Death By Moonlight 1/2
The Orphanage in New Salem/Chateau
after Steve dies
Adam lay in the dark dorm room he shared with several boys his age, curled on the bottom bunk, and wished for his mommy. The new headmistress was always kind, but something in her eyes made him scared, real scared. The kind of scared that his Daddy had taught him meant run away to the nearest safe person kind of scared.
And the dark man that was here to supervise them at night, he was the kind of scared that the monster spray his Daddy had made scared off. He was, Adam was very sure, a Boogieman. Especially since some of the kids here were disappearing.
Adam closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep as the dark man slipped into the dorm room. The man stopped, he smelt something that reminded him of meat mommy threw away because it smelt gross. He opened his eyes as the dark man smiled, all white fangs, monster yellow eyes and laughing softly.
“Boo!” The Boogieman leaning over him said as he reached up and snatched his bunkmate from his bed and turned to carry his struggling friend off.
He wished really hard for his Daddy, his strong Daddy Mommy said had gone to Heaven. Maybe he’d come back to help Adam if he wished hard enough.
Michael had trained himself never to dream. Dreams meant he would see the carnage he caused by his enslavement to Section One. The few dreams that slipped by his steel barriers were of the years before he was sentenced to his covert hell, or the odd sensual dream of Nikita.
Tonight a particular hell visited him, his wife Elena and his son, the one thing that he had loved, Adam.
Adam was afraid, he was in a dark place, torn from Elena, and he was calling to Michael. A dark monster hunted in that place and he needed to be released before he was taken by the demon that was there.
He slipped out of bed barefoot and walked down the hall. The sun was going to be rising soon, and he followed his instincts to the room he needed.
Angelique tossed, her dreams restless, her bed increasingly lonely since she had banished LaCroix from it. Perhaps she should ask him back, she could feel the connection between them pulling at her again.
A heartbeat sounded near her door. Steady and strong, and the faint smell of a warm man. He smelled of leather faintly, and of disturbing dreams. His footsteps whispered over the floor as he approached. Cleo growled faintly.
“Hello, Michael,” she opened her eyes and stroked the alert cat’s head to settle her. She sat up and looked at the mortal, so like Ciarán, as he watched both her and her cat.
“Adam is in danger.”
“Really?” She knew he was a man who rarely asked for any assistance. “What can I do?”
“Drink from me.”
Angelique’s eyes widened. Earlier, he had been dead set against her touching him. “Why now?”
“For Adam.” Michael took off his shirt and stepped closer to her bed. Cleo growled again. He took of his pants and stood before her. As she watched his sex stirred, and started to rise from its dark nest.
“Cleo go.” Cleo slunk off to another room as Michael sat on the edge of the bed and tilted his neck to one side. Angelique laughed at this silliness.
“Michael, it’s not like that.” She leaned to him, and turned his head to face her. She stroked the side of his face and his pale eyes closed.
Under the scent of his well-concealed fear, came the faint musk of need. “I can make it pleasurable for both of us.”
“No.” His eyes told her he needed to feel the control over this.
“But I want you to seduce me Michael.” She pronounced his name the French way, and whispered a faint please to him in the same language as she brushed her lips across his. The tight tips of her breasts brushed his arms, a faint promise of sensual abandon.
He shuddered at the third pass of her lips and his hands pressed against the nape of her neck, his fingertips brushing the smooth back of her head, questing for something to tangle in, to draw her closer with. His skin met hers as he pulled her to his bare chest, their flesh an impact of fire and ice.
He pulled back and looked at her, as he struggled one last time to resist her and to abandon his iron control. He needed to trust her, yet felt like a field mouse in the playful grip of a barn cat. She could grow bored with him at any moment and kill him with as little care as the cat finishing off his terrified toy.
“Kiss me Michael,” She suggested in a hypnotic voice as his face lowered towards hers again. He met her mouth and explored it, each stroke of his tongue seeking her frustrated need and stoking it higher.
The scent of his surrender was honey and wine, ambrosia as fine as any Roman emperor had served. She drank of it, that trembling want and fear, all tangled in his rising excitement as his mouth tasted and teased. The heat of his skin was like lying in fire, surrounding her with the pulse of the hot treasure in his veins.
His molten mouth had moved to her neck as she arched against him. He licked at her neck in a slow slide of tongue, arousing her hunger with each slow stroke. His teeth scraped the nape of her neck and bit lightly.
She arched in his arms as an electric shock of astonishing pleasure pulsed through her. He was so close, she could smell the crimson wine so close to the surface of his flushed skin. She felt as her fangs extended and she growled her excitement as his mouth enclosed one nipple in moist fire.
Ciarán moved silently through the hallway. Another sleepless day, he was wrought with some amount of frustration. First there was Nikita, and then there was Michael’s absolute refusal to lose control. And how could he forget all the trouble Màire caused. Then there was Angelique. Ciarán closed his eyes, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps she would be in the mood for some company.
He paused outside hearing a soft moan. Michael, he could smell him in the room. Apparently, Michael changed his mind about being in control. Another moan echoed through Ciarán’s mind and he slid into the room.
Angelique flipped Michael over, straddling his waist, one had stroking the lovely satin length of him as she leaned in and ran the tip of her tongue across his smooth chest. The pulse of his blood teased her, it beat under her tongue and pulsed in her hand.
She lowered herself onto the steel length of him with a faint moan of the burn of him in her. She held still, letting his hips buck, and leaned forward.
Ciarán drifted silently into the room and watched Angelique poised to strike. Angelique was too involved in enjoying herself. Michael was lost in the pleasure of her seduction.
She feathered her fingers across Michael’s neck, slick with the faint sheen of his heat. His blood was calling, begging for her to taste it’s thick rich essence. Her mouth lowered as she started to slowly rock against his questing hips and found the pulse. Ciarán slipped into the bed and rubbed a thumb down Angelique’s neck.
Fingers touched her neck and she turned from her promised meal to find Ciarán behind her, his eyes Green-gold with the promise of shared pleasure. Her lips curved into a welcome as she turned and went for the whispering enticement of Michael’s lifeblood. A low growl echoed out of her as she pieced his skin.
Then it as there, the honeyed promise of the rich scents, the heady taste of his life flowed over her tongue. Section, missions, killing, oh the killings done in the name of his job, she was heady with the rush of death and hunting. Then she tasted Nikita in him. She tasted Nikita’s kiss, her skin, everything he had ever experienced with her. Then it was Angelique’s all the sweet and sour bits of his life before section. His blood was thick with the heat of passion, and the headstrong anger of youth. Then the sweet voluptuousness of her touch and mouth was all she became as he began to climax with the erotic pull of her lips. He shuddered beneath her with a hoarse cry as she pulled her mouth away from him and arched into his bowed body.
Ciarán slid behind her. Ciarán’s mouth traveled down her neck, his hands coming around to cup her breasts in his hands as she bent back from Michael’s neck, his own fangs pierced her throat, drawing Michael’s essence into himself. She trembled there, suspended between one man and his doppelganger as Ciarán’s teeth pushed her into a white-hot sea of sensation.
As the menage on the bed reached an explosive climax, Green-gold eyes watched from a dark corner. A displeased growl was drowned out by a hoarse male cry of completion.
Cleo watched LaCroix as he stepped from the shadows and slipped away.
New Slayer in Town
September 8, 1997
“Hello New Salem,” the girl whispered as she stretched out her cramped muscles. “Hit me with your best shot.” She walked towards the distant lights of the newly rebuilt Elysian Fields Hotel. She paused, and then kept going at a leisurely pace as footsteps followed her.
Ricze watched, then followed at distance as the dark haired teen moved through the streets with the arrogant stride of a killer. She watched the dark streets, watching as people and other creatures moved past her, but didn’t try to interact. Two blocks from the hotel, he made first contact with the stranger.
He laid a hand on her bare shoulder, only to find himself on the street with the girl glaring down at him.
“Who the hell are you, and why are you following me?” She snarled as she pulled a stake out of her backpack.
Ricze stared at her and flipped himself out of her grasp and back on his feet. She grinned at him.
“Oh yeah, bring it on.” Then she threw herself at him with a swift series of roundhouse kicks. He blocked them easily and countered with his own kick and punch combination, yet the girl was able to avoid most of his blows. She twirled her stake in one hand as she pressed her assault again.
“You’re a slayer.” He stated as he defended himself, getting a nice scrape in the thick wool of his black coat.
“And your dust.” She told him as she found a vulnerable spot and drove the stake at his heart. The pain caught him by surprise and he sank to his knees.
She waited for the dust bomb. “What kind of wuss vampire doesn’t even turn to dust?” She growled as she kicked him in the chest and brought him flat to the pavement.
His vision was narrowing to a dark tunnel as she twisted the stake and he writhed in the pain then stilled as his blood leaked from the wound.
“You take all the fun of slaying.” She commented as he watched his pupils fix and dilate. She left him on the pavement as she stepped over his body and continued on.
Angelique stopped and grabbed at her chest as the pain pierced her. She stumbled and Jet picked her up.
“What is it?”
“Ricze is gone.” One blood tinged tear rolled down Angelique’s face as she stood up and dusted off her skirt. Then she walked off to her room.
Missy Bites the Dust
Sept 7, 1997
(During Ricze’s demise)
Missy fished through the last of the files and looked at Birkoff. “I’m taking a break.” She told him as she stood and pulled her hair out of her ponytail.
“Sure thing.” Birkoff didn’t even look up from his monitor. Willow smiled and then went back to computer geek land.
“Losers,” Missy whispered as she walked up the stairs and into the hall of the chalet. She listened and sniffed the air, looking for a certain mortal scent before setting off.
Michael looked up from his Kata as Missy approached. He stopped and stood, legs part, hands loose in front of him, as she sidled up to him and wrapped herself around him. He tilted his head a bit and gave her a blank face as she stroked one bared bicep.
“Hello Michael,” She purred as she ran a finger up his neck. She stopped when she felt the small marked left by Angelique and hissed. “That bitch.”
“Angelique. You slept with her?”
“And you let her bite you?” Missy stroked down his neck and tapped his chin with one scarlet nail. “You turned me down.”
“It was I, Missy.” Ciarán walked into the room and stood, his arms crossed as she glared at him.
“You played me?” Missy looked at Michael and his double. “Why?”
“You were leaking intel to the other side through the computer.” Michael unwrapped Missy and stepped back from her.
“You can’t prove it.”
“Yes we can.” Jet walked in, Birkoff behind him and held up a small disk.
“Come quietly,” Jet took one arm and Ciarán the other, as they led her to the white room. She tried to pull away and managed to pull Jet’s sword from him.
“Don’t touch me, Ricze will kill all of you.” She swung the sword in a high arc around her as Jet and Ciarán leapt back.
She turned as Michael swung a sword off the wall, and block him. Then she pressed her assault. She managed to hold his own as she hacked and slashed at him in a blind panic.
Then she crumpled slowly, her head wobbled then fell to roll to his feet. He looked up to find Nikita standing behind where Missy had been, a bloody katana in her hands.
What Dreams May Come (1/4)
The middle of the day
Dawn struck the WARriors like a big, stalking thing. In her wake, the tired made for their beds. It was not to be a restful sleep for anyone…
Angelique grumbled as the noise echoed through the hallways. “Throw me a frickin’ bone, people!” she yelled in frustration. She’d never be able to get back to sleep. There was work to be done anyway. She got up and walked to the closet, running her fingers over her shorn scalp.
She opened the closet door and stared at the clothes, all in shades of silver and gray. She pulled out a silver suit and a pair of matching silver sneakers. It seemed quite strange, but the suit looked rather comfy. She pulled on the suit; one leg at a time, thinking about the time her family made meat helmets.
Angelique stood in front of the mirror and smiled at her reflection. Instinctively, she put a pinky finger to the corner of her mouth.
Ciarán was wandering through the forests of his childhood. The green forest filtered soft warm sunlight to the ground. It was a most beautiful relaxing scene, until he heard a cacophonous noise.
He came to a clearing and saw about dozen or so men dancing in the sun. Men in tights and short shirts. Ciarán was about to laugh until he noticed that he was dressed in the same green tights and shirt as the men in that clearing.
“There he is!” Schanke pointed at Ciarán.
Nick rushed over to his side. “Will! Where have you been? We’re about to do the next big number before we leave to capture the Sheriff and the wicked King Lucien.
“Uh,” Ciarán was watching Micah chase Schanke away from the roasted lamb. “I got lost.”
“Well get in line,” Nick told him. “Little John,” Nick looked at Schanke. “You start it.”
“A one, a two, a one, two, three, four,” Schanke counted off.
A song and dance number echoed through the previously peaceful glen.
“We’re men. We’re men in tights!” The men chorused.
Birkoff fell asleep as he did many nights. The comfortable buzzing of the computer was relaxing white noise.
***Bbbring!!!!** An annoying phone woke up Birkoff.
The phone pealed at him again, hopelessly cheerful.
“Birky?” MacCousin leaned over the cubicle partition. The headset she was wearing looked odd. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Where am I?”
MacCousin laughed. “The place we’ve had to be the last two years! You know, Uncle Bill’s company.”
Birkoff stared at her blankly.
“Microsoft?” MacCousin gently prodded him with her hand. “Oh crap! Ryan is on his way over! Answer the phone! I haven’t given him my excuse yet!” She ducked back behind the cubicle wall and took her customer off hold.
Birkoff stared at the phone a minute. And pushed the ready button. “Thank you for calling Windows 98 support, my name is…Se…Birkoff. How can I help you?”
Then the battle started. A Dogbert doll bopped Birkoff on the head. A foam football with a company logo hit him in the ear.
Gilchrist and Duncan stood up and leaned over his cube, grinning. Duncan threw a mini basketball at Gilchrist and dodged the foam bullet shot back at him.
“Would you guys cut it out,” MacCousin rolled her eyes at the three of them. “I can’t hear a word this lady is saying!”
“I can’t get aol to open,” whined the customer to Birkoff.
Birkoff began hitting his head on the desk.
“Hey guys!” Joey jumped onto the couch in between Rachel and Phoebe.
“Mmmmmm, you’re chipper!” Phoebe grinned. “You must have found a replacement roomie!”
“Yeah, I did,” said Joey. “In fact he’s getting a drink right now. He has the weirdest diet, but no one say anything.”
“No problemo,” Joey’s friends nodded and shrugged.
“Good evening,” LaCroix walked and took a seat at a small table across from his new roommate and his roommate’s buddies. “Isn’t this…cozy.” He directed a chilling glare across the short distance between him and the stunned group of chums.
Chandler’s gum fell out of his open mouth.
Rachel grinned and twisted her hair around her fingers, shyly.
Ross stared at Rachel staring at LaCroix and crossed his arms to pout.
“Ooo, chilly aura,” Phoebe wrapped her arms around herself.
“Everybody, this is LaCroix. LaCroix, this is…everybody.”
“So uhm, where did you two meet?” Monica opted for small talk, wondering when Gunther started serving wine.
“It was so cool,” began Joey.
(Flashback to earlier that evening)
**Joey stands in front of a store window and is transfixed by running bathing suit clad women**
“It was you know, time for ‘Baywatch’ and I was on my way home from the store so I stopped in front of the Sharper Image and was watching it on the big-screen TV there. All the sudden I felt a cold hand on my shoulder.”
(Back to Central Perk)
Joey’s eyes glazed over. “Then I knew we’d be perfect roommates.”
“Yes, it is quite an entertaining little drama, isn’t it?” LaCroix smiled his mocking smile, and the rest of the pals scooted further away from him, piling up on the far end of the couch.
Everyone but Rachel, who nodded silently and scooted closer. Rachel giggled.
“Let’s get some coffee,” Chandler snapped out of his shock and grabbed his best friend before Joey could disagree. He dragged Joey over to the counter. Gunther smiled and listened as he started to place bottles of LaCroix’s finest vintage in a small wine rack.
“What?” Joey pulled his arm from Chandler’s grip. “Why don’t you like him?”
“Dude, that guy makes Eddie look perfectly normal!” Chandler told his old roommate.
“But he’s a great roommate. And…you left me for Monica!” Joey frowned.
Rachel got up and walked over to LaCroix. She sat opposite of him and smiled as she ran her fingernail in an invisible pattern on the table.
“Hello, Rachel,” He purred as she blushed.
(Later that evening)
“Another episode of Baywatch is coming on,” Joey told his new roommate. Joey reached over the end of the couch arm and pulled a beer out of the ice chest. “I have some of that wine you like in here.” He offered LaCroix as the vampire straightened his collar.
“Actually, I have plans, if you want to watch that insipid show, I’ll leave you to it.” LaCroix replied.
“So where are you going?” Joey asked as he twisted around on the couch to get a look at his new roommate’s Armani duds.
LaCroix smirked and walked out as Joey waited for an answer with the usual confused puppy-dog look.
“I’m taking Rachel to the symphony tonight.”
“Rachel? She hates classical music.”
“Yes, I know. In fact, we’ll probably stop by later. I’d appreciate it if you were gone then.”
Joey smirked. “I get it.” He raised his thumb for a thumbs up. “You and Rachel.”
“Yes, well, you are always so quick on the uptake.” LaCroix sneered as he turned to leave.
“And take your zoo with you.”
“Hey!” Joey jumped up. “Leave my duck and chick alone!”
It was the last words the out of work soap actor ever uttered.
LaCroix woke up and walked over to a glass and bottle.
**Yeuch!** he muttered under his breath. What a horrid dream.
Jet looked at the American family leaning and smiling across the table at him. He held two forks in a manner like chopsticks.
Buffy, as the middle sister, smiled nervously.
“Very clever dinner,” began Jet, yet his voice had become strongly accented. “Appetizing food fitted neatly into interesting round pie.”
Xander, the annoying brother chuckled. “It’s a quiche.”
“Oh, how do you spell it?”
“Well you don’t spell it son, you eat it.”
The family chortled, except for the old lady to his right.
“Dong has only been here in America for a short time.”
**Dong???** Jet thought to himself.
“Long Duc Dong is about your age, Sam,” the woman turned to Buffy and nodded.
Sam gave him a weak smile then turned to her family. “Can I be excused? I have a very important dance to go to, we’re being graded on it.”
“Wait a minute,” the grandmother smiled. “Dong, would you like to go to the dance with Sam?”
Jet couldn’t help chortling. Sam gasped.
“I still can’t believe you haven’t told your parents today was your birthday,” Willow said to Sam, shrugging at the sad assortment of freshmen and sophomores littering the dance floor.
Neither girl noticed the three freshman looking her way.”
“Let’s make ourselves available,” sighed Willow in resignation.
Sam walked toward the dance floor, nearly walking into Farmer Fred. Her lip curled in disgust.
“Alright,” Farmer Ted grinned in what he believed was a seductive manner. “I knew you’d come around.”
“Wh-whoo-whoo,” Farmer Ted danced around Sam in circles. Sam stared over at Jake Ryan, who seemed to resemble Michael, as he continued dancing with Nikita.
At one point when Fred was blowing in her ear, Sam ran out of the gym.
He slowly opened the doorway, not sure of what to expect. Knowing his luck, it would be something deadly that needed killing, or something even worse with a mind of killing him. He was therefore surprised when he entered an incredibly lush and barbaric bedroom.
The walls were stone, each one laid precisely, and there were no windows. Had he not been so tired, his mind would have recognized a change in setting that occurs with dreams, but as it was, his exhaustion allowed him to flow unquestioningly with the tide and where it took him.
Obviously, he was in a fortress, and one that he recognized. This room had been the sleeping chambers of the old Gerfa of Darkenloft. The bed that occupied one side of the room was canopied, and the curtains hid the occupant completely. Walking quietly across the cold stone (for he was suddenly barefoot), he repressed a shiver (for he was suddenly wearing nothing but his breeches).
His hand reached forward and touched the sheer cotton drapes. He stared at the contrast of color, his sun-darkened hand against the off-white of the curtain. He felt suddenly as if he was sullying them with his touch. After all, he was only a dirty barbarian. No matter how long he lived off of Jonas, no matter how far he drifted away from his pack, and no matter how many baths he might take, he would always be an uncivilized barbarian.
That thought in mind, his heart sank when he pulled back the drape to see the figure lying still upon the bed. As he let out a sigh, his anguish overwhelmed him.
Her raven hair was spread out around her, long enough to cover her still body. He noticed immediately the warm glow of her pale skin, and noticed just as quickly that she was very much unclothed. Her hair served as her only cover, and as he settled softly on the edge of the bed near her, he started to burn.
By all the forgotten gods, he had loved her from the moment he laid eyes upon her. Her unconscious grace, her warmth of heart, her sureness of spirit, her will of iron…every moment of his existence he spent near her only made him love her, need her, desire her more. And here she was, lying helpless and vulnerable before him. No one would stop him from possessing her, from taking her as his. The need within him built to a crescendo, and he was in the act of moving forward towards her to take her before he caught himself.
- Not this way. She trusted him in a way she trusted no other, not even “HIM.” He had never lied to her, never deceived her with half-truths, was always there to sacrifice himself in her place. In all there lives together, the one constant was always that, should she need him, he would be there. Betrayed by all others, he knew he couldn’t have her just because his need demanded he take her.
He moved back, and was rising to leave when she opened her eyes. Their natural color varied with her moods, another detail of her he just loved to watch. Too much though they held onto darkness, and echoed the hell that rampaged in her heart and soul. For centuries it seemed to him that her eyes where black. And for just as long, he had wished for the ability to repair all the damage around her, within her, and see those dark eyes clear again.
Her gaze settled upon him, and his heart leaped into his throat. Her gaze was soft as she looked at him, her eyes a deep blue. She must have noticed his sudden nervousness, for she smiled then, the corners of her lips turning up slightly.
He knew fear then. What was he doing here? With her naked before him on the….on a…..Oh shit!
“Don’t worry,” she soothed, her velvet voice but a whisper. She reached a hand out towards him. As her skin touched his, his senses were overwhelmed.
He lay beneath the thick, down-stuffed bedcovers, his arms wrapped around her sleeping body. He never realized just how diminutive she was, until he held her in his arms.
They had made love for hours, tenderly, recklessly, even desperately. For too long, they had both wanted and needed one another. Denying themselves, their misery grew over the centuries. Constantly together, they were never without a reminder of their longing. And now, finally, they were freed.
As he dozed, near sleep, the door to the chamber burst open, and a rain of gunfire was surrounding them. She lay perfectly still, calm and content in her sleep. He moved her out of his embrace and was about to lung out of the bed when he was stopped by the muzzle of a gun at his temple.
“She’s mine, Dog-Boy, and you can’t have her!” Micah screamed at the top of his voice as he pulled the trigger…..
Freidrick bolted upright on the couch in shock. Drenched with sweat, his breath came in gasps. It took him a moment to calm down, realizing that it had only been another dream. Another dream of holding her, loving her….and being punished for it. More often than not, Jonas would be the one at the end that came to kill him for his desire. But that was par for the course and expected. But Micah? Why Micah?
He knew about the brief “fling” they had, back when they had gone to L.A. and Starr had been Embraced. But that had been the extent of it, one night, nothing more.
Puzzling over Micah’s appearance in his long-running dream, he didn’t notice the shreds he had made of the couch. During the tension of his sleep, he had grasped at the couch, tore at it, with his claws.
He lay back, still thinking about the meaning of the change in his dream, as he sank back into sleep….
When Trouble Comes Knocking
Oscar Nash International Airport
Erin Zosel climbed out of the helicopter after handing her headphones to the pilot. Her only baggage was her field bag, complete with a few changes of clothes, tape recorder and plenty of tape, a few notebooks, and her laptop.
Hector Gonzalez climbed out behind her and proceeded to pull out three sturdy duffle bags and one large, metal case. Erin grabbed on of the bags and slung it over her shoulder, and Hector struggled with the rest. When they were clear of the helicopter, it immediately took flight, not daring to stay long.
“I feel like we’re in a fucking DMZ,” Erin muttered under her breath.
Hector naturally heard. “Aren’t we?”
“You volunteered sweetheart, so don’t get pissy with me.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t feel like I’m a meat puppet. Those things get one wiff and we’re a midnight snack.”
Hector mental thought about the crucifix he wore around his neck. When he was called by the station at 2am that morning, he headed right to his church, and begged the bishop to bless it. The bishop thought he was nuts, until he watched a repeat of the station’s broadcast of the security tapes from the mall in New Jerusalem. Then he not only blessed the crucifix, he loaded him down with vials of holy water, communion wafers, and told him to by some garlic. Hector laughed to himself as he thought about it. The crucifix he believed in. The holy water and wafers he accepted since they were blessed by Mother Church. But garlic? That was Hollywood hockum. But then again, he shrugged to himself, vampires were supposed to be too.
Erin, on the other hand, didn’t care or believe in things like that. She simply wanted that Pulitzer she knew had her name on it. A daring report, smack dab in the middle of a real “Vampire” city, would get her it, she just knew it.
They loaded up into the nearest taxi, their own thoughts making little room for conversation. Neither cared for the other, neither was there for the same reason. Erin wanted fame. Hector was the only cameraman without a family.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“New Jerusalem?” Erin replied.
“Only place you can go from here, sweetheart. Any place you want to be dropped?”
She opened her mouth, ready to fume, when Hector interjected, “How about near a good hotel?”
“Good hotel? Gotcha. Put ya right next to the Glass Tower.”
“Yeah, thing’s been rebuilt over the years, modernized you might say, but it’s been in the center of the city for the past 200 years.”
“What’s in it? Museum of some sort? Business offices?”
“Nah, it’s a private building. The people that owned it…” the driver stopped cold. “You’re reporters aren’t ya?”
“What happened to the people that owned it?” Erin countered.
“Listen honey, ain’t nothing you want to see here. Let me turn around and take you back to the first thing that will fly you out of here.”
“Not a chance, and if you don’t stop with the sexist shit….”
“Give it up honey. Nothing you say will make me shiver in my bucket seats.”
“Just take us to the city, friend. We know what we’re doing,” Hector interrupted again, trying to cut out the fuming of Erin.
“Sure, whatever. It’s your necks…and funerals.”
What You Wish For
As sequestered from the world as New Jerusalem was, it would be hard for outsiders to believe there was an international airport that serviced the city. And yet the Oscar Nash International Airport had thrived, almost since the advent of the airplane. Some of the more enterprising vampires in the city had welcomed the idea of a “quick” escape, and one could always tell if there were major problems in the city by the massive increase in outgoing flights.
Not that it was anything like other airports. A handful of the established companies had flights that came into the city. No, most of it’s traffic comprised of private planes, with the occasional visit of a Concord or Lear jet. This wasn’t one of those times however.
Delta Flight 347 made a brief stop on it’s way to Chicago. By brief, only 5 passengers exited the plane. Watching them was like watching mirror images, all moving together, all with the exact same clothing, hairstyle, and so on. The local newsstand clerk watched them walk by, chills reaching around his spine and twisting. It had been awhile since he’d seen a group of them, longer since he’d seen them move together in such “oneness.” Usually, when called in from the outside, their programming wasn’t established until they reached their intended controller. He would have picked up the phone and called someone, to warn them who just landed, only there wasn’t really anyone to call anymore.
Of course, what the clerk didn’t know was that these weren’t what he was used to. The Sabbat occasionally created what were called Blood Brothers (whom he had mistaken these men for) created to wreak havoc with a singleness of purpose. These men were quite different. They moved together, acted together, but they were all capable of singular movements, of thoughts not connected to the whole.
One of the few taxi drivers almost approached them to see if they needed a lift into the city, but stopped cold when as he watched them walk purposefully down the road that led through the forest. Insane. Downright insane.
Of course, most of the population of the city, no matter how well informed, didn’t know about the mass slaughter of the Garou in the forest. Or some of the other less than pleasant occurrences in the city.
However ignorant the inhabitants of the city were, these men were quite aware of what was happening. Entirely too aware. So they walked, without hurry, straight down the road that had been such a cause for terror previously, knowing full well that no packs of Garou would attack them. Not that they would have worried much had the Garou still lived. The walk would take them perhaps an hour, maybe two, though they weren’t in a hurry in the least. Take their time. Be thorough. For once they started on their purpose, not a thing would move in or around New Jerusalem. Whether living, dead, or otherwise…the end was coming, for everyone.