Act Four Chapter Two - Love You to Death

James "Mitch" Mitchell looked out across the water from the porch of his beach house. He called it a beach house since it was near the beaches of the Tidewater cities, but it actually faced westward over the waters of the Nansemond River. It was a relatively recent purchase, partially a gift from his friend Michael Allens and partially earned through his extraordinary luck at the Virginia lottery.

Mitch was a mage, a wizard of the Acanthus path who could manipulate the intangible forces behind fate and time. It was an easy thing for him to manipulate probability, to make the otherwise random elements of something like the state lottery fall into place to his benefit. Mitch did this in subtle ways, small amounts won here and there, not a single big payoff. That would draw too much attention to him by mortal authorities or worse, by his fellow mages.

A loud popping sound drew Mitch's attention away from the water, a sound not unlike a balloon being popped only louder. He knew the sound, caused by the forced displacement of air when a mage like himself teleported from one place to another. That was not a spell Mitch had yet mastered, but he knew a mage that had.

“Professor Brananski, what brings you out to my humble abode?” asked Mitch without turning around. He lit a cigarette and began to smoke.

“Questions. Questions and answers.” said the Virginia Tech philosophy professor, who like Mitch was secretly a wizard.  “Answers that you can give me.”

“Why me?”

“Because you have whored yourself out to a bloodsucker and it is their world that my questions involve.” sneered the professor, disdain dripping from every word.

That was true to a point. Mitch had spent much of his life in the secret supernatural world that lies beneath what most people think of as real with vampires, conniving scheming creatures with little regard for anything but their own advancement. He'd learned however that mages, despite their vaunted moral superiority, were little different and if those were the rules of the game, he would not be offering any of those answers freely.

That it was Brananski asking put Mitch somewhat on edge. Mitch knew, of course, that distance was an illusion; once a mage mastered the powers of travel he could go anywhere in the world with a single spell. But why would a mage from Blacksburg be here now?

“Partner.” Mitch corrected. “I am partner with a vampire. A good business arrangement, in many ways. I help him with some matters. He helps me. Together we learn something of each other's worlds.”

“You share too many of our secrets to creatures that would seek our destruction.”

“Your paranoia blinds you to simple truths. Yes, the vampires could come after us, but at what cost to themselves? So little profit for so great a risk.” Mitch read between the lines. “The vampires in Roanoke/Blacksburg are growing in number again, aren't they?”

Brananski frowned. He'd given away too much. “Blacksburg had been emptied of their kind after your 'partner' Michael Allens' exile. Now a new vampire stalks the streets of Blacksburg at night; she first appeared about two or three months ago. Now our diviniations have uncovered that she is the spawn of the same Michael Allens. What is your partner scheming?”

Rebecca! She must have been released into full vampire society if she was hunting alone in Blacksburg. Mathias' condemnation of Michael extended to Rebecca, so if she was acting openly something radical must have happened back in Roanoke. This was most interesting; Baranski had revealed far more than he realized.

“I don't know what Michael is scheming.” answered Mitch honestly. “If you want to ask him yourself, you can find him down at Nightstyles on Atlantic Ave in Va Beach.”

---

Michael Allens stood upon the roof of the Nightstyles club, looking out over his domain. Over two years had passed since it had come to him; two years since he'd been made Primogen and Master of Elysium for the vampire community of the Tidewater cities. The city was relatively quiet. Mid-March was well into the off-season for the tourist city, but it gave Michael time to simply enjoy what he'd accomplished.

The sound of frightened voices and the scuffle of hand combat drew his attention. He walked across the building's roof, from the southeast corner to the northwest. From there, he could look down into an alley below, where four high schoolers were in the midst of a scuffle.

One was obviously larger than the others and was lording it over them. He picked up a smaller boy with glasses and slammed him hard against a dumpster. “You worthless piece of shit!” barked the bigger boy.

“We've had enough of your bullying, Donovan!” cried another. From beneath his coat, he pulled out a long tube; Michael recognized it as a piece of metal piping. The second boy took a vicious swing with the pipe. It struck Donovan on the back of the head with a dull crunch. Donovan dropped to the pavement and the other three ran.

Michael dropped down from the roof, falling the 30 or so feet without fear. He landed and walked over to Donovan. A quick check confirmed what Michael already suspected: The blow from the pipe had been lethal. This would complicate matters. Michael had worked too hard to make the people of Virginia Beach forget the notorious reputation of his club to let a murder in the alley behind it remind them again. He grabbed Donovan under the arms and tossed him into the dumpster.

With vampiric grace, Michael climbed back up the sheer brick wall of Nightstyles, his vampire senses and strength able to take advantage of even the most minute handholds. To any onlookers, it would have been a most unnatural sight, but Michael knew there were none watching.

Michael descended the ladder into the club office and headed to his desk. There he dialed a quick number, the number of Sergeant Samantha McKay.

Michael had first met Sammy when he saw her confront four very large drunken sailors outside his club little more than a month after it had reopened. She was a petite redhead, buxom with glasses, and hardly looked the part of the beat cop despite the uniform. Yet in spite of the obvious disparity in size, she handled the four sailors handily and fearlessly. Impressed, Michael made it a point to find out more about her.

A few nights later, he found her on the beach, enjoying an after-hours swim. This second encounter came as something of a surprise to Michael. He was walking the beach not long after dark, hunting for a tasty morsel from which to feed when his eyes fell upon a petite figure in a swimsuit much more revealing than what was usually allowed in the rather prudish city of Virginia Beach. Thinking this daring figure was good for feeding both forms of his lust (bloodlust as well as the more carnal variety), he approached, only to recognize her as he got closer.

Michael then asked her out and the two of them went to dinner. There he learned a bit about her. Raised by people who had forgotten the Sixties ended, Sammy grew up in an uninhibited household, which taught her a sense of courage and open-mindedness. So open-minded that she had no fear of her parents' disapproval when she told them she wanted to become a cop, the very antithesis of her hippy parents.

"That took guts." Michael admitted.

"Somewhat," replied Sammy. "They were actually really cool about it."

"Speaking of guts, I have to say I'm still impressed with how you handled those four drunks at the club two weeks ago."

“What choice do I have? I work the ocean front at Virginia Beach, filled every night with drunk tourists and soldiers. I'm a 5 foot 1 inch woman. Do you really think anyone would give me any respect if I showed these louts even the tiniest hint of fear?”

"I admire courage." Michael admitted.

"My parents taught me a lot. I couldn't have asked for a better childhood. I learned to be fearless in the face of danger, but I also learned to be fearless in asking for what I want. First, I want dessert and then I want you to take me somewhere and fuck me six ways from Sunday.”

Michael was taken aback by her aggression, but only for a moment. She sat there looking at him, as if gauging his reaction. Michael looked her up and down. Her emerald swimsuit was of a slingshot design and was clearly advertising the goods. Michael smiled; he liked what he saw.

"I think I can manage that." he said with a grin.

Women as sexually liberated and aggressive as Sammy were rare and Michael knew he'd found something special in her. After a few nights of the fucking six ways from Sunday, he bound her to him and made Sammy McKay the first of his new harem.

Sammy was soon in Michael's office, summoned to him for business far more official than carnal. “One of your kind get too enthusiastic again?” She asked him upon entering.

“No, this is a mortal affair. There's a body in the dumpster downstairs, some kid named Donovan who ran afoul a few of his classmates who got tired of his shit. I would appreciate it if you'd discover him after he's been moved to the landfill.”

“I think I can arrange that. What about the perps?”

“Three nerds. One took a lead pipe to the back of our corpse's head.”

“Not a lot to go on.”

“I won't lose any sleep if you don't find them.” said Michael flatly.

“Justice needs be done.”

“Justice has been done. I don't like bullies. Donovan got what he deserved.”

Sammy shrugged. "Very well. Anything else?”

“Not right now.”

She accepted that with some disappointment and then left. Michael followed her out, stepping out onto the mezzanine that overlooked the dance floor below. Despite the light business, the music was just as pounding as ever, some Eurodance track Michael didn't recognize. He surveyed the scene below briefly, watching Sammy as she departed, and then headed himself to the stairs that led down to the main floor of the club.

He headed for the bar where Virgil was getting a mite backed up by drink orders. Michael smiled at his old friend, his longest living thrall here in Tidewater, and stepped behind the bar himself to help him out. In a few short minutes, they got the press of orders down to a manageable level.

A spunky teenage girl parked herself on the bar stool next to Michael and batted her eyelashes at him. “Big brother....” she teased out, with a sing-song whiny voice so common in teens her age.

It was, of course, all an elaborate ruse. This was no young teen, but Sarah Cobbler, Michael's lover and another vampire. She often played the part of a lost child on the streets of Virginia Beach as a lure to those she wished to feed. Michael knew she'd been out this night and was mildly surprised to see her at the club so soon.

He played the part. “You know you're not supposed to be here, sis.”

“Is the boss here?” she asked in return, as if implying that Michael would face no reprisal if the boss didn't know about her coming in the club. That was not her real meaning however. The boss to whom she referred was the vampire Prince of the city, Maximilian.

“No.” Michael answered.

“Good “came the reply in his mind. Sarah was using her vampire power of telepathy to communicate to him silently. “Take me upstairs and drill me something hard.”

“No luck out there tonight?”

“An actual Good Samaritan, so I was nice. Got some blood, but I still got an itch that needs scratched.”

Sarah often used her child-like appearance to lure in sexual predators, taking some small pleasure from their predations before turning the tables on them. Her trap however would on occasion lure the genuinely kind-hearted. Sarah never felt any guilt for drinking a predator dry of his blood, but always showed restraint on those whose intentions were pure.

“Come on then.” Michael motioned with a nod of his head towards the stairs. He came around the bar and followed her up.

Despite the little game they played, Sarah was a common feature at Nightstyles. Not only did she occasion the place to meet with Michael for hunting or other pleasures, but she was also a frequent fixture at Michael's side in Elysium. That was part of the new reality under Prince Maximilian. Before, when the Lancea Sanctum covenant ruled through Prince Lazarus (and the Mad Bishop after him), the pagan Servants of Typhon coterie were barely tolerated at court. Now they were welcomed.

That shift was felt among mortal society as well. With the Christian fundamentalists who served the Lancea weakened by the near-destruction of their vampire masters, pagans of all stripes were becoming more public in the Tidewater area. They were still distrusted by the Christian majority, but now they felt a freedom that they'd never had before in Pat Robertson's backyard.

As Michael followed Sarah into the club office, his mind was cast back to events shortly after the ascension of Prince Maximilian. There had been many killed in the violence of those months that led up to that moment, among them was Sarah's mortal mother, Nancy. Now that things had settled, Sarah felt free to hold a memorial service in remembrance of her mom and others who had died in the upheaval.

Michael had never attended a Wicca funeral, so he was curious. He watched from a distance as the coven gathered in a small copse of trees. He scanned the crowd as Sarah and her sister Elizabeth began the ritual. This was all new to Michael; not only the religious rites, but also seeing this side of Sarah and her family.

Near the front was a distraught young woman with dark skin and hair. Despite her obvious emotional distress, Michael could see her beauty through her tears and made up his mind to ask Sarah about her when the ceremony was over.

“Terra Hines,” Sarah told him once all was said and done. “A year or two ago my mother helped her through the death of her father. He died very suddenly from pancreatic cancer and Terra took it hard.”

“So, Wicca clergy do pretty much the same things as Christian clergy.”

“You seem surprised. You shouldn't be.” Sarah gave him a sidelong glance, recognizing his intent. (The same intent he always had with a beautiful woman.) “She could use a distraction from all this.” she said.

“Is that your permission for me to proceed?”

Sarah gave a sly smile as a response. It was the same smile she always gave when she was thinking of something mischievous. When Michael's mind returned to the present, it was on her face as she peeled off her shorts and panties.

She yelped when he entered her, half from pleasure and half from surprise. “By the goddess, you're hard.” She reached out with her telepathy, reading his surface thoughts. It was something she did in moments like this by reflex, without permission, but Michael did not mind. The thoughts and emotions she touched in his mind were almost without exception sexually charged and often served to heighten her own arousal.

“Thinking of Terra,” she voiced aloud. “Of your first night with her.”

Seeing the memory of a lover with someone else would turn most people off, but Sarah and Michael's relationship was different. Relationships between vampires were always in some ways different than between mortals. Polyamoury was the norm. Seduction and sex were tools of the hunter, a means to obtain the precious life-blood they needed to sustain their immortality. While Michael might feel some measure of affection for the women of his harem, he did not love them. Not in the way he did Sarah.

Their tryst was passionate and pleasurable but brief. After his climax, Michael pulled up his pants and watched as Sarah dressed herself. “I won't be coming by the cabin tonight.” she admitted.

“Oh?” Michael was surprised.

“I have to spend some time preparing for the rites. My duties to the coven call.”

“Very well.”

“I'm sure one of your harem will be available to keep you company.”

“It's not the same.”

“I know. That's why I made sure to come by tonight, even if only briefly. I'll see you later.”

---

Michael stayed at Nightstyles until after closing, helping the staff clean up and making sure all the books were in order. He wasn't always so generous with his time, but with Sarah preoccupied with her religious duties and Maximilian thankfully absent, Michael had no other obligations with which to excuse himself.

Once all that was finished, Michael locked up and headed out across the streets of Virginia Beach towards his car. It was his habit to park a few blocks away from Nightstyles and use the intervening distance as an opportunity to hunt most nights. Tonight however the streets were largely empty at this late hour and Michael was more interested in reaching his car to drive home.

Long gone was his old beat-up GMC pickup. Once he had come into wealth again through Nightstyles, he immediately purchased a vehicle far more fitting his station: a Jaguar XJS sports car. He'd also picked up a 1974 Ford Falcon xB coupe. That was a boon; the car was only sold in Australia, making it quite rare in the United States. A collector in Atlanta had one and was trying to offload it, so Michael snagged it up and made it into a labor of love. That particular car had been made famous as the vehicle of choice of "Mad Max" from the movies and Michael had spent some time trying to convert his new acquisition into a replica of the same. It occurred to Michael as he walked that he had some time tonight before sunrise. Perhaps he could put some work into it.

But he also needed to feed and his thoughts wandered to his harem. “Who is even available tonight?” he wondered. “Sammy's walking her beat. Terra's probably helping Sarah. Maybe...”

His thoughts were interrupted by something he spotted on the ground. At first, it looked like the sort of black-and-white photos celebrities often used for autographs; a bit of trash on the sidewalk. But Michael recognized the persons in the photo: himself and Sarah. He stopped and bent down to pick it up.

One thing about vampire senses is their supernatural nature. Michael heard the gunshot before the bullet struck, something that would normally be impossible with a supersonic round. But heard it he did and his powers kicked in at the speed of thought itself. He shot back to his feet and the round found its mark. It tore through his back just behind his right shoulder and emerged at his sternum, exploding outward in a splash of blood and gore.

Despite its gruesome appearance, it was a long way from a lethal wound to a vampire, but Michael realized two things in that moment. One, if he hadn't stood back up when he did, the round would have struck his head and probably sent him into the long sleep of torpor immediately. And two, while the streets were empty, there were enough witnesses about to prevent Michael from pretending nothing had happened. He pitched forward onto the pavement, playing dead.

A few moments later, he was swarmed by those few people on the street who had seen what happened. They, in turn, were replaced by emergency medical personnel, who whisked him onto a gurney and into an ambulance, all the while Michael pretended to be unconscious.

He hoped they would not take him to Virginia Beach General Hospital. It would be easier on the Masquerade for him to go immediately to the Emergency Medical Station near the oceanfront, where the staff were all thralls to vampires like himself. Most of the EMS staff were likewise enthralled and given standing orders to bring a wounded vampire to the Station, but there was always the risk of some new guy wanting to follow the proper procedure.

Also of concern was the obvious question: who shot him? Guns were an inefficient weapon to use against the kindred, as their supernatural physiques readily resisted that sort of injury. So the shooter was either unaware of Michael's true nature or had deliberately chosen a weapon that could not kill him permanently. If the former, who had Michael antagonized in the mortal world so that they'd choose a lethal response? If the latter, what message was being sent to him and by whom?

As the ambulance wheeled to a stop, Michael took a moment to peek out from his pretend unconsciousness. His earlier concerns proved moot. He was at the Station. The medics wheeled his gurney inside and left him in their care.

Michael sat up as the nurse came in. She was nonplussed by seeing her supposedly dying gunshot victim sitting up uninjured. “Hello, Angelica.” Michael said.

Angelica had been introduced to him by Sammy. Some months after Sammy's induction into Michael's small harem of women, there had been another incident at Nightstyles with a group of (as usual) drunken tourists. One of them turned belligerent on one of Sammy's fellow police officers and hit him with a glass bottle, cutting him rather severely on the face. After giving the idiot a good thrashing and handcuffing him to face the courts, Sammy asked Michael to take her colleague to the Medical Station. There, he met their head nurse, Angelica Walton, an attractive blonde woman in her mid-20s, and the rest was history.

“Sammy will be here shortly...” said Angelica. “...and she'll want a statement for the official report.”

“Of course.”

“And I have my paperwork to take care of as well.”

“Superficial injury. Lots of blood, but not much damage. Patient was patched up and sent home.” Michael rattled off. “Or something to that effect.”

“That would not have been a superficial injury on anyone but you. Might be hard to sell that story to my superiors and to the press.”

“You worry too much.” Michael slid off the gurney and put his arms around her.

“I'm on duty.” Angelica reminded him.

“So?”

“So, that will have to wait, Michael.” said Sammy as she walked in. “This is the second mess of yours I have to clean up tonight.”

“All work and no play and all that...” teased Michael. “You could join us. It'd be like old times.”

Sammy locked eyes wistfully with Angelica, as if tempted by the offer. Angelica replied to the gaze with a teasingly eager smile. Sammy broke off her stare and looked at Michael “I wish I'd never told you that about us.”

What she had told him was another bit of her past history. Angelica and Sammy were high school classmates. They had known each other for years and had even dated through much of their senior year. A same-sex couple was a daring thing for the 1980s, especially in a state as conservative as Virginia. But they grew apart after graduating until they reunited by chance in Virginia Beach.

“Nothing wrong with being a little bi-curious from time to time.” Michael assured her.

“Later” emphasized Sammy. “One of the most prominent business owners on the beachfront gets shot by a sniper on Atlantic Ave. The police, the press, and the whole damn world wants to know more about it and you're more concerned with getting a threesome together with the two of us?”

Michael had to admit she was right. Sammy might be one of the most sexually aggressive people Michael had ever met, but she was also very mindful of her duties both to him and to her job. There was a time and a place for fun and this was not it.

“Fine. Later then. I suppose you can report what I just told Angelica regarding my injuries.”

“And the cause? The reason for this?”

“The usual. Gang violence. Something like that.”

“You sure about that? You had me at the club earlier to help you cover up something that you felt would damage the club's rep. That story won't help.”

“No, it won't.” Michael conceded. “But that may be unavoidable in the long run. May as well take the hit now and remove that weapon from this enemy's arsenal.”

“Rhea will still probably want more than that to fake an investigation.”

Rhea Valdez was one of the district attorneys that worked in the Tidewater area. Michael had first met her when Sammy was helping to investigate a murder in Virginia Beach, a big opportunity for Sammy to land a promotion. Michael was more than eager to influence things in Sammy's favor, but Rhea was not his usual mark. She was older, a Latino woman in her late 30s with dark hair, skin, and eyes. But Sammy encouraged him by informing him that Rhea had been fishing about for a chance to cheat on her neglectful husband, a Virginia Beach businessman more interested in his work than his wife. What followed was one of the most disturbing events in Michael's vampiric life.

Michael approached Rhea, charmed her, and arranged for a date. He wined and dined her around Virginia Beach and then headed back to a hotel. What he didn't realize is that Rhea's husband had seen them together and followed them to the hotel. He barged in on them just as things were about to get intimate and threatened Michael with a gun. Michael moved to disarm him, but before he could do so, the man put the gun to his head and shot himself.

That suicidal act of spite would have ended it between Michael and Rhea, until Sammy came back to him a few months later, after her promotion to Detective, and mentioned to him that a prosecutor would be a good ally for a vampire lord to have. So Michael resumed his relationship with Rhea and eventually made her the fourth member of his harem.

“I'll talk to Rhea about that. We'll work something out." Michael admitted as his thoughts returned to the present. "Am I free to go?"

"Yeah," said Angelica.

Michael tore off his bloody shirt and grabbed a hospital gown. "I'll borrow this. See you all later."

---

Michael pulled up to his own beach house outside Hampton.  Like Mitch's place, it was on the river, looking out over fresh water. Michael had bought it around the same time as he'd picked up his Jaguar, another tangible benefit of his enhanced power and prestige in the city.

He killed the engine and looked around. To his right was a garage, a car port really, where he kept his Ford Falcon. To his right was the cabin, a nondescript wooden house around 1000 square feet. Small, but large enough for two bedrooms for himself and Sarah, a small bath, and an adequate living area/kitchen. His "haven," where his and Sarah's coffins lay, was beneath the house, hidden in the foundation and accessible by trap doors in their bedrooms.

But the real charm of the whole place was out back. Michael walked across the side of the house to the back, where a small in-ground swimming pool was located. With it was a small shed he used as a shower/changing room and an in-ground hot tub. Beyond was a small wooden pier where Michael kept a power-boat moored (yet another benefit of his new found wealth and power.)

Michael turned to his left and found the gate through the privacy fence into the pool area. He opened it and stepped inside. The hot tub was occupied, a fact Michael had verified minutes earlier with his vampire ears. It's occupant was the fifth and final member of his harem, Donna Barerra.

After Michael had bound Rhea and inducted her into "the club," she introduced him to Anderson Barerra, one of the district judges in Tidewater. He'd been Rhea's boss before he left the District Attorney's office to run for a vacant judgeship (somewhat ironically, it was a position that had been made vacant by Prince Maximilian's allies murdering its former occupant.) A prosecutor was good, Rhea argued convincingly, but a judge was even better.

Michael was of a mind to try his usual techniques of seduction on Anderson. Despite his encouragement of Sammy and others to act on their bi-impulses, he was not all that ready to indulge any such curiosity himself. So he tried a less-sexual approach, meeting with the judge periodically and slipping him a taste of his blood each time. Once Anderson had three such tastes, he was Michael's.

A month or so after that, the judge held a fundraiser at his home to help pay off his election debts. Michael was among those invited and it was there that he met Anderson's 15 year old daughter, Donna.

At first glance, Donna seemed a fairly typical teenager, if a bit sheltered. Anderson was himself a widower; his wife had been killed in a car accident just three years ago and he'd not yet remarried despite being one of the "most eligible bachelors" in the Tidewater area. As a result of his wife's fate, Anderson was a mite protective of Donna, something Michael learned after about ten minutes of conversation with the girl.

That she volunteered that piece of information almost immediately told Michael that Donna was looking for a bit of adventure. He made no move that night, but the next night he did the almost stereotypical small-rock-tapping-on-the-bedroom-window he'd seen so many times in the movies. Donna sneaked out the window, slid down the drain, and let Michael whisk her off to the city. As he had with so many others, he wined her and dined her like a fairy-tale princess. Their evening concluded with Michael taking Donna to his private penthouse on the top of one of Virginia Beach's hotels.

That part of the story wasn't in the fairy tales Donna remembered from her childhood, but to her it was the best part of the adventure. Having her virginity taken by Michael woke up something within her. After a week of rebellion against each and every rule her father had established over her, she was picked up by the cops for joyriding in a stolen Ferrari. Michael and Anderson pulled a lot of strings to cover up that potential scandal and Michael took Donna under his wing to reign in those rebellious impulses.

Donna was sitting in the hot tub, enjoying the warm water. She perked up when Michael walked in. "I was waiting for you." she teased. She stood up, revealing that she had not bothered with a swimsuit or much of anything for her dip in the tub.

"I see." Said Michael. She walked over, put her arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss. She pulled back.

"Interesting attire." she commented, tugging at the hospital gown he was half-wearing to replace his bloodied shirt. She pulled it up over his head and ran her hands across his chest.

"You know, all I've had tonight is one quickie from Sarah. I'm feeling a little starved."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here for you." She tugged at his belt.

At that moment, the gate to the privacy fence shot open and Terra and Sarah came inside in a rush. Michael groaned at the interruption.

"We heard you got shot!" exclaimed Sarah.

"I'm fine." said Michael.

"But who would take a shot at you?"

"Not a question I'm concerned about at this very moment." Michael gave a playful grope at Donna's breast to demonstrate his meaning.

"You might change your tune about that." Came another voice. It was Mitch, who walked in the pool area behind Terra and Sarah. “We have to talk...”

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