L'Ange Noir - The Chronicles of Keliah Angelis

Through a Glass Darkly

I had meant to just get a recounting of the events that had turned suspect Allen from friend and brother to criminal on the run, but Tabbie Blackthorne and I had other plans that went above and beyond your average witness testimony. She did fess up to ruining his car. I had wondered how that had come about, but honestly, I don’t really blame her. Thus, I promised her I would look the other way of said car unless he decided to press charges. After all, in my eyes, he deserves more than just a vandalized vehicle. I told her I was sorry, sorry that he had hurt her, and Tabs in her solemnity simply said that heart ache and feeling was just part of being human. No, I had said. It is part of being a woman. I did not want her to dehumanize me, or make excuses for her sadness. True, I have never really known heart break in this sense, for I have never allowed myself in all my years to become emotionally close with another individual save for my own Sire. I did, however, know sadness and grief. I wanted her to know that we, the Brethren of undead, are not immune to feeling.

I felt strange sitting in Tabbie’s sitting room - which looks like a photograph from some country magazine what with its endless arrangements of flowers, pinks, and pastels - as though I were out of place in my utilitarian blacks. We were united in one common bond, though, Tabbie and myself. That being the need to discern the reasons behind Jesse and mine’s fits of lunacy. It was here I learned what happened to him the night I wound up in Tai’s light and what had happened to Tabbie. The ravens had come and had come with a fury, just as my wraiths had come.

I explained to her the symptoms, mostly the memory losses, and we discussed other facts of the sickness. Suddenly she offered me a glimpse into her mirror, promising me the ability to search my memories and perhaps see the lapses I suffer. Even though I am apprehensive, I agree to this.

With Tabbie wanting something of mine, some personal artifact, I reached for my dog tags only to find them not there. I’m so used to their presence on my flesh that I had not noticed their absence. Oh my God? Where are they? I patted down the pockets of my jacket. Not there. I searched through the fragments of recent memory, recalling nothing. Maybe I had left them at the house? I texted the professor, his reply confirming the negative. No, he had not seen them. Dammit. Really, they are the only truly personal things I own. Where are they? And then I remember the pearls in my ears.

“These were my mothers. Will these do?” I unhooked one from my lobe, dropping the antique gem into Tabbie’s awaiting hand. It will do.

Tabbie takes my pearl upstairs and informs me to draw in a deep breath of lavender from the kitchen, which I do. It smells…like lavender. Not my favorite. Tabbie is setting up her alter of stone, the surface littered with various arcane objects and symbols. The pentacle makes me somewhat nervous, as does the fire rising from the candles. Upon the mirror rests my pearl earring. I am bidden to add a drop of my own vitae onto the mirror and so extending my fangs, I piece my index, managing to squeeze out a drop before the flesh seals back a whole. Tabbie follows suit and I stop breathing.

In all, the experience was quite surreal. Standing so close to her while she charged up her elements, summoned her quarters, and went through the incantations made me feel as though I were in another world. She told me to relax, which is kind of hard to do, but somehow I managed to shut off my systems and slip into a near-sleep. Tabbie curled her fingers through mine, her hand so lush and warm, and I was bidden to summon memory – first thing to come to mind.

Oddly, the year is 1908. I am 16 and a young woman of society. I clearly remember the bustle of mid-morning on the Parisian street. Horses and carriages, the occasional automobile of the insanely wealthy, and foot traffic of the commonwealth. Cafes are bursting with ladies at tea and men on business. It is me walking along the street. I can hear my little ankle boots pounding into the stone, proud and purposeful, and I feel elegant and slim (for waistlines had dropped and corsets cinched in extra tight in this fashion) in my new walking dress of mints, sages, and whites. My head is crowned with a wide hat, whose pins are crusted with pearls, the brim modestly decorated in white roses and ribbons. Beside me walks my mother. Her colors are more splendid than mine (for she was a fine, noble lady) and much darker, her shoulders wrapped in mink, and the hat on her head as fine and elegant as Paris itself, though artfully arranged to showcase her shocking, red hair. Like most relationships of parent and child of that era, there is more formality between us than there is fondness, but not so much that the two of us can’t frequent a ribbon shop and delight in it together – which is where we are going. My vision focuses on the pearls in her ears, one those very same pearls rests now on Tabbie’s mirror.

Tabbie speaks again, calling in a voice that sounds distant to me, weaving her spell and sealing the two of us in her circle and the mirror is all mine. I rewind, flashing backwards in my memories, which to me often feel like physical, tangible things. I want to see the things Skip has seen of me and this way I can do so (hopefully) without the need to invade his own personal, private memories.

I appear in the mirror and I am taking the back way to the Red Dragon, leaping the stone wall suddenly and coming to land upon the Asian style table, staring at Skip’s back as he puffs away on a cigarette. I feel a rush come upon seeing this, especially now in this whole new objective. I want to rewind and approach him differently, rather than as I usually do. More gusto and less pacing uncomfortably on the outskirts of feeling. In the vision he turns to face me, a cast of annoyance (probably at my sneakiness) on his visage before he tips his hat, smiles at me, and then informs me of those things called doors.

I hope off the table, ask him if he would like to see the girls, to which he agrees and he and I are walking in silence towards the door of my house. My voice sounds alien and weird from the mirror as I explain to him the situation and why we are at my door. I watch as I go upstairs and see the figure of Kim staring out of my window, looking lost and lonesome, and I watch in apprehension as I gather her to me and begin to walk down the stairs with her, speaking to her in my voice of calm. I can tell we are linked together, she and I. Kim screams upon the sight of Skip, and his face is nervous. Clearly uncomfortable. I’m apologizing to him, trying to comfort both of them, and Cheryl steps behind us and suddenly I peer at Skip through a blackness, like a veil, and I am intertwined with Cheryl and Kim. There are bees; There is darkness. Cheryl’s voice is hateful and accusing, screaming at Skip about Susan. About how terrible a man he is, how terrible a father. How much Susan hated him. My eyes are angry, and indeed, I feel a sudden rising of hatred in my breasts towards this man, who’s face distorts in a twist of agony – I tell you, I weep now as I write this, the image forever ingrained upon my consciousness. Such raw sadness and pain as I ever saw, written in the face of this person I regard with tender feeling. Cheryl’s powers gather and I add my own into the fray, the two of us casting illusions of angry, stinging bees that swarm him and he flees, the sound of my laughter pealing from the mirror – I was enjoying myself!

I flash forward into my memories, seeking answers still. Here is Skip again, and he is drinking at the bar and angry with me. Now I know why. Now I get it. The realization sinks in that he is there to nullify the pain of his experiences with drink as mortal folk are often want to do (that is my guess anyways), and I am there badgering him for information after I had participated in the assault against him. I can’t bear to see this, so I moved forward yet again, filtering out bits and fragments of memories that I don’t recall now as plain as day before my eyes.

I’m standing on Remi’s balcony, waiting for him, and I know I’m there to collect him for Kim and Cheryl. Reen is on my walkie talkie and we chatter socially – am I being charming to him because I want to bring him to them as well? In this memory, I suddenly hear Kim’s voice booming in my skull. Come, she says, we must find more. My stance changes and I watch the radio fall from my hand to the ground as I leap over the railing to the balcony below, the one that leads to Skip’s rooms. I watch, in horror, as I creep towards his door and I can tell, for I see the world in the black haze as I had seen it before, that my intentions are not good. I know, in this memory, that I am on the brink of Frenzy. His heart beat hammers in my ears and I crave his blood. His death. My hands move for the sliding door, about to tear it off the hinges probably, but Kim’s voice is with me again, and she’s summoning me. I’m suddenly racing, running for her, her figure coming into focus as I slip down the street towards my home. Her and I walk together towards town…

By now Tabbie is faltering, straining under the weight of her magic, but she is so deep in her trance that neither of us really notices. My concentration is equally focused. We are wrapped together in the depth of this spell.

Like a soldier, I press on through enemy lines. Random memories, really. Here I am commanding the darkness. Beside me stands the wraith. It is a monster of mist and smoke, with a frightening, gaping maw, it’s appendages covered in tentacles that entwine and encircle me. Nicky is at my mercy, the creature’s grasp curling around his throat, and both of us (wraith and self) are laughing in glee. Fire. Nicky is the one who set me to flame.

I meet Kim in the clinic and she pressed against me. I can see it. See the darkness – the blackness – coming up through the link and I am frightened. So frightened that I run away.
Isiah’s face, pale and beautiful, is looking at me suspiciously as I try to offer him Kim as a meal.
Hale, equally pale and beautiful, flees upon Kim’s gathering Darkness.
Remi’s headphones fall to my floor and he practically makes out with Kim to take her dark gift. I can’t help but feel pleased.
Michael stares at me curiously, wanting to know what it is that is with me and I laugh in his face for he would never understand the glory!
Raven’s want into Lexi’s house and I want them there to. I want them to fucking peck her eyes out. I want to taste her again, this time with fear in her blood! But they must stop! Won’t they stop! Please, stop!
I am starving, I want Tai. Want her! The light of her makes me scream in agony, for the darkness screams.

I am flipping through them so fast, trying to catch these glimpses that I don’t remember. I think it is too much for Tabbie, for she sags against the alter and the spell is broken. Jesse is suddenly there to catch her – when did he show up? For the record, why did he show up? Oh, Tabbie, my friend, you exhaust yourself! Her nose bleeds with steady drips of vitae, scarlet and fresh on her wan face. He scoops her up and lays her upon the bed, suddenly tender and caring towards this woman he haplessly discarded.

If I were not so weary myself, I would have stayed and taken him in, but I knew I was weaker than he at this moment. Much of my offence relies on my mental abilities and everything upstairs was a scramble of confusion and exhaustion. So, I left. I went to the light house and gathered my things that I had strewn everywhere, and returned to the Professor’s house. He wasn’t home, which was well and good, I’m not sure I could really explain my meeting with Tabbie’s mirror coherently. Dropping my stuff on the bench in in the foyer, I crept upstairs and then crawled under his bed, falling into a death-like sleep, exhausted even though the song of the sun was far from cresting.
______________

PART DEUX
(Pantoufles Argyle)

I awaken to hunger, my stores well spent last eve. Still, I dress for patrol (I really need a uniform if I’m taking patrolling shifts), smooth my hair out with the iron so that it’s sleek and straight, thinking of my mother’s hair and the memory of it. I go through the rituals of making myself look more natural by sweeping mascara over my lashes, darkening the outline of my eyes with khol, and then brushing tint over my cheekbones. I slide on my harness, my gun at the ready on my left. Cell phone slipped into my pocket, radio clipped on my waistband. Badge snuck into my back pocket.

Patrol is quiet and fruitless, the town at ease, it’s citizens about their business, and I keep the darkness quelled and stay away from my house, though I consider perhaps going to the mines and unearthing that dog. Should I? Shouldn’t I?

“Berns,” I planted my cell phone to my ear, “Hey, later I’m going to head to the city to pick up some things along with a forensics kit from CODIS. If you get any calls, see if the rangers can help out. If not, get Dugan. It’s quiet, though. I don’t expect anything.”
But really, I need to eat.

My first patrol done, I head on over to the professor’s house. I catch him just in time to watch him perform his ritual warding, glad that he does it after what I had witnessed in Tabbie’s mirror, but still wondering if he would ever trust me to not destroy him. I find the need of thus important to me, for some reason. He doesn’t even need to remind me that I’m still unwell, and that I’m not myself, which he does. Remi reminds me for him, his voice suddenly in my head, suspicious of Linzee.

Linzee needs to meet them. Until then, show your divine gifts and be the Malkavian that you are, I reply. I show him an image of the mage’s store, almost as a reflex. I have hardly any control over my thoughts with Remi riding in on the link we shared with Kim’s magic.

Brilliant, he says. Some dark, buried self of me is pleased.

I’m glad Skip can’t read my mind, and I’m glad he’s been thinking a lot about this sickness on my Kindred. Whereas I believe Remi delights in the darkness (Malkavian and all), I crave the opposite. I want peace and calm. Order. On a whim, I mention going home. Not to my little home here, but to Paris, and had he ever been to Paris? Indeed, he had. On his bridal tour, or honeymoon rather. Great, I’ve managed to remind him of love lost.

Skip has developed a new theory, one of the fog. Perhaps the fog was not entirely driven away. Perhaps some of it had sank down into the mines. It is a good theory, and so simple! Staring us right in the face, really. But what about Kim and Cheryl? Are they the puppets or the puppeteers? He says that he must go down into the mines and I tell him of my plans to go get the dog, which he objects to. Simply because if there is fog down there, what would happen to me? I begin to object to his objections because I am the only person on this rock who can conduct an investigation, then I realized I’m being stubborn and digress to his logic. I’m just so tired of running into dead ends when I want to move on for him and find him something of Susan. I’m tired of fighting and losing. Of failing.

Skip comforts me, laying his hand on my shoulder. Perhaps he understands my distress, or perhaps he only sympathizes with me. Either way, he crossed the room to touch me and I am ever glad of it.

“Here, you comfort me when it is I who should comfort you.”

I glance down at the floor, and spy his slippers. Argyle. Now, who can’t smile at that? At least I can get him passage to the mines and possible escorts, and so I promise him I will call Kione to arrange matters. Both of us comment on the nobility of Ace, but really, I think we are courting awkwardness in the face of intimacy. At least I am. He fidgets by tugging on his ear and I gather the hand to me and examine it, turning it over so that I can spy the wrist, my fingertip tracing the lines of his veins. I can hear the song of his pulse, but I am not called by the blood. Would he taste bad? He asked this of me and I pressed my lips to the fragile, beautiful skin of the wrist, warmed.

“I prefer to taste you this way.”

I kissed him once again, on the mouth, seeking his warmth. I was hungry in more ways than just simple hunger. But of course, sweet moments are always over so fast for me. Time is fleeting and I have a ferry to catch.

Prenez Votre Envol, mon Corbeaux

Seattle is Seattle. It’s noisy, dirty, and teaming with life. What had Verity called it? Angst coffee? Yeah, it’s everywhere. Seattle is everything Ravenhurst is not. It’s huge, it’s industrialized, and it’s modern. Strange that our small town rock is so close to this city, and yet it feels so far. With the ferry docked, the wood smelling dank and musky to me, I would take my leave and hail a cab.

“The Sorrento,” I said to my driver, settling in to the worn seat. It smelled of humanity and air freshener back here. Why do people feel the need to disguise their scents under the chemical blanket of ‘spring flowers’, when in fact those ‘spring flowers’ smell more like toxicity than actual flowers? I’ll never know. Our cab moved through the blocks, settling comfortably in with the ebb and flow of traffic, until the noble façade of the Sorrento hotel appeared. With cash handed over, I exited the cab, and stepped into the lobby.

I’m out of place here. This is a luxury place, the décor giving nods to woodsy opulence and a touch of Italy with its rich colours of greens, reds, and browns. To me, it speaks more of generic commercialism, making a mockery of those citizens who do eek their living from the earth and live in more modest means. I’m standing at the desk in my worn denim, a baggy and shapeless sweater pulled over my torso to hide my gun and the gleaming pale of my arms. My hair is wind-whipped and halfway out of the pins that hold it in place. Sneakers adorn my feet. It doesn’t matter what I look like, however, for the person who stands uniformed behind the desk greets me with expectant, piercing eyes. The lightness of their indiscernible grey color swirling underneath with a pitch blackness. He is dead, like me.

“Keliah Angelis,” I say to him and he taps into his computer, drawing up a list of names that do not appear on the normal registry list.

“Ah, yes. Miss Angelis,” He says, “I have your name here. Welcome back to the Sorrento.” Retrieving a key from some hidden nook of the counter he mans, he slides it over towards me, and when I reach for it, his hand lays over mine, warm with rubescence, “Before you leave, the Manager would like a moment of your time. Please find him when you can.”

The manager. He really meant the leader of this little operation. I’ve met him before. When I first began to hunt here. His name is Thomas Arabie. I don’t know much about Mr. Arabie, only that this little historical gem of a hotel is also a haven for both visitors and residents of Seattle’s undead. One of many, I’m sure. Perhaps he sits on the Council of Brethren for this city, or perhaps he and his bloodline reside here for the means to generate cash flow and have their steady pickings of mortals. Who’s to say – I’m a nose to the ground type of person whilst I’m here.

“He can call me and arrange a time, I’m not going to sit around.” I told the desk clerk, reaching into my pocket and retrieving one of my cards. My turn to slide something over the counter and when he reached for it, I slammed my hand on top of his with all my speed, and he started, “Have a wonderful night.”

I turned, pocketing the key, and headed out back into the bustle of nightlife Seattle has to offer. Food. I change from my normal façade to the hunter. Part of me really hates this, but lately I’ve been delighting in it. Who will be my chosen one? I see faces as I move along with foot traffic, gauging their vitality, and seeking out their heart beats. Most look at me because even though I look human, there is something not quite right about me. My hair is too vivid, my skin too perfect. I’m a target for their eyes because they can not help be drawn to me. I’m a flame. They are moths.

I don’t often engage in the ‘thrill’ in my hunts. I’m not much of a sadist, I suppose. I don’t play cat to the mouse. I don’t choose victims who will engage me emotionally and ply into their intellect, nor do I play the role of seductress. In fact, I prefer to not speak to my prey at all save for the social necessities needed to breach the fist barriers of engagement. I see others, though, around me. They do play the game. Sometimes, that is all there is for us. A gentleman, beautiful and ethereal, holds a mortal woman on his arm. She is not so very fortunate in her looks, though she has taken extra special care in her dress. He makes her feel beautiful by giving her his special attention. Little does she know that it makes her more pliable for his Kiss. Tonight, she might be dead. Two women have a throng of men around them, their skirts too short. They play as though they are charmed, laughing openly at jokes that they probably don’t find very funny. One of them, the girls that is, will suggest soon that they all go to her place to wrap the party up.

Suspicious glances from gleaming eyes shoot my way as I walk along – who am I? – but I pay them no heed. This isn’t my home, and so I don’t care to engage them. The Nightwalkers. Do the mortals know how many vipers walk amongst them?

Finally, I find the choicest morsel to my pallet. It’s a woman. Mousey brown hair, dark eyes. She’s dressed in nondescript attire, hands in her pockets as she stands in front of the many corner cafés that seem to frequent this part of downtown. Waiting for someone, possibly. Or simply waiting for life to happen for her countenance is remarkably bored.

The reason I single her out is because of her blood. Sticky sweet. She is AB negative, I can tell. I can smell it’s parfum des fleurs. Moving towards her, I don’t even bother to give her a hello. I’m far too detached from her. She looks at me wearily as I approach her, but all that matters is that she looks at me.

“Come with me.”

My eyes locked on to hers, the command one she can not ignore, and she follows me. We recess ourselves further away, stepping in between the alley way that stands between the coffee house and the building beside it. It reeks of gutter muck and coffee. In this more private setting, holding her head in my hands, bearing into her consciousness, my net cast, I tipped her head to the side and sank my fangs into her neck with a sudden viciousness, starving. She moaned quietly, affected by the bite and its pleasure. My nose pressed into her skin, I could smell the fragrance of her shampoo and taste the trace bitterness of perfume on her skin. Her blood, so sweet and stark, flooded me in a rush. Perfect.

After I had supped from her, licked the wound of my mark to a close, I took her by the hand and lead her back to where I had found her. She would wake up from her trance soon enough, possibly starting, wondering how she had allowed herself to daydream in front of Starbucks.

I hailed a cab and I went to CODIS. I feel much better now with fresh stores of blood in my body. Walking into CODIS feels familiar and real to me. Again, I am a person rather than a huntress seeking life. I’m not a vampire encroaching on someone else’s territory. I’m just me doing my job.

“Hey, hey! How’s Ravenhurst County?” The nightshift desk girl – manning her station – pushes up her too-big glasses and smiles brightly at me, “Bernard said you were coming over. Man, it’s kind of late, isn’t it? You know, for coming all the way out here?”

I plaster a smile on my blushed lips, “You know how it is with us night shifters. I’ve been grave-yarding it for so long that I might have turned into a vampire.”

She just laughs, waves her hand at me, and then props her chin in her hand with a heavy sigh, her face cast into an eerie glow from her computer screen, “I love Lestat. He’s so dreamy.”

My lips quirk. Lestat? Really? I suppose out of the fictional characters out there, at least he is real to me. Perhaps he is a real man? Who knows.

“You can have him. I’m more partial to Louis anyways.”

I wonder if we are comparing Tom Cruise to Brad Pitt or if we’re actually comparing book characters. Regardless, she pushes off the frame of her desk and sends her chair across the sterile tile floor towards the desk behind her, gathering up a mountain of things for me.

Forensics kits.
Files stuffed in manila envelopes.

Using her foot, she pushes against the floor to propel herself back towards me and finally rises, forking over my things. We part company and she resumes whatever she was doing on her computer – probably warcrafting it with Berns.

Hailing yet another cab, I went back to the Sorrento with my acquired belongings and hopped into the elevator. I’m on the sixth floor. My room isn’t very grand, but that is fine. I hate grandeur, anyways. All that I require is that it comes with light blocking shutters. I have a little balcony to, and a clever little table and chairs. If I were mortal, perhaps I would take my tea here in the afternoon while enjoying the sights of the skyline. I stare down at the mortals below. Cars go by; People go by. The temptation to return to them is nearly drowning.

Now in my quiet, with naught to do, I sense the darkness in me and it wants destruction. I better go and do something about this. Fly, my ravens.

Fly.

My trip home was blissfully mind numbing as ferry trips are often are. Tons of engine noise, cool sea spray, and the smell of gasoline burning. I like to stand as far as the prow will allow and let the wind pull tug at my clothes and hair. It feels like flying and I am wedged somewhere between air and sea, there is no earth, and I can only keep moving forward. I know that sounds woefully Leonardo DiCaprio-ish of me, but I love it all the same.

I’m looking forward to being home, to be welcomed into the spider’s web once more, and to feel the nearness of Kim and Cheryl. The closer I get to the island, the stronger the pull – can they feel me to? That I’m coming back to them? I am comforted to believe that they are, feeling their links searching out for mine. Come closer. The ferry arrives in short order and the familiar scents of Ravenhurst are marred with the scents of garbage and sweet cooking grease. Oh yes, that carnival.

I suppose I should go find Linzee. She did call me, after all. First things first though, is the old man home? I shouldered my duffle and stalked towards the home we shared. The one he rented for himself; The one I crashed because I had not wished to be close to Kim and Cheryl, too afraid to embrace the monster I was becoming, but in actuality was using as an excuse to be close to him. To watch over and care for him.

What a sentimental fool Ravenhurst has made me! Here I had stood on the threshold of what I am supposed to be all this time and I was too comfortable to open the door. I feared to embrace change, but now I glory in this power that I have. This will that is greater than any Elder or any Prince, that being the will of my girls. I pity those of us who have not submitted to them yet. Can they not see what they are missing? How pitiful they are, shying away in their precious shells of themselves, fearing change. Fearing moving their eternal lives forward.

Evolution.
That is what Remi calls us Chosen.
We are the evolved.

The old man was not home. I found him at the bar slurping down alcohol and sadly, he was not alone. Lexie was there to along with two pool players and another girl loning it at the bar. Does he know that he is my target even as I loop my arm through his and lean in close, speaking on matters as mundane as his choice of beverage? Like I really care what the old fool drinks. All I know is that I need to drag him off alone and I can not convey Kim’s message to him with a bar full of people – especially Lexie. I have no idea how powerful she might be, or if she can command fire like Nicky.

He will not come with me, preferring the company of his vodka. So that he can remember and not forget some…mortal bullshit that I’m so far above that it doesn’t matter. I offer him the same, bearing my eyes into his, so he can see that they are not simply tissue connected to lenses and optic nerves, that they are eyes of a being above natural law. That there is power there.

I can make him forget.
Change him.
Offer salvation.

I won’t say that I do not entertain the idea of taking this traitor, this banisher of the fog, to my eternal Kiss and making him of my blood. I entertain it often, because I am - or was - so fond of this puny mortal. To make an alliance of my enemy and submit him to Kim and Cheryl’s power…let’s just say that, to me, it would be the ultimate gift I could give them. Perhaps even better than Linzee or Michael, for even though he would be but a newly born babe, he would be my progeny.

Sigh.
I can but dream.

Speaking of Michael, I found Mary Dickens plucking flowers for her scheme, and pried her with questions. I had been putting it off long enough – this issue of this neonate walking amongst us without parents or guardians. I don’t rightly know how old Mary is, only that she is very much a vampire and doesn’t seem to act her role. She is naïve, or perhaps seemingly too human. Like I said, the term Neonate has come up from the voice of one of my council members, William. He must have gleaned something of her age.

Regardless, when I asked her of her parentage, and her reasons for being here in our territory, she informed me that she was Michael’s child. That he had sent for her. I believe this as much as I believe in the Easter Bunny and tell her so. Incidentally, she had also said that Michael had given her permission to be here, and that this was his island.

Really.

And where has Michael been? Hiding in his little house on the hill? Where he harbors animals that rape and terrorize my ward?

If this is Michael’s island, then I’m the fucking tooth fairy.

My little street urchin straightened her shoulders, gathered her posture as though she were a petite princesse royale, and gave me a dismissive wave of her hand. Her efforts to make herself as someone else were amusing. I must admit, she is rather adorable in her infancy. Before she could stalk off, “If it's his, he has not stepped up to claim it. He has a council to make, then. Tell him this. Tell him I require this confirmation rather than the words of his 'childe'.”

Patrol was mindless and unfruitful. I’m not even sure why I still must hold this office when I really wish to just go hunt for more Death. To build the army even more. I did answer a call that once again brought me close to Lexie. Tabbie to. There was another girl as well, and I had seen her in the bar the previous night. Some shape shifter girl had fallen off the cliff that had been overhanging their little camp site, and she was improving by the time I responded. The fact that she wasn’t dead, that she was talking and moving, meant that I would not call in the medics. Can’t have a were creature (I assume she is a were creature, for she was no fairy) under a medical doctor’s cares. She would be fine.

To Lexie and Tabbie I was cool and professional, but I want both of these bitches at the end of my fang. Both of them know my guise and both of them had teamed to send the fog away. Traitors! Both! If it weren’t for the raven haired new girl being there, there would have been Hell. I hope both of them know how lucky they are.

The old man was not so lucky. At long last, I was finally able to obtain a singular audience with him within the bedchamber we (sort of) shared. He seemed happy to see me, I think. Which only made my cruelty all the sweeter.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Fucking fantastic.”

I took a short predatory stalk around him. He knew it was me – this evolved version of me – that stood before him now and not that pathetic creature I had been. That thing I was! That person who guards herself against feeling, who withholds honor and integrity above herself, no longer exists.

He was guarded and even flung a little barb towards me. Have I not exhausted my ravens?

I changed before his very eyes and became his daughter.
Not just his daughter, but a decaying, drowned version of her.

It’s all your fault, Daddy.
You sent the fog away, Daddy.
Stay away from my friends, Daddy.

His fear and horror I will cherish for all my years. He fell backwards and took a fall down the stairs, his body jerking and bouncing along the way. He landed on his back and I descended the stairs to join him, peering down at him, and he looked so delightfully helpless.

So helpless...

Before I left, I called Lexie. I don’t know why I really called Lexie, but I did. I keep telling myself it’s because I wanted to show her just what I was capable of. That maybe she was next.

La Moitié Eglise Morte

“…Walk with me?”

I had found Linzee star-gazing on Tony’s bridge, her question to me almost a command. I don’t obey her command, but I do humor my own curiosities and thus I followed her. This would be the perfect opportunity to bring her to our side.

Their side.
The Chosen side.

Except that it didn’t quite work out this way. DeMontico baited me. Telling me how disappointed she was in me, and pointing out how far I have fallen. Really, I could care less of her approval and I know I fired back with my own forked tongue.

We fought. I know that much. The church is a mess. We demolished pews, and there is the window that I was tossed through. Here is a deep, dark stain of my own vitae on the planks. Linzee’s beast kicked my beast’s ass. As I stand here, reliving the carnage, shaking in misery and hunger, I am beginning to wonder if some part of me simply gave up to her, in hopes that she would end me, so that I would no longer be caught in this duality of selves.

Skip is dead.
By Linzee’s hand.
Just a mortal cast aside in the dealings of vampires – so she could get to me.

I am suffering, it seems, through one of my moments of clarity where my consciousness is less murky and not so full of shadow. Perhaps it is because I am so very weak. Indeed, I can barely hold this pen to paper. Hauling myself out of the sea was nigh impossible.

I don’t know why I returned from the sea to write this down. The Professor is dead, forever gone from me, and I’m beginning to think Linzee is right. That I’ve lost control, that I am not my own master.

If I were my own master, I would be weeping and mourning. If I had even half of my mind, I’d probably smash up the rest of this church in my grief, and yet all I can really think is how pleased Kim and Cheryl will be at the ‘The End’ of one of the traitors.

Engourdi

I don’t know…what to write, really. What words I can throw in this blank page that will convey some sort of emotion? Or Thought? I feel numb and tired. I just want to sleep and stay asleep.

I had come up to surface with the setting of the sun to my little cave in the Haven. Hefting myself out and onto the slabs, I was content to lay there and stare up at the dark, cavernous ceiling until I lost my head.

By losing my head, let me just say that I’m so glad I was alone – or so I thought – down there in my corner of Hell. I shrieked, I screamed. I dug my nails into the cracks of the stone, scratching and tearing. Over and over I pummeled my fist into the rock until I beat the skin away from my knuckles, then sank into a silence…before I suddenly began to wail once again. I think I might have wept, to.

I don’t want to write why I went into a momentary lapse of madness, because it is too much for me to even pen it. Skip is dead and I think it finally sunk into my breast that I would never see his face again. Granted, he is mortal. This happens. I remember the lesson Angelika’s death taught me – you just never know when last will be your last, and my last encounter with him was not a moment of tenderness. I hope he truly understands the woman who visited him last was not me, but the shadow of me.

Linzee was there with me in the bowels of the light house. I set the trip of the faux door of the cave and there she was. In my weakness, if she attacked me, I knew I would be done in. I had no strength to fight her. Instead of fighting, we unified our minds and peered at each other’s memories, or rather I let her peer into mine, to recount random playbacks of the past few weeks detailing my personal horrors so that she might take that information and know me as me versus this replica I am.

That night I fed. Celeste cleaned out the remains of what Access Lab’s had delivered last. I slept. I woke. I hunted.

And now?
I have nothing to write…
I look down at this page and feel…numb.
I’m never going to see his face again.

La Loup, Le Marine, et l'Allemand

It’s late. Or early, rather. Depending how you regard such things and where you stand upon the daily solar cycle. For me it is late, but perhaps across the way a man is hitting his snooze button. His wife rises to make his breakfast and coffee before he heads out to work. I don’t have much to write. I think it is because I don’t rightly…feel. Anything. In fact, I am rambling in this book because I know how beneficial it will be for me later on in my life. Just as Pa-Pere had said. I can look back on these words and either dwell or learn from them. It’s all apart of the ‘growing process’.

I have three new faces under my employ, and they seemed to come within succession of the other. This is terribly exciting for me, for I have been pulling all the weight all on my own these past few weeks. I’m not complaining of this. The more mundane things I have to occupy myself with, the better I feel. Rather, the more normal I feel. Simply because I have something to focus on besides grief and destruction. My desk? It’s the best psychologist a person like me could ask for. Here I sit, right now, writing in my personal tome at my desk (sorry, tax papers!), trying to keep thoughts of death and darkness away. It’s enough of a distraction to occupy me.

I have sent out missives to all those of I wish to be on my council. So far, I have not heard back from Giles. I can’t find him on the link we share either. This concerns me a great deal. Where is my pale, elegant smart-ass of a brother? As for the others, it looks like I might have a good attendance. I am pleased. I’ll be even more pleased with a council erected and standing strong on my little Carthage. Especially with Remi upon it. The two of us together should be able to conjure up enough strength to submit the rest of my Brethren to Kim and Cheryl’s gift.






….Time ticks by and I sit here trying to make peace and turn the other way from Skip’s death and try to understand what and why Linzee has done what she has done. In her own old way, I imagine she think she has done what is best to bait me – to see the darkness under my skin. To a vampire, destroying a mortal seems to be the most logical thing to do. They are just mortals, after all.

More often than not, I just don’t feel thus.
I want to see the Professor again.

I daresay, dealing with death becomes more difficult with each passing year. I imagine it is much the same for all of us creatures of the night. As vampires we often surround ourselves with our own. We forge and develop relationships of varying types with each other, expecting that these folks will be around with us for many, many years. I was hoping the Professor would be around for many, many years.

I want to see him again.
But, he is dead…


Right, anyways. Back to my original topic.

Tom Nav..a..rita? I’m too lazy to look up his personnel file at the moment and his Spanish name doesn’t quite register with m memory. U.S. Marshal (hooray, experience!), handsome as the day is long, and possessing a tint of cockiness under his thumb. Or perhaps he has a lot. Oh yeah, and he’s a were wolf. I learned this when after a momentarily lapse in judgment and allowed my fist to come hard down on the wooden counter of the desk station. Apparently, I’m stronger that I ever have been. Tom put himself before me and growled quietly at me, to warn me of my snap in front of the rest of my staff.

Which leads me to the rest of my staff. Jarred. Marine. Vampire. Dutiful and eager to please, though underneath that perfect flesh of his lurks something awful and dangerous – like most of us – because he is a marine. Not just because he is a vampire. Jarred is young. He has not even reached his first year since his turning. I have not prodded him about his situation, or the events that have brought him back home (for Ravenhurst is his home town) to re-plant his roots. He is a more mature adult in terms of his mortal years and the control he has learned as a soldier has helped him a great deal in keeping his new existence under his thumb. I have deputized him to. He is a soldier – a marine! – and he needs something to do. I know this. I have his back.

Loki Septemus is my last. Pretty girl. High cheeks, noble brow, and light hair. She definitely appears ethnic to this region (and by region I mean the continent of North America) but her accent says otherwise. I’m speaking of Deutschland. She has that proud, pronounced way of speaking and it mingles pleasantly with her English. I wonder if she’s a military kid…Regardless of where she comes from, or what her parentage is, or if she’s a military kid or not – she’s my new desk officer.

My last bit of work for the evening is approving Dugan’s and Bernie’s vacation requests. Then, I must get to the light house in record time before the sun rises.

L'autre Côté du Miroir

Days have passed. I stand on the other side of the mirror once again. As myself. Keliah Morelle Angelis, Child of the Kristof Leon Angelis, second Elder of Le clan des
Anges, la Famille de Angelis. I keep trying to seek out that mote in my consciousness, that dark implant that had been so strongly rooted there, but I find nothing. Indeed, I am not surprised. After being blasted with Skip’s fog-seeking spell and put under Tai’s scrutiny, he took down the ward that was imprisoning me inside the Ellwyn house, and I am finally free of this blasted sickness.

I realize how off my last statement sounds. I will explain as much as I can, for I lack a great deal of memory over the whole thing. To lose one’s recollection is a disturbing and disorienting thing and I am tired of living in a state of confusion. My last true recollection was me speaking to Remi through the link we once had between us, asking him to meet me at the Thirsty Raven, for we had great plans of seeking out an enemy force – who of which I can not place – and destroying them. I remember seeing Remi and looping my arm through his (a comical sight for sure, for I am so much larger than he is) as we stepped into the door. I remember Ace and sitting beside her, and I remember a glass of cold iced tea being placed before me.

I do not know what had become of my enemies, or if anything had come into play. Everything since then is fleeting little echoes. Imprints. I remember running as fast as I could. I was running away from something. Someone. I remember the outskirts of town flying by me in a blur and feeling wind upon my face, trying so desperately to get back into town so that I can hide under the guise of the veil. I remember a huge, dark shadow rushing at me and pinning me against the stones of the street. It’s Kione.

And then there was the waking up in the middle of my office, surrounded by a swirling ring of glyphs and they burn me when I touch them. There are faces and bodies. There is much talking. I can barely discern them, so focused was I in staying me and fighting constantly with the Beast within me. And then there was the professor. The professor! Alive! He looked tired and wan, as though he were in pain, and so very dour. To me, he couldn’t have looked better or more beautiful, simply because he was alive and there.

I remember thinking that…

I remember Lexie kneeling before my prison, her face shadowed by veils of her red hair, and she was pressing me with a light. It felt like hope.

I remember Skip’s face suddenly before mine, and his countenance was exceedingly sharp. Clear. I could see him past a haze of red. His pulse was loud and true in my ears. I was looking at him through my vampire’s eyes. “This is going to hurt..”

A sudden pain racks through my chest, and then there is nothing. I had been staked.

What had been done to me, I do not care to know. I woke up to agony, curled up on a hard, wooden floor – but I woke up and could move, which meant the instrument had been removed from my heart. The place smelled of wood treated with cleanser, of feminine scent and herb. Tea. Linen. Like homes often do. It was Lexie’s home, the one she shared with her sister. I could sense the professor coming up the stairs, his movements uneven. I wanted to run to him so badly, but I just couldn’t move and I was so very tired.

“Skip,” I murmured, focusing on expending my blood so that I might come to wakefulness. I have so very little. Much of my blood has been utilized in the healing from the grotesque wound in my chest. I vaguely recall a bullet wound to my shoulder…

I thought maybe I was dreaming, and that he wasn’t really there. But he returned along with Lexie – my sweet, gentle friend – and spoke to me of the goings on. I was still in my prison of glyphs, trapped. I hated it. Can’t they see that I am fine? Let me go… I felt urgent and in need. I had to hunt before I was caught in a torpor or worse, a frenzy. Skip’s phone keeps ringing and he keeps vanishing. I can’t hear him – which is odd to me!- when he goes down stairs.

Lexie then asks me if I was hungry.
Feeling disgraced and humble, I told her, “Yes. I am hungry.”

I’m not sure what went on, or what planning had gone into finding a fount of blood for me, but Lexie promises she will “be back” and not so very long afterwards Ace is ascending the stairs towards my magical prison with the offerings of her vitae once again. Her love and kindness towards my person make me feel even smaller whilst imprisoned here in Skip’s little contraption. She passes through without any issue and I slake my thirst upon her, grateful.

I had much physical work to do and so as soon as she left I curled back up on my not-so-cozy bed of glyphs and sank into slumber.

The next day was much easier for me to awaken. Ace’s vitae is potent and nourishing. Skip and Lexie are there soon enough with offerings of fresh clothes. The professor even gave me the courtesy of fresh water and soap so that I might remove the blood (my own) from my hands and nails which had dried on my skin. The two of them are as easy as peas and even share jovial banter about Christmas stockings. Lexie pokes fun at the professor’s age, pointing out that he’d be a woeful example of Saint Nicholas. The two of them are like little larks on a branch twittering at the other and if I wasn’t stuck in ward contemplating the potential evils I may or may not have done I might have been joyful over these mortals. My friends.

And so I discover that the Fog is behind all of this. I don’t know much, really, Skip isn’t really keen on going on into the details. He was injured by it. Apparently severely enough, for I know Lexie is much dedicated to her craft to not allow him the hindrance of pain.

Lexie begins to busy herself on her cellular phone and in soon order there is another witch here, summoned, whose name I do not recall. Hiro? She’s working the numbers and I inwardly cringe, because I do not want more people to see me than what is necessary. In the end, though, it is just this new gent and Tai, the fairy. Which brings me to my opening rambling. I watched, with fascination, as the three witches busied themselves with their spell binding. Drawing of pentagrams in charcoal, black candles set to light, and the rhyming of words meant to draw forth their energies. I rose to my feet, afraid that the magic would hurt, but it does not. I feel nothing. Tai approaches, her magic coaxing me, beckoning me, what with its sweetness and allure, but I will not be tempted from my stance.

The ward is removed and I am finally free. Celebratory beers are passed around, but I don’t stay. I had to go. I had to run. Contained for far too long, I tore through the woods as fast as I could go. I leapt over branch and stone. I called out in delight to any critter or person who could hear me – uncaring how close it was to the full moon. I ran all the way to the glade as a wild thing, where the lagoon’s waters were gentle and cool. I know I should probably return to the haven and speak to members of my Brethren. I should slip into my political guise. I should go to the Sheriff’s Office and resume my work. I should do a great many things, but instead, I give myself over to the sea.

So, now what?

For once, I actually wanted to sit behind my desk and sit there. You know, read my emails. Answer phone calls. Immerse myself in the legal happenings of Ravenhurst simply because the act of doing thus is so…normal. Exchanging playful barbs and high fives with Dugan, or listening to Bernie talk about his family and hinting he wants me to come over for Thanksgiving to meet his wife and sons – I crave this normalcy. I miss the quiet streets that aren’t running rampant with the sick. I miss pleasant and easy conversations with Lexie at the shop. I miss standing on the balcony with Skip, talking easily as old friends, while he enjoys the comforts of his cigarettes.

So it was I was about to enter my office, hand poised above the door, that I received a message from Linzee DeMontico about Remi. She had arranged another rendezvous with the witches in order to cure him and if I could take her place to bring Remi to Lexie? Remi. I had plans to see him anyways. So it was I found him still pierced through the heart, lying motionless in my cave, and probably angry as Hellfire. Remi is so slight and his body is easy enough to manipulate. So I packaged him up in rope and tarp, holding him as one might a child, and carried him to Lexie where she waited. We lashed him to her ‘vehicle’ and I sent her ahead, meaning to go with her, but I had to waylay Remi’s goul. Remi’s goul who was undoubtedly ill at ease with the happenings of his domitor.

I met with Will on the way to Lexie’s house, taking the back route through the woods in order to save time (I hope the wolves do not mind), but I will not mention him further. His callous attitude about earned him a knife in the eye. Protocol this. Traditions that. Really? Where does he think we live, anyways? I haven’t seen him since. Remi was unlashed and I carried him upstairs, laying him down into where I had been lain, and in short order the Professor was there to erect the magical prison.

In hindsight, I wish the stake had not been removed from Remi’s heart. I should have objected. I let my feelings override my logic, deciding to be merciful and show him kindness, not truly realizing how sick my friend is. We should have left him staked…

I thought Remi was crazy before, and I will admit to often times mistrusting him and doubting his logic through the guise of his inherent craziness, but in the end he has always won me over. The Remi that was stuck in the ward was just plain evil – had I been like that? He shunned me and called me a traitor. That I had betrayed ‘them’. Who are ‘they’? I sense a vague echo of familiarity, and that is all. He tossed a syringe at the Professor and raved up a storm.

And so I took the first watch, for the Professor had gone for smokes. I would have taken the first ‘watch’ anyways, ready to grill the man on this ‘them’ that I had betrayed and speak more of these ‘conduits’ of fog that had come up in speaking to other individuals. Except that another vampire came to the Ellwyn house, one who I barely recognized and whose name I did not know, to bust Remi out of jail. So to speak. It was my first time experiencing this fog as a victim. I was made to believe a great many lunacies that evening. That Lexie was Remi – that Remie was Lexie. That I was encased in a blackness so thick I could see nothing. I was made powerless to help my friend, and Lexie Ellwyn was brutalized by two vampires. The poor woman had a rough night. A few bouts into the bathroom in order to vomit the contents of her stomach. I helped her. Blaise helped her to. We all (those residing at the Ellwyn house for the moment) spent the night watching Lexie like a hawk in case the need to rush her to hospital cropped up, but I think her hokey teas and rest are better than any medical doctor’s care.

I spent the remainder of the night outside, curled up on the chaise, content to remain there in stillness while the witches slept. I like watching the prequel to the sunrise as much as mortal man enjoys watching the sun set. It’s fascinating and frightening all in the same turn to witness the stars wink out and the sky begin to tinge. I spent the last moments of night with Ace, reminiscing about our future Girl’s Day, planning this endeavor as though crazy wasn’t reigning down on our heads.

Soon enough, I hear activity in the house. I go inside – really, because I have to – content to hang from the rafters (for I am weary) and keep watch over my mortals, but soon witches begin to show up, and so I sandwich myself behind the couch to avoid sun streaming in from the opening and closing of doors. I’m not even sure what there is to discuss, but Skip points upstairs and tells me to ‘git!’ as if I’m an animal. I insist I’m staying (God, especially after that.) Lexie apologizes, but insists. That I might be a risk.

I’m a fan of caution as much as any soldier might be, but after going through Hell and back, having nearly lost my existence completely on more than one occasion, and dealing with losing control over my own person, I was staying. Especially since the subject at hand are my people.

Skip has a good plan. Must get rid of fog now. Really, I mean, what’s not to love about that plan? It’s a sound plan! What about the conduits, I ask. Who? What are those? I told them what Remi had said to me. That I had betrayed ‘the girls’. That I had turned from ‘them’. And then the witches began to speak of magically covering up their scents – why? I’m tired. Confused. I want a plan of action. I’m cranky, impatient, and want to just go out with artillery and fucking blow whatever it is that is making my people sick into tiny bits. I don’t get all this talking. It’s time to bring in the tanks, man!

And then it dawned on me. Remi’s words. I had ‘betrayed them’. What if I hunted him down and asked to be brought back? I can’t be sick again. ‘They’ can’t hurt me. How easy, then, would it be to discover their identity? I informed the witches of this, and then abruptly went to bed.

Hey ‘they’! I have a message for you. Time to fucking die.

La Tristesse de Calme

I am home.
The house is eerily quiet.
So quiet that I think I will get a television
Just to fill in the noise.

Jarred, my deputy, came by to help me remove the fragments of my door. Linzee and I availed ourselves to the cleaning up of my house – which Remi and I had destroyed during our little brawl. (Mundane things done by DeMontico such as picking up books, or fetching me a garbage bag from beneath my kitchen sink, always make me check my opinions of her. But then she goes and opens her mouth…)

Linzee had spent the previous ‘night’ with me. Or rather I had come home from patrol to find DeMontico passed out in the chaos of my home, a rapier in her hand along with another, well, hand. Her trophy, I would assume. I’m not sure whose hand it was, either. I could not judge if that hand had really been an admirable trophy or not. What could I do? I couldn’t just leave her out there in the middle of my living room. The windows busted in, the door in tatters. Sunlight would surely reach her. So I picked her up and held her in my arms, her body weighing next to nothing to me, and carried her up stairs and drew her with me into the dark safety of my utility closet where the coffins rest. Mine and Celeste’s (for when Celeste chooses to rest there.)

This is how many times I’ve saved DeMontico from certain doom? She owes me a story. To come into my house with a bloodied sword, a severed hand, and lack of consciousness seems to be quite a party. Of course, I don’t really get the story. The next day she proceeded me upon waking. I found her in my bedroom, fresh out of the shower, toweling off. By the way? I think Linzee owns more of my clothes than I do at this point. My “girls day” with Ace needs to hurry up and happen.

The story, really, was once upon a time DeMontico and Laborde went at each other with swords. My daughter ran off with a certain talisman which saved Linzee from the darkness that is infecting my people.

Ah, my daughter. She was here! Here safe and sealed in the ward that the Professor had erected! And now? It’s been days. I can’t seek her out on the link we share. I don’t know where she is. What she’s doing. What influence she is under. Where is she sleeping? Who is with her? How can I get her back? Is she okay? Is she in pain?

I can’t sit here and write any more, but I feel I must needs remind myself of these events before they pass and become memories unfit for recollection. I have been looking for her to no avail. I even put out an APB for petty theft (Linzee DeMontico’s necklace) out there so that my deputies would be on the look out for her as well. Vampires, when they want to hide, usually do a pretty amazing job of thus.

Probably she’s somewhere obvious.
Probably right under my nose.
Probably.

Then I couldn’t wait any more and made my sojourn to Seattle. Besides, maybe she was there. I hunted both for her and for food, taking my fill of blood and disappointment, for I could not find her.

I do not wish to recount the details of my hunting. To do so feels as though it would take so very long to write and already I am impatient. I feel on edge. The great news is that I did find Celeste. Or rather, Jordin found Celeste. On my return trip from Seattle, DeMontico was on my cell phone to give me the good news. Not only was Celeste staked (alas, I was too far away to feel this..) but Ishmael also. Jordin, along with Mel, have them in tow, bringing them to the Light House.

My boat won’t move FAST enough. Come on, Ferryman! Fucking hit the gas! If I gave him gold, would he paddle faster to the other side? Of course I make it to the docks. I zoom down the street as fast as I dare go, pausing enough to consider the pulses in the Witch’s shop and Sheriff’s office. The Professor, Lexie, and Berns. I don’t know..what is going on. Being away for a night has rendered me confused. I don’t have time to ask, though. Whether or not plans have progressed with their impending battles and knowing thus are put to the back burner – I must get to Celeste.

I stopped only long enough to shove my head into the Sheriff’s Office and inform Bernie that the APB off of Celeste must be lifted. False alarm or something. Tomorrow I will drop her charges.

When I get to the Light House, DeMontico is there on her phone. I’m on mine. Texting Lexie Ellwyn of our happenings – and won’t she and the Old Man come? Jordin and Mel are there in short order, each hefting an unconscious vampire over there shoulders and I pause to consider my child draped over Jordin’s shoulder. She has died her hair a scarlet red. We sort of match now. Is this a disguise or does she do it out of love for me? I layed my hand upon her head, wishing I could embrace her psychically, but with the stake in her heart the feat is impossible.

I remain outside, waiting for Jake to bring me DeMontico’s necklace. Which he does. I have it now as I write this, hidden under the neckline of my dress. Wearing it reminds me of my precious tags I’ve lost. However, today, I’ve gained something more precious lost.

So, you see, I can’t be too distressed in my too quiet house. I shouldn’t be, rather. With chaos comes new things. For instance, the piano that was destroyed has been replaced with a grand. New relationships are forged. Myself and Ophion, Michael’s assistant. Another step towards the establishment of Government made. I feel closer to Lexie than ever after our scuffles and experiences shared with the enemy under her roof and after what she and the Old Man, along with their coterie, had done for me. For my brethren as well.

And yet some relationships feel different. The Old Man, my Skip. My Professor. I miss the closeness that we shared prior to all of this happenstance, brief as it was. I miss haunting his house and seeing him as a normal clear and present thing in my existence. I think I just miss him dearly. Especially now that I am resigned once again to haunting my own house. I miss Ace to. She is so busy, I know. As we all are. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen her last, though really, it has been a week. In my own way, I miss Angelika Grimm. She had been a constant.

I think, most of all, I miss my father. My dear pa-pere, Kristof. The quiet, eccentric, scholarly vampire who embraced me. Who is so different than me despite the blood line we share. With Celeste going astray I only feel guilt. What had I put him through? Celeste had been days gone. It took me ten years to pick up a simple telephone and contact him – though in my defense I did have hunters on my ass – just to tell him I was alright. How he had wept…

Think I’ll call him now.
Tell him Celeste is alright.
Put his voice on speaker phone so that it fills the quiet.

Paix, Amour, et le Chaos

If I had breath in my lungs I would release it in a sigh of relief. That is what feels right. Suddenly, I am easier. More calm. Whole again in my way of thinking. Less tense. I’m not even sure why, so cut off am I from my supernatural friends thanks to a certain mayor who calls me at the most inopportune times.

Two nights past I was busying myself with cleaning up the office. Our vehicle I set to rights, for I was looking for my shot gun. Figured I’d take it with me into the mines. Or possibly hand it off to Jarred or Tom. I was in good spirits while I sorted though the trunk of the SUV, my ‘eye pod’ blaring Bon Jovi’s “Shot Through the Heart” in my eardrums. It was by scent that I sensed the professor nearing rather than sound, and so I turned and sang him a verse in hopes to amuse him. (I don’t think that worked out for me. I believe he just thinks I’m more strange than I ever was…) I sensed another to. A girl in a dress that I think Bjork would have been envious of who apparently goes by the name of Irma. New shop keeper.

We’re both checking out our respective new faces. I to his Irma; He to my Tom. My deputy saunters into the office and so I gave Skip a wave and footed after the U.S Marshal, pawning off daytime assignments while thinking of the near and distant – potentially violent – future with the mage’s plan of fog busting.

Like I said. Tony called.

I’m not really…sure what happened, but I felt something in the air later in the night. The faithful often describe the scent of roses after the expelling of demons and other such heinous creatures (gee, like vampires?) and I feel confident that I can compare this feeling to such an experience. I do not smell roses, but I feel peace. Well, as peaceful one such as I can feel. I have a mental clarity that I haven’t had since the first time the fog was destroyed. I think I can finally commit myself to sitting down and reading back on this book, to glean something of the ramblings I have penned here…

My television came. The box it was packaged it was glossy and spectacular. Celeste watched me while I ripped said box to shreds in order to get to the goods. We had been speaking of things. Serious things. Our conversation went as follows, her points being as follows:

How was it I hurt Jake?
And why had Michael done what he did?
I can’t believe I attacked Linzee! Should I get her a puppy?
What will happen to Remi?
Can I….help?
Yay! We got a TV!

This is why I love Celeste. In the beginning, when I first took her under my care, I did so out of pity. Maybe loneliness to. I wanted to change her and mold her as I had been molded. I wanted to turn her into a powerhouse soldier and teach her how to be a cold, calculating killer. However, her disposition will not allow this. She is, even in her old age, sweet and naive like a young woman. She says words like ‘Yay!’ and likes puppies. She’s concerned over the appearance of her finger nails and if she had the appetite for it, I swear she’d chew bubblegum. This is why I love her. Because she is who she is while being what she is.

Back to the TV. It’s up and working now, but I tell you now it was no easy feat. Plug this into that, adjust this. Tweak that. Connect audio imput into some sort of device. I….yeah. After spending much of the night on the phone with some bloke from India, I managed to finally get the thing to work. A miracle of miracles.

As exciting as my conquering of the TV is that is not my only happenstance for the evening. As soon as Celeste sat at the new piano to sing, Bernie is on my radio.

“Hey, Sheriff. Dugan is on the North side, can you swing by the docks? Check out a scene? Seams to be some sort of gang or somethin’..”

And so I left my daughter and my ‘son in law’ home, grabbing my badge and gun, and set out for the docks. Didn’t take me long to see what Bernie was speaking of, for the scene was unfolding nearly behind the Ellwyn’s shop. I arrived to tense, contained chaos. A bunch of blokes and a female dead set against Ophion and a redhead woman I have seen in passing a time or two. Growling, guttural voices came from these faces I did not know. I breathed in their scents. Human. Seemingly. But humans do not sound like that. I was listening to contained rage.

I have no idea what happened, or what had brought this one. I saw only a few executed offenses and defenses. One man, who was thick in musculature, fell over into the cold sea and took the red head with him just as I whistled sharply into, drew my gun, and told them all I was there.

The clan of strangers, after seeing me, took off running. The red head surfaced, sputtering, but fine. Ophion held up her hands and shrugged at me. There was no time to talk…I took off after the too-fast, too-agile humans. Which only meant one thing..either Cirque Du Soleil had formed a gang in Ravenhurst or I had new wolves in my city causing trouble, because these people were certainly not fairies.

I had stalled for too long and so they had considerable lead on me, thus making good on their escape.

Hey, wasn’t I just talking about peace and shit? These roses stink.

Sabbatical

Returned, am I. From the dark depths of the ocean. I have slain Kim Ling, the girl who has caused me so much grief. Emotionally. Physically. I crushed her very head between my hands. I reveled in the feeling of her skull breaking in my fury, the brain tissue slick and grotesque in my pale palms.

I took her corpse to the bottom of the sea and there I stayed, vomiting up the contents of her dead blood - for I had drank from her.

I am back now. Home. Or rather this house that holds my belongings. I have much to write, but I simply can not find the desire to put my pen to this paper. I will, however, endeavor to do so later.

I am tired.

Two rolled up parchments. Yes, two. Each signed by a different person who claims to be head. I must be honest and state that I have thought overlong about these issues before coming here to my personal journal and writing them down. I suppose I should have done so, regardless. I will be the first to admit that when faced with un pleasantries such as these matters of political unrest that I tend to shy away. My bloodline can not tolerate it. It demands either unity or it demands solitude.

A few days passed since I received my vellum from Linzee DeMontico. A parchment that claimed her to be the executive to all of our kind and lead of the council. I wasn’t really miffed that she had done this. What do I care? I only know and desire two things. Safety and discretion for our people. I was, however, pretty ticked that she had robbed my own words from my proposal to the council, and that she had made decisions without consolidating with the rest of us. I would expect no less from Linzee DeMontico, though. She is, after all, an underhanded and devious politician. Like all politicians. It is her blood.

I had some hopes. I really did. I had hoped that our Prince and Linzee would be able to come to some sort of understanding. That perhaps the undercurrents of hostility and mistrust would somehow be cleared and mutual desire could be put forth into something productive. Ophion and her quiet, scarlet-haired associate had come to fetch DeMontico and myself in order to meet with Michael and we, along with my daughter, were whisked away by limo to the old hall of records, which was outlined in scaffolding and other items of construction.

I have very little experience with Pelazzi. Our times spent together have all been very fleeting and all too brief. My childe had a great care for him, and he had treated her with kindness before dissolving what ever ties the two of them shared. The things she told me of him were all from the perspective of a girl with stars in her eyes, so therefore are not really a good means of obtaining one’s character. I was more than just a little apprehensive at meeting him along with DeMontico and Ophion.

We only have one problem to discuss, to hash as it were, according to Michael Pelazzi, Prince of Ravenhurst. That is Ophion. His counterpart. He desires her to sit upon the council and Linzee disputes this. Foolish, foolish Linzee. My political friend who rabbles on about the way of things, and how they have been for centuries, simply because the Prince wants to put a butt in a council seat. She stood before a Prince of the realm and declared to him how things must needs be done. In his own realm. Because that is how it has been done for centuries.

Maybe for her.
It was never thus in Angelis.
Angelika never sought approval to appoint members of the council.
Thus I have no idea what she is citing.

In truth, as I stood there listening to the two of them kindly insult the other, I couldn’t really handle it. Strife brings nothing but more strife. I abruptly turned on my heels and made the long trek home.

Shortly afterwards, I received another vellum. Another parchment. This one from Pelazzi to ‘correct’ Linzee’s. At this point, I’m ready to send my own. Because I’m tired of this.

“From the desk of Keliah Angelis,

Attached is an image of my middle finger.

Regards,
KA”

However, I have made a home for myself here. I have settled and planted my roots as though I were an organic creature. I have real estate and a job that shells out American dollars. I pay taxes. For the first time in so many years I have humanity and something normal. I am not so quick to leave it, despite the fact that the political dealings in Ravenhurst are laughable, and so I will do as my father would bid me to.

Obey the Prince.

With that simple decision out of the way – no matter how differently I wish things were in this regard – my (un)life can not be shelved in wait for these matters to resolve. I am quite busy with the mundane tasks of making phone calls and ordering fun things to be set up for the Fourth of July, a holiday in which the American population gorges on capacious amounts of charred meat, wave flags, and then later blow up Chinese fireworks to remind them that the British are no longer coming. My office is to hold a fundraiser, Tony says. To put ourselves into a more sociable light. Besides, I need a new truck.

The town square is transformed by patriotic flags. Tony is there, part of the fanfare, dressed to the nines (or perhaps tens) in stars and stripes, perched at a kissing booth. We have grills going to feed the mortals, provided thus by the friendly staff of Tom’s Diner. I’m perched – and dunked repeatedly – in a good, old fashioned dunk tank. It was kind of fun sitting up there, swinging my feet in the water, and taunting the patronage who had come out for Fourth of July fun.

Celebration didn’t last for long. Tom, my deputy, and myself were even having a good time. Relaxed, for once, with the prospect of not having to deal with shoot outs or the sickness that had been plaguing my brethren. That is until some raving lunatic starting screaming and failing at the opposite end of the square. Towards the Raven. A human man swinging wildly, plagued by hysterics, unfortunate looks, and Rie.

For a human, he was a wily thing. He was caustic and angry, but still he complied and was escorted to the county jail to spend the night in the ‘drunk tank’, though I know this man was not drunk. He had not smelled of the liquor. It turns out his antics were hallucinations. Perhaps this is why – when during the arrest – Hiro had been gesturing wildly to me. Whether the man was suffering from psychosis or if Hiro was trying to play a game of magical magic charades, I know not. As soon as my captive was safely behind bars I shot Lexie a text to come sniff him out.

See if he was something of interest to this ugly bloke or he was just a raving lunatic.

She came in short order. God bless Lexie’s efficiency. Up the stairs she went and I afforded them some privacy in order to do what ever it was she must do to feel out the new people. Content enough to plop down on the bench in front of my office and listen to the muffled conversation going on upstairs, toking away on a cigarette for ‘summat’ to do. To, they remind me so very much of the Professor.

He arrives in short order, either summoned by Lexie or just because, and it’s just the two of us puffing on those cigarette things at the front of my office building, talking nonsense while I listen to the above, promising me a dance at Pelazzi’s masquerade ball. Our personal business concluded, I released my prisoner at Lexie’s request so that they (the two mages and this possible version of one) could go to the Library. I didn’t have much of a reason to hold Jeremiah and so I went with, standing guard while my friends did as they will, and when everyone went home safe and sound, so to did I

The ball was a success. I confess, I had been apprehensive over the matter. I wasn’t sure how well it would go, or if the township would actually show face and give in to a little ‘music of the night’. Pelazzi had done a wonderful job in restoring the decrepit, old building that had once been the old hall of records. The place gleamed, its lawns freshly renovated and made over. I can’t even imagine how much the man had spent in construction of this place to transform it from ruin to a European replica of grandness.

I had come to stand beside Ophion at the front of the building, clocked to conceal my garments, my mask naught but black lace over my eyes. Beside me, Ophion was covered head to toe in some feathery explosion of craziness. A raven, I believe, was her theme. Our job, at Pelazzi’s bidding, was to greet the patronage. I didn’t mind so much. I have no idea when elections run in this little town, but I wish to secure my next term. My standing there and receiving guests, I suppose, helps my public face.

As soon as the first car pulled up to drop off our first guest – Tony of all people – I knew things would be fine indeed, at least for the party. I did not know if Professor Zelin was still going to come or not and I was most anxious to speak with him regarding Kim Ling, though really, I was just most anxious to speak with him in general. More cars came pulling up, driven by drivers hired with Pelazzi monies. More guests.

Soon, Ophion and myself are quite busy shaking hands, curtseying, and bidding welcomes. I am reminded, suddenly, of times long past. Back to my first ball. I was but a girl of fifteen – just before my coming out into society – and because of my age, I was allowed to tour the circuit. Provided that I was chaperoned, of course. All the women who were launched into society wore daring, catching colors. As for us ‘belles’, it was white for us. I had worn white. My jewelry had been fashioned out of white and blush roses. My hair had been gathered to a modest twirl at the crown of my head with big, bouncing sausage curls swinging from my temples.

Today I wore black, and despite the gown’s yardage of skirts and satin, there was bit of immodesty just to be a little daring. My ‘jewels’ were red roses. The whole ensemble a nod to my first ball.

Many people came flocking, dressed in finery, but I only sought one person. Wouldn’t you know he was the last one to be received? I smile in remembering this. How I had missed him in the crowd? The scents of people were overwhelming, all mixed together in a cacophony of sound. He looked fine and fetching in a tuxedo with the most ridiculous visage de la mort concealing his countenance. Beside him, on his arm, was Blaise Ellwyn. Fresh from Seattle.

One final time I offered my hand to receive this last guest, but this time I left my hand to be held. He squeezed it and made small talk with myself, Blaise, and Ophion before turning and heading for the party. Ophion and myself remained a scant few minutes behind, just in case another vehicle pulled up, but there was none. So we turned and made way ourselves, heading up the landing that lead to the main hall. My cloak was handed over to an attendant and I stepped in behind the Professor and Blaise, glancing up, for I sensed Pelazzi above me on the second floor. There he stood, dark and ominous, alone and very much looking like a prince of darkness rather than a prince of the realm.

I suddenly wondered if perhaps this ball was a ruse. A means for him to intermingle with townsfolk rather than keeping himself hidden away. In disguise, in this masquerade, he could easily do so. Yet, he stood alone and watchful. I joined him for a few minutes while the Professor and Blaise beelined for the Hors d'œuvres. I said nothing. He said nothing. Neither of us really had to. I spied the folk below. Ophion and her Sheridan. Linzee DeMontico and Dags Horngold. Many vampires afoot, along with many fairies. Taibah and her A, to name a couple. Ace was there to. Mostly, my eyes were keen on the Professor. So keen that I could not ‘socialize’ with Michael any longer.

As soon as I returned to the mages, Blaise promptly spilled foodstuffs down her cleavage and made for the powder room. Looking back, I think she did this on purpose. How kind of her. The Professor and I made our way outside, away from the throng. Indeed, we moved away from the building, heading towards the thicket of forest where we would be assured privacy so that we might speak on matters of import without intrusive ears.

"The illness is gone from all of us. The..girls, the 'conduits' of the fog are no more,” I said, "Did you know that fog had re-animated your child's friends?"

Skip had a pen, and with the press of it’s top, he suddenly cast us into quiet. I could hear nothing. Not the wind through the trees, the distant sounds of happy folk, nor could I hear the music. All I could hear was his pulse, his voice, and his breath.

“...What? Who?”

"Cheryl Kalowski. Kim Ling...those friends. I know...everything, now,” Remembered every grievance and occurrence done by my hand. How it had all come to pass. Skip falling down the stairs. Linzee baiting me. Nicky and his fire. Kim’s constant demand for more. Cheryl introducing me as a prince!, “When I found them in the mines. How they made us all crazy. We had to re-kill them. Well, I don't know how Cheryl was killed. But Kim...she was trying to do something out in the lagoon.”

Skip did as Skip often does. He tugged on is earlobe while in thought. The action makes me smile. His tick, this thing he does while nervous or in thought, has become endearing to me.

“Yes...I suspected there was something wrong with them, but they seemed human to everyone so I guess I sort of put it out of my mind. It makes sense. It also makes my vision all the more accurate, which is something I didn't really want to know. Although, I suppose if my daughter didn't get reanimated, or whatever you call it, there's probably hope that she wasn't killed...at the very least not in the mines.” And then he glanced down at me, “So that blood by the Source was from Kim?”

Susan. I couldn’t speak of her. Her name was a reminder of his grief and my failure. This past month I hadn’t even been looking for her, so involved was I with the girls and doing their bidding.

“Yes, it was hers. Did she..harm it?"

I didn’t go into the details of what happened. How she died. Or how I had spent the night of Kim’s death vomiting her blood into the sea while I disposed of her flesh and bones. I peered at his face, well the silly mask that covered his face, and despite all things I chuckled. The thing was pretty entertaining, and then suddenly..

“God, I don't even know how to say how sorry I am for the things I have done to you. But, I plan on making it up, of course. I -will- find her for you."

My apology rushed to the forefront, unbidden, but guilt has been gnawing at my bones. I reached for him, seeking what I do not know. Comfort. Forgiveness. I’m not sure. He reached for me to, his hand slid up the length of my arm, and then he reached for my waist and drew me close.

I’m not going to delve into the intimacies of us. I won’t relish in great detail the feel of his mouth on mine, or the nearness of his body. I won’t complain or be sad because he had to leave and would be gone – gone to Pennsylvania for a week or so! – even though I am so very sad for it. How can I bear such a week of his absence?

“What’s another week in an endless sprawl of weeks?” I had asked him before he left to catch the ferry to Seattle. I had spoken of missing him. Of our impending affair constantly being put on hold for the sake of urgent and more pressing business. Like, you know, Fog.. Murder investigations. Racial politics. I bid him come back to me. Okay, so not bid. Asked? Begged? I don’t know. Just a week of his absence would feel so crushing.

“I suppose in the grand scheme of things like eternity, a week isn't very long. But, there is too much in Ravenhurst that I apparently can't bear to be without now.”

And then he kissed me.

It’s like we’re in a damn movie.

Une Semaine d'Agonie

(The Meeting)

I have so much to write of, and yet I must try to be quick and efficient over the matter, for I have pressing business. Mostly a town that has been left to lie sleeping while it’s Sheriff, it’s Watchdog, has been laying low and keeping to her coffin. Her bed. More on that, later. For now, I must detail what I recollect of our meeting before I forget and the details are gone from me, replaced by more current events.

The Prince, Pelazzi, had bid me to gather the Brethren in order to officially address us and form his Council formally, whose chairs I already knew were occupied by myself, Ophion, DeMontico, and Remi. Who else had the Prince planned? We would find out. And then, as typical with our Vampire meetings, we find out nothing and someone has to make things difficult for the lot of us. It must be Ravenhurst’s way.

I think back to the Council meetings I had attended through out my life as Kristof’s child. How the Brujah and those who lived within Angelian walls would gather, almost with ceremony, to the great center room in which our Prince and his chosen elders would hold court. How formal it all was. How respectful and quiet we were when the Prince spoke. Of course, it was not always thus. We are, after all, Brujah. Some of those in our walls were true to the old ways, but not all. Some were very young. Anarchs through and through.

Maybe that is what surprises me the most. That our ‘meeting’ was more typical a Brujah’s and our lead defector was none other than a Ventrue snake. DeMontico. The sad thing is that the only reason she defects and causes chaos amidst us is not because our Brethren are being done wrong, nor are there injustices being done against us by tyranny, but rather for her personal gain. Or so I believe. What else could it be? As for her and those victim to her serpent’s tongue, well, we shall see. I remain loyal, as always, to the Island as a whole and its people. Not just my people. It is the Angelian way.

PART DEUX
(Famille?)

Ah. I’ve been so tired ever since Kim’s disposal. Keeping my head high at the ball, then the meeting, I find myself no longer needing to be so seen and as I often do, I became a recluse. I took my work home with me and ventured out only because Lexie and numerous others have witnessed our good Doctor Quinn abducting Puck – a new face in town who has become somewhat of a problem for me and mine. No matter though. Quinn has faced his ‘trial’ with the Prince and Puck no longer remembers much of that evening he had witnessed of me and my frenzied self as I destroyed Kim Ling.

Kim Ling’s blood, I believe, has exhausted me. Time spent wiping minds has exhausted me further. Puck’s, some chick who had broken into the Lighthouse, and then very recently another. The gift of my mind can be overly taxing for me betimes. And so I’ve lingered at my piano. I’ve watched marathons of television shows while curled up at the foot of my bed. At night, while Celeste and Jake are out of the house, I let Deeohgee outside and watch it frolic around all puppy-like in the grassy yard. The same yard, only months ago, Kione and I had retrieved a corpse from a noose. I think of text messages to shoot over to Skip, but do not send them. I fear that I am being too girlish and indulgent; I do not wish to bother him with such foolishness. That he would be annoyed of me and not come back.

I slurp on bags of precious AB Negative from Access Labs until I can’t take it anymore and am driven to hunt. For once, I stick close to home and do not venture out into the big city. I contemplate Celeste's request to me..

Something I have not spoken of. Celeste and this request. To change her goul into a vampire. Me? Why me? I am a bit baffled and blown over to this request. I’m not sure why should would wish me to change her lover. I can not think a more intimate thing to do for one’s lover than embrace them into immortality. I fantasize about Skip succumbing to my Kiss often. I do have my theories, yet... For instance, he would be embonded to her for eternity. Perhaps she does not wish this submission on his part. Or perhaps she feels my blood line is more suitable a choice for Jake. We had a long talk over the matter. I discovered Jordin had forbade her turning of him and so I put that matter to rest. How can he forbid it? I am Steward of this land and do not recognize his authority any longer. That’s settled. And so I had to put Celeste’s naïve little mind to proper sorts. Instill her loyalty to me. To us, as a family, if indeed we are going to be a family.

Jake, it seemed, is now a willing supplicant to the Brujah bloodline. I have given him a week and will extend this further. Once you are dead, you are dead forever and there is no going back. Too, I have my own feelings to consider. I often vowed that I would never sire children for myself. That I would not instill this bond that will be between us as for all eternity and be subject to it. That I would not have someone dependent upon me should the need arise. In the end, I am a solitary creature and I have hurt my own parent with this mark on my character. Will I hurt Jake to?

PART TOIS
(Retour de moi)

I am quickly resuming my place in ebb and flow of life. Last night I was summoned abruptly from my slumber, still in pajamas, to intercept an emergency at the light house. I wouldn’t really have called that an emergency. Human girl is out cold and seems to have an awareness of us… that’s the big emergency. So, I spent much time in the mind of said human girl, one that had been bludgeoned over the skull by Dani – the Prince’s child. The girl who was known to me as Mary Dickens. Who is apparently known as Jenny to others. Regardless, I had to erase what things she had over heard and as I dove into her consciousness, I learned a great many details I could have never guessed. I suppose I am glad I did not go with my gut instinct to simply kill her.

For one, her life is intricately woven between vampires. A Xae who I do not know and also, more interestingly, a certain Doctor Hodges. Apparently, she is Quinn’s wife! Wait, what? Yes! Amazing are the things we learn and wonders just never cease!

I would have left this mess for Quinn to clean, for apparently this Nyx person had overheard vampires speaking of vampire matters, but I was already there and so I filtered through Nyx’s memories until I could find Dani and her shovel alongside the others who were arguing in the presence of a human – in front of our Lighthouse of all places and I took them from her.

I must talk to Quinn now and tell him what I have done with his wife other than deposit her at the clinic.

After that particular ordeal, I find myself on Skip’s porch, occupying his rocking chair. I knew he was back in town not because had had called me or informed me, but because I had run into him briefly a couple nights past on my way back into town after a trek through the woods. Fresh from my hunt, actually. He was at Lexie’s house – or on her deck rather – conferring with her about potential problems arising with his own Brethren. Nicky, mainly.

I didn’t stay. Indeed, my presence there was intrusive enough and purely accidental. I wanted to, though. I asked him how long he had been back. It was disheartening to see him thus, in the flesh and real, here and standing before me with his typical mannerisms. My first thoughts come rushing to the fray. Why didn’t he call? Does it really not matter? I mean, after what he said to me, was it really to me?

I’m suddenly full of doubt and insecurities. I don’t like feeling that way at all. Morelle Angelis would be so disappointed in this side of me, this facet of myself that dwells on things and desires things. In this alien territory I feel so very young. (Oh, and I’m totally leaving a bathing suit at Lexie’s house for future hot tubbing.)

Back to the now. Skip was not home. Thus why I remained in the rocking chair. I couldn’t enter his house. For some reason doing so now feels wrong to me. I am afraid of angering him. Or annoying him. I don’t really know how to go about things and it terrifies me because I simply just don’t know. I. Hate. That. It is not normal for me to be so unsure of myself.

I hear him coming up the street and other than bidding me good evening, he informs me I look tired. Isn’t that the polite way of telling someone they look old? Except that his observations are correct. Stealing memories has left me weary. My retort was to tell him he looks professor-ly, leap from the chair, and wrap my arms around his waist and all my self-doubts vanish.

I don’t care if he didn’t call me anymore.
I’m just glad he is back.

Embraces

I remember the Seine.

That’s not saying much, because I lived in France for a long time and the Seine is as much a constant to the people of France as the Nile is to the Egyptians. Parisians celebrate their great river and have done so over the course of our history by erecting magnificent architecture along its border and fashion noble bridges across its wide, lazy stream.

What I remember the most about the Seine was how dazzling the fireworks were. As they exploded above our heads, their colors reflected off the black waters and those who were afoot in the city – which was many – felt as though we were surrounded in the dazzling lights. It was New Years Eve and the City was alive, celebrating in wake of the doom that was in our midst. We were at war. Our streets were overrun with German soldiers. Paris was an occupied city.

I stood near one of the Seine’s many stone bridges. I had come from an alley of cafes, there with my regiment, my friends. Celebration was abound, because we were home. Not even a year in. How many to go? I was feeling pensive that evening and not joyful. The past year had been a big change for me and I was dealing with the repercussions of it. My family, you see, had big plans for me. I should be married now. To an Englishman in the Americas. Alfred Bennett, and his high society money (which was multiplying with American railroads) was my family’s ticket from modest wealth to bigger coffers. My father and Alfred’s father had worked out the details when the two of us were children, as families often did. How the two knew each other, I don’t know. Business, I suppose.

I first met Alfred when I was twelve, when the Bennetts had come to our home on a holiday. I thought his nose too pinched and his skin too fair. He protested the color of my hair and my freckles. Said I looked too much like a “blimey Scot.” Personally, I thought he looked like a girl. There was no love between us as children and even though we exchanged letters on occasion while growing up, there wasn’t even friendship by the time marriageable age came. We just pretended. Like many affianced couples do.

Talks of the war came and all around us the world was changing, rocketing forward into the new era. Everything was becoming streamlined and modernized. From politics to corsets. Carriages were being replaced with steam. Trains could take you anywhere! Ships were becoming larger and more accommodating, ready to take those who wished to America. Women were changing to. Marriage was not our only goal and like many girls, I wanted more than just a husband and social standing. I wanted adventure. Meaning. Something greater than Alfred Bennett.

I joined le Armee. Not as a soldier, obviously, and even back then I’m not sure I would have wished it. I exchanged my well-to-do finery for plain black frocks and white caps. I enlisted into nursing, the most noble and greatest duty a woman could have back then when it came to it. Recruitment was fierce. The country needed us! The soldiers needed us! Roll up your sleeves and get to work!

Needless to say, my family was not pleased with me. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I was disowned. Not that I really didn’t expect anything different from them. I knew I would never get blessings and well wishes in my endeavor here, nor would they understand my desire to aspire above sitting in my husband’s drawing room and sewing him lace kerchiefs. I had years ahead of me and I didn’t want to be married. Especially to Albert Bennett!

I was thinking on my family, though, as I stood in solitude under the street lamp, looking out at the Seine, watching fireworks reflect off the glassy, slick water. Behind me I could hear the Parisian night life.

“Oi! Callie!”

Black haired, blue eyed Margaret, who was so Irish that I could barely understand a word coming out of her mouth, was my best friend. She was a poor little farm girl looking for a bigger life to, who had come over with the Brits, and was in my company. Laughing at a table and surrounded by other girls in black frocks and soldiers, I seemed to be missing out on some great joke. She was summoning me over to our table, but I just kept walking for the bridge until I was in its center and away from the din. Like I said, I was pensive.

I missed my family despite all things. I sent letters, but I never got any in reply. In that year I had seen a great deal of bad things. Empires stood on shaky grounds. Germany scuttled around our streets. Much of my time was spent in the hospitals and I saw a great deal of horror and gore. I nursed injured soldiers. I dug bullets from their bodies, I helped sever limbs when the infections got to be too great, and I helped a great many pass into Heaven or Hell. It didn’t matter if they were French, German, Belgium, Russian, Turkish or English. We were expected to show compassion to all those damaged and broken men that came our way – though the majority in my care were German.

That is how Mystro Angelis and his progeny, Kristof Angelis found me. Brooding on a bridge. Both were dressed as gentlemen. Black coats, smart hats, and polished boots. Mystro wore a bright, crimson handkerchief in his breast pocket and in his hands he carried a richly carved cane topped with polished quartz. To my mortal eyes, they were the most beautiful people I had ever seen. I thought them angels, or perhaps devils. Mystro especially, for his hair was gleaming fair, like spun gold, and his eyes were the clearest shade of grey. So beautiful…

Looking into those eyes had been my undoing.

“Sire,” Kristof had said, “We’re going to be late. Must you? Leave her be.”
“Silence,” Mystro’s voice rang in my head, like a strange echo, “Look at her, no? What a rare little bird.”

He had stepped towards me, hands behind his back, slightly bent with purposeful inspection of my face, and I just couldn’t move or say a thing. Fireworks burst again over our heads and I could barely hear them. His gentle fingers were icy cold on my jaw and as he loomed in closer, I realized how pale he was. Ethereal, weird, and fascinating. I could not look away from him, even though I knew, deep down in the pit of my gut, that he was not human. I felt no fear. I was under his spell.

Mystro plucked the white cap from my head right there on the bridge. Deliberately, he coiled a stray lock of my hair that had escaped my pins around his white finger.

“Look, the color. Such hair. Like fire and sunset. Look, see?” He smiled at me, Mystro did, and then, “A little French rose. Won’t you kiss me, little Rose?”

He moved in, pulling my body towards his. If some part of me protested, I did not know. I was completely hypnotized, and nothing but a helpless puppet. His cold lips felt horrid on mine, but the fangs upon my neck felt entirely different. Pleasant. Warm. Like a kiss should feel if this man, who I knew not, was my lover…




These were all echoes from Kristof’s blood as it poured into me, bringing me back from the brink. I hadn’t been dreaming, I had been seeing what he had seen. Felt what he had felt. And then I could taste that it. Blood.

It was sweet and sticky and yet blazing hot all in the same turn. If fire and fury had a taste, this was it. Never had I wanted anything so badly than this and I came to, eyes flying open, finding my mouth latched on a wrist. I suckled hard, trying to get as much in as possible, as though I were dying of thirst and here was a fount of water. By instinct I bit in, realizing that my teeth were not there, but fangs. The smell, oh the smell, was beyond anything I could describe. A garden of roses, hot mulling spices and wine, and darmp, cool earth maybe.

Where was I? On a bed. Ornate and huge. It had lavish, velvet curtains in the deepest of reds. The dark room was dark with walls of stone, but I could see everything so perfectly. Books. Wealth. So much wealth in the furniture and the art, though it felt positively medieval.

“Stop it!” That was Mystro, tearing me away from Kristof’s arm and screaming, protesting, I clawed at my sire, snarling, wanting more! So hungry! He threw me, sent me sailing through the air, and I hit the wall with such force that surely I would die from it. Instead, I simply landed – amazed at this – to my feet. I was angry at him, the grey-eyed blonde. I was staring at him through what is now my natural eyes. The beast’s eyes.

I remember laughing because what was this? I was going crazy! Surely none of this was real! Surely all the things I had witnessed in war had turned me to a lunatic.

“Errant little fledgling! Kristof!” Mystro’s voice roared, “What the hell were you thinking, my love? I did NOT give you permission to do this!” Suddenly he pointed at me with an accusing fingers, and the power of his voice suddenly cowed me. I was afraid of him. Well I should be, for he was the Prince I would later come to learn.

“I don’t care, Mystro,” Kristof sounded annoyed, “Who gave you permission to take me? Leave me be. Leave her be. She is mine.”

That voice. Kristof’s. My gaze fell on him, and I knew, by instinct, that I would be woven with him for all my days. A bond burned hot and bright in my chest. I felt, for the first time, the forming of the conscious link between Sire and child. This! This…was my father now.

“Fine, Kristof!” Mystro exclaimed hotly, “She has two weeks. That’s it.”

Two weeks till what?

Mystro’s boots retreated. A door slammed. The Kristof was looming over me, his face the model of kindness, and that was when the pain hit me.

“It won’t last long. It is just the body dying, but you…you will live forever.”

__________

Why am I detailing this? Why do I relive this on these pages? Because now I have a child of my own. I have passed on the blood line, which was something I swore I would never do. That oath, however, was made nearly forty years past.

I live in a new stage of myself. Things have changed. I have changed. Looking back on that day on the Seine, I wonder why Kristof did it. Why me? When I asked him, some years later, he had said because I had looked so sad and that, in a way, he thought me similar in appearance to his mortal wife. I had been an impulse. On that day, on the Seine, with the fireworks bursting and Paris attempting to be joyous under Germany’s occupation, he was tired of death. I didn’t deserve to die, he said. So tired of death...

And why have I done it? I can’t even say. Jake Angelis, or so he is called now, was no impulse. My esteem for him has been remote and protective, simply because he is Celeste’s goul. Or was. Now he is my child. A vampire! Made by me. I am racked with both guilt and glee. My mother’s instincts have suddenly kicked in.

I have made him, but will I do right by him? Can I handle this now that it is done? And Celeste, will she happy now that her lover is now hers for an eternity?

Who’s to say.

This town has been eerily quiet. I feel a sense of dread because of this for the quiet lacks easiness and comfort. As if something again once dawns on our horizons ready and waiting to batter Ravenhurst’s citizenry with supernatural forces. Or maybe its just me and I simply can not tolerate the quiet anymore after experiencing all the chaos that has ripped through this sleepy little fishing village since my coming here. I watch with weary, guarded eyes as the town ticks along in the stretch of Summertide.

Jake seems to be doing remarkably well. I knew because of the way his character is grounded that he would make a fine addition to my family. He has not faltered even once. More than I can say for me. In my first two weeks of turning, I went ballistic at least four times. I’ve seen him amongst the streets, seen him with mortals, and I am assuming he is hunting rather than making friends. This pleases me to no end. He is adjusting very well. Still, I hope he does not mind my detachment. My absence from the home Celeste, he, and I share.

I have purchased another home. Not for me to live in, for I am quite fond of my little town home. I hate urban life, despite its ease for the hunt, but I purchased it for us. For me and my children. I confess, I thought on it a great deal, and while I had Doctor Hodges prattling on and on about his misgivings and his objections into my ear in regards to what I fondly call the ‘Puck show’ (for William does have a penchant for odd circumstances) and vampire society, I roamed various residential sites on the market. I bought one near the Sorrento. It wasn’t the prettiest of palaces and I have certainly seen less appealing ones in my day. Rather, it is relatively normal for the Washington culture. Brick. Wood.

Why did I purchase this? Well, now my little family has a place of anchorage amidst preferable hunting grounds. And I won’t lie if I say I don’t stand in this brick and wood box, listening to Dr. Hodges still speaking in my ear, and fantasize about taking Skip here and being alone, away from our respective coteries, and touching him in ways I wish to. Ways that would surely scandalize…well, probably everyone who has ever known me. Truly known me.

I hang up with the Doctor, but I spend the rest of the evening on my phone. I buy things that homes require. I plot what things I will take from my attic – definitely the portraits Morrelle’s little goul had done. The abstract characters put on canvas that were my sire and myself. Things, wall hangings, that had appealed to me at some point in my existence. Perhaps my mantle clock. That dusty old music box.

Back in town, I resumed the Puck show. In the Ellwyn’s house. Celeste is frantic, in my head, and angry. Michael, apparently, is angry with her.. Rescuing Puck from the clutches of a would-be killer is apparently frowned up on in vampire society. Oh, yeah, that’s right. I have a psycho on the loose in my town – the details of which I plucked directly from Puck’s mind. Some blonde creature, sinister and beautiful, with the power of compelling those who are terrified of water to go into water. Like a vampire might.

Is this blonde creature with green eyes and decorative metal implements in his face a vampire? I don’t know. He doesn’t look familiar. Perhaps he is with this Elle who I have yet to see. Or perhaps he was simply passing though and was performing a gruesome attempt at hunting, his efforts waylaid by my Celeste. I don’t know, but my eyes are very much open.

Patrolling has yet to show this man, but it has found my missing truck – there it was by the diner. Why, oh why, is my truck beside the diner? I really, really need a better security system on the beastly thing. I may not be the world’s greatest driver, but I still enjoy getting behind the wheel none the less. Or at least I would if the streets were wider and not teaming with lamp posts, bridges with guard rails, and signs. Truck and I made it in one piece. I threw the gear into park when suddenly my cell phone rang.


“Angelis,” I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered it anyways. It was local.

“Are you moving into our neighborhood?” A male voice asked of me.

“Who is this?”

“Madame, my name is Isaiah Moretti. I work for Mr. Arabie.”

Ah. The locals. So fast? Really?

“I’m listening.”

“Madame, we were curious as to why you would further integrate yourself into our community. Are you leaving Ravenhurst?”

“No, that is not it. Mr. Moretti, my reasons are pretty simple. This is a small town. Finding food here and not drawing attention to myself are rather difficult. I stand under public scrutiny. Are you really going to give me a hard time for availing ourselves in such a big city?”

“Ourselves?” He queried.

“Yes, my family.”

“Ms. Angelis, I’ll be frank. Mr. Arabie doesn’t really desire permanent residents. If you want to be apart of our little community, then you are going to have to do something for Mr. Arabie.”

Really, I was expecting this. Vampires are sometimes no different than sects of the mafia – and hey, this guy’s last name was Moretti. Fitting.

“Like?”
“He has a job for you. Oh, yes. He knows all about you, child of Angelis. I expect that understand what he wants?”

I did…
Could I actually do it again?
Hadn’t I evolved away from that?

I got out of the truck and hung up my phone on Moretti after a few words, the issue put on hold. The Professor was there, holding up a light post, probably having a near-death experience even though he stood quite a ways away from my truck. I went to him. To me he is way more important and deserving of my attention than some schmuck goul of some ass I don’t even know. Actually, I’m pretty sure the Professor is more important to me than many things. We talked about the case. Told him that I had Hodges call Caty Sapphire. That sweeps were next – the hunting for remains.

I’m out of ideas and of resources. I’m tired of trying to solve this case as a by-the-book Sheriff. I’d rather be handling things as I am, or what I am. Still, he was not pleased with that I had called Ms. Sapphire, warning me of the dangers of the media diva and her team of sharks. As for me, well, I tried to assure him that I knew what I was doing. I don’t think he was really convinced. He is too weary. Though in this town, I suppose that is a noble trait to possess.

He walked with me while I patrolled the East side of town. Nothing to note, save a moment of being ill at ease near the diner. I kept my senses fanned, my internal radar sharp. William Puck’s attacker could still be skulking around and I didn’t want him doing thus while the Professor was with me.

Other than that moment of caution, the rest of the town was exceedingly at peace. We mused at the Red Dragon where he used to live, and I thought on how I used to stalk his balcony, waiting for him to come outside for a cigarette, so that I could talk with him. Just before parting with him, I inquired of our date. Some days back, I had asked if we could go on one. I wish I hadn’t spoken so soon and part of me regrets asking. Why? Because he agreed and I have been plagued with anxiety since. I don’t know what to do or what to expect – two things I loathe.

I informed him I had never been on such before. Sadly, I don’t think he was very surprised at this…

“Be at the ferry at five,” He said to me, “And don’t be late.”

Professor Zelin, in the Living Room, with Woah

Nervousness.
Excitement.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Joy.

I cycled through those things prior to sunset, having woken up early. I just couldn’t sleep. The sound of the sun was still there roaring in the sky, I could hear its lull beckoning me back to sleep, but I could not. I stared at the intricate patterns formed by metal coils, dark ebony wood, and the materials that made up my box spring mattress from my preferred hiding spot – underneath my bed - waiting just for the moment when the sun would be far to the West.

Above me Jake and Celeste slept their deep vampire slumber, staying under the covers. They should really get their own bedroom. Or maybe I just need a bigger house than the one I have. I sort of envy them. The two of them together are so sure in their feelings for the other and so happy, it seems, to be entangled together with their fates.

Many years ago, I knew such surety. Not with a person, no. Not in this intimate thing that goes on between two people with mutual desire for the other. I just mean that I was sure of myself. I had total reign and control of my feelings. Morrelle was a good teacher in this retrospect, and I modeled myself to be just like her. She was so objective and so profoundly blank in her feelings – one could never tell if she truly felt emotion or not. My life in Paris was a sure one. I knew exactly what I was to do, how to behave, and what was expected of me. I had total control over my feelings, my thoughts. Forty years ago, Keliah Angelis would never be subject to this. If I could look on myself from who I was back then, I would think me a weak and stupid fool.

And yet, there I was. Lying there. Waiting with anticipation for the sun to descend for I had a ferry to catch with Skip Zelin.

I must have worn everything in my wardrobe, tried on every shoe, and arranged my hair in a different number of ways. I applied mascaras, lipsticks, powders and blushes. Then, I took them off. I felt ridiculous. I finally just left the house in jeans, a sweater, and left my hair to do as it would. No make-up. Everything felt like a costume to me. In my one hundred plus years, I have never attempted to look nice in order to please someone else. I’m pretty sure I failed this round. Besides, how does one try to be appealing to someone with both wisdom and experience? Someone who has crested over their youth and now wanes into the other side of the mortal cycle?

I sit here and muse as I write this. What happens ten years from now? Twenty? Thirty, if he makes it to thirty? When he is a man, small and stooped with age, on the brink of death, would he still love me? Would he see me as something older than himself even if I do not succumb to the same physical changes of age?

Can I bear to sit back and allow that?

I spent the ferry trip trying to quell my anxiousness. The cab trip to. The feeling grew heavier and heavier as I lead us to the newly acquired abode I had purchased for me and my family. Our being here together was deliberate, purposefully moved away out of range of the demands that we both must usually meet. At first I was gung ho, but just then? I felt so awkward…

I poured him a drink, and myself a drink, which I would not partake of. We gave cheers to vodka, my stomach, and the new loft. He produced the DVD ‘Clue’, which had become sort of a joke after a reference to Colonel Mustard’s candlestick – though I am thinking that my lack of knowledge in popular culture is beginning to be an annoyance. For instance, he said Fraiser Crane would approve of my apartment? After explaining to me who exactly Mr. Crane was, he observed how amazed he was at the things I did not know versus the things I did.

We sat down together on the new sofa. I think we made it just past the opening credits before he touched me. My insecurities and fears vanished, along with our clothes.

___________

No sooner are we back in Ravenhurst am I getting messages from Quinn and then Puck, the latter informing me that he is sitting in my house to talk to me about Quinn’s craziness. Lexie informing me that Tabbie Blackthorne assaulted the Doctor with a tire iron. That’s it. I can’t leave, apparently. I don’t feel like a Sheriff anymore. I don’t feel much like the Prince’s Steward either. I feel…like this island is amok with kids and for some reason Puck and Quinn must think I’m their mother.

My temper flares; I feel that certain t i c k..
I have to do something about this situation before I end up killing someone.

Entitlement

Entitlement. This is something many people feel they are due. Perhaps my mindset is too logical to break away from rules and structure. Or perhaps I simply understand that when one does stupid things, then consequences must be met. I don’t fathom how it is that a person can not understand the nature of consequence or that there are methods of getting around them.

As long as I am here, conscious and ‘alive’, I will always rely on the thing that is consequence. If I do wrong, I expect punishment. If I see wrong, I am expected to punish.

So it is with Quinn Hodges, Remi’s childe. Remi. I have always believed in him, despite my reservations of his blood line. He is crazy. He is a lunatic. I have been privy to the memories and images in his mind and seen the chaotic horror within. Yet, there is something in the blonde little vampire that keeps him level with the rest of us. He is brilliant and old. When Remi first brought Quinn for our approval to be his goul, naturally some of us were a little reserved. Quinn, as a mortal, was odd enough. Yet Remi found great promise in him, declared that he would be a notable warrior some day. We all decided to trust the older Malkavian, but gave warning.

Naturally, when chaos broke free in the town and the fog came, some of us were a bit more affected than others. Quinn was no exception. Armed with rifles, intent on suicide – this was the Professor’s first encounter with the man, I believe. I went to Remi. Fix it, I said. Handle it.

When Quinn was made a vampire, I had my reservations still. Again, Remi stood by his choice and believed in his protégé. I knew that Remi would someday make Quinn into one of us, but I didn’t know when. How his turning was approved, I am not sure. Yet Quinn was born in to our ranks, fangs emerged, and Remi stood beside his choice while I held back, apprehensive of this.

It did not take long for the lunacy to begin, but it’s been especially bad with the appearance of William Puck, an insignificant little boy who is, as Skip says, like a cat with nine lives. Granted, I do not know the story between Quinn and Puck, nor do I know where this sublime hatred stems from save Tanith, Quinn’s son. All I know is that I have a Bairn who refuses to heed his elders, who continually blusters about with his poor attitude, continues to perform woefully despite having such noble Sire, and yet professes to any ear who will listen to him that he is wronged. A victim.

My patience….is gone.

And so it was I found Quinn at the Elwynn’s shop, delving out threats to my red-headed compatriot, proclaiming to all who would listen that he was going to do what he was going to do. I stood in the door frame, blocking his departure, shutting the door to too-interested faces wanting to sneak a peek at the impending scene. Barely-controlled rage was my guide, my solace. I fought with the young vampire, the witches threw up a ward, trapping us both within it. How I wanted to kill him! Yet Tabbie – when had she gotten there? – pulled me out from the binds before Quinn’s heart was given a mighty staking and a spell was ardently sung out to…who ever listens and answers such things. While Quinn and I were in the ward, chaos had reigned on the outside. Smashed pots. Glass. A window. Puck holding onto his chest, pained, a product of the spell cast. Quinn would share Puck’s pain, Puck then Quinn’s. Skip was there, crouched before his ward. Ace to. Ace held fast to me, I to her. Both of us seemingly using the other to quell our inner beasts.

Quinn is lucky that mine did not fully surface.

When Quinn was unconscious and removed from the ward, I lifted him to me, and put him in the back of my truck. Ace and I ended up at the light house, ready to put him into his prison – the cave, though Ace and I had further business upstairs.

This was the first time I had brought anyone into the light house other than Jericho, and here it is, I have a werewolf. A werewolf! Granted, it’s Ace. I fear, however, that perhaps no one will understand, and as I walked with her up the winding stairs, I was resigning myself to whatever punishment I might be given by my Prince for breaking this rule…I let Ace speak her piece first, keeping myself sequestered away. I will have my own audience with Michael when the time is right, for surely he will wish to speak on the issue.

I returned to the Professor’s house early in the morning. Up the stairs I went, silently creeping, and I settled on the bed beside him as quiet and deft as a shadow. I listened to his breath, the sounds of which still slightly tinged with wetness from the latter stages of his cold. His heart beats slow and strong with sleep. His face, normally so drawn and angular, is softened in sleep-peace. He is beautiful to me like this. Innocent looking and serene, even with his wise features, what does he dream of? And has anyone ever called the Professor beautiful? I made sure the curtains were drawn tight and dressed in my ‘night clothes’, crawled into bed beside him, and waited until the song of the sun was too loud to ignore, thinking of what lay on the horizon other than the fiery, burning ball of Death.

The professor found me staring out the window of his door the next eve, offering me pennies for my thoughts, for I must have appeared as pensive as I felt. Feeling somewhat ridiculous, I told him what weighed on my mind. The truth is I am very bothered. My upbringing, everything of who I used to be, flails and protests because my loyalty is passed around to others not of my kindred. The older I become, the more human I seem to be. It genuinely bothers me. Quinn’s meddlesome, irksome, and poor judgment aside, he is still one of my own. Shouldn’t I have helped him? Shouldn’t I have done a better job at keeping my temper at bay? Am I a failure in my duties as Steward? Should I have allowed Quinn to go so far? Should I have ended his existence that night he removed Puck from the streets?

And what about Ace? Can the two of us bond, truly? Friendship aside, can the blood of us ‘Wyrm’ tainted people be mixed with those of ‘Gia’? So many questions and apprehensions and my dear heart, he is there to guide me.

Le Premier Goût

I had two weeks, Mystro had declared, and as I lay in a heap on Kristof’s floor waiting for the pain to go away – for my body to die – I had no idea what he meant. Two weeks for..?

“It is alright,” Kristof had come to crouch beside me, tenderly stroking hair from my face, tucking errant, undone tendrils back into the lace bonnet that held all my hair modestly in place. I wasn’t sure why he was cajoling me. “It is the blood that makes us so violent. Some day, it will be a great strength of yours.”

Kristof reached for my hand, but I would not be touched. Instead, I lashed again. I fought him. I pushed. I hit. I tried to throw him. Anything. All my petty blows were so easily deflected. I tried to bite once again. I was so afraid and so..pissed! I don’t recall ever feeling such anger in all my life. Everything blazed in my vision, fringed with red hate, and I wanted to crush his bones in my very hands.

“Little bird,” He sighed, “Do not give in to the blood this way.”

My blows met his flesh; He barely moved.
I slammed against him; He threw me to the stone floor.
I kicked at his legs; He merely dodged me.

How long we did this dance, I do not know. I can’t recall the memory, so blurred was I and so heartsick. My endurance gave out rather quickly, and at the time, I did not realize just how many of my powers I was utilizing in that one given moment of me trying to tear down an impenetrable Elder. And so it was that I, tangled up in a ball of skirts, petticoats, and bloody tears, crumbled to Kristof’s feet, mollified by my own exhaustion.

“Please let me go. I have done nothing to you. Are you German? Are you Turkish? Please. We’re occupied. We’ve done nothing to your country...”

“I can’t let you go.”

“But..”

Kristof silenced me simply by holding up a hand, staying my words. He turned away from me, his footsteps so soundless that I thought he might be floating, and I found it strange that I could not hear them yet I could hear everything so very clearly. He rang a servant’s bell. I could hear it’s cheery jingle and I heard footsteps coming closer to the door. Closer, closer, closer…

Th-thump.
Th-thump.
Th-thump.
Th-thump.

What. Was. That.

Wild eyed, gritting teeth. I had to find that beat. That song. I had to! Kristof stood by the door, looking calm. Serene. Sad. He opened it when the knock came. A man came into the room, giving my father a proper little bow. I don’t know who this man was and I would never know. All I knew was that he was but a man in the employ of monsters.

“My daughter,” He gave a small flourish of his hand towards me, where I was upon the floor. By now I had risen to my knees, my nails digging into the stone. “She is moving in with us, now. Please see to any wants she might have.”

Kristof slipped outside of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Th-thump.

So loud now, the song. I have a small groan. I could smell him, something about him. He did not smell like a man, but rather..alive. Like life! My mouth burned with some desperate sort of yearning, my jaw aching, and I was aware once again of the sharp protrusions extending in my mouth. My fangs..

“No.” I said despairingly, weeping, “Please go away..”
“But, Madamoiselle?”
“Please!”

He looked at me, frightened. Appalled. He made the sign of the cross and backed into the door, testing the knob. My face was covered in blood. My fangs protruding..

The door was locked from the outside.
He began to pray.

“GO! NOW!”

Th-thump-th-thump-th-thump-th-thump!

So fast. So fragrant.

I could hear the man’s screams, loud and pleading. Death screams. I could hear the sounds of fabric ripping. Snap! Bone. Broken. The wet sound of flesh tearing. And the blood, it was so intoxicating. I had rushed at the mortal and jerked him into submission, splitting his vertebrae as I wrenched his neck into position. Instinct and thirst were my teachers. Mortal vitae, so fresh and sweet, flooded into my awaiting mouth and I consumed it – him – with a lust that I had never known I possessed. The blood in his body was not enough to fill me. His fragile body was split upon with the beating of my fists, pulverizing the sternum that caged his precious heart, and that was how Kristof found me when he returned. The carcass in my lap, his chest broken and exposed along with the red, fragrant heart in my hands which I was greedily suckling upon.

“Do you feel better?”

I felt amazing. Reluctantly, I nodded.

“Do you now understand why I can not let you go home?”

I…nodded again and rose to me feet. Kristof was there with me in an instant, seizing my wrists in his hands, staring down at me with his abysmal, black eyes.

“You will not leave my side. You will do as I command – no question!”

Again, I nodded.

Kristof ran the tip of his tongue along one of my fingers, lapping up the scarlet rivulet in a slow, deliberate gesture. I think he meant to shock me, and perhaps that night on the Seine I would have been. But now? Now I knew what it was to need the blood. How powerful the desire of it was.

“If you break our laws, if you do not meet my expectations. If you can not learn control…I will be forced to destroy you, Childe of mine.”

He spoke with such softness, such gravity. Even tenderness despite the cryptic warning. I looked at him, my face and clothing a bloody mess, and then I glanced down at the corpse. The organs, bone..

I wept at such horror, but still…
Kristof enveloped me in his arms, crushing me to his body which, to me, felt as hard as marble. I was devastated at what I had done. Callie DeFreyne was a good girl. She was not a monster. She saved life. She was compassionate and serving. She believed in greater things and wanted to change the world.

When I drew back from Kristof, I stared up into his pallid countenance, and knew from henceforth I was no longer human.

“I am still hungry…”


My first feeding. So different than Jake’s. I knew, through our link, that he had taken his first taste of live blood. Celeste, to, had told me through our link. Thus I write down the tale of my first feeding as well so that I may mark our differences. So that I might remember what I truly am. When I feel too comfortable and too soft. When I feel conflicted and torn between good and evil I will remember the remorse I felt that day along with the lack of mercy I had shown my first victim.

When people think me kind and gracious, I will recollect truly what dark things lurk under my skin. The Beast. It is always there.

Off note: First my front door is scratched. Now my office chair.. covered in white fur. Dog hair. Thought maybe it was Deeohgee, but after checking the surveillance cameras at the office…it appears I have attracted a different sort canine. A small wolf. White. Why is it looking for me?

Qui est la Personne Réelle?

And so it was I received a text from Ace asking to meet with me in the ruins. I was already there, coincidentally. I love the ruins, though more specifically I love the lagoon there. It’s so very out of place with the harshness of the pacific that yawns outwards in the backdrop. In the lagoon the waters are cool, placid and gentle. It practically glows with starlight and other-wordly things, and the eerie mist that lingers in the reeds and lush greenery would inspire the most fantastic of tales.

Perhaps this has something to do with the Source at the foray of this lagoon. I confess that I know very little of magic and what I do know has been experienced though dire circumstances or though little morsels of information from the Professor. I honestly do not get how things can be manipulated through crystal stone, that the Earth provides abundance of energy, that fortunes can be divined though cryptic messages left in tea leaves or discerned from cards – though legends of magic and the like have trickled down though human history since the beginning of time.

For the record, I do not really understand my physiology either. It simply is what it is. The blood of blood-drinkers produces more blood-drinkers. We die, yet we do not decay and spend eternity forever changed into monsters. We become sleek, powerful hunters. We can do things no human ever could. Some of us give in to the beast’s allure and we shed our humanity. We forget that we were born from wombs, that we were nurtured at our mother’s breasts. We grew, we matured, and we had human hopes and dreams. On the other side of things, some of us struggle in our eternal lives under conflict and duress. Our humanity is what keeps us here on Earth another day. The beast is constantly quelled and the struggle to keep the evil of it at bay becomes oppressive and exhausting. Some of us can not grasp that they are monsters, plagued forever in guilt because no matter how hard they maintain their ‘purity’, eventually the beast comes for all of us.

Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – I seem to be caught somewhere in the middle, though I have a hard time admitting to this. Morelle would have my head for such blasphemy. In our family, our coterie, humanity is not allowed. Softness, compassion, and feeling are fleeting and only acceptable when shown to kindred. My time in her tutelage changed me forever into a hard ass, but sometimes I wonder if my most pronounced lessons of how-to-be were learned during my extended solitude and the periodic bouts of torpor. If I did not have that - having my own self for company - who would I be today?

Back to Ace, who joined me shortly in the ruins to discuss her personal matters. Part of her news only disturbs me slightly. My new deputy, the rookie, has been poking her nose around the woods. Apparently, she’s on some sort of gung-ho mission to find drugs and drug related problems. Odd much? Just why on Earth would a rookie cop be so ardent in this I have no clue. I suspect something, I just don’t know what.

As for Ace’s other news, it seems there had been a leak of intel, that word had gotten out that the former Lupa had come to seek the aid of the vampires, and that perhaps that attempts were being made on her life. Even worse, that perhaps this information of her turning towards me – her natural enemy – had reached a certain hermit in the woods. I fear very little and I’d like to think that I am a bit brave when it comes to my own person, but Flanagan is on the list of shit of things to run from. Right up there with dawn. Even though I admire him greatly.

However, it is the mages who step in and save the day (again.) Ace’s internal bonds can be severed with their divine assistance. There will be no diving into the Umbra, though. I was sort of…wanting to go and see it for myself. If there was truth to it. The darker side of me was curious to see if Ace could roam this place and come back a dark, twisted thing. After a few fight lessons we go someplace even more sinister. A quick call to Lexie, the three of us headed out on the last ferry in order to hit the mall.

____________

Anya. What am I to do? To think? Upon speaking to her, she asked me for more work and so I pointed out that she had been well enough what with her ardent task of sniffing out drugs in perhaps one of the most dangerous spots in North America. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she appeared put off by my question – though only slightly – but she pressed on with her request and inquired as to the missing persons board.

Poor sots. Gone walking in the woods. Ne’er to return again.

Because I wanted her more closely tied with my professional dealings in order to keep better tabs on her doings, I decided to take Jarred off the case and put her on. Despite my suspicions of her behavior and mistrust, she obviously needs something to do and ever since I became Sheriff, my time has been too thin and this case needs a fresh set of eyes.

I had plans of bringing her to see the professor, to introduce the two of them, but I figured I would take her first to the mine entrance and recount the things that I could tell her that had happened in there – well, what I could tell her – and gave her our cover story of the girls Kim Ling and Cheryl Kowlawski. I feel sort of terrible for lying about the supernatural dealings that are really the key to this case and the reasons as to why Susan will probably never be found. Not even her bones. On our way to the mines the Professor happened upon us on the road – coming down from Lexie’s home, I imagine. He appeared thin and fatigued to me, and his stomach was a veritable symphony of hunger. So our mission was waylaid for surely Anya would wish to speak to him. To Tom’s diner with us.

I missed much of her questioning having received a phone call that I could not ignore and then the mental sort of phone call from Celeste conveying her concerns about Michael’s offering Jake the garage and the apartment above it. She found the scheme fishy, which I hopefully assuaged with my logic. The garage. It had been a wolf haunt ever since I had been in this town. Now it was in possession and management of the vampires. Yet one more local that assured our dominance over town turf.

One interesting note of Anya’s questioning: drugs. Again. What is with this girl and drugs? What does a rookie officer have to do with such things? Again, I am suspicious. Why? How often are legal positions of enforcement used as a guise to cover other dealings? It is why I hold title to my office. It is why, after World War II, that I was so extensively involved in the political workings of the Angelian Empire (which the world refers to as France.) So I am alarmed. Probably I am too alarmed and overly cautious, jumping to conclusions, and over reacting. Perhaps she is researching the supernatural? Here to seek proof of our existence?

Or worse, what if she is a hunter?

I pitch my thoughts to the professor after Anya took her leave, just asking that he kept a weary eye open for her. She is probably just an ambitious busy-body ready to right the world and is completely undeserving of my suspicion, but one can never be too careful.

Prenez moi à la Lune

When Ace had come to bid me farewell and tell me of her plans to leave for Montana in order to escape the bondage shared with Kione, the two of us began to discuss methods in which she could stay and be free of it. Her first idea was to bond to me and even though I knew the idea would most likely be fruitless I agreed to look into the matter despite my own reservations with the understanding of blood along with the oaths involving it. You see, my blood is already bound. Twicefold. Celeste and Jake, my children, are intertwined with me already. Even if the Professor wished to tie himself to me with blood I am not so sure I would accept. The term “the more the merrier” does not apply with blood bonds.

I was thinking of other means, however. Oddly, my mind ticked back to Ophelia, Ace’s predecessor, when she had dealings with the wolves known as Spiral Dancers. I do not mention them here in my tome because I never dealt with them. Nor did I ever see them. Ophelia had been adamant in her spiritual existence with Gia. She was a wild creature and earthly. She was of Gia, she would say, and she would condemn me – albeit nicely – because I was of the Wyrm. That my blood was sick with Wyrm-taint. As for the Spiral Dancers, Ophelia said that they to were of the Wyrm.

I was bewildered with her wolf’s reasoning of her prejudices against me – and even though we were tolerant of each other to the point of friendship – I never quite understood her beliefs. I am of the Brujah line. My blood’s origins begin with Ilyes, the third generation, whose grandsire was Caine himself. Or so the lore is told. I don’t really believe any of it. Then again, I would have never thought blood-drinkers existed.

I am straying from my point.

Over time – when I had time – I indulged here and there in research of lore. Of course, when looking for lore of the supernatural variety, most of it is pages upon pages of lunacy and delusion. It is hard to glean what might ring with truth and what may be entirely false, especially when your name is Keliah Angelis and the only thing you truly believe in is the tangible here and now. I turned to the only source I could trust – Kristof. My father.

In his mortal days he had been an ardent preacher. First a devout Catholic and then with the rise of Lutheranism he became a Lutheran. He was a man of strong conviction in faith, a rebel against Holy Rome, and a lover of theology. When he was brought from his pulpit and made into the monster it only added heaps of more theologies to learn, more philosophies to absorb, and an eternity to contemplate, well, everything. He was the only person that I knew who could give me an educated answer of what – and where – the Wyrm was.

Lupine lore. Lore of the old maji.
The Umbra, the metaphysical realm of Heaven and Hell.
The Lupine, he had said, can travel between our world and this Umbra.

Can we?
I do not know.
What is the Wyrm?
Chaos.

If Ace had gone to this Wyrm - If she could pass into this Umbra – then her blood would be as mine in accordance to Lupine lore. Like the Spiral Dancers. Perhaps, then, she and my kindred would no longer be natural enemies; Her bonds would be free of her former kith and Kione. Right?

Even though things have settled themselves in regards to Ace without such drastic measures, my curiosity remained with the Umbra. I spoke more with Kristof about it, intermittedly peppering our conversations about my life here by complaining about my daughter’s taste in clothes, speaking of his natural grandchilde, Jake, and avoiding discussions that delve to deeply into my personal relationships. He would not approve of my fondness for Skip Zelin because of his mortality, though I am sure he would admire the Professor. (I can sort of picture the two of them tete a tete, chomping on pipes, surrounded by books, and hashing out philosophy.) Can vampires go into this realm? I had asked Kristoff. He replied by sending me an old book about a mythical city populated solely of our kindred along with a note written in his refined calligraphy: “Un homme peut voler jusqu'à la lune?”

If the Umbra is real, could not the fog come from this underworld? And if the fog had slain Kim and Cheryl, was capable of summoning great, sinister magics, and able to reign in terror against our island, could it not have taken Susan to its realm?

I am not going to find her bones here on this Earth.
I knowthis. I feel this.

Skip continues to harbor some flicker of hope.
Maybe deep down he knows I will not find her bones either.

I want to go to the Umbra and search for her.

I pitched my theories to the Professor who stepped up to the plate by informing me that Tabbie Blackthorne had been taken into a different, darker world while the fog was here. When I told him of my tentative plans he was less than thrilled. In fact, he was down right angry and insulting, but in the end, while holding me to him, he asked if he could at least help me. I agreed. Naturally.

Jarred Hodges, my Deputy soldier who is far too fond of taking extended leaves than getting any actual work done, interrupted our conversation to inform me that Caty Sapphire (shadowed, as always, by that spray-tanned, teeth-bleached piece of plastic, Mario..Marco..Marble..whatever) was waiting for me at the station. Talks of mystic realms fall away to real leads and more tangible means of finding Susan Zelin, though I’m pretty sure that if the Wyrm exists Caty Sapphire comes from its pit.

Strange Companions

I seemed to have acquired a new companion as of late. I confess, the little white wolf has left me confused. I had first spotted the animal nosing its way into my very office. In the black and white fuzz of the security monsitor, the lone creature sniffed around and eventually found its into my desk chair, where it promptly curled up into a pile of silver and white fur and fell asleep – or at least seemed to be asleep – though it left before Tom showed up to assume his daytime duties.

Watching that, I had wondered if that wolf was Tom. But why would Tom decide to hang out in the office and pull and all nighter of lounging in my chair? Doesn’t seem like the behavior of a US Marshal. So who was the wolf? Was it just a wild beast looking to escape the rain? It was possible, but in this town, I just don’t believe in such coincidences. That wolf was looking for me. Waiting for me.

Dread sort of stirred in my breast over the idea of it. I imagined perhaps he was a messenger here to deliver me foul news after word of Ace and myself had gotten out. Perhaps my desire to pass into the seemingly mythical umbra had drawn attention. Perhaps the animal just had something against me personally. And then I met the beast…

I had been standing out front of the light house, partly waiting to see if the Prince would show face and partly just enjoying the peace of being in one’s natural home – the haven. I wasn’t alone for very long. The silver and white beast came stalking up the graveyard while I was having a furious conversation with Skip Zelin about Ace being shot. With this news, I thought perhaps the animal was here in relation to Ace and then I realized that it – he – was not here in regards to Ace.

Maybe it was just an animal? One can never be too sure with the shifting variety of folks – save its seemingly sentient face. I lowered myself to its level to stare into those amber eyes as if I could glean something from him and instead I got slobbered up the cheek and nose with wolf tongue. Gross..Okay, so, no were this. I laid my hands upon its head, sank my fingers into the scruff, and before I could say anything to the beast other than my initial queries I had to explain why I had a wolf with me in the graveyard to a stranger who appeared fresh out of the mountains.

I’m talking long, grizzly beard. A mop of hair. Stained, unkept teeth. A pauch of a belly. No pulse. I have never met a more unseemly looking vampire in all my days. We all just seem to revert to a preternatural state of beauty upon our deaths. Not this man, though. Yikes.

“He’s my K-9 unit.” I would explain to the new vampire, my words bolstered with confident swagger that my new friend was indeed a police dog in the wake of the other vampire’s doubts. The wolf seemed keen to defend me. Growled a little bit. Bared its long…bone claws. Gangrel claws! My wolf is no were, nor some bored beast! It’s one of my kindred!

After I delivered the speech of my Prince’s expectations and the laws of the land, I glanced down at the wolf and simply said, “Come along, Officer.” Amused – sharing a joke with the beast – and moved on to finish my patrol. He accompanied me all the while, faithfully padding beside me as we kept watch over Ravenhurst’s townsfolk, until it was time for me to check back into the office.

I left my customary notes for Tom of the night’s legal happenstance – which this night had been naught and made to leave, tired. Morning was coming sooner rather than later.

“It’s time for me to go home now,” And I touched my companion’s ears, even though I knew that the action was a bit demeaning. For all I knew this new face could be an ancient being, but he was content enough to stay at my side for much of the evening that I figured the gesture was, well, endearing, “I don’t suppose you have a home.” And I thought about suggesting the light house. I didn’t though. I figured the beast could find his own shelter from the sun.

When I found the wolf next it was before the Sheriff’s station. I stood before the door, as I often to, regarding the township before setting forward on my destination. My patrol night once again. To my dismay someone had decided to give my car a thorough keying. Anya’s report had been laying on my desk telling me so – not that I can do much with the lack of evidence. Besides, with all the dings and dents it already has in it…what’s a little key marks? As I bent to examine someone’s handywork on my vehicle, the silver wolf came padding along the corner offering me slobbery kisses and affection once again.

The two of us attracted a little crowd, mostly those asking why I had a wolfish looking dog in my arsenal – and Ace just wondering who my four-legged friend was. Wish I could tell her. Wish I knew. Instead, Pandora – one of my vampires – stands at the fringes of our little gathering and so I go to her, my wolf in tow. We speak – ah! We speak! – in French. Pandora and myself are around the same age, I believe. Or at least come from the same sort of understanding. Listening to her is like listening to home. The inflections of her voice speak from a certain age and her words are all so very formal and humble. Our conversation ended, however, with my hand around her throat after she had informed me of her making of another.

Another face in our ranks.
Defiling of our laws.
Why did she not ask?
Because she is afraid of the Prince.
Why did she do it?
Because she loved the mortal and did not wish to be alone.

Her answer, though not untypical, still struck me. Perhaps my care for a certain mortal is clouding my judgment. I should have thrown her into the cave and left her captive, staked, until the Prince decided what was to be done. Instead, I set her free with the command to bring her childe before us. Perhaps she will flee the isle – problem solved. Or perhaps she will do what is proper and present her childe to us, but most importantly, to the Prince.

I walked around the perimeter of town, staying as well away from people as I could, and the wolf and I wound up back in my office. Instead of sitting at my chair and getting actual work done, I talked to my quiet companion and asked if I had been too harsh.

Whatever ‘woof’ means, that was my answer.

I don’t know why, but I told the wolf about Reen. How alone Reen was and how displaced he was with Angelika’s death. He was a gangrel without a mentor or a teacher. I told the wolf that he should have come earlier because then maybe Reen would not have felt the need to return to California and I would still have my deputy.

I am not sure why – for all I know, this wolf could be a monstrous, murderous creature – but I gave him at least the guise of being my official police dog. Gave him a ‘uniform’ by way of collar and leash and the gangrel seemed to understand. At least this way I can keep an eye on him. Meanwhile, my research continues and if I know the Professor at all, surely he does his own. I have not been able to speak to my Sire for days and present my questions – he sleeps. He often does this. Goes to sleep for weeks at a time sometimes. Hell, sometimes even for years. Michael? I do not know where he is. He and his ward seem to have left the lighthouse. Perhaps they sleep to. Or in the city.

or]


The moment I walked into the light house I knew something was up. Maybe the fact that Bill was tensed and ready to spring on some mortal woman who looked like a die-hard fan of the Cure might have given me that particular clue. A cure fan. With a mask. I wasn’t rightly sure what was happening here in the light house – only that Bill rushed her into me.

I had to think fast and so I flung her back towards Bill in order for him to hold her still while she pleaded and begged to be free – that she was here on Michael’s behest. I was perplexed. This mortal? In our Lighthouse? Was the woman telling the truth?

“Get that mask!” exclaimed Bill.

I retrieved the mask – for it had fallen from her face when Bill bowled her over – and I held it aloft, careful to not give it too much study and preferring to keep my eyes on the woman. Things happened. Strange things, to be sure. The room had grown colder and chill, not that this mattered to Bill and myself. To, she seemed bent on some sort of…something. I don’t know what it was, but I felt a strange, distant echo of feeling when Bill put his moves on the girl.

Elizabeth is her name, and the mask? Apparently its name is Rei. Was this magic? I briefly remember hearing the tale of Caleb and Fred, about how his spirit had been exchanged or some other such thing. I was out of that particular loop for the most part. Understandably. What I needed the most, though, was to learn the truth of this girl. Had Michael really brought her here?

“Hold her.” I said to Bill.

I locked my gaze onto hers and reached outwards, pressing my consciousness against hers, ruthlessly searching for the point of entry.

I’ve said it before and I shall say it again. I hate this power, this gift. It’s nearly painful and so very taxing. Once I breached the barrier into her mind, I fell into her pool of memories. So many memories! At least I went in armed with specifics; otherwise I could spend hours toiling around this cranium in search of the truth. Michael. Where are you. Come out, come out, where ever you are… I found the memory well enough. My Prince and this girl. Michael forking over a key to what I was assuming to be the light house door. So it was true. This mortal girl was in the confidence of Pelazzi.

So what was the secret with the mask? Both Elizabeth and Bill were demanding that I turn it over to them, but I refused. The mask was a mystery and as far as I was concerned, it belonged to Michael. Bill wanted to sell it – to use it to procure ‘dinner’. Elizabeth was obviously bonded to the thing, informing me that I had no idea what sort of nefarious darkness it was associated with, to which I merely stated that I to was of the darkness.

Both railed at me. Bill left is a fury and Elizabeth informed me that I and my people were all the same – no regard for life. I sort of wanted to rise up in defense of this – at least in regards to my own person. However, let her believe what she might. I was not relinquishing the mask to anyone until I heard from my Prince and so I brought it to the bank, forked it over to Lucan, who then put it in a nondescript safety deposit box. Just in case Bill was still looking for it.

I meant to return Elizabeth back to the light house, for she had followed me to the bank, almost as if she were leashed to the damn mask. Instead, she found her own way and so I took my sweet ass time. Hunting, perhaps, was in order. I was feeling rather on top of the world on some sort of power trip, having been willed enough to hold down my foot in the wake of other’s tantrums. I had not budged, nor given in to demands. I felt..like I was worthy of my title the Prince had bestowed upon me.

Skip’s house comes in to my view and I catch the sweet scent of pipe smoke wafting along the currents of breeze. I’m…not sure why the sight of him suddenly drove me crazy. I mean, he was just standing there as he often does, enjoying his tobacco. He looked younger to me. More casual and at ease. Of course, I went to him. How could I not? Skip draws me like no other thing and at that moment I wanted him more than I wanted anything else. No greetings or pointless small-talk. I wrapped my arms around his waist and asked him to kiss me. He did. Roughly. Awesome. I’m not sure if anyone saw us, nor do I really care. At that moment I belonged to him and couldn’t give a flying fuck of my immodesty. I hope I didn’t come on too strongly, but needless to say, the two of us had quite an enjoyable evening. So much for going back to the light house.


I awoke to my cell phone beeping, alerting me to a new message. It was Remi. The Malkavian. He has been away for quite some time, so seeing his words flash upon my screen was rather alarming. Especially since he was asking to meet with me – how could I refuse? I left my haven – Skip’s bed – and quickly put myself together, doing naught but changing my shirt and braiding my hair. Remi was there waiting for me, furious as to why the Prince had kicked out his family from our sanctuary. Again with the Quinn vs. Puck vs. Quinn saga that just won’t seem to die. Naturally, Remi stands up for his child. But he seems different. Twice I saw the beast lurking behind his gaze and yet he is more objective to my words – especially when I say Quinn’s and Sebeline’s banishment had naught to do with Puck, but rather Quinn’s failure to the Prince.

I lifted the ban for Remi’s family – at least the ones who were not involved. Hopefully, the Prince will not rebuke me for this. As for Remi, I informed him that the ban on Doctor Hodges and this Sebeline remain intact.

What if Quinn improves?
Here’s hoping he does.
Will he be allowed back into the light house?
We shall see.

Leaving my Malkavian friend after pleasantries and promises to meet his Sire – for apparently he is here in Ravenhurst – I stalked across town in order to hold court at my own home. Wade, the antiques purveyor, wished to introduce his child to me. I welcomed her into our realm. When he told me he wished to proceed with his plans in regards to William Puck, I nearly groaned, but gave him my blessing, all the while watching Puck’s face.

I like seeing his face now.
He fears me.

Phone Calls

When the call had been made, when the body had been discovered, Keliah had already coincientally been in the CODIS office when the 'evidence' had arrived. The Pathologist had even joshed with the notable, red-headed Sheriff of Ravenhurst county when the body had come in, teasing her about her about the county's reputation for Jane and John Does winding their way into the lab, remarking that it had been awhile. That she was over due. Curious, Keliah had followed him and his team into the autopsy room, held the sugical mask over her face, and when the Pathologist unzipped the corner's bag to reveal the victim, it took all of Keliah's will to tame the angry, grieving beast surfacing in her breast.

"I know her. She's...my friend." Her eyes darkned by her own ire, "I want an initial report now. Like, right the fuck now."

She waited for them to remove the remains complately from the bag. The pathology assistants began their tasks of cleaning her and prepping her for the inevitable butchering of her small little body. It was obvious, however, as to why she died. The wolf marks, Keliah knew those well enough. Ace's report would come back with extensive physical trauma. Keliah knew that. "Send it to my email. I'm heading back as soon as possible."

She'd not wait there in CODIS. It was not the same as waiting for your friend to come out of surgery, or waiting for a loved one to join you after a visit with the Doctor - not that Keliah knew any of that - but Ace was never going to come out of that room. No sense in staying in this hall and risk taking out the entire building in her scalding anger. The furniture in Keliah's Seattle loft was not so lucky. All of it - ripped to shreds or smashed to bits. Daylight would not even calm the angry vampire. There was no solace of sleep, just pacing.

"Lexie, it's Keliah," Calling the other red head just at the crack of dawn and leaving a message "A Jane Doe was wheeled into the lab here in the city - I was here when it came in - it's Ace. Just...call me?"

Rather hoping that the old man was sensible to be in bed still, she would call him to. Or send him a text message, rather. Skip's voice would probably move her to tears if he answered. "Ace was found at the bottom of a gorge late in the night while I was here in the city. I don't have the peliminary reports yet, but I saw her body. Someone killed her. Someone of her own kind, to be sure. Call me. Stay out of the woods!"

The last call she would make would be to Anya, while she was on her way back. Standing on the bow of the ferry, surrounded by engine engine noise and diesel stench, Keliah punched in Anya's number, took a deep, weary sigh, and then hit the send button.

I have mentioned it here in my tome before, but I will mention it here once again because I think it’s pertaining to my current situation and my thoughts on the matter. Sho Flanagan, or Irish as I call him, and the words he had said to me when the fog was beginning to roll into our town. How the two of us were protectors, and that we both felt the call to serve. How one of his kind and one of my kind always stood together when it came to the people here and protecting them.

My heart sort of aches as I sit here at my desk with my pen and book, thinking as I am. I am considering turning over my badge because of my responsibilities to my people. I hold the thing in my hands right now and let my fingertips trail over the etchings of Ravenhurst County Police Department. This thing? It was my ticket into normalcy after being a dormant creature for so long. It brought me back to who I am and helped shape me in such a short time. It showed me that I have much humanity still and that I am not a complete monster. Lastly, it showed me the Professor who is the greatest thing this badge has given me, even if he was shown to me out of tragedy.

I am torn, however. Pelazzi has placed much faith in me and I feel as though I have been turning a blind eye to the needs of my people, though I dare say my people are pretty good at taking care of themselves. However, with our Prince being more of a shadow and elusive as ever, my Brethren turn to me. With Pandora’s grievance against our society, the tumultuous dealings with the Malkavians, I realized how lax I had let things go. Our Council remains unchosen. We have no solid governance.

So I changed this. Especially with the current influx of new faces. Two prominent faces stand out above the rest, though one sadly reminds me of Bob. These two new faces have integrated themselves into my humble little town with both feet forward, nestling into the ranks of bank management and business ownership. I speak of Lucan and Wade, and both of their family names mean very little to me – meaning I have never heard them. They are not my enemies.

But what of me? What shall I do? Deep down, I already know the answer. I am going to have to give up my position and title as Sheriff and fully embrace my position amongst the Brethren. I can not divide myself any further without making some gross error in the future and become a liability for those who reside under my hand. This is why I mention Sho Flanagan earlier in my writing – because his words strike so true and profoundly with me. I have always lived to serve some cause. In my mortal life this was so and in my immortal life I am much the same. I value and cherish my public office perhaps more than anyone can guess because it makes me feel like a guardian not just of my Brethren, but of the people who live here. Even the wolves. Even Flanagan. If I relinquish the reigns onto someone else, am I still a protector?

Anya comes first to mind, but there is something different about that girl. Something off. Especially what with the secrets of her occurrences that the blood magic relayed to the Professor. I do not trust her, but I do trust her heart. I think she is, on a whole, good. I listened to what Skip conveyed and tried not to lord judgment over these secrets, for I am nothing but. I suppose it will come down to her and I settling things and placing cards on the table. Perhaps I can get into that mind of hers and take a read of what she has stuffed in there. Or perhaps I will leave my badge in the hands of Tom, the Marshal. He is an experienced and noble enforcer of the law – a guardian. Like myself. I so rarely see him. Or hear from him. I consider my rookies. Elections are so very far away…

Michael still has not returned, but his Child was spotted at the light house. I had gone to see if he was there, my daughter Celeste in tow. She had come to find me at the Professor’s house, which, I daresay, is perhaps the easiest place to spot me. I was just coming in as he was going out, joshing with me about being in the kitchen (for I had been standing there), and bid me farewell. I was disappointed to see him go, even though I had my own business to attend to. I wished to share with him what Sho Flanagan had divulged to me.

I had gone up to his cabin in the mountains. Bold move on my part, yes. What was I to do, though? I am at the end of my rope with Susan and Flanagan is the only wolf I trust to tell me the truth on the things Ophelia had told me. Granted, our meeting was a bit frightening. He rushed me and I thought for sure he was going to attack me, but he did not. On some level I think Irish actually likes me, for he was moved by my disappointment after he told me that finding Susan in the Umbra would liken to me counting grains of sand upon the beach. The fog, he said, comes from ‘this plane’. Whatever the fuck that means, at least I have that to bring to the Professor and we can pool our research here to this plane’s spirit realm – if it has one.

I said nothing about this as Skip walked out the door, for I do not wish her to know of my plans, and bid him farewell. Celeste mused at the two of us calling each other ‘darling’, I think failing to pick up on the subtle nuances of sarcasm. When I grumped at her, she teased me more, telling me how much I love it.

“I don’t,” I told her, in all seriousness, “Because I am afraid of the day when it stops. Either by natural death or because he no longer finds me to be a suitable companion.”

She tittered at me, stated what I had said was the most romantic thing she heard, I rolled my eyes, and then the two of us headed off towards the light house which was where I found Dani-Mary. She was fiddling with keys, attempting to pry open the gate that sectioned off the Prince’s chambers from the rest of the place. When I asked her where he was, I received nothing but a ‘He’s around’ sort of explanation, informing me that she had been attacked by one of our own (though I’m assuming it’s probably because she’s fond of running her mouth), to which I offered vengeance for.

Celeste and her squabbled, though Celeste was really being quite the…child. I was pissed in that her behavior was quite hostile and thus reflecting onto me, her care taker. I have never seen her get so bratty in all my life – but still, I think I have been scolding her too much lately. She left in a huff, then I left in a huff. I had business to attend to in Seattle and the need to hunt was pressing.