What comes next:
Things continue with Lucy getting quite the buzz off of the drinks she is being given, and starting to notice strange effects that are different from how she feels with alcohol. Eventually Sophronia shows up and between a mixture of luck and clumsiness, the count is killed. Lucy is forever changed by the experience. While Darian doesn't know exactly what happened, he feels terrible about putting Lucy in a situation where she had to kill the count in self defence.
A Bloody Mess: Dangerous Descent
Seeing is believing, but more often than not, things are not as they seem. They are twisted, distorted, illusionary visions of the truth, and even a simple letter can give hints as to the true nature of things. But often, these clear warnings are forgotten or misplaced, or even ignored. At times, others are needed to remind us of forgotten notices, to nudge us in the right direction so that we can see past the illusions made to deceive us.
Fragment One: Concept and Persuasion
Lucy flipped through her mail, sorting personal letters from the mass of junk mail. Flyers, ads, coupons all fell to the floor in a pile of trash. One letter, a yellow envelope, nearly slid into the collection before she looked again at the label and found that it was in fact addressed to her, and yet not. In gold-flecked red print it showed that it had been sent to a Countess Lucy Elizabeth Westenra, and as far as she knew, she was no Countess. It had no return address on front or back. Curious, she began to open it.
"Ready to stick the movie in Luce?"
Shoving the letter, partially open, into her overnight bag with a strangely guilty need to hide it, she quickly tossed the rest into the garbage can. "You bet!"
Sophronia sat down on the couch beside her, and set the bowl of popcorn she was carrying on the table. Grabbing a handful, the writer asked the artist what the movie was about. "Ghosts," she replied.
"Ghosts?" Lucy echoed, "Perhaps that's what I should write my next book on."
"Boss after you again for another Bestseller?"
Lucy laughed, "When isn't he? I think he gets more enjoyment out of seeing them on the list than I do in writing them!"
"Well look how much he makes off of you," Sophronia commented, tossing a handful of kernels at her friend.
Lucy woke suddenly to strange noises, and a strange house. It took a few minutes for her to remember where she was, and it was mostly the fact that she was on a couch covered with popcorn that helped. Eyes half closed, she stumbled into the studio room to see Sophronia painting with eyes completely closed. Afraid to wake the sleepwalker, she watched.
The developing picture was that of a large house in an older style. It was hard to tell if it was built of wood or brick, but it was most definitely brown. There were already six windows completely painted on the front of the house, and both they and the front door were boxed with white wood trim. There were even people to finish off the setting, gazing out the windows. One was a dark haired woman in a white dress, with sorrowful eyes, the other a red (or perhaps orange?) haired man with bold blue eyes set in a pale face. They seemed to be oblivious to each other, staring out of the painting. Both seemed transparent, insubstantial, ghostly.
"Well, this is new."
The sound of the artist's voice startled Lucy out of the trance-like state she'd slipped into, nearly hypnotized by the picture. "You awake? Nice house."
"Yeah, I'm awake. First time I ever painted in my sleep. I think it's the answer to your question."
"What question?"
"About whether you should write about ghosts. I think this is the perfect place for you to start," Sophronia replied, gesturing with her paintbrush to the picture.
Lucy gazed at it a bit longer before commenting, taking in the expressions on the characters' faces. The man looked angry, or perhaps frustrated, slightly contorted, and the woman looked so sad. "They look like they need help . . . but where is it?"
"I think I could draw you a map, I've got directions left over."
"You'll come with me won't you?"
"Nah uh, every time I get dragged into something I get hurt. No way," Sophronia protested.
"But Soph," Lucy pleaded, "I can't do this without you. Do you really want me to go alone? They need our help!"
The artist sighed, relented, and agreed. For as long as she'd known the writer, she'd never seen her walk away without getting what she wanted. Even more so lately, it was a fight not to give in, and like everyone else in the modern world, Sophronia chose the path of least effort.
"Where are you off to this time?" Darian asked as he watched Lucy pack.
"Working on a new book, 'bout ghosts, so Soph and I are taking a little trip up to a haunted house," she explained as she folded her jeans neatly so they would fit in the suitcase.
"Sounds fun."
"Yeah, it will be. Too bad you can't tag along."
"Hey," Darian said, looking hurt, "who says I can't?"
"What are the odds of your boss giving you time off for a wild goose chase of the paranormal?" Lucy teased.
"Lemme make a call, I'm due some vacation time."
Lucy smiled, "Sure, use the phone in the front hall, I need to shower."
Darian grinned, "Can't I use the one in here and watch?"
Sticking out her tongue, she shoved him out the door, closed it and then locked it for good measure.
Still grinning, Darian walked into the hall, picked up the phone, and dialed. His office.
"Bruce."
"Sir, it's Fawkes. Do we have anything big on the go right now?"
"Why?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.
"Lucy's taking a trip, and I was wondering if I could take some of my vacation time and go with her."
"Lucy? Lucy Westenra?" the voice said, suddenly sounding interested. "Of course, go, but check in with us on a regular basis."
"It'll just be for a few days."
"No matter, take as long as you want and check in each day to keep us informed."
Keep us informed? Darian thought as he listened to the dial tone. Why such a sudden interest in my personal life?
"Well? Any luck?" Lucy called as she came down the stairs, drying her hair with a baby blue towel.
"Like putty, the boss is all for it, said to take as many days as I want."
"Wow! I wish my boss was that nice," she commented, tossing her towel down the stairs to the laundry. “I only get a vacation if it's research.”
"Yeah, he's a great guy," Darian replied, secretly wondering what had brought on this sudden change in his superior's personality. "If we can just swing by my place on the way to get Sophronia, I can throw a bag together."
Lucy nodded, "Well then, grab my suitcases and let's get going!"
"What? I'm a bellhop now? Shesh, I'd better get a good tip!" Darian said, grinning widely.
"Tip? Yeah, don't drop 'em or I'll kill you," she replied, smiling, "My laptop is in there."
Darian gasped in mock shock, "Since when do I warrant the privilege of carrying the Mighty Archaic Max?"
"Just shut up and get in the truck."
Fragment Two: Travel and Tourism
The drive was longer than they expected. Sophronia was quiet, nearly napping, except when contributing the directions that popped suddenly into her head as if they were the recollection of forgotten memories; often just after the turn they were supposed to take. Lucy chatted, mostly to herself and her tape recorder, about her plans for the proposed book. Darian nodded at the appropriate places, but mostly stared out the window at the passing scenery, confused by conflicting feelings. His reflection stared back at him from the window, distressed, disappointed, guilty. He was the first to see the house, and it was not quite what he expected.
It was only two floors, and while looking a tad decrepit, it didn't have the typical "haunted house" look. There were no tall towers (for hiding victims and monstrous creations yet to be awakened into life), no tilted metal rooster checking the wind (convenient for collecting lightning), no sudden winds or eerie feeling (f
or scaring off unsuspecting guests). Instead, it was pleasant, with wood siding painted reddish brown, red brick corners, and white trimmed door and windows. There were a lot of windows. There were nine windows on the front facade alone, with another two peering out from the roof, partially hidden by the branches of a neighboring green-leafed tree. The door was of dark wood with windows, surrounded by more thick white trim in the semblance of columns and topped by a white wood arch. It looked like a perfectly normal house, just a little out of repair.
"Are you sure this is the place?"
Lucy glanced over him, "Someone says that every trip. Sure, it doesn't look like much, but this is the place. You're right though, it looks too . . . nice." She poked Sophronia in the side, and the trio clambered out and up to the door.
"Why's we knocking," Soph said, the words slurred and distorted with sleep, "only ghosties live 'ere."
"Just in case, besides, maybe the ghosts will answer and things will be solved right quick. And if not, I'm sure they'll be glad we knocked before storming into their house."
The door opened a crack, "Yes?"
Sophronia jumped back, tripping off the concrete step and falling bottom first into the hedge. The other two tried not to laugh. Darian went to help her up while Lucy addressed the door opener.
"Hi!"
"What do you want?" demanded the deep, mysterious voice from inside.
"Well, in, for one thing."
The man laughed, "No."
"Pwease? We just want to find the ghosts and help 'em out."
The man's eyes widened a bit, and he let the door slide open a bit further. "What ghosts?"
She slid her foot not so subtly into the doorway. She was most definitely not willing to let this opportunity pass by. "The woman and the red haired man, or was it orange, I couldn't tell."
The door opened all the way, and she was pulled in. Darian and Sophronia quickly followed, the latter still picking bristles from her pants, and the door was swiftly closed and locked.
"Nice place you've got here," Lucy commented, taking in the deep coloured wood trim and furniture and the freshly painted forest green walls.
"What do you want?" the man asked again.
Lucy studied him before answering. He was short, only a few inches taller than her 5'4", with shoulder length wavy black hair and eyes that looked as black as a piece of coal in the middle of a moonless night. "I already told you." Offering her hand, she introduced herself, "Lucy Elizabeth Westenra, at your service. These are my companions Darian and Sophronia."
"If you are at my service, than it would serve me for you to leave."
Lucy's eyes changed quickly from disappointment as she dropped her hand to sparkling enjoyment, "Once I get in the door, there's no getting rid of me until my job is done, so you might as well just introduce yourself, shake hands like a good boy, and get used to us."
The man growled, deep in his throat, "Or I could just kill you now and forget you ever existed." Darian rested his hand nervously over where his gun would normally be holstered. He didn't want to see any violence here, especially not aimed at Lucy.
"I'd haunt you if you did."
The man sighed, "You know how to get to a fellow, don't you." Darian relaxed, knowing Lucy had control again.
"Part of the training."
"Training for what?"
"Journalism, psychology."
"Great, a reporter shrink, just what I need."
"I'm a novelist, not a reporter. So, what was your name again?"
"I didn't say."
"I know, but I've always wanted to try that line, see if anyone will fall for it." She offered her hand again.
He sighed again, and Lucy was starting to wonder if he was naturally depressed. "Luthern Lukas O'Rielly. You may call me Luther." He took her hand tentatively, and was shocked, literally, as a faint tingle of electricity flowed from her to him. She did not notice it. He, however, filed that tidbit away, knowing that it meant more than just static on a dry day.
Lucy smiled, content. "Why don't you two grab the bags, and I'll see about getting Luke here to give us a place to crash." Luthern frowned at being called "Luke" but said nothing. He would choose his battles wisely and not waste his energy on something pointless. He was unsure as to why, but to argue with her was almost painful.
Darian nodded and reached for the door handle to open it for Sophronia. "I feel so used and left out," she commented to him as she stepped out in front of him, pausing in the doorway.
"Yeah, but she's good."
"Yeah, she's good."
"She's got guts," Luthern muttered grumpily, "a force of will, but that's all. Not a brain in her pretty little head."
Fragment Three: Home Sweet Haunted Home
While Darian and Sophronia were off getting the bags, Lucy nudged Luthern down the hallway, “So where should we set up for the night?” He opened a door on the left side of the hall and gestured in. It was a fairly large room, with a fireplace at one end. It had the feel of a family room, but lacked any furniture or life. Dust covered everything. “Nice place you've got here,” she commented. He snorted and turned to leave. “Hey now,” she said grabbing his arm, “You still haven't told me why you're here.”
“You never asked, and it's none of your business anyway.”
“Now, now, that attitude will never do if we're going to live together.”
“Live together?” he sputtered, “Ms. Westenra, I don't know what you think you're doing here, but this is my home, and you need to stop overstepping your bounds.”
{Luthern Tarot card bit - this is an actual reading I did}
Fragment ?: Midnight Snack
Lucy woke suddenly to the sound of whispering. She unzipped her sleeping bag and sat up, fighting off a sneeze from the dust she was stirring. Glancing around she found that the sound had not disturbed Darien or Sophronia. The noise came again, and she was sure it was from upstairs. She crept quietly to the staircase and followed the sound. She was positive it was someone whispering, but even as she moved closer to the source she couldn't understand a word. Moving along the upstairs hall, she stopped to listen at each door, finally choosing the last door on the left. She opened it slowly and stepped into the dark, musky room. Her eyes began to adjust after she closed the door behind her, objects starting to take on a faint outline. The longer she looked, the more she saw, however she saw no one. She sat down on the bed, sneezing from the dust as she did. She heard a voice behind her and turned quickly, tangling her feet in the curtains around the bed.
{NEED TO LOOK UP ROUGH DRAFT}
What comes next?
By the end the mystery of the ghosts, the girl a relative of Luthern's, is solved an her spirit is laid to rest. Luthern decided that he really does like Lucy.
The Masque of Theophania
Theophania, "Manifestation of God", the First Born, Angel of Life and Death, traded her existence to give strength to the angels born after her. She was split, fragmented, and the pieces of her soul formed into various objects to be given to the born-angels to help in their service to the Lord. It was a secret ceremony, one that no mortal or martyr-made angel ever knew or would know about. It was private, merely the born-angels with God to oversee. But not all the angels stayed on the side of Good; some Fell.
Fragment One: Smoother than Silk Pants and Soft Leather Boots
Misha watched as the couple entered his shop, mostly ignoring the blond female. He watched the dark haired gypsy male closely, admiring the way his pants clung tightly to his body. His tongue slid out between his lips, making a neat circuit to wet them, then slid back into its place. He grinned when the man deliberately bent over in front of him, under the guise of pointing out a book to the woman with him. “Cher, how you tease and taunt me so.”
The man straightened, smiling, “I must do something to entertain myself, and taunting you is not only easy, but rewarding as well. Misha, I’d like to introduce you to someone, my newest love interest.”
A look
of mock hurt spread across Misha’s face, “ Mais Cher, you take my joie du vivre with your honeychile!”
“Oh hush you,” Luthern replied, grinning, He gestured to his companion, “Lucy Elizabeth Westenra, occult novelist and all around trouble-finder, meet Misha Valace, owner of the Sprite Shop in which we stand, and all around trouble-maker.”
Misha held out his hand to Lucy, looking her over for the first time. She shook his hand, and he could feel her power flowing along her skin. “You needs teach the honeychile shielding, Cher.”
Luthern sighed, “I’ve tried, but her powers aren’t in line with mine. I was hoping you could help, or if you couldn’t, could point us to someone who can.”
“Dere is no harm in tryin’. What is de honeychile dat you cannot help?”
Lucy cleared her throat loudly, “I’m right here you know.”
Luthern laughed, “Misha tends to pay very little attention to the ladies. I’m too much of a distraction for him to remember you.”
Her cheeks flushed as understanding soaked in, “Ah. Sorry.”
“So den honeychile, what you be?” Misha asked apologetically.
Lucy shrugged, “I’m apparently some kind of hybrid vampire, or so I’ve been told.”
He arched an eyebrow questioningly, “Explain.”
Bells chimed as the door to the shop opened, and a large, hefty brown envelope was thrown through the opening. The package struck the writer in the side of the head and began to fall. Misha caught the package deftly, “De mailmen, dey lack a certain savior-faire. Dey should be replaced. De package for you, Countess,” he commented, reading the label.
“I’ve really got to get this ‘Countess’ thing straightened out,” she muttered as she took the envelope. She slid a long crimson nail under the flap and sliced it open. After looking into it, she pulled out a greeting card sized yellow envelope.
“Isn’t that the same kind of envelope you got before?” Luthern asked.
Lucy nodded, “That’s why I’m opening it first. If I’d opened the last one first off, it would have saved a whole hell of a lot of aggravation.” She pulled out an index sized card, and stared at it.
Misha gazed over her shoulder, “Sanguine Aria!”
“I don’t get it.”
“Dat dere is an all inclusive invitation to de best new gothic club. Dey would not let me in without one of dem.” He took the card from her and held it into the light. The name of the club was written in the middle in red ink, in one corner was a picture of a feather-winged demon holding a glass and a guitar, and in the opposite corner was an image of a wine glass with fangs. “Dis is not good.”
Lucy glanced up from going through the rest of the envelope, “Hrmm?”
“Dis invitation, it is marked.”
“Which means?”
“Dis from de council of de vampires, it is marked with deir symbol.” He pointed to the faint lines woven in the card.
“I take it they would find it rude if I turned them down,” Lucy mused as Luthern took the brown envelope from her hands.
“Dey known to kill dose who turn dem down.”
“I’m hard to kill.”
“Be that as it may,” Luthern interjected, “I personally think it would be a great night out for the three of us.”
Misha’s eyes glistened with excitement, “De honeychile would let you bring me?”
The gypsy grinned, “Of course! I can’t just leave you here while we’re out having fun, and it’s the least she can do since she’s got me!”
Lucy hesitated, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Sure! They tried to help you out in the past, so I can’t see them doing anything bad. Besides, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in this outfit they sent. Talk about all inclusive!” Luthern replied, examining the remaining contents of the envelope.
Fragment Two: The Heavens Gaze on Demon Works
Michael looked down from the Heavens upon the Earth and frowned, hand on the hilt of his mighty sword. He approached his Lord, and informed him that the Serpent was up to great mischief. The Lord gave him leave to investigate and gave permission for him to take one of the martyr-made angels with him. The Lord did not want more born-angels on earth than were needed, for once the Fallen saw that the Herald-angel was no longer leading the troops, they would take it as a sign to advance upon the Gates and the born-angels were the only ones powerful enough to hold them back.
Unnaturally-red haired Edrie Engelberta was in a conflict of emotions; she was overjoyed that she would be able to work with the famed war-leading Herald-angel Michael, but reluctant to leave the front line in fear that the Fallen would break through the front lines without her there to stop them. She wasn't actually given a choice though, so she decided that if the Herald-angel called her he needed her help more than the front lines.
Fragment Three: Quick Drink with Nervous Thoughts
Misha and Luthern sat at the bar in Pat O’Brien’s pub, sipping on overly large drinks. The former laughed at his friend as the gypsy struggled in vain to finish the drink. “Cher, dere is a reason dat dey give you another if you finish it.”
Luthern nodded, “I think you’re right, this is one challenge I’ll have to walk away from. Did you want to go sit in the garden?”
“Oui, Cher,” he replied with a sigh of relief. Once the pair had sat on the edge of the fountain among the greenery and dim lantern light Misha relaxed visibly. He twirled his fingers in the grass, and Luthern noticed that the blades he touched grew longer.
“You’re still nervous.”
Misha nodded, “Oui. De invitation, de vampire council worries me.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“Dey manipulative bunch, canaille. Dey always want somethin’.”
“Hey guys, let’s go!”
The pair turned towards the sound and saw Lucy standing in the doorway, blue trench coat and arms both wrapped tightly around her. Her hair was different from before, no longer just straight blond, but streaked with red and wavy, and she wore a pair of new dark red leather boots with a two-inch heel, that almost looked black in a dark room.
Misha stood first and offered a hand to help Luthern up, “Oui, allons. Let us see what de vampires want with de honeychile.”
Fragment Four: Watchers of the Light in Shadows
“Do you See?” Michael asked as they hid in the shadows outside the pub, careful to keep themselves out of the view of mortal eyes.
Edrie nodded, the unbound hair on her right side swaying with the movement, “Aye, I see the Tainted One.”
“Things are not always as they seem, young one.”
“The eyes of an Angel see all.”
“Perception is everything,” the elder angel retorted.
“They’re leaving,” Edrie stated, eager to follow.
Michael held out a hand and indicated for her to stay where she was. She glared at him for a moment before composing herself, knowing that to be angry towards an elder angel was foolish and unbecoming. “We cannot follow as we are.”
“We do the work of the Lord, who will stop us?”
Michael sighed, “Edrie, you have no tact. We are not to advertise our presence on the mortal realm, and as we are dressed now shows us to be far too different from the normal.”
Edrie looked down at her armour, grey in colour and spiked on the shoulders, then glanced at Michael, whose golden armour glowed faintly. “Why not?” she asked, genuinely confused, “When I lived there were plenty of Angel sightings.”
“Most of those ‘sightings’ weren’t actually sightings of angels, and that was a different time. The world has changed since you walked it. If we are to walk among the streets, we must try to fit in.”
Edrie watched as the elder angel changed before her, his holy armour flowing and becoming blue jeans and a ratty t-shirt, clothing common to this place. His broadsword, Theophania, vanished, but the martyr-made angel knew that the sword was never far from his hand. That was a skill that always amazed he
r, and she had been disappointed to learn that it was a talent that lay within the domain of the born-angels alone. She nodded when he was finished, and tried to do the same. She handed him the rapier, Creda, and winged shield, Celeste, she had been lent, which he turned into rings from which she could draw them at need. Her armour faded into a business suit, beige in colour, with a black shirt beneath and a crucifix around her neck, reflecting her bland, business-like manner.
The Herald-angel frowned at her outfit, then shrugged. “Now we follow.”
Fragment Five: From Normal to Surreal
“Mon Dieu,” Misha said quietly in awe, at both the line and the building itself.
Their cab driver turned back, “God, he don’t live dere no more. Dat’ll be six-fifty.” Lucy reached forward and dropped the money into his hand and they piled out. “Dieu vous garde if you be goin’ in dere mes amis.”
The trio stared as the cab drove away. “Wow. You never told us it was so . . . big,” Luthern commented to Misha, “and you’re not one to neglect details of size.”
Misha grinned sheepishly, “Truthly Cher, dis is de first time I’ve seen dis place.”
“But you said they wouldn’t let you in,” Lucy reminded him, puzzled.
“I called first, dere is no point standin’ in line jus’ t’be rejected.”
“Smart. Shall we go in?”
“Oui, allons. Straight to de front,” Misha replied, leading the way through the crowd despite the muttered protests of those they passed. They reached the door of the massive church and Lucy showed the invitation to the bouncer, who held it up into the light, then gave it back to her. He held open the door and gestured them in. The trio entered the main hall of the club, and found themselves staring again.
“This place is huge,” Lucy said breathlessly.
Luthern and Misha nodded in agreement. The hall made full use of the main part of the church. They could see a section with a bar to the right, a room blocked off with a red velvet curtain to the left, and all the way to the band straight ahead, too far away for them to be able to make out any details. Red and black seemed to be the main colours in the décor, but the stained glass above the bar, the curtained room, and in the windows of the second floor balconies were mixed of many colours.
They were shoved out of the entrance as a group of barely legal girls came in behind them, and found themselves by the curtain. Looking up, they saw that the room was labeled “Blood Bath.” A very pale man sat outside the doorway, rocking back and forth on a stool. “I am slowly going crazy,” he sang as he rocked, eyes filled with torment, face twisted into a grotesque grin, “I hate you all and hope you die. Crazy going slowly am I, see you on the other side.”
“Dat dere gives me bad vibes,” Misha commented, rubbing his hands on his arms to hide the goose bumps.
Lucy glanced over at her companion, “He’s hungry.”
“De blood,” Misha asked, suddenly concerned, “Envie pour vous honeychile?”
Lucy blinked in confusion, “That made no sense to me.”
“Don’t worry about it, let’s grab a seat,” Luthern suggested. Lucy nodded. “Aren’t you going to take off your jacket?” Lucy frowned and hesitantly pulled it off. Luthern grabbed it from her so she couldn’t put it back on, then looked over her outfit. It was a tight fitting dress that fell to just above her knee, black and crimson in colour, making her match the club’s décor. Her knee-high boots matched the red perfectly, as did the streaks in her hair.
“Well coordinated honeychile,” Misha commented before he headed over to the bar to grab drinks, leaving other two to find a place for them to sit. Just short of the bar, he stopped, and stared. Before him, just behind the bar, an angel served drinks. Not a real angel, of course, he thought, but surely his beauty is a gift from above. The man was nearly half a foot taller than him, and had eyes of the most fascinating green. His black hair was spiked upward with green gel that further accented his eyes, and Misha found himself falling madly in love at first sight. Stumbling for something to say, he tapped the man on the shoulder. “Did it hurt?”
“Huh?”
“When you fell from heaven,” he said, thinking to himself, I did not just say dat ... Mon Dieu dat was cheesy.
“Actually, yes, it did,” the man replied, “but having wings helped to slow the fall.”
Misha tipped his head to the side with confusion, looking like a cat who had just heard something interesting.
The man laughed, eyes sparkling in ripples as if they were filled with water of a tropical sea. “Name’s Seth, welcome to my club.”
Misha grinned, “Your club? In dat case, can I have a free pass to dis place? Or if not to dis place, to your house?”
The man looked puzzled, “It would be one and the same, I live here, on the second floor. You are?”
“Forgive me, I have been rude. I am Misha, Misha Valace.”
“Well Misha, what would you like?”
“Your phone number? Wait, you mean drinks, yes? I’ll have somethin’ wit’ vodka an’ no sugar. Burgundy wine for my gypsy friend, an’ a Bloody Mary for de honeychile.”
“Which one are you here with?” he asked, making small talk as he gathered three clean glasses.
“Ni l’un ni l’autre, I’m perfectly single,” Misha replied, winking.
Seth nodded as he fixed the drinks, and Misha’s face fell when the bartender did not catch on. “First time here?”
“Oui, de honeychile got de invitation.”
“This honeychile wouldn’t happen to be a Ms. Westenra by any chance?”
Misha nodded, “Oui. You know de honeychile?”
Shaking his head, Seth handed Misha one of the drinks, then frowned. “I’ll give you a hand carrying these. I need to tell Ms. Westenra that one of the council will meet her after we close.”
“You know of de council?”
Seth nodded as they weaved through the crowd to the table at which Luthern and Lucy sat, “We send out a lot of invitations at their behest.”
“Ms. Westenra?” Seth asked as he set down the drinks. Lucy nodded. “If you have no objections, the council would like you to stay until after we close.” Lucy glanced at Luthern, who nodded, before agreeing. “Very good. Enjoy your evening.” He turned to head back to the bar, and Misha turned to Luthern, bouncing on his toes like an eager child.
“Go you, I can see you drooling from here. We’ll be fine.”
Misha grinned, “Is it dat obvious?”
“To me, yes. Now go.”
Fragment Six: Unexpected Visitors Take a Rain Check
Agent Bruce crouched down in the nondescript dingy white van, cautiously and purposely staring out the overly tinted back window. It was quiet where they were parked, sound at the back of the club muted by the thick stone walls. He knew the band on stage though, a gothic rock group dressed as demons who called themselves Demonic Decadence. Agent Peters suffered through a headache for a week after sitting through one of their sessions, horrid noise they call music these days, Agent Bruce thought. He leaned back, squatting, and peered at those of his team in the van with him. He knew they were all qualified, but knew only Fawkes by name; the rest were on loan from the Louisiana department.
A tapping came from the door, then it slid open and one of the local agents climbed in, “The area is secured with an outer line sir. We have conformation of bogies on the inside.”
“Good. Prepare to enter on my signal.” The man nodded and left to pass on the order to the rest of the team. Agent Bruce grinned with anticipation, a wide toothy smile with lips drawn back, and rubbed his hands together. “Finally we’ll get to nail those bloodsucking bastards and wipe them out! I’ve been looking forward to this for months.”
A radio headset on the floor of the van began to emit a faint beeping. Agent Bruce picked it up and slipped it on. “Bruce, go ahead.”
“Sir, we have a problem,” came the cracked, static ridden reply.
“I don’t like problems agent.”
/>
“Sir, Agent Peters has located de special project on de inside with de bogies.”
“Shit, pull out!”
“Yes sir, right away sir!”
“Sir, what is it?” Agent Fawkes asked, concerned, “Cursing is not your usual practice.”
Agent Bruce wiped beads of sweat from his face with his sleeve, “Nothing to worry about Fawkes, we do this another day.”
“But sir-”
“Agent Smith, drive us back to the office.”
Fragment Seven: Bizarre Workings of the Other Realms
The club began to empty around three am, and by three-thirty only Lucy, Luthern and Misha remained of the patrons in the main hall. Even the band had packed up and left for the day. Misha left the bar and walked over to his friends, rubber souls of his knee-high soft leather boots echoing in the huge room, “Bonjour mes amis.”
“How did it go?” Luthern asked, grinning.
“Entre nous,” Misha began, voice low, “I t’ink dat he may come around. A bit slow, but very nice, in many ways. He lives up top, over dere.” He pointed to a stone staircase in the wall between the bar and stage where a “restricted access” sign hung. “He said he’d be here in a minute or so. Somethin’ bout de council vampire not making it.”
Lucy frowned, “I’ve never been stood up before.”
Luthern laughed, then pointed to Seth, who was on his way over to their table.
“Ms. Westenra, I’m sorry to inform you-”
“Lucy, please, call me Lucy.”
“Er-Lucy then. I’m sorry, but the council representative won’t be able to make it tonight. They said to tell you they’ll be in touch.”
“Why?”
“Well, there is apparently a group of anti-vampire fanatics who set up surveillance around the club earlier. They don’t want to risk it. In fact, they suggested that you be sure to have someone escort you home, or that you stay here for tonight.”
Misha’s eyes widened with excitement, “Stay here? Dat sounds like a plan. Dat is, if you t’ink it best.”
“It was the council’s sugges-” He paused, listening. “There’s someone at the door, stay where you are.” He moved towards a small door, hidden in the stone wall, making no sound as he walked. The door sprung open at the touch of an unseen button, revealing a strange looking man, with red skin, a long cape and matching black eyes. He had no pupil, no iris, no white; his eyes were completely black. Sitting at their table, the trio smelt charred flesh on the incoming breeze. The man said something, but they did not hear it. “You aren’t loosing right now, it’s not my job to help you get the upper hand. I work for the side that is loosing,” Seth replied.
The man growled, and looked past him, then turned and left. Seth closed the door and returned to the table.
“What was that about?” Luthern asked.
Seth shook his head, “Nothing for you to worry about just yet. Shall I show you to your rooms?”
“You can show me to yours,” Misha suggested.
Fragment Eight: Missing Persons
Misha woke with a snort, then glanced around to remind himself where he was. He grumbled about having to sleep in a room other than Seth’s, and then stumbled over to wake Luthern. The gypsy batted him away then rolled back over. “Cher, wake up. I need to go shopping. I need better clothes to wear for Seth.”
Luthern groaned, “You can do that without me.”
“Non, Cher. I cannot do dis without help.”
“Take Lucy.”
“De honeychile went out already. I trust your opinion. Aide moi, Cher,” he pleaded.
Luthern sighed and climbed out of the cot, “Fine, fine. Let’s go.”
The pair headed out into the French Quarter in search of clothes for the obsessive Misha. They spotted an alley connected two of the streets filled with clothing, and Luthern suggested they take it to save time. Misha agreed and led the way, but stopped short, Luthern beside him. Before them stood a teenage girl dressed in a gravity-defying outfit. Suddenly, her top decided to get to know the ground better. She giggled, and asked Luthern to help her with it.
Misha glared at her, “Écoutez bien, teenybopper slut from hell, keep your grubby fake nails off mon Cher, or dey will be removed from your fingers!”
She looked up at him innocently, bosom bare to the wind, “I just want his help with my top.”
“It is a very nice top, perhaps you should try wearing it,” Misha commented, “It clashes with dose split ends you have. No conditioner, or is de wind in hell too hot?”
The girl flinched back as if she had been struck, “Why – why you!” She grabbed on to Luthern and hid behind him, pressing herself against his back. Luthern started to pull away, but she dug her nails into his arms and he cried out.
Misha bared his teeth in a snarl, eyes bleeding from blue to silver, “Stay away from mon Cher!” A whirlwind began to form at his feet, lifting his hair as it swirled higher. What looked like leaves floated in it, but as they reached the top they became more defined. They were little people with wings, sprites, and in his rage the nymph blood within him had summoned them. They lined up on each side of him; floating in the air, ready to strike at the object of his anger.
The girl stepped back, pulling Luthern with her and cried out, “EDAN!”
A man stepped out of the shadows behind her and Misha recognized him as the man who had been at the club speaking to Seth, both by appearance and odour. “You have failed, Edna Alvina,” he stated with a deep grumble as he made a fist and smacked it into his open hand. Misha blinked as Luthern collapsed in the girl’s arms, then faded into unconsciousness himself.
Fragment Nine: Strange Ransom
Lucy stepped out of the bookstore with her nose firmly pressed into the pages. What a find! she thought, thinking of the help it would provide in her planned book on occult religions. She wanted change out of the dress she’d been wearing since the night before so she was eager to get back the club where Misha and Luthern were hopefully waiting so that they could head over to Misha’s house. She took a shortcut through an alley where she bumped into someone. She smelt something strange, distinct, and looked up to see the red-skinned man from the club. He held out a piece of paper, shoved it into her open book, and then vanished.
Lucy blinked in confusion and after that unfolded the paper. If you wish to see your friends left alive, she read, go to warehouse 656 dock 10 now. She blinked again and began walking.
Fragment Ten: Holy Avengers to the Rescue! (Or Not.)
Michael pulled Theophania out of thin air as his clothes changed back into his golden armor. “This is not good.”
Edrie followed his lead and returned to her normal clothing as well. She watched the warehouse from the alley as the Tainted One entered. “Why?”
Michael sighed, “This is not how things are supposed to go.”
“Well dat’s jus’ too bad, now ain’t it.”
Michael spun, sword at the ready to face the voice. He spat, “Demonspawn.”
Edrie glared at the dog-sized creature that writhed on the ground in front of them, “Your kind is not fit to walk the Lord’s Earth.”
The creature snickered and snorted, “Tell dat to me friends eh?”
Five more of the creatures sprung out, jumping from the roofs of the buildings around the alley to surround the pair. Edrie swung around to put her back to Michael’s, but he shook his head. “Go inside, stop things from happening, I’ll take care of these.” She nodded, and he lunged at the creatures to clear her a path.
She stepped into the warehouse and smelt charred flesh. She spotted the two innocents, unconscious and bound to the far wall, guarded by what she recognized as a succubus. She then noticed a Fallen addressing the Tainted One. The red skinned Fallen handed a long, twisted dagger to the Tainted One, “Your life for theirs.” The man looked up, sensing the angel’s presence, and she found his eyes to be nothing more than black pits of darkness. “Do you have any objection, martyr-made?”
&
nbsp; Edrie shook her head, “If the Tainted One wishes to redeem herself in trade for the safety of innocents, she may. It will not save her from her fate.”
The Fallen grinned, and gestured for the Tainted One to thrust the dagger into herself, “Life freely given for life freely taken.”
Fragment Eleven: Transformations and Killing Fun
Lucy screamed as the metal bit into her flesh, screamed, but felt no pain. She felt as if something was crawling in her skin, trying to escape. She felt as if she was changing.
Michael burst through the door and slid to a stop behind Edrie, panting uncharacteristically. “Edrie! I told you to stop things!”
She looked at him with confusion, “The innocents are safe.”
Michael shook his head in frustration, “You don’t know everything. This is what you were supposed to stop.”
“Why do you fret about the Tainted One? The innocents are saved.”
“Not tainted, no, she is more pure than you or the innocents. You have given the Lord of Hell the chance at an Angel more powerful than you can imagine.” Edrie stared in shock, stammering an apology. “Too late, get the innocents out of here.”
Bending over, dagger still sheathed within her, Lucy felt something burst out from her back and discovered wings jutting out from each side of her spine. They were white, feathered, but beginning to stain black and crimson. Bloody tears streamed down her face.
Michael sheathed his sword and stepped towards her. “Lucrezia, hear me.” She gazed up at him, eyes as black as those of the Fallen that stood to the side, grinning. “Lucrezia, fight the taint, you are the Light, see through the Darkness.” She said nothing, merely looked at him, still bent over, blood pouring. “Lucrezia,” he said again, “you have a choice. If you cannot reach the Light, seek haven in the Shadows. If not Light, be Balance. Go not into the Darkness.” She blinked at him, some of her lower feathers fading back to white.
“Aw shit,” the Fallen said as he turned to run. He managed three steps before his head fell to the ground, no longer attached to his body. His body dissolved into flames, charring the floor beneath. Lucrezia stood over the spot where he had landed, trademark scythe in hand. On her face was a mask, half black, half white, with a crown of crimson roses and ribbons of green trailing down the sides. The succubus screamed, and Lucrezia sent her head flying as well. Silence filled the warehouse, no sound, no motion.
Fragment Twelve: Aftermath
Michael caught Lucrezia as she fell, dropping his sword, and gently laid her on the ground. He felt for a pulse, and found none. Edrie cut Misha and Luthern free and let them slump to the ground before timidly approaching the Herald-angel. “What can I do?” she asked.
Michael shook his head, “Nothing. It would take a loss of life to bring her back in this body.”
“Take mine,” she said. Michael shook his head. “I need to do this, this is my fault. Let me fix it.”
“You would give your life for one who is ‘tainted’?”
Edrie shook her head, “Not tainted, I’ve learnt my lesson. What you see is not always what is true.”
Michael smiled, “Good, you have learnt. If you truly wish to do this, you may.”
Grinning, Edrie placed her hand over Lucrezia’s heart, “You mean I need permission?” She closed her eyes, and changed into a woman-shaped collection of light that flowed down into Lucrezia.
Lucrezia woke, coughing, eyes back to the violet Lucy displayed. She raised a hand to her forehead and moaned, “What happened?”
Michael laughed, “Why don’t we get you and your friends home, then we can talk. Might want to hide those wings though.”
“Wings? What wings? I have wings? Why do I have wings?”
A Bloody Mess: A Spritely Situation
Within all beings dwells an inner strength that is seldom drawn upon. Often it is suppressed out of fear, fear of the consequences and the fear of knowing what one is truly capable of. In some situations, however, it is unavoidable, and erupts from the pressure of containment in a way that may not be ideal.
Fragment One: Unwelcome Advances
Misha woke to an uncomfortably familiar weight upon him. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to move. The weight shifted, making itself more comfortable.
“Did you really think that they could keep you from me for long?”
“Leave me be ‘Enri, get off,” Misha demanded, trying to shove his way free.
“Ah no, you stay where you belong, beneath me.” He grabbed Misha’s wrists, pinning him to the bed with his full weight. Little tears formed in the sheets where his nails pressed, and in the flesh they touched.
“You are ‘urting me, ‘Enri, let me go. You are not welcome ‘ere.”
Henri grinned darkly, “I have not even begun to hurt you.” He pulled back the blanket. “Ah, I see you were not expecting anyone. You only dress to tease, yes?” He ran a finger along Misha’s naked side. “This brings back memories.”
“’Enri, please . . .”
“Shh,” he replied, kissing him. Misha bit down on his tongue. “Oh, you are a naughty boy. What has happened to my timid one while I was gone? You need to be taught your place again.” He pressed himself against him harder and began to change. His hands became paws, little tears forming in the sheets where his claws pressed, and in the flesh they touched. He tightened his grip, blood beginning to soak the bed.
Misha cried out, “’Enri, stop! Mon Dieu, what has become of you?”
Henri smiled, baring sharp fangs, “I have been given more power, so that I may take you back from those who keep you from me.”
The door bell rang, a musical sound throughout the house. Henri looked down at Misha, “Stay.” He walked over to the window and peeked out the curtains, changing back to his normal form as he did. He saw both a man and a woman at the door, and sensed power from them both. “You did not tell me you were expecting guests. Shall I go invite them to join us?”
“No,” Misha said quickly, “dey just work in my shop. Leave dem be, please ‘Enri, dey did nothing.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Very well. I shall return tonight. You will be here, and alone, yes? Or there will be consequences.” He moved to a side window, and climbed out it, blowing a kiss as he did.
Fragment Two: The Daily Grind Continues Unhindered
Misha dressed quickly in the leather pants and loose, sheer shirt he had set out the day before. He picked a pair of zip-up brown boots from his closet and pulled them up to his knees. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he dove down the stairs. “Bonjour me amis!” he said with pleasant relief as he threw open the door.
“My, someone is happy to see us this morning,” Luthern commented with a smile.
Misha grinned, “Cher, it is always a bright day when your face is dere to greet me.”
“Always the flatterer,” the gypsy laughed, “Come on, Lucy went back to the car. We'll be late opening up thanks to your sleepy ass.”
“As long as you are noticing my ass, dere is no loss.”
Lucy stopped the car outside a small shop, the sign declaring it “The Sprite Shop”. It was average from the outside, looking like a typical tourist stop for those wanting to bring home voodoo souvenirs to scare their friends. Inside, it was beautiful, all wood furniture, and even a small fish pond in the corner. The two men piled out of the car and Luthern moved to the driver's side to wish Lucy a good day at work. She grabbed his hair and pulled him in the open window for a kiss. Misha snorted in feigned jealousy, “We 'ave work, it is not de time to play.” Lucy grinned and waved as she drove off.
Misha searched in his pockets for his keys as the pair approached the door. “A little unorganized today boss?” Luthern asked, concerned.
He shook his head, “Dere is no problem Cher, just not enough sleep. I need to use de phone. Would you mind opening de shop yourself?”
“Not a problem.”
Misha stepped onto the small pond, his feet resting on the water's surface, and
opened the hidden door to his office. He realized that he could have used the phone at the front desk, but he wanted privacy. Sitting down at a cherry wood desk, he picked up the phone and dialed.
“Blessed Sacrament.”
“'ello, Father Wallace s'il vous plait.”
“Please hold, I'll see if the father is available.” Misha drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for the operator to return, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. “I'm sorry sir, the father is not picking up the line. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Non, I will call again.” He set the phone down and placed his head in his hands.
Fragment Three: Needed Distraction
“Something has been bothering you all morning,” Luthern said, grabbing Misha's arm. “I can tell you don't want to talk about it, but you need to stop thinking about whatever it is before you fall apart. We're taking an extended lunch.”
“But de store . . .” Misha said halfheartedly.
“It is a slow day, and none of the things we sell is needed urgently. We're going to the club.”
“I suppose I cannot deny you Cher, you always know what is de best for me.”
Sanguine Aria was never very busy at two in the afternoon. The gothic church building, converted to a nightclub, would not be open until ten, and the only people within it now were staff, hurrying to clean the mess from the night before. Luthern unlocked the staff entrance and opened the door, unleashing the sounds of a herd of vacuums at work. The club was lit brightly by ceiling lights that could not be seen while the club was open. “It seems so much bigger den at night,” Misha commented. Luthern smiled and led the way to a table near the bar. Some of the cleaning staff waved, others just carried on with their business. He spotted Seth washing the bar counter and waved him over.
“Hello friends, what brings you here at this hour?” Seth asked with a pleasant smile.
“Just wanted your company,” Misha replied.
Fragment Four: Regretful Realization
Misha woke as the sun began to shine on his face. He grumbled, amazed that he had forgotten to shut his curtains. He pulled off the covers and slid off the bed. He opened his eyes as his feet touched cold wooden floor and not his lush carpet. “Where . . ?” He glanced back at the bed and saw Seth. A grin spread across his face.
“Morning sleepyhead.” Misha turned to see Luthern walking in from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He smiled, but then shock filled his face. “What's wrong?” Luthern asked, dropping his towel and moving to his side.
“It is morning,” Misha replied.
“It happens every day,” Luthern replied, confused.
“You don't understand. I need a phone.”
Luthern nodded, “Might as well use the one at the bar. Don't want to wake Seth up any more than we already have.”
“Merci.”
Misha sat on the floor behind the bar and pulled the phone out from under it. “Father Wallace,” he asked when the line was answered. He sighed and hung up, having received no reply yet again. Grabbing a pen and paper from under the bar, he left a note for his friends and headed out the side staff door.
Blessed Sacrament was not quite the largest church in the city, but it was an intimidating size. To stand before it made one think of what it was like to stand before the lord in his great glory. Misha always felt small staring up at it, but also comforted. The front doors were large, ornate wooden arches, with a smaller door set just to the side of them. It was through the smaller door that Misha entered into the reception area. A desk rested at one end of the room with a flustered looking nun sitting behind it. The rest of the room was filled with chairs, looking more like a doctor's waiting room than a church.
“Father Wallace, s'il vous plait,” Misha asked as he approached the desk.
The nun shook her head, “'E is not 'ere.”
“Where 'as 'e gone?”
She flipped through an appointment book on her desk. “'Ere, 'e's gone to fill in for Father 'Orace. Father 'Orace is sick.”
“So Father Wallace is out of de city?”
“Oui, until Monday.”
Misha nodded, and left the building, leaning against the wall of the church, sighing in relief. Feeling better, he returned to the club to think of what to do about his visitor.
Fragment Five: Unwanted News
Misha sat in the corner booth, soberly nursing a fruity drink. He had said nothing to Luthern in several hours, and the gypsy had left to find Seth, hoping the other could help. He saw the policemen entering by the movement of the crowd. The young, the ones with the fake ids, the ones with things to hide, moved to the sides of the room, hoping to avoid notice. In doing so, they drew more attention to themselves, but they were in luck; it was not they for whom the bell tolled.
They stopped at Misha’s table, and he looked up at them gloomily. “Mr. Valace, we’d like to speak with you.”
“What’s going on?” Seth asked as he and Luthern arrived at the table.
One of the officers looked over at him, “I’m afraid there’s been an . . . accident at the Sprite Shop. I’m going to have to ask Mr. Valace to come with us. Are you two friends of his?”
“Yes, we are.”
The officer nodded, “Then you may come as well.”
The trio stood outside the yellow tape, watching the movement of the officers inside. Broken glass coated the ground. An officer lifted the tape, and gestured them in. They walked slowly towards the door of the store, starting to see red footprints on the asphalt. The world went silent to Misha as they stepped inside. His eyes wandered around, seeing the fresh coat of red on the walls, avoiding seeing what sat on his desk.
“Do you recognize the victim? Do you have any idea who would have done this?” the officer asked.
With the question asked, he could no longer avoid it. His eyes settled on the object, his face blank. Red-brown hair fell around the face, black eyes staring out at nothing. Blood pooled around the stump that held it upright on the table. “Audrea . . .” Misha felt faint, falling back. Seth reached out and caught him before he reached the floor.
Fragment Six: Once More in the Arms of an Angel
Misha woke to find himself curled up against Seth, clinging to him like a security blanket. He had spent the night avoiding telling Seth and Luthern about Henri, and trying to think of anyone else that he could threaten. With Father Wallace being out of town, he was hopefully safe. Misha had no idea Audrea was in town. She was supposed to be away at school. Now she was never coming home. He sat up on the edges of the bed and realized for the first time in his life, he was truly angry. His nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists.
What come next?
Misha deals with his sister’s death, Henri meets Seth, Misha and Seth become an item.
Children of the Night
"Arise my Children! Long have you lain, awaiting my call to awaken. Now is that time. Now, my Children, is your time. Once, we had conquered the night, but as ages have passed without our presence the day-walkers have begun to forget their fear of the night. You must take back the night, and with it the day! Remind them of what they have forgotten. Remind them why, since the dawn of time, man has held a primal fear of the darkness. This I do command of thee!"
So came the call of the Master to the Dark Triad, who awoke as one and climbed from the coffins in which they lay. Long had the trio slept, but even longer had they lived, forever in a state of Undeath. They hastened to do their Master's bidding, spreading their vampiric essence to others, drawing them in, bound by blood and a common hunger. They began to doubt though. As the Master fell to dust, his True Death brought about by his Children, the trio came into their own.
The first to bring her doubts to the attention of the others was Lizette ShadowWatcher. She'd always had a habit of collection information, and had been the first to realize that perhaps there was a better way. She'd long held a grudge against the Master as well. Revenge had been part of her motive, but
not the whole. After breaking the bond her Master had set against her powers, she began to study mage craft, the art lost along with her true life. Suppressed by a fearful Master her powers had remained unused, but the inborn talent could not be destroyed. Due to her powers of observation, and ability to work with others despite her emotions, the mage was made into the Ambassador.
The one who became Leader of the Dark Triad was Iris ShadowWalker. She was the warrior, and used her skills to great effect in battle. Her crimson hair was the same colour as the blood she drank. Trained both before and after her Undeath, she had become more powerful than she'd thought she could be.
Solaris ShadowStalker, her very name a mockery of her state, was and always would be a thief. She stalked amongst the shadows for unknowing victims. Given the title of second in command, she was made Vassal within the Clan.