L'Ange Noir - The Chronicles of Keliah Angelis

Mort de mon Ami

This evening I punished my own. She had it coming, her punishment planned from the get-go. I speak of Pandora and her siring on my territory without my permission – a grave, grave offense to our kindred. It sounds rather harmless. She made a childe. Out of loneliness. Why, then, do I care? Why should anybody? It all boils down to liability. Children of our Kindred are so unstable. I would like to consider myself to be balanced individual. I like to think that I have a good hold over my beast and that my mind is fair and impartial in most circumstances. I think, despite the nocturnal evil that I am, that I still have inherit goodness to balance out the darkness. However, when I was a childe, I was quite unstable. Violent. Discordant. Children are too subject to their feelings and their thirst. They must be guarded carefully and if they are unsuitable as mortals, then certainly they can not pass into our eternal realm at all. This is why the standards are in place. And when we fail to abide by the standards…

I was already in a foul mood thanks to other circumstances, and when I snapped my gun in to two and rammed the more suitable part into Pandora’s sternum, I couldn’t help but picture Ace in my head. Her body slashed with the wolf’s marks – and her tongue. The preliminary reports tell me of her missing tongue. For speaking, I am assuming, when she should not have. She had done wrong against her kindred and she had paid the price, but wasn’t the price too high? Pandora slumped forward, motionless, her prison the wood protruding from her chest. I had done violence against her, but I picked her up as gently as I could. I carried her down the winding steps – Lucan and Dani-Mary watching me, and I laid her down upon the stone floor of the cave, and informed her of her sentence.

It was not going to be an easy week for Pandora. She would bleed. She would thirst. She would not be able to move. She would suffer for this. But, she would rise again and walk amongst us.

Fucking, stupid wolves. Fucking animals. Fucking assholes. Fucking…fuck!

How is it right to kill goodness? How could they murder her? It’s all my fault, really. I brought her to the light house. I did not dismiss her foolish idea right off the bat like I should have. I should have told her to get her ass to Montana and to never look back. I should have never brought her to the light house. I should have brought her to the mages first! And how the fuck did the wolves find the fuck out anyways?

My eyes are on Dani, for she was the only one with us that night besides Michael.
I have to find out who she told.
And then? Vengeance.

I am so disappointed and yes, my written words here are becoming sort of a rant, but I don’t care. I am disappointed in Kione Ulrik who was not there to snatch his woman from her tumble and hoist her back to her feet when all of this started. I’m disappointed in Sho Flanagan – surely he had a part to play in all of this – because I have admired and looked up to him. Just one day past – read on! Go, now! Read! Yes! You will see how worried I was in disappointing him while I considered turning over my badge. Some guardian you are, Flanagan!

Speaking of Guardians, I feel a little safer now in leaving the Sheriff’s office in Anya’s care. I drew up documents to promote her. Not to Sheriff – not yet. I certainly don’t trust her. Yesterday, Kione had come to the office not only to speak to me about Ace (in truth, we were about to head out and arrest him), but to inform me Anya knew what I was. What Kione was. She had somehow wheedled the truth from him with a magic power – which I gleaned when I stepped in to her mind. She dropped her act. Spoke to me in her British tongue. Informed me she was an agent of the crown here to investigate our little island because for some odd reason it had shown up as a potential threat to the Queen Mum’s kingdom. As retarded as that sounds – it happens. She isn’t the first agent to come in here under cover and she won’t be the last. Naturally, I had to remove her knowledge of my identity. Kione’s to. I was weak. I had not fed while I was in Seattle like I had planned – rather, I destroyed my loft. Pulling out the memories from Anya was difficult. Almost too difficult. I was too weak… and so after I was done I fed from her. Stupid. I did, however, command her loyalty. Put the thought there in her consciousness. It’s like planting a seed – I can’t wait to watch it grow. Which is why, even after all the secrets, that I trust her to man my post.

I saw the Professor briefly in passing, though he had been kind enough to send me a message earlier, ending with some good advice. To not do anything stupid. Too late! I spent part of my evening destroying the security footage in the Sheriff’s office because of what had taken place. Now? I sit. I write. I plot. I dream of baseball bats and the Thirsty Raven. I dream of finding who ever opened their mouth and cutting out their tongue, just as Ace’s had been cut. I dream of them being alive while I do it so that they feel the exquisite pain of it. I dream of shooting every fucking flea bag I see just in case they were the murderer.

I don’t go home. By home, I mean I do not go to the Professor’s home. I can’t bear to see him when I am like this. He will try to offer me comfort. He was one of the few people who knew how much I cared for the red wolf. Knew what sacrifices Ace had made on my behalf. I don’t think I can take that. Comfort. Comfort sucks. But oddly, I do reach out for comfort. Not to the professor, but to my daughter. I seek her out on the link we share, snatching up her consciousness and holding hers to mine in a sort of embrace. I apologize for my anger and deliver on Michael’s promise. The garage is out – someone moved in before we could get the papers signed. I bought them the apartment behind the Sheriff’s office. It’s cozy and surrounded in seascape. It’s also as far from the woods as one can get.

Just in case something happens to me?
At least they will have a safe place to rest their heads.

Une Lettre

I managed to steal a bit of Remi’s time in the company of his confidant-apparent, Candy. (Who names their child Candy? I mean really. Poor thing.) Lucky for me, and perhaps Candy as well, that the articulate, eye-glowing Frenchman was replaced with the Cajun. Francois’ body was a mess. Thankfully he was still in torpor and not suffering for his injuries, his body knitting along as is common with our people.

In my attempts to yank him off of Lexie’s trail I offered Ace’s autopsy photos. Both of our victims were missing tongues, though I’m pretty sure that it has been done so for different reasons and by a different hand. I can’t imagine the wolves would so foolishly, and sadistically, attack one of our Kindred and leave him around for us to find. That is seriously asking for trouble. Wolves might be brash, but they aren’t stupid. Still, evidence is evidence and all angles must be examined when it comes to circumstances such as this.

When we have more definitive answers on Francois’ circumstances I will officially close Ace’s case. Until I know more with Remi’s companion, or if more bodies show up, then I can not trust my gut on this one. I gave Remi Tabbie’s phone number and bid him, if not pleaded, that he at least seek the guidance of Tabbie’s blood mirror for truth before extracting hot vengeance upon my doting little friend. The ending to that strife would surely not bode well, I warned. Especially if sights are set on Skip Zelin. That fight? I fight to the death.

Candy, despite being unfortunately named, is a wise creature. A pleasing sort of goul that one would wish to possess. Observant. Intelligent. Not too intrusive. He was kind enough to point out the fact that my eyes were shining like light bulbs and pass along a pair of sunglasses for my sojourn home – which is where I went immediately, frantic for a mirror.

My reflection was ghastly. I touched my cheeks. My brow. No.
I looked different in my eyes. Paler. A step closer towards the inevitable.
And my eyes…glowing brightly with a shine I had seen only on a scant few individuals in my lifetime. What was wrong? More importantly, would it go away?

As much as I would like to muse over changes in physical appearance, no matter how subtle they are, or obvious depending which feature, I can not. The stack of mail I picked up on my way home bears not just ill tidings of Credit Card debt, but also a letter from my Prince...

Things to do:

-Meet with Anya in regards to the Francois LaBorde case.
-Find Wade and return his call in person.
-Officially bury Ace’s case – stick her favorite shoes beside my door.
-Convene my Council – Wake up Mary Dickens?
-Get Kristof’s dagger back (though the smart thing to do would be to find a replacement.)
-Buy more ammo.

Assassiner et le Piano

Going to Seattle because of the Dead is becoming a habit. I’m starting to think that maybe I should beg the mayor to fund our own crime lab so that we can pull ourselves out of the city entirely. Here I sit, photos in hand, in the sterile room offshooting from the morgue. Photos of the deceased. The skinless one? Yeah, that’s going to take awhile. I hope Koda is forthright in his background checks so that I can get the names of these people.

This makes four murders now. Five, if you want to include the attempt on Francois.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be in the city waiting for results. I should be home trying to track down this vampire that has chosen the worst of ways to leave messages. I don’t know who did this, but I wouldn’t put it past a member of Remi’s family – the Malkavians aren’t exactly the most stable of people. The only thing I have to go on is that it was female and appeared all sorts of stark raving mad.

I glance anxiously at my cell phone constantly, hoping that Kione, the Lieutenant of Rescue Rangers and my chief eye witness, will call me and detail his recounting of what he had seen. This woman? Who was she? Who was she..

“I desire red hair. Give it to me.” Carved in the flesh of a corpse.

Was she even speaking of me? Or Maybe perhaps some wayward enemy of Angelika’s had rolled into town? Or maybe this creature of the night just has a fetish for red heads – and if that’s the case, well, I can expect half the female population of Ravenhurst to meet their end. I don’t know what to say, what to think, except that I want to invest in Clairol and walk around sporting my middle finger. I’m mad. Annoyed. A little fearful of this unknown threat.

To make matters worse, I received a text message from Professor Zelin. Apparently my little Chief is, indeed, a hunter. This does not bode well for me. I’m not sure how true it is, but the Professor wouldn’t feed me a line of crap if he did not have truth to back up this claim. I pity Anyanka. She has a sweet nature despite her many lies and facades. My little Brit has been a fine officer during her short time on this island. A pity she has to die, but she’s a hunter. She must be dealt with. Destroyed. Or turned.

Because things can never be peaceful and droll around here for at least a week, I spotted the mistwalker lingering at Lexie’s doorstep. When it spotted me – at least I think it spotted me – it took an immediate leave.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Lexie! Lexie! Lexie!”

I didn’t go after the mist for I had to make sure that Lexie was alright. Her heart was strumming along, and there was another in there with her. When she opened the door to let me in, to my dismay Officer KillmebecauseIamRussian was standing there taking up way too much room. What the fuck was Lexie thinking! Letting this animal, this beast, into her shop without guard? He had tried to take her out and worse – yes, worse! – he had tried to hurt the Professor. Memories of his fist flying towards Skip’s face surfaced immediately to my memory. Definitely not pleased to see him.

But, my peace-love-and-happiness ally is bent on re-forming her alliances with the wolves and apparently that was why he was there. She’s braver than I give her credit for. Inviting Malus, for that is the beast’s name, into her private domain took a big pair of balls. Lexie Ellwyn is growing up, I suppose.

Our trio became a quartet and then a quintet. Skip Zelin, who was also leery of Malus, and Tom, my deputy Sheriff. The cozy, quaint shop became an oven of testosterone between the two wolves. There was no love between those two. I’m pretty sure the five of us had a discussion as to what to do with Anyanka as well as the current red head fetishist hacking and slashing her way into people’s homes, but nothing was finalized. Malus was too busy giving me the eye, Tom was too busy scoping out Malus, Lexie was trying to put on her cheerful face, Skip was saying hardly nothing but doing a fantastic job of holding up the counter, and I was too busy trying to hide my discomfort under a blanket of snarkiness and contempt for Malus.

The strange feeling in my skull keeps getting more pronounced. I look at people passing on the street and they look back sometimes, almost as if they can see through my glasses (which totally look like that Miami CSI guy’s. I just love him. Yeeaaaow!) and I catch glimpses of things I’m not even searching for. Memories come unbidden and I snatch them – almost unable to stop the process – so I quit looking up and at people. All the while I am standing here in this shop trying to come up with a plan of action, the feeling between my eyes keeps building and building..

..and then realize that I’m face first in the carpet.

When I come to, though, I don’t feel it anymore.

Never the less, we all fall out of Lexie’s shop to go about our business. I tell Lexie I’m going home. To my home. I’m too hungry to stay with them and my spirit is too restless. But first? I went to the light house. Maybe the mistwalker had decided to camp there. If she was there, I did not see her. I didn’t see anyone. It was night, though, and I suppose if anyone was about then they were out enjoying their ‘day’. I crept down the stairs. I slid aside the rock façade.

Fuck.
Me.

Where was Mary Dickens?


So I went home. You know, that place holds all my clothes. That place I rarely see. It’s so empty here now. I can still smell traces of Jake’s scent and lingering scents of Celeste’s perfume. Deeohgee is gone to. Scents of Reen intermingling.

“Reen?”

Not at home. Out hunting, I suppose. Or maybe moved on elsewhere. I checked the fridge to see if there was any of Sunday’s delivery left in the box. It was untouched. Man, I really hate the stuff, but it serves its purpose. I cracked open the box, leaned against the counter, and tore into the bag. Cold. Disgusting. I licked every last drop it had to offer and moved on to the next. Then the next. Then the next…

How much time? I spent the whole night waiting for time to tick by. I sat perched on the piano bench considering the black and whites for a good, long while. When it became too quiet, I half-assedly summoned some Edwardian ditty out of the piano, the music eventually changing into something darker. More somber. Then nothing.

I hope some asshat didn’t free Mary Dickens – like this Kindred that attacked her. What if he’s come and carried her off? Michael will have a field day with my head. Literally. He will probably spend oodles of cash just to erect a soccer field in the middle of the woods and kick my head around the turf. Or maybe Michael is home? Maybe he took her back to Italy?

I hope Skip doesn’t think I’ve forgotten my mission, either. I’ve been neglectful in lieu of the chaos.

Le Chasseur Innocents

I glanced around the room, the light murky and graying from the soon-to-be dusk.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. The place smelled of astringents and soaps, the latter smelling fresher. How long had I been asleep? I shot my hand from beneath the blankets and groped around for the clock, my fingers lingering on the cold metal of my Smith and Weston, and checked the time. Two more hours until the sun fully set.

I rose – unable to sleep any more. That’s when I noticed Angelika's bairn curled up on the floor.

“Reen.” I whispered in the dark room. He didn’t move. I didn’t think he would, really. He was so young in his eternal years and so influenced by la chanson du soleil. Up I rose, unwinding the heavy quilt from my body, tip-toed over to his curled-up figure, sank down beside him, and lay the quilt over his body. I don’t know why I did this. He just looked cold to me, even though I new very well he could be naked in a blizzard and wouldn’t give a damn – actually, that sounds kind of fun.

The bathroom smelled strong of the soaps freshly used and I added my contribution to the house. It felt like I stood under the spray of water for hours, but really it was only minutes. With soap I lathered my hands and scrubbed any dried bits of my binge off of my hands. Got real good in my fingernails. Shampooed my hair only because I love the smell.

When I was done, I took a good, long look in the mirror, palms on the counter while I studied my bare flesh. Some of the color (or lack there of) had returned, but not as it was before. How long had this transformation been going on? I ran the tips of my fingers over the flat of my stomach. Seems like only a year ago I had been able to still make out the hint of what was once a freckle or two, but even echoes were gone. At least the eyes that stared back at me were dim. I did as I usually did. Smeared trace amounts of khol on my eyelids, tinged my cheeks just a touch with rouge, and swept my lashes with mascara. I fluffed my hair with the dryer until it was shining, scarlet, and curling.

That was when I received a text from my Chief. I was going to confront Anyanka – or whatever her name is – and I was going to put an end to this hunter business. I was going to make her one of me, or I was going to unmake her. I invited her over, wriggled my way into a pair of jeans, and drew a sweater over my head, and then went downstairs to clean up my mess – only to find the smell of astringents stronger and the mess taken care of.

Anyanka arrived in short order. She took a glance around my house, informed me that my walls could use some Van Gogh replicas, and promptly invaded my fridge. I sort of didn’t expect her to do this, but what did I care? The blood was gone. There’s stuff in there for the guise (and surprise guests) and leavings from Jake when he was a mortal man fond of eating things with longer shelf lives then me. We sat at my kitchen table, both of us with a can of pepsi, and Anya with pickles, cheese, and an apple I hoped to be still fresh.

Can’t say much about our conversation other than it was cop talk – the two of us discussing our respective cases and how to proceed forward, all the while considering this girl who sat before me as she talked about her ‘Calling’. This being her assumption as a huntress? She asked for advice – me! For advice! But, the more I listened to her, the more I realized that she and I were not very different.

I sort of think that she’s not just after supernaturals. I think she’s after evil. In a way, I could sort of relate to her desires. Was I any different? When we feel that ‘calling’ as Anya called it – the call to protect – does it really make her a huntress? Or does it just make her a vigilante? So I told her what a wise man had told me once, about there being two types of people.

Those who serve.
Those who don’t.

When I imparted words of wisdom, trying to be generic as possible, I felt so old. I hope we parted ways with her head perhaps a bit more straighter. I hoped I had given her sound advice. I hope she doesn’t go all vigilante on all persons she considers supernatural just because. I’m sort of fond of the woman. This whole supernatural town has it’s eyes on her – oh yes, every one knows. She makes one false move? She’s dust.

Once she was gone, I went to the kitchen sink and regurgitated what pepsi I had drunk and went back upstairs to suit up.

“Reen, wake up.” I called out, “Time to go to work!”


Things to do:

-Meet with Anya in regards to the Francois LaBorde case.
-Find Wade and return his call in person.
-Officially bury Ace’s case – stick her favorite shoes beside my door.
-Convene my Council
-Get Kristof’s dagger back (though the smart thing to do would be to find a replacement.)
-Staff meeting!!!
-Telephone Malus

Nouvelle Maison, Vieille Colère

I don’t know what it was to suddenly make such a drastic change, but while listening to the moving of furniture for the better part of the day and into the evening, the constant to and fro upon the stairs, I decided that my giant house was too much. My children had left the nest so to speak, and even though I now had another under my care, he would not be with me for long. He would eventually leave to. So with one simple phone call I was able to procure the upstairs loft.

I felt better doing this. It’s higher, my view encompassing more. Better yet, the higher I am, the less I am to be found by prying eyes and curious noses. No sense in sleeping – I can’t. The roar of the sun is a deafening lullaby, but I simply can not sleep. So I spend the day packing. I remove the boxes from the attic and put back the things that collect dust and serve little purpose. I roll the tapestries back. Everything I will not move I arrange in my living room for the movers to come on the morrow and take them to my Seattle apartment.

So, the piano?

“Reen,” I nudge his balled up, sleeping self with my foot. Nothing.

“Reen?” Still nothing.

“Reen!!”

I kept at it until he woke, and when he finally roused his fluffy-headed self, “Sun is set. Come on and help me move this piano.”

Was probably the last thing he wanted to hear while looking at me all bleary-eyed, stuck between consciousness and dream state, but that’s what the two of us did. We picked up a whole grand piano and carried the thing up the stairs into the new place as if it was only a slight burden. Sometimes being a cold, walking bit of Undead rocks this way.

I like the new place. It’s smaller, more contained. Now that my children have gone and are lodged in their own private place, free to do as they wish, this smaller place suits me. Its containment makes it less lonely. More comforting – even though it does not smell like home yet. Besides, there is something comforting about hanging paintings and moving around furniture. Its like cutting one’s hair. Everything feels new and more positive even though in a day, or perhaps less, things will go back to being what they are.

I (cautiously) lit the fire in the grate and allowed the flickering heat to permeate my new home. I looked around the place. The fluffed up bed with its pillows and quilt. The TV perched on my dresser. The stuffed up sofa. My books. My family’s crest. My piano. That is where I sat for most of the night, staring at the keys, before eventually drawing music from them. I’m sure I drove Reen crazy by playing repeats of “Oh, You Beautiful Doll” and “The Charleston”. I played a lot of jazz, because it was the music of my youth – a budding artform that really became popular shortly after I was Embraced. Jazz changes over to Gershwin, Gershwin shifts to Beethoven, Beethoven reverts to Schubert, and suddenly I am playing Bach. Somehow I’ve stepped back into the baroque times.

Unbidden, I think of Professor Zelin standing in his former living room, conducting an orchestra with his finger, his eyes peacedly closed, drink in hand, Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’ pouring from his radio. My right hand draws the sopranic treble of the violin's melody from my mind’s recollection on the keys of my piano, reliving the memory.

It feels like ages since I’ve seen the professor. Truly seen him. Spoken to him. I suppose he is very busy these days having taken over Blaise Ellwyn’s portion of real estate and business. I stay away now from the Ellwyn/Zelin home. I rarely find him or Lexie there. Barging in uninvited seems too stalkerish for my tastes. And rude.

But mostly I sequester myself because the outside realm behind my four walls and front door is filled with chaos and discord. Bodies continue to pile up from the lunatic Mistwalker, though I have not heard more reports as of the past three days. Talks of hunters and tears in the veil don’t reach me here. I continue to read up on the spirit realm with even less understanding than when I started – the pages so distorted and intermingled with Pagan, neo-hippy crap. Maybe he’s given up on it. I don’t know. Not knowing kind of hurts, though. I have no guidance on how to get to where I need to go.

Sometimes, I really missed the days when I cared very little of things and enjoyed me the fuck out of shooting some Nazis.

“GodmotherfuckingFUCKDAMMIT!”

I slam the cover over piano keys. Wham! I’m not good at feeling things, especially listlessness, and that is exactly what I am feeling. So I get dressed in favor of nightclothes. I slide on the brass that encircles my knuckles. I tell shoes to go fuck themselves and run on barefeet. I want to get dirty, I want to bleed, and mostly? I want to make someone else bleed. I want to run into Shii and sock him right in the damn jaw just because he’s a damn wolf. I want to tear my nails into Sho’s eyes because he gave me impossible news. I want my Prince to come home like he said he was so I can beat the snot out of him for being away so fucking long – coming only to rescue his kid (assuming, at least) – and then abruptly leaving again.

“Reen!” Hell, I didn’t even know if he was home anymore. “I’m going out..”

Out I went. Not far. Just to the light house where I spent a great deal amount of time pacing. No prince. No court. A new face, however. Blonde and somewhat skiddish. Not worth the beating. She wasn’t my Mistwalker, who I desire to kill above all things.

And then came Lucan Gray, and all my violent desires fall to the wayside, because he approaches me as my Brother, despairing over an infliction of his mind. It seems, oddly, that when he feeds he loses much of his memory.

Perhaps it is his beast taking over conscious thought during the Kiss?
Or perhaps his mind is sensitive to the undercurrents of darkness? Like the Fog.
Or perhaps he has been cursed – as he suspects – and does not know what to do.

I removed my phone from my pocket and pulled up Skip’s number, all the while telling Lucan that I had contacts to help him, unsure really if Lucan could be affected by such a spell, but if anyone could tell, well, it would be him or Lexie. Tabs maybe, but sending a vampire Tab’s way has proved be fruitless judging by Remi’s text messages.

Staring at the number, meaning to call it, I just couldn’t do it. So I penned it to parchment and handed it over the Banker and bid him to contact Professor Zelin himself. When he gave me his farewells, granting me the obeisance of my station, I stepped out onto the balcony and watched him go, worried for this vampire with this grave issue. So grave that he has turned to felling beasts in the woods for blood, though he wishes to acquiring a goul to assist him - the town's newest Doctor.

I watch the night, leaning against the railing, and resume my thoughts. It is silent in the light house again and it stays this way for the remainder of the evening. I wonder how tomorrow will go – meetings never seem to go well for me. Someone must always ursurp, trump, and dethrone someone. Someone has a tantrum. Panties get bunched, boxers get knotted. There is an undercurrent of displeasure rippling through my people, and perhaps this is more heartbreaking than turning over the station to the Brit and refraining from doing what I truly love. More disheartening then the absence of Zelin’s hands on my skin, his voice warm in my ear.

I don’t really blame them. I’m a Steward torn between identities – and I will give up the mortal guise for them. A prince who is more of a rumor than a face. Both of these lots leave the playing field ripe for strife amongst my people.

Things need to change.
I need to change.
And damn, my head is starting to hurt again.

Think I’m going to stop writing this emo shit now. I’m going to set this pen down and let the ink dry. I’m going to vault over the rail and go hunt for the Mistwalker.
I’m going.

Things to do:

-Hope for the best.
-Start a fight.

Qui se tient le plus fort?

I spent a great deal of thinking upon my waking. After I dressed my hair, I leaned upon the bathroom counter, palms flat on the formica, staring at myself in the mirror. Who stared back at me? Who’s face, wrought in eternal youth, was I truly regarding?

I spent a lot of time thinking…

I thought of the whispers above the din that I had heard over the course of previous nights. I thought of rumors spreading like fire, and of messages relayed to me from my trusted – if not crazy – Herald of War. Confirmations of the Justicar walking amongst us, whispers of mutiny.

Who, indeed, stared back at me?

There are two kings of people, Sheriff.
Those who serve; Those who don’t.

I remember his words to me, Flanagan’s. Odd that as I have a tete a tete with my reflection do I think of the words of a werewolf yet again. But his wisdom imparted to me on that day will perhaps linger with me for all my eternal years. That is, if I live them. I am not so sure after tonight what the case might be. I know what type of person I am, and thus, I feel, is why I will do what I shall do.

I took a deep breath, the air humid from the shower I had taken, and expelled it, hoping that the action would erase much of my fear. I dressed as I had often dressed in the inner realm of our Haven in Paris. I laced my corset laces as tight as they might go and my boots were polished to a shine. I smeared my lids with khol in such a way as to accentuate my pallor rather than conceal it.

Meetings of our Kindred are always perilous and this one would be no different. I needed a plan to dispel it before it even started. I knew what I had to do. Serve and protect. As I always have done.

Reen was dancing like a manic in my living room, a listening device plugged into his eardrums, the music so loud that even I could hear it with perfect clarity. If it were any other day, I would have perhaps joined him in this endeavor. I would have told him to turn it up rather than turn it down. Instead, I bid him to come. It was time to go to the light house. When we got there, others had already gathered. Not many, only a few. I did not go to them, but rather I took Reen to the nondescript wooden cross that stood amongst many others in the graveyard and told him that this was where Angelika Grimm’s memory was laid to rest. He wept, touched on some level of his memory-torn mind. I found it fitting.

When I stepped into the antechamber of the Light House, the radio I always wore gave a sudden, pitched wail. Odd. I stepped a few paces. More electronic wailing. Something was interfering with my device. My first thought? Honestly, I thought Michael had perhaps been around and might have installed additional security measures. Perhaps listening devices… Just out of paranoid curiosity, I turned over the rug. I flipped over paintings. I felt along the ledge of the decorative table. The walls. So many cracks. When I told the Brethren of my suspicions, they were outraged and I tried to dispel my worries onto my rooted soldier’s paranoia, until I found the bug planted in the stone cracks of the wall.

Needless to say, we did not stay at the light house. God only knows how long these things have been there, or if they had only been there for a day.

I could not think of anyplace else besides my own home, so that is where we went. What a sight we must have been, the lot of us moving quietly and cryptically down the street. We are the beautiful ones. People stared. They can’t help it. We are flame and they are moths. And once every face was accounted for..

I declared myself as Prince of the Realm. Let the mutineers respond to that rather than take their torches and pitchforks to Michael. And then he showed up to my door. Of all times to actually show his face, and with him? The Justicar.

I laid my claim again, and he called me a traitorous bitch. The Justicar silenced me. Her presence in my little home was beyond frightening. It has been many, many years since I stood in the presence of an Ancient. More frightening? Michael Pelazzi’s power, which crept down my neck, my arms, and my breasts. Eventually that power would work its
way up my limbs as I fought him, for fought him I did, and there would be little chance to live through this. All I could think of was…why? Why would he want this throne and the responsibilities of it when he loathes those in our realm; when he vanishes for weeks. Months.

I thought of the hunters, of the security breaches, the Mistwalking murderer, and the impending talk of war with the wolves. I thought, again, on Flanagan’s words.

I protect.

Before I succumbed to whatever darkness he was instilling upon my flesh, skin peeling and rotting on my very limbs, my very bones feeling as though they were going to give way into dust, I bid my Kindred who supported me to fight.

Treason stepped back.
I crumbled to my knees before the former Prince.
The kindred, save for two, descended upon the shadow-prince, weapon and fang at the ready, and I thought for sure I was going to die there on my bedroom floor. I thought of Skip Zelin in my final thoughts – or what I believed to be my final thoughts. Michael did not stay. Before the majority of the attacks hit Pelazzi, he vanished into fog, but not before ordering his two supporters to proceed him to the ruins.

I was glad.
I did not wish to see Michael reduced to dust.

Treason would not let me remain on the ground. She hauled me to my feet, Reen immediately at the ready to take me in his arms, and seemed pleased with me. She bid me to feed. To rest. The time would still come. My natural son was here, but all those gathered? They were all my children in my eyes. Some bad. Some good. Some sweet, like Pandora. Some macabre, like Remi. I bid them silent thanks before succumbing to rest.

The Final Verse

Weakness, or at least physical weakness, fucking sucks. Wait. Pardon me. Allow me to erase that and begin again. You see, I have spent far too much time purposely reverting myself into the realm of mortals that I forget the grace in which we speak, us Kindred.

Weakness, or at least physical weakness, has been a great hindrance these past two days. When one must place themselves above others and hold themselves higher, a figurehead of authority, it is untoward to be so weak. My strength, my warrior’s skills, have always been my greatest virtue. It is what made me most useful to my Prince, Mystro Angelis, when I was a Bairn.

___________________________________________________

“Do you see this, my petite fluer?” He had been perched behind his great desk. Fashioned of oak, stained a rich mahogany color, and gilded with gold inlay at the corners where mother of pearl shone in lustrous colors and etchings had been burned into the surface – a surface covered with sheafs of documents, books, and other various objects. I stood before him, dressed very much as Morelle’s protégé in black. I was about sixty or so years in age and very much at the peak of my youth.

Over the course of time, Mystro Angelis had come to love me as the grandchild I was. The first few years of my life in the Angelis household had been in service to him, and not my Sire. Kristof was an Elder of our family, but Mystro was the Prince and he commanded that my infancy be spent as his errand-girl, giving me lowly tasks often reserved for Gouls. In fact, I think I stood in less favor than his goul – for the two of them were much beloved to each other.

I can’t say that I ever returned to filial love to Mystro. His pseudo name was rather ridiculous and eccentric, just like the rest of him. His arrogance and his mannerisms oftentimes did not fit the age of chivalry from whence he came, but that is the blood line for you.

He was, and still is however, very much a true Brujah Prince. His government has always been a very tight ship, his influences ever reaching not just onto ourselves and the coeries of France, but to the mortal realm as well. His ideas and policies have always been just, fair, and sound. His Primogen were honorable characters. Angelis’ people, be they immortal or mortal, and yes, even to the wolves who upon rare occasion worked their way into our inner realm, exhibited little pettiness. Mystro demanded no less – his kingdom was very much his personal Carthage.

“I do,” I replied to him, standing before his desk, arms at rest behind my back, and I stared at what he was motioning me towards – a ring. Not his clan ring, but a personal trinket adorning his index finger. It was wrought of gold, of course, in fashion of a band, and inlayed into the surface were four gems. He wore it always, but today it was different. (Or at least different from the last time I had noticed it.) Previously there had been only three gems, “Why, Grand-pere?” Because he insisted that I call him thus.

“Because it is us, Fluer,” And I hated his pet names, “Our family. You see, here, it is me. Yes? I am the diamond, of course. I must flatter my own vanity,” Churlish smile, “And here is Kristof, wrought of sapphire, for he is much like water. Soft, noble, and sweet-tempered. The emerald – ..”

“That is Morelle?”

“Keliah,” He sighed, “Do not interrupt me.”

“Pardon moi, Grande-pere.”

“Oui,” He went on, “It is my daughter, Morelle. She is the opposite of Kristof. Don’t you agree? But cherished all the same – it is why I chose her.”

“Oui, Grande-pere.”

“Ah, and here you are. The ruby. No particular reason that you are the ruby, save that it is red and you have always been my petite rose,” Yeah, that wasn’t true, “Even when I first met you. But, here you are, with the rest of my children. Born on my finger as if etched into my very heart. You complete the tie of us, you see. You are soft – don’t think I do not realize this – I see though your tricks of visage and demeanor. You feel things, you love things. You are very much like Kristof in this way,” I did not like that he pointed this out about my character – which at the time I saw as nothing but a flaw – my face reflecting this, but then he would go on, “You also remind me much of Morelle. Stoic, serious, and so very efficient. The perfect soldier; the perfect warrior. Because of this, you will make the perfect Sheriff to me one day, when Morelle retires to sleep for a term, but because of Kristof, I believe that one day you will make a fine leader of this Realm.”

He rose from his desk and I always admired his grace. Mystro was very beautiful in appearance. Turned very young, he still possessed a youth’s body. His hair was golden, his eyes like gems, and his skin was so pure with his age. Wrinkles had just begun to crease on the corners of his eyes, the faintest of marks for centuries lived. With a tender press to my nose and a kiss to my cheek, he vacated his elaborate office, his Primogen unfolding from the walls as he moved down the corridor. Before me, on the desk, was a file. So modern a thing in such antique surroundings. I had a new target…

I thought on his words as I stood there. I was harsh, then. I was a machine. I felt very little and loved only my duty. His observations? I could not grasp at their existence, but now I know differently. I wonder how he would feel about me now.


Moving has become somewhat easier, and hopefully soon I will not rely on driving Reen around and be able to move forward on my own two legs, but I must get stronger and stronger soon. The court is in such a fragile state in wake of the changes and times are precarious. If I am to fight for my people then they need someone who can fight. Woe, that I had the blood of a wolf!

It’s late into the night right now and I’m laying on this bed that is not mine. It smells. Like the girl Celeste had brought me, like the seepage of death Pelazzi was so fond of, and like stale linen. Reen is not here with me and I do not know where he has gone, but the girl’s body is gone. I feel…grateful. I rarely kill. I abhor it, really. In the toughest of times and in the greatest of needs, what can we do? Hopefully Celeste (who needs a serious attitude adjustment) had not been seen, but she is an avid hunter and so I do not fear thus. My concerns lie with those who mean to spy upon us.

Yes. Spy. My Brethren combed the light house and what bugs that could be found were found. Niko, the gangrel, produced a few more from the outside, but I do not know if there are others. Tomorrow I shall see if footage has been obtained. Whoever was foolish enough to breach our territory will certainly be sorry for it. In the worst of ways…

I avoid words that I fear to put down, for I am afraid that writing them will make me, well, more like me. I received a message from the Professor. When I reached for the phone, I think I might have known that it would be him. Just a simple inquiry as to my well-being, nothing more, but I knew the question was made out of concern.

I thought back. Back to the very day I met him for the first time. I remember his grief at the loss of his daughter and the vow I had made and the quirky friendship that had stuck between us. I remember how sad I was when the fog came and he had disappeared, and how overcome I was with simple joy at his phone call informing me that he was in Seattle during the battle. When Jericho told me he was a mage? I was relieved. Yes! Relieved! Because he stood on the other side of the veil with me I was less afraid of my true nature when it came to him. I remember telling him about me and how casual he was over this news.

Conversations on the balcony of the boarding house.
Kissing him for that first time.
His words to me at the masque ball.

Ah! My female heart remembers everything!

I replied, as formally as I could, my heart heavy in my chest, and told him that he must disassociate himself with me. Speak not my name. Speaking of nothing. Things have changed. And because I could not resist, I asked him to meet me in Seattle when the time was right.

He did not understand. How can I explain it to him? My life has changed drastically, and because of this change, it might quickly be over. More importantly, I know in my heart of hearts that the best means of guarding what is beloved to me is to separate from it. They could become targets, he and Lexie.

Scipio Zelin… I like his name. I should have called him thus more often.

I have taken a big step away from my humanity and I am too young to do so, but I simply can not stand by and allow my people to fall into chaos again. They deserve so much better. We are vampires, all. The embraced ones, whose bloodlines date back to the times of Caine himself. Cursed by God, but blessed by many other things. My realm, I do so swear, will not fall into dust. It will not be forgotten, nor shall it be neglected. That is what I promised them and so it shall be.


This is the last page of this book. It seems fitting that in this new chapter of eternity I should run out of parchment. When next I write, it will be in a new volume, with sheaf upon sheaf to fill with my life. When next this journal is opened, it will be done by Kristof’s hands. This, like my other volumes, will be stored in his office alongside his. Tomorrow it will go to Paris and be gone from my hands for a long, long while…or perhaps forever. Even us eternal creatures face death, as Angelika has taught me, and even as Pelazzi has taught me, and I have a feeling that I will be facing Death many times in the future.

Le Deuxième Chapitre

I have new parchment, a new volume of sheaf upon sheaf of paper for me to pen my words in. If I inhale deep enough, I can smell home from the leather bindings. I hold this thing and I know Kristof held it to, clutched in his own hands, thinking perhaps that by touching this thing that somehow he would be reaching across the continent to lay his paper-white hand atop my own. Just as I clutch this journal now to my breast and muse. Home. A place that I really do not belong to anymore. Especially now that I have integrated myself more deeply into this county than ever.

This is my first official writing as Prince. I can not say that it is any different than writing as Steward except that the threat over my shoulder is bigger and possibly more vindictive. I will be looking over my back a lot in the coming months, possibly years. I have drawn my council to me. Demetria, I shall speak of first. A stranger to me in this place for I have known her very little. She is of the Lasombra, which I sort of regret, but at the same turn she is ruthless and aggressive. I have appointed her my Sheriff because I know, in this instance, that she will not disappoint me.

Remi stands as he always has. A noble friend. A friend who’s bloodline I often overlook (and sometimes this has backfired) in favor of his nature. So much rage and so much intellect, he remains the head of my war council.

The week in passing has been full of clamor. Just as I expected it to be. I find this to be a good thing. My people are once again interested in their surroundings and the security of this territory. The talks are unsettling, still. Talks of war. With the wolves – what wolves? I am not so sure if Kione and his Brethren would rise against me simply for the sake that it is foolish and a waste of time, but what of the other packs? To, if those packs band together, would not Crimson Guard join their forces? I am unsure as what to do in this regard, save speak to my council over the matter. We can not abide this lingering threat, what with all the other threats lording over our heads.

My main goal, as it always has been, is to keep my people – and the veil – safe from those who would disturb us and it.

Yesterday, I finally spoke with Anya – or should I say Mackenzie. Anton, who I had flown in from France, has resigned himself as my personal protector and escort. It is he who brought me this new volume along with greetings from Mystro, though I imagine the latter were probably done out of sarcasm. Anton has been a faithful guard of Kristof for over a century. I knew him only as a stoic, impassable barrier of a man then and he is much the same now. He speaks very little and always keeps his distance. For the pay, I imagine it suits him just fine.

It was Anton who drove me through town in his sleek, black car. Who parked in front of the Sheriff’s station per my request. I left him there, feeling out of place in this eccentric get-up of guardsman and sports car, and waited for Anya to come meet with me. I was sad. Sad to turn in my badge as well as my pistol – both of which being my tie to life that I had come to learn how to love. I kissed her mortal cheeks in departure and warned her that I had eyes and ears all over this isle, knowing what she is. Who she is. What she does. I also left her a parting gift. The thought I had implanted into her memory – of her loyalty to me – remains until time erases it. Hopefully it will be enough to stop her on her foolish quest of smiting evil.

There is another tie into my humanity. I stood on the wooden slats in front of the Sheriff’s station, partly speaking with one of the Deputies, and partly focused on the sounds of life separated by nothing but wooden walls. I speak of Lexie’s store and in it was Skip. I know it his him. I know that heart beat anywhere. I want to go in! I want to see his face so badly, but I don’t – my paranoia tells me to remain as I am. Instead, I send him a message, asking if we can meet in Seattle.

He didn’t reply.
Not at first, at least.

I kept thinking it was for the best. I still do. If Pelazzi caught wind of my involvement with Skip, then he would surely destroy him in his quest to destroy me – and in this act he would most likely succeed.

At last, however, Skip finally responds.
I will see him.
In Seattle.

How long has it been? Since he left. Since he walked out the door. How long have I been standing here?

He doesn’t understand why I have done what I did, why I have taken the strings of power, and why I can not come to him. Why I can not put him in danger. In some ways, I can see his side. How much danger has he been exposed to since he came here? I often forget the times how many times and how great said danger is. Hell, even the things I often ignore and forget to consider. Take me, for instance. I am a danger – even said so by his own words. How many times had I, at the whim of sickness and need, tried to take his very life?

I’m a leech.
So says he.

I took his hateful words into myself and fired back as much as I could; I felt like a small child being berated. It’s funny, this. How I can will my pride to stand against almost anything. How bravely I can face danger and have faced danger in the past. Back home, I did not fear to stand toe to toe with my Elders. I was never afraid to speak, despite all things. The hateful words from Skip Zelin was not something I could hold my ground against. They felt worse than Michael’s cryptic power and recovery time, I fear, will be longer. How is it that I, Keliah Angelis, has become a slave to her feelings?

I learned something invaluable of my nature as Skip left, telling me more or less, to get my shit together. My shit isn’t together. I’ve come to realize that I collect people – vampires, wolves, mortals – to me flowers. Gather ye roses whilst ye may, or so the saying goes. I try to bunch them up together and stretch myself as far as I can in order to keep them healthy and growing. I undertake tasks and doings that should – and probably will – send me to my final death in order to do what I feel must be done to keep them growing, but no matter what I do, the petals begin to wilt and wither.

I can’t protect everyone. I take things for granted. I fail to see how naïve I really am when it comes to others. I think that I’m the only powerful person in this world. I have let my ego become bigger than my eyes. I should learn how to trust in other people. I should stop being so damn independent. I should learn how to plant my garden of flowers and appreciate its beauty as it is. I should learn how to be more gracious and more humble. I should continue to find the balance between beast and person. I should stop letting obstacles get in the way of the things I desire most, and what is more? I should stop making them. I should simply just do what I can, the best that I can, and attempt to be nothing more than who and what I am.

I had strayed from my path, he said. Skip. I think he’s right. I think I’ve allowed myself to be pulled in to two many directions in my efforts to appease the voices of discord, and perhaps lead astray by my own paranoia. I think I need to listen less to the demands of others and remember who I really am and where my path goes, and then govern accordingly.

Do what I have to do, he said.
I will. My way.

How can I convince him to let me come with?

____________________________________________________________

“Anton?” I asked out loud, unfolding myself from my desk, “I trust you brought the file?”

Anton stepped over towards me, moved past me, and flipped open the sleek, black brief case that had been placed on my desk. So absorbed in my writing, I had not even noticed it. Anton dug through the pile – most of it papers of my financial request, things that I would have to take to Lucan – but at the bottom was an old file. He handed this to me and I laid it upon the surface, both of us musing over the past.

“Seems like it was yesterday,” I said to the man, who merely nodded in reply – he hadn’t really been involved. I pried open the file and peered at the black and whites. There was a photo of me, a sort of head shot (but more more grim) and a photo of one Jubei Mitsuyoshi.

Jubei.

He was, as I recollect, exceedingly ruthless. The two of us met up in China, of all places, both of us on the same quest to dispatch an uprising pack of Brujah antribu. I came with two Angelians. Jubei came just as himself. I learned why that day. It had always been my desire to meet with him again, to teach me his art of kick-ass, but the hit-man became hard to find, and then I, myself, dropped off the face of the earth.

Inside the file was a number penned with fresh ink on one of those post-it (who ever thought of that was a fucking genius) things. So I picked up the phone, I dialed then number, and waited for someone from the mafia-esque clan from Japan to pick up the phone. If I’m going to do what I think I have to do, I’m going to need some back up.

Réunion des Morts; Larmes dans l'Obscurité

How much time? Soon, then. Soon.

I awakened in my most preferred resting place – second only to the Professor’s bed. When I told the wizened, swarthy vampire (Cole is his name) that had come all the way to Seattle to see me, I was not kidding when I said my personal Haven was much bigger than my Seattle loft. He probably believed that perhaps I meant to say I had a large, opulent household somewhere – as typical with Princes. Sure, I could probably afford one now that my family shares were open to my disposal, but I have little need for grandeur. No, my personal Haven lies elsewhere. The sea and its entirety. Immersion into the dark depths, where I bury myself in silt and sediment, and listen to nothing but movement though water and smell nothing.

Upon my rising, I swam along the cliffs, and came up through the secret cave that lead into the Light House, and as always, I braced myself against the smell of rot and death that lingered here. I suppose I should clean this place and rid it of Michael’s violent echoes of slaughter. I dressed. Plainly. I was no pauper Prince. Up the windings stairs I went and further up still, till I reached the beacon. Up here I can see everything. I can see past the city roofs to the outline of the forest thicket. Here I can pick out silver line of the river toiling it’s way to the East. I can see the bridge silhouetted by moonlight and just a little further, I can nearly make out the shingles of Lexie and Skip’s roof. Most importantly, up here I am out sight and scent of others, but I can see them plain as night. For now, I want solitude. I want to think. I want to call Skip. I want to strategize accordingly to what impending battle that might be in store for us. I want to eat – I haven’t in awhile – but I can’t stop thinking. All really is not so fair in love and war.

My people are beginning to gather down below, and so I can not afford the luxury of solitude any longer. Down I go, falling from the beacon to the roof below, and then I hop down to the stone below, standing then on the grounds of Elysium to find Brethren and Anyanka. Pandora and her seem to be friends – I’m not sure how I feel about this, but I remember my own words from the previous night. Trust in people. Stop trying to protect them all. Anya came barreling towards me, Niko and Reen stepped away to speak more privately, and the bodies of the Dead began to file in to listen to their Prince. Anya I turned away fast, sending her on her way, and told her we were having a private party. I think that disappointed her, but I couldn’t rightly have this hunter prying into our personal business – and if no one around us suspected her of being such? I wasn’t going to tell. One day, Anya will make a great vampire – I don’t want her to perish so soon.

Our meeting started; I launched into business. I stood high on the stone platform, because something about it was very comforting, and I studied the faces of my Kindred as they milled in the graveyard, staring expectantly at me. So many differences between the lot of us, I thought. Some are as the Professor stated. Some value life. Some do not. Some are your typical wolf-hating characters, others are more inclined to unity between races. Some are sweet in their natures and some are harsh. How could he judge them thusly? Do not the mortals of this realm possess equal amounts of good and evil?

We spoke of the Nun. My Sheriff had inclinations that perhaps she might be a witch or that her aura of power comes from a talisman. The truth is, I don’t care what it is – I know how weak I am to powers of faith. Reaper wanted to shoot her. Demetria wanted to will a few mortals to go after her. I decided, for now, that Pandora and Celeste would simply perform some recon – perhaps the most beneficial and easiest of strategies. Get to know your enemy, then destroy it. I would not sacrifice needless life and said as much. I wanted them to know that I do not tolerate such things.

When I asked about the war with the wolves, I got curious looks, head shakes, shoulder shrugs, and complaints, and prejudices. Just as I suspected. The rumors were all talk, and of those I suspected it most from, Niko simply said that there were no talks from those of the bar and then said nothing else. Wade shot me a meaningful look – something was on his mind.

We sojourned to the Lighthouse, indeed I had been walking that way when Niko pointed out the issue with security. We had just begun to settle when I began to speak on the issue – and the absence – of the Mistwalker and who should appear? Emeline, I would later come to know her name, crept in as mist, swirling about our ankles, and taunted us with both song and lack of physical form.

Coward!

I called her thus, for she would not rise to flesh and face me. Instead, she sang. I thought of the bodies – of Lexie’s red hair. Then that was it. I care little for nuns. I care little for wolves and the like. I care little of hunters – this creature, this offensive being against the Camarilla standards, must die. This creature was the biggest threat to my fair friend and the Professor. Simply because she killed without warning and without mercy.

Jubei, and with him a beautiful blonde creature, suddenly crested on my stairwell. Because the chaos couldn’t become any more drawn, right? At least seeing his face was pleasant and reassuring. He came, I saw, he left with his companion. Hopefully he received the keys to my apartment on the eastern border of town as I had directed Anton to give over. Jubei and I had much catching up to do, but it would not be now. I knew there was a Hummer idling outside, waiting to carry me up to the mountains, and so Reen and I vacated the Light House and climbed into the vehicle.

I was quiet the whole trip. The vehicle jostled back and forth on the rickety mountain road – a road that continued to wind and wind to oblivion, it seemed. Now that it was just Reen, myself, and the driver, I attempted to calm my anger. Brow to the window, eyes seeing nothing of the woodlands as we passed, I thought on this Mistwalker. I thought of her crimes. Of course, I thought of Skip. Mostly, I pondered upon the home Reen and myself were traveling to – the Justicar’s. We approached the door and were led into Treason’s presence by a man made from stereotypical physical beauty. He smelled like cherries.

The Justicar was lax as a cat in her home, curled up with a mortal girl who smelled of chocolate and rich, red wine. Treason kept her dolls fed on specifics, apparently. I hate this – though I shouldn’t. It is what is expected of our kind. Yes, it beats death. Yes, her Dolls were probably there willingly. Yes, they probably even loved her and her Kiss. But that is true of most dolls – addiction to the Kiss. The man who had greeted us made eager advances towards me when Treason shared her hospitality, but I stayed him with my hand, though the beast within me was quite honed on his willing pulse.

She asked how the brethren fared and so I told her, but when I told her of the Mistwalker, she became irritated – and told me of her bastard childe, Emeline. The Mistwalker was the Justicar’s very own progeny. Because life can not get any more complicated, right? Treason stepped to me, placed a reassuring hand upon my shoulders, and I asked her what was to be done.

She told me to forgo my pride and find the elder. Michael. I would not be able to take the Mistwalker down on my own – and I knew this. Not if she was Treason’s blood. I am not looking forward to facing Michael’s music, but, I will and would do anything to stop her. Anything to fix the tears in the veil and bring safety to my home once again. Satisfied with my answer, Reen and I availed ourselves on her hospitality – because one does not offend a Justicar. I took as little from man as I could. For one, I hated the sticky sweetness of his blood. His diet was one of too much sugar. Too, all I could think about was Skip’s words.

I had asked him long ago if he minded what I am and he so casually said that we all had to eat, is if my need for blood wasn’t that big of deal. But now as I slake my thirst to pacify the beast, I think of his hateful words towards me and my kind.

The Justicar escorted us to the bowels of her home and personally prepared a plushly furnished sarcophagus for Reen and I to share. The sun was coming up soon enough and Reen was half drowsed already from his indulgent meal, so we lay in the thing while Treason slid the heavy lid to a gentle, final close. Reen curled into me and fell asleep right away. I was not so lucky. Sleep came fitfully. I just wanted to leave here. To Hell with it all. I wanted to go to the Professor and stretch my body next to his warm one under the coverlets of his bed. I cried out in the coffin.

Reen kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair in the dark, his movements hindered with sleep. Right then, he was my brother. My friend. I wept freely and without reservation.

Dans la Forêt

I had left the home of the Justicar in the same way I was delivered – by the sleek, sturdy off-roader. It jostled down the road uncomfortably and I wondered…why even bother with this thing?

“Stop the car,” I said to driver, and when it did I slipped out of the back seat. The path to town was a long one. A dangerous one. But I could use the walk for I had much on my mind.

I had never been up here before – never been this far up in the mountains. We were so high up that snow crunched beneath my boots, though down below the weather was reasonable. Wet, but reasonable. Ravenhurst was a mote in the nightscape. I could see her lights glittering way in the distance – from up here, I could see much – but I did not know the way to go. I wasn’t trying to get home, I was wondering just where Michael kept himself, Treason’s words fresh on my mind.

If I want to destroy the Mistwalker, then find the Elder.
Put aside your pride.
Michael.

The funny thing about that? I really didn’t have too much pride in regards to all of this. My pride was never wounded and remains in tact to this day. It wasn’t greed or lust that drove me. I certainly never desired to obtain the Prince’s crown. Ever. I am a servant. I always have been. I suppose this is where I fell completely off my path as Professor Zelin pointed out, and in my desire to please more voices than my own, I did as was wanted of me. What is expected of our Kindred. Their words seared through my rebel’s blood and demanded change. The blood of my clan, always before the heart, responded.

I began to walk away from the mountain road and into the woods knowing I had little to fear of wolves being so close to these grounds claimed by the Justicar. I mused; I mulled.

I never really quite understood why everyone despised Michael so much, save that they were all afraid of him. Myself included. Someone who has the very power to peel your flesh from your bones? Yeah, that’s seriously scary shit. Despite this quirk, he was fair minded and logical. Diplomatic. Soft in his judgment. He was also absent and hard to find. Especially during strife when I needed him most.

How long have I been walking? Two, three hours maybe? Snow gives way to decaying leaves, trapped in shadow of the tree canopy of the mountain. I can hear the flow of the river in the distance and smell its freshness cutting through the leaf-rot. As I move onward, the ground becomes more caked in mud. Rain continues to drizzle overhead. It is cold, but I do not care. I do not truly feel its grasp.

How do I fix this? How do I mend the gap, as Treason stated. How do I put both of our faults on the table and speak of diplomacy? I’m not even sure if looking for him is even the best of ideas. Most likely it will be my final ending. Most likely he will kill me for attempting to seek him out, but I don’t care. I’m not going to lie back and turn cheek while Treason’s child shreds at the veil. (Personally, I can’t see why Treason is sitting back and allowing this to happen.)

I keep walking. Looking.
I find the occasional cabin. I find cliffs.
I find a shit load of trees.

What else can I do besides roam around here in search of Pelazzi? My impatience and my frustrations with all these damn trees is beginning to get the best of me. Too, I’ve been walking for most of the night with nothing but my bitter thoughts and whining for company. That’s never healthy.

I find wolf tracks and I know I am home. I can smell the tang of salt, the lingering fumes of diesel from boats, and the general scent of Ravenhurst. The beacon of the light house turns and turns and turns… I stand in perhaps the most oddest of places, for the woods have opened up to reveal Sho Flanagan’s cabin. I keep going down, down, down the mountain and drop the final ledge. Now I’m really home, for I stand in the front yard of the Ellwyn’s cheerful cottage.

It’s dark inside – and why wouldn’t it be? So close to sunrise. I believe this is what is referred to as the unGodly hour by those who must waken with the day. I shouldn’t be here, but I don’t care. Pelazzi, or the Mistwalker, or who ever the fuck wants to destroy me and mine could be looking over my shoulder and I still don’t care, though my fingers curl more instinctively around the handle of my knife.

I love the house’s roof because it is so easy to gain, the gutters lower than most, so I climb up to its very top and watch, because it’s the only thing I can do. Across the way, I see Pandora in and out of the white cottage, wrapping up the moving of her things. I want to go to her, but I won’t leave this roof. I contemplate sitting up here and watching the sunrise because I’m far too emo sometimes for my own good, but not being welcome into the room below me is a torment less preferable to sunrise. Still, I watch. I guard. I hope that the Brethren are out looking for the Mistwalker like I have told them to.

The dusk was like any other – this new routine becoming very familiar to me. Waking times are quiet now. I miss the absence of phone messages from the police station. I miss the routine of getting ready for work. How sure I was of all things while I held my badge and my gun. How I fit into the world. Here at the light house it is much more quiet. I waken at the bottom of the sea. I come up through the cave. I lay on the stone until I am dry and nothing disturbs me but my own thoughts.

Once I dressed, I went upstairs to the main room and came to stand on the back balcony, content enough to watch the roiling sea below crash and recede against the cliff face our Elysium was centered upon, sort of enchanted by the chaos of it all. I think of Ace as I do this, remembering a conversation the two of us had not long before she was slain. About how the two of us as children fantasized about selkies, merfolk, and fairytale realms under the sea. Maybe that’s why I love the ocean so much. Maybe I’m still looking for those things. That, and the fact being under water dulls much of my senses. To, I’m pretty hard to find down there.

And then I wasn’t alone. Pandora come floating up the spiral staircase. I confess, I had been wanting to speak with her for awhile now. She is near me in age, I discovered, just as I had thought. Our cultures were the same. By the look of her? She might even be my kinswoman. I suspect our mortal bloodlines crossed a few times in the French country for her hair carries the coppery color my father possessed. At least I would like to think so. I even sometimes believe I remember her face, framed and shadowed by an fashionably enormous hat, trussed in a lawn dress on someone’s estate – friends in society meeting for a holiday, or a wedding or some such. If that was her? She wouldn’t remember me. I was just a freckly, curly-haired tot. Still, I like to think that maybe that was her. Perhaps I will ask her one day as to her mortal life. Asking her when she was Embraced was already too personal. Questions in regards to our past lives, including the Kiss, are often met with sadness and horrid memories. When most of us die? The experience is normally a rape against our wills and the experience is wretched. It’s not easy to wake up dying, dying, dying, and then killing….for blood.

To my Brethren, I often show only the facet of myself that Morelle instilled in me. The decades of ruthless training, the years of soldiering and killing. The stoic creature that I made myself out to be. To Pandora, I softened and let her see what I show very little of, and I spoke to her of my heart-matters, woman to woman. We discussed humanity. I told her of my feelings in regard to the Island. I asked her if she thought I was a ruthless tyrant. I even told her about Skip Zelin and I asked her if I had been right in doing as I have done. She told me that I should have allowed him to make the choice himself. If there is danger, then he should decide. I really, really wish I was not affected so much…

Our conversation was cut short, and I moved us back to business in regards to her espionage with the hunter – the nun. Then Niko came ascending up the stairs, smelling of smoke and whiskey, and informed me with little formality that he has claimed Anya as his servant. Pandora and I were both a bit shocked. Me especially. When I told him that she already belonged to me in my little way, I think he was rather shocked to. It was a room of raised brows. He asked me if I had been feeding her regularly and then I knew right then how she managed to bounce back to work so quickly after being shipped out to Seattle. Niko fed her. Phase One: Complete. At first? I wasn’t so sure if I approved of this. Mackenzie is a hunter – albeit a noble one – and I was not so sure about the idea of welcoming her into the honorable office as one of our Ghouls. Still, I’d rather Niko than someone else, and this would keep my ties more tightly knit to the Sheriff’s office if she was officially the goul of one of my vampires.

If he gouled her into our family, I told him that I would remove the control I had over her sub consciousness (frankly, I’m still rather amazed that it’s still there. Have I gotten more powerful?) . Business concluded, I left. To hunt, I said. My hunt, however, was not of the blood variety. The evening was young still and I had much ground to cover. From the balcony, I leapt to the stone foundation below, and then into the sea to cross the mouth of the bay.

I would search the outlaying islets and crags tonight for Michael’s lair. The beach beyond sucked. No, literally. It and pulled at my bare feet as I stepped through the muck of mud and ocean water, the decay of marsh eventually turning into fresh and uninhabited forest. Part of what makes Ravenhurst so magical, I think. Here we are but a couple of hours away from a giant metropolis, but out here? It’s man and nature; It’s the old world. The woods out here are not entirely lonely. I come across, in my night search, various leavings of tribal people – modern day Native Americans who have taken hold of this particular outlying as part of their reservation. Actually, I was probably trespassing on federally protected territory. I seriously doubt I would find Michael out here. Too risky.

How long I spent sniffing out remote islands and rocks, I don’t know. I spent equal amounts of time scouring the bases of cliffs for caves, moving and scaling as fast as I could through water till, at long last, I had to find my own shelter against the coming dawn. I chose the nearest Isle. For once, I slept in the ground – the earth salty and wet. I burrowed my way far, far, far into the muck, the heaviness of the mud caving in on me, sealing me in a tomb that no sunlight would touch. Maybe I’d stay there. I was thirsting. I didn’t want to be a leech. I wanted blood, but I wanted sanctuary. I craved, I gnashed my teeth against my lips, I thought about doing the same against Skip’s, and I slept.


The next evening brought me back to the cave of the Lighthouse, where I stayed down to the bottom, submerged. That is until I heard a voice, muted and still, knife through the rock. It sounded distant, but it wasn’t. It was Anyanka. In my Lighthouse. Heel pressed to the stone floor, I propelled myself upwards and shot from the water only to find Pandora curled up on the stone floor, her hand pressed to a bloody stain in her dress, and the remnant of a fishing rod cast aside. She was alright. Miffed and frightened, surely.

“Mackenzie.” I lifted my voice in a crescendo. It echoed in the cave and penetrated the room just beyond the façade, and I could hear the rattling of the gates that lead to Michael’s private quarters suddenly cease. I’m not sure as to why she was there. Perhaps Niko had completed the act of making her his. Or perhaps she was looking for Doctor LaBorde. Who can really guess when it comes to Anyanka’s curiosity. She’s worse than a cat. So, I slid the wall aside with a mighty heave, and though Pandora offered to go hide, I simply had her come along for the ride. My secret as to my racial orientation was no longer a secret, I learned. So I laid it all out there, knowing Mackenzie as I did. Pandora was not so happy to learn that her friend was a huntswoman, and Mackenzie declared that she could give a fuck who was what, removed a switchblade from her pocket, and slit her damn wrist and held it out for ‘Pandy’ in some strange act of trust – fine line. I’m sure ‘Pandy’ was thirsting as her body healed itself. As for me, well, I recalled how she tasted as the fragrance of her blood permeated the room and I had to turn my back, bracing for the beast.

I changed my plans.

I decided looking for Michael, despite what the Justicar bade me, would come second. I can’t sit by and simply pass in idle, hoping upon hope that I will find him, while a ruthless monster torments people with red hair – which is like half the female population of Ravenhurst. I think of Lexie’s long, pretty hair. I think of the gruesome scenes of murder I witnessed. I shudder because I think of the wretched creature’s ancient mother.

You can’t stop her on your own…

No doubt the Justicar spoke the truth. I bid Mackenzie to dye her hair back to the red it previously was and not this new color she had chosen in attempts to guise herself. I decided that I would gather my Brethren to me on the morrow and Mackenzie would draw on hers. An arrangement was made. A former scourge and a huntress off to smite. Mackenzie because she has it in her head that offing the wayward supernatural is her noble calling. Me because her existence is an offense and a vulnerability against my Brethren.

Pandora looked apprehensive.
I don’t blame her.

I was taking a risk, but I had always trusted those at RHPD.
Anya was on her way to becoming Niko's.
If all else failed, I had a sure way into her mind.

Our meeting of minds came to an abrupt stall and I turned back for the cave, bidding Mackenzie to leave. She asked to go with me. I said no. She was persistent, fighting against the loyalty I had instilled in her – or perhaps fear for my safety prompted her to ask. So I told her there was nothing there, save hundreds of feet of water and darkness – not entirely a lie. Then I heard the door open and close. Footfalls came clumsily down the spiral stairs and the mortal scent of a woman added to the cocktail. I retreated back into the cave.

“Sheriff? I wish to report a breaking and entering.”

After Mackenzie left with the intruder, I ventured back into the room. It was quiet once again. I sat down at the desk and retrieved my cell phone from the bottom drawer in which I had stashed the thing. I flipped it open and scrolled down to Skip’s number and contemplated for a good, long time. It was so late. He was probably sleeping. I called anyways and waited for him to pick up, but he didn’t. Most surely sleeping.

“It’s Keliah. I'm..so sorry. I’m…coming over.” Awkward pause, “Okay, bye.”

I left, half hoping that he’d be out there in his pajamas, puffing away on the smoking implement of his choice, but he wasn’t. I stepped closer to the door, but it was more than locked. It was warded, surely. I’d felt the sting of wards before. There was no way I was passing through that door. Probably trying the windows was ill worth it. Besides, getting past the message this surely must mean was way more difficult than trying to break through any ward. I don’t think I’m allowed home anymore. Probably for the best. One never knew who was watching who, so it was probably better. Probably.

I went back to the light house and wished Reen was there. He wasn’t, though. But if he came back? I retrieved the letter I had written in Treason’s library – it was a little outdated now – and I laid it on the desk, writing on it’s surface: Reen, please bring this to Lexie Ellwyn, the curator of the magic shop beside the Sheriff’s office.

I went back to my cave and sealed myself in. It still smelled faintly of Pandora’s blood. I was so thirsty..

My search came to a halt and I will not go on seeking answers anymore. The Isle goes on faster than most of us can fathom. It is a living, breathing entity on its own. Like time. And like time? It waits for no man. How long was I gone? Only a couple of days, and yet in those couple of days things change. It’s not so very shocking.

Fresh from the grave and caked in muck, I found Niko on the Light house foundation, smoking his cigarettes, and looking tattered – at least his clothing did. Both of us appraised each other’s disarray silently, saying nothing in regards to the other, and I asked him how the land fared. Turns out Michael had been here. Of course this would happen while I’m out looking for the man. All that aside, the Gangrel told me of what happened to the Mistwalker. How he, Xae, Anya, and then Michael had taken her out – Michael dragging her away elsewhere.

Now, I suppose, I really do not need to find Michael since Treason’s daughter has been put to rest. Or at least that is what I hope Michael did. It turns out Anya had been hurt, and so I asked him if he had fed her to which he said he did. No doubt by now she was back on her feet with Niko’s powerful blood fueling hers. That makes two feedings now. I hope that she goes back for the third. I’m a bit concerned now after he told me of another Doctor – one who says he was in Anya’s head to. How many supernaturals are going to take up residence there? I was anxious to see her and read the doctored police report and ask her about this encounter, so with farewells to Niko, I trekked off towards the Sheriff’s office.

She wasn’t there. I didn’t expect her to be, really. I just had to make sure.

I should go home and take a shower, but I had given my keys to Jubei.
I wanted to try Skip, but the house is warded.
I should try to find my children.

I just didn’t have the heart to do any of those things, so instead I waited on the docks. Not for Anya to show, or for anyone, though my children would easily spot me should they decide to come back to their little apartment, seeing as I spent much of the night seated on the steps leading to the front door. It was comfortable there. It rained (shocking) and the slats of wood were wet and smelling of must, bilge, and sea. Down the ways, I could hear the sounds of dock workers bringing in late night catches and cargo being hefted around. The coming and going of boats. The ebb and flow of life. I was happy where I was despite the audio disturbances, sandwiched as I was between Celeste and Jake’s front door and the back of the magic shop, sitting in silence, and generally being unassuming. I don’t know why I was there, save that perhaps I was hoping for one of my children to come home. Maybe I really didn’t want to be alone. More like I was afraid to be. Its far to easy to let go and allow the self I have become sift through my fingers and revert back to what I was before I came here.

Yes, that’s it. I was waiting.
For one of them, my children.
For someone beloved to walk through the front door of the magic shop.

God damn it, I just want to see Skip. I don’t want him to go to the spirit realm without me. Shun me. Hate me. Forget me. Just let me keep my damn promise. Don’t leave me here wondering, wondering, wondering…

Like any heartbroken and despondent creature, I scrolled through my phone. I read the last text message I sent him and cursed. A lot. I backtracked and read prior ones. I courted the idea of sending him another, put the phone away, and then scraped myself off the stairs of Celeste’s stoop only to replant myself at the end of the dock. I was thirsting. God, how I was thirsting.

Celeste eventually came ambling along as she normally does, and I was grateful for her company – even though the first thing out of her mouth was, “Um, you’re probably going to kill me, but…” Or something along those lines. She had gone to Kione Ulrik, the Alpha male of Crimson guard, and gave him a speech of togetherness, peace, and love. What? Was I angry? No. In fact, I started to laugh. That was hilarious! First of all, she had gone to the wrong pack leader. Secondly, there was and is no war. Thirdly, preaching peace and love? To a werewolf? Ha! My foolish, naïve little child who’s heart is always in the right place, wants to be my go-between. An ambassador of sorts. She wants to prove herself. We shall see, I told her. She has many things to learn before she acts so officially on our behalf. For one, curbing her tongue when the need is there. Perhaps thinking with a bit more logic would help to. And then both of us laid our faults on the table and picked at them like crows, trying to correct what was wrong with us.

Her meeting with Kione wasn’t entirely fruitless, sending a message through my child a request to meet with me. We found each other near the covered bridge, where he bid me congratulations on my post, and wanted to know, essentially, where I stood politically. Things haven’t changed, I told him. I divulged as little as possible, informed him that my views had not changed in regards to this Isle I love so much. I made sure that he knew I was not instigating any skirmishes against his pack, and likewise he assured me of the same, all the while we scoped out the other. Gauging each other’s strengths and the like. Predators, both of us.

Can you blame me? I was thirsting. I knew what blood coursed through his veins. How thick and powerful it was. How it would make me whole once again. How nourishing it would be. Subtle hints were left if my kindred and the pack rumored to be sniffing for skirmishes were to come to a head then perhaps there would be assistance. Happenstance, of course. Then not-so-subtly, the giant Alpha left me an indecent proposal. I sort of admired the fact that he was bold enough to offer me, err, dinner? That takes guts. And I won’t lie and say I didn’t think about it. In fact, I was so hungry that I thought about it for a long time, sitting in the graveyard, and remembering the sound of his mighty heart pumping hot blood through the veins of his body.

I kicked at dirt with my heels, digging, digging, and digging further. Faster and faster. Suddenly, I had a grave in the graveyard. Suddenly, sleeping was a fine idea.

When I woke up well into the evening, I woke because I felt stirrings in the ground above me. Someone was sitting on my fresh pile of dirt. Talking, I think. No one answered her. So, out of curiosity, I wormed my way out from the dirt, my hands shooting through the pile to either snag her or gain purchase, and when I unearthed myself, I simply fell back into a recline against the gravestone and bummed one of her cigarettes. I never really understood why vampires partook of such worthless, needless habits. Niko, for one. Linzee smoked. This lady? Puffing away and making signs of the cross. She’s kind of..out there, but as dead as dead can be and thus welcome in my domain.

I left her blithering on about her ‘mither’ after I impressed the rules on to her, stalking off towards anything. Anything but the light house. So hungry…I was resolved to go fell an animal and slake my thirst upon it, enough to keep the beast at bay, except I had the unfortunate luck to stumble upon a mortal girl who was perched at the shoreline, enjoying herself the night horizon and the view of the dark, glassy sea.

She was blonde. Platinum haired. Her limbs were elegant and limber. For a mortal, anyways. Her pulse was full of life! I startled her and looking as I did - ragged, dirty - I’m sure my face must of looked pretty mean. Her pulse quickened, and she looked at me. Looked into my eyes. The beast could not turn away from such easy pickings, and suddenly the power of my will rose up like a burning flame, diving into her consciousness. I meant to command her to me. To lure her close and seize her. But…something was different. I couldn’t stop it! Her memories suddenly came pushing into my mind. Random flashes of wolves. Family. Elegant ballet and firy auto crashes. I felt pain and fear! I felt sadness. I felt power surging in the fringes and something happened. I couldn’t control the link I had forged. Its as if I suddenly had tangles and tangles of yarn to weave it with when all I needed was one, single thread. Random bits of my own memories came rushing through. I’m not even sure what besides the gunfire and thoughts of home – perhaps always first and foremost there in my mind’s eye.

She was advancing towards me, the command I had given her to come still a flame to her moth, and then she stumbled over and fell to the ground. I suddenly realized that something was horribly wrong here and what I was doing, and that what had taken place was well out of the norm of my control. Her falling shook my resolve and the skein I had woven between us shredded away. I backed away.

“Cow,” She protested her fall, belittling herself. Because I…could think of nothing else to say, I queried her on this, and she called herself a cow because of her legs. They didn’t work properly. Imagines of the auto accident came anew in my mind’s eye.

“Cows have four legs. You do not,” Maybe I was trying to make her feel better. Then I promptly scolded her, warning her how dangerous it was to be out and about. She asked me if I was okay, and referred me to the clinic, and pointed out that I was out and about as well. Both of us rubbed at our heads. I told her I would do just that. That I would go to the clinic. Instead, I pointedly continued along the coast towards the woods.

Arbre de la Famille

There was change all over the place. It was, at best, quite alarming. See, I had slept for only four days. Four days in the earth, hidden away in a state of death. I don’t know how I ended up in so long a slumber, save that I had abstained from human blood and had eaten only from animals. Even then, the food was scarce. So bent on my task was I.

Still, I enjoyed my reversion. I found comfort that I often felt when I was but only myself, accountable only for me. The only difference between my sojourn in the thick of the forests were the steady, silver threads of awareness of two others – my children. That and the feeling that seems permanently lodged beneath the enclosure of my ribs. It feels so vacant and so very hallow.

I won’t, and can not, write about the woe any more. Yes, it is constantly burdening my thoughts. It plagues me and lashes me down. It makes me not wish to get up. I want, I want, and I want him more. Time, though, passes by. Even during darker days. I always said that the city waits for no man and this is true of me to. When I came padding down from the woods, I found myself creeping – and staying – sandwiched in one of the alley ways of town square. Celebrations were afoot. Banners were strung. Too many people afoot, I could abide this.

I ended up going the long way in attempts to get home. I needed a shower badly. I needed to check my phone – what if he called? However, after following the river towards the East and veering off from the Red Dragon, I found a shit load of cars and carnival games strewn in front of the diner and the garage. Vehicles of all kinds. Some comical; some made of muscle. The city had brought out that dunk tank once again. There was a strongman game to, and sitting beside it were a handful of mallets. No one was afoot so I hefted one of the mallets in my hand and swung it about, but I did not play the game. I did, however, stalk off with the hammer. My mallet.

I did not go home. What if Jubei and his companion were there? Then I’d have to explain to the ninja as to my whereabouts, so I found myself back in the town square surrounded by artworks on display. More change to mark the passage of time. Just like the catacomb door wedged behind the church. I stood at the Lighthouse entrance in hopes to snag the attention of one of the Kindred and found the door. Either it’s been there all the while and I never noticed it or someone has been a very busy little bee. I wasn’t the only one who found the door, either. In fact, that door had a lot of foot traffic. Every time it would open, electronic music would come blaring out. Occasionally, the doors spit out a body to.

Pandora joined my side. Jake to. I wanted to investigate this anomaly (that it was really an anomaly, but it was to me. This new, fangled thing here in the graveyard), but wished to query Pandora on the goings on during my overly long nap. Then Celeste came blaring over my personal airwaves – fight at the diner.

Normally, I wouldn’t care if the good people of Ravenhurst duke it out, but the two who were fighting just happened to be the Malkavians. Remi and his child, Quinn. Family conflict? I don’t know, I didn’t care. Quinn was frenzied, or so I was told. When I got to the scene, there was little to do. The two men were having it out between two of the parked cars. Celeste was bleeding, but out of the fray. I approached Remi very cautiously, for he was speaking rather eloquently. The last time he spoke thus he had tried to do harm to Lexie Ellwyn.

I was unprepared for what came next. He looked at me. Looked through me. Suddenly, my head was ringing with the sounds of chaos and it felt almost like when the two of us were linked before. He called me a traitor. I could hear the sound of Francois’ tortured screams. No. No…

I fired back with a strength of my own, unsure where it came from. I took his psychic invasion and seized it, then blasted back my will. Obey me, I said. No, I commanded. The blast, it seemed, was enough to knock Remi back to his senses, and suddenly I was flying towards him and Quinn – the two of us on a mission to take him out before the inevitable happened and the beast was set loose on the town. It was chaos, but it was over in a flash. Someone had called Mackenzie and she was there to supervise the leavings. The whole situation ended up being very comical – shooting magic missiles and talking of plastic swords. I’m not sure who we were trying to convince more: ourselves or the spectators.

I am not going to dismiss the fight so easily. Celeste, you see, played a big hand in this. I don’t know when it will be that Celeste decides to finally grow up and cease acting so impulsively. To think before the words come flying out of her mouth. Foolish girl! Baiting and snarking on a Malkavian fledgling! Remi’s childe is not my favorite, no. In fact, he’s more trouble than he is worth sometimes. I still, however, respect the beast that lays within him. We all possess the same. Celeste will have to be dealt with, but I send her with Jake. I can’t even manage to look her in the face with her regretful eyes and humble stance. Instead, I distract myself with Pandora – mostly because I’ve been wanting to distract myself with her for awhile yet and speak to her on matters of past lives.

We are both from the same province, from the same lands. Our families (or rather what had been our families) were flourished by same orchards of Champagne. Both of us laid claim to Reims. When I told her my family’s name, she smiled and informed me her great aunt was a Dé Freyne. Pandora is my senior, but not by many years. In the mortal realm, I saw her as a fine lady. A pretty young woman that I glimpsed on occasion with a child’s awe before she was Embraced. I wanted to share with her and talk with her. I wanted to know how long she kept track of our relatives before she had to turn face away. I wanted to tell her of Paris and what had become of me. I wanted to marvel at my distant cousin and remember what it was to be a Dé Freyne instead of the ‘leech’ I was transformed in to.

I suppose it was well that Celeste came into my apartment to bid her apologies. I keenly remembered, just then, that I was not a Dé Freyne and would never be so again. I am what I am. Who I am. I’m pretty sure staking Celeste would do little good and the manner in which she needs to learn will probably not be received well. So I tried to bring her down a few notches and I commanded her to find Remi so that she might apologize for her actions and beg his forgiveness. She left my company and I drew up the will of my consciousness around me in case she felt my mother’s love eeking through the thread of the bond. Pandora left to. I suspected she knew I wished to be alone.

I was on the ferry when I felt it. I felt Celeste abruptly fade out. Something had happened to her. Remi?

Quel que soit!

The moment dusk crested and overtook the city of Seattle, I fled my private loft. There would be no waiting for the ferry. Not while facing the unknown of the goings on, unsure as to what had become of Celeste. The docks of the various marinas offered plenty of options of tugs, fishing vessels, and private fancy-pants boats. None of which would suit me. That is until I laid eyes on The Angler. Sleek, swift, and built for speeding around the bays. Bingo.

Yeah, I stole a boat. I drove that thing to max and would have had a jolly good time of it to if it weren’t for the fact that my bonded ward hadn’t fallen off of my mental radar. I sped that thing right to the docks of her home, nearly plowing over a few dockworkers and taking out the dock in a whole. I’m worse of a boat driver than I am a pilot. Oh, sorry paint job.

Celeste was thrumming with (un)life, tucked away in her little apartment, and with her was Lexie Ellwyn doing what she does best. I sort of felt bad, for I’m pretty sure I offended her overly cautious nature as I came barreling into Celeste’s front door. And worse, the screaming match that took place with my child, who apparently has stirred a giant pot of shit because she’s hell bent on saving me from unknown and certain doom, was a little more than she could take. Lexie ducked out.

Yeah. A giant pot. Of shit. Celeste, whom I love so very much, has a knack for running her mouth when she shouldn’t and putting herself in positions that do far more harm than good – too my sanity, that is. My stupid, foolish girl. So hell bent on being some sort of martyr for my emotional well-being. I think I’m just going to chain her down. Or keep her in a box. Seems to me that would be the only amicable solution to my woes. That and finding out which mongrel of the bar flies decided to torture my child and make a fine example of them.
By example I mean rip their very heads from their bodies and using it as a decoration for my mantle.

The tale of this deed of Celeste’s torture flew far and wide on the mouths of the supernatural community. I think mostly because Celeste told pretty much everyone she could in hopes to ignite tempers and have us seize pitchforks and torches against Rie and her compatriots. Word had even spread to Sho Flanagan. I learned this because he bid me to meet with him.
We met in the ruins. In gangrel territory. I chose this place for I considered it neutral and our duo quickly became a trio of myself, Flanagan, and Bratcher. Our little pow-wow didn’t go over very well. Not because Flanagan and I exchanged barbs, but rather Bratcher – oh, Bratcher – is galloping along on his high horse and has joined some quest with the hunters to smite us all. Or something. I’m not even sure. For the record, I don’t think Flanagan was either.

Still, in all gravity, I told Flanagan of that I would reap my reward. He did not oppose me.

Things to do:

First, speak to Em. Everyone’s interest in her – including Bratcher’s – fucking pisses me off.

Meet with Kione Ulrik. I mean to broach further on the hints he had dropped, and I don’t mean tangled limbs in the woods.

Drive the damn boat back.

Buy a boat!

I should put truth to the rumor I heard of the hack and slash melee-ing done in the town. It seems the LARP game has really caught on. I can’t blame them for copying me. Really, I mean, I am that amazing.

Douleur Pathétique

Just as I often observe, the days tick by. Ever since I quit the Sheriff’s office, I’ve sort of lost track of things in terms of time and the like. How easy it is fall into our old habits when the new ones we developed are no longer necessary. The only thing I can truly count on to keep me afloat and out of the ground is Celeste’s mess and the wake left behind, though now that dims away as those involved move on with their lives – which is what I want all to think. The only thing I was quite worried about was Bratcher – for he is prone to destructive antics – because I was certainly not going to give in to his demands and fork over Celeste so that he may take it upon himself and fulfill the ‘law’. Especially when he leaves me cryptic messages on my voicemail like a sociopath. Blood for blood, he told me.

Rumors of him burning down some cabin in the woods and killing its occupant, and occupant I did not know, an occupant who had very little to do with anything, reached my ears. I shake my head in disbelief. The law is the law, there can only be one law. So he stated. I’ll never understand Bratcher’s way of thinking, and for now, it no longer matters. He is gone yet again.

I have experienced many a thing over the past fortnight. I say fortnight to give a nod to the past and because I have not felt stirred enough to actually remain still on this one little task of recording my existence to pen and paper for a great length of time. There is little write in regards to politics, but I know this will soon change when I inform my Brethren of the future and our unification between Crimson Guard and our ilk. I am nervous as to how this will change things. I stand by my choice, but will the others? Perhaps I will be slain or overthrown, I don’t know. I do know, however, that there are offenses out there to be dealt with and I do not have enough muscle power on my own merit to destroy what must needs be destroyed. Tonight I will officially declare this union and what happens afterwards is a page left blank and unwritten. I do not know what shall be for either of our sects, Kione and I.

Besides, I can barely think on these matters. Unfitting, I know. These things should be first and foremost on my mind. I want to know that everything will set itself nicely in stone and everything will flow smoothly without fail. I want that for many things, such as the matters of my own heart. I met with Skip Zelin beneath the main road where the tunnel, sealed off from the general public by bars, in order to speak of his findings of the Spirit realm and what breaking news he had to give me. When I got there, he was behind the bars. I could not reach him. How he managed to get back there I did not know, but there he was. Perfect and warm, his typical suit covered in grime and stink from his unsavory choice of local. Behind him, he said, was Susan Zelin’s car. How could this be? I wondered, for I and my team had searched the mines and tunnels for evidence many times. Before I could even ask, the Mercedes Benz was lodged in the tunnel, yes, but in another dimension of reality. In the spirit world. So, we were right. Our theory of where Susan was – or is.

I am anxious now. So anxious. I can’t stand it. Even as I write this, I have no idea what that the man is doing. He can walk to the spirit realm. Leave his body behind and send his soul outwards. I should be amazed at this incredible gift, but I am more worried as to the what-ifs. What if he walks into the wrong place? Into this destructive and deadly Wyrm? Even though Flanagan told me of the difference between ‘this plane’ and the others, I can not help but fear for him. He could be walking around this plane in this very instant, pushing boundaries and endangering himself. Maybe he is with me now and I can’t even tell.

I doubt this, though. You see, when he told me I had to earn his trust, I didn’t realize how far I had fallen from his personal grace. I happened upon him in his shop on my way towards Elysium. On purpose, of course. He was standing behind the counter, looking sharp as ever, musing over something he was drawing, and I rapped upon the window to get his attention. He wasn’t very happy to see me. He even asked me if I had betrayed his identity to Em. In some ways, I thought maybe he understood why I had to, in that very fateful moment, tell him to not seek me out. I hoped that he would eventually turn away from the grief I had caused and look at my actions with a more logical eye and realize that perhaps I had the best of intentions, even though now I know how foolish I was and how wrongly I went about things. Did I tell those who would seek to align themselves with a mutual enemy force that he is a mage? His question knifed me right to the core more soundly than when, in need, struck me down with wood.

At least Lexie and I are on the mend, though tentative. The two of us made a girl’s sojourn to her choice spot, her friend in tow, but I felt more like a shadow on the outskirts rather than belonging there. And then Jubei swung by just in time to assure me that I was being an idiot for wandering from our territory, partially squash William Puck, and escort us all back to our respective homes.

I just… I don’t know what to say. Or feel. I am so angry and the world is so unfair. I am sad to. How little time it takes for things to change so drastically, I think. I wish, sometimes, that I had never come here. That I had been wise enough to slake my thirst and move on towards the North as originally planned. That I had no taken office and give this whole ‘life’ thing a try. I miss that person, that unfeeling and caring very little of things person – no matter how alone she was. I’m still alone, but now everything is different. I have family, yes. True family. Blood family and immortal family both. It seems to matter very little right now, these things. I feel like I’ve lost the only true home I’ve had in a very long time and I would do just about anything to get there, but there is no possible way to return.

Yes, I miss her more now than ever. That feelingless, wandering girl. That creature who relied on nothing, expected nothing, and avoided everything. In the same turn, I should really write in this thing more often. Kristof pushed me always to do this and I think I am beginning to understand why after all these years. Maybe I should go back, if only for a small amount of time. Maybe I should bring Pandora with me and together we can go back to Reims and face all our unpleasant memories along with the good ones. I think the two of us would have at least a grande time immersed in all things France and familiar. Kristof, I know, would love her.

Oh, le Méchant Vient. Le Cœur se Brise.

Outside, the storm rages. Rain, buffeted by the howling winds, lashes against the windows of my city loft. It’s not so bad where I stand, really. Just an Autumn gale on a seaside city. The wind and rain are only severe because of the altitude of my humble loft, but I know across the way, that the storm tears across Ravenhurst. I can picture it now. The way the sea churns on the cliffs, the beam of the light house turning and turning and turning. The brittle, leafy heads of trees send their leaves to the heavens for the wind will not allow for else. The phones are down. I can not reach the Sheriff.

The night was uneventful because that was what I wished. I had no desire to be in town after my last gathering of the Brethren. Not with the crashing of Michael’s little gang. There I stood before what vampires had the decency to show themselves and I proposed to them the alliance Kione Ulric and myself had struck. Hostilities from Xae and Dirk, rising to the defense of Mary Dickens, and eventually Michael’s voice joined in the chorus. I couldn’t understand why they were there. They were not of my court. His concerns were at least valid ones. Was I to go against him? Was I to take this alliance and form a civil war? No, Michael.

I assured him that this was not the case. He seemed content enough with this, summoned his pets to his heel, and left us. I was angry though. Not with Michael, but rather with his little minions. No doubt the lot of them have already ventured outwards to spill the word of vampire business. Xae or Dirk? Possibly not. Mary, however, has done it before. I would expect no less. The thing is, the very reason why I am standing here in my quiet loft and staring out towards the wicked storm, is that I’m trying to decide if I give a damn or not. Like the Professor said, I had been wandered from my path. I allowed myself to be drawn in so many directions in hopes for a strong and thriving populace. I lost who I am and what drives me to continue onward in this tangled skein of a mess I have fallen into.

I loathe Michael’s children. I loathe hypocrisy and dishonor. Dirk’s words, however, burn in my skull. Our Kingdom, he stated, is falling. Does the kingdom really fall? Has it not always been falling since I arrived here? No. Angelika, in my recollections prior to her downfall, had been a good Prince. Linzee tried to be a Prince, but she would have failed. Michael was a terrible Prince. I, myself, am also a terrible Prince. I forget what that title means. Maybe the Kingdom falls because my heart has never been truly in it. Or maybe it is because those who dwell on the rock are none of the same bloodlines and thus no understanding amongst ourselves can truly be reached, so ancient are the tellings of our blood. We’re a motley bunch, the vampires of Ravenhurst.

The path that I have strayed from is becoming easier and easier to find, but I am still plagued with uncertainty. Down which fork am I supposed to travel? For forked it is, and I am pretty lost. I’m also really terrible for asking directions. The point is, however, I shouldn’t feel like I have to.

Damn if I wish Grizabella could talk to me. Grizabella being a helpless, stray kit I found mewling on the docks. So typical of me to scoop up the unwanted and the abandoned. I thought about naming the sable little kitten Celeste just for the joke of it. I thought about leaving the tiny creature on the Sheriff’s desk. I thought ignoring it and moving on. Obviously, I failed. Instead, I plucked it up by its mangy scruff and tucked it into my coat where the warmth of its wee body burned pleasantly into my skin. The pace of its tiny heart charmed me. I could really use council right now. Especially since my council has scattered to the winds. Well, all save one. Grizabella has nothing to say except the murr of contentment that comes with a steady supply of feline kibble and a roof over her head.

There’s no time to think of this, though. I must put aside political thoughts and my grievances. Lexie is with me. Upstairs I could hear her getting herself ready for our outing. She was really stoked about dragging me off to see the ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’. I was mostly stoked about re-establishing our friendship. She’s a powerful ally, but she’s more than that to. There is one second chance I am grateful to receive. Two more yet to go.

_______________
(Part Two)

We were anxious to get back home. As soon as dusk descended on the sky, we made our way via taxi to the marina, both of us a bit worried as to the state of the Island. Advisories were blaring all over about the chop and the conditions, but what did we care? We sped off towards Ravenhurst.

The Island was indeed a mess. Lexie and I parted company at the docks in order to check on the shop we were docked behind. The apartment home Celeste and Jake shared was damaged. Shingles missing. The walls were wet from the battering of sea spray. Inside the house was humid and damp, but nothing was damaged. There was dock litter everywhere. Garbage cans had been blown aside. The place stank of fish guts and oil. I walked the streets and surveyed the happenings. Some windows broken here and there. Trash. Plenty of cryptic graffiti, though. The closer to the woods I got the more extensive the activity was. Bitter, dead leaves all over. Limbs from the trees. I walked further up, crossing the lawn of the Ellwyn house and surveyed the water below and then the dark skyline. Something was off.

Fog, curling and smoky, was moving down, down, down the mountainside. I felt the chill of warning deep in my bones. The fog. The ally of my people, in a way. Inside of me I could feel the stirring in my blood. It’s like the uncoiling of a serpent, whose head rises elegantly to stare at its prey. The beast rejoices, but I do not. “Stay the fuck out of my town,” As if it could hear me.

Hopefully, Em was working the night shift at the Sheriff’s office. I imagine she was rather busy with the storm and the emergencies that are usually hatched from such things. Bernie was there as per usual. Walking in to that office was like a kick in the ass. The scent of it so homely familiar. Bernie and a lifetime of his wife’s choice in fabric softener, the paper, the sourness of mildew and the years of parading the unsavory population in and out the front door. Years and years of badly brewed coffee, cigarette smoking. Man, I loved this place. I wasn’t here for nostalgia, though. I was here on business and went upstairs to wait for Em after pleasantries.

My conversation with ‘Little Red’ (ha, that’s funny!) was very informative. I seated myself in the chair across from the new desk and owned the damn place. There were problems to be had. Like the woman standing outside the Fire and Rescue station and loudly proclaimed the graffiti painted onto wall was of ‘her people’, the hunters. (Oh, real smart!)

The more I sat in this office, the more my priorities felt like they were falling into place. The more like myself I felt – and you know what? It felt pretty fucking good. Plans begin to unfurl in my head. I think it’s called drive.

I received another second chance, one of the three I was hoping to get. Em and I weren’t on bad terms so I knew it would be easy to come by. Deputize me, I asked. She granted it. Passing over a badge and a gun – the gun I had turned in on my resignation. Why did I want this? Because if the fog was coming then she was going to need all the help she could get. We discussed other matters of import. Not just that, either. Other matters of import were laid out on the desk from our lips. For one, the Medical Examiner. Apparently something has transpired there and her mental health. Secondly, I think of all the pettiness between my people. Think it was time we reviewed those security tapes we had discussed weeks ago. I think its time to start putting the veil back in order.

Also? I learned that Em was once an ordained minister. The hard way. And then I learned that she was living with Kione Ulric. Some alliance we are – a hunter, a werewolf, and a vampire. All we need now are Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and we’ll be a bonafide gang.

_______________
(Part three)

During all of this happenstance, I had not seen Pandora. No doubt she was probably worried for me. Its her nature to care on things like this. Especially with the words I left with when we last spoke. Tonight, Lexie is throwing some kind of Halloween party up by her and the Professor’s place and she asked me to come. Like I was going to turn down a chance of seeing the Professor. He is my final second chance and perhaps the most elusive. He hates me, I know. Lost his faith in me. But, not so very long ago, he took me in his arms after I asked him if he would leave this town and return back to his home. He told me he would stay. That there was something here that his heart could not bear to be without. So I hope still, that deep down there in all that anger I have summoned, that love is still there.

Pandora’s cottage home is much as I would have pictured it and I couldn’t believe I had never been there. Small and comfortable. It was as whimsy inside as it was out. The floral prints of her furniture, the paintings, and the light of the place reminded me of daylight. Outside, pumpkin shaped lights twinkled on her porch. Seeing her did me well. She’s so lovely and charming that I forgot about the direness of fog looming in the distance and my nervousness churning in my gut. And how cute was she? Trussed up as a pumpkin. Me? I went to the Halloween party as myself. I don’t need a monster’s costume.

Skip was there before anyone else was ready to play host. He was dressed up like a space man Elvis Presley? I’m not sure. Lexie was there to. She called him ‘Buck’. And Lexie was dressed as a witch. Apparently, we share the same sense of humor on Halloween. The only thing I know about Skip’s costume was that the suit he was wearing was rented. Only because Pandora sent me sailing towards him with an unexpected shove and the outcome was the spillage of drink.

I can’t say much of the party. The more people who gathered, the less revelry ensued. Eyes were to the skies and the mountains. Quinn was there, hanging on my side. Nervous. The fairies had gathered themselves around my Skip in some amusing, protective way. Either from me or from the collective, nervous feelings of the crowd. Or maybe because they are just damn adorable and that’s what fairies do. I wouldn’t try to engage him anymore for the night, I vowed. A vow that I broke once Tabbie Blackthorne pointed out that she and they were off to cause some mischief – despite the fog’s presence.

I took my vampires out of the party after a brief exchange with Kione, heading off to the empty pack house to review Em’s techno gadgetry. Quinn wanted to be away. Pandora I just didn’t want to be away from and so I sent the professor a message and bid him to at least be careful. The last time the fog had come he had been gone for the whole of it. His tale had been that he was in Seattle, stuck because of the weather conditions. Then I learned that was not so. That he was up there in the heart of it. Fighting it.

During that fog, people vanished in a blink and the reports were drowning. I remember how keenly afraid I was when I could no longer find him about the streets. How I would stalk the outskirts of the now vacant Red Dragon Inn in hopes to spy a night-time light or his very self on the balcony while chaos descended. I loved him. I thought I was never going to see him again.

I just, you know, have to trust that no matter what, he will always come out on top of things. As fragile as he is in body he is stronger than me in so many other ways. His return message to me was to ask where I was going, so I told him. And then I told him I wished he had knocked some sense into me – that he had hit me upside the head before I had gone grasping straws. I tried to jest, but I don’t think he found my attempt very funny. The message that he sent back to me was perhaps the most crushing thing I could ever have read.

I don’t have the phone anymore. Pandora picked up the pieces of it. She dabbed at my eyes with her embroidered kerchief and meekly gave me the thing to hold while the gaggle of us hovered around Em’s computer equipment. Quinn, Pandora, and myself. Quinn was quiet and grave which is very unlike him, bent at the keys while we fished through days upon days of footage – this was going to take forever. No one said anything. Not even Kione. Probably they knew I would have broken someone's face.

Dungeons & Dragons

So, there was that night in the coffee shop. By night in the coffee shop I mean the quartet of young men herded together on the sofas, sharing a table. The only reason why the gaggle of teen boys had drawn my eye (their blood is less than savory most) was because of their carousing. They were quiet about it in terms of your average male, but so blithely happy to be doing whatever it was they were doing. I rarely stalk prey. Its too sadistic a thing for me. I enjoy just picking and taking. Watching the goings-on of people in general sometimes makes me feel like a voyeur. I hate it. But, there was something that caught my eye.

That night had been balmy and crisp. Cool. Liz had the doors opened up – poor girl. I guess she was doing the night shift again. Place smelled of baking goods and brewing coffee. I never go inside. I do enjoy a cup of coffee now and then. I really loathe vomiting it back up, though. The whole sit down and have a cup of coffee thing. Pointlessness at its finest.

Ah, but I stray. These boys had taken over the front room of Liz’s store. I crept from around the stone wall separating the town from the church. I wore a seat-shirt and jeans. My feet were bare. All my hair was wound around-around-around and bound up with a tie. Their collective heads were bent over the table which was littered with colorful books, papers, and these clever little things. They looked like plastic jewels, cut in artful ways and in many colors. Very pretty.

Something very interesting was going on at that table. One seemed to be at the head of it all. His face was mostly hidden from me, for propped up on the table a piece of artfully rendered cardboard. I don’t know what was going on back there, but he seemed to be some sort of story teller for he was laying out a scenario.

“You’re coming up a path. One goes towards the forests; the other path seems to go into a cave. Outside the thunder and lighting are all crazy! What are you guys going to do?”

“Um, I don’t want to get my armor rusty, dudes. Let’s go to the cave,” Says one of the boys. Dark, spikey hair. Red T-Shirt with some graphic I can’t discern. Looks like a guy running with a hatchet.

“K, Algoth,” Says another. His jeans have a lot of safety pins in them and his sneakers are clean as a whistle, “I’m for the cave to – could use the EXP.”

“Cave it is!” Chimes in the last boy. He’s larger than the others. Too many of Liz’s latte’s, probably. Looks like he’s trying to grow a beard, to. His sideburns are ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as yellow, cartoon square cleaning sponge on his shirt.

The guy behind the folder vanishes all together, bending low behind the thing. I hear something rattling on the table. A dark little chuckle to follow.

“Okay, so you’re going into the cave. There are no markings or anything to see. You can hear the steady dripping of water in the distance. There’s nothing really crazy going on – but remember, you are in the lands the fallen King Seifer Death- uh, can we help you, Ma'am?”

I gave a start. I had not realized I had come up so close to them. The kid behind the screen was staring right at me and he adjusted his glasses. Long hair on this one and a face of pock marks. Poor kid. Because I was curious, I crept past the door and to their table. They just looked at me. Maybe they thought I was pretty. Maybe they thought I was going to yell at them. Laugh at them. The guy in the red shirt smirked behind his fist.

“Hey, Zantor the Swift, your girlfriend is here..” The fat guy blushed. All the boys laughed. I thought they were all high.

“Not cheating on your mom, man,” That drew all the boys into snorts.

“So, uh, what are you doing?” I asked, genuinely curious. Liz glanced up from behind her computer monitor to see if I was going to cut in on her busy schedule. The boys were silent, glancing at each other, unsure if I was being serious or not. Finally, Zantor the Swift spoke up.

“Lady, ain’t you ever seen D&D before?”

I shook my head.

“You know,” Red Shirt popped up and the rudely slurped at his iced latte, “Fucking Dungeons and Dragons. It’s a game!”

“Oh…uh…sounds kind of cool, actually.” Because what’s not to love about dungeons and dragons? “Can I, you know, watch?” Of course I could watch. These were teenage boys and I am a vampire. I could get these kids to do whatever the fuck I wanted by my boobs alone. The fat guy stop taking up so much of the couch so I could sit beside him.

“My Lady,” He said rather theatrically, “I am Zantor the Swift. I am but an elf lord on a quest to slay the mighty dragon of Hightower Keep along with Algoth the Barbarian,” He pointed to the red shirted guy, “And Vayne the Priest.” Sneaker guy. Zantor was amusing. First the fake accent, now this?

“Do you want to play? Could use someone to be an NPC..” Guy behind the screen asks. Of course I wanted to play.

“Fine, deal me in…but I don’t know what an NPC is.”

There were no cards to be dealt. Instead, I was handed over a book. It was pretty fantastic, really. Full of colorful art depicting all sorts of wondrous, fictional stuff. The boys handed over some of their plastic jewels. Or dice, rather. Liz came by with the coffee pot and glanced at me, “NPC? Don’t get these guys started. Get your own character. You’re definitely going to need coffee for this.” She poured me a cup and set it on the table, shaking her head as she walked back to the counter, “Boys don’t even know the value of a good NPC….”

So thus began my impromptu lesson of ‘gaming’. I learned all kinds of stuff that night. Children these days – and adults to – seemed to be obsessed with this fangled way of entertainment of pretending to be something else. Usually a something else that kicks ass and takes names. I learned all about the pros and cons of Everquest. The rise of World of Warcraft. I learned about internet games and the like. These kids said none of these things hand anything on the original.

“Old school pen and paper,” Vayne the Priest said, “It’s the best! So, what do you want to play?”

“What should I play?”

“Well, what you do like? Can be an elf maiden warrior. Can be a cleric – then you can cast good magic. We could use a cleric! Or you can be a Halfling ranger. You can be a necromancer drow chick. Whatever. Could be a bard or something, to.”

“Can I just..be a human?” I asked. I wanted to go the other way, you know? If we were going to pretend to be something other than ourselves, I thought it was only fitting.

I didn’t get to play a human. The boys coerced me into accepting a position of a halfling-good alignment- clerical-healer-person-thing because then I would be slightly cooler than a human, but not as cool as an elf, and that, apparently, would give me some character development. Her – or my name – is BlindSeer. Makes no sense!

“Okay,” The dungeon master sat up in his chair, “You’re in a cave now. BlindSeer has just come up to meet you on the trail. You’re all going to seek shelter from the storm. Inside the cave is darkness, what do you do?”

“I cast detect magic!”
“I check for traps!”
“I draw my sword on BlindSeer!”
“I..have a flashlight?”

Facepalms all around.


The night spent with them was charming, really. All of their characters tried to seduce my character. My character kept trying to eat their characters and the leader kept yelling at me – that’s not how they did things. We rolled a lot of dice to determine if our actions were received or null. Usually this meant that the boys would get up and start swinging very real looking swords around at some imagined, unseen enemy. Zantor the Swift would rise up to his full height and raise his hands with majesty befitting an elven mystic while he casts spells and shot of 'magic missles'. I'm still not sure what those are. I should ask Lexie. Can't say I didn't have fun, either. When it was my turn to cast some kind of magic, the boys egged me on to wave my hands around like a lunatic. Vayne the Priest made sound effects for me.

It was a night of collective high-fives and beating the table top in frustration. My human creature thing died a terrible death at the mercy of a skeleton army and while the boys thought it was great fun, I thought about the real skeleton army Skip Zelin had faced in the mines. Still, I laughed because they did. I found their simple, human joy a pleasure.

Zantor the Swift even gave me one of his books, though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. I don’t think I’ll ever get that close into such an innocent gathering again. They all thought I was just some young woman loitering around town. Pried me with questions, like where I worked and stuff. Where had I gone to school. Why didn't they see me around before. Was that hot little redhead in the magic shop really a witch? And was she single? Was the Lighthouse really home to an escaped serial killer? Did I know that the fog was some kind of curse from extra-terrestrials? I didn't tell them much. I did tell them I was still a cop though, and that I had the night off. That had earned me some serious looks and the assurance that no one had any marijuana.

And thus this was how I learned of LARPing. Liz's little cafe - which has since been burnt to a crisp and is hopefully under renovations. I don't know why I'm thinking about that innocent evening with those boys now as I stand here in Kione's garage and throw my bluster around to a werewolf who has eaten me before and openely attacked what I love above all things, a hunter who might just rather assume kill me (except she likes me too much), and my sweet tempered rose of a cousin who has a dark side I never would have guessed. Other than it reminds me of what I hold sacred. What all of us hold sacred.

We hatch plans like soldiers in the garage, an unlikely group of allies. I swear, somewhere, there is a television show about this. I won't lie when I say that I don't have my doubts. We might all be too idealistic, but something has to budge. Something has to give. We're going to lay out the groundwork and with our strengths, smite out the wrongs and declare the rights.

And? We're going to play a damn game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Laissez-moi Revenir à la Maison

I went wandering towards the station. Mostly because I can’t figure out how to operate my new cellular phone that the Sheriff provided me, so perhaps by going there I can fucking get Bernie to teach me. Such an expensive device, to. And I hear tell that the new Deputy Mayor I have yet to meet is making cuts left and right. I guess that I have it is kind of awesome, but little good it does me. I’m sure I’m only missing text messages from Doctor Quinn anyways as he’s the only one who really calls me to shoot the breeze. I was excited to get back into the job, anyways. To dig my fingers into something other than political intrigue was going to be a much welcome respite.

So there I was, happily ambling along the road, trying my best to get the phone to come out of the ‘locked!’ screen when I spotted Kione coming my way from the Sheriff’s station. And the Professor. He was standing on the bridge and speaking to a young woman. Possibly a new mage? Except that she took off running. Maybe he told her that she needed to be staked to save everyone a load of grief to. We said nothing to each other, but he nodded to me in a way that didn't require speech to convey his displeasure. I stood where I was and waited for Kione, who stopped in front of the professor and abruptly apologized for attacking him and Lexie. Making nice. Making friends. Can’t say I wasn’t displeased over this – for this township to function as I believe it should requires peace or submission from all parties. After what Skip had told me in the sewers, I knew that he would shake hands with Crimson Guard.

When Kione began to move out, I turned away to follow him. Going to the Sheriff’s office no longer seemed the thing to do, but as I turned I spotted Fin perched on the bench Linzee and I used to occupy. She was intended, once, to be my prey. I had found her out at the seaside and when I used my powers against her I lost control. The two of us were locked down in some sort of memory exchange. She took what was on the forefront of my mind and I took what was hers. She knew more about me than most, and in turn, I know of her. Both of us stand as liabilities to the other – but I merely nodded to her in passing as Kione and I moved out.

We had company at the pack house. A rather elegant looking fairy whose stench was rather gruesome. He was everything dark and decaying, but beautiful and ethereal all the same. Fairies. Slayd is his name, and apparently he and Kione have some kind of past. Something was mentioned of Kione’s tired mother’s cunt, a chair was destroyed, and blades were at the ready. There’s a woman with us to. One of Kione’s. Can’t say I was all that impressed with her. As typical, she was nothing but growls, threats, and insults. I hate that. Furthermore, I hate that I have to constantly huff and puff to prove that my proverbial balls are bigger because I’m not sure they are. I just know my ideal-isms are bigger.

So I went walking. Mostly because I did not want to be near people anymore. Skip’s indifference really tears me down a few notches every time I am exposed to it and so I had no heart for this reunion between Kione and this fairy, nor for the she-bitch who goes by the name of Saki. The man truly loathes me and I can’t accept it. Maybe I really do deserve to be staked like he said – his final words to me. I understand why he was angry with me, but my holding him at arms length…is that enough? I suppose I was – and am – too naïve to believe he loved me at all. He let me live with him and allowed me my eccentricities. He comforted me and held me fast during the darkest of times. He’s lain with me. Touched me. He stood by me – and saved me - when I was a tool for evil and tried to destroy him. He believed in me. Was that not fondness? Was that not, to some degree, love?

I’m pretty angry. With him for shunning me after showing me so much and with myself for wishing, at this very moment, even when I want to scream at him for being such a fucking jerk, that he would allow me to come back to him.

______________

My hands curl around the handles of my blades. They feel hard. Right. I twist and writhe in quick succession and the blades arch upwards, downwards, and then in circles. It’s a deadly dance, this. I feint left, then roll off to the right, spinning up to a stance with the blades thrust forward towards an advancing foe. My foe lunges forward to meet me and I crouch low. The knives thrust forward again and I follow up with quick advances that are meant to confuse and injure rather than kill. My enemy parries, taking swipes at me with clawed hands. It lunges at me with bared fangs. It plummets me with mighty fists - attacks that will stall me if I’m not faster. Must be faster. Most not lose. Must not die.

Behind me is another. Lesser, but still possessing the powers to destroy. I avoid its weapons. It’s easy enough to do considering how slow it moves, but my caution must still prevail and so I leap away from the more powerful attacker and lose one of my daggers into the other’s chest. Because I must do this, I must take into account the other, who might easily advance upon me while I busied myself with the weaker, human attacker – and a lick of time is all the werewolf needs to start the gruesome process of changing.

So I have to be faster still. I’m down a knife, but that’s alright. I only need one to finish the job anyways. All my attention resumes on the werewolf and my offensive strikes are swift and powerful, focusing much of my blood upon these things. It’s the only defense. Offense, that is. If the wolf can shift, I lose. Honestly, I’m not sure how I made it out from under Malus the first time if not for drive alone. If Zelin hadn’t been unconscious and laying in a heap upon the ground, I probably wouldn’t have made it out.
I have to be stronger, faster. I have to be better.

Now, if any of my compound companions were watching me, they would have seen me swinging wildly at the air. I had no true foe out there. I did not actually drive a knife into the breast of a human and I was not locked in an epic battle with a werewolf. They were visible in my mind’s eye only. I was going through the exercises of training days. Been a long time since I went through the motions of battle Morelle had drilled into me for the sake of bettering myself. My skills have dulled. Not by much, but any slight in time is a chance for final death when facing one’s enemy.

This went on all night after my walk. Felt damn good, to. It always feels good to move the way I am naturally meant to. Going through drills brings me back to earlier days. In my memory I fall in line with other Angelian soldiers and we go over the steps again and again. I perform them in open combat up in the mountains teeming with wolves and vampires pitted against the other. I move in unison with my regime against the vampires of the Nazi empire. My eyes closed, I see with my body, and feel with my skin.

It’s meditative. Foolish me hand sunk so deep into concentration that I was surprised to suddenly realize dawn was upon me. How loud the song was! It roared along in a fearsome bluster towards me. In the horizon, the sky began to lighten. I watched, in horror, as Death climbed higher and higher, unfurling his cape disguised in wan, pale threads of violet. My flesh felt warm – truly warm. Subtle steaks of burn fanned over my cheeks as I bared witness to the rising sun. It’s a fascinating thing for us vampires, for once upon a time most of us rose with the dawn. The sunrise was what marked our days, and the daylight was when we lived. Now to watch it is a death sentence. I had no such death wish, but I stood my ground in order to appreciate the danger. With each minute passing, the pale pinks and violets change to orange. Stars began to wink out. Inside of me I felt an answering fire. My flesh puckered at my cheeks and nose, dissolving away. The backs of my hands blistered.

That will be the last sunrise I watch for awhile.

Love Poems

I was sitting behind the counter of the police station, my ass sinking into the deep cheek impressions left by Bernie, manning the phones and minding the front door when the delivery man came striding on in. At first I thought he was some sort of drunken lunatic, but alas, no. He was just a man with a ridiculous job – one that entailed singing love ballads and dropping off procurements.

My procurement - or gift, rather – was a white box tied up with yellow satin ribbons. My ballad was badly sung. The delivery man seemed to be in a mad rush with other things to do. It was probably the worst telegram I had ever received in my life and by far the most confusing. The pretty box was suspect, and I imagined all kinds of pranking horrors lying under it’s lid, but the moment I pried it open I could smell them. Roses!

Nestled in the box were a dozen of them. Sweet in scent with lush, velvety petals. Oh, how I love roses. Is there anything more beautiful? I gathered them to me, wrapping my arms around the stems, and I was up to my face in blooms so that I could inhale nothing but their fragrance. As much as I loved the roses, I think I might have loved the poem more. Yes, the poem. There it was folded away in an unassuming envelope, written out in pen, and signed with his initials.

S.Z.

Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose!
It was from cheeks that shame the rose,
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:
Whence comes my woe? as freely own;
Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.
The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips befitting words most kind,
The eye does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say, "'Tis Cupid's fire;"
Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
Since nought doth say the heart of stone.
Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek,—
Yet not a heart to save my pain?
O Venus, take thy gifts again!
Make not so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like your own.

Skip sent me roses and poetry. No one has ever sent me such tokens, even though it was a common way of courting in my day. I had few admirers, for I was affianced, and when the war came… Well, who cared? The lifetime I have lived had turned me from such nonsense and, in truth, I’ve never much thought about it. However, I can’t stop grinning. The idea of Skip writing down prose and going through the process of romantic folly is enough to make me keel over in glee. I would have never expected such cliché tenderness from the man – he is far too practical. As for me, I can’t believe I am moved by such things. Moved, however, I am. I forgive him his iresome words. The roses have been put in a vase, though I keep clipping them and dressing my hair with them. A silent message. I love you, to.

Adieu, Amis

Time has always been my enemy. It’s not that I’m running out of it. Nor am I racing against it. The thing is…I simply have too much of it. It is times such as these when I realize this. Eternity stretches out before me and I sit here and brood. I clench my fists and stare outwards into nothing while feeling damned, cursed, and angry. Resentful. The town ambles forward as it always does. Things, as a whole, are pretty good. I hear no more rumors of killings and nothing presents itself on my desk for investigation. The Brethren are quiet, going about their lives, and keeping low profiles.

Skip is gone to the underworld in search for his daughter. I keep calling Lexie asking if he is back. She tells me no and says very little on the subject, but I am going crazy with not knowing. He has a guide of sorts, at least. His maternal grandmother of all people, who I think I had the pleasure of meeting when I saw the professor last. She called me a leech. Actually, Skip called me a leech with a tongue not quite his own. The professor seemed confident in his grandmother’s knowledge, but it’s been so long. Days, days, and more days. I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my gut that he is never coming back. Maybe he can’t, or maybe he just doesn’t want to… I don’t know which is worse and frankly, I can’t think about it.

Time is taking too long. I want a damn answer. I want to know where the hell he is and if he is alright. I have no patience for this kind of waiting game because all I can think is that he might be suffering and powerless against some great evil. And then, on the flip side, if his maternal grandmother was able to find him then perhaps the two of them have found Susan and others beloved that have passed on to the afterlife. Maybe that is why he is not here. Maybe he and his family have decided to remain together.

I should find his fucking body, if it’s even still here! I should find it and drain him of his blood and feed him mine. Change him and make him come back from the land of the dead to be dead here. With me.

Ah, I don’t know what to do. My patience has always been a virtue only because I have learned to force it upon myself. I felt less alone when I was truly alone. I sit on the throne of a quiet, unassuming empire and I am alone. I rarely see my children – knowing them, and then not seeing them, makes me feel more alone. Pandora is gone, I think. I went to my cousin’s house and found it lacking in everything that she is. Her smell is gone from the place. She seems to have left. I don’t blame her for this if she did leave. Vagrants will do what vagrants will do and those of us who have nothing but eternity seek diversions to occupy the space of time granted to us by our sire’s Kiss.

If I were mortal I would plaster the town’s buildings with her picture with her information and my phone number. I would have the police force out on full alert. I would summon my friends and allies and go looking for her in the woods. But neither of us are mortals and I cannot draw attention to her absence. Rather, I cannot draw attention to her period. I have to let her slip through my fingers. When a vampire wishes to be gone, then they are gone.

Thus time offends me even more because people move on with their lives and I am stuck, frozen, never quite able to progress. I see Bernie’s eyes glaze over at the prospect of retirement. It seems all he talks about since I’ve returned is the pending arrival of a grandchild and days filled with hunting and fishing. He remises with me on his past of his days as an officer. His military days. I can’t even talk with him about these sort of things because my time exists nearly a century before his. He will move on and I will remain.

Kione is gone as well. The pack house? Full of echoes and shadows – the Blood Guard, noble as it was, remains nothing but a good idea. It’s not like Kione and I were best friends, but his leaving is almost like a final farewell to Ace. He was the last thing here to connect her to this land. It doesn’t matter – he’s gone. The doors of Michael’s seedy industrial joint? Chained up. Closed. Gone, I think.

And Em.
She's gone to, I believe.

Em who I loved so much and related to so well carries on elsewhere with my secrets. She had been a friend despite all things. She a hunter and I the monster.

Awakening

“What’s torpor like?” Quinn asked me as I commanded the steering of the boat. I glanced around, peering out of the cabin towards the fore of the deck, and tried to drink in the carnage that had taken place during my awakening. Blood, meaty chunks of flesh, bits of glistening gut, splintered bone, and broken glass. So much blood. I swallowed.

The last thing I remembered before this very moment was the sight of the sea. The world had tipped on its axis and was moving in disorienting way. Rather, I was falling. Coldness reached up with greedy fingers to snatch me, pulling me down into its dark murk and world faded under the weight of water. The moon, glimmering in the sky and obscured by the surface of the ocean, was the last thing I saw. I felt pain and then I felt nothing.

I woke up with the earthy scent of blood, the taste of on my tongue. Superb and powerful – it was that of a vampire. Zack to be exact. I was clinging to his arm, my fangs buried deep into the limb. My eyes followed the length of it, over the curve of his shoulder, and then up to his face. I was disoriented and confused. How had I gotten there? I felt the grain of wood beneath me, smelled the tang of salt, and then Quinn was there, pulling himself up onto the fore.

“What day is it?”

I had been asleep for days. A week, even. A week lost to darkness and nothingness.

“Skip Zelin?”

I asked them both and neither knew what I meant. Quinn was talking though. Talking up a damn storm. Telling me how glad Remi was going to be to see me, about how Celeste was going to be so happy that I was not dead, and that so many things had been going on.

…But, what about Skip Zelin?

Words! Words! Words! I have no need for your words! I was on some desperate mission to get on the shore, but everything was so surreal. Maybe I was dreaming? No. All I could smell was blood. The tang of it was everywhere and it took me a moment to realize I was sucking stuff from my fingers. My hands – so red. I licked them clean.

That was when I noticed the body. A man it was, or had been. Laying on the fore of the nondescript fishing boat, sandwiched between crates of Zack’s wine. He was a mess. Someone had ripped out his throat. It looks like the veins ran dry too fast because it wasn’t enough. His chest cavity had a brutal hole, the shirt that he had worn was black with the gore of spilt blood, and I could tell that his heart was missing. Why? Because the organ was discarded at the feet of the body. I licked my lips.

Sunken cheeks.
Weathered face.
A lifetime of captaining boats, more than likely.
His finger void of gold – no wife?
At least his eyes were closed.

I wonder if I would have been pinned for weakness if I had said something in mourning to this stranger’s passing. I knew that I had been the brute that had done this sot in. I wanted comfort and I wanted reassurance. No, Kel. No, you did not kill this man…

“Quinn, get rid of the body,” It was all I could say.

Zack had left us, mentioning something about his lady, and abandoning ship to head off to shore. I followed him with my eyes as he moved further and further away towards a cabin hovering at the ledge of water and earth.

Getting to that cabin had been my most driving need. That was Ms. Blackthorne’s cabin. If someone had an answer it would be her, the most powerful of Witches.

I pulled the boat alongside the deck and stumbled over the rail in some desperate attempt to get from where I stood to the door in the fastest means possible. Celeste, my child, was in my head, but I only knew this one fucking thing. I had to know something. Anything! I rapped upon the wooden portal, standing there in seasodden hessians, my once white coat in varying shades of red, pink, and brown. The shoulder had a fraying hole – had I been shot? My face and throat coated with the blood of others and my hair in straight, clotted streaks – wet with both sea and blood.

“Come in!” Tabbie called.

I stepped into the cheerful living room, my boots sucking at my feet. Zack looked nervous. Tabbie looked relieved.

“…Skip?”

She led me upstairs and drew me a bath. Laid me out clothes. Lit candles. We talked about politics and the gravity of retaliation, urging me to hold off any sort of attack on the wolves until the time was right. She told me of her bonds to a wolf, of her impending wedding to my brethren, Zack. And Skip was, well, he was okay. She had not been able to summon him back as of yet. I was relieved. He was not dead.

What’s Torpor like, Quinn had asked.
It’s nothingness. You die, you come back.

Late Words

Outside the window pane little flurries fall, twirling and billowing about as snow descends upon the dingy ground, paving way for Winter. It’s a break from the freezing rain. I turn away from the window and resume my chair, which is nothing but a folded rickey thing people like to plant on their porches or drag to the seashore. The radio is set to the oldies station, which I find most laughable. ‘Oldies’. Bing Crosby’s smooth, mellow voice is calming.

I suppose my being here in the drafty, dusty, and empty pack house is kind of surreal. Then again, most of the last week was surreal between coming back to life, being kicked out of our haven by the werewolves, arguing with Skip while busting down a shed, and riding the war machine in motion has been an interesting experience.

And so I gathered the Brethren onto myself in the meager apartment I now use to stow my things. Our Light House? Ransacked. Destroyed. It all begins with Tabbie, I believe. See, I learned upon my awakening that she and one of the Brethren, Zack, were affianced and in love with the other. I also learned that she was bonded to a wolf – whose name I did not glean. Tabbie bid me to please wait – knowing I was wanting revenge on the woman who had nearly slain me. Please do not do anything, she said. Please, do not start a war. Grant her time? She spouted out wisdom, begged for the security of the veil, and I agreed to her wishes because he was the Elder witch of the infamous Blackthorne clan.

Then the next eve she hauls out some gent from the diner by gunpoint and I find her holding him hostage in the Guard’s pack house where I currently sit. Yeah, Tabbie’s out of wisdom points. I took her to jail since she was foolish enough to abduct her victim in front of witnesses and spent the remainder of the night stealing the memories from said witnesses. The next day I went to release her, ready to command her that she and her lover high tail it out of town for a few weeks except that when I get there …

“Go to the Lighthouse, please!” She says. Begs, really. Desperate.

I go.

When I got to our Haven it was being invaded with shifting wolves…and a snake type man person…thing. We didn’t have a chance against this offensive, my vampires. The wolves were many and our numbers so limited. I sounded the retreat while the building that kept us safe for so long fell into the hands of the enemy. The very idea is enough to curdle my blood. It felt like France.

The sad thing is, I really have nothing to say about it all. I’m so mixed with my emotions. Part of me thinks to work some kind of truce – and Skip would rather see this as well – but the rest of me? Yeah, I want to hunt down every one of those wolves. I want to summon my Brethren into a mighty force and kick some ass – send those fleabags packing for the forests. Be gone, stay gone.

“Hey, what do you say, Reen?” I prod the wolfish paw of my gangrel ‘son’ with the toe of my boot. I’ve sort of adopted him ever since I found him back in town. Or rather, he found me.
Reen’s ears tick forward and he lifts his head, studiously eyeing me with those golden, gangrel eyes.

I rise from the chair. Bing has stopped singing. Now there’s some obnoxious twit singing about his mother kissing Santa Clause and where was Daddy? Because if he saw… How scandalous!

“About all of this…” I make a grand sweep of my hand towards the empty room, “This is home now. Sorry about your Light House…”

Reen is probably thinking I’m crazy, wondering if I’m talking about politics or about interior design, and merely gives me a generic, soft ‘woof’ of a breath. Like, I have no idea what he’s saying, but his presence is comforting and his lack of spoken word golden.

I try to imagine this place as a bustle of activity. Ace had made her home here with Kione – both gone now. Dreams were forged here, Kim and Cheryl were ‘rescued’ here. I have no sentiment to this place, but really, I don’t have sentiment for much of anything save the modern building of glass façade, tinted windows, and elegant architecture rising amidst the skyline of La Defense. Its modern exterior hiding so many nods of the past, including the empire that lives there.

That building was home…and Skip’s house. I was happy there. It was home to.

“Come on, Reen,” I say to the silver-haired wolf and we walk out into the cold together. I figured since the wolves were so occupied with the hostile takeover of the vampire haven (or nursing wounds) that the woods were fair game.

Hunting animals has its downfalls, but it has its merits to. The blood is not so good. It’s thin and lacking, sometimes foul. Rather the nourishment comes from the hunt itself. Relying on my senses, heightening my awareness, and simply being one animal taking out another. Reen and I hunt. I try to not think of my last kill.