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.