, pushing your way through enemy lines while the sky explodes above you, and hope that you live to see the bitter end and taste the sweetness of victory. To be honest? I don’t really know, either.

When the first World War came to an end – oh! How Paris celebrated. Children in the streets with sparklers, fireworks in the sky, and her people singing, cheering. At last they were free of Germany’s thumb. At the time I simply did not care. I went into the war with the desire to better myself and lend my aid to the sick, the wounded, and the dying. When it ended I was a vampire and cared little for the goings on of the world. My blood lust was insatiable, my appetite great. All I wanted was to hunt and be a dutiful member of my Prince’s society. I wanted to live with Kristof for eternity.

I grew up, though. I was turned over to Morelle in order to tame my then-violent nature. She taught me to transform the chaos in my head and bend it to my will.

“Rage goes ‘ere,” Morelle’s voice pushed through my mind. Her hands tightened around mine. We sat facing the other, identical save our coloring. She is black; I am red. “Cage zee beast, Calliean, and be mindful zat you do not lock zee door.” I remember what it felt like, trying to expand my mind’s power, and do as Morelle bid me. “Feelings are useless. A killer requires naught. Control zem.”

She showed me a room – steel and cold – in my mind eye. It was empty of color and packed with neat little boxes. This was Morelle’s mind. Everything carefully and neatly packed away. Her rage, her feelings, her instincts, some of her memories… She was a master with her gifts of the mind. I remember vaguely wondering where she kept her ‘nice’ box. Morelle was not very nice.

However, I can’t discredit Morelle. Because of her I learned to set my own mind like hers. I learned to tame my beast. I learned to lock my emotions away in their own little boxes. How to pack away my memories and carefully arrange them ‘just so’. I got so good at it that for the longest time it seemed like I was a stranger to my own conscious thought. A visitor in this cold, grey chamber full of the things that made me. And? I was comfortable this way; so in control. I was my own mistress. I was a streamlined machine and I was fucking good at it.

Once I was alone and well away from the ‘hive’ mind, so to speak, I spent much of solitude reinforcing the layout of me, but eventually, things began to change. I struggle now. It’s not so easy to be what I was – Keliah Angelis, Scourge to the Prince of Paris. It’s quite obvious four decades of alone time and Ravenhurst changed me. It’s odd to worry about mundane things, but it’s refreshing at the same time. I wake up each evening with good intentions and the desire to protect. I mourn and grieve the lives I have ended. I want to constantly fall into Skip’s arms, but that is…strained. I’ve become too sensitive and too easily baited. I think I’m failing him somehow. He is more quick to admonish me than anything.

I’ve tried to change. I stopped eating human and tried to survive off the blood of animals. I became weak and temperamental, but I was ready to stand by these convictions and remain clean of death. Even if I suffered, I would be alright, because if I no longer slaked my thirst on the blood of man then I was no different than man, right? Then Skip wouldn’t have to worry about my humanity and maybe if I was no longer a killer…maybe he would trust me.

The blood of animals wasn’t enough to sustain me. In the end vampirism wins out and I fell asleep in the diner floor only to wake up to critical words and Skip’s blood gushing down my throat, forced there because I was too weak to refuse what I vowed I should never take.

In my dream, I told myself I had to find a way to balance the three of us. Me, my human nature, and the beast’s. That night, after I was strong enough to depart the room and Skip was sure I wasn’t going to go on a murdering spree, I went to check out the light house and ate freely of the blood dolls thinking that both human nature and beast would be content. I was happy to be full. The beast was happy to be full. My humanity still suffered, despite the fact that the girl who slept beside me on the couch had willingly put herself at my mercy. To me, she was still being taken advantage of. To me…I still mourned the very need in which I had to use in order to sustain me.

I think, now, as I sit here and write this, that I am the worst vampire ever. I went from being something truly great – though I see no greatness now in my past deeds – to being an emotional ball of contradictions. I skirt between two worlds rather than belong to one: vampire and human. On top of that I skirt by on the future, but I dream about the past. I just wish I could change it all…

It takes one conversation with an odd woman to open my eyes. Her name is Anna. I call her Dreadlocks. She smells unwashed and like earth, carries lanterns and cookies, and wants a job at my station.

Suddenly, I have an idea... and it's pretty crazy.

Malheureux Enfants

The new light house is working out nicely. The masons brought in weathered looking stone in order to appear quite like the antique landmark it used to be, as if the light house’s tower had stood the test of time through many storms. I rather enjoy the seclusion, for a fence of stone has been erected around the perimeter, affording the Prince his space required to train his soldiers. This time we made the tower taller so that we can see for miles upon miles. The cellars are still being worked and I am looking forward to gardening in the spring. I do love roses. We are also waiting for the contractor to come and put in the actual light, seeing as how Treason’s was smashed to bits.

It’s decorated, curtained, and furnished. I even had my piano moved – then tuned – to the upper floor where it stands (not too) near the fire. There’s something charming about the place, truly. It reminds me of old world and the new, which is what many of my people are.

I found myself there looking for Reen. Remi was there, amongst a human and another vampire – one that I met yestereve. Already I forget his name. So many kindred pass in and out of our net. I’ll take time to remember their details if they wish to stick around and actually contribute to our society. Reen was not there, but his leavings were. Another body. Same MO. Thing stunk, too. How long had it been there? A day, at least.

What am I supposed to do about this? Reen, who I officially claimed to be my childe, was swiftly becoming a disappointment. I didn’t teach him this. This isn’t how I hunt. I encouraged to hunt like an animal. To be the animal. When he wakes up from this..whatever it is…how is he going to come to terms with all the death he has caused? He’s too human still.

Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I can’t stomach these acts because I’m too human still. Maybe I can’t stomach this blatant and thoughtless disregard for life.
Maybe I’m just too harsh a judge on those who are.

Regardless, what if there are more bodies out there? I fear the immediate consequences. What if the Marshals find them before I do? Or what if his actions draw the attention of hunters? I fear the worst. How dare Reen draw so much attention to us?

I left him another phone message. Did I expect him to call? Or answer? No. I threatened the blood hunt into his voice mail – much to Remi’s displeasure – and made to leave the light house so that I could go hunting for Reen. Except that Celeste was there with her hapless attitude. I don’t know what to do with this girl anymore. This girl who clings to my skirts and thinks herself incapable of self-guardianship yet time and time again continues to test my limits.

I suppose my love for her kept me shouting threats rather than doing anything about them. However, when she dared lift her voice to Remi in such a way that he could easily dispatch her for such disrespect I knew I had to take matters to hand. We fought. I spilled what little blood she had upon the stones by drawing my knife across her throat. The addiction to fairy blood has poisoned her damn mind. So, she’s going to rest. Sleep. Enjoy torpor. Maybe I’ll have my daughter back when she wakes up. However, this is her last chance to remain at my side. If she doesn’t come back from the dead as a more tolerable member of society, then she’s on her own.

My words are not without their hypocrisy. I’m not exactly the biggest fan of our society, either. Sometimes the old ways and I do not mesh, but I still know what they mean and what purpose they serve. Celeste needs to learn how to be a woman grown and she needs to learn real soon. Whether she stands by my side or no, her mouth will earn her nothing but her final death. I worry for it.

My children.
My bonded.
My headaches.

It’s been three days since I drained Celeste of her vitae. Because of the construction still undergoing in the Light house cellars I decided I would take her back to the apartment and keep vigil there. This worked out for me just fine, really. Celeste in torpor was more ideal company than the mouthy brat she had become. Once her body was safely tucked away, I went home to collect a few of my things, the top of my lap, and one of Skip’s pillows as an afterthought. No one was home. Not a soul. Not even the outwardly bizarre Kei.

Mon cher ami,
I will be staying with Celeste for a week. She developed an unseemly addiction and I am helping her through it. Of course, I am but a phone call away. – Keliah

I made use of the liberal amounts of papers upon Skip’s desk, debated on adding sentiments and flowery prose, and then decided simple was best. The note I left resting on the keys of computer and I removed myself from the familiar darkness that was the Professor’s room.

The first day I spent in silence, opting to take the time off so that I might ‘nurse my cousin’ back to health for she was suffering a ‘bad case of the flu’. The office falls for this, as I knew they would, telling me to give their former compatriot their best and wish her a speedy recovery.

When she wakes up she’s going to be so mad. She’s also going to be hungry and I’d prefer to not be on the menu. I shudder to think of it – of waking up from torpor. I think of the captain on Zack’s boat. How I had woken up with the bloody still-beating heart in my hands. I’m going to have to provide her with a human meal. Something that will wipe away the traces of fairy blood coursing in her veins, and then perhaps she will return back to her normal self. It’s entirely experimental, but I’m hoping for the best.

In the quiet I pursued my research by spending a great deal of time looking up ‘old friends’. The new oracle that people call ‘google’ yields very. In fact, I can’t find anything on the Osiris' mirror save mention here and there as some speculative rumor. It’s like it never existed.

Which makes me wonder…
Did it?

Can I even worry about this now? I have so many problems to contend with. Like the former Elder’s murdering son, who must know by now that I am looking for him. Celeste and her ‘illness’. Work. Mundane things. Hunger.

I can feel the ache burning in the back of my throat, the need for blood great. It’s been nearly a week since my last meal and the idea of going on the actual hunt is daunting, but I’m slipping. If I go back to taking out animals, Skip will be displeased, and then most likely lecture me on the dangers I pose. If I dine on the blood of man, well, I just don’t want to.

Two days pass in silence. I find nothing on the mirror. I can’t even find a name. On the third eve I finally leave the house. First to investigate a call – not much to see save a banged up girl, a paranoid boyfriend, and a very polite fireman to cart said banged up girl to the trauma center. Secondly, it’s time to go to Seattle so that I might procure something for Celeste and something for myself.

I muse over the scene as I guide my boat towards Seattle – I can’t help but think on the girl. What if Reen had been trying to get to her? What if the Marshal’s killer had been responsible? It was probably the boyfriend, though. It usually is.

Blood Oaths

It’s been so long since I’ve had the time to actually sit down, block out the rest of the world, and actually write in this book. I think the only thing that compels me to do thus is the image of Kristof’s disappointed face.

Tsk, tsk, my daughter…

I’ve just been so busy. The Department is cut down to slim pickings. I’m not too worried for this in the very now, seeing how sleepy Ravenhurst has gotten. Reen has gone off to California, or so Celeste has told me. I’m sure the message his sister left for me had something to do with it – and I wonder how will he fare? Now that he’s experienced the more beastly and murderous side of his nature, how will he manage in the company of his mortal family? At least he is no longer leaving his victims behind here in my town. Especially now that I no longer have a full time pathologist. My previous one was a little vacant upstairs. She was easy to dupe and control which was very convenient for the veil. Now? Until someone steps up to the plate, I suppose victims will go to the mainland where I have no influence. Save I don’t have any victims right now. Whatever the Marshals were looking for must have moved on – I see neither of them. The only calls I get these days are car wrecks and domestic disturbances.

See? Ravenhurst is sleepy and at peace.

As I have mentioned recently, the light house has been completed. Now we have an under ground dwelling. I miss the cave, though. I miss that hidden entrance to the sea. I can forgive the destruction of the previous light house, but I can not forgive the loss of the cave.

In wake of the light house’s newness the vampires return. My old friend Jubei and his companion Georgia along with Jade Courval, who I had met some time ago during Angelica’s reign, have taken over the old bunker that Michael and his pets had nested in. It’s elegant and sumptuous all at the same time, promising the denizens of Ravenhurst a taste of sin and wickedness if their particular tastes sway that way. I also hear rumor of a new faction. One that Celeste has joined with.

Celeste. I’d rather not speak of her. I’d like to stubbornly say she is dead to me. Indeed, I have cut aside the bond that holds us together. "Never again contact me this way!" I had said, perhaps thinking it would be enough to make her realize how off she is. Instead, I realize I have punished myself. I can feel it still. It’s like a hand that’s reaching for mine. One that needs me. It’s very hard to not link with it and hear that constant noise. Without the bond, my psyche has grown quiet, and I feel bits of my purpose slipping away. Kristof’s bond looms in the backdrop as well. I’d run to it if I could – and my dealings with Celeste only make me realize how much anguish I put him through.

Guilt gnaws at my heels, and now I cannot run from it. So I send him little notes through the phone. I take snapshots of home and of myself and also send them through the phone. I tell him of things that I find amazing in our current time and listen to the mellow roll of his voice when he calls me to talk about the past. It’s just...not the same as having the bond and I dare not reach for it. If I did, well, Mystro would know me through the bond he shares with Kristof. I still have Jake. I can still feel him, that is. Jake's presence has always been a very quiet one. A sort of ebb in the back ground. I'm barely aware of it.

I wish Pandora would come back. If she did, I would bond with her – my real family in every sense of the word. My cousin from the same blood. I miss her gentle face, her soft voice, and her docile sweetness. I don't even know where she is. My last letter? Algerie, written in her typical poetic way.

And Skip, well, I would never dare propose it. I would love it. I would love that awareness. However, I know he would refuse it. In fact, I’m quite sure he would think me ridiculous for even proposing it. I can picture his raised brows now and his stern, sharp face frowning at me in disapproval. I can't fault him this. Besides, I respect and value his privacy. And his humanity. The latter being so desirable to me that I can’t stop wanting him intimately near me.

I think back now upon our first meeting – how sad and broken he was - and all the things the two of us have been through over the past year, separately and together. I’ve never seen a mortal evolve so much and in such a short time. He amazes me, truly. His companionship as it is surpasses any oath of blood.

Tai, avez-vous pris ma culotte?

Last night the Brethren gathered for Court, something Remi has faithfully been doing over the course of the past few weeks. Already he is a better leader than I in this regard. Personally, I never cared for Court. Remi though, who is as mad as a hatter, is true to his roots of the old ways. He upholds the laws of our Elders and respects the way of the things. This is why he makes a better Prince than I.

There is also empathy in Remi. Oh, my blonde little friend will deny it whole heartedly and if brought to his attention he would dismiss it most angrily and declare (in a very long and detailed speech) that his cruelty is in top form. Little does he know that I’ve been watching him over the course of our togetherness. He never kills. Ever. I’ve seen his beast, yes. I’ve seen him seize opportunities to commit atrocities and yet, somehow, he usually doesn’t. I’m certainly not saying he is a shining star of goodness, because he isn’t. But beneath the chaos of his consciousness I wonder if the humble farmer’s son still lives.

Let’s take the wolf for example. Remi captured Fen, one of Rie’s pack mates. Fen committed great crimes against the Kindred in his past. He slew a Malkavian elder and amazingly enough he lives to tell about it, standing in subservience to Remi with a defeated soul. Remi granted him a sort of mercy, if it had been me I would have simply taken the wolf’s head. Justice, for me, has little leeway. Again, this is why Remi is a better Prince than I.

At Court we spoke of the vampires nesting in the church – which I know very little of. I do know that Celeste has joined them. Remi refers to them as the Sabbat. Are they truly Sabbat? I can’t say, though I have a big problem of vampires nosing their way into my territory – I will always refer to it as mine – without a proper introduction of themselves. Such an offence is hard to overlook. Jubei stood in the audience of the Prince and I couldn’t help but regard him with a sort of lust. Not the bodily kind, mind you. Rather of what he and I used to do together. Talks of taking out the Sabbat make me long for my knives. Inside of me the beast laughs and it shames me to know that the inner workings of my bloodline will always rise to the occasion for blood lust.

On more mundane notes, someone parked their damn plane on the docks and locked my boat in. Tai’s chimney was puttering out smoke so I went to investigate. Out of jest I teased her and baited her into believing I was there to cite her, but I think she took me seriously. For some reason I have a work order on my desk for parole goons to fix her dock and provide landscaping work. Yesterday, when I woke up, I was also without panties.

I don’t spend a lot of time with the hermit from Lexie’s room. She’s rather weird, extremely chipper, and confiscates a lot of Lexie’s time, but when I ventured out into the main house Saturday night and found her, a large bag slung over her shoulder and guitar case in hand, I was rather surprised. She greeted me in her customary cheeriness and took note of the large duffel slung over my own shoulder. Seems we were both going somewhere.

“Are you moving out?” I didn’t want her to. Her and Lexie seemed to be very good friends and I would feel sad for my fellow redhead if such was the case, though this house was beginning to get a bit crowded.

She shook her head. It caused the delicate ornaments she had decorated her neatly bound hair to give a silvery jingle. The classical appeal of her hair clashed with the thing hooked through her nose and the inked stars I could see peeking out from the collar of her sweater, “Nope! Just going to the city for the weekend. Band puh-ractice and shopping!”

I sighed. Or rather, I fell silent. No breath came from my lungs.
“You want a lift?”

Her eyebrows practically lifted off of her moonish face. Probably she was considering the ferry boat versus riding with a vampire – which was more dangerous?

“I heard your driving was…um,” She gave an awkward laugh.

@#%$!

She followed me anyways as I popped in a message to the Professor via my (yet another new) cell phone: Going to the city. Checking on my property. Apparently a pipe is busted. Also, my cat might have died. Maybe I will bring you back a present? Take care.

People have no faith in my driving, but that’s alright. I am rather terrible at it. In truth? I was sort of terrible at driving carriages as well. The great thing of growing up when I did is that I never had to. Horseback suited me fine. Or the passenger seat. Cars are awful things and they make terrible sounds when they hit other cars. Or poles. Mailboxes? It’s like they have this suicidal tendency to leap in front of your nose while driving through residential neighborhoods.

Regardless of what people say about my driving abilities, they do not apply to the boat. Out on sea, I am different. If I could live on the thing, I probably would. I so love the ocean.

It was tricky work getting my vessel launched from the dock. Most of it was me pulling the ropes while Kei clung to the rail. See, I had the airplane wing to work around. Once we were clear of the dock and chugging out to sea, Kei relaxed. Maybe she likes the water to.

“Hold on.”

She stashed our bags under deck while I was pulling us out to and found purchase on one of the crates. The idea of ‘holding on’ was a foreign concept to her apparently because she raised her arms in the air and proclaimed something in Japanese as I upped the throttle and moved us into deep sea.

It was cold out on the water and very windy, but the ride was peaceful all the same. I can’t wait to come out when the whales are back from their migration. I hope I impressed her with my boat driving skills – I didn’t take out any docks or people.

“So..” She said as we spilled out of the boat. The time? It was about nine.
I looked at her blankly. So, what? She trailed along my heels as we moved up the dock. We had beat the ferry by a good hour, probably.

“Hey, do you want to get a du-rink?” She asked,bright eyed and sweet. And then her face fell, her cheeks reddened, and she realized that I probably don’t go out to bars much.

“Sorry, mademoiselle,” I said to her, amused at her, “I hate the bar scene. Where’s does your friend live? We can share a cab.”

And so Kei and I piled into a cab together . Her feet did not quite touch the floor.
Our happenstance venture together must have changed her opinion of me thus far, because as soon as the car was moving, she started chattering away. Was she nervous? Maybe. The beat of her heart was a bit fluttery in nature all in itself and I could detect no changes, but maybe climbing into a cab with a vampire was just as unnerving as getting into a boat alone with one.

I learned that Kei has:
-A love for Edward Cullen that makes me cry inside
-Thinks cats are the cutest thing ever and can’t she just have one in Ravenhurst because the magic shop would be that much more kitchy with a few cats
-Devoted her entire life to mashing up tradition and modernism in hopes to be unique
-An adversity to math
-An extreme distaste for American beers
-A ‘hard-on’ for rock music.
-A hello-kitty electric guitar (to go with the fifteen or so that she already has)
-Big dreams of quitting school and becoming ‘the next big thing’
-Pocky in her handbag RIGHT NOW and is saving it for the ride home.

Her friend wasn’t home. Apparently, band practice was put on hold. The disappointment writ on her countenance squashed all annoyance I had for the flighty girl. It’s like her adorableness moved that part of me that is older and female.

“You know, I have a cat at my place that could use some company. You can come to my apartment before going to yours,”

“REALLY?”

Oh God, “Yes.”

Beneath Kei’s bubbliness, I learned more things than what her random chatter portrays. For one, I think she has a crush on some Shayne fellow because she mentions him and Nicky frequently. Nicky I know; but Shayne? Very little. Secondly, I think she’s very lonely. Oh, she talks about Lexie and their friendship. She mentions casual acquaintances from school and talks about these friends of hers on something called a Skype.

It’s not a lack of friends, I think, that moves her to sigh at random or stare outwards in thought. She mentions her family an awful lot. Mostly, she talks about being separated from her sisters. She talks about ‘home’. At least we have this in common. We can both talk about our distant homes and miss them. I almost consider pushing her towards Jubei simply cause they are from the same place, but surely their cultures are entirely different now. That and Jubei night eat her. At this point? I’m considering eating her. She just won't shut up.

As expected, she screamed in delight over the orange tom cat – hey, if I was going to get a cat then it should be a ‘ginger’ too – and hugged him to death. He was not dead as expected, but rather aloof towards me. At least my homewatch lady was feeding him. My loft was in sad disrepair as well. The pipe that busted had seeped into the back wall on the kitchen side. I could smell the beginnings of mildew and would have to gut the entire kitchen. Which meant that I would have contractors in and out of this place for a month.

I think it’s time to move…

{To be continued.}

Kei and I
(Part Deux)

“So when are you supposed to go to, uh, band practice?”

“Just waiting for them to carr me.”

Carr. Call? And who were them? I supposed they were the girl’s friends. She had gotten over the cuteness of the four legged bastard who had invaded my house and was busying herself with her phone, and I assumed she was either messaging ‘them’ or Lexie.

“I wanted to check out a store, anyways. If you want to come with me until your friends call…”

I wanted to talk to this David Smith and I wanted to further my inquiries of the mirror. Mostly, I didn’t want her standing around in my house. So Kei, guitar case and duffle in hand, shadowed me out into the city streets of Seattle.

The blocks became shadier and shadier; the people more unsavory. That’s the oddity of downtown – some of it is grand and some of it shady. We pass night clubs, bars, and throngs of party goers.

“Heeeeey, it’s Kei-Kei from the Megaprims!” Someone calls out to us, or to Kei rather, and suddenly I’m surrounded by young people who reek of marijuana smoke, alcohol, and and the fabric softener their mothers wash their grungy clothes in.

“Hey, guys!” Kei does this odd thing. Like, she kind of leans back and holds her fingers in the universal gesture of peace and smiles from ear to ear. Her gang of friends – at least I assume they are friends – all share collective high-fives and shoulder nudges. Some people crowd around her for photographs, the flashes from their telephones dazzling my eyes.

“You guys, like, rock..”
“When’s the next gig?”
“Hey, is the drummer single?”
“Rock on. I mean, rock. On.”
“I like your tattoos!”
“yeah, what do they mean?”
“Digging the new demo on your facebook…”

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump, KA-THUMP, KA-THUMPA-THUMP!

The heartbeats around me are beginning to mesh together in a sort of roar, Kei in the center of what appears to be the local nightlife, is just as calm as calm can be, smiling and chatting away to this group of folk who had obviously caught a few of her shows in night clubs around the city. She seemed to be in good hands - and it wasn’t as if I were responsible for her, anyways – so I backed off from the mini-mob of loiterers and snuck away, or tried to, rather.

“Oh Kerrrrriah!” I can hear her sneakers pounding on the pavement as she runs after me, and once she does, she resituates her bag and guitar, “So sorry!” I don’t think she was all that sorry because she was grinning from ear to ear. Her cheeks were flushed to and I could smell the blood, warm and sweet, moving beneath her skin from her exertion to catch up. Ugh. She needed to go. Lexie's friend was not on the menu and the scent of her blood was driving me crazy.

“The Megaprims?” I queried as I continued along, swallowing the desire to feed.

“Yah, Joshy came up with that name.” Like I know who Joshy is.

“What’s a megaprim?”

Kei shrugged, and smiled, “I don’t know! But it must be pretty spectacular.”

You know what is spectacular? The clock artfully welded and wrought into David Smith’s shop. It’s old, I know. Very old. Perhaps as old as clocks themselves, and David Smith, the Tremere vagrant who’s alias is clearly lacking in imagination, was far older. I also did not doubt that the clock was charmed somehow – either with his own gifts or perhaps from a magician, because Mr. Smith threw open the door to his little shop of marvels, filling out the doorframe. Poor man had died a fat bastard.

“Oh! Always such a pleasure to serve a cousin,” He hinted at the ‘cousin’ bit, meaning vampires, and his shrewd, cruel gaze pinned on Kei. Probably he thought I had brought him some Chinese takeout – wait, was Kei Japanese or Chinese? “Welcome to David’s Antiques, welcome. Be welcome! Yes, come on in. Take a look and see!”

I glanced at Kei, just in case she had one of those charms that radiate Danger! Danger! Danger! somewhere on her person and gave her a small nod of reassurance. Mr. Smith might look like a fat sleaze who was mentally undressing my friend’s friend, but he was old. More than likely he was putting on a show. Beneath that façade lurked an intelligent beast.

“Woooooah! Was this REARRY owned by Ervis!” She wasted no time in taking a look at the hole-in-the-wall store.

“Oh my GOD ROOK AT THE RES PAUL!”

And? She had found the music section.

“My companion is a musician,” I said to him. Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt. I had told the professor I needed – nay wanted – his help in this endeavor, and yet here I was, chasing after a leaky pipe and winding up in the Antique shop. I’m pretty sure he’d love this place, too. A vampire who collects antiques? I was looking not at knick knacks, but of pieces of history scattered here in there on table tops, spilling from shelves, and collecting dust.

“Ah, I see.” Kei was currently digging through vinyl records, “Well, then, Brujah. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for something,” I said, unfolding a piece of notepaper from the pocket of my jeans, and held it for him to take. He mused over the drawing and bade me to follow him to his counter. I think the cash register was a relic older than me, “The mirror of Osiris.”

David Smith grew rather grave. Something in his eyes darkened, hinting at the beast within. I might have replied in kind.

“You know, we don’t talk about it anymore.” By ‘we’ he meant the vampires, surely, “What would possess you to seek such a thing, Brujah?”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Tell him that I was tired of eternity, but not of life? That I was tired of being what I was and wanted my true and natural heart back?

“It doesn’t matter,” He went on to say, “The mirror has been gone for decades. I’m assuming it was destroyed – as it should have been – after it was stolen from the Nazis.”

My eyes narrowed. How did he know that?

“I stole it from the Nazis…and I did not destroy it. It was stolen from me before I could pass it along.”

This took him by surprise. David Smith considered me in a new light, or at least seemed to. He wrung his fat, pale hands together, “Maybe you should come back. In a week or two.”

I just nodded, and made to go, save to spot the fedora hat propped upon an old mannequin’s head, and I pointed at it for him to fetch it for me.

“This? Ah, this. This used to belong to a Mr. Humphrey Bogart. You know, he was all the rage not so very long ago.” He held the hat this way and that, and peered inside the bowl of it, and handed it over to me. “A cinema star.”

That hat was in pretty good condition. Needed just a touch of restoration. I told the Professor I would get him a present and I supposed this would do.

“I’m taking this,” I said, “Consider it a token to me for how handsomely I will pay for good information about a certain mirror – come on, Kei!” I called her away from a drum kit that she was about to start wailing on and we spilled out into the night. In the end, I decided to go with her to her band practice in order to hear the Megaprims live.

They certainly were no Bon Jovi, nor were they Queen. Actually, It was a lot of noise, though Kei was a pretty good guitar player.

I held the hat still, examining the brim for historical imperfections, and hoped dearly that Mr. Bogart hadn’t been fond of brill crème. The hat kind of smelled like cedar, so it was hard to tell.

“Cool hat,” Kei said, sliding next to me on a chair. Practice was at a break. She was sweating, flush, and drinking from a bottle of cold water.

“I got it for the Professor,” I said.

“Eh,” She starts, but then smiles, “It’s pretty cool!”

“I hope he likes it,” I said.

“You must rea…lly rike him?” She was looking at me funny.

I plopped the hat on my head and kicked back in the chair as her band mates began to re-collect themselves, plugging in guitars and fiddling on keys. The drummer beat out a rimshot.

“The Professor? He’s more spectacular than a megaprim.”

Deux Morts

It started off as a slow night – like most nights in recent weeks – and RHPD’s phone lines were being plagued with a crank caller. At first he amused me, but as the evening progressed and the harassment continued, yeah. I was seeing fire. I had to do something about it. I thought tracking down and collecting the crank caller was going to be the epitome to my night because crime in Ravenhurst has significantly decreased and Dugan and I often resort to games of chess.

Because I wanted to kill the crank caller so I took the North patrol and the residential neighborhoods it covers and left the South patrol to Dugan. The apprehension of him wasn’t as climatic as I had hoped it would be. I was sort of fantasizing about sneaking up on a madman’s house, to find him curled around his phone, and cackling in glee while he asks dispatch if they want Prince Albert in a can. Instead I pull up to small town suburbia: family cabin, two trucks, and a dog on the front porch. There’s a basketball hoop out front. The front door has an endearing ‘home sweet home’ sign on the door. Inside I hear the TV going.

Knock, knock assholes.

A man wearing a day’s worth of scruff and his PJ’s answers the phone. He’s rather bewildered at seeing me, my badge held aloft, and the lights of my police truck fanning over and over again across his front yard.

“Janie?” He calls out before he can even answer me. Janie being his wife, I assume, “Uh, what seems to be the problem, officer?”

Well, I rocked their world for the night, I suppose. Neither parent looked too pleased to see me arrest their goofy, lanky, and rather normal teen aged son. I’m not sure if they were mad at me for arresting him or if they were mad at him for being stupid. All I know is that the kid smirked the entire time he was cuffed, but when I threw him in the backseat of my SUV he cried like a babe during the drive back to the station.

It felt good to book that fucker. Take his prints. Take his mug shot. His father showed up shortly after I finished to come bail him out. I wish I had been a fly on the wall in that vehicle during the car ride. I sure hoped that fucking kid got the beating of his life.

Dugan seemed to also secure a catch for the night. As I was finishing Mr. Crank Call’s paperwork, he came upstairs with none other than Kei Takeda in tow, who reeked – just reeked – of booze. Oh, she was going on and on, saying her mind was quite clear! She was ok! She was just fine! I’m pretty sure if Dugan hadn’t been holding on to her that she would have fallen off the stairs. Drunk people are so entertaining.

“Kei…” I said to her after she had been placed in the cell. I didn’t think she would respond to me, but she looked at me as though I had just killed her best friend and then called me a bitch. At least I think she did.

“You bffftj. I noff..no. I’m fine!”

“Keliah! You better come down here...” Dugan interjects and I headed downstairs to find him hovered over the dispatch radio. I could hear the sirens of the ambulance already.

When we came to the scene behind the tattoo parlour -or what used to be the tattoo parlour – we were greeted with the usual gruesomeness. The EMTs were attending the scene along with one of the officers from Fire and Rescue, but I knew there was no life to be found here. I scented the freshness of blood, and I could taste it on the air, but these two were dead – the third already being carted away.

I hate homicides. They…are so wasteful. Death should come to only those deserving or those desiring. These two were just humans. Their throats slit. The bodies mutilated. I doubted they deserved nor wanted anything so heinous.

“That’s some disgusting shit, right here.” Dugan had slipped a gloved finger under the male victim’s bloodied shirt to spy the wounds left in place. In truth, there was nothing disgusting about it at all. The flesh had been cleanly cut and neatly stitched back together. An expert surgical hand had done this – not some hack and slash asshole. What struck me as disgusting was the methodology of this crime. It seemed so…scattered and chaotic. The arrangement of the bodies suggested hurriedness. Yet the wounds on the torsos of each victim were very meticulous and thought out. I later learned from the Examiner that the organs had been removed.

Well, so much for chess.

Simple Gifts

I hate it when I wake up in the middle of the day. Mostly because I am so weary - the song of the sun is so loud and frightening. I could possibly remove myself from the darkness under the bed, where it is safe, and keep away from the windows and the day light, in order to venture out into the house proper. Skip is awake. Lexie is awake. I can hear the daily din of the sink coming on. I smell the lingering scents of food having been cooked.

"Skip?"

No, I didn't think he was in the room at the moment, and he wasn't. I asked because I found myself sleeping next to the trussed up hat box. I meant to give it to him yesterday, but after the ordeal of magic done on my corpse, I think he - along with Nicky and his compatriot, Shayne - were exhausted. I will write more on that later.

For now, I will take advantage of the solitude. I will leave this box at the foot of his bed where it can not be missed. I will crawl beneath the covers and swap his pillow out for mine. I will...I...I will...sleep.

Muse Plus, Pensez Moins

I love simple things. Things like sea winds, a good pair of old jeans, and the feel of the earth beneath my bare feet. I love standing on the wall of the new light house and feeling the wind blow about my hair. I love the taste and feel of sticky, hot blood gushing against my tongue. I love Skip’s hands because they show the testament of time and feel so warm on my skin. I love the Light House. It’s so stalwart and noble; cozy and cloistered. I love sparring. Fighting! I shouldn’t, but I love violence. It’s part of the ancient lineage of my blood line.

I - dare I say it? - am happy. Yes, truly! I thought my bond-breaking with Celeste would have a longer impact on my emotions, and that the toll of such would be great, but I am fine. I’ve had a rather fine past few weeks, though the last was truly a gem. For one, Jubei and I, had a going out in the court yard. I think next time I will ask him to bring his sword and I my knives in order to obtain a true victor. His presence here is a balm and a joy. Even though the yukaza thug is about as feelingless as stone and just as abrasive – that can be frustrating – I am ever glad for his nearness. So glad that I’ve asked him to be on the council of vampires.

And the only thing I have to personally worry about is the sudden appearance of ghost sightings. Crime is at the low – save for Naz’s public tantrum and my unsolved murder case. That and the usual mélange of drunks and domestic disturbances which amount to nothing much. I think…was this what Alaska was supposed to be? The Haven of vampires I was originally going towards before I washed up on Ravenhurst’s crags. Somewhere up there is a utopia of undead, but I think I’ve found utopia already – despite all the curses and the darker things that have happened over the course of my time here. Sometimes I feel things are coming back full circle. My humanity. Things from the past – like Pandora and Jubei. I wonder if it is too early to see Kristof again, though after London, I am unsure.

And then there’s Skip at the end of all things; a sort of anchor in the center of my human-ish world and human-ish wants. Sometimes I dream dark things. Like I arrive to his room and it is void of all his things. Or I think maybe he might tire of this place and return back to Pennsylvania and leave me behind. I know one day he will, regardless, but I try not to think of it. Especially now while he still has vitality and youth on his side, though I know in the coming years this will decline – and I fear just how fast they will come. The mortal life span, at best, lasts maybe around the eighties mark. Sometimes more; often times less. Skip, in the grande scheme of things, has very little time and I have too much.

I wonder just how terrible would his hatred would be - if he could overcome it – if I turned him. Though, if he were a vampire, perhaps he’d inherit my strength, and if he did, imagine the furniture the two of us could destroy. I’d like to tell Lexie I’m sorry for ruining her sink and the dents to her counter top, but the circumstances leading up to such - like the sweat on Skip’s hair line and the rich baritone of his laugh against my ear, well, I’m not sorry at all!

Bonjour

Though the haze of pain I’ve adopted a subtle awareness of voices and touch. People touch me with affection. You know, touch my brow and stroke my hair sort of affection – things that are often given to the sick and dying by their loved ones. I just can’t open my eyes and see who does just that and the moments between awareness and consciousness are fleeting. I am sucked into the eternal black.

I’m not alone, though. I feel someone as if they are right here with me. My body shifts; I can feel a heavy weight settle beside me on the bed and then I feel their hands. The touch loves me. Truly and without reservation, the touch shelters and warms me. It’s unconditional and gentle.

“Etes-vous éveillé, ma fille? Comment vous sentez-vous?”

The voice is one of gruffness. A life devoted to pipe smoking, port drinking, and talking too much. I feel a warm finger sift through one of my curls and he arranges it just so over my petite shoulder. I feel so warm now and so tired, but I open my eyes to regard the man perched at the side of my bed and take comfort in his wide, round, and ruddy face. I love his stylish strawberry blonde whiskers and twinkling, blue eyes.

“Better,” I say, and I can’t help but smile. He leans over my body and tickles my cheeks with his whiskers and taps the tippy-top of my nose which causes me to giggle, and then subsequently I am racked with coughs.

“Shh, shh...” Concern passes over his face. Afterall, we live in a world where medicine is a stab in the dark. A cough can sweep through the country and rob parents of their children in a blink. A fever raises the whole town’s awareness. But, I settle back into my pillows and he tucks the downy quilt up to my chin and rearranges my night cap over my head.

“Regardez-vous. Vous vous donné à votre mère et moi peur!” He gives a smile in mock exclamation. Fading into the corner of my eyes I see ma mère – so beautiful. Her red hair artfully tucked up a top her head, and how slender her waist is – I hope when I grow up that my waist will be just as small. Her eyes seem dark with worry.

“Je vais bien,” I say. My voice is small. Weak. I press my small finger into the bulb of his nose in return, a sort of game we play. I’m trying to be brave, but the adults scare me with their henpecking worry. “Tomorrow? If I get better? Can I go see the new foals?”

That’s right. When I was younger I caught what the Doctors feared was consumption. I was almost eleven years old when I fell ill, wheezing and gasping, expelling foul sputum from my mouth and nose. I shivered and shook with fever for what seemed like ages to my child’s perspective while all the adult women in our country estate wrung, wrung, and wrung their hands at the foot of my bed. I was surely going to die, that was certain. Especially when the sputum turned bloody.

Looking back on it now, I probably just had an acute case of bronchitis, for no one in the countryside perished of consumption that summer. And now I have this memory of Georges De Freyne, to comfort me in the darkest of dark places.
Except it’s not really a comfort anymore as it serves only to remind me that, yes, I am fragile still and that yes, I am far removed from the loves that defined me as a mortal.

I reach out as I am now and swear I can feel a ghostly hand curl over mine, and then the sensation that I am not alone.

“Open your eyes,” The voice is elegant and whisper soft, the accents a mélange of long-ago. A university accent of both Germany and France. I gasp from the onslaught of feeling over such a voice centered in my dreamscape. I try to open them, my eyes, but I can’t. It’s just too difficult.

“You have to be more careful, Keli.” He says to me, “How is it that my very own childe got burned by the sun?”

I know its worry that makes him chastise me, but none-the-less, I feel sadness well in my breast over the disappointment I’ve caused.

Kristof roosts around in my memories. There is little I can do to stop him, for all I am in this very moment is an aware corpse. Some he chuckles over, some he is disappointed in, and some he is revolted by. I don’t really mind so much, for the two of us have not linked this way in so long. I want to crawl up the vine of it and entangle with mind. To be one again.

“Just look at you. How are you alive?” He continues to chastise me, but again, I know he does this out of love.

“Mystro is going to find out you’re doing this,” I finally say, shooting my message across the link, “Go, Sire. Go, Pa-pere..”

“Keli..,” The single utterance of my name is too painful, full of many emotions. Longing, separation, and loneliness. I know Kristof is not truly alone, for he has his Sire, Mystro Angelis, the Brujah prince. Still, it is hard to put to words what childe and sire mean to the other. My maker. My father. Not the whiskered mortal that bounced me on his knee, but still my parent in every sense of the word. And he knows I’m right. Mystro finding the two of us psychically linked spells only disaster.

“Go.”

The sensations of nearness don’t abate. Things are still happening around me, but I can’t pinpoint them. There are voices, and then there is Jake’s link to supersede Kristof’s. He’s near. There’s a hand sifting through my hair and then on my cheek. Someone kisses my cheek. Soon after, there’s another touch. Another kiss. A hand, warm and mortal, takes mine. I finally am able to open my eyes and I find myself in Celeste and Jake’s bed, Professor Zelin here to summon me back from sleep. My hand gently squeezes his – I don’t ever want to let go of it.

The ability for humankind to record their voices and play them back have been around for a while. What marvels me is how useless this technology is right now and yet, as the future comes, the devices that do this deed get smaller and smaller...

Commander Angelis here. Little to report in Raven City. Nothing much happens here, this decrepit part of North America carved out of what was once Detroit. When the government collapsed, the Vampire Authority purchased it for it's 'natural resources' from the Americans. We're essentially a private interest sector of old money looking to make more money on the backs of the broken and despairing. In truth, we just want control.

I've been content here. See, I have a job to do - a duty to perform to something greater than myself. This comforts me. It's just I don't know how it all came to be? The thing is, this weakness in my character - for weakness it surely is - would make me less trustworthy. It would be a mote on my record, which I know has enough black marks as it is.

I remember the past. I do. I remember my childhood, I remember my makers. I remember my training; I remember what it was to go into torpor. I remember leaving...

Leaving. Yes. I left France; I came to America. I left my family to save it, but the reasoning is vague. I know I went to Ravenhurst, a sleepy little town who's residents were fishermen and lumberjacks. It's just this Ravenhurst, I can barely recollect it. Its like I dreamt of it and can not remember the dream. There's a feeling of familiarity...but how long? What did I do? How did this happen?

And the worst of it is I have memories that are not mine.
I believe I committed the worst of crimes...

The repeated sound - a click, rather - sounds off about twenty times, with only a sigh for words. This is caused by the Commander pressing the record button followed by the stop. Repeatedly.

Finally, "Memories souvenirs m'échappent."