Chapter I: Death’s Choice

Death whispered in every ear but mine. It was like a serpent whispering to Abraham in his loneliness after Sarah died: You got what you deserved. Death, the bastard, was cruel and desperate, only satisfied when the heart monitor flat-lined, when the paramedics brought out the body bags. What was right? What was justifiable? What was wrong? To prolong life was to disrupt Death in his natural course. Hey, he could come out waving his goddamn scythe like a demonstrator’s sign but, in the end, humans had control right? There was even a word for it: Freewill. And we had it all. The freedom to screw up our lives all we wanted—but Death could do that too, so I suppose the scale was balanced. Fair enough.

You could say I didn’t believe in Death, in Heaven and all that jazz, but that’s not entirely true either. I was an atheist-until-divine intervention type: There was no proof until evidence and thus no belief. So there was a thought but not the rooted belief some Christ fanatics have. I think that their belief is fashioned by fear: their fear of the unknown, their fear of Death and their wishful thinking of someplace perfect and without suffering. The truth was immortality wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. There were no angels, no talking animals, and no beauty beyond all beauty unless you counted the billboards with the Photo-shopped Barbies advertising anorexia and cosmetics. Take my word for it: I’m a Dhampir, a species of vampire. Yeah, you read correctly, vampire—oh so sexy right?

Wrong. You mortals are bloody, mother-fucking wrong. Vampires are not just the erotic, bloodthirsty beings that writers portray them to be. Take it from a half-breed: They are not Anne Rice’s lamenting Lestat de Lioncourt or Bram Stoker’s heartless Dracula. They are undead corpses with human cognitive processes, with human feelings. Sure, some of those feelings are mostly lust—for both body and blood—but aren’t they more then that? Like nerdy kids trying to fit in with the social circle, vampires are trying to fit into the human world, which is constantly in flux. Fortunately, we Dhampirs have it a bit easier then our pureblooded vampire cousins: we are also half human. This is because of the way we are turned: humans who drank the blood of a pureblood vampire and became his son or daughter. The traditional way of turning can also be used—but the newborn must drink the blood of his or her Creator to become a Dhampir. Either that, or we are born a Dhampir—from the sperm of a vampire male and the egg of a human female and vice versa.

This humanity allows us to soak up sunlight (but, sorry to say, never tan), and not be affected by crosses, garlic and all those myths (they don’t work against pure vampires either or so we’ve heard). Another thing that our genetic perk allows us is to survive on both blood and human food. Personally, I prefer blood but black coffee’s all fine and dandy. Though, besides our resistance to these things, we are at risk of being crippled by our emotions. The humanity can sometimes creep up and take over and we become so human that it is our natural instinct to be ignorant to the Dhampir world, to believe it is a myth. Our greatest downfall is our sympathy to humans—each day we all struggle with the fine lines between comrade and prey.

The one thing that pissed me off about immortality was that you didn’t die unless you were killed. None of that ‘die peacefully in your sleep’ crap. For Dhampirs we go painfully and slowly or we don’t go at all. And with immortality, time passed so slowly like the rhythm of a human heart. It basically doesn’t exist. It was probably a chance to redo a life, to think things over. But it was also a curse for those to drown in memories that couldn’t be erased. I’ve been wondering ever since my turning, what solace there must be in the grave—what was it like to sleep forever—to die, and never wake? I’d never know because then I would have to die.

If you can’t imagine immortality the way I do, just imagine yourself standing in a crowd—rain, sun, a fucking hurricane; I don’t care—for days on end, staring at nothing (or maybe browsing for a new Stephen King novel in a store window?) while the crowd moves in fast forward. You can’t make out their faces as they’re always changing. You’re the only one standing still. My Creator, Tatiana Cross, told me that this feeling, this revelation, was to be expected like the blissful high you get with the first drag of the cigarette after a period of withdrawal. I wondered if she’d ever felt the same when standing still, completely drug-sober.

I leaned against the ancient movie theater, breathing in the stench of peeling paint and popcorn, car exhaust and rotting leaves. It was autumn, not yet cold enough to hunker down beneath a tattered quilt in the skeletal remnants of the theater seats. The movie theater, if you haven’t guessed, is my haven, my own little freezing (or boiling, depending on the weather) piece of Hell. The city that I live in is anonymous to me—I never want to find out where I am—because then I would never make this place my own. It would always be “this little town in Massachusetts” or “the city of Toronto” it would never be my imagined kingdom. So, for you readers specializing in geography, I’m sorry to say you won’t find the City of Nothing on the map—you’ll find it under a pseudonym of sorts.

I liked my privacy. Can’t you tell yet?

I observed the people and traffic in this spot as I had for nearly a century. Things changed but I still was the twenty-five year old, cigarette-addicted bastard I’d always been since Tatiana turned me in the balmy summer of 1923. With the slightest Russian accent in her speech, barely discernable unless you listened, Tatiana had been quite the persuasive flapper—looser then most—with the higher hemline that tightened and showed off her thighs when she sat down, the low neckline; which, when she leaned across the table to me I could see the curves of her breasts and the bob cut that illustrated her neck and framed her face in the way that she almost looked like a paler Liz Taylor playing Cleopatra without all the over-exaggerated eye makeup. It was that night, after treating me to a few drinks; she cornered me in an alley and turned me.

Cars slowed as the light turned red, the contestants were itching for the race: A dirty white Ford was just ahead of a spotless gray Lincoln Town Car, a sleek red Ferrari neck to neck with a silver Volvo. People, bundled like Eskimos, walked across in that rushed fashion that almost made me think they were frightened. The light turned green and life continued.

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my trench coat and sighed. My tongue felt heavy, my throat dry, and I was eager for the sweetness of night. I settled for a cigarette. I pulled it out and lit it, sticking it between my lips and sucking in the embers like I was sucking on a straw. When I had had my fill and put the cigarette out, I peeled myself from the wall and headed down the sidewalk to Tatiana’s apartment. Normally she worked the night shift at the local club—the Tempting Snake—a couple blocks down as a bartender but during the day she slept. She was about to get a wake up call from her favorite alarm clock: me.

I jabbed a finger at the buzzer labeled Tatiana Cross and waited. After a few minutes, I pushed it again. I’m sure she was throwing on something, swearing under her breath. I lived for pushing her buttons—please excuse the banality, I’m just hungry. After a moment, I heard her voice. “Hello? Who is it?” She had the sexiest growling voice when she woke up.

I pressed the button. “Won’t you let me up, dear Rapunzel?” Again, I was being facetious.

“Oh,” There was a muffled curse. “It’s you.”

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s me—now let me up!”

“Is anything wrong?” I could hear her breathe.

“No.”

“Good.”

There was a sort of abruptness that followed that I wondered if she’d collapsed back into bed. But the door swung open as if by some doorman’s ghost and I walked inside. The scent of cigarette smoke, human bodies, cologne and mud hit me as the door shut. Wrinkling my nose, I hurried up the steps and down a carpeted hall until I reached apartment C10.

When I knocked, Tatiana answered, looking ruffled and pissed in a fuzzy pink bathrobe. What the hell? She never wore pink—in fact she detested the colour. I drank in the way the nauseating animal skin hung off her tall hourglass-shaped body, showing off just a little cleavage. Her eyes—the colour of Tim Horton’s double cream double sugar coffee—peered down at me. “Any reason you came to me? Any hookers need paying? Any booze you need to sleep off, you sleazy wreck?”

I smirked. “Now you know me better then that, Tat.” She groaned and let me in. I walked into her tiny bedroom, which currently looked as if Hurricane Katrina had ripped through it: Clothes were draped across her bed, her desk chair and floor like Black Plague victims arranged across a cart. An overflowing trash bin took up residence in one corner and her bed was hastily made. I let out a low whistle. “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I glanced through the open door to the kitchen where Tatiana was spooning coffee into a grinder. As the grinder clattered nosily, I went and surveyed the relatively clean kitchen. Empty Alexander Keith’s bottles stood like soldiers waiting to be put to rest in the recycling bin. A yellow cabinet door was ajar to reveal cans of Campbell’s soup, salt crackers and Skippy peanut butter. I scowled at the grinning squirrel and stared at the linoleum tile. How could she survive on this crap? The smell of coffee drifted through the room and Tatiana sat heavily in one of the two kitchen chairs, running a hand through her long mascara-black hair. I sat beside her and wordlessly handed her a smoke. She took it, placing it between her plush scarlet lips and I lit it. She sighed and a cloud of smoke came out her mouth. She reminded me of a wingless stone angel, the smoke curling from the cigarette like blue mist. “What’s new, Xavier?” She was always more relaxed after a smoke.

I tucked the pack back into one of the inside pockets of my coat. “Nothing much. You?”

“Jack Pale came today, delivered a case of that O Negative I needed.” She chewed idly on the cigarette before taking another drag. “You know how I love my fledglings.” She reached out and patted my hand. I pursed my lips to avoid making a frown. Dr. Jack Pale was a round man but not obese with a receding hairline and his office stank of rubbing alcohol. Dr. Pale often worked with Tatiana and I was suspecting he also gave her special house calls for frequent “examinations” which, I suspect, included putting his hand up her skirt like a gynecologist’s light and leaving the smell of rubbing alcohol, sweat, and coital fluids on her sheets when he left the next morning.

I sighed. “Who was it this time?” Secretly, I wish she had changed someone worthwhile. Our other fledgling had committed suicide a month after being changed because he couldn’t stand the bloodlust. The other side of my mind, the side that women always thought held pornographic images, wished it were a girl. Tatiana was more testosterone then estrogen—she could kick ass, but comforting someone wasn’t exactly a strong facet of her character. We needed someone to balance her out.

“Ally Conner. Twenty years old.” was the gruff reply. “I pulled a few strings and convinced Tina to let you change her.”

“Me?” Tat slid a photo toward me and I took it. Ally was looking serious as she sat on the park bench, her jaw set as if she was voluntarily posing. A tangle of red hair was tossed by some invisible wind and her sharp face was sweet: the arch of her jaw was a woman’s but the pout of her mouth was an insolent child’s. The slope of her nose was dusted lightly with freckles and bronzed by the sun. Her eyes were a mysterious green, like a bottle washed up from the sea. This prettiness would only be enhanced in her Dhampir form. The change was always compared to some super plastic surgery, not that I minded—it was a cover-up for us around humans, a prop line we used.

Ally’s white blouse strained across her bosom, her jeans emphasizing the plump curves of her hips. The brown cowboy boots gave her a sense of spirit. I wondered briefly if she ever scrutinized herself naked before a mirror, marveling her body. How many guys did she fuck, how many did she come to, before her arrival to us? How many perverts did she send to cold showers, how many jerked off to fantasies of her breasts or genitalia? I placed the photo between Tatiana and me, and she blew smoke in my face. “So?”

“Why her?” And why the hell are you wearing that pink robe? I kept my mouth shut about that thought.

Tatiana tsked me. “You need someone to warm you up in that theater of yours during the winter do you not?”

I frowned. “That’s why I have a heater.”

She smiled. “No, you know…” Her dark eyebrows wiggled like levitating plucked caterpillars.

I got it. “Jesus, Tatiana!” I could feel my skin heat up with a blush. Being half-human, we do blush. Sometimes I hated it. Like now. “You want me to change her so that I can get busy under the sheets?”

She laughed. “Yes and no.” I glared at her. “Don’t worry. Her twin brother, Benjamin, has already joined the ranks of the Society. Changed by Samantha as a bit of practice for her heir.” Her brow wrinkled as she stubbed out the smoke. Two fledglings at once? That was dangerous work—how would she manage? I immediately answered my own questions: me. She would use me.

Bitch.

“Where is he now?” I asked. Tatiana stood and poured a mug of coffee. I declined and she sat at the table again. The pink robe opened a bit to show a love bite just above her right breast. I shuddered and thought of one of her nights with Jack Pale. Would she make the first move or would he? I thought of Dr. Pale assailing her, thrusting violently between her hips like a drunken teenager making love to his dog. I stood to pour myself a brimming mug of coffee to clear my head.

Tatiana made no comment on my sudden interest in the coffee. “Samantha and Tye are with him—they’re at the Society’s head office. Headmistress Bone has him under careful watch, so don’t worry.”

Maybe I should pause here a moment and explain. The Society Headquarters is a building on the outskirts of the city, carefully hidden in the guise of a single broken-down house. It actually operates most of its procedures down underground in a series of rooms divided by halls and thick steel doors. It’s a place for newborn Dhampirs to be kept under careful surveillance until they are assigned a mate. Each Dhampir lucky enough to enter into the Society’s services is assigned a lifelong post that must have an heir if that Dhampir is killed. Tatiana is a Creator—a Dhampir assigned to create newborns. She created me, and many others through the years (I don’t know how old she really is, she just sticks to thirty-four) and is notorious for her badass attitude. I haven’t asked about whether she has picked an heir or had a mate from the Society’s womb but from recent events she seemed to prefer full-blood human doctors to Dhampirs.

I drank my coffee and sighed. “Why are you wearing that contraption Tat?”

Tatiana frowned. “It’s not a ‘contraption’ it’s a bathrobe. Jack bought it for me, said I should wear more pink.”

A bathrobe bought by a lover, who’s also a doctor, equals sex in a tub or shower—simple equation really. “Nice.” I choked out. “Does he get turned on by women in pink do you think?” I raised my eyebrows. “Does pink remind him of Venus, the Roman goddess of love?”

Tatiana laughed and slapped my arm. “Stop it. He just says I look good in it—that’s all.”

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes and we drank our mugs of coffee in relative silence. The taste of raw black coffee tasted good as it tingled down my throat, almost like the buzz of drunkenness. But coffee wasn’t really a drug unless you were one of those health freaks. I glanced up and noticed Tatiana was looking at me funny, almost as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. Her honey-brown eyes were calculating and she tapped her nose in thought. Her coffee was only half-finished. She opened her mouth to speak when I heard the tune of Fur Elise somewhere in the other room. I watched her go into the bedroom and search for her cell. She found it under a mountain of clothes and flipped it open. I let her have her privacy and drank the rest of my coffee.

I heard her mutter and curse as she stumbled pulling on jeans, still talking in rapid whispers to someone. I stood and held out my hand. “Listen, I still have to get ready—yes, I know Tina, but it is Sunday…here’s Xavier.” She handed it to me.

“Get dressed.” I muttered. I turned away and put the phone to my ear. “Headmistress Bone?”

Tina Bone’s reedy voice was panicky—strange because it usually was imposing. “Xavier, just the person I needed.” I ignored any snippy mental comments and listened. “Are you familiar with Ally Conner?”

“Not personally, m’am. But I know what she looks like, is that any help?” I doubted that.

Tina sighed. “It is some aid because she’s looking for Benjamin—her twin. Benjamin is here and he’s sedated so I doubt he will escape anytime soon.” She forced a laugh, which I could tell was faked.

I turned to Tatiana who was pulling on a shirt. The back of her white (and lacy) bra was visible and her shoulder blades were sharp as she rolled her toned shoulders and neck, I could hear the bones crack. “Tat’s almost ready, Headmistress. Should we begin the search for Ally or come straight there for instruction?”

Headmistress Tina Bone seemed to consider her options. I could almost imagine the sturdy woman pacing her office, her white blonde hair pulled up in a smart bun and her heels clicking rhythmically on the laminated wood floor. “You should probably begin the search, I’ve sent Cal and Iris Bless to help.”

Cal Bless was a Hunter, a good friend of Tatiana’s, and an exceptional tracker with his wife, Iris. Their two kids, Ash—who was four years younger then me, and Vanessa—who was five years younger—were good friends of mine, each training under their parents respectively. The Society had a rule that the only heirs for Hunters must be either adopted or biological children—never another relative. Their reasoning is unknown even to the Hunters.

Tatiana grabbed the cell phone out of my hand, and began pushing me out the door, flinging an empty bag into my hand. I hurried out and she followed, probably getting directions from Tina. Just as we neared the stairs, she closed the phone and stuck it into her back pocket. “We’ll run today, Xav. There’s no time to hitch a ride with Cal.” I wondered if we’d see them today. “You take your route Xavier—check the theater and club, I’ll search downtown.” Probably not. She tossed something black at me and I caught it. A walkie-talkie. “Call Tina or me if anything goes wrong or if you find Ally ‘kay? Channel two for me, three for Headmistress Bone.” She started down the road, stopped, and turned around. “Remember what I taught you about newborns if you find her—you will have an excellent opportunity for the change.”

I nodded. “I know, I remember.” Newborn Dhampirs are dangerous, very impulsive so don’t frighten them. Be gentle and use blood to your advantage, but human blood gets them hyper so don’t you cut yourself…etcetera, etcetera. She nodded and sped off. I did the same, running back toward the theater. I was too high off the coffee to enjoy the buzz of running, the adrenaline pulsing through my body like needles of heroine.

The road was quiet as I rounded the corner to the place I’d like to call the “theatre des vampires”—yes I’ve read too many vampire books, this reference borrowed from the queen of the damned Anne Rice—for my own good. But they’re entertaining if you’re human. For me it adds a taste of normality to my life, it’s comforting.

I heaved open the theater door and slipped inside. The familiar scent of stale popcorn and age filled my nose as I looked down the aisle, peering into the dark. Nothing. I walked down the aisle, but there was no funeral march drifting in the air as I looked for the escaped human. There was only my silence and the occasional crunch of leftover popcorn. I sniffed the air, taking in the emaciated bodies of the seats where I’d once taught a fifteen-year-old Vanessa Bless how to kiss—we still come here to practice for old times sake—and split a beer with Tatiana on New Years Eve.

“Hello?” I heard my voice echo in silence. “Anybody in here?”

Something shifted in one of the seats. “Ben?” She was suddenly flustered, “—oh, sorry. I thought you were my brother.”

Ally? Her voice was high—but not soprano—with a rough edge. Nice. The kind of voice I heard Tat use when she was pissed—although Ally’s was without the Russian vernacular and softer. I decided to act nonchalant. “Nah, it’s okay, I just came to grab some stuff.” I heard her move in her seat and went to turn on the tiny lamp. The pale light allowed me to see her face and I saw the woman in the photo, wearing the exact same clothing in the picture—hip-gripping jeans, cowboy boots, and white blouse. It must have been taken just this morning. In this halo, however, she looked drawn and ruffled as if she’d been running or just come from a boyfriend’s and had a martini full of fanatical sex and beer shaken gently but not too well. Ah, hell, who cares?

“You live here?” I looked up from a pile of books I’d pretended to leaf through, and met her eyes. Her gaze was not disgusted but even, measured.

“Yeah,” I turned back to the books and began picking them up—the tattered comics that I’d long since wanted to throw out or burn in some hobo’s fire. “Call it the father of real estate if you want.” Corny, I know but I needed to look normal, her suspicions on my humanity were certainly dwindling—I could see it in her expression.

She laughed. “I can’t believe they still keep the place running.”

I chuckled, briefly noticing the perfect place upon her neck to set my lips, to lay the mark, just above her collarbone where I could—if I placed my fingers there—feel the pulse beat. “Well, it’s supposedly some sort of sentimental thing to a lot of people here.” I lied. The Society keeps it running, for my benefit—and now yours, honey. Be glad. “Kept the people happy at least.”

She smiled and I saw the slightly pointed incisors, they were similar to pureblooded vampire fangs and I wondered, very briefly, if she were keeping a secret like I was keeping the truth of my true form from her. The tang of something burned in the air between us like some exotic, disgusting perfume that’s sat on the shelf too long. I immediately stood up and heard the roar of Cal’s Harley Davidson—or was that one passing by? I glanced at Ally and she watched the door with the fear of a lamb cornered by the wolf. Her eyes were wide and she was awkwardly trying to leave the rows of seats, a rucksack clutched in one hand.

I hurried to the door and Ally followed right behind me. I could hear her quick steps. “What’s wrong?” I stopped and turned to glare at her. She seemed to get the message and shut up. I pushed open the door and I closed my eyes. The growl of the motorcycle had ceased and there was a few seconds where I thought I could relax my crouched position, the determined scowl of my mouth. But, before I could do anything, the walkie-talkie crackled to life like Rice Krispies. I had it on channel two, so Tatiana’s voice called out to the silence: “Come in Xavier. Listen, Cal can’t find her around here, and neither can the others—I’m coming back. Where are you? Over.” I had one lucid, pure thought as I glanced at Ally: Oh, shit.

Her brow furrowed and the innocent look of silence was condemned to a quick death as one of confusion took its place. Her eyes burned with questions, with the envy for forbidden knowledge. I matched her look with another glare. “If you want to know—no, don’t ask.” I held up a hand and she slipped her warm hand into mine. Surprised, I stepped back and she smirked.

“What are you afraid of?” She hugged herself close. I saw thin razorblade scars along her arms some clear and pink and others faded white against her rosy skin. Her lips trembled.

“Nothing.” I drew myself up to my full height, just a couple inches over her head. “You.”

“Me?” The lines on her brow deepened.

My heart pounded in my ears, it normally sounded like hummingbird wing beats but now I could hear each individual throb as if it was a fist opening and closing slowly. “Yes. You’re a danger to me, to us both. I suggest you leave before you’re caught in Tatiana’s net.”

“Why?”

I kept my voice dominating like a rapist as he cornered his little virgin casualty, like a predator cornered his prey. “I suggest you leave—now!”

“Give me a reason and I will.” A ginger eyebrow lifted and I grit my teeth, biting my tongue against the growl that thundered mutely in my throat. She had no idea, she didn’t suspect and when Tatiana came I’d have to spill the secret, reveal us for what we were: Monsters with a human veil. But once that cloak was removed the hunt would begin and she would have to watch her back to save that pretty ass.

“Go!” I pointed toward the door. But Ally froze and backed up. I glanced to see three figures: The burly figure of Cal, the lanky one of Ash Bless filled the doorway, and the stern stance of Tatiana who looked intense and composed in a beige trench coat over a dark tee and jeans. She came forward, evaluating the situation with barely a twitch of her body.

“Ally Conner.” Tatiana inclined her head and smiled easily. “Are you are familiar with my boy?” Ally said nothing. Her whole body was frozen in a curious fear. A battle raged in her eyes, she was torn between Tatiana’s gentle lilting voice and a desire to run.

“No then?” Tatiana’s face contorted and I noticed the frown she indirectly threw at me. “Then we’d better get you two acquainted.” There was a glint in her eye as Tatiana took in my protective crouch with slightly raised eyebrows. I didn’t relax my posture and nor did I drop my gaze from her. I knew she wanted no delays, she wanted Ally’s turning to be smooth and passive as it had been with mine. But, just for a few moments more, a few more days, I wanted to hear that heartbeat as it would be when I first kiss her, when I gained her trust and held her—sporadic or restful, and not the constant vigorous beats of a Dhampir heart. “Rest my fledgling,” Tatiana’s voice was pleasant but there was an undertone of annoyance. “Your little newborn will be spared.”

I glanced over at Ally. Her face was white with fear and she was shaking, rooted to the spot. I straightened from my crouch and Ash’s green eyes followed my movements easily. Cal put a hand on his son’s arm. I looked for Iris and Vanessa but couldn’t find them. Were they outside? I glared at Tatiana. “She’s just a girl—she knows nothing!”

Tat growled at me. “Stop, stop!” Her whole body was tense, her fangs exposed. “Don’t you dare defend her.”

“I am already.” My voice was arrogant, with hardly any thought for Tatiana’s response.

There was a moment of absolute hesitation before I felt the impact of a body along my torso. I was too surprised as I hit the wall to feel pain. On the floor, I curled up instinctively and groaned. Tatiana’s hand, tight around my throat, had prevented my head from hitting the wall. Her eyes were charring my flesh. Her long body pressed against me, her hips practically straddled mine, but there was nothing intimate about her voice. “You fucking bastard!” She hissed. “Do you want to forget me? Forget all you’ve known in this world, all you’ve learned? Live a human life forever?” She looked stricken but snuffed those emotions just as quickly as they had come. “Suppress those human emotions—change her damn you!” She gripped my chin, forced me to look into her blazing eyes. When I did, there was the understanding I was expecting. She had softened a bit. “You need a mate, Xavier. Take her—she’s right here. Take her,” She grabbed fistfuls of my shirt and shook me, “make her yours.” Her hand on my cheek was like a soft—but just as painful—bitch-slap. She leaned closer and her lips brushed against my neck softly, almost kissing it. I knew she was trying to make me see her point by making me feel the anticipation of the change: feel her lips and the brief graze of her teeth as she spoke. “Forever…”

When she finally stood up her face was as vacant as her voice. Businesslike. “Bring her and take her to Tina.” Tat dragged me up by the shirt and slung an arm around me. “Come, Xav. Our work here is done.”

Outside, Cal held Ally steady as he whispered in her ear. Ally seemed to physically relax but her mouth was tight with promised silence. I watched her sit obediently on Cal’s Harley as Ash slipped into place as the driver. Cal slid the helmet into place and Ash soon had the kickstand up and was steadying it as Cal gave him instructions. Ash nodded and Cal moved out of the way. Ally grabbed Ash’s waist and they sped off. Cal watched them go. Iris and Vanessa soon emerged from the dark and I realized they’d been keeping watch. Iris Bless was a tough woman with her steely silver eyes but deep down she was a loving mother and wife. I saw that in the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth and the warm way she looked at Cal. They kissed briefly and I turned away to give them privacy.

I turned to Vanessa—Nessie— and grinned as she rolled her gray eyes that were softer and more childlike then her mother’s. A corner of her mouth turned up. “Want to meet later?” she whispered. I knew she meant one of our ‘practice sessions’ but I didn’t know how late I was going to be with Tatiana.

“Can’t Nessie. I’ve got a commitment with Tat tonight.”

“Ah,” She nodded. “That’s okay. Later this week then?” Her blonde hair was cut short in the 1920’s style but it suited her. Especially with that cocky attitude. Tatiana nudged me and I turned to go with her. Nessie winked at me and I grinned at her. There was a alluring way that her lashes brushed her cheek but I knew she was all flirt, no promise. Though she, unlike her brother, was definitely more fun to be around.

Tatiana and I ran back into the city depths, cloaked by night. The city was quietly stirring in a sleepy manner and I felt the lethargy of the people as soon as I stepped through the gate to a drunkard’s piece of Eden. The Tempting Snake was a popular bar and usually packed with reasonably dressed men who—once drunk—turned into awkward, slurring victims of Lycanthropy. They would bark and growl at each other—usually complaints about their wives or lack of one, or about their personal lives and other pointless shit. Tonight Tatiana wasn’t working, so we chose a booth near the back and settled in like monarchs on wooden, cushioned thrones. Tatiana shed her coat and sighed heavily, her eyelids drooping in a relaxed manner. I grinned and ordered two beers from a passing waitress who knew Tat.

“Take off your coat, Xav, make yourself at home.” I shook my head. “Suit yourself then.” She ran a hand through her hair and, for the first time, I saw the age in Tat’s eyes—the fatigue and the misery in immortality. She attempted a smile but it was as bland as a Corona beer.

“What’s troubling you?” I propped my elbows on the table and smiled at the waitress as she brought us the two beers, which were sweating condensation. I popped mine open and she did the same, taking a sip.

“What the hell were you doing trying to protect her?” There was even a weary tone in her voice.

I absently played with the bottle cap as I replied. “I didn’t want to change her tonight.”

“I understood that part.” Tat mumbled. “But why?”

“I want her trust first—want her to see me as a man, not as a creature.”

“So you’ll deny your primal instincts? Both as a man and a Dhampir?”

“No—I just want a relationship built on love.” I took a long drink of my beer and pursed my lips against the harsh taste.

Tatiana just laughed. “For a Dhampir that’s a pretty strange relationship, one built on love...” She scoffed and drank. “Then again you are a unique fledgling, Xavier.”

“Unique?” My brow wrinkled. “How?”

“Well, you’d better find a comfy spot on that throne of yours, you high and mighty stupid boy, because it’s something I won’t repeat twice.” She sighed. “Well back in the 1860’s, when I was matured and trained for the job of a Creator, my Creator was almost too conveniently killed in an accident that could have been avoided—don’t ask, I didn’t kill him. It wasn’t the actual wound that killed him, it was the blood loss caused by the wound—makes us weaker and thirstier until we...” Tat sighed again. “I missed him dearly, he was like a brother to me, a father. He was my mentor and a good friend, so I spent some years mourning him and training harder in a Creator’s ways—one lesson and, the first I learned, was the one you slipped on tonight.”

“Controlling your human side.” I said solemnly. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” My Creator nodded. “Anyway, the time came when Tina Bone told me I was to pick an heir. She said one with special qualities and I asked where I would find the heir and she told me to scout in male places—places that brimmed over with testosterone.” Tat laughed. “That’s when I knew she specifically wanted me to chose a male heir…”

I nodded, engrossed in the tale already.

“Well, she also said for the special qualities—and I quote—‘Pick someone with loyalty, determination, with heart and maybe someone who will be your male mirror image someday, someone like you but with softer edges.’” She smiled and took a sip of her beer, her fingers touching the neck of the bottle “So I went to the local bar and waited. And waited, and waited. I bought a drink and flirted to pass the time…mostly I was trying to find out who had the specific qualities.”

“So when I came into the bar that night in 1923…?”

“When you came in, it was around midnight, you ordered a drink and sat down next to me—I think it was packed that night.”

“We started talking,” I said, “About the crappy weather, about our lives.” Human memories were still there, buried under the vampire membrane, under the impulses and senses in which they had been embraced. I remembered briefly the lonely night, the monotonous rhythm of my steps as I walked to the bar. Of the scent of smoke and the sickly impression of eyes around me—the first taste of a prey’s fear before the sweat moistened the skin. I sat near a flapper, Tatiana—who was nameless at the time—and we began talking. She beguiled me, like a witch with her spells and the night whirled by like a carousel ride going faster and faster. “You treated me to a few drinks.”

“Do you know why?” Tatiana smiled and tapped her nose. “I wanted the change to be painless—the beer acted as a sort of morphine. So I didn’t feel tremendous guilt for taking your life—you were just another drunk out to get something from an easy girl when in fact I was the one who was to control you. You were to become something even more important to me besides a bed mate.”

I nodded. “It was hard, I admit, adjusting to Dhampir life. The thirst was insane.” As to prove my point I took a long sip of the beer.

Tatiana smiled a genuine smile. “But you pulled through beautifully.”

“She knows now.” I muttered. “She’s probably thinking that she wished she’d shot herself later on—to get out of this hell.”

“Like you?” Tatiana looked at me significantly.

I sighed. “Fine. Yes I wished that too—”

“Her brother’s part of the Society now, she should be with him. Yes, it’s painful, but we would have to tell her someday once he’s released. That would be even more painful for her to know we kept him from her for years…”

I looked down at the dark table, scarred by abuse like an old man’s face, and didn’t say anything. We were plunged into silence albeit the Tempting Snake was crowded with people and choking with noise. I closed my eyes, wishing for a smoke and maybe a break from all this pandemonium.

“Hey, Xav.” I felt a cool hand on mine and I looked up. “I know what you’re feeling. Things’ll change, things will get better.”

“This is real life, Tat. Not some fairytale shit.” I grumbled.

“Aha! Now that’s probably why I chose you—you have the mouth of a gutter rat.” She laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “Still…”

Tatiana shook her head. “Once Ally’s changed that attitude will change—I guarantee you. You’ll desire her, you’ll want to take her to the nearest bed and—”

“What’s your relationship like with Jack Pale?” I raised my eyebrows in a sort of challenge.

She finished the beer. “Just drink, Xavier.” She pushed my drink towards me and I took a long drink. “What’s it built on?” I repeated, nearly growling with sour humor. “Love or lust?”

She kept her face serene. “I need the blood for the fledglings and he gives it to me—as a friend and a colleague.” Colleague? As if reading my thoughts, she nodded. “I told him what I was, it was necessary.” She tapped her nose again. “I’d say our relationship is built on two things—our friendship and the need to keep this a secret and our own needs.”

“So lust?”

My Creator nodded. “Yes. We have found equal ground with each other even if it is a sin.”

I finished my beer and we stood. Tatiana gathered up her coat and I tossed thirty-five dollars on the table before following Tatiana out. She shook her head. “You didn’t have to pay.”

“My treat.” I grinned.

“Thanks.” The sidewalk was ours tonight and the air was cool as we walked, heavy with the scent of the car exhaust and autumn. I wondered if they were treating Ally right, or if she and Ash were still on the road…

“Xavier!”

“Hm?” My mind had zoned out.

Tatiana patted my shoulder. “I said each to his own, right?” She stuffed her hands in her beige trench coat. “I’ll keep my nose out of your business—that was rude of me to discourage your feelings like that, I mean look at Cal and Iris! Completely in love and still able to perform well as Hunters.”

“It’s okay. I mean once the change is done Ally will need a friend, she’ll be scared shitless.”

Tatiana nodded. “I’m confidant you’ll be a very good mate for her. I mean once you’re legally married you can take her as yours, as a husband should, and procreate new Creators or whatever.”

“Children? Whoa, whoa, Tat! Slow down!”

She burst into laughter. “Alright, let me rephrase—you can take her, as a husband should, and fuck her senseless.”

I laughed. “I think that term should be softer—especially if she’s to be my wife. I’d rather say we’re making love.”

A sly smile tugged at her lips. “You’re still going to make her scream for more aren’t you?”

I blushed. “End of discussion!”

Tat was lost in a giggle fit and I caught her as she stumbled off the sidewalk onto the road, holding her abdomen. Someone definitely spiked her drink.

She wiped her eyes of tears and smiled. “You’re funny, Xavier.” She shook her head. “Maybe that’s another reason I picked you that night.”

“Maybe.” I agreed. “Get off the road, Tat, you’ll get run over.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the sidewalk. “You’re not completely immortal.”

“Sometimes I wish I was, Xavier. Especially for Ian—he could have come from that quarrel—from his attempted murder—unscathed. Completely burn free...” Tatiana’s walk was unsteady and listless and I put an arm around her as she was haunted by memories. “Ian worked as a blacksmith y’see…someone stabbed him with the knife he’d made for the man. Anger over a price I think…” Tatiana shook her head. “I’m nearly two centuries old, older then any woman should be, and still fertile. Still able to reproduce…it’s not right. Death should have taken me long ago.”

It’s sometimes not Death’s choice which one of us goes, and who gets to stay…it’s yours in the end. I didn’t say anything, didn’t bother arguing with her, but only tightened my hold on her as we walked into the quiet downtown, into the womb of our naive human culture, and started for Tatiana’s apartment.