Act Two Chapter Fourteen - Alive

Darkness. Was this what death felt like? No, that she was conscious of the darkness told her that could not be. She was alive. She shuffled her feet and felt the sensation of her muscles respond to the commands of her mind, felt the touch of concrete beneath her thighs. This was real. She was alive.

But her legs were the only part she could move. She tried her arms and found resistance. But that too taught her something. She felt steel against her wrists. Shackles of some sort. She was bound, secured in place, in a darkened room.

She continued to investigate. What else could she learn? What else could she discover? Her head could move or at least twist from side to side. There was a shackle about her neck as well, so moving her head back and forth was impossible. All these shackles were bound to a wall. Concrete, rough, maybe cinderblock at her back.

It was warm. Almost miserably so. Had she still been mortal, she had no doubt her skin and clothes would be drenched in sweat. And speaking of clothing, she did not feel the brush of cloth against her skin anywhere. No discomfort of a bra’s wire. She was nude for whatever reason.

Sound. There was a dull hum in the distance, like the droning of far away machines. It was not loud, but like white noise it seemed to drown out all else. It was all she could hear.

She pressed again against the shackles and found them unyielding. For all her glorious powers and new found strength, this was an obstacle beyond her. She knew that it was intentionally so. Someone wanted to keep her here. But who?

Memories. What did she remember? An ambush, a sharp pain in her breast, then hazy images of a trial. Of a hideous creature calling down death upon her. A great black beast who dragged her off into the night. Off into darkness. Off to here, wherever it was.

Again, she pressed against her bonds to no avail. The more she became aware, the more fear crept into her. That was a lesson too. The dead do not fear. She was alive.

But there was nothing to be done. Nothing but wait.

After what seemed an eternity, the droning was interrupted by a loud metallic creaking and the momentary amplification of the machinery. Someone had opened a door and entered her chamber from outside. The loudness subsided after a short moment; the door had been closed once more, but she was no longer alone.

“Who is there?” she called out, surprised to hear her own voice in the din. No answer came. Instead, she heard a deeper-than-deep voice, a man intoning a prayer.

“Allah, your way is submission and obedience to your will. Your angels of death are not to be thrall to any but you. By your will, set this servant of yours free.”

She felt a cup brought to her lips and liquid poured into her mouth. She gagged; its taste was vile. Blood, but not such as she desired. This was tainted, polluted, with strange and bitter herbs and other flavors. But down it went, against her will. And as it entered her system, her system reacted. Her stomach heaved, vomiting forth far in excess of what she had just consumed. Blood sprayed forth again and again from her mouth, a vast deluge.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Her mind screamed as horrors came unbidden into her recollection. A lost lover, twisted and conniving, holding her prisoner, making her his against her will. Another, the face of an innocent, now lying dead in the mud. She remembered, but unlike before, she felt what had happened to her.

Pain. Anguish. Guilt. Horror. All these flooded forth into her mind. Revulsion at the memory of a lover’s touch, no, not lover, rapist, violator, slave-master. The emotions were overwhelming and she let out a piteous wail. No words could describe what she felt in that moment.

When the wail came to its end, the only sound she heard was the dull drone of those far away machines. The one who had come was gone.

---

Another eternity and once again, she heard the sound of the door open. This time, the sound was followed by the snap flash of a match being struck. Light entered her chamber for the first time. A candle flame sprang to life and then another. Soon the room was dimly lit, enough for her to see her visitor.

The “black beast” she had called him before, and it was well chosen. But it was not black in the sense that the word was usually used when referring to a person. This was not African. No, this one was black as coal, a wholly unnatural tone for human skin. He was naked from the waist up, and she could see he was a fine specimen. Well toned and sculpted muscles. Tall he was, with a bald head and bright piercing eyes that stood out against the pitch of his skin. He moved like a predatory animal, like a great panther in the night. She had feared him as a memory and feared him in the darkness of his previous visit, but now she feared him all the more as she saw him with her eyes.

From his satchel, he took forth a washcloth and a bottle of water. He moistened the cloth and in a gesture wholly unexpected, began to gently wash the blood she had vomited from her body. “How are we feeling?” he asked in his great deep bass voice.

She could not find the words at first, but he seemed unsurprised by this. “I hope you will forgive me in time, Rebecca.” He said her name for the first time and there was a small comfort in the hearing of it. “The purging rite is harsh and brutal to both body and soul. But it was necessary. I strongly suspected he had bound you and I could not risk that.”

“B...b…bound?” she stammered, finding words at last.

“Yes. A peculiar and somewhat vicious tool in our arsenal. Drink thrice from one of our kind and the blood enraptures you. Makes you a slave to their will, creates desire within you for them. This bond is not easily broken, but there are ways such as what I have done for you.”

“Michael.” She spoke his name aloud. Her master, her friend, her betrayer. “He did that to me.”

“And much more.” He finished the bathing and returned to his satchel. He pulled out of blood bag like those used by the Red Cross in their blood banks. “Here.” He offered. “It is not fresh, but should help with your thirst.”

And thirsty she was. She bit down on the bag, tasted the plastic but for a moment, and then the sweetness of its contents entered her mouth. She drank and drank but it did not take long for that small offering to disappear.

Once she was done, he tossed aside the empty bag and reached over. With a metallic pop, he released the shackle holding her in place to the wall. “There. Much better.” He commented.

“Who are you?”

“I am Youssef Zahid Anwar, but I have not gone by that name in many years. I am The Djinn, Saracen, warrior, the last of the assassins who served under the Old Man of the Mountain. General of the armies of Baghdad when the great horde of Genghis Khan rode upon our gates. As I lay dying on the plain of that battle, I was reborn to darkness. A long time ago.”

It was at that moment that she remembered her nudity and her previous sense of modesty returned. She made to cover herself. The Djinn responded to her action, returning again to her satchel. “I am no great judge of women’s fashion, but I hope you will find these at least adequate.” He offered her some clothing.

“They’ll do.” She stood up, somewhat unsteady on her feet. The clothing was an ill-fit, but it would serve. She dressed quickly.

“I’m very confused.” She admitted. “You were told to kill me.”

“I was. I still could.”

She did not doubt that. “Then why am I here?”

“Do you believe in destiny?”

Rebecca shrugged.

“I do.” He continued. “I believe we are Allah’s instruments, and called to a specific purpose in his great plan. The vampire, as well as the human. We are angels of death, young one. Walking talking manifestations of his wrath against the sins of the world. For seven hundred years, I have labored under the guidance of one I thought closer to Allah’s will than any of us.”

“Once thought, but no longer.” Rebecca concluded.

“He is not what he once was. My lord Mathias. Said to be one of the disciples of the prophet Jesus. But either he lies or he no longer remembers. Now he takes a bride of flesh, the latest in a long line. He plays games of politics. He’s lost sight of the higher goals. He is no better than his rivals.”

“So he should die.”

“Yes. He no longer serves Allah’s purposes. And now is the time to strike. It is, I believe, God’s will.”

“So what does this have to do with me?”

“I cannot do this alone. For all his weaknesses, he is still the stronger. But he grows paranoid. For all the trust he openly conveys to me, it is clear to me that he suspects my disloyalty. Thus, he grants the boon of childer to other vampires, but not to his loyal bodyguard. I need an apprentice. Someone I can train. Someone I can mold. And if I cannot embrace a childe of my own, then I will simply make use of someone else’s.”

---

Chief Alex Martin watched from his perch down onto the valley below. Untrained or ungifted eyes would have seen nothing but the trees, brown, yellow, and beige in their late autumn colors, but his were the eyes of the Uratha, the werewolf. Below him, he could see his newest charge make his way slowly, but deliberately across the forest floor.

"He's doing well for such a late bloomer." commented Alex's companion. "He takes to our ways quickly." Linda Doran was the tribe's shaman and had joined the new chief in his observations.

"We've been lucky." said Alex. "All along, we've been lucky."

"Is it luck?" said Linda. "Or has it all been predictable?"

"Spoken like a prophet." teased Alex.

"Tyler was doomed, one way or the other." said Linda. "The wizard was right. His hatred had made him blind and foolish. In the end, he would either have met the fate that he did or you would have deposed him. No surprises there. No luck. Just predictable outcomes.

"And likewise the vampires. Roanoke is too small to support them in large numbers. They are vile parasites who bear no honor or loyalty to anyone but themselves. When word had come that they had expanded their number, I knew it could only mean one thing. Their lord was fishing for rebellion and, sure enough, rebellion came. Again, predictable, predictable enough that we were ready and able to move to fetch our lost cub in the midst of the chaos of their infighting."

"But Boar's skill? How do you account for that?"

"On that, it is luck. I will grant you that one." Linda paused. "I fear though you push your luck too far. Ami is not ready to mentor him. A true cub, a child, that I could see. But Boar is a man grown, with a man's desires."

"She was the one who blooded him. The one who found him. She’s earned the right. Besides, Ami has lived with this tribe since she was in diapers, as have I. We have grown up together. She knows our ways. Knows our taboos. I cannot imagine her violating them with him. If I am ready to be chief, then she is ready to train. That is my final word on the matter."

"I pray you are right, Alex. For if the rule is broken, we will have far worse to reckon with than the vampires."

----

Far below his observers, Boar quickened to his bestial senses. In true wolf form, what the werewolves called urhan in their unique tongue, the world came alive to him. But he must focus. So many scents, so many sounds, so many distractions. It was so easy to lose one’s self to the wolf, especially when you barely learned to master it.

Boar focused sharply, trying to discern one single pattern within the noise. One sound, one scent. Her sound, her scent. Ami Janes, who in human form was a petite sassy bespeckled high schooler, the same werewolf who had claimed him that night in Blacksburg. She was his prey. Even Boar found it hard to imagine this wisp of a girl could be a savage werewolf, let alone one seasoned and experienced enough to train him. Yet it was so.

Boar stood still as a statue as he took in his surroundings. He knew she was close. Learning to track a fellow werewolf was just preliminary training. The werewolves saw their purpose in life to hunt things far more vile. Vampires and mages at times, but far more often were renegade spirits of nature, “things” that had escaped from a spirit realm that just a month ago Boar did not even know existed. So much of what he had once thought superstition and myth was proving true.

He should have known. Vampires were real after all. That was his first lesson. Why not these other things? How they all fit together did not yet make sense to him, but now he’d learned this alien world was his world, that he was a part of it, that he was uratha, werewolf, himself.

A scent, a familiar one. A pungent one. Boar understood now why the common dog could sense a human’s mood or physical condition by scent. He could tell so much from just one whiff of Ami nearby. Not the least of which was where she was.

He pounced through the brush to his left and there she was. Her urhan form was not much bigger than a collie dog, but she was quick. Boar overshot and landed in a pile of leaves. She was on him like lightning, biting at the scruff of his neck. To an outside observer it would have looked playful and in many ways it was. The intent here was not to draw blood or to injure, but to practice.

Still, for all her experience, Ami was half Boar’s side and he flung her off with ease. She twisted over and over in mid-air and landed on her feet with all the grace of a cat, shifting to human form on landing.

“Still not fast enough.” She commented. “Why do I bother?” she sighed in feigned disappointment.

Boar let out a pitiful whine and then shifted himself. “I did find you.” He said. “And I would have overcome you.”

“That’s beside the point.” She corrected. “It’s not me you’ll be hunting in the future.”

“So you say” thought Boar incredulously. “You just don’t want to admit I could pin you down and have you at my mercy so easily.” He said to her. A lustful smile crossed his lips.

“You know that’s forbidden.” She said, standing on her feet and brushing the leaves from her. She was dressed in the uniform of Roanoke Catholic High School. One of the first tricks a werewolf was taught was how subsume their human clothing into their shapeshifting, a bit of magic that prevented every uratha from having an excessive clothing bill each month. Boar had learned this from Ami, but he also knew that many of the werewolves of the tribe didn’t bother. He regretted that Ami was not among them.

“Forbidden or not…” Boar let the sentence drop. He knew. She could not hide her interest from him. He could smell it when Ami was in wolf form.

“Again, beside the point.” She said. “What I want and what is permitted are not the same. Do you have any idea what the rest of the tribe would do if they found us together? Or worse if I…” she didn’t finish the sentence.

“There are ways to prevent that…” Boar countered, but he too paused mid-thought. Something was amiss.

Ami shifted to wolf-man form, dalu in the werewolf tongue. When she did that, Boar did likewise, only he went to full wolf out of habit. When he did, the assault on his senses was overwhelming. A rogue spirit was nearby.

What came through the brush at them was somewhat underwhelming. At first glance, he seemed nothing more than a typical local, a hunter dressed in flannel with a blaze vest and a shotgun. But Boar and Ami could both tell there was more to him than met the eyes. He was hithimu, a man literally possessed by the spirit.

The man raised his shotgun lightning quick and let off both barrels into Ami. She collapsed into a heap behind them as Boar leapt. His bulk knocked the man from his feet and onto his back. The shotgun clattered away.

The man grasped at Boar’s forelegs and with inhuman strength began to push him off. His mouth widened into a hideous maw and his teeth sharpened into fangs, gifts of the possessing spirit no doubt. Boar had one shot, so he took it. His head snapped forward, clamping around the man’s neck. With a mighty rip, he tore his throat out and the hithimu’s body went limp.

Boar came back to human form just as Alex and Linda came through the brush to join them. “Are you…?” Alex asked.

Boar gave no answer, but went immediately to where Ami had fallen. Linda moved there as well.

“Not silver.” She said with confidence. “She’ll be fine.”

“So we’ve found our poacher, or rather he found us.” Said Alex. “A gluttony spirit.”

“He fled the man as Boar struck.” Commented Linda.

“Then we’d best be after it. Boar, take Ami home. Your lesson is done today. We will deal with this spirit ourselves.”

---

By the time Boar drove Ami back to her apartment, her wound had healed clean.

“I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there.” She rubbed her chest where the blast had hit. “That hit so hard I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Stunned like that, he’d have been all over me. I owe you my life, Mike.” It was not often that Boar heard his real name, even among his new family.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She shivered and made to get out of the car. “That’s the closest I care to come to dying.”

“We’re uratha. It’s part of the territory.”

“And you think I don’t know that.” She scolded. “I was born to a human father and a werewolf mother. I was raised by the tribe. I’ve known this all my life.” She paused. “It’s one thing though to be told that you’re life will be brutal, violent, and probably short. It’s another to watch it happen, to realize it’s real, that they didn’t lie to you, that they didn’t exaggerate.”

Boar put his hand on her knee. It was meant as a comforting gesture, but touching her soft skin was almost electric to both of them. He ignored it for the moment, however. “When you really think about it, even life as a human is uncertain. Any moment you could die in a car crash, have a heart attack from some unknown defect, get a disease, or be caught in the crossfire of a gang battle. Let alone be sucked dry by a vampire, eaten by a werewolf, or possessed by one of those things we fought in the woods.”

“We don’t eat people.” She corrected him.

“Regardless, we still killed a human today. That he was not himself probably does not matter in the end to his parents or his friends or his children.”

“Next time, it could be us instead though.”

“Yeah.” He said. “It could.”

She took his hand from her knee and brought it up to her face, giving his fingers a playful kiss. “If my life is to be short and uncertain, then I’m going to grasp for what I want now, rules or no rules.”

---

“Reality is what you make it.” Instructed Darren. “Remember that all we see around us, all we call the universe and existence is not end result of physics or science, but the result of will.”

“Whose will? God’s?” said Mitch. The two were sitting on a bench outside War Memorial Chapel on Virginia Tech’s campus. It was around lunchtime and the campus was alive with students making their way to and from class.

“Perhaps. But I’m not trying to make a theological point here. As one of the Awakened, you have the power to alter reality by the sheer force of your will. In a sense, what the divine may have done at creation, you can do now on somewhat smaller scale.”

“So is magic divine power?”

“For someone who is not religious, you make a lot of comparisons there.”

“I went to Sunday School and church as a kid.” Confessed Mitch. “It seems the closest parallel.”

“It serves, I suppose.” Replied Darren. “But magic is willpower made incarnate. What you wish becomes reality.”

“I can’t make the sky turn red, can I?”

“No, your will is not strong enough for something that radical. No mage’s is. Plus, always remember that there are forces of will working against you. The unawakened cannot consciously or individually alter reality like we can, but collected together they exert an immense power upon the universe. We call it unbelief and when you attempt to do something that is beyond what people see as possible, you will run into it.”

“You teleported right in front of me when you found me.”

“You can poke holes in unbelief at times. The easiest way to do the impossible is to do it when no sleepers are looking.”

“But I was not Awakened when you appeared in front of me.”

“You were a vampiric thrall, as was your pursuer. You had already been made a part of the Awakened world by that slavery. In a sense, you did not count.”

“Can you teach me to teleport?”

“I can try. But note that some aspects of reality you will find easier to manipulate. Others will be harder. Despite your fondness for theological parallels, we are not gods. We are not angels. We are human and as such we have limitations. I am Mastigos, a warlock. Spatial reality and the realm of the mind are my strengths. However, altering physical matter is difficult for me.”

“And I am?”

“Do you not know?”

“Acanthus is the word that comes to my mind.”

“An enchanter. Yes, that would fit.”

“How do I know these words?”

“You had vision of a watchtower, did you not? When you fully awoke?”

“That?” Mitch seemed confused.

“Magical legend says the watchtowers are ruled over by ancient mages who seek out like souls in the world and then call them to awaken. Like most legends, there’s probably as much metaphor in that as there is fact, but the nature of your watchtower defines the sort of mage you will be and by some mystery, we just know what we are when we awaken. We even know the Atlantian term for it.”

“Atlantian? As in…”

“Yeah, another legend. But regardless, it’s what we call our secret language.”

“So as an enchanter, what can I do?”

“As I can master space, you can master time.”

“So I can time travel?”

“Only in very small increments. A few seconds at most. Unbelief won’t allow anything greater. But you, once trained, will be able to speed up, slow down time. You will gain a window into past and future events. I envy you. It’s a neat power.”

“Time isn’t all I can do though. My luck is a part of this too.”

“Yes, enchanters can alter and influence the seeming randomness of the universe. Probability, chance, luck are also under your power. The power of fate.”

“Cool.”

“Your power is very weak at this point however. You must be trained and your best training will come from a fellow Acanthus. That, we do not have here, which is somewhat surprising given how they are drawn to the hedonism of your typical college campus. But there is one in Charlottesville at UVA. He will be your teacher.”

“So when do I leave?”

“As soon as you can get your affairs in order. Seeing as your previous allegiances seem to have self-destructed, I can imagine that won’t take long.”

Mitch frowned. He did not like to be reminded of the events of that night. Michael, Deborah, Boar all gone. “No, I don’t imagine it will.”

“Don’t look so glum, James. You’ve been given the cheat codes of the universe. Enjoy it.”

Next Chapter

Act Two Chapter Thirteen - The Killing Moon

Michael barely had time enough to pick his jaw up off the floor when Solomon entered. “Ah, you’re back.” He said casually.

“He’s slow on the uptake, Saul. If I’d meant him harm, he’d be dead.” Complained Max.

“He’s not himself lately.” Answered Solomon. “Torpor, guilt, and his sire now Mathias’ latest love pet.”

Max’s face was unmoved. “That explains much.” He said flatly.

“Excuse me?” interjected Michael, as if to remind the two of them that he was in fact standing right there.

“The blood, boy. You are bound in very subtle mystical ways to those who came before you and to those who come after you. Her torments, you are experiencing them, albeit in a much milder fashion.” Max sighed. “So, it’s that time again.”

To that, even Solomon looked puzzled. Max read his expression. “Mathias, for all his holiest-of-holies attitude, still hungers for baser desires. He usually fends it off for a decade or two, but when some choice morsel comes along, mortal or otherwise…” Max let the thought trail off.

“You know Mathias?” asked Michael.

“Know him!” exclaimed Max. “Hah! Boy, you really know nothing.”

Michael frowned, growing aggravated. Max’s tone reminded him of his first weeks and months as kindred, always being talked down to as ignorant and naïve. “I know that he claims to be the thirteenth apostle of Jesus. I know that he has the power to read thoughts, and I know that he killed my childe and imprisoned my sire.”

“And you know that he’s a hell of a lot more powerful than you are.” Added Solomon.

“Than both of you. Hence why you are here, pretty little Deborah is his thrall, and lovely little Rebecca is ash now.” Michael was about to ask how Max knew Rebecca’s name, but Max cut him off. “Mathias isn’t the only one with that particular power, boy.”

“Who are you?” said Michael, cutting to the chase.

“I am Maxmillian von Frederich, childe of Mathias, and once Prince of Williamsburg, Newport, and Hampton.”

“Once?”

“Yes.” Max let the word linger in the air. “It is time you understood what you are a part of, young one. I believe Solomon told you a few things. Let me fill in the rest. Roughly four hundred years ago, three ancient vampires settled these shores. One came alone. One came with a small retinue of followers. The third came with an army. The reason why the first came alone is unknown. It is the whimsy of his nature. The second sought to make this new world into his liking, and his followers and allies would allow him to do that. The third was likewise a creature of vision, and much less subtlety. It was not long before the vision of these latter clashed. In the frontier of these new colonies, the battles could be waged outside the prying eyes of others.”

“Who are the three?”

“Can you not guess at least the first two? You have met them both.”

“Ernie is the loner.”

“And the second?”

“Mathias, and you were one of his retinue.”

“Indeed I was, along with the Saracen who stands with him still today. The third you have not yet encountered, although you may someday. His name, or at least the name he has taken most recently, is Monroe. Thomas Monroe.”

“Mathias’ northern opponent.” said Michael, filling in the blanks.

“Once and future Prince of Philadelphia.”

“Once and future?”

“It is said he sleeps in torpor for much of the last fifty years.”

“And he came with an army?”

“Indeed he did. Monroe had enthralled a British general and when that general was assigned the garrison here in the American colonies, Monroe came along. He ruled the north. Mathias ruled the south. Oh, not directly. This is the 17^th century we’re talking about. Communication and rapid transportation did not exist. They ruled through proxies, through childer and thralls. I was given the Virginia colony to mold and reform in accord with my master’s vision. So Williamsburg became my home.”

Michael grew nervous at Max’s language and his reference to Mathias as “master.” Max seemed to enjoy his discomfort, smiling his ugly toothy grin again. “As is always the case, eventually the years caught up with Mathias and went into torpor to reverse their effects. And as he slept, his bond over me weakened and I began to wonder why I could not carve my own path.”

“And Ernie? Where does he fit into all of this?”

“Wherever he wanted to. He flitted about the colonies in those days, embracing childer and generally causing trouble wherever he went. Monroe or one of his proxies would try to kill Ernie, and he would simply move on. Then Mathias would tire of him, and Ernie would move on. He seeded our cities with his Venture spawn wherever he went. Some allied with Mathias, others with Monroe and still more went their own way. Eventually, his wanderings took him back to Europe and as you’ve seen they’ve brought him back here again.”

“He’s here in the Tidewater.” Added Solomon.

“I know.” Said Max wearily. Max paused for a bit, then continued. “As I said, Monroe too felt the sleep of the ages and like my master, his childer and allies began to carve their own paths. So it is now on the East Coast of the United States in the late 20^th century. The remnants of these ancients’ forces, still seeking to bring about their masters’ visions, all mingled in with those who broke free of their slavery and with those who have come into these areas in the centuries since, like yourselves.”

“Mathias’ vision is a religious one. He seeks his own version of the kingdom of God here on early, twisted as only a vampire’s vision of religion could be.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that Monroe is not so different? Both of these elders are a part of the Lancea Sanctum. Both seek the same thing, but both were and are too stubborn and suspicious to ever ally with one another.”

“So Monroe is in Philadelphia.”

“Aye. An ally rules in his stead while he slumbers. Mathias, as you know, has chosen Roanoke as his domain.”

“Why so far away from the action?”

“There could be many reasons. One is the simple fact that our society essentially takes two forms. One is the hierarchy of Prince and subjects, but the other is the recluse, the hermit. Mathias wandered to Roanoke, a small city, to be the sole master of his domain. He and the Djinn alone.”

“Obviously that did not last.” Commented Michael.

“Obviously.” Repeated Max. “Deborah, Solomon, others, not the least of which was Ernie came to disturb Mathias’ solitude and the city became what you know it as.”

“But why seek such solitude?”

“The long sleep of the ages does terrible things to a vampire. Solomon just mentioned that you yourself just emerged from a brief torpor. Imagine one that lasts 100 years or more. Imagine not only the madness and confusion of the dreams of torpid sleep, but that all your previous mortal allies and resources are now dead. Imagine also that your kindred allies have abandoned you, sought their own course. This is what Mathias experienced when he awoke from sleep back in 1904 or whenever it was. Roanoke was a fresh start; a time to heal from his confusion, a time to regain his bearings without threat of enemies and rivals. So to Roanoke he went. And now, nearly 90 years later, it is from Roanoke that his influence is spreading…”

“Is that why you are a former Prince?” inquired Michael.

Max laughed. “He learns fast. No wonder you and yours chose him, Saul.” He turned back to Michael. “Yes, I too was forced to surrender to the sleep. And when I awoke, not only had a new city sprung up on the south shores of the Tidewater, but it was ruled by a proxy Prince, an ally of Mathias, named Lazarus. And Lazarus had so graciously taken it upon himself to annex my territory. And so, here we are.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“More or less. Your departure from Roanoke was more of a strategic withdrawal than a retreat. The battle there is the battle here. The names are different, but the sides are the same.” Max closed a single eye and glared hard at Michael. “So, pup, the question for me is, are you really as smart as I think you are? Pretty little Debbie thought you were worth something. Solomon thinks you’re worth something. Hell, Ernie thinks you are worth something, and that’s scary as hell to me. I guess we’ll see. Dawn comes soon and I must depart. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

With that, Max stepped backwards and vanished into thin air.

“He’s good.” Interjected Solomon before Michael could comment.

“In what way?” returned Michael. “He knows a lot. He can vanish right in front of us. He can read thoughts like Mathias. But can we trust him?”

“No.” said Solomon flatly. “But he’s no love for Mathias and his allies. Nor for the Lancea Sanctum. Enemy of my enemy….and all that.”

“Then why bring him here?”

“He would have shown up on his own anyway.” Said Solomon. “Especially after your stunt at the bank the other night. Nothing, and I mean nothing, happens in Tidewater without Max knowing about it. Everyone in this city, from the high to the low, looks to him when they want questions answered. He’s forgotten more than you and I will ever know.”

“Speaking of that,” said Michael, changing the subject. “what he said about me feeling what Deborah is going through, is that true?”

“I’m no expert, Michael.” Said Solomon. “But yeah, it’s hard to explain or pin down. You just know, you feel things. Sire to childe and childe to sire. If you focus on it, it slips away from you, but it’s there. I’ve heard that some vampires can discipline themselves to pin it down and know at any moment what their sire or childer are doing and feeling, but for most it remains subtle and elusive. I wouldn’t be surprised if Deb’s despair is part of what you are feeling right now.”

“It goes both ways. Deb can feel me as I can feel her?”

“So I’ve heard. I’ve really only had one experience with it myself. One night, some decades ago, I remember waking up and just knowing that my sire had died. It was probably another five years before I actually heard word that in fact he had. But I knew. Don’t ask me how. I can’t put it into words.”

Michael stood silently for a moment. He then looked Solomon square in the eye. “Rebecca is still alive.”

Next Chapter

Act Two Chapter Twelve - One Caress

Michael rang the door bell to the townhouse. He wasn’t sure what to expect here. He wasn’t sure even why he was here. But, it seemed to him that the more he got to know Leigh, the more he wanted to know. Her presence was the only peace he had here.

The door opened and Leigh poked her head out. “Michael?”

“Hey, I was in the neighborhood. Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, my roommates are out for the night. Come on in.”

Michael accepted the invitation and stepped inside.

“I had forgotten I gave you my address and phone number when we went out for coffee the other day.” Admitted Leigh. “So I’m a little surprised to see you at my door. Surprised, but pleased.”

“Well, I know you can’t always get out with the kids and all.”

“Yeah, we take turns, Tori and I. She watches Matthew and Ladonna when I’m at work and now it’s my turn.”

“Seems fair. How’s work been?”

Leigh nodded. “It’s work. I am glad you’re here. You’ll make tonight go more pleasantly.”

“Watching kids is tough.”

“Well, it’ll be bedtime soon. They’re out back. Care to come out and sit with me?”

“Sure, but first.” Michael proffered two bottles of Yuengling from his coat. “I brought goodies.”

“I thought you were underage like me.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. The Fox Club doesn’t care. A lot of other places don’t either.” Said Michael, trying to be teasingly mysterious.

She took one of the bottles. “Still cold. Nice.” She twisted off the top and took a swig of the beer. “Come on.”

The two sat down on the back porch in a couple of somewhat rickety lawn chairs. In the small yard, Matthew was playing with who Michael presumed was Ladonna, a cute little black girl.

“You know, it’s funny. They look like they could be siblings.” Observed Michael as he took a swig from his own beer. “Your son is bi-racial.”

“Yeah.” Said Leigh quietly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” began Michael. “I mean, I came over to enjoy your company, not dredge up unpleasant memories.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She replied. “The other night, we talked about you and I think I hit a nerve at one point. Guess it’s my turn now. With Matthew and his father, well, there’s just a lot of baggage there.”

“Yeah, we all have too much of it, don’t we?” Michael was playing coy. He did not like his confessions from the other night being so easily remembered.

“Well, if we’re going to date, you should probably know the story.”

“We’re dating?” asked Michael.

“Oh, don’t pretend that isn’t what all this is about. You asked me if I was seeing anyone when you came to the Fox Club. You asked me to the coffee shop. Now you show up at my door uninvited and unannounced.” Her voice was playful, teasing. “Your siblings must not be very surprised at Christmas time if you think you’ve fooled anyone into thinking you’re not interested, Mr. Allens.”

“Okay, touché. You got me.” Said Michael. Admitting it out-loud made even Michael more comfortable with the idea. She was nothing like what he’d ever envisioned as a romantic partner. If he’d encountered her back in Blacksburg, he’d never given her a second look. But he wasn’t in Blacksburg and life (or unlife as the case may be) was different now. And for all the chaos of the last several weeks, Michael was certain of one thing. For whatever lack Leigh may have had, she more than made up for it in other areas. He knew was that it felt good, calming even, to just be sitting there on the porch with her. “So, what’s Matthew’s story?”

“His father is named David.” Michael winced at hearing that name and briefly wondered if…no, that wouldn’t be possible; His friend David wasn’t black. Leigh continued. “He was the hottest guy I’d ever seen, basketball star, straight-A student, top notch guy. He was black and grew up down the street from me. I went to school with him since kindergarten. You know, it’s funny. You’d think that familiarity would make me less likely to be attracted to him, but…” She let her voice trail off.

“Obviously, something happened for you two to hook up.”

“Yeah. We had a Sadie Hawkins dance at the school, and I got up the courage to ask him to go. And he said yes. But there was a problem. My dad didn’t mind black people or black kids in most circumstances, but he didn’t want me to date one. Said it wasn’t right to mix the races.”

“Thirty years after Martin Luther King and we’re still trying to crack that old chestnut.” Said Michael with exasperation. “So, I take it he didn’t take too well to your asking David out.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t know. We found a way to keep it a secret. Along with our whole relationship. But then I got pregnant and we weren’t hiding anything anymore.” She paused, watching her son. “I tried to get an abortion before my folks found out. But I happened to show up on Pro-life Protest Day and I didn’t have the guts to walk through a picket line of nutso Christians calling me a baby-killer.”

“Can’t blame you there.”

“So I decided to keep the baby. Of course, my folks found out obviously. I think they might have handled me being pregnant okay, but not…” Her voice failed her as the flood of emotions overwhelmed her. She wiped a tear away from her eye.

Michael leaned over and took her hand in his. “You don’t have to tell me. I think I know what happened next anyway.”

“Yeah.” She said. “Thanks. But it gets worse. Not only did I have to deal with my folks, I also had to deal with David. He wanted nothing to do with his son. Walked away. I haven’t seen him since.” She looked at Michael. “So that’s our story. You know sometimes when I tell it, I get all weepy like I am now. Other times

I’m just so angry I want to hit something. I try not to be, because it’s not going to change anything, but I can’t help it. I resent them all. My father for throwing me out. David for abandoning me. And sometimes even Matthew just because he exists. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not his fault he got born into this crazy screwed up world to a worthless mother like me.”

“One mistake does not undo the good that you do.” Michael quoted, throwing her words from the other night back at her.

“Thanks.” She sobbed out. Without warning, she threw her arms around him and cried. Michael wasn’t quite sure how to react; he just held her and said nothing.

Leigh regained her composure after a minute or two. “Sorry. I…”

“I think I know the real devil in all this.” Said Michael.

“Excuse me?” replied Leigh, confused.

“You said you’re angry at your Dad, and at David, and at Matthew, but the one you truly resent is yourself. You’re mad because of your mistake. The same mistake I made.”

“All I wanted was someone to love me.” She said, as if not hearing him.

“And there it is. That’s the mistake. You fell for it. I fell for it. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? Being told you’re loved, you’re special, that you’re the only one. That they’ll be with you forever. We believed it. We all want to believe it. So badly that from the moment we hear it we buy into it immediately. And when our dreams are dashed…” he let his voice trail off.

“Is that why you left Blacksburg?”

“Sort of. Mostly.” replied Michael. “I believed the lie and it came back to bite me.”

“What did you do to her?” Michael’s eyes stabbed at her when he heard that question. “She betrayed you. She cheated on you. But said the other night that what you did to those robbers is connected to your regrets. You admitted you went too far with someone who didn’t deserve it. So what did you do?”

Michael realized now he was in a very delicate place. He was so close to finding some peace, and yet now his dancing with the truth and deceit had drawn him, and Leigh, to this point.

He stood up abruptly. “I should go.” He looked down at Leigh. “It was something I’ll never do again.”

“Don’t go.” Leigh pleaded. “I’m sorry. I pushed too hard.” She stood up and put her arms around him, as if to hold him in place. “I’ve known abusers. Known true monsters of men. Seen them with others. One thing I know, they never regret what they do to others. Never feel one lick of guilt. You do, and that says a lot.”

Michael thought her assessment somewhat naïve, since his own regrets had not stopped him from doing any of the horrible things he had done. He knew also he could break her hold, flee from that place, never see her again. It would be best for her, he knew. She had no idea how much danger he had already put her in.

But he didn’t. He stayed there, enjoying the feel of her arms around him. Wanting to drown in that feeling. There was peace in those arms, a peace he’d not felt since he could remember.

“I may not know the whole story. And I may never know. But I do know that you saved my life, Michael, and indirectly Matthew’s life. You’re smart, kind, and a better listener than I’ve had in a long time. I know I want to be with you. If I can help, I’m here.”

“For now,” he began slowly. “you can help me forget.”

He’d meant it quite literally, not as some sort of come-on. But Leigh released him. “Let me get the kids to bed.” She kissed him on the cheek. “And then I’ll try.”

----

Michael sat there quietly as Leigh busied herself getting her son and her roommate’s daughter off to bed. He again thought about leaving. Sex with Leigh was not why he had come. He did not desire her in the way he had all the others, including Deborah and Rebecca. Brown eyes instead of blue. Dirty blond hair instead of dark or red. And she was obviously a score or so pounds overweight, but not so much that her curves were gone. No, she was still quite buxom and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he did desire her. But this was a different feeling. Not lust, but…

“A penny for your thoughts.” Came Leigh’s voice, interrupting his reverie. Hearing a phrase once used by Deborah pained him and Leigh saw it on his face. She sat down next to him again and took his face in her hand. “Sorry. I guess I’m not so good at helping you forget after all.”

“Not your fault.” Said Michael tersely. “You couldn’t have known…”

“You don’t need forgetting.” Said Leigh firmly. “Whatever it is, it’s killing you. I can see it in your eyes, Michael. Hear it in your voice. See it in the way your hold your body. You’re dying inside.”

Michael turned away, unable to look her in the eye.

“Tell me please.” She pleaded. “It hurts me to see you like this. I won’t…I promise I won’t leave, no matter what you say.”

“That may not be a promise you can keep.” Said Michael forcefully. She didn’t flinch at the change in his voice. She simply stood there patiently.

“I can’t tell you everything. But either directly or indirectly, I am responsible for the destruction of three lives, not one, three. And not like those scum at the bank. These were special, people I cared about.” He paused. “People I loved. People I should have loved better.”

“That’s a start.” She said. “Whatever the details of what you did, Michael, I think you need to do two things. One, if there’s any way you can set things right, you’ll need to do that to find peace. And two, you need to forgive yourself. I know these may sound like platitudes and I’m sure you could probably argue that since I don’t know the details these things are somehow impossible. But I also think I’m right and I think you know it too. You’re too smart not to have.”

“Always easier said than done.” Mused Michael.

She laughed in response. “Don’t I know it? But you know a shared burden is a lighter burden. My story is not quite so dramatic, but it pains me at times too. You carry my burdens and I’ll carry yours. Maybe together we’ll both find what we need.”

A dangerous road that, as Michael well knew. But at the moment, with his aching soul, he could not resist. “Is that a proposal? A scheme? A plot?” said Michael with a mirthful tone, trying to lighten the mood again.

“A proposition.” Replied Leigh. “It may be an unseasonably warm night here for November, but my bed is warmer.”

Michael smiled and nodded his assent. She took him in hand and led him inside.

It had become unusual for the girl to take the lead in his dalliances. Deborah, he remembered, often did so during the first few months, but as Michael grew in confidence those faded and became less frequent. Kris almost never initiated, nor had Rebecca, nor had any of his other conquests. Michael found this to be to his liking, and by the time they reached the bedroom, Michael did feel something rather usual, the stirring of his loins.

He knew at any moment he could take the initiative, but this time instead of seducing he chose to be seduced. As Leigh pulled him inside, she stepped away. Michael took the moment to close the door. Music began to play behind him. He turned around to see Leigh fooling around a bit with a radio.

“Is that who I think it is?” asked Michael. “De’Mode?”

“Yeah.” Replied Leigh as the opening violins of One Caress began to play.

“Another reason to like you.” Said Michael slyly.

“This song gets me hot. It’s so seductive. So dark.”

“Oh, girl, lead me into your darkness…” Michael sang softly along with the song. He knew it well, being off the same album as a number of tracks he’d performed with Krushed Prophet.

“Keep doing that and I’m going to come before you even touch me.” Threatened Leigh.

“That’ll make life easier.” He joked.

“But not nearly as fun.” She grabbed his belt and yanked him to her. She covered his mouth with hers and kissed him fiercely. With a mild shove, she pushed him away a second later and began to slowly work off her jeans in time with the music. Michael stood back, leaning on the dresser as he watched the strip-tease.

“Would telling her she could do this for a living be a bit rude?” Michael wondered. “Damn, she’s turning me on.”

She was down to her underwear when she came back over to him, her eyes a piercing “come hither” look. As she took him in her arms and kissed him again, Michael felt a desire of a different, more menacing, kind: the hunger for her blood. It was almost reflexive; Michael almost never had sex with a mortal woman where he didn’t feed. He pulled away from the kiss somewhat suddenly, trying to bring his urges under control. In all of his confusions regarding this young woman, there was one certainty. He wanted her to be a friend, a companion, or a lover, anything but prey.

It was in that moment that he realized he hadn’t fed, not for several nights. In his depression, it never seemed important. Michael felt a twinge of fear. If he caved in, would he be able to stop in time or would he destroy the life of another he cared about?

If Leigh noticed anything about his internal struggle, she ignored it and kept going. She kissed him again forcibly, her hands going down to his slacks to work them off.  She knelt down in front of him. His underwear went next, and then she took him.

----

They made love for hours, longer than any previous encounter Michael had. Always, Leigh took the lead and Michael made no effort to change that. She would exhaust herself and then they would lie next to one another, laugh and talk for a bit, until her strength returned and she would pull him into her again. As voracious as Deborah, Rebecca, and Kris had been, they had nothing on Leigh.

At last though, she was still human and eventually sleep took her. No longer distracted by either her sex or her conversation, the urge to feed returned, stronger now than before.

“No!” Michael demanded of himself. “I won’t. Not with her. She’s something else. Something different. Something special.”

“So were the others.” Came another voice in his head, unbidden. “You must feed. Here’s a chance. Just a little bit. She’ll never know.”

Michael untangled himself from her slumbering embrace. He gave her bare leg an affectionate stroke and it was as if he could feel the blood pulsing just beneath the skin. His resolve weakened, he bared his fangs, and bit down hard onto her thigh. He immediately regretted his weakness, but then a wash of blood filled his mouth and he cared no more.

Michael’s resolve was not so weak that he lost himself to his hunger as he had on the beach. He let go after a few seconds and watched the wound seal. Leigh, spent from their passion, never stirred. Michael wiped his mouth, licking up the last bit of blood that remained there and then leaned over to give her a kiss.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. And then stood up to gather his clothes.

---

It was around 3am when Michael returned to Solomon’s beach house. The place was quiet; Michael assumed that Solomon was out and about, perhaps trying to track down his former contacts in the area. Of Ernie, there had been no sign. Michael was not particularly concerned about that. The longer his psychotic and selfish rescuer stayed away, the better.

“So you’re the whelp who sent Mathias into fits?” said a voice. Michael nearly jumped out of his own skin. He hadn’t heard nor seen a thing.

The vampire who spoke was an ugly diminutive hunchback. If he could stand fully erect, Michael guess him at close to 6’, but as it was he could barely manage 5. His whole body seemed twisted in a wholly unnatural way. The vampire smiled, relishing Michael’s reaction.

“Anyone who can do that is bound to be a friend to me. They call me…Max.”

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