The 28th Night

The 28th Night Destler lied, the fired lasted for three days. Three days of terror, of sheer and abject panic. The Vampric Beast is a creature of impulse of primal instinct. It responds to urges, fight or flight. It thrives on Hunger, Anger, Vice and Fear. Fire is the Beasts Bane, our Bane. And of all the Vampires in the existence, we Khaibit are the most terrified of Fire. I knew Destler. I knew the man’s works. Even while he was busy driving me into a mind numbing insanity he was doing it with a point. There was always method in the melevolence. The first step in his training was to break the psyche, to make them malleable to the lessons. It was easier for him back when I was a neonate. I barely knew the rules then. But that was the better half of a century ago. This was going to take time to break me down. Of course, I also knew him well enough to know that that was pretense. This was Revenge. I left him for dead in a burning building, he’s returning the gesture in kind. After the Third Day, the training began. I was trapped. Closed off in Destler’s gs chamber. The only light and means of escape came from a lucite window revealing a brightly lit room with the furniture casting deep shadows. Destler’s puzzle was simple: the Khaibit controlled and manipulated Shadows. One trick was to step into one Shadow and appear in another. It was one that I had never learned, and Destler was forcing the issue. The first few days I think of as a montag, the stupid attempts, focusing on one of the shadows and trying to will myself there, running into the dark corners to use the shadows , manipulating them crafting them or the shadows in the next room. All attempts failed. I expended so much blood those first few days, burning myself to the brink of starvation. Vitae, the magic that lies within the blood of all living beings, is what keeps us from being Corposes when the sun goes down.. The night I run out of Vitae will be my last as a walking, talking monster. I didn’t want that. Destler, true to his word, fed me when I needed it. My blood is too strong to feed off of animals. I required the blood of humans, at the least. Destler found them for me. A slat in my darkened cell (one of the ones I was sure originlly housed one of those fire nozzles) would slide open, producing an arm. It was too dark, even with my night vision, to make out the details. Gender and Race were irregardless when I needed to slake my need for blood. I fed, and I fed deeply. I am sure without a doubt that I have killed in that night. I am not a fan of killing, not without a pupose. Survival is the greatest purpose I could think of. Survival is what drove me throughout my mortal life a century before. Despite my assurances, the sweet blood felt bitter in my mouth. Finally, I began to train on my own. When I first began Destler’s tutelage last century, he taught me various martial arts forms and styles, many of which focused on my strengths: blunt force trauma. He taught me patterns of movement, means of making me more efficient in my strikes. Destler gave my actions focus, refining my violence. I was doing one of those forms, practicing, training-Destler seemed to approve of that, Idleness was rewarded with fire- when it suddenly occurred to me just how to step through shadows. It was the simplest thing in the world to just see my destinatio, the shdow in the fr corner of the well lit room and step through the darkened cell to it. No one mentioned what Shadow Stepping felt like from the inside. On the Outside, it just looks like someone walks into one shadow and walks out of another in the rea. Destler is the only Khaibit I’ve ever met though (Though the Sheriff of Oneonta wasn’t surprised to see me move Shadows around. I’ll have to follow up with that if ever get out of here) and he never once warned me about how cold it all was. One of the things I had forgotten about was to shut off my nightvision, leaving me stuck in the middle of a painfully white room. I braced myself against the steel table. Pain was a fact, not a sensation for vampires. However, that was the single most important fact in my head at this point. The pain died down slowly. And that’s when I heard Destler laugh, “If it makes you feel better,” he said. “I made the same mistake when I first learned the to go through the dark.” It didn’t. I told him as much as I grabbed the steel table in the room. I hadn’t exactly noticed that the whole thing had been bolted to the floor. It didn’t matter much in the end, as I wrench it clear out of the floor and hurled it towards Destler. My mentor. My tormentor. The table went through him, literally through him and clattered in a heap on the floor behind him. The man standing before me was a walking shadow, a being of inky darkness taking up height, width and depth. Baleful red eyes glowed at me, narrowed. “One would think a month would have cooled your blood.” That stopped me. A month? Had it already have been a month? “28 Days,” he said. “The moon has waxed and waned since your instruction began.” Something worked itself inside me. Surely, in the span of a month, my Family would have been aware of my disappearance and would have reacted somehow. Surely my Sire, Genevieve, would have sensed me through our blood bond. I’d frenzied, starved, raged. And through her the other members of House Asteria, the vampiric childers and a grandchilders of three siblings were all tied into one another through the connecting (and addicting) power of the blood. I was most likely still in New York, Destler as far as I knew had no other holdings. So they would have to be on the look out for me. Wouldn’t they? They’d know by now that I was gone, tortured. So either I was out of their reach completely...or they didn’t make the attempt to look for me. Why wouldn’t they look for me? The thought had no basis, didn’t it? I’d been with my family, always. Why wouldn’t they look for me? Why… My eyes moved towards Destler, the darkened void with his infinite fucking patience. Did he know how much I hated him? Was he even capable of comprehending my hatred of him? His face was obscured, but his posture and voice screamed the patient teacher, “Tell me, Owen. How do you feel right now.” Part of me wished to retort with a snide comment, or to try my hand to slam the two chairs until he decides to come out of his form. But I was tired, and I was confused, and I was angry. “Cold,” I said. “I feel cold.”

The 43rd Night

The next few nights were much like the nights before them. Investigation, meditation. Destler expected me to be able to become a shadow, the ultimate aspect of the Khaibit. My nights, unsurprisingly, were spent shadow stepping through the area alloted me. The room was brightly lit, allowing for stark contrast and shadows in the room. I moved between the well lit room and the shadow chamber next to me, sometimes bouncing through that room alone as I moved from darkened corner to darkened corner with merely a step and a thought. There was an undeniable freedom in shadow stepping, the wash of cold that sinks through your skin and into what little of a soul we vampires have is relaxing. At first, I didn’t like the cold. It scared me. Now, it was refreshing, familiar. In between those seconds of moving from place to place, no one could touch me. I was free. At the start, Destler kept me here through fear and strength. But something happened amongst the days of fire and isolation. I wanted to know more, I wanted to be able to master Obtenebration. I wanted to be a Khaibit, a true one. I wanted to be something more than a man who sits on top of his monolith and coming down at the whims of his family. I was a servant, but I was not a slave. With Obtenebration, the shadow-arts, I could be more, I could do more. I would become a walking shadow, where only the sun can harm me. And in the end, that was all I ever wanted. Destler never showed himself after my night of shadow-stepping. He proved his point, all smiles as he faded back under the cracks of the seals, my only way out of the room. I hated him, but he was helping me, teaching me. He must have known the moment I learned the final technique, I would hunt him down and finish this. He was a megalomaniac, but he wasn’t far sighted enough to not see it. Was he? And where was my family in all of this? It’s been almost two months and I can feel them, and they can feel me. Were they looking for me? Surely Nikolas or Ramiel would have done something. Maybe Juniper, if we could get her lucid enough. Rhona would scour this city if given half a reason, and I’m almost sure a missing nephew would be reason enough. Patrick and James would be right beside her and whatever god watches over the poor bastards in their way had better take pity. Genevieve and Winny...it depends. But by now, I had to believe that for the first time in eighty years, I was truly on my own. That scared me. It had been so long since I was on my own, only relying on myself. I was an Asteria, a member of an old and proud lineage of vampires. I built a hotel for my family to live in, to consolidate their efforts. I dedicated my services as a Khaibit to our House and our mission. To explore the past, to revel in the present, to secure the future. And now, I was alone. I supposed that’s what Destler wanted from me. He didn’t want Owen Asteria, fledgling blood mage and servant to the Asteria Founders. He wanted Owen Lean, angry young man who took to his Embrace like a bird to flight. He wanted someone who had lived on the streets, who knew hardships and knew that, in the end, you could only trust yourself in the night. I spent my nights trying to disregard those thoughts. I would find my way out of here, I would find my Family. Or I would die in the process. I spent those days meditating on the shadows, trying to learn and become them. Somehow, I felt that the feeling of being while going through the shadows were key to the process. I focused, and studied, and stepped through the shadows. Destler said nothing, and just allowed me with my thoughts. Then, one night, I awoke in the cell. The well lit chamber was darkened, with the table (that had been reattached to the floor after I ripped it out) laid out with table cloth, a lit candle, and a bottle of what looked like lacrima. My mouth watered. Vampires cannot eat food or consume drink like normal people. It’s blood, or nothing. That is of course until some enterprising vampires found the means of bathing a plant in blood and processing it into a means of consumption. Lacrima, we called it. It mostly came in the form of Wine or an alcoholic drink, but some of us still experimented with tobacco, marijuana. I had spent some time trying to perfect a lacrima/cocaine mix, but so far nothing stuck. It was an enjoyable process, relaxing. I looked down to the bottle and saw several rose petals on the table cloth. They were silver on the outside, and the color dry blood on the inside. Osiria Roses. I used them as the base for my lacrima. I pulled the bottle away, looking at the small note underneath it.Happy Birthday. It read. My heart sank. It was barely September when Destler abducted me. Now it’s almost the end of October. Two months. I’ve been here two months. I was born, best we could guess, on October 20th, 1901. My parents, Fiona and William Lean, were Irish immigrants on their way to New York. I was born in steerage. My father died in a bar fight when I was barely walking. My mother was raped and killed when I was eight. I was taken to an orphanage, and like it is in the stories, it was a fucking death trap. The nuns and priests abused us, the older children chased us and pulled pranks, or also abused us. I have seen and had things done to me as a human being that, as a Vampire, I would not wish on anyone. However, I grew up into what I am, a brawny thug. I wasn’t smart, but I was damn clever. I ran at the first chance, lived out on the streets. It wasn’t bad, in fact those were the only times I had fun days as a mortal. I got along with some thieving crews, we stole, conned, did favors for the burdgeoning mafia. And then, I did something stupid. I started getting into conning socialites. It was the 1920’s, people were throwing around money, champagne and sex in every which direction. I wanted in on that and I was willing to lie my way through the door. That’s when I met her, Genevieve of the House Asteria. Sharp minded, razor wit, manic and obsessed with life. I tried to con her, enter her mortal retinue. She was hip to my tricks. All I remember was her laughter and the words “You’ll do.” And then I was Embraced. You’ll hear stories about people bemoaning their misfortune, I enjoyed the process. I enjoyed being a Vampire. I think that’s what scared Genevieve so much. The first decade was intolerable for her, and she became afraid of me. That was when she and Ramiel conspired to send me to Destler for training. In short, she could be blamed for nearly all of this. I took the bottle of lacrima before me and opened it. It was my blend. A dark red, sweet but with and smooth. “Stealing from my wine cellar,” I said. “Bastard,” “He didn’t steal from it,” a voice said. “I brought it with me.” I looked up. I was expecting Destler, still in his shadow form, ready to mock me. I was not expecting who was actually there. My particular brand of faith is a bit leery on the notion of ghouls. Strictly speaking they don’t believe that humans and vampires should co-exist, and since ghouls are humans blessed and dependant on our blood, they serve as a bridge. While I keep my Faith, I also saw the benefit in having someone I could have to help me without strings attached. That person was Raina Jefferies. She was decades older than she looked, a product of the 70’s. I found her on the streets of Time Square, not too far from where my Hotel was built. I saw something in her, her struggle on the streets. She was a whore, broken, beaten and bloody. But there was fight in her. A need to win, a drive. I befriended her, made her a part of the Chorus, cult members of my Covenant who do not have to be Vampiric. Then I Ghouled her. She took to it just as I took to being a vampire. We understood one another. I truly believe she loves me. But junkies love their needles too. Raina stood in front of me. She wore a black ankle length dress, revealing a pair of heels that wrapped around her ankles. She had pale skin, and dark black hair. She was sharp as a knife, both in body and in mind. She smiled, warmly, and there was genuine life in her. “Why?” I asked. There was all there was to ask. “Because, Owen, I love you. Because I saw you for thirty years, building something. I want the best for you, I want what is best for you. Mr. Destler approached me, offered to continue your training. I knew he never meant to hurt you, never meant to kill you. I kept the secret, and I maintain the hotel. I love you, Owen.” I stood there, numbly. Sharper than a Serpent’s Tooth. To her eternal credit, she stood her ground. “I am here to do with as you will.” There was an understanding in her words. She was giving me a choice. To punish her for her betrayal, to thank her for her assistance, to bless her again with my blood. I was tempted, very tempted. I imagined my hands caressing her head, caressing her neck, and snapping it off her shoulders. I imagined draining her dry and she begged me to Embrace her. I imagined breaking that chair off and smashing her with it. I did none of those things. I took my wrist against my fangs, opening up the rich veins full of the Vitae. She approached me, and I offered it to her. She took to it, gladly, her mouth tasting it. I felt the pressure of her lips, the thirst in her motions. The junkie loves her needle, and the needle loves right back. When I felt she had enough, I grabbed her. It was not violent, not in a way that either of us would object to. I could smell the Osiria in the air, at some point I dropped the bottle onto the ground. I threw the candle off the table, placing her down amongst the petals. She opened herself to me, and I joined her. My Raina, Mine. And as we completed our reunion, as the dawn came and I felt the tug of sleep claim me. As I fell asleep in my arms. My thoughts betrayed me. Damn you, Destler. Thank you.

Falls the Shadow: The First Night

I remember waking up in darkness, my chest aching with a dull but constant throb. Images and shades of emotions flooding back to me. Rage, anger, a piece of wood in my chest. I'd been staked.

Surveying the room brought me no results, the room was roughly twenty by twenty and covered in shadow. The only source of light was a pane that revealed another room, all white with a table in the center, the only darkness in that room were from the table and chairs. The pane was just that, a pane. There was no door, no crease, no entry that I could tell. I remember tapping into my blood, flooding my body with strength. The my hands crashed against the material of the pane, but it didn't break, it didn't even crack. I remembered my hands banging against the walls, clearly made of some matte black metal. Banging became fevered screaming, then a resigned form on the floor, slunk beneath the light.

That's when I heard the laughing.

Even with the nightvision of my bloodline to aid me, I couldn't make out his shape. A brief second, which felt like forever, and I didn't have to. I knew who it was. The last I had seen of my Avus and former mentor was in the burning wreckage of an apartment building more than fifty years ago, his body pinned under rubble as I left him to die.

It apparently didn't hold.

Destler, the man who taught me to be a Khaibit. Clan Mekhet calls themselves 'shadows', Khaibit are a part of that Clan that make it literal.

I could hear him smile when I recognized him. "Dear Owen. Even in that burning hovel, as my Beast screamed in abject terror, did I feel nothing but pride for you. The rate of eagerness you sought to supplant me was truly astounding, but considering that clutch of backstabbers and pale shadows that sired you, it should have been expected."

Rage filled me. Family is everything. But he was baiting me, he always baited me. He had a point to make.

He didn't answer when I called him out on it, he didn't say anything. A living shadow stood in the room with me, his form motionless. "Owen," he said. As I look back on it, I remember hearing the disappointment in his voice. "Look at you. Look at what they've done to you. They've made you like them. They've made you weak, They--"

I didn't hear what he had to say next, it was probably demeaning any way. I remember putting strength into my hand and cutting my palm with my nails. One of the more basic spells I learned can freeze the Vitae, the power within the life's blood that animates the Kindred to the living dead. I felt the ritual hold and release

And it hit nothing.

Destler was already on top of me. He was always faster than me, always. I felt the darkness grab me and shove me against the wall.

"You arrogant child," he barked. "Never presume to try that again." His voice softened, "You've squandered what you could be for what? For the peasant magic your family treasures? You'd trade the power of the shades for hedge rituals and backwater spells? For what? 'Owen, go do this'? 'Owen, take me there'? 'Owen, hide this body'? 'Owen, build us this hotel'?

That last one was my idea, actually. I was proud of it at the time, and of Raina, my Ghoul, who legally owned the whole thing in mine and my family's name. Dear Raina, sweet Raina.

"They're wasting you, child," he said bleakly. "The Khaibit are servants, but we're not slaves. Your abilities are wasted serving their House."

I'm also a member of that House. The Asteria explored the past, present and future, as a Khabit I dedicated myself to serving them. I told Destler as much.

He didn't seem impressed, if anything he was sadder, "That may make things all the more tragic. A Khaibit servitor is an honor and they're treating you as a nanny for lechers and madwomen. That is not befitting a Khaibit, that's befitting a neonate too dumb to know anything!"

His voice raised, and I suddenly found myself slammed against the floor. Vampires are notorious for being hard to kill. Shooting us does as much damage as hitting us with a ballbat, and we heal fast too. Also, we don't feel the same way. Oh we feel love and anger, but those are echoes of our mortal selves. Pain exists the same way. My back told me it as in pain, all of it. It was a cold, calculated fact that did nothing to actually help me.

Nor was the heel of his shoe, that he immediately shoved into my right shoulder. He was just as strong as I was, maybe stronger. If he pressed harder, there was nothing to say he couldn't step clean through my body mass.

"You're lost," he said. "You're lost and you don't even know it. There was an edge to your words, a threat, a danger. Your sire named you well, 'Monster'. You were all the things that made you worthy of being my heir."

I remember rasping, "I'm not your heir?"

He smiled. I remember seeing a smile. He had no face in the darkness but I remember he smiled. "Oh, but you are. While the French Woman gave you the Embrace, and the Old Crones taught you their plebian ways. You may bear the name 'Asteria' and your blood sings in their blood but you, Owen Lean, when the night falls and the shadows are your only companions, you are mine."

I lay there numbly. Part of me waited, crouched in the back of my mind for the opening to strike. But the part of me that knew better realized that Destler knew me better than I did. He had watched me, apparently for a while. I was trapped, and I accepted it, and I hated myself for it.

I asked him what he wanted. I remember the taste of defeat in my mouth, like ashes and old coins.

"I want to remind you of what you were, of what you are. Owen," he said my name pleadingly, as if he was trying to prove the point. "I've come back to complete your training, to make you the Khaibit that you should be instead of the servant that you are." He released his foot and walked back to the wall with the window pane. I crawled, crawled, away from him, seeking the safety of distance and a solid wall.

"You'll thank me when this is over," he said. "You'll thank me for making you what you truly are."

I asked him: what was I?

He stepped past the panel. I expected to see the face of the man I had once considered a mentor, a teacher. I saw nothing, nothing but darkness where a face should be. "You're like me, just a shadow on the wall." He paused and looked behind him. "Your training begins tomorrow. The task is simple: learn to leave this cell. Learn to step through the shadows. You will feed only when you need to be fed."

I asked him what would happen if I refused.

He shrugged, "Then you will know these walls with an intimacy that borders the Gangrels love of dirt."  With that, he vanished. There was silence in the room at first, and I prayed to Erebus for that. Then his form, still a mass of shadow, appeared behind the window pane. His voice piped in through a speaker somewhere in the room.

"Tonight, we will begin where we left off. " I started to realize there was a sound behind him as he spoke. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't on his PA, it was in the room with me. A hissing sound, like a python hissing without taking a breath. I knew, without any doubt in my mind, what was about to happen. I hugged the wall intently.

"You left me to die in a fire, screaming in the midst of the Red Fear," he said, his voice becoming hard and unyielding. "I would like to share the experience with you."

Little balefire lights formed throughout the room, each one three feet away from each other on the floor and walls. I was stuck in the middle of two.  I already felt the beast within me recoil.

I don't remember the fire igniting. I don't remember the plumes of  flame spurting from the floors of my twenty by twenty hell. I don't remember if Destler stayed to watch. I just remembered sitting there, cradling myself as I screamed for my life.

That was my first night of training

The Hour of the Wolf

The Hotel Monolith is quiet during these hours. Even in the city that never sleeps, the dark hour of four in the morning brings a surreal calm. Like a body holding it's breath before the plunge into dawn. The cleaning service has not yet begun, and the residents have not all stopped. as I travel, I can hear the soft moans and sighs coming from one room. She is a congresswoman, I believe, in town to discuss the decline or morality in the country. Apparently, she was exploring the decline first hand, as were her young intern and one of Raina's people. I remember his cries from the night we first hired him. He tasted of fear, panic, and lust. Those things are good for one in his position. I must remember to have Raina reward him adequately.

            I travel through the hallway, and a familiar voice can be heard. My uncle Nikolas has been more fond of mortals than I have, in many ways and many forms of undress. I'm only glad my grandsire isn't here this evening. One those two go at it, it nearly breaches the Masquerade. Nikolas was with his Ghouls this evening, last Raina told me. We're both cult leaders, he and I, but where he dresses it up as a 'business venture' I have no illusions as to what we do.

            We control.

            I leave his room for now, maybe in a little while I'll come back and see if he's free. I continue my circuit through the winding halls of the Monolith. The sweet silence of night is almost tangible. I enjoy these moments. I move on to another floor, seemingly at random. My Sire, Genevieve, once caught me doing this, my constitutionals. I tried to explain, I'm a people-watcher at heart. She hasn't had a pulse in her body for almost two centuries but for the pulse of society. Society has always been identified by what is deemed at the time as appropriate behavior. I have never been one for appropriate behavior. We understand this about each other, and have stopped judging each other...mostly.

            The silent reverie of my walk was disturbed by a high pitch shriek. I moved to the side of the hallway, nearest to the windows. A young girl, using a pillow for some semblance of modesty, rushed out of the door.

            "Get out of here, you stupid slag!" Cried a very belligerent voice from the room. I watched as the door slammed shut as she approached. She said nothing, but her gaze said everything. She was not one of Raina's. I quickly grabbed my phone and punched a few buttons on the sensitive glass. It almost amazes me that this is the future, when as a child the telegraph was just being invented. I wasn't worried of the girl seeing me, from here she would see nothing but  a mass of shadows in the corner. I informed Raina of her presence, and inquired about the man in room 3729.
            To her credit, my faithful Raina had an answer in less than a minute. Diego Harper, British Pop Star. I looked to the young woman, obviously a groupie. I told Raina to send someone to her. She would know what to do. The young woman wandered aimlessly in the hall, hovering around the door. She had a young, firm body. I could almost smell her musk in the air. I moved quietly out of the shadows and approached her. She felt me before she saw me, I have never hidden what I am. She didn't run. Even panicked, this doe had strength.

            I have uses for such strength.

            "Do not be afraid, young one." I said, a gentle smile over her eyes. She stared at me then, the arm clutching the pillow falling limply to her side. Yes, she was lovely in an innocent way.

            "A-are you hotel security?" She whispered.

            "Of a sort," I replied, my voice barely louder than hers. I saw her pale skin wash in goose bumps. Her body was gripped in flight or fight, she knew she was in the presence of a predatory creature. Her musk strengthened. "Has this man harmed you?"

            She shook her head once, then stopped and started nodding. "I thought I wanted it at first, but I changed my mind. I have a boyfriend you see. He's up in Schaghticoke, thinking I came down here for a swim meet." She looked down, and I think for the first time she fully realized she was naked. Tears welled up as she realized the implications of her evening. Lust is a powerful thing, as are the other Vices. We are all bound to our Vices. Teenagers and Celebrities more so, and for different reasons. She did not come to me for comfort, she was traumatized but not completely out of her wits. This one would be alright.

            The elevator opened. Raina Jefferies was as lovely as the day I found her in the darkest street corner twenty years ago. She barely aged a day, with my Vitae coursing through her veins. My faith looks down upon interacting with mortals as equals, but as the Carthians are wont to remind me, we need to bridge the gap to survive in these new days. Raina was dressed in a long, slender black dress, each flick of the dress revealed a bit of her high heel shoes, also black. Her hair, cut in pageboy style. She was a woman of sharp angles and sharper intellect.

            "My dear," I said to the young girl. "This is Raina, she will make sure you're taken care of while we handle this."

            Raina placed her hands around the girls shoulders and immediately turned back towards the elevator. The young girl spoke again, finding strength in her voice as she stepped away from me. "W-what will y-you do?" she said, looking back.
           

            I shrugged, "I'll speak to him." I nodded, to Raina who nodded back. The girl would be given food, a place to sleep, and some money to keep her silence. As for Diego Harper...

            I turned on my heels and faced the door. I knocked very loudly.

            "What!?" Shouted Harper, his British strong in his voice.

            "Compliments of the Hotel service," I said.

            That got his attention, he swung the door open. Diego Harper was a wiry man, he had wholesome good looks that made him accessible to a broader base. He had sheep-thick black hair on his head, stubbling on his chin and lightly on his chest, stomach, arms and legs. He shaved everywhere else.

            He was drunk, that was clear in his eyes. He made no attempts to look outside for the girl. He felt it though, the strangeness that marks all vampires. He blinked, and any signs of threat washed from him. ''Yes?" he asked, assessing the danger.

            I smiled, showing full teeth. This man was a predator, and the only way to deal with predators was to prove yourself their better. "I represent the hotel, we wanted to give you something on behalf of owner. May I come in?"

            Everything in his eyes said "No", but this one did not have the strength to enforce it. He nodded stiffly and let me in. The room was a mess, a ramshackle. The cleaning staff would spit tacks this morning. On the floor, scattered about, were the tattered remains of what looked like female clothing, up to and including ripped undergarments. His own clothes were thrown about.

            He walked in next to me as I sat at the hotel rooms desk. I took the small tray that the mint had been placed on and cleared it of the white powder that had been put on it. Inside my coat pocket was a small vial of red powder.

            "What is that?" he said, curiosity taking over his fear, though it either didn't bother him to be naked with another man or it hadn't occurred to him that he was still naked.

            "Special concoction of mine," I said. I twisted open the vial and poured it out on to the tray. "I call it a bloodline."

            Harper leaned in close, and I could smell the fear and nervousness on him. "What's it do?"

            I cut the powder into a line using one of the door keycards, "Why don't you give it a try?"
            Diego Harper, idol of the month to the mortals, made his species proud when he took an already rolled up dollar bill and used it to suck up the contents. I smiled, the moron.

            "Wow," he said. Bloodline had an initial kick to it, like someone breaching the outer walls of your castle.  He thoughtlessly placed his arms at his side, and soon the other effects began to kick in.

            "Wow," he said. It was slower this time. He began to rub his biceps slowly, deliberately, followed by his chest and abdomen. He became, in short order, painfully excited. I've always been told that Lust has always been my preferred Vice, watching someone ingest cocaine laced with my own blood, I can't seem to disagree with them. I took in all of him at a glance. His eyes were pie plates, dilated to where basic green became endless black. His extremity was almost the shade of a tomato as the blood boiled through him.

            "Yes," I said, enjoying the view. "It is quite something. Lie down on your stomach."

            He did, parts of him painfully resting on the mattress. I reached to the shadows through the power of my blood, that magic that sustains me and my kind. I tapped that magic and touched the shadows, making them move and sway shifting towards the head of his bed. He did not realize the shadows were upon him until they were already gliding down his upturned comforter. He gasped in surprise, falling backwards into me. My arms wrapped around him, their strength enhanced by the Blood. In his fear I felt him tense, but also yield. His reflexes were struggling with themselves. To run or to let it happen. My fangs extended and as his naked buttocks rest against me, so did other things. Despite the banality of the scene, I couldn't help but smile.

            There are many in the Carthian Movement who will say that humans and Vampires should co-exist. They believe that Vampires were once Mortals and should remember their roots. I do not believe this. My faith believes that Vampires and Humans are not the same, that while we may have come from them, we are not them now nor should we be. Neither the twain shall meet on equal terms. They are not our equals, they are our food. Their world stopped being ours the moment we felt the Embrace.

            Twenty minutes later, and I grew bored. I licked the punctures wounds on his neck, his skin salty sweet with perspiration. The fang marks healed almost instantly. The other bruises and bleeding in various other places, well, there are some places a Mekhet just won't lick. I left Mr. Harper passed out on the bed. He was alive, but the Bloodline-Hangover would be severe for a mortal and the iron-deficiency would not help it. His memory would be hazy, and the line between what was real and fantasy blurred, but he'd know that something would happen. With a bit of luck, it would teach him a lesson.

            If not, I'll just snap his neck.

            I sauntered off and headed back to my own rooms. I wanted to visit Nikolas, but Mr. Harper's lesson had put me behind my schedule. The monolith is built like a spire, with top three floors being the penthouses, in which the Prince of New York resides-yay me- and the social elite of the Kindred-my family- also reside. Above that is the ballroom, all glass walls and black marble, with a full view of the City from it's Midtown location. The top floor is my room, it shares similar features with the ballroom, in that the walls are dark tinted glass. My rooms, including a solid wall place to sleep during the day, and my altar. My altar is simple, an uneven marble slab. There was nothing on it, simple and darker than the already. All that lay on it was an athame of jagged obsidian glass.

            My family, for the most part, are Acolytes in the Circle of the Crone. With roots as deep and ancient since before the fall of Rome, The Acolytes have always been united in their individuality. Each one prayed to their own God or god or gods in whatever way they saw fit. My Grandsire, Ramiel, was of a sect that believed that most of the Circles teachings were metaphors with which we draw power from. I may agree with him in certain aspects, but his beliefs are not mine.

            I knelt before the altar, taking the obsidian dagger in my hands. I could feel the coming of the day, I would need to seek shelter or revert back to the corpse-form most of us become. It wouldn't take long for the sun to find me here.

            "Lo Io Erebus," I intoned. "Continue to grant me the strength to protect my House, continue to help me see them through the dark places they may find themselves. Grant me the strength to overcome any obstacles that stand in my path, to surmount any trials that befall me. Thank you for the gifts given me by the Embrace, thank you for Life Beyond Death. May I serve in your name now until my Final Descent." I slashed my wrist and poured the blood onto the altar, the dark stone drinking in the Vitae that kept me strong and my body alive despite it's death.

            My nightly service over, I looked out into the pre-dawn gloom over the City. I smiled, because I knew that this City was mine.

No Church in The Wild

            Linda rode the waves of pleasure around her like a boat in the storm. Every thrust he gave was another wave that rocked her. She felt every part of him, she enjoyed every part of him. This is the kind of sex that most women would kill for; this was the kind of sex that only appeared on eighth avenue peep shows. This was bliss to her.

            “Wrong!” Someone shouted. “Stop, Stop!”

            It took Linda a moment to register the voice, and another to hear precisely what was said. No, she thought, or said, she wasn’t sure. Don’t stop.

            Her partner however acquiesced, and she felt him pull out of her. and Linda suddenly came crashing back to reality. She was a sweating mess on a bed in a hotel, lit only by several clusters of candles throughout the room with a heavy miasma of sweet smelling incense floating above their heads. She had given up a perfectly good opportunity to flirt with her Sex Addicts Anonymous Group to audition for these people tonight. She didn’t want to leave unsatisfied.

            “Why did we stop?” She asked.

            “Because you weren’t doing it properly,” said Raine. Raine was the “Concierge” of the Hotel Monolith. She provided the guest with whatever they needed. Tickets, Cars, Directions, Drinks, Drugs, Pleasure.  She was more Manager and less Madame, her poise and dress all screamed corporate office. Her hair was cut to a short black bob which did nothing but accentuate her severe features. Linda didn’t find her attractive most of the time, unless she was in a certain light.

            “Felt pretty proper to me,” Linda retorted.  Her partner, Mark, let out a weak chuckle. She focused her gaze on him for a second to see that sweat was dripping from his body as well. She had heard other girls working in the Hotel refer to Mark as “the Cooler”, sent in to take care of the girls when they couldn’t finish with their client. Linda felt it a considerate notion and was one of the things that attracted her to the staff.

            Raine was standing near the door of the hotel room, shaking her head. “Linda, I want to hire you. You are beautiful, talented, and are clearly enjoying your work. ”

            Linda narrowed her eyes, “But?”

            “You’re running away.”

            Linda’s attention snapped to the opposite side of the room. The flickering lights in the hotel room left a lot of darkened spaces to be filled. One of the plush chairs sitting against the window was right where several of these clusters met. To Linda, the room felt darker more than looked it. It took her eyes to adjust, to find the source of the voice.  As her vision cleared, she saw a dark figure sitting in the chair. He (she could always tell a man from a woman in the dark) was of heavy frame, but most of it appeared in bulk muscle than fat. He sat still, ever so still, as if the slightest motion and he would disappear again.

            “I beg your pardon?” she said. She saw Mark in her periphery sit up. Clearly neither one of them had any problems with strangers seeing them naked.

            “I said, you’re running away.” The man said.  His voice was cool and crisp. “Come here.”

            Linda blinked, and then looked over to Raine, who nodded her assent. She didn’t even regard Mark as she got up and walked towards the man. The movement made her realize how much she was sweating, and the coolness of the sweat  made her skin raise in gooseflesh. The feeling of it between her legs gave her a small thrill.

            “Yes, sir?” She said demurely. She’d done the Dominant/submissive thing before. She could do it again.

            Without warning, the man’s hand flashed out. Linda was gasping in both shock and pleasure, taking a moment more to realize precisely where his hand went.

            “What is this?” he said. His hands were gentle but firm, he didn’t move or tease. Every time Linda moved, she felt his presence and shuttered.

            “It’s my…my…P…”

            “Wrong,” he said. His tone was matter-of-fact. “The word you’re looking for is “Power”. Men and women will pay hand over fist for what I have in my hand right now.  Do you know why they’ll pay?”

            Linda shuttered, she tried to remain in the conversation. But the presence between her legs threatened to send her off into the stratosphere.

            “They’ll pay because they can,” The man said without waiting for an answer. “You have something they want, and only you can give it. That is power. For a brief moment, you can make the rich and powerful bend over to worship your cunt. Does this appeal to you?”

            “y-Yes,” she stammered.

            “Then,” he said. “Why are you running away?”

            “I’m—“ she let out a gasp, her knees threatening to buckle and sending her on the floor. “I’m not.”

            “You are. You’re letting yourself succumb to power. You should be there, every minute of the way. Owning your power. Riding your power.”  Linda felt another wave of pleasure wash over her as the man’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “We’re looking for people who are unafraid of power. I’m not looking for junkies.”

            Linda’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly she felt control come back. If nothing than to spite him. “I am not afraid of power.”

            “Really?” the man said, thoughtfully. Even from this distance, she couldn’t see his face. But she knew, somehow, he was smiling. Without warning, he released his grip. That was enough for her to shudder to the ground, all the while maintaining eye contact with this man. She did not wish to appear weak infront of him.

            The man stood up from the chair and walked towards the door, passing Mark’s naked body on the bed and Raine at the door.

            “Have her ready and in my room,” he said to the concierge, who only nodded her head in acknowledgement. The man walked out, and Raine immediately went to pick up Linda's dress.

            "Who was that?"

            Raine grabbed the dress, a small slip of a read dress, and handed it to Linda. "That was Mr. Lean."

            "Mr. Lean?" She slipped the dress over her head and sliding. It barely fell below her pelvis, and showed off every curve she had. "Who is Mr. Lean?"

            "Mr. Lean owns the Monolith."

            "I thought that was--"

            Raine held up her hand, "Mr. Lean owns him too. He likes to make sure his investments are working well."

            "Investments?"

            Raine eyed him, "Don't flatter yourself, dear. To Mr. Lean, everyone is one. Mark, don't move."

            The command had been natural, but effective. The young man in the room had dropped the jeans he had been putting on and lay back down on the bed.

            "Take this key," Raine said. "Put it in the elevator, it'll take you to Mr. Lean's room."

            "What will he--"

            "Probably nothing worse than you've already done," Raine said. There was no malice in her voice Just cold, matter of fact. "Now, get going. Mr. Lean doesn't like to wait."

            Linda looked at Raine for a second, unsure of what to do. Then she screwed herself up, not wanting to be cowed by some theatrics of one man and the callousness of this cunt. She took the key and headed out of the door, closing it before having to see Raine take off her dress and hop on the bed with Mark.

            She walked down the hallway of the hotel. It was still early in the night, and there was plenty of traffic. One older couple walked into their room, clearly ready to call it a night. A younger couple, though, looked like they were ready to head out for the night. It took the man all of a second to see Linda in her red dress, and another second to see her lips poking from underneath her short skirt. The girlfriend never suspected, and Linda kept walking, enjoying to sight of the bulge in the man's pants.

            She rode that thrill, the thrill of being wanted. It helped give her the courage to go into the elevator and slip the key in. The elevator rose up. There were forty floors on the Monolith Elevators, but it went past that. This was the penthouse.

            The elevator opened to a wide office. It was all one wide room, with two levels. The lower level looked like an office, with a massive desk made of darkened wood. The entire room was painted in blacks, with streaks of silver marbling in the walls and columns.

            "Up here," the voice came.

            Linda followed, finding a row of stairs to her left. The second level was a catwalk that walked out over the room, that broadened out to a platform over the first level. As she walked, her heels clanked on the blackened metal. In the center of the platform was a circular bed, with crisp silk sheets that gleamed in the light of the moon outside. At the head of it was a table that looked like it was made of white marble, with red veins creeping through it. Candles, a knife, and several intricate designs were arrayed on the face of the table. Behind that, standing at the windows, was Mr. Lean.

            "Stop there." he said.

            Linda did so. It was clear Mr. Lean enjoyed being the dominant, he enjoyed--

            "You dearly do love overanalyzing, don't you."

            That stopped Linda dead. Had he--

            "I'll ask the questions for the next few minutes." He said. He nodded towards the stone table, "refreshment? Wine?"

            Linda looked towards the stone table, and saw several glasses of deep red wine line on the table, as well as red powder.

            "What's the powder?"

            Mr. Lean laughed lightly, still keeping his face to the City and his back to her. "I call it "Bloodline." Try some."

            Linda eyed the red powder for a moment, not really sure what it would do. After a moment of uncertainty, shrugged and started cutting it with the knife on the table. She separated a good chunk and formed it into an inch and a half line. Without thinking twice, she dragged her nose over the fine powder, ripping a gust of air into herself. The drug, Bloodline Mr. Lean had called it, coursed straight to her brain. Any tension in her body washed away. Her skin felt warm, not in an uncomfortable way like a fever, but as if someone had thrown a warm blanket over her. She liked this feeling, she liked it very much.

            "Dance for me,"

            Linda heard Mr. Lean's voice as loud and as clear as if he were standing next to her. She looked to him, still standing in the dark. She could see him more clearly now, she could see the silver pin stripes in his shirt, see the strands of his hair. He turned then, and she could see his broad face and the glitter of his eyes.

            "I said dance,"

            There was no tone of command, but there was something in his words that made Linda want to do it. She started dancing in place, rocking her hips back and forth, slowly parting her legs and bending her knees.

            Mr. Lean, his form still cloaked in the shadows, began pacing back and forth, his eyes intent on Linda. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

            "By all means," Laura said drunkenly. "What did you cut that coke with? Feels like I did ecstasy."

            The man just shrugged, "First question. What do you worship?"

            Linda raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop dancing. "I don't understand."

            "What do you worship? It's a simple question. What do you hold so dear that you've made it a part of you. That everything you do in life is in some way for the honor and glory of this one thing."

            As he spoke, her body kept getting warm. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back. She could feel every drop of water as it soaked into her body or trailed down, right to the last drop as it slid between her curves. She felt ecstatic. Every nerve was awake and alive and sharper than ever. She felt her lips moisten between her legs again and she felt the family sensations.

            "So it's as I feared," Lean said. "You're just another junkie worshipping your needle. You have no power of your own."

            "I have power," Linda stammered. She wasn't sure why she responded, she didn't even understand what he was talking about.

            "Then why are you still dancing?" He asked, "Why are you listening to me prattle on as you fondle yourself? What do I have that you want except for the means to give you release? I could march the hundreds of people in this hotel in here and fuck you on that altar like a hole in the ground, and somewhere, you'd thank me for it, wouldn't you?"

            His words danced around her, and with each syllable, her body shook in a tremor. It wasn't violent, in fact it was pleasant and made her gasp.

            "What do you worship?" she managed to ask.

            He stopped, and she could manage to see a grin in the darkness. "I worship Power, and all the ways it manifests. I worship the power a senator has when he makes a decision for his state, I worship the power a teacher has in molding his student's intellect. I worship the power a call girl has in gaining the attentions and affections of others, I worship the drug dealer whose customers live and die at his convenience, and I worship the power the homeless have by being invisible to the world. Power. The Power to give life, to take it, and to live it."

            By now, Linda was nearly delirious. She moved backwards, towards the altar. She rested her arms on the marble slab and continued to move rhythmically to the silent tune singing in her blood. "Perhaps you'd like a taste of my power," she said. She opened her legs and raised her hips high to give him full view of her vagina.

            She could see him in the distance, the city glowing from the windows. He moved forward, towards the dim light of the candles of the altar. Linda could finally see him more clearly, his skin was pale, and his eyes were hazel. He wasn't fat, but he was clearly built in bulky slabs and less chiseled muscles. He seemed physically powerful, his hands exceptionally large. He looked at her, and smiled.

            "No," he said. "Do you know that word, Linda? Do you know what it means? To draw the line and be able to enforce it. It's the most simple word, and the first step in power."

            "And you have power over me," she gasped. There was something in his voice that made her want him. Like a fire inside her needing him.

            He shook his head, "You think this is some Dominance game. I don't play to Dominate. I play to educate. You have talent, dear woman. I wish to make you see that." He smiled for a second. "I propose a game."

            "Oh?" she asked. "I like games."

            He ignored her. "The goal is simple. I want you to say no, and I want you to mean it."

            Linda eyed Lean, all the while sitting herself up on the table. "And how will you know if I mean it?"

            "Oh," Lean said, a lupine grin across his face. "I'll know. Besides--" He stepped back into the dark, and for a second the area he got in became dark. Not just dark, black. it happened quickly and suddenly, and when it happened. Lean was gone.

            You're mind is just as open to me as your legs.

            Linda stood up in shocked silence. His voice came from inside her. He was in her mind.

            "What are you?" she asked. She felt sluggish all of a sudden, as if the drug turned and she was starting to come down. "What have you done to me?"

            She looked around her, and saw nothing but darkness. She looked through the inky blackness of the room, not staying far from the light of the candles. She did not wish to go out into the dark.

            And that was when the darkness moved towards her.

            The inky shadows crawled slowly towards her, moving inch by inch towards the altar.

            I've done nothing, Lean said to her. I'm just here to give you a thrill and maybe…

            As the shadows were practically at her feet. And suddenly, the solidly real form of Mr. Lean appeared before her, still in the darkness. She heard his words, but his lips never moved.

…Maybe I'll get a little thrill of my own.

            Lean's eyes opened wide and he laughed in a vicious snarl. His grin revealed a long set of canines that were hypodermic-sharp. Terror gripped Linda's mind as she suddenly realized, too late, what she was dealing with.

            Lean saw this, and in one motion pounced. His full body swooped around her like a swarm and engulfed her in his shadow. Linda screamed, or thought she screamed, and the world became one giant nightmare. She felt the skin of her neck break and massive pressure push on it.

            She came immediately.

            She hadn't expected it, she hadn't felt it build. But she liked the feeling, she could feel precisely where on her neck he was biting, where his fangs were. Every jerk of motion from him lead her to shudder in climax, again and again. He didn't touch her anywhere else, so she did it for him, fondling her breasts and sopping vagina, achieving orgasm after orgasm after orgasm while lying on that stone altar.

            After what felt like eternity, she realized what was happening. He was killing her, slowly, by inches.

            No, she thought. No, no more. I'm done.

            She remembered the room getting darker, and she felt her mind fade away. Like tension when slipping into a hot tub. Darkness took her, and she was grateful.

            She awoke, and the sun was hitting her on her face and naked body. For a brief moment, Linda was expecting the gentle pang of a hangover caressing her like a belligerent ex-boyfriend. She didn't feel like that at all. She felt...

            She felt pretty good.

            For the first time in a long time, the first thought she had wasn't to sex. It was how warm she felt, how much she enjoyed the sun. She basked in the glow for a while, unsure how long it would last.

            When she finally got out of bed, she found a note on slipped under the door of her hotel. It was written in simple, flowing script of dark purple.

            Three Things:

            - Every role that man can play has the chance of wielding power in the right setting

            - The submissive can stop the Dominant whenever she wants. Don't ever hide behind the    role as an excuse for powerlessness.

            - You start tonight.

            O.L.

            Linda read the card again and again. She didn't remember much of what happened the night before, but that line of whatever Lean gave her sure made her see wierd shit like she didn't think was possible. But, if this job made her feel good, made her feel powerful, how could she turn it down?

---

            Owen Lean sat in his chair, the city aglow beneath him from his penthouse office/bedroom/altar in the Hotel Monolith. He looked down at the New York City skyline as he spoke on the phone.

            "Melodrama does not become you," he said smoothly in the phone. "Yes, I had everything under control. She had a Bloodline, probably thinks she hallucinated the whole thing." His eyes narrowed as the other person spoke. "Yes, she is a common whore. I don't care if she's a whore or the Prince of New York. She has a role to perform, and it's my job to see that as long as she is useful to me and to us, she'll be at least competent at it." He rolled his eyes, "As you were so fond of telling me during my induction into the Circle. We all have a role to play for the betterment of each other. She has the role of the Whore, you have the role of the Millenia Old Master. I have the role of the Villain. We all have our roles, and when the curtain eventually rises, we'll all have to perform to our tasks."

            There was a long pause on the phone, and then Owen replied, "Yes of course I'll be home tonight. Tell Mother I look forward to seeing her. Til later, good night, Grandfather."