A/N: Check out pictures of my characters at myspace(.)com/helloautumn. Also, be sure to leave a review.

Chapter 1: The Red Door

Being inside the vampire embassy gave Xekiel Sinclair chills. It was the sort of place you entered upon receiving an invitation and never by accident. That night, be it fate or poor judgment, he happened to be clutching that very violet and very unpleasant invitation in his grasp.

As he stood within the extravagant fortress, he took a moment to consider his options. He figured that another rotation in the revolving doors would land him back outside and another step into the foyer would require him to stay. Gripping the summons a little tighter, he moved forward.

And as he strolled across the marble floor, all eyes bore into him with vicious curiosity. He must have been a strange sight, a vampire older than three hundred gracing the presence of such newbloods. The yellow candlelight played across his ivory complexion as he moved towards the neat reception desk.

A woman with bronzed skin looked up from her computer screen. The marks on her neck were recognizable, black and blue puncture wounds. He assumed that she doubled for the council vending machine. "Xekiel Sinclair." He smiled, concealing his disgust and setting the invitation in front of her.

"Mr. Sinclair, the council is expecting you." She took the slip of paper and attempted to straighten out the wrinkles. He must have been clutching it a bit too tightly, because her efforts seemed unrewarding.

Moments slipped by, wrapped in ugly silence. Leaning into the desk, he waited patiently for her to point him in the proper direction. All of the sudden, her eyes lifted and flickered over his shoulder.

"Is he with you?" She gestured at the teenage vision behind him.

"I suppose he is." Xekiel watched her fingers knead the creases out of the paper. He resisted the urge to seize her hand, snap every manicured finger, and put an end to the ridiculous act. As if on cue, she surrendered the task and filed the purple invitation into a nearby trash bin. "He'll wait out here." He told her, glancing at the nervous newblood.

Xekiel recognized his rigid posture. Simon hated being inside the embassy almost as much him, but Simon never even received an invitation. He was there upon his master's order.

"The council will see you." The woman nodded across the foyer, directing his attention towards a red door. Up until that moment, Xekiel never believed in the red door. He heard stories passed from vampire to vampire of those who entered and never returned. He brushed them off as fables, but something told him they were real. Whichever the case, he would find out soon enough.

"Simon, I expect you to be on your best behavior with this nice lady." He smirked at the young man, rather the hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire. Simon rolled his eyes, well accustomed to the poor humor. "You have your orders." Xekiel nodded, a secret smirk stealing across his lips.

"Xeke, wait." Simon boomed, earning attention from every pair of eyes in the room. Xekiel cringed, feeling a set of cold fingers coil around his arm. He spun around to face the impressionable youth. "This is a horrible plan," Simon urged. Xekiel recognized the concern for his wellbeing. It should have meant something. It should have filled Xekiel's chest with warm butterflies knowing that someone cared for his very cold and very dead existence. For some reason, it didn't. "They could kill you." Simon spoke the words as if they were a secret.

"Yes, they probably could." Xekiel shrugged, not instilling any confidence in his companion's hazel eyes. Simon had too much compassion to be among the ranks of the undead. "Just do what you're told. Everything will work out." Xekiel wrenched away and straightened his new suit-jacket. He felt bad for leaving him in the foyer with a malnourished vending machine and cast of bloodthirsty vampires, but he was confident that the newblood could handle himself.

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his silk pants, Xekiel closed the space between himself and the infamous red door where an ugly brute intercepted his path. He stalled in his tracks, taking in the sight of the broad chest and shifting his gaze upwards.

This vampire could have very well been an ogre or troll of some sort, seeing as how Xekiel stood at six foot three. "Mr. Sinclair, the council has requested that all guests remove their shoes before entering." He spoke in a husky voice, wearing a serious expression, a cheap suit, and a nametag that read Clyde.

"These are thousand dollar shoes." He tried reasoning with the dense obstacle, glancing down at his feet and admiring the polished loafers.

"I suggest you remove them."

Even as Xekiel stepped out of the shoes, he recognized the clever tactic. A very small part of him admired the council. They were humbling him, lessening him before entering the room. He knew it was all a mind game, the same sort of mind game played in temples.

The cold of the tiles seeped through his socks, sending an unpleasant ripple through his legs. "Make sure they go to a deserving family." Xekiel told Clyde, realizing he may never see the shoes again.

"Please, step inside." Clyde lacked any sense of humor.

Xekiel ignored the demand, stealing one final glance across the foyer. Simon chewed at his fingertips rather than his fingernails. It was a nervous habit, one they were working to break. His his fingers always grew back, so there was really no harm in the act. Xekiel probably should have been the nervous one, but Simon seemed to be worrying enough for the both of them.

Clyde cleared his throat, taking a more direct approach and ushering Xekiel into the dim room. The red door clanked shut and a bolt locked into place. The unpleasant sound resonated through Xekiel, rattling through his bones. It prompted a shiver through his spine. "We appreciate you coming all this way, Xekiel." The familiar voice shattered the silence.

Xekiel lifted his honey-toned eyes to the company of white faces, all eleven staring up at him from around a wooden table.

"Tell me, Warrick, have you decided to make yourself known among the mortals?" Xekiel cut to the chase, dashing all formalities and strolling into the sparse room. His stocking feet patted across the concrete floor, propelling him closer towards the unresponsive council.

"I have." The Highest Overseer stepped into the weak light. He fashioned an arrogant smile, wearing his fangs as a sign of deep disrespect. It was a juvenile tactic, meant to unnerve Xekiel. He only smirked in response, refusing to give the urchin that sort of control over him. "My decision seems to have the elders rolling in their graves." Warrick chuckled, admiring his own wit.

"What an interesting choice of words, seeing as how you put them there."

"You're here with us."

"I'm not an elder." Xekiel folded his arms over the expensive suit jacket. Simon insisted that a new ensemble would convey a better image to the council, earn him respect in their clouded eyes. Simon obviously never met them. Xekiel probably could have waltzed into the room naked and their expressions would have remained the same.

"You are one of the three oldest vampires in existence." Warrick reminded him.

"I suppose I am." He smirked, showing off his canines. "Maybe that should earn me a little more respect."

Warrick laughed. "Not in this day and age." He trailed his fingertips along the polished tabletop. "This is the next generation of vampires." He gestured to the white faces, which could have passed for freshly unearthed corpses. They could have been propped in their seats with duck tape, their eyes stapled open.

"If this is the next generation, what does that make me?"

"That makes you an elder." He sunk his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

"That makes me in charge." Xekiel glared at the newblood, who lived for little more than two hundred years.

"That makes you a liability." Warrick corrected him with a sense of finality, searching for the proper words to follow. "To be honest Xekiel, I brought you here to kill you." He admitted, glancing up to catch his reaction. After living for five hundred years, Xekiel knew how to control his emotions on the outside. On the inside, however, the words settled like a bitter poison. "Unfortunately, you have quite the reputation among our cousins in Europe. They respect you. I fear that if you fall, my decision might cause unnecessary repercussions." He always did enjoy the sound of his own voice.

Warrick walked behind him, forcing the tiny hairs on his neck to rise. Xekiel understood that by earning the status of elder, his life expectancy took a turn for the worst. They would try to kill him sooner or later. He might as well have saved himself the trouble with a self-inflicted stake wound. "What are you getting at, Warrick?"

"You will join us."

"I will not."

"You will either join us or you will join the other elders." He placed the ultimatum on the polished surface of the council table.

"This is bullshit." Xekiel exploded, unable to remain civil. "You cannot make yourselves known among the humans!" He searched the waxy faces for any hint of doubt. They stared at him with their blank expressions, their hollow eyes, and puppet strings. "What happens when they lock themselves in their homes, when they all start wearing silver jewelry, or carrying holy water in their handbags? What happens when we run out of prey? Our only option is to continue living in secret harmony."

"I have considered all these things." Warrick defused his passionate speech, his dark eyes simmering with amusement. He stirred across the room, his footfalls echoing over the stone walls. Upon reaching a small table, he palmed an ugly dagger. The sharpened metal gleamed in the dim lights, sending a nervous sensation rippling through Xekiel. He realized that he might never leave through the red door.

His first thought was of the shoes, sitting outside. He imagined them on the massive feet of the ogre vampire. His lips curled in disgust. The knucklehead was probably trying them on at that exact moment. His second thought was of Simon, the poor newblood would be lost without him.

Taking a step backwards, he began calculating an escape. The door was locked from the outside, but maybe he could plow through it.

"Relax, Xekiel." Warrick shook with a mocking laughter. He did something unexpected, turning the silver dagger on himself. He drove it through his midsection.

Xekiel kneaded his eyebrows together, expecting a piercing cry of pain or agony. A familiar laughter bounded off the stone walls, loud and explosive. The newblood withdrew the blade, tossing it onto the council table. "We are invincible." He threw up his arms in victory.

"Invincible? How is that even—?" Xekiel tried not to sound perturbed, but his voice betrayed him.

"It hardly concerns you." Warrick brushed off the question.

"This is crazy."

"This is a new age. The time has come to stop living in 1459." Warrick moved towards the red door, placing a guiding hand against Xekiel. Xekiel turned, noticing a series of claw marks, dents, and bloody handprints across the metal surface. He was relieved that none of the imprints belonged to him. "You will alert your territory of my decision." Warrick knocked twice as a signal to the brute on the other side. The sound echoed through the dim room, bounding off the empty walls.

"My territory will never accept this." Xekiel growled at the newblood.

"Then your territory will fall with the humans." He threatened, nodding towards the exit. Xekiel took the hint and stepped into the candlelit foyer, hearing the door slam shut behind him. A cast of newbloods lifted their heads in response to the loud noise.

Xekiel ignored their probing gaze, searching for his shoes. He was pleased to find them untouched. "They didn't fit, huh?" He glanced up at Clyde. The vampire showed no hint of amusement, his face remaining stoic. "Don't worry big guy, they are a little small on me too." He smirked, slipping his feet into the leather loafers.

His eyes shifted to Simon. The newblood waited patiently on a handsome divan, wringing his pale hands together. Xekiel watched him in secret for a long moment, but his gaze finally connected with his. Simon bolted to his feet in a nervous motion. Xekiel could tell that Simon disliked being in the company of the council vampires almost as much as he did.

Simon never played nicely with others. That wasn't saying much, seeing as how Xekiel found him in a mental institution making friends with voices in his head. In all his years, Xekiel never found a specimen quite like Simon Greenwich.

Moving towards him, Xekiel slouched out of his suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder. "Was that such a horrible plan?" He smirked, nodding to the doorman on their way out. Much like Simon, the council vampires made him uncomfortable. They were all younger than Xekiel, but paraded around like gifts to creation. He found it amusing, seeing as how they existed solely to destroy it. They were killers, just like the rest of vampirekind.

Stepping into the winter night, Xekiel scanned the glowing streetlamps and drifts of white snow. The pale flakes twirled down from the dark heavens, settling over the scenery like a plush blanket. The months of winter thrilled him, more than any other time out of the year. Something about them warmed his dead insides, like memories from a very distant past. "Xekiel," The voice caught his attention, beckoning straight from that very distant past.

He turned around, catching sight of the vision in gold. "Isabella," He acknowledged the beauty. She wore the skin of a seventeen year old, fragile and innocent, but unlike most of her victims, Xekiel knew better than to believe the sugar sweet charade. On the inside, Isabella was the worst kind of killer. She showed no mercy or compassion, only a curiosity for the art of death. Of anyone, Xekiel should have known, because he created her.

"Were you leaving without saying goodbye?" She mimicked a playful pout, drawing her fingers through the precious curls that framed her porcelain face.

"Goodbye, Isabella." He probably should have used more tact, but he had lost affection for the newblood. She abandoned his territory to join the ranks of the council, wishing to undermine and steal it out from under him. His little slice of paradise was probably the most envied, holding the oldest of their kind.

"What is this game you're playing, Xekiel?" She asked, her golden dress stirring in a cold breeze

"No game, Isabel." He assured her.

"How strange," she purred. "The Xekiel Sinclair that I knew was always working an angle." She crossed a pair of pale arms over her chest.

Xekiel only smirked, leaving her in front of the old building and heading towards the parked car. Simon fell into suit beside him, his red cowboy boots crunching in the wet snow. He probably looked strange to the humans, not entirely dressed for the bitter weather. That was another aspect they were working on, blending in with the humans.

"They want you dead, you know?" Simon looked up at him. Xekiel could never have asked for greater loyalty in a child of his bloodline. He considered himself the father that Simon never had. When his real father locked him in a horrible institution, Xekiel came to his rescue. When the doctors wanted to hammer spikes through his eye sockets to cure his schizophrenia (1), Xekiel killed them all. Xekiel treasured Simon, more than any living person could.

"Great, how about we start with something I don't know." Xekiel lifted his eyes to the twinkling heavens, feeling the snowflakes fall against his pale face.

"Warrick wants to give your territory to Isabella." Simon fished through his pockets for the car keys.

"I knew that."

He palmed a busy keychain, strolling towards a handsome Aston Martin on the curb. Xekiel gave him the car as a present for his hundred and fiftieth birthday. "He wants Ashland."

"He wants Ashland? I probably would have given it to him, had he asked nicely. What would he want with that place?"

"There is some sort of a hunter there, a siren." Simon hesitated. "Xekiel, I always thought sirens were a myth."

"I bet you thought vampires were a myth, too." Xekiel smiled, considering the morsel of information. His maker told him a story once, about two ancient sisters that lived on the pages of epic poems and fantasies. They were bestowed with the ability to bring life and take it. "Get in touch with the coven in Newport. I want them to reach out to the vampires in Ashland. Find information about this hunter. "

"Well, what are we going to do?" Simon asked, unlocking the car and dropping behind the wheel.

"We are going to Ashland." Xekiel announced, tossing his suit jacket in the back seat and loosening his tie.

(1) This was a treatment for schitzophrenia in the late eighteen hundreds.