The Hybrid Theory

My entire life began, and ended, with her.

Black Sync is a great club. A vampire club, actually, its London’s only vampire club. I say ‘only’ I don’t mean it in that sense. There are quite a few in England’s greatest city, but Black sync is the only one I would be seen dead in. Quite literally.

Unlike the other clubs, they don’t advertise, and only the select are let in, vampires on their own, or with a few servants or prey. The new vampires, and the wannabes all hang out at other clubs. Goth posers the lot of them, all in black with painted pale skin. They hang about, being terribly morbid and listening to Marilyn Manson. Don’t get me wrong, I rather like the guy, but you can’t just say you like to drink blood, but never live up to it. Half these kids would throw up at the mere scent of the stuff.

So like I said, Black sync is a pretty classy club. Dark to be true, but it suits us all. There’s a well stocked bar, a dance floor, the new DJ is really quite good, and privacy of a sort, in little booths, sectioned off by velvet drapes.

It was there that I first saw her.

A night, no different from any other. As I recall it was a Friday, I had the weekend ahead of me and work behind. Yes, I’m a vampire with a day job, our kind could have never survived all these years if we couldn’t stand in the daylight. I don’t like the sun, and harsh sun is bad for my skin. I don’t tan well.

Fresh from The Ice Box, I was dying for a drink and after Barren had given me one, adding it to my eternal tab I found myself an easy chair in the corner and nursed my warmed glass. Fresh stuff, only ever the best. They were playing ‘Forsaken’, a good vampiric song, the heavy metal bass beats thrumming in on the tail end of HIM’s ‘Salt in Our Wounds’. I smiled to myself, and had a look about, to see who was there that evening.

I recognised some, but I will not bore you all with what little I know of my acquaintances. Aska was there, smiling over two humans, one of each, both playing to his every whim. Mais and Annis, each with servants I had seen before, vampire hopefuls. Others on the dance floor and hidden away in booths, as much human blood in the room as vampiric to be sure.

We vampires can tell a lot by the scent of the living, by the scent of the blood pumping through their veins. No lycan or demon would ever set foot in this place, they too can smell the differences in another’s blood, and I know for myself that this place reeks of vampire.

And so it is that I scent a familiar vampire at my elbow, and I turn to see Ranyah standing in the shadows behind me. A hazel haired beauty boy if there ever was one, all gothed up in black lipstick and eyeliner for the night, black trousers and little else.

“Rani.”

“Good evening Jaone. No prey tonight?”

“Not me, friend. But you seem to be alone, for once in the last century.” My words are spoken too soon for out of the doorway behind him comes his most recent, and most long remaining partner. A human, the boy has deep red hair, and has obviously been given Ranyah’s black and sexy treatment. He looks fit to eat.

“You know Reid?”

The boy gives me a smile, slightly nervous as I grin to show a hint of fang, and takes Ranyah’s arm.

“Not well enough I fear. You boys on your way out?”

My long time friend gives me a smile like I should know better and reaches out to stroke his companion’s hair, a mix of lust and love in his dark eyes.

“It’s goth night at Ozun. You wanna come?”

I look at them both, their closeness. This Reid seems absolutely smitten with Ranyah and my friend seems to be in no hurry to drink from him. I can see that they really don’t want my company, and anyway, I am all sparkles and glitter from The Ice Box. I declined the invitation and Ranyah dares to ruffle my hair on his way out with his new toy on his arm. A kiss goodnight is blown my way and I smile, returning to my drink.

Like all my kind, I am pale as Death and colder to the touch than a gravestone made of marble. Unlike my departed friend however, my eyes are a deep purple. They were once blue, long ago now, and have changed over time. My hair is raven black, and while I have worn many different styles over the ages I like it long these days, with shorter strands about my eyes. I know I am fairly thin, vampires do not have the metabolisms to gain much weight and it helps my general style this evening.

While Ranyah and his pretty boy and a few others favoured modern gothic or industrial looks, most others still stuck to the old ways, wearing robes of velvet or period costume. Few of us experimented. I was one of them, and that night I sat in my chair wearing platform boots, flared trousers and a waistcoat, all black. My trench coat, black again and lined with glimmering silver hung over the back of my chair. The hair that hung in my face was streaked with silver glitter and trails of the stuff wound around my arms, under my shirt and up my throat, a tempting idea. My mauve eyes were lined through with black glitter, which simply served to complete the look and make my skin seem even paler in comparison.

Among humans and vampires alike I got plenty of odd looks for my dress sense. Glam had been confined to the early seventies before punk came along and it was rarely mixed with goth successfully. Of course, it didn’t stop the usual offers for a dance, or the humans longing glances. I knew what they wanted, but biting in public wasn’t my style or my pleasure.

I was about half way down my glass was when it happened. The door opened yet again, and looking back, I felt the whole club, music included stopped and stilled at that moment and she stood there in the open doorway to the long drawn out notes of ‘Romanticide’. I like to think that everyone halted to look at her then, and possibly it is not my imagination, possibly they all did pause in their actions, drinking, dancing or whatever, and looked at her standing there. For from her came an aura of power. But what struck every vampire in Black Sync firstly about the girl in the doorway was her scent.

She was tall, for a girl, and looked so very out of place. Pale skin, almost but not quite vampire pale, and russet brown hair that hung to her waist. The ends were stained blood red and one look about her, the upper edges of her eyebrows, un-plucked and natural, showed that this was no dyed in colour. She wore blue jeans, faded and well worn, a key chain on one hip, grey long sleeves with a black tour t-shirt over the top, and a pair of red flamed goth boots. There was something in her eyes, eyes that seemed to swirl inky blue with emerald green, a haunted almost frightened look, magnified by the slanted set of her shoulders and the way she stood just inside the door. She half turned to close it, giving us her profile against the black night, studded with London’s factory fabricated stars. Then she turned back to us all and the whole place seemed to draw a long shuddering breath.

She was watched, fairly openly, as she walked to the bar, her boots making a resounding sound against the black lino floor, enough to show us that she was real and not some strange dream, and leant her elbows on the bar. It only struck me then that in human terms at least she was underage, no more than seventeen.

I said that it was her scent that struck us all, and now I will tell you why. For that night we all smelt something new, fresh, and strange. She was not human, no, nor vampire. Nor was she a lycan with a death wish or a demon with guts, oh no, nothing that simple.

That night a scent reached my nostrils, and it was vampiric, lycanthrope and demon all mixed into one and tainted with blood and death. And through all of our minds flashed a horrid, inexorable thought that we did not want to hear.

Hybrid.

Now, I have known Barren for a long time, and he is not the sort to snub an unusual customer or turn them out before they have done something to prove them worth of his contempt. He went to the girl, not too close, and inquired what she wanted.

“Vodka with a shot of rhesus negative please.” Her voice was, normal, no shuddering overtones, no haunting melody, no hints of a growling edge.

“Sure thing,” Barren poured alcohol and blood into a glass at the same time, insuring a good mix of flavours and handed it to her, “That’ll be two quid please.”

The girl dropped a pair of pound into his hand and took her drink, flashing him a smile. Innocent. As she put the edge of the glass to her lips, a voice spoke out.

“You can’t do that.”

All eyes shifted now to fall on the one of our number who had spoken. Ward, and old-fashioned vampire with old-fashioned morals.

She downed the whole drink and set the empty glass on the smooth wood of the bar. With an absolute slowness she turned to face Ward, walking towards him. There was something in her now, her shoulders no longer sloping. She no longer looked like a moth in front of the flames about to flit away. One long fingered hand rested on her hip, the other hung at her side. All in all, it was a very male pose.

“And why not?” Her voice had a hard edge now, overtones of steel and stone.

“You’re a- You’re a-”

“Go on,” the words were bitten off and harsh, “Tell me what I am.”

For the first time in his life, I saw Ward fail for eloquent words to reply to that. He failed to reply at all. The strange girl snorted through her nose at him before Mais spoke up.

He was reclined on a sofa, his prey almost sitting in his lap, coquettish and petting him as he sat there. There were bite marks along her neck and fresh one on her shoulder. Mais is an old world vampire, it was he who gave Ranyah to our ranks, and young Rani is no more than a child, though he outdates this centaury and the one preceding it.

“Abomination.” Was the word that passed his lips.

In two heavy steps she stood in front of him, a look of utmost distaste or her face.

“Really?”

“Don’t you think you should leave?”

At that moment her head snapped round. Barren was removing her glass from the bar to wash in up, he’d hardly made a sound as his fingers touched the tumbler.

“Leave it, please, I’ll have another.”

Barren nodded, his brown eyes echoing the surprise we all felt that she’d heard him.

“I have every right to be here. As much as you do.”

We knew her words to be true, there was no sign, written or un-written, that said ‘Vampires Only’ because there had never been need of one. And she was a vampire, at least in part, we could all tell that.

She returned to the bar, downed her second drink and paid Barren. Her smile it seemed was free for him. As she walked onto the dance floor, my eyes never left her. She didn’t dance, just stood stock still under the changing lights until she opened her mouth, and I swear, if I hadn’t smelt the demon in her, I would have pledged my soul that it was an angel’s voice that fell from her lips. A wayward one, but an angel nonetheless. That girl found the melody in the song and joined in harmony with it, her voice perfect in that talent. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

The song ended abruptly, changing into the next, far heavier tune and she stopped singing. Suddenly I found green-blue eyes turned on me, and never before in my entire un-life have I felt that my soul was being examined that closely. Then she was gone, in a swirling shroud of mystery, away into London’s night life.

That night there was a new word on every vampire’s lips, a new scent in the air around us. A threat perhaps, or maybe a gift.

Hybrid.

The social underground of London thrives, as does its upper world counterpart. There are fewer of us. One immortal for every few hundred humans. It is true to say that London is the heart of all immortal affairs. The great councils are held in the city, and it is also the main meeting point of the races. We don’t mix, as a rule, there has been much animosity in the past, something we are trying to put behind us these days.

When I say ‘immortal’ I don’t mean it as truth, but it is the phrase used. We cannot die from disease and most human methods are fairly ineffective. Demons chose the rate at which they age, and because of their allegiance they can incarnate at will. My kind, and the lycans only age one year for every few hundred human ones, and drinking blood keeps us young. Drink no blood and you will die a very slow aging death, growing old in the process.

Enough of distractions. There are two places where our kinds mingle freely. One is the place of discussions and council, old law courts bought for our purposes long ago. The other is The Font, a wholly black club which caters for immortals, and their human servants only. It was here that I went when I woke the following evening.

The Font is a very odd sort of place, a fantastic mix of styles and cultures. I hate repeating myself, and so my outfit was different for tonight. Black trousers and boots and a velvet blood red shirt that flowed loose over my shoulders as well as a silver band around my neck, my hair flowing loose.

Out on the dance floor, I was accosted by my only real friends that were not of my own race and we three found ourselves a little table in the corner, each with a glass of blood in hand.

Kotac was the lycan, the werewolf, but he currently wore his human form, the socially acceptable one in public. Half wolf forms tend to dominate those around them, and a full wolf form is impossible to hold a conversation with. He appeared to be twenty in human years, with short cut blond hair and blue eyes. Kotac always wore a tan, and his golden hued skin was shown off by the mesh top he had on.

I had known him a while, and we had met in this very club, both dancing to the same song. Always smiling, like now, and his voice bubbled with ever-present laughter when he spoke. White teeth showed a mere hint of fang.

Our demon was Arken. Arken was an odd sort, choosing the form of prey species over predator, but he was mighty and feared all the same. He was coated in chestnut brown fur all over, his hands ended in black talons and his un-shod feet were similar, but not of a shape that would fit shoes of any sort. Though his face was human, he had a deer’s nose, and an almost hare lip, but that was the effect of the chiselled look. Round amber eyes regarded us all from under two pairs of horns, one set were black and curling like a bison’s, the other set were a deer’s antlers. He had deer’s ears poking out from under his hair, hair which was long and swept back, a continuation of his fur. His garb matched his attitude, un-loving of technology and modern society. A plain leather tabard, clinched together at the sides, bare arms and feet. There was a dagger at his waist, long thin and dangerous looking. Not that he needed a weapon, I had no doubts that in Arken’s ability to kill a human at a hundred paces, and that was without blinking.

“Have you heard?” Kotac sounded excited and thrilled, and fearful.

“No.” I replied honestly. Arken was regarding me with serious eyes, and I could feel his chide at my game.

“What?!” The young Lycan practically jumped out to throttle me, and a lesser friend would have hurt him then, blood shed would have followed. Many of our kind are still very distrustful of others. To my pride, I didn’t even flinch.

“I haven’t heard Kotac. I saw.”

“You were there?” I could feel his surprise, and his envy, as he slipped into his perfected slump and pouted.

We were, of course, discussing the appearance of the hybrid girl in Black Sync. It was the only conversation in the room. Rumours, stories and worries passed from mouth to mouth and from mind to mind and I felt several of my kin’s tenuous contacts on my consciousness. Not least Ranyah’s. He had missed all the news and he had told me he was on his way to see me. The two words on everyone’s lips though, were Who and How. It was the only thing no one had an answer for, and there were few theories as to the matter either.

Even modern kin could see how damaging this was to all the clans, a merging of the species and while some humans would preach on about racial equality and freedom, their cake-icing values held no sway over the immortals. This merging should be impossible, truly and totally so. An immortal bitten or turned by a different race died instantly, the demons said it was the ‘Law of Lucifer’ not that I could believe that.

I told Kotac and Arken what I had seen.

“She just waltzed in, got a drink, talked down to Ward and Mais, and had another drink,” I wondered whether I should tell about her singing, that Dark Angel’s voice coming from her lips. I decided against, but I knew that they both would have heard other stories already, and my silence spoke for something, “She just left.”

A slow easy smile spread over Kotac’s face.

“I wonder what her name is.”

“A lot of us wonder a little more than that.”

Kotac yelped at the sudden voice from behind him and I smiled, looking up to meet Ranyah’s dark eyes. In The Font it is harder to smell newcomers since the place is always packed and demon, lycan, vampiric and human scents all mix and linger there. I felt him coming, if only because of our mind link. The goth slips into a seat and I am surprised to see Reid slip half into, half onto the big chair along with his friend. He is less goth today, both are, lacking lipstick and eye shadow and most of their leather and studs. Instead I am surprised to see a white ribbon tied loose around Ranyah’s throat.

Kotac makes a noise of surprise and his eyes shoot from Ranyah to Reid, predatory. Arken on the other hand just nods to the slightly nervous looking human and offers him a rare smile. But Ranyah’s greetings are stalled by his low growl in his throat, directed at Kotac. The lycan’s eyes had not left the human’s slender frame and my fellow vampire wraps a possessive arm around his friend. A very clear mental warning flashes across the table.

Mine.

Fortunately, Kotac isn’t fool enough, or brave enough to take on Ranyah and sits back in his chair. He inclines his head, part greeting, part submission. My friend’s all slip back into normality and the moment of tension so palpable it could be sliced with a knife, leaves us.

“So, Jaone, what’s the news?”

“There’s a hybrid in town.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Arken gives Kotac a look that makes him shut up, and for the first time now I hear our human companion speak. His voice surprises me, it is lower that I thought, very boyish.

“Surely that’s not possible?”

“A good observation young one,” Arken nods to him and places his furred hands flat on the table, “It seems that someone, or several someone’s have found a method that works.” His amber eyes take a quick flick over Reid and I see one almost invisible eyebrow rise in surprise. He has noticed what I saw last night, Reid has no bite marks, Ranyah has kept him pure still.

“But why?”

The human impresses me with his questions, this one is not blind, or stupid, and while he does hold tight to Ranyah, the other’s arms looped around him, his eyes are turned our way. Inquisitive.

“Revolution. Idiocy. War. Who can say?” Arken shook his regal head and ran a hand through his hair, “In my opinion either this is some freak mistake or someone is trying to goad the Elders into action.”

His words caused us all to fall silent in thought. There are plenty of classifications regarding the age of immortals. Ranyah and Kotac are fairly young, Ranyah is two hundred years old, Kotac much younger, and they are both ‘modern’ immortals. Myself, I have lived on this earth twice Ranyah’s years and Arken is far older still, hailing from the turn of the last millennia. The Elders are older than any of us by a span of time great than our ages combined, they are the Father’s of our races, direct descendants of the very first three, and they have been around for longer than any memory, living or dead.

“That,” I said slowly, “Is a very dangerous thing.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a shout from the other side of the room and the air is filled with cries of “Abomination!” before all fall silent with death-like singularity. We can see why.

At first it is hard to spot her, her scent is masked by the overall smell of the club, but now she is obvious. Very different from last night, I swear that her hair is the only thing that hasn’t changed. It is bound back with a long stretch of wide black ribbon and tonight everything about her is black. She is wearing the boots again and a pair of black trousers with plenty of pockets. A black top with mesh sleeves and white mesh lain over the top of opaque material covering the rest. At her wrists, waist and throat glitter steel studs.

She turns to face her audience, her lips are black and her eyes are ringed with darkness as well, eyes that swirl with inky blue like the sky before a storm. We are all captivated as she picks up her glass, nods to us all and drinks it.

A movement in the corner of my eye grabs my attention and suddenly I find myself wanting to shout out to her, but my throat doesn’t seem to want to work. A vampire, one I only vaguely recognise, leaps out at her. His hand catches of her throat, teeth bared, going it for a swift kill. I don’t think anyone there saw exactly how he ended up flat on his back looking up at her, his own neck pressed to the floor by her boot. The speed of it all amazed us.

As fast as she had arrived, she turned and stalked out of the door. There was a second of indecision before most of The Font’s patrons poured out of the door, staring down the alley, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but she had vanished like a wraith in the wind.

I went home that morning with an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

I slept until about midday on Sunday, and rose feeling rather drained. My apartment is on the fourteenth floor of a rather nice city block, upper class with a great view of London. You can’t see the stars, but the Thames is like a river of flame come night time and the lights go a way to creating a second day. These days, street lights are my stars, and the darkness in between are my hunting grounds. The apartment is spacious and rather sparse in its decoration. The kitchen is clean as the day it was fitted, the fridge empty and the freezer contains nothing but a few bottles of back-up and plenty of prime cut steak. The open plan main room contains a sofa, an easy chair and a stereo system that would make most technology buffs drool. My records, eight tracks, tapes and CD’s are stored away in boxes, all the music is in electronic format now. There is a minimalist bathroom and my bedroom contains nothing but a wardrobe and a four-poster bed decked out in blood red sheets.

Though it pains me to admit it, but that night I had fallen asleep in my clothes. I got up, extracted myself from trousers shirt and necklace and took along hot soak in the bath.

Inevitable as gravity, I found my thoughts turning towards the girl. Who was she? Where had she come from? How had she beaten that vampire without a second’s thought? Lost in my thoughts, I slipped into oblivion and slept the afternoon away in the bath.

“I’m afraid I really don’t understand the fuss.”

Ranyah smiled over at his human companion. Both fresh from the shower, Reid sat on top on the bed they’d ‘borrowed’ for the night at Black Sync wearing a towel while Ranyah stood in a similar state of undress, dragging a brush through his long damp hair. Eventually the vampire went over to the bed, depositing the brush on the table and leaning over to kiss the top of the human’s head, damp red locks cool on his lips.

“That’s because you’re young, and human.”

“You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

Ranyah chuckled and knelt on the bed, turning Reid’s head so that he could place a kiss on the pouting lower lip.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He purred softly.

Reid smiled and wrapped slender arms around his vampiric lover.

“You won’t have me at all until you explain better than that.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You want it to be one?” Reid curved an eyebrow, his mouth a stubborn un-kissable line. Ranyah sighed and relented.

“All right, all right.

“Back in the old days, way before I was even born, even before Jaone and Mais, immortals ruled the day as well as the night. We were free then, so we are told, and humans were just cattle, servants, “ he broke off to wrap a arm around his companion reassuringly before continuing, “All the time, the races were at war, there were no real alliances, just swift fake friendships and even swifter betrayals.

“It went right from the Leaders through to the lowliest of our kinds, just pure and simple hatred. No one to this day knows why. We just seemed destined to destroy each other.

“That all ended about five hundred years ago, so many of us have never known the great war time or what it was like to be free. Freedom ended before peace came to be sure, around four thousand years ago or thereabouts when man became boisterous and cunning. We were hunted, great numbers slain and burnt. The church was very vengeful.

“So we went into hiding, every last one of us who wanted to keep his skin in tact and finally, after ages, we drifted into legend and myth and finally fantasy.”

Reid folded his arms and curled up to his friend.

“That still doesn’t explain the problem about this girl.”

Ranyah nodded.

“True enough. Then here. Through time and archive whether friends or foe, the races have always been separate. Always. Jaone told me that he once found in one of the old archives in the Citadel a record of a time when a lycan bit a vampire. He died. Also there was another when a lycan and a demon both turned a human at the same instant. Their victim died too.

“It has always been abhorred and the idea itself is treachery to your race. This girl is either cursed or blessed. Whatever she is though, life will be hard for her.”

Ranyah lapsed into silence, his arms around his young friend.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmmm…”

The vampire frowned and leant over the boy, leaning down to plant a warm kiss on his neck.

“Don’t I get what I want now?”

Reid grinned at the predatory man he was sharing a bed with tonight.

“You want me? Come and take me.”

Ranyah raised an eyebrow.

“Not necessarily in that order.”

Kotac went to Den, the only werewolf hangout in London, on Sunday night. He didn’t need to worry about Monday morning as his job required him to start late in the day. Kotac’s jobs were generally of a nefarious nature and it was a silent topic in all discussions when everyone bitched about their day jobs.

He was dressed in a pair of slashed up jeans and a ripped t-shirt. Normal wear for the young wolf. The lycan’s were lucky in their overall appearance, human almost, except for their feral natures and tendencies to grow their hair long. Kotac was no exception and anyone walking down the road that night would have seen a normal, fairly attractive young man of about twenty. The fact that he was seventy-four didn’t even get thought of.

Den was a nice place stuck away in some basement somewhere and the people who owned the upper floors never asked questions about the howling. They’d learnt not to. It was the only place, apart from in his own apartment, where he could really shift and feel safe. The girl on the door let him in with only a little cursory flirting and Kotac sighed as the scent of the place flooded over him. The first thing he did was find himself a little deserted corner where he stripped out of his clothes and shifted from human into half wolf form.

Stepping out, he smiled wolfishly at a few he recognised and sighed deeply. Like this, he was eight feet tall and about half that across the shoulders. Covered in long blond fur with a tail, claws, elongated wolf feet and a very wolf-like head. Very few stayed in their human forms and the conversation around him was mainly in sounds incomprehensible to the human ear.

“Ko!”

He turned around just in time to get borne to the floor by another lycan in half wolf form. He dragged himself out of the tangle of limbs and smiled. The other was smaller, black and female, a fact that was not quite as obvious as any would think.

“Hey Leah.”

“Little bird tells me you were at The Font last night.”

“So?” Kotac turned his ears back, tail hanging still against the back of his legs, body language was essential in wolvern conversation.

“So you saw the Hybrid!”

Kotac had about a second’s warning of another scent before a pair of white arms wrapped around him from behind.

“Er…Kieran?” Leah leant sideways to look at the young albino, “I was having a conversation.”

There was a reply but it got muffled by virtue of Kieran having his face buried in Kotac’s shoulder. The werewolf didn’t mind being cuddled, gods he’d have a hard time if he did, but he liked to return the favour. He unhooked himself from Kieran’s embrace and the other whimpered slightly, ears pressed against his waist length hair. Kieran was the youngest of the lycan’s in London, just more than half Kotac’s age and the only one younger than the blonde.

Kotac smiled and wagged his tail, looping his arms around the albino’s form that was almost a mirror of his own build.

“There. Now who have you been speaking to Leah?”

The black werewolf sighed melodramatically.

“Only just about everyone. Ryan saw you eyeing up some vampire’s human.”

Kieran dug his claws gently into Kotac’s ribs.

“You weren’t?” He implored.

“Yeesh, it’s nothing serious. Anyway, Ranyah was all over him. Very clear about that.”

Kieran looked distressed.

“Hey. Don’t go all clingy on me. I still love ya.” Kotac gave his friend a kiss then gave one to Leah when she poked him, “Now’s who’s up for a dance?”

News of the Hybrid spread just as fast as I had expected it to and by the time I awoke fully on Monday morning, in bed I might add, as I did have the sense to move from the bath, there were plenty of messages waiting for me on the answer phone. To my surprise, the last of them was from Aska, commanding me in no uncertain terms to meet with him in Black Sync that night. However with all things Aska did, it was eloquent a politely phrased, but that barely concealed the steel threat in his voice. Make no mistake, I do not dislike Aska, but there is no love between us either. He is, however, the most senior of all the vampires in London at the present time and none wish to offend him.

So with very little dignity I dragged myself to work.

I work for the British Museum as an archivist, which not only affords me the pleasures of spending my days deep underground, but also makes me a rather knowledgeable commodity, as much of the more recent articles I know a lot more about than most. And what with the vampiric records at my disposal, I can document history far further back than any human.

I work alone and my job is enjoyable most of the time. Unfortunately, that particular Monday was not destined to be one of those times. When I arrived, on time but exhausted and dressed in smart worker jeans and a loose shirt I was greeted by the head curator and a young girl. Small, blonde and stylish. She was also very enthusiastic and I quickly found out, very chatty. I was told that the girl was my new assistant and it was my job to teach her, train her, and ultimately, keep her out of anyone’s way.

In her insane and speedy babblings as I led the way down into the archives I learnt three things. Firstly, her name was Marie, secondly, she was a student at the Royal College of History and this was her vocational work, and thirdly that the girl was gifted with circular breathing because she didn’t shut up long enough to take a breath for twenty minutes.

I like my solitude, and more overly working alone lets me listen to music and I work with headphones constantly, god knows what I did before they invented personal music players. These days it’s one of those tiny MP3 players, stylish and smaller than a cigarette lighter. I shut her up by putting a hand over her mouth. The shock of my freezing palm had the exact right effect and she actually stopped talking. For the first time in too long a period I could actually hear myself breathe.

“Is there anything wrong? Oh I really don’t want to mess up today. You see you have to fill out a card,” and at this point she began to search through her bag, “To tell my tutors how well I’m doing…” And on it went.

I grimaced and repeated my gesture, but I kept my hand where it was.

“Look. Shut up. Just for ten minutes, if only to prove you can.” I let my hand fall to my side, wiping my palm on my jeans.

“Are you angry?”

“No yet, but I’m getting there.”

“Sorry.”

I paused waiting for her to continue, to my surprise she didn’t.

“Better. Now, we’re doing some cataloguing on the Egyptian section today, the boys from upstairs just moved stuff about in the displays over the weekend and I just know that they’ve messed up my filing system. Come.”

I was given a respite from the girl just before lunch when she was taken away for the grand tour, something I was neither required to give nor had any intention of doing. I usually eat lunch alone, but on my way upstairs I was waylaid by someone calling my name. Now, Jaone is a highly unusual name and that is not the one I give at work. Work know me as James Evans but it was my true name that was called across the marble entrance hall. I turned on my heel to see Demitri waving at me. I gave a warm smile to my human friend as he came over and looped his arm with mine in a casual gesture.

“Come on I’m taking you to lunch.”

I un-hooked myself from him and he looked rather upset, folding his arms in a rejected sort of way.

“Demitri, this is work, outside hmm?” He brightened up at that and so we left the building.

We got burgers from a food van out in Bedford Square and sat on wrought iron and wood benches to eat. Demitri sat on the back of the bench with his feet on the seat.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

I have mentioned that Demitri is human and yet he knows my true name. This is because Demitri first started hanging out at Black Sync three years ago and since then he’s been trying to find the perfect sire. It’s well known that he is a vampire hopeful. What sets him apart from most hopefuls is his attitude and the fact that he’s not totally hung up on every vampire he meets, although he is a terrible flirt. If he’s not careful I might have to turn him myself one of these days.

“Came to give you a break from Marie.”

“How did you know about her?”

Demitri smiled and let out a low chuckle.

“Ran into her this morning on my way to work, got her entire life story and figured they’d give her to you,” he grinned at me, “Unfortunately no one let me use getting accosted by a random crazy girl as a decent excuse.”

I had to laugh at that, as I could easily imagine the scolding he’d got when he walked in late.

“You poor thing.”

“Speak of the devil…”

“And he shall appear,” I replied smiling. Smiling that is, until I looked up and saw Marie coming towards us, “Oh no.”

“Hey James! I just got off for lunch and I was wondering…” I stopped listening about there and gave Demitri a quick hug.

“My break’s over, I gotta get back. I’ll leave you to Demitri.”

I could feel his glower as I sauntered back indoors.

Three years ago when Demitri was nineteen he arrived in Black Sync. I later learnt that he worked for the Sect Circe, and still does and he very much enjoys his job there. The Sect Circe are the keepers of the paranormal, or in our case, immortals. They are a private, secret organisation originally set up by a group of mages to continue their work once their race died out. Unfortunately the magic users died out with their magic a long time ago now. They have something to do with the Freemasons, though I don’t know what.

The Sect Circe have a code, something to do with only observing the dark realms but not interfering. Three years ago Demitri interfered. He found out, I can’t remember how, maybe he was tailing us, where Black Sync was and he went there. I was there that night and I have never seen a raucous quite so bad, not even when the Hybrid arrived. He was saved by Barren when we found that he had no sire. Someone tried to kill him and the ensuing fight left quite a mess.

Demitri is possibly the only human who knows of us and is free from any holds. In return, we let him hang out with us and a few of us help him with his work. I don’t think he would have passed his exams without Ranyah.

The rest of my working day passed me by in a haze of Marie’s inane chatter interspersed with a couple of Shadows Fall albums, and I was glad when five o’clock came and with it the sun went down as I left work. The sky was alight with red flames as I walked home via Regents Park. I needed to feed.

There were still plenty of people about, all ignoring one another. Classic London that. I fell into step behind a male suit, not that I really cared all that much about my prey, and followed him over the Grand Union Canal. Just past Lord’s Cricket ground I cornered him, asking for a light. He didn’t have one, but he had this arrogant look in his eyes and it didn’t take more than a second for me to decide that he’d do for tonight. Pinned him against a wall and drunk him dry.

I left the corpse in a back alley among some dustbins. I don’t usually kill when I feed, if we all did we’d have been found out long ago. Mostly its just sips and vampiric charm means that our victims don’t remember anything. A lot of the blacking out and waking up again gets blamed on the date rape drug, which suits us vampires fine.

When I finally arrived home the angrily flashing light of the answer machine reminded me that I was supposed to go to Black Sync tonight and meet with Aska, gods knew what he really wanted out of me this time. After an ordinary day it would have been fine but considering that nothing, not even my day job, not even my lunch hour, had been normal in the last few days, I really wasn’t in the mood for sparring with the most powerful vampire in all England. And the catalyst for all this? I could pin it down to an exact moment, the moment she walked into Black Sync and played havoc on my senses. The hybrid.

Unfortunately however shitty I was feeling summons from Aska were not to be ignored. Not going was far more dangerous than slipping up in conversation. So I kitted out in black jeans and mesh shirt, silver glitter through my hair and kohl that would have made Ranyah proud. Didn’t even grab a jacket as I left the apartment, we don’t feel the cold so most clothes were purely ornamental anyway.

I arrived at Black Sync not half an hour later, having flitted across London by foot. I hate the tube, the stench of human sweat and smoke which most humans find unpleasant is magnified by vampiric senses. I feel sorry for the lycans.

Black Sync was alive with so-called un-dead that evening, and I had no doubts that every vampire was there with their favourite servants or a prey. Barren had a couple of girls helping him behind the bar and the dance floor was packed, beautiful bodies moving to something heavy and German. My linguistics aren’t great but the bet was that the lyrics were probably unprintable. At the bar I asked Barren which booth held my caller for the evening. He smiled, pointing me in the direction of the booth on the right hand end, heavy curtains closed and whisked off to serve Annis at the far end of the bar.

I slipped through the dancers and then parted the curtains, sliding into the seat opposite Aska. The vampire looked regal as always, long robes of silk and velvet in black and deep green. To my surprise there was someone else there and he wasn’t prey. The boy looked no more than twenty, although with vampires looks are more than deceiving, with long red brown hair, unusually dark skin and autumnal eyes. I recognised him, a young vampire by his smell, wearing old style clothing, but I could place no name to him.

“I’m glad you’re finally here Jaone,” I didn’t miss the derisive note in the older vampire’s voice, “Would you care for a drink?” He waved a pale hand at the pitcher of blood on the table. There were glasses too, two full and a third empty.

I declined.

“Jaone I would like you to meet Hazan Nunzio,” He gestured to the boy who inclined his head with no little respect, “He has just returned from The Citadel.”

I nodded.

“And how is Rome these days?”

“Too full of traffic and tourists,” replied the boy and the instant he spoke I knew him, the sparkling eyed youth we had all lusted after as he danced at The Font a few years back. The elder’s messenger. We called him the spirit of autumn but none of us had dared to approach him apart from Ward and he had been ignored.

I smiled at him and then turned my attention back to Aska.

“Somehow I don’t think you asked me here to exchange pleasantries Aska,” I said, “Nice as it is to meet you Hazan, I feel there is a higher purpose to this meeting.”

Aska smiled at me.

“Well then. To the point we shall hasten.” Aska took a sip from his goblet and smiled at me.

“Word of the situation here has reached the Elders. They have called a council and as Hazan’s message informs me, I am to attend.”

“What has this to do with me?”

Aska tutted at my impatience.

“I am not happy with being called away with my city in danger. They say they are holding the Abomination’s sire at the Citadel. I must go for the trial. Jaone I want you to find the Hybrid so that when the call goes out to have it destroyed we may act swiftly.”

I had to ask.

“Why me?”

Aska merely smiled, getting up and opening the curtain.

“Because I trust you to obey me.”

With that he got up and left. Hazan nodded and smiled to me.

“I am to go with him. But I have a letter for you.” The boy reached into a pouch at his side and handed me a stiff parchment envelope, “Here.” He got up to leave but I caught his wrist before he slipped away completely.

“Who sent it?” I could not remember any from the Citadel who knew me well enough to write to me.

“Riordain.” He said and slipped out of my grasp.

I sat there feeling very confused. Riordain? I did not recognise the name, from any reference at all, and I stared at the envelope. On the front was written a single word, my name, in a flowing cursive script. Turning the parchment over I saw a seal in black wax. The imprint was of no house crest or mark I knew. In that blackness I saw the shape of a bat in the jaws of a wolf engulfed by fire. With my patience running away from me I open the letter, the seal shattering and falling to the floor in pieces and withdrew the single slip of paper that lay within. This was what I read:

I know you have been watching me, you should learn to be more discrete. I know you have been set to hunt for me. Just remember, I am watching you too.

Riordain

Underneath that was the symbol I had seen on the seal, drawn by a gentle hand, and under that two words.

Pueri Angelus

Ranyah and Reid wandered in, hours later to the loud drums of something-or-other by Atreyu, and came across to me after getting drinks. Not gothed up tonight I noticed, just Ranyah in this cool off the shoulder shirt and black leather trousers, hair tied back for once, Reid no longer hanging off his arm. The human had his arm linked with the vampire’s but he had a smile and a confidence all his own now. I hadn’t moved since Aska and Hazan had left me sitting in the booth and they slipped into the empty seats.

“Evening Jaone.” They chimed but I didn’t look up then, still staring with a blank expression at the paper in my hands.

Ranyah clicked his fingers in front of my eyes.

“Wake up.”

Belatedly I looked up at them both and received a pair of smiles for my trouble. I felt it hard just then to return what was usually a more than natural gesture.

“What’s that?” Asked the boy, frowning at the paper in my hands.

“A message,” I gulped, “From…I don’t know.”

Ranyah frowned at me.

“Start making sense Jaone.”

I shook my head and handed him the paper.

“Riordain? I don’t know that one. ‘Hunt for me’?” He let the paper fall from slim fingertips like ash and leant back one arm going around his partner.

I pulled the drapes closed.

“Aska told me to meet him here. He’s gone to the Citadel for the Hybrid Sire’s trial. I’m to catch the Hybrid. And…” I ventured my one thought that made no sense, “I think this is from her.”

“Jaone,” Ranyah gave me a small smile and sighed, “Riordain is a male name, the Hybrid is a girl. And look, I know my Latin isn’t perfect but see.”

“Pueri Angelus?” queried Reid who had picked up the letter, “Son of Angel?”

Ranyah let out a soft laugh and kissed his partner’s cheekbone. Reid blushed slightly but looked pleased with himself.

“Jaone I think you’re hectic day has caught up with you. You feeling OK?”

“I’m fine,” I said then, “How did you know my day was odd?”

“We meet Demitri today,” Piped up Reid, “He told us all about Marie. She sounds like a nightmare.”

“She is,” I agreed, “But worse, I can’t wake up from her.”

Our conversation degenerated there into laughter and jokes, the letter lying forgotten on the table among the growing number of glasses.

It was very, very late in the evening when we finally finished up and both of my companions insisted that I couldn’t go home in that state. We ended up asleep on a double bed upstairs at Black Sync, all half dressed.

I awoke mid morning to the sound of the door being opened. Barren stood there, bearing two trays laden with what smelled awfully like rare steak with béarnaise sauce and a large jug of orange juice.

“Well don’t you three look a picture?” He smiled, laying down his load on the coffee table and walking over to us. To my left I heard Ranyah mumble something about it being way too early before Barren reached over to ruffle my hair. I let out a groan and sat up.

Barren was right, we really did look a sight. The floor was littered with various bits of clothing and jewellery. All our shirts, boots, Ranyah’s trousers, Reid’s socks and the contents of my pockets; wallet, keys, kohl stick, glitter. As I leant up on an elbow I turned to see my other two companions. Reid was lying to my right with most of the blankets over him, red hair spread out on the pillows. Ranyah was lying at right angles to the rest of us wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers, one hand flung out to curl around Reid’s, his legs tangled with mine. I worked out from my own position that I must have spent the night with my arms around Reid, and true enough my nose was full of his scent. All in all it was not the most unpleasant way to wake up.

“What time is it Barren?” I asked as Black Sync’s owner began the hefty task of waking Ranyah.

“Just past lunch.”

Shocked and worried I tried to jump to my feet but my movements were halted by Reid’s legs and not only did I end up half on the floor, half on the bed, but I gave the young human a rather rude awakening.

“Calm down Jaone,” Barren’s hands were at my shoulders, lifting me back onto the bed, “I called your work and told them you were too ill to come in today. They sounded most upset, but wish you a speedy recovery.”

Reid groaned.

“Why didn’t you wake us?”

Barren looked surprised.

“The amount you three drank last night? You would have hated me for it.”

“I hate you now,” Came Ranyah’s sleep and headache laden tones, “Hell’s sake please tell me there’s something to eat.”

“There is,” said Barren.

Soon enough, and too soon for Ranyah’s liking, the three of us were reposed, upright against the headboard with food and liquid and Barren sat on the end of the bed watching us.

“So,” he said, keeping his voice low for the sake of Ranyah’s ears, “Why the sudden penchant for drinking Jaone? It’s been a long time since I had to wake you midday with hangover food. I thought you cared about this job?”

“I do,” I grumbled through a mouthful of meat, “Can’t a guy get wasted once every century or so?”

Reid was sitting staring at his breakfast looking decidedly ill.

“Is he OK?” I asked, concerned.

Ranyah leant over and gave his partner a kiss.

“He’s never been quite this wasted before.”

“Ah…”

The conversation traded back and forth for a while without purpose while the three of us ate. Only after I had finished my steak did Barren bring an envelope out of his pocket. It took me a second to recognise my name on the front and another to workout that he’d read the note.

“Barren…” My tone was warning. He merely laughed silently.

“Don’t look so angry Jaone, I found it when I was sweeping up. I hope that whoever this Riordain is that he treats you nicely.”

I frowned. Barren was smarter than that, but I couldn’t quite work out why he was playing dumb. For my sake in front of Ranyah and Reid? Unlikely, but I couldn’t see another reason.

“Barren, they know.”

“Know what?” This I couldn’t believe, but if Barren wanted to act the fool I wasn’t going to stop him, “How did your meeting with Aska go?”

“He’s gone to Rome. They’re trying the Hybrid’s sire.”

I was not hung over enough to miss the flicker that crossed Barren’s features. Concern, worry, I couldn’t tell.

“What for?” Reid asked. His tone was interested, concerned, but he was human, and did not fully understand the weight of his words.

“Does it matter?” I said, half jokingly, “The trial is a mere formality, they’ll kill him no matter what he says.”

I went home that evening with my head reeling, but not through excess this time. All day Barren had been tense, and as much as I liked the vampire, he had never been fond of the Elders or their ways. That thought set my mind to wandering.

It all centred around Riordain, whoever he, or she was. I still suspected I was right. For whatever reason, Riordain was the hybrid. Hazan’s words came back to me, that the letter was from the bearer of that name. I knew pretty well how people got messages to the autumn spirit. You wanted something delivered, you had to hand it to him. So he knew who Riordain was. This of course, would have been far more useful information before Nunzio had left the country.

I lay on the sofa in my lounge and thought about all this until I fell asleep. When I awoke I had the strangest conviction I was being watched. My nostrils reaffirmed that with a confused scent, one I recognised. I wasted no time in sitting bolt upright, and there, outlined dark against the window, was a crouching silhouette. A pair of inky blue and emerald green eyes. My hand flew out to the side, flicking on the upright lamp and light flooded over us both.

The Hybrid was crouched on my windowsill. She smiled at me.

“Good Evening Jaone.”

Arken stepped off the train into a welcoming Italian night. It was warmer here in Rome than England had been, but it was still winter. He nodded to the doorman at the station and walked out into the city, he wasn’t the type for taking luggage. Of course, to the human eyes, Arken did not look like a human crossed with a stag. Dressed in loose trousers and a long coat he had altered his image to any human eyes, and all they saw was a hansom man with long brown hair and amber eyes. Magic was a demon’s gift. His wander through the streets brought him at last to the Vatican.

No one questioned him as he entered the great palace, ignoring all the signs and all the guards. It was almost laughable. The Citadel, where all the documents of Demonic, vampiric and lycanthropic society were held, where the Elders lived, was situated under the very heart of the Roman Catholic Church. Among all immortals, it was a joke. Arken slipped like a shadow down a side passage, behind a tapestry, going further and further underground, through secret doors and unknown tunnels. Finally he came into the Citadel itself, where the ground opened out in a huge natural cave, and the demon thankfully shook off his human disguise. The Citadel was absolutely buzzing, and no surprise, for Arken was here, just like the rest, to witness the trial of the Hybrid’s sire.

He was almost at the Great Gates which lead into the Elder’s chamber and the trail room when someone caught up with him. Arken caught a whiff of sulphur and flame before a voice called his name. He paused, and waited for his assailant to catch up with him. Into his view came an older man, complete with grey hair and a neat beard, who had flames crawling up one arm.

“Barlis,” Arken bowed deeply, his amber eyes widening slightly as he saw a younger figure with the old demon. A girl, about twelve or so in human years, with fire-red hair and glittering black eyes. She had a little cat-like flame creature perched on her shoulder and she blushed when Arken bowed to her as well. It had always puzzled the stag why some demons let themselves age and some did not. Those that aged tended to bring themselves families. Arken preferred his own company much of the time.

“Arken. It’s good to see you.”

“Passing visit old friend. You know why I’m here.”

“The same as everyone else. To see the sire.” Barlis shook his head, old he might have been, but he looked good for an even millennium, “Arken I’d like you to meet my granddaughter. This is Alia.”

The little girl smiled shyly at Arken who returned the gesture. The little fire creature on her shoulder chirped.

“I am honoured,” Arken made a show of bowing to the girl, which made her blush, “I am Arken.”

Alia giggled and said something in fast Italian to her grandfather. Arken and Barlis shared a smile, and together the three made their way into the council chamber.

The chambers of the Elder’s were grand and ornate beyond description, everything made out of filigree gold or multi faceted crystal. Images of the past were everywhere, rich tapestries unaffected by age, showing the separate halls of each race, great castles in the mountains. All along one portion of the circular walls hung weapons of all sorts, gleaming blades in the soft light that was thrown from burning balls of flame that floated from steel chains thirty feet above even the highest seats. The seats themselves were tiers of stone, enough to seat a few hundred, raised around the centre for three quarters of the chamber. In the centre itself was a bare stone floor, about twenty feet in diameter in the centre of which stood a stone pillar to which were fixed shackles. In the bare quarter of the chamber stood the thrones on a raised crystal dais. They were empty.

The rest of the tiers were filling up quickly and as Arken, Barlis and Alia entered they cast around for seats, receiving waves from many. The earth demon spotted Aska sitting close to the thrones in the front row, which was roped off, a jury of sorts. Barlis began his way along a row, waving at Arken to follow, but a hand appeared on the demons shoulder to stop him and Barlis cast his eyes down quickly and continued along to his seat.

Arken found Hazan Nunzio, the tanned son of the Vampiric elder looking at him with a friendly expression and he smiled at his counterpart.

“We are wanted Arken.”

“Is that so?” Arken was never one to waste words, but he couldn’t stand Nunzio’s cryptic attitude.

The autumnal vampire grinned, resplendent in robes of russet red with a spring green sash, embroidered all over with little vine leaves.

“Yes, come.”

Hazan lead him over to the dais and only now did Arken notice that three small seats, stools really, had been set half way up, placed in between the thrones so that nothing came between them and the centre. Arken sighed, he was not much looking forwards to acting in his formal capacity as the son of an elder, but he had little choice. From the look on Nunzio’s face, he wasn’t much looking forward to it either. Felan met them on the dais, and the son of the lycan elder looked none too pleased with everything as he surveyed the room. Even in his human form he towered even above Arken, if not above his antlers and his ice blue eyes were narrowed.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured between clenched teeth.

“Good evening to you too,” said Arken. Doing his best to sound civil. It was no great secret that he and the other never got on.

A hush descended then as the gilt doors to the inner sanctum opened and the elders entered the room.

The hybrid smiled.

“What? No words for me, Master Vampire, now that I have found you?” The hybrid slipped her feet out from under her, sitting on the sill before jumping down. She undid her boots as I watched, motionless, placing them aside as though she merely wanted to keep a strangers house neat.

I could only stay where I was, sitting on the sofa, my legs out in front of me, one hand on the metal stem of the lamp that threw harsh shadows across the room. I found I could not force my muscles into movement, or my mouth into speech.

“What’s the matter?” She chided, standing leaning against the sill, hands behind her back, “Cat got your tongue?”

Those last words spurred me into action and with my inherent gift of vampire speed I was standing with my hand around her throat within a second. This close her scent was driving me crazy, too mixed up to be real. She was hardly in inch shorter than I was, and I could feel her pulse, slow and steady against my fingers. Her expression hadn’t changed and I looked into her eyes expecting to see fear, but all I found was this hard look that I couldn’t place. It was then standing so close to her our bodies were almost touching, I realised that she had made no move to stop me, though from what I had seen before, she was certainly capable of that feat. I gulped.

The Hybrid sneered at me, her expression this laid back offensive look that struck right through me.

“You really think you have the upper hand?” I could tell I was not supposed to answer that question as she leaned even closer to me, her lips a scant few millimetres from my own, “You really think you could take me?” I tried to take a step back, suddenly wanting to put distance between myself and this thing that, far from being just a young girl, was no something dangerous and wild. But I found myself caught, one of her hands on my hip, the other curling under my arm to my shoulder blade, and I felt the pressure of claws through the fabric of my clothes.

“R-Riordain…”

“Oh so you can speak!” And suddenly she was all smiles again, stepping back and slipping her thumbs into her trouser pockets. The perfect picture of friendly relaxation. Without hesitation I’ll admit that her behaviour put me off guard.

Wary now I took a few steps back myself, unsure quite when I had relinquished power in my own home. My gaze drifted down to her hands and I found her fingers tipped with black painted nails. I rubbed my hip, wiping away the ghost of her touch. Looking up I caught her smiling, bottom lip caught in white, pointed teeth. Fangs, but then, what had I expected? My voice finally caught up with me.

“What are you doing here?”

She hunched her shoulders, elbows tucked back into her sides, letting a few strands of red tipped hair fall into her face.

“To see you.”

“You know I’ve been ordered to capture you. Somehow I doubt you’re making my job easier.”

She smiled.

“Hazan told me it was a risky idea, but you seemed so nice.”

I did not miss the predatory note in her voice, nor the hungry gaze in her eyes. Under my shirt my muscles shivered under that gaze. Never once since I met the elders, have I felt as though my soul was being examined, but I did then, and I was almost afraid. But she had mentioned Hazan, so my suspicions were correct, the boy knew her, and hadn’t captured her.

“Hazan’s nice, he’d never hurt me. Neither would Barren.”

Her words caught me by surprise. Had she been inside my head? Impossible. But then, this girl’s very existence was impossible.

“What?”

I was treated to another one of those hard glares.

“Oh come on Jaone!” The ease at which my name rolled off her tongue surprised me, “Do you really think everyone in this world is as backwards as the elders?”

I stood there, stunned somewhat, and all the fears and little dark secrets came rolling off her tongue with the greatest of ease. It was as though she’d taken all the Elder’s worse fears, all the heresies and all the traitorous act s and turned them into truth. A truth I realised that had been going on for a long while.

“I’ve been welcomed with open arms Jaone, There are plenty, every race, willing to defy the elders rules and all the olds laws. Yes I know the laws, my sire taught me well. Half the people you know are friends of mine, all calm and quiet on the surface, but underneath they are full of fire! They don’t want the elder’s laws or their rule. Everything they say is so archaic!” She seemed to be getting into the swing of her speech and I finally spoke up to stop her.

“Riordain?” I asked carefully.

“Yes?”

“How many, exactly, are we talking about?”

She seemed to pause for thought and considered me with her chin in her hands.

“About a hundred demons and twice that in vampires. Most of the lycans are with us already.”

“Why?” It was a lame, strangled sort of question, but it was all I could come up with.

“Oh, Jaone…” She stepped forward, black tipped fingers curling round the back of my neck and into my hair, a deadly sort of caress that I couldn’t help but move into, “The world is changing Jaone, the elders can’t keep control over the world. They’ve lost their grip on the farther reaches of the empire. Is it so wrong to want to live like anyone else?”

“N-no.”

She smiled, and I swear it was like the rising of the full moon, beautiful and delicious.

“See. I knew you’d understand.”

“They want you dead.” I said softly.

“I know.”

“They’ll kill anyone defending you.”

“Not if we fight harder.”

I blinked at her, startled to see just how close she was to me, fingers still moving in slow circles in the back of my hair, making me want to give way at the knees.

“There are no armies Jaone. No battlefield.”

“We cannot run forever.”

“We?” she echoed, her hand pausing it’s movements.

“Er…I…” at that moment I was very glad that vampires cannot blush, “I mean…”

“Hush.” Her lips met mine with the tiniest of movements, warm breath on my cheek as she pulled away, her face buried in the curve of my shoulder.

“Riordain?” No reply, but a soft snuffling sound and I felt hot dampness through the fabric of my shirt. She was crying.

They dragged the Hybrid’s sire into the room in chains. He was a lean lycan, even in a half wolf form, usually the most powerful of any werewolf. He had light grey fur, stained a dusky grey-black with soot and dirt and dried blood. His hands were wrapped tight behind his back, ankles secured, and a thick leather muzzle held his jaw shut. The elders watched him dispassionately as the seven guards fixed him securely with manacles and more chains to the pillar and removed the muzzle. The lycan gave no sign of any of this, keeping his head high, steely eyes fixed on the elders in their thrones.

Augustus, Marcus and Julius. Augustus was nothing if not the opposite of his son. Jet-black hair and eyes with frozen pale skin, stretched over his gaunt bones. The lycan was on the heavily built side, all muscle. He wore his human form, but even that betrayed the wolf in him, something animal in his pose and his dark eyes. Julius was the oldest of them all, and the only one who could not pass for human. His skin was black as night, with flaming red hair and eyes to match. Arken’s father was a sight to behold and one that, when angered, you never wanted to see. All three of them wore almost matching black robes with silver worked into them at the throat and wrists. On their thrones they looked formidable, but the chained lycan looked at them as if they were merely servants.

I could get no more out of her after that. I put her to bed in my own king size, made up in blood red and black, determined that I would then spend the night on the sofa. She was lighter than she looked, and I laid her down and drew the sheets over her. She seemed so very small and fragile to me then. With cold hands I stroked her face, wiping away the diamond tears. She slept.

I spent much of the evening pacing up and down my front room, wondering what on earth I was going to do now. If I let her stay, without harming her, or capturing her, I resigned myself to betraying my kind, something it seemed, many had done already. If I killed her? My hands shook at the mere thought and I had to stuff them deep in the pockets of my jeans. Those in her support would kill me, of that I was sure, and should the elders fail, I would share their fate. I had lived a long time, but death wasn’t on the cards yet.

I went to the door of my bedroom and looked at her sleeping, her hair half over her face, shirt hanging off one shoulder in her sleep. I couldn’t harm her. I stepped softly into the room and smiled as she rolled over drowsily. Green eyes opened and gazed at me, half confused, half lost in sleep. Slim fingers reached out and took a hold of me, and slowly I let myself sink down onto the bed with her.

The Elders, as one, gave a signal to the hall and to the lycan in chains and at this he knew the command in their minds. Despite his composure, he began to speak, tripping over his own voice, eager to tell his story.

“Her name is Riordain. I spent my whole life, every breath, to create her. Just a child, you say, but I promise you that she is stronger than all of you. Such a lovely thing, a wonder to train, to teach. So attentive, so eager. When she was firstborn…oh her parents were wonders in themselves, her mother a mortal with strains of a vampire in her blood, her father mortal too, but with a little demon in his soul. They were lovely, perfect, and in her, oh in her the powers were full and ripe. She was a hybrid before I ever reached her. Dormant, powers ready to run riot as soon as she knew how to call on them. An affinity with the night and with fire. The thirst for blood. But I have digressed have I not?

“They called her Elenor, a name she hardly remembers at all. I called her Riordain when I found her, she’s beautiful, so strong. Bright Eyes I wanted to name her. Neither of her parents know, oblivious as all humans are, their heritage long lost to their short years. She didn’t know what she was, didn’t know anything, nothing but that when she saw me, she knew, knew I was no human. Knew something was wrong, different.

“I turned her, the sweetest blood I’ve ever tasted, most tender flesh, her whole being burning. I knew her soul, dark and fiery and drenched in blood. I knew she was the one, the one I was looking for. I’ve waited my whole life to bring us a hybrid. The hybrid. And she took straight to it, a wolf in perfection, though she cannot take on a full wolf’s shape, denied to her by her own blood.

“She never hated me, for what I had done. So eager to learn and commit to memory all the things I could tell her, wanting to know every skill, every trick. I have kept her safe all these years, away from all your eyes and all your ears. For five years I have trained her. I have seen the strength in her, her blood runs true. There is nothing mortal in her, nothing human.

“She is perfect. And you can’t touch her. She’s free now, and already there are others converted to our cause,” Angel fixed a look on each of the elders in turn, then their sons, “You can’t stop it now. Do what you will. Riordain lives.”

Finally, in the silence that echoed around the chamber, Marcus stood up.

“As the traitor that stands before us is of my Clan, though it pains my to say it, I shall pass judgement on him.”

“He has my support,” said Augustus quietly.

“He has my support,” echoed Julius. Both the other elders stood too, hands by their sides. Three pairs of cold and ancient eyes were turned to Angel, who despite his chains, stood defiant.

“Angel. For your crimes against all immortals, you are Damned by this Council. Before the eyes of all the witnesses here, you shall be put to death. Be happy in the knowledge that the word goes out now, to seek the abomination’s death,” The Elder blinked, “You have shamed all your kind, and I sincerely hope your soul goes straight to Hell to be burned for all time.”

“She-!”

“You have no permission to speak!” Roared Augustus, his eyes blazing red.

Julius raised a hand to his vampiric counterpart.

“Leave him enough breath for final words my friend.”

“He has not earned them,” muttered the elder, but he nodded all the same.

Angel’s half wolf face twisted its muzzle in a sly smile as he spoke softly. His voice was so quiet that, if it wasn’t for the utter lack of sound in the chamber, none would have heard.

“She is the child of the future. Her name is hope.”

Marcus broke the deathly silence that followed.

“Kill him.”

The sons of the elders stepped forwards, Arken in the centre, Hazan and Felan either side of him. Spears were called into existence into their hands, bladed with silver, edged in black. Everyone there missed it, but a look passed between the Damned and the Vampiric messenger, a look of sorrow and forgiveness. Moving as one, the point of the three spears were placed against the fur. One point on his throat, one on his chest, one on his abdomen, and is one movement they were pushed through until three metal points hit the stone stake behind. Angel cried out once, a feral howl of rage and pain, his body bracing before he fell limp. Dark blood, almost black, gushed from the wounds and over the floor. Together the Elders summoned their power and in one simple movement, they banished Angel’s soul and all the traces of the bodily existence from the Earth.

Eight hundred miles away, the hybrid Riordain was awoken and sat up in the vampire Jaone’s bed with an anguished howl escaping her throat, knowing, somehow, that her Sire was dead.

Her scream woke me. It was a howl, a lonely sorrowful sound that invaded my pleasant dream and sent me tumbling into consciousness. I woke with a jolt and opened my eyes. She was staring at the ceiling, silent now, tears pouring down her face, her eyes green and burning. How did I come to be in bed with the hybrid? The confusion of last night rushes back and carefully I reach out and touch her shoulder, hoping to give some measure of comfort. I don’t know what’s wrong.

“They killed him.” Riordan sniffed and rubbed the back of one hand across her eyes.

“Who?”

“Father…”She gulps air, “He’s gone.”

I bit my lip softly and wrapped my arm around her. Since my meeting with Aska I have known my job, but I am unable to carry it out.

“They will come for you.”

“I know.” She is already escaping my arm, getting up, getting dressed, re-settling her clothes, pulling on her boots, “I’ll be gone by the time they get here.”

“Where will you go?” I sit on the edge of the bed, slightly confused about the speed at which this is happening. She is all cool and calm and collected.

“There are plenty of safe houses, plenty of people who are friends, who will shelter me for a while. I suppose I’ll just have to run.”

I frown.

“How long will you run for Riordan? How long can you go on for?”

She is silent, and I can see the muscles of her shoulders tensing, this is a sensitive issue. She turns on me with burning eyes and says is a voice so self certain I am sure God, if he exists, must have used it to shape the universe;

“I will not let them kill me.”

Suddenly her shoulders shake and she wraps her arms about her waist, trying to cling onto herself. I go to her but I can’t touch her, I’m too scared. Her eyes are closed and green light shines out from under her eyelids. She is changing, her form shifts and strange things happen, I can’t see for the light and the black light that surrounds us. I do see her open her eyes, green glowing orbs that leave sunspots in my eyes.

This form has her face, long fans in the open jaw, brown hair with each strand tipped by a tiny flame. Grey fur and a wolf’s tail that shimmers with unearthly black. A swirling pattern of this shining blackness and fire coils up her whole right side, sending tendrils across her face.

“Riordan?” I can hardly believe my eyes, I never imagined anything like this.

“Jaone?” Her voice is natural, still small, childish, uncertain and a little scared.

“Yes?”

“Will you tell them where I’ve gone?”

“Never.” It’s a promise.

“Will you be in trouble for not finding me?”

“Yes.” Aska could very well kill me for disobeying him.

“Will you run with me?” she looks at me, the glowing in her eyes dimmed and subtle, their questioning look shining through.

“Yes,” my voice cracks, and wavers but my answer is firm, “Yes.”

We leave not half an hour later, Riordan returned to her human form. I have taken my supplies from the freezer and a change of clothes, basic things, coat, jumper, jeans. There is no need for party clothes anymore. We are still in the city when the banks open and I go to several of them and close out all my accounts, we leave London with a considerable amount of money in twenty pound notes.

I do not know what our future holds. We have not had to fight anyone yet, we have not meet anyone. I know that the effects of the hybrid’s appearance are far from over. I know that there is a war coming. I know that I have already turned traitor and thrown my lot in with the rebels. If what Riordan says was true, and I trust her, then we are not alone and I may see some of my friends before too long. Maybe we will win, maybe we won’t, but a full scale war will not go unnoticed by the humans of this world. No worse thing can happen if we are discovered. Then there will be more than one enemy at our backs as we flee the country, heading into the deep dark cold regions in the east. Despite our best efforts we may still be found.

Riordan looks at me with bright eyes, scared but hopeful. She trusts me to help her and for my part I will not let them take her from me while I live. We have become the hunted and perhaps the remainder of my life can be counted out in days. Perhaps not.

From far away I can fell Ranyah’s mind link with me, and I can feel him worried and confused and scared on the other end. From this distance I can only think and hope he hears me.

I’m here, old friend. I’m here.

I take her hand and I smile. I don’t know what the future holds, but at least now, I am not facing it alone.