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Found 25 results

  1. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (PT.51c) MATCH POINT (cont'd.) (sound track: Bring Me To Life, by Evanescence) As we came around the corner, the rest of the combatants had gathered around the last two still fighting. Apparently Petra and Vicky had both lost their matches; they were standing there chastened and disarmed next to Judith and Kris. The score was even now, three victories and three defeats, and the final outcome would rest on this last match, win or lose. It was River and Cestus, still fighting ferociously. Although Cestus was the faster of the two, River was countering his speed with her teleportation skill and somehow managing to evade his sword on any potentially lethal strike. It was fascinating to watch her as she danced her way out of danger over and over again, and I could sense the frustration of her opponent at his inability to best her. Finally, Cestus grew impatient; wanting to end the fight, he made a small technical error in his attack. This allowed River to counterattack. That had always been her specialty, and it was quite effective this time. With a heavy strike of her sabre, she quite literally disarmed her opponent, severing his hand at the wrist and sending it and the sword it still held flying through the air. River quickly moved the edge of her weapon to her adversary’s throat as Cestus fell to his knees before her, his blood spurting violently from the wound. “Surrender now, and this thing will be over. There’s no need for you to be destroyed,” River said. “Surrender… to an upstart like you?” Cestus said with a sneer. “Better that I should cease to exist than to be defeated and dishonored so… do what you will now.” I could see River’s face darken at that; the insult the pale thin vampire had just delivered was having its intended effect. He was deliberately trying to provoke and enrage her, but what could he possibly gain by that now? “Well, if that’s the way you want it, then take that!” she fairly shouted in her anger. She drew back her sabre, then rapidly thrust it forward. The pale thin vampire didn’t flinch, but instead met her blade with a sardonic smile on his lips. “River, don’t!” I cried. I was trying to prevent her from delivering the coup de grace, but it was too late. Cestus fell to the ground as River’s blade pierced his heart. His pale face was contorted into a last mocking sneer, and his last words were “Au revoir, mes amis.” With his good hand, he grabbed hold of her slender legs and the two of them disappeared for an instant before only River rematerialized in front of us. “NO! Master!” Bethy exclaimed, horrified. Now my sweet little sister was standing there with a rather pleased expression on her face as she casually wiped the blood from her sword. I don’t think she realized what had just happened in the heat of the moment, and it would take a little while for the full essence of Cestus’s evil to merge with her own nature. Still, the damage had already been done. Hannah and I both watched helplessly as the change came over her. We could see something different in her blue eyes now, as if those beautiful pools of water had become as cold as ice, frozen over by a sudden blast of winter chill. There was still just enough left of her to realize what had happened, and she gave us a horrified look as she uttered, “Oh, goddess, what have I done?” Then she dropped her sabre and teleported out of sight. I could swear I saw tears in her eyes just before she vanished, tears of regret at what she had lost forever. Her innocence was gone now; it had been sacrificed in the name of victory. In winning the match for us, she had lost… herself. And now I wept too. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  2. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt.50) GATHERING STORM Jet Blue flight NYC to Seattle, WA present day (sound track: This Flight Tonight, performed by Joni Mitchell) The clans assemble for battle…. On the evening flight to Seattle, the seven of us: the siblings, Peter, Petra and Vicky, Kat, River, Hannah and myself, of course. The sibs and Kat had the middle row to themselves, and River, Hannah and I were on the side next to them. We were flying first class, on one-way tickets. Hannah was laughing when she purchased them, saying “No point in getting round trips; Goddess only knows how many of us will be coming back, if any.” She has a morbid sense of humour, that much is for certain. But there was truth in what she was saying in jest. We were now on our way to face a hostile clan of unknown strength and skill, to fight for our freedom, and our very existence. We knew we’d be seeing our old adversaries Kris and Judith again, but the identity of the other five fighters would be a mystery until we faced off against them in a few hours. Peter and Kat were sitting quietly, holding hands like young lovers. Vicky was chatting away animatedly, excited by the prospect of facing her former tormentors now. Petra was listening, sort of… she seemed distracted by something, and of course, being attuned to my older sister in a very special way, I knew exactly what was on her mind: she was holding again, and loving every second of it. So was I, in fact. There’s no better way for an omo vamp to take their mind off something they don’t want to think about than to start focusing on how full we’re feeling and how badly we need to pee. Which was pretty badly, in my case. I was just hoping that I’d be able to make it through most of the flight without actually wetting myself, no matter how much certain other family members might get a thrill or a laugh out of that. I glanced over at Hannah, who was looking out the window. The moon was full, a bright silver orb of light illuminating the purple-black night sky. It was a beautiful night, one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen in my entire undead existence. At least, that’s what I was thinking at that moment. Maybe because there was a good chance that it might be the last one I’d ever see with my family; it might even be the last one I’d ever see, period. Hannah seemed calm; there was no perturbing her equanimity. No matter what came to pass, she had accepted all possible outcomes and was at peace with herself. All those years spent meditating, no doubt. I glanced to the other side of me, where my little sister River was sitting in the aisle seat, bobbing one of her slender legs up and down, her thighs pressed tightly together and one hand jammed down between them. It was pretty clear to me how she was choosing to deal with the stress and pressure, too. I wasn’t sure why she was worried, though; seeing her with that saber in her hands during our last few training sessions, OMG, she was amazing! Somehow, I knew she wasn’t going to lose her match. In fact, everyone looked ready… except me. I was the weak link now. <TO BE CONTINUED>
  3. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt.48) DUALITY (Hannah and Miles) FILLMORE EAST, NYC Summer 1970 (soundtrack: Sivad, by Hermeto Pascoal, performed by Miles Davis) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mTSiNJqq7I&list=PL6870B5D21473707C The sun rises in the east, and it sets in the west. Some things never change, even if you haven’t seen a sunrise for many long years. People can change, though, and vampires are still people; unusual people, sometimes remarkable people, but still people in the end. Take Miles for example… Sivad Selim was a court musician back in the time of the Pharoahs, and Hannah was a Jewish slave in the Pharoah’s house, charged with attending to the Pharoah’s many sons and daughters. They knew each other by sight, rather casually at first until they both realized what they had in common: that neither of them would ever age normally, or die a natural death. In the culture of ancient Egypt, where preparation for the afterlife was everything, to be unable to die was perhaps the worst fate of all. Sivad Selim had already lived many lifetimes, and had become resigned to his fate, although it had made him first angry, then bitter. Hannah was in her first lifetime as one of the undead, but she was comfortable with who and what she was, although not with preying on others, humans, beings weaker than herself by nature. In contrast, Sivad Selim always took great pleasure in hunting, feasting on his prey, and leaving them for dead. If they were strong enough, they became his little ones, at least until he tired of them. If not, they passed into the Great Beyond without him giving them a second thought. “Misery loves company.” That’s how he put it. When their work was done, they would visit each other in their quarters, and long into the day which was their night by the light of the oil lamps, they would argue the respective points of their personal philosophies. Hannah’s belief was that the challenge of an undead existence was to be what one was without causing harm to others, while to Sivad, this was to deny one’s true nature. “Be yourself, be true to yourself,” he always said. “Yes, but I define who I am, not my appetites,” she would always reply. To which Sivad would usually respond by letting out an evil laugh, and extending his sharp fangs before teleporting out of the room to some dark alley where he would snack on his next victim. Somehow, despite their differing philosophies, they came to care for each other, and to become friends. And time passed. Through the centuries which became like minutes to them, they knew each other, and Hannah marveled as Sivad periodically reinvented his music and his playing to match the current fashion, ever-changing and yet somehow always remaining himself. The clothing changed, the name changed, all the members of the ensemble changed, even the horn changed, but he was always exactly who he was, and sounded only like himself. Never imitating others… always striving to be a true original. To him, that was what music was about: the long search to find one's unique voice, a unique sound, and then to develop it fully. Time was not his enemy in his quest, for he had plenty of time to spare, and time for him became elastic, stretching and compressing like a rubber band to suit his whim, the beat going from straight time to no time, and back again seamlessly now. Form was elastic also; he had played everything from the simplest melodies to the most complex harmonies, complicated classical pieces, jazz standards and the 12 bar blues… now he was able to play only what he wished, when he wished. “I’ll play it, and I’ll tell you what it is later,” he said in that raspy voice of his at one recording session. Another time, the engineer had asked him the title of an improvised piece. “Call it anything,” he responded offhandedly. And that’s what they wrote down on the track sheet. 'Call It Anything'. Hannah’s personal preference had been his Baroque period. His pursuit of technical mastery of the trumpet had been at its apogee then, and his playing was fast, clean and powerful. But over time, he had grown bored with technique for technique’s sake. Over time he began to play fewer and fewer notes, but each note meant more. Everything was weighed and measured, the way the note was shaped in his lungs, his throat and his mouth, the pressure of his full lips on the mouthpiece, then how it was articulated, sustained, bent or vibrato added… now he chased pure sound, tone and nuanced phrasing. “All the technique in the world means nothing if you have nothing to say for yourself,” Miles said. "It's like a writer with good penmanship, but no ideas." This was his latest persona… no longer a jazz musician per se, but something else; not quite a rock star, but close. Gone were the handmade suits, replaced by tank tops, long scarves, tight leather trousers and high heeled boots, and the shades were now oversized, hiding the blood-red eyes of a constantly hungry, angry vampire. To live on for centuries, unable to pass into the Great Beyond, chasing sound, chasing a dream, attaining perfect technical mastery and yet being unsatisfied… now he pursued simplicity, the simplicity of snowflakes. All alike in their basic nature, yet they contained infinite complexity, each one being unique, each one different, like the solos he would play over the same vamp on different nights. Trane was long gone, and Shorter had left along with Zawinul to form their own electric ensemble. Although Miles still had a sax in the group, he had become fascinated with the sound of a certain electric guitar player from Seattle who played left handed and loud, and did things with a guitar that shouldn’t have been possible, making his amplifier a part of the basic sound instead of simply using it to make what was already coming out just a bit louder. They were kindred spirits, both of them sonic explorers and pioneers, but Jimi would soon unexpectedly pass into the Great Beyond just before they would have a chance to collaborate. Even more cause for bitterness, since everyone Miles had ever cared for had been taken from him eventually. Except Hannah... They had never been lovers, for Miles took and discarded lovers as casually as he might pick a flower, sniff it, and then toss it away, and even if he had desired that, Hannah was not attracted to men in any case. But there was something that drew them to each other besides their shared fate; despite their differing philosophies as to how a vampire should comport him or herself, they too were kindred spirits of a sort, for both of them sought the meaning behind who and what they were. All things happen for a reason, and being undead was no exception to the rule. All existence must serve a purpose, of this they were both certain.Their difference of opinion came in the interpretation of what that purpose might be. Miles, being both self-centered and a hedonist by nature, believed that "do what thou will shall be the whole of the law", while Hannah believed that it was what we did for others that made our existence have meaning, rather than what we did for ourselves. Over many long years they had argued back and forth, neither able to convince the other, and finally they had simply agreed to disagree. Friends were hard enough to come by in the vampire world. Predators were all naturally in competition for the same food, and those who chose not to hunt humans generally didn't associate with those who did... it was just easier that way. And of course, to be friends or lovers with a human, well... that was a sure ticket to heartbreak, for they all lived such short lives, and to watch someone you love die got pretty old after the first couple of centuries, sure enough. Somehow, despite their differences, Miles and Hannah remained friends over the years. But in order to truly understand what you are, you need to understand where you’ve come from. The ancient Egyptians believed that during Zep Tepi, The First Time, the time of the gods, there was a direct link between Heaven and Earth. In The First Time, the heavenly Milky Way was reflected in the path of the Nile River on Earth, the Pyramids on the Giza plateau were aligned exactly with the stars of Orion’s Belt, and the gods traveled along the vertically aligned Milky Way from the distant stars, from the Duat or Celestial Kingdom, to here on Earth. The First Time was a Golden Age, “before rage or clamour or strife or uproar had come about”, to quote the Egyptologist Rundle Clark whose own premature death in January of 1970 had come before he could do much more than begin a monograph on the god Osiris, whose heavenly presence was the star Orion. “No death, disease or disaster occurred in this blissful epoch, known variously as ‘The Time of Re’, ‘The Time of Osiris’, or ‘The Time of Horus’,“ Rundle Clark had written, but he had not said why. Indeed, why no death, disease, or disaster? Simply because these ‘gods’, as the local inhabitants of the Giza plateau had referred to them, were in fact star voyagers who traveled along the Milky Way in the form of pure energy, and although they were able to retain their great longevity once they had manifested in physical form at the end of the celestial river, in order to survive here on Earth in that form they had been obliged to become blood drinkers… vampires, in essence. But as such, they were immune to death, decay and disease. The legend was that, wanting to rule both Upper and Lower Egypt, the god Set had killed his brother Osiris and dismembered his body, cutting it into pieces and scattering the pieces, and by that act of violence putting an end to the Golden Age. And that Isis the wife of Osiris, using her magic, had gathered up the far-flung scattered pieces and brought him back from the dead just long enough in order to receive his seed. The result of this union was the birth in due course of the ‘god’ Horus, the falcon-headed Sky God, the god of war, and of hunting. He who became Father of all the Undead. So, to Miles, all vampires were descendants of the ORIGINAL hunter, the predator falcon, and therefore entitled to feed on lesser entities. Hannah, having been born a slave, tended to sympathise with the exploited and oppressed, though. Of course, I wasn’t thinking too much about any of this as I listened to the band play on Saturday night at the end of a four day stint at the Fillmore East, the air thick with smoke... The house was packed, with long haired hippies on acid standing alongside some of the more progressive jazz fans who had followed Miles on this new trip of his, unsure of where he was leading them but willing to travel. Miles on the trumpet. Doing his own thing, as always. Chick Corea on the Fender Rhodes electric piano, and Keith Jarrett on electronic organ, not the usual jazzer's Hammond B3. Dave Holland from the UK doubling acoustic and electric bass, another new element coming from the rock world. Jack DeJohnette on drums and the Brazilian Airto Moreira handling percussion and his native cuica. And then finally, there was Steve Grossman on tenor and soprano sax, Trane’s horns… he was no Coltrane but then again, unlike me, he wasn’t trying to be. In fact, all of them were deliberately not referencing any jazz music that had come before this point. “Be yourself, be true to yourself,” Miles had told them. “That’s all that really matters in the end… in the end, it’s all you have.” <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  4. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD PT. 46 CROSSROADS (Florence and Duleep Singh) Grimley, England January 1894 (sound track: Oiseaux Tristes, by Maurice Ravel, performed by Jean-Philippe Collard) Samuel’s funeral… Duleep Singh reminisces with Florence. The priest had hardly finished his oration before she carefully placed the metal urn containing her husband's ashes in the small alcove within the Baker family vault. Then Florence turned away, and the somewhat portly man in black at her side took her arm gently and led her out of the vault and back towards the waiting carriage. They took their places inside, the thick black velvet curtains drawn against both the winter chill and the prying eyes of any onlookers. Now that they were away from the large group of mourners and could not be seen, the man unwrapped his scarf from his head and the widow lifted her veil away from her face with black kid gloved hands. “You look well, Singh. The years have been kind,” she said. “Not as kind as they have been to you, my dearest Florence… you look exactly the same as the day we first met,” Maharajah Duleep Singh said with a smile, stroking his beard as he did. “Then again, why should I be surprised? I have long been aware that you were special, in so many different ways.” “Sam told you, of course… you were always his most trusted friend.” “Yes, he did. And you were his true love, he told me that as well, although he didn’t need to; it was quite clear right from the moment he laid eyes on you in the market of Vidin so many years ago.” “As he was mine… my only regret is that he never permitted me to turn him as you did finally. ‘We are what we are, and we are so for a reason,’ he always said." Florence spoke these words in a bitter tone. "And thus, I was condemned to watch him age, sicken, and then die, while I remained unchanged. A cruel fate, truly…” “Have you not guessed the truth of it by now, after so long?" Duleep Singh looked at her, an ironic smile upon his lips. "He remained as he was in order to better be able to protect you, Florence; a man in his position could simply not in good conscience give up all of his responsibilities and his obligations, although he desired nothing more than to be with you. And being thus obligated to remain in the public’s eye, he had to live a normal life while sheltering you from view.” Her tears, which had been held back at the cost of great effort, now began to flow down her lovely face and fall as she thought of his sacrifice. “Singh, my heart is broken, and I swear I shall never love another man. His memory I shall keep sacred, for he rescued me from the life of a slave, and loved me, even after he knew what sort of creature I was.“ Sam’s children will inherit his estate and possessions. I have no desire to remain here much longer now that my beloved is gone.” “How then will you survive, dear Florence? If you are in need, perhaps you will allow me to assist you, for Sam’s sake?” “He has provided for me in the way of several bits of property in my name here and there, by which I may always have a place to live at any time, and a modest income by renting out the others through a trusted agent. That is more than enough; I have no need for luxury.” When next you have word of me, it will be the announcement that I have passed into the Great Beyond. Do not mourn for me… ‘Florence Baker’ will be put to rest, but I shall begin a new existence.” “How so?” the Maharajah queried. “It is a simple enough thing… my family still has holdings in Romania, so I shall return there first, and then from there I shall emigrate to the United States, joining the vast throng of other immigrants in a nation that regards what one is in the present more highly than what one’s past might have been.” “And so you shall make a new start… yet another chance to begin anew. It is a blessing from the gods,” Maharajah Duleep Singh said. “It is what it is,” Florence said with a wan smile. She embraced him now. “My only other regret is that I shall not ever again see Samuel, for he is surely in Heaven even now, while I…” She trailed off, her smile now sad upon her lips. “Do not speak in such a manner!” Duleep Singh said emphatically. “If our Samuel loved you, there is surely much more good within you than you might surmise, enough to possibly even guarantee your eventual salvation.” “It is said that the evil men do lives on after them; the good is oft interred with their bones,” Florence replied. “If Sam’s love for me was the key to my salvation, let us hope that it has not been put to rest along with his mortal body, but lives on within his immortal soul. Only time will tell.” <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  5. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 44) INFORMATION PLEASE (The Secretary) London, England 1996 (sound track: Autumn Leaves, by Hank Garland) The telephone sitting on the old oak desk rang just once. The older woman sitting behind the desk answered it promptly, just as she’d been trained to, just as she had for many years. She gave a mild start of surprise when the security code was entered, however. 0013 was inactive, and had been for a very long time… only a few veterans like herself would even recognize that code now. It hadn’t been used since she was a young woman first starting out as a secretary with the company, back in the 1960s. “Peter Kushkin! What a pleasant surprise! We haven’t heard from you since you left the company; what have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, this and that, keeping busy… it’s a long story.” “You haven’t been freelancing now, have you, you naughty boy? Well, you’ll have to stop by the office and take me to lunch one of these days and tell me all about it,” the woman said with a dry laugh. “So, what can I do for you, my dear Peter? I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.” “Still the same Moneypenny… “ Peter said with an answering chuckle. “I need some information on a woman named Judith Von Sas, last known residence rue Rabelais, Paris.” “Hold on, I’ll check the database now… Hmmm, access to that file appears to be restricted for some reason.” “Surely that won’t be a problem; not for a woman of your talents, Moneypenny,” Peter said. “Flatterer,” the woman said, but nonetheless she couldn't help smiling at the compliment from a former field agent, and one of the very best at that. In time, he might have even surpassed their most renowned man, 007. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll see what I can do.” Even as she spoke, the woman was pulling up the relevant file with a few deft keystrokes and clicks of her mouse, and what she saw there made her blanch with fear. “Peter, what in heaven's name have you gotten yourself mixed up in? Do you have any idea who or what this woman is?” “Oh, I have some idea, alright; we’ve already met once... and heaven's got nothing to do with it. Go on, tell me what you've got.” “Judith von Sas, born in Romania, August 6th, either 1841 or 1845 depending on which source you choose to believe, to a wealthy aristocratic German family with large land holdings in Romania. Speaks fluent Hungarian, Romanian, Turk, German, French and English. She used the name 'Florence' during the time she was married to Samuel Baker, the famous explorer and big game hunter. Allegedly died on 11th of March 1916 at the estate she had shared with her husband in Sandford Orleigh, Devon, aged 74. Supposedly buried in the Baker family vault at Grimley, near Worcester, although her name was never recorded officially. Now it gets really interesting though... "She reappeared in Paris shortly after the end of the first World War, using the name Judith von Szasz, which was later Anglicized to von Sas. Contemporary photographs show a woman who is apparently in her late 20s… and quite lovely, I might add.” Miss Moneypenny felt a brief twinge of jealousy as she looked at the pictures in the woman’s file. There was virtually no difference in photographs taken almost 100 years ago and the last ones from the 1980s, apart from the clothes she was wearing, which were always quite fashionable. Bloody vampires, she thought, and then laughed to herself at her turn of phrase. “She's presently in Cannes." Moneypenny paused briefly, then continued. "Peter... the annotation is DNA/NOTW… Do Not Approach/Not Of This World.” No wonder the file had been restricted. "I've no other choice... she's got Vicky," Peter replied tersely. "I need a big favour, Moneypenny. I'm going to need some equipment in France, and fast." "Send me your list, Peter. It will all be there waiting for you when you arrive." "Moneypenny, you're a gem." "A rare gem, and don't you ever forget it!" the woman retorted with a smile. It was almost like old times again. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  6. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 42) GAME OVER (The Fencer) US Olympic Training Center, Colorado Springs, CO 2006 (sound track: Asturias, by Isaac Albeniz, performed by John Williams) “En garde!” Through the mesh of her mask, River could see the girl facing her. She was a bit taller and heavier, and so she had the advantage of reach and weight. The girl's reddish brown hair was tied in a long braid which moved almost hypnotically in time with her body, her footwork was sure, her sabre blade not much more than a blur in her hands as she fought. Her opponent was obviously experienced, much more experienced than River had expected. She was fast, and she was tricky, weaving and feinting and making her moves hard to anticipate. Despite River’s best efforts, the girl was scoring point after point. It was almost impossible to defend against her, she was that good. In all the time River had been fighting, she’d never faced an adversary of this caliber before, but her trainer had simply told her that at this level, you were going up against the very best. If you didn’t belong here yourself, you’d find out about it pretty quickly. Up until now, she’d never lost a match that mattered, not since she was a little girl and still learning the art of fencing. Her mother had been a fencer before she had gotten sick, and her grandmother before that. It was a family tradition, one that made each of them unique and yet bonded the generations together, this peculiar art of fighting with a sword. River had had either a pen or a sword in her hand during almost every spare moment ever since she was about 10 years old and had started her fencing lessons. It had been schoolwork or fencing and little else once her natural talent had become clear to her mother and her coach. “She could be one of the great ones; she’s got the raw ability… only time will tell.” Now it was all about to culminate in this match. As a Junior champion, she was attempting to qualify for the national team. Under her lamé and jacket, River was sweating heavily, having fought back against all odds from an eight point deficit to within two points now, but time was running out and she had to remind herself to breathe deeply and stay calm somehow. Fourteen to twelve; her opponent only had to score once more, or simply fight defensively and let the timer give her the victory. Some fencers attacked, some defended, and some were specialists in the counterattack. Based on what she’d observed up until now, River doubted that the girl facing her would stop attacking; it just wasn’t her style. But she seemed to be getting just a little bit tired. Possibly she hadn’t expected the match to go on for the full time limit, and the momentum had definitely swung at least a little bit towards River in this stage of the contest. Maybe endurance was the one chink in the armor of this adversary who had seemed so invincible at the start. As her coach always had told her, it’s not over until it’s over. River’s specialty was the counterattack, which relied just as much on successful defense strategy. If your opponent scored on attack, there would be no point scored on the counter, and in the early stages of the match, that’s exactly what had happened. But River had watched closely, studied how the girl fought, and despite falling behind early, she hadn’t lost focus. She watched, and she had been able to fight her way back to within two points... but she would have to score three to none in order to win. As she stood behind her line on the strip, she could feel the sweat dripping down the curve of her spine under her jacket. Unable to see her adversary's eyes through the mesh of her mask, River watched her sword hand, waiting for it to move. "EN GARDE... ALLEZ!" the referee shouted. There was a sudden rapid lunge and thrust from the girl facing her. The point of the advancing sabre was blocked by River's quinte parry to deflect the cut away from her head. River was attempting a 'prise de fer' to push the other girl's blade aside which would leave her open to counterattack but her opponent parried her move easily at arm's length and from that short distance, was able to land a quick slashing blow to River's arm. “Touché!” The buzzer sounded; the match was over. River removed her mask, saluted the referee and the judges, and shook her opponent's extended hand. This Becca Ward was quite an amazing fencer, that much was certain. River had tried her hardest, she'd put up a good fight, but had been outscored on points finally. She had been eliminated from contention for the team. As she removed her protective clothing in the locker room afterwards, River was unable to prevent the bitter tears of her disappointment from flowing freely now, and there was no consolation for her in having done her best. In her mind, she had dedicated this match to the memory of her mother, who had died shortly after she had won her Junior Championship title. As sick as she was, her mother had managed to hang on, desperately clinging to life while her beloved daughter rose through the ranks, and at least she had lived to see that, but not long enough to witness this defeat, River thought. Part of her knew that her mother and her grandmother would not have been angry or disappointed that she had lost, for she had fought well. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, trying to comfort her… “You were good today; she was just a little better.” “That's just a nice way of saying I wasn’t good enough,” she replied to the voice inside her head now. She felt as though she’d let her mother down somehow by losing here today. She was angry and disappointed at what she saw as a failing of her skill, her will and her character, and she vowed to leave the competition side of the art behind, and never fight again. If she wasn’t fighting, she didn’t need to train anymore either. So what will I do?, she wondered. This had been her whole life up until now, and she had no idea what would happen from here on out. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  7. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 40) TRICK OR TREAT (The Little Monster) Hannah and Cool’s Country House, Upstate New York, 2002 (sound track: Down Here On The Ground, by Wes Montgomery) Unlike most girls her age, this trick or treater hadn’t chosen to be some sort of princess, or Ariel the Little Mermaid. Instead, she was wearing a Green Goblin outfit; she was obviously a bit different, this little girl. Hannah and I both smiled widely at each other when we saw how she was dressed as she said, “Trick or treat!” and held up her sack to receive a bit of candy when we opened the door to the chilly fall air. “I love your costume!” I said as I spilled a couple of handfuls of sweet treats into her bag."But aren't you cold?" All the other little trick or treaters so far had been wearing coats over their outfits, which kind of spoiled the effect. She took off her mask so that she could speak more clearly, and now I could see her beautiful face. Her hair was so dark brown it almost appeared to be black, and it was shiny and straight, not a trace of curl to it. And she had the prettiest blue eyes I'd ever seen, this tiny goblin did. They were like lovely pools of crystal clear water, really. “Oh, I never feel the cold," she replied. "Do you like the costume, really? I designed it myself, and my mom made it for me,” she said, gesturing towards a tall, slim, frail looking woman who was hovering protectively just a few feet away, wrapped in a heavy winter coat. Then she lowered her voice. “She wouldn’t let me be my first choice, though…” “What was your first choice?” Hannah asked softly. “I really wanted to be a vampire.” Hannah and I exchanged another look at that. “Why?” I asked the pretty little girl standing on our doorstep. “I don’t know, really… I just think vampires are cool," she replied with a brilliant smile. "All the stuff they can do, and how they live forever, and stay young, and all that stuff…” “What about the drinking blood part, isn’t that kind of weird?” I asked her. “Unless you’re a total vegetarian, you’re probably eating or drinking blood one way or another anyhow. You gotta eat something, right?” she replied. “And I’m sure I could figure out some way to feed without hurting anybody…” “It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Hannah said with a laugh. “Except for my school work and my fencing lessons, it’s probably all I think about,” she said, laughing back. “Mom even took me to the doctor; she was worried I was obsessed. That’s why she wouldn’t let me dress as one…” “What did the doctor say?” I asked her. “Oh, he told my Mom not to worry, that I’d grow out of it sooner or later,” she replied with a toss of her little head that made her shiny hair ripple like a beautiful dark waterfall. I leaned down to give her a little more candy, and then I whispered softly so that only she could hear me. “There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to be a vampire; at least, not the kind of vampire I think you’d be.” I smiled at her, and said, “Happy Halloween!” She smiled that impossibly bright smile at me again and then she skipped over to where the frail woman was waiting and took her hand. Her mother paused for a moment, stopped and bent over just a bit, coughing into a handkerchief. I could smell the blood on it even from that distance, some of it fresh and some which had already dried. The woman was dying... tuberculosis, lung cancer; whatever it was, she hadn't too much longer to live, I could definitely sense that now. This might even be the very last Halloween she would spend with her little daughter. And that was the tragedy of life... its inevitable end. Only we were immune. As the two of them started to walk away, the cute little goblin girl looked over her right shoulder at me and said, “Happy Halloween! And thanks… for everything!” And then she blew me a kiss. Even as I closed the door, the transparent blue tears were welling up in my eyes, knowing what lay ahead for both of them. I couldn't get them out of my mind for a long time afterwards. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  8. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 39) PIECE DE RESISTANCE, or PARIS SWING, 3rd chorus (Hannah, Kat, Victor and Ilsa) Paris, France Late Fall 1940 (sound track: Nuages Electric, by Django Reinhardt) The meeting hadn’t gone so well at first. In the smoke-filled back room, everyone had begun talking at once, complaining about the Vichy government, various Nazi collaborators, and anything else they weren’t happy with at the moment. Finally, Victor had called for silence and then he had given one of his typically rousing speeches, calling for everyone to unite in the common cause of throwing off the Nazi yoke in the name of freedom. He spoke of those who were living in much worse conditions than the group assembled in the café: the imprisoned intellectuals and radicals, deported Jews and gypsies in concentration camps, and the brave citizens of London now enduring nightly bombings. Then, he spoke of the responsibility each of them had to work together and do their part. When he had finished, Kat leaned over towards Hannah and said, “Now I know why the Nazis consider him so dangerous. Nothing is more powerful than an idea, and the way he has of presenting his ideas will unite people and move them to action.” Just as she said that, the waiter rushed in to the back room. “Vingt-Deux! Les flics arrivent, j’ai été prévenu par un copain à la préfecture!" Sure enough, as the various members of the resistance cell were now hurriedly exiting the café they were all swept up ‘en rafale’ and herded into the back of a waiting police wagon. Rather than try to leave the café, Hannah, Kat and Victor waited in the back room until everyone had left, then Kat looked at Hannah and said, “You have to do it now, we have no choice.” Hannah said to Victor, “I’m sorry; this is going to hurt… a lot. But it’s the only way to get you to safety.” She put her arms around Victor, nodded to Kat, and then the three of them teleported out of the back room of the café into a deserted dead end side street a few blocks away. The searing pain that wracked Victor’s body now made his time under the tender care and supervision of the Gestapo seem like a vacation. He could barely stand, and had to be supported for a moment by both Kat and Hannah before he was able to take a few tentative steps. Hannah was in a fair amount of pain herself. Any time you teleported, it was rough on your nervous system; if you tried to take anyone with you, the effort required to both move the increased load and keep them as a separate entity when you rematerialized was enough to discourage the practice in any but the most dire situations. There was always a risk; just like trying to carry a package that was too heavy, except if you dropped this 'package', that person could either end up in some sort of limbo, trapped forever and unable to get back, or their essence might be forever merged with your own and you would become some composite of both personalities, a new entity comprised of random various elements of the two merged beings. Not good… “It’s not safe for you to stay here in Paris any longer, Victor; the Police and Gestapo are getting too close. The fact that they raided that meeting means that somebody who knows talked, and with the rest of them now in Gestapo hands, it’s only a matter of time before the Nazis find you.” “We’ll travel to unoccupied North Africa, Ilsa and I. From there, we should be able to make our way to Lisbon, and then from there to America,” Victor said. “We’ll accompany you back to the hotel to get Ilsa, then once you’ve packed a few things, we’ll take you to the airport.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The clerk at the airport didn’t make much of a fuss when two rain-soaked passengers showed up for the night flight to Casablanca at the last minute. Hannah had made sure of that, using her vampire powers of persuasion to bend him to her will. Instead, he quickly wrote out two tickets, simply saying, “Have a good flight.” as she handed him the money for the airfare. Then he turned back to his other paperwork as if nothing had happened. Indeed, for him, nothing had... at least, if questioned afterwards, he wouldn't remember a thing. Hannah gave the tickets to Victor, and he shook her hand. "It has been an honour to know both you and Kat." "The honour is ours," Hannah replied. "Just keep fighting for what you know is right." "I shall. Thank you, for everything you have done for us," Victor said. “Yes, thank you,” the lovely Norwegian woman accompanying him said in her softly accented voice. Even though her face was in shadow under the stylish hat she was wearing, it was quite obvious that she was exceptionally beautiful, as beautiful as any fashion model or star of the silver screen. The cold rain was falling harder now. Hannah and Kat watched the two of them as they hurried onto the plane; the propellers were already turning in time to the low rumble of the engines as Ilsa turned back to wave at them one last time, her slim figure just a backlit silhouette in the doorway before the uniformed stewardess ushered her inside and sealed the hatch. As the airplane taxied down the black, rain-slicked runway and took off into the night, Kat turned to Hannah. “I hope they’ll be alright.” “I’m sure it will work out in the end. True love conquers all,” Hannah said with a smile. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  9. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 38) PARIS SWING, 2nd chorus (Hannah, Kat, and Victor) Paris, France late fall 1940 (sound track: Nuages, by Django Reinhardt w/ Hubert Rostaing on clarinet) “Is that going to be a problem?” Hannah asked as she wiped her hands as clean as possible before tossing her handkerchief into a nearby trash can. She and Victor had just left the alleyway and five dead bodies in SS uniforms behind them. “Well, the Nazis are well known for reprisals for attacks on military personnel, so it might be better if those bodies weren’t found.” Victor replied. “As soon as we get to where we’re going, I can contact a clean up crew that will make sure that those five men disappear without a trace. They will be just a few more soldiers gone AWOL after a trip to Paris.” After his initial shock, Victor actually seemed to be taking things pretty well. It’s not every day that one’s most basic assumptions as to the nature of existence are challenged; not only to discover that the stories about vampires aren’t mere works of fiction, but that you are associating with not just one but two of them at that very moment… that could be a rather disturbing thought. Once he got past a few inevitable moments of fear, Victor had realized that if either Hannah or Kat had wanted to harm him, he would have been dead long ago. The Resistance needed capable fighters, no matter what their origins might be, and at least one of these two women had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt just how capable she was… she had just killed five soldiers in less than a minute and a half with nothing but her bare hands, for god’s sake, and not a scratch on her! As the two of them continued along the main thoroughfare, they were joined by Kat now. “How did it go for you?” she asked Hannah with a smile, although she could already guess the answer from Hannah's still somewhat blood-stained hands. “About as expected,” Hannah replied. “At least I was able to let one out of the six go free. Were yours as stupid as ours?” “Probably even more so… I gave them the slip by first leading them into an alley and then teleporting out of there before they went inside,” Kat laughed. “I’m sure they were all quite confused when their intended victim simply vanished without a trace!” “Well, that’s a bit of a change for you, isn’t it? I was sure that there would be four more dead bodies somewhere that we’d need to take care of,” Hannah replied with a smile. “I thought you might have to fight, seeing as how you didn’t really have teleportation as an option with Victor there. I knew you wouldn’t leave him behind, and that there would be enough bodies to deal with after that without me making any more problems… no matter how much I would have enjoyed it,” Kat said, grinning back at Hannah now. “But I get the next one, OK?” Once a gladiatrix, always a gladiatrix, Hannah thought to herself. “Not a problem,” she said, pulling on a pair of gloves to conceal her hands until she could wash off the last traces of blood from them. They took the Metro now to the end of the line at Porte de Vanves and walked up the steep hill, finally arriving at the y-shaped junction of three cobblestone paved streets. There was a small nondescript café located there, and at this hour the only clients inside were a few night labourers who had finished up their shift and come in for a glass of cheap red wine. As the odd trio entered the smoke-filled café, shaking off the night's cold and damp air, the working men barely looked up from their drinks. The waiter behind the long bar at the back nodded at Victor, raised the leaf and gestured for them to head to the back room. “Ils sont tous là déja; On vous attend,” he said to Victor with a small smile. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  10. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 35) HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON? (Hannah) excerpt from personal journals 2013 (sound track: How Long Has This Been Going On, performed by the Keith Jarrett Trio) Just how long does it take for a good soul to become evil? I suppose it depends on exactly how much evil you end up absorbing, and how good you were to begin with. If you were able to stay away from the things that turn one’s soul evil, for example, killing in general and destroying other ‘evil’ vampires in particular, you could quite possibly go on forever without feeling even the slightest touch of evil… but you would also have to stay out of the trouble and strife of the day-to-day (or in our case, night-to-night) world. Can one just stand by, impassive, watching the events of the mortal world unfold without being touched in some way, or moved to action? Just because one is undead, that doesn’t necessarily mean that one is uncaring, incapable of love or devoid of a sense of justice. And having powers and capabilities far beyond those of normal human beings, were these gifts (for some of us think of them as gifts, truly) bequeathed to us simply so that we all might watch as things spiral downward, or will some of us do what we can to reverse the trend, to act, to fight for what we know to be right, no matter the cost to us personally? There certainly are those of us who have chosen to use their powers to their own personal advantage, or at least so it might appear to them at first. But all of us have a soul, even those of us who are undead… and the souls of the undead are at even greater risk, because we cannot be reborn the way normal human souls are. For us, the laws of karma are all the more important, because the evolution of our souls will take place throughout one long existence, and our progress along the path will be confined to this one body, with our spiritual evolution a real and present and obvious thing. So where does that leave us? To not act in the face of injustice is in itself a sort of action, a sin of omission, if you believe in such things. And so, over these long years, I have acted, and fought for the things I thought were right. Love, compassion and understanding have been my guiding lights, and the path of the greatest good for the greatest number is the one I have walked. If I must be damned in order to save many others, so be it. The sacrifice of one small soul, one small existence to save many others will always be worthwhile, and the paradox of allowing my soul to be corrupted and damned may very well in the end lead to my salvation. Either way, I am willing to pay that price… for Cool, for the others, and for the many I do not know who may yet otherwise fall victim to the evil that we will soon face. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  11. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 33) RUNNING MAN (Mokolo) 1860, Southern Central Africa (soundtrack: Burundi Black) The huge black man was running; it looked as if he was running for his life, except you couldn’t really say that, since he was one of the undead. So perhaps, ‘running as if his very existence depended on his ability to produce speed at this moment’ would be a more accurate, if awkward, description of the situation. But no matter how you wanted to turn the phrase, the simple fact was that despite his size, he was incredibly fast, and actually quite graceful as he ran. The problem was that he was surrounded and no matter which way he ran, there would be many opponents waiting for him, and when he got there, he would be tired from running, while all they had to do was to slowly, inexorably, inevitably close the circle tightly around him and then no matter how strong and how fast he was, he would be facing those insurmountable odds. Normally, he would have had no problem breaking through this cordon, but he had been fasting for far too long, and what should have been superior strength and endurance had withered away until he had not much more than normal human capabilities, although those who hunted him did not care about his discipline or his resolve. All they cared about was what they knew him to be, and for that, he had been sentenced to death, or destruction, rather, despite his resolve, despite his reluctance, despite his personal code of ethics and his philosophical musings. A vampire had been stalking the villages nearby, drinking their fill and killing indiscriminately, and he had been hunting that vampire, following his trail. He was certain that it was that same vampire who had taken the lives of his wife and children, drained him almost fully and left him for dead. But he had not died… he had survived just long enough for the remains of blood and vampire venom to mix, and change him into the creature he now was. It was such irony, to have become that which you hated more than anything else in the world. But the man had vowed now to use his powers only for good, or at least, only to avenge the deaths of his family by eliminating the vampire who had killed them and made him into what he was now. Unfortunately, everyone in his village and all of the neighboring ones knew who he was and what he had now become, and no one trusted him to resist the overwhelming temptation to do what came naturally to his kind. So when he had been seen standing over a lifeless body drained of its blood, they had come to the very natural conclusion that the killing was his doing, when in fact he had only been investigating the scene for clues, and nothing he could say or do was going to change their minds now. He was condemned by what he had become through no fault of his own, and all of his good actions in life now counted for nothing with those he had known since childhood. And so they hunted him, and so he ran… he ran towards Mabangu, the white mountain rising in the distance. If he could reach it in time, he could climb the mountain, and his pursuers would not be able to follow him. He would find shelter from the sun in a cave there, and rest, and outwait them. His breath came fast and hard and hot, his bare feet flying over the ground, seeming to barely touch it … but no matter how fast he ran, no matter which direction he headed in, it would be towards his own inevitable end. He was weak, and alone, and although those who hunted him were not any stronger, there were so many more of them. Still he ran, because he had not yet fulfilled his purpose. As far as he could fathom the reason behind it, he still existed only in order to avenge the deaths of his family, and he had become this creature of darkness and night in order to have a fighting chance against one who was the same. He had gotten close, so close this time… but all of his emotions had made him careless, made him forget for a brief moment that he was both the hunter and the hunted. And so now he had had to abandon the hunt, and assume the role of the pursued rather than the pursuer. ------------------------------------------------- He had entered a gap between two hills which rose sharply on either side of him now, and he stopped briefly in order to listen for the sounds of those who were chasing him. He could hear them getting closer, and he was about to begin running once again when he saw a large group of armed men at the other end of the narrow valley moving towards him, blocking his escape route now. He turned back towards the way he had come, but the other group was now standing at that spot. Both groups of hunters began to come closer, spears and shields at the ready, encircling Mokolo. Just as it seemed as if he was trapped, and doomed, there was the sound of a loud gun shot echoing throughout the valley, and one of the men surrounding him dropped his spear and shield as he slumped to the ground. There were more shots in rapid succession, each one felling another adversary until finally there was only one man facing him. This last opponent was the largest of the group, even larger in size and weight than Mokolo, and he was armed with a spear and shield, while Mokolo had only his bare hands with which to counter any attack. He watched his adversary’s eyes intently, only peripherally registering the tip of the spear. The man facing him would fight Zulu-style, holding the spear and stabbing at him with it rather than in the more traditional throwing style, which left the fighter disarmed if he missed. The one main disadvantage to the Zulu style was that you had to close quarters with your opponent, and for Mokolo, this actually gave him the advantage because of his speed. There was no way the man facing him could possibly know just how fast he actually was, but he would lose the element of surprise if his first strike was not lethal. So he circled slowly, keeping his eyes on those of the man facing him. His opponent certainly had the ability to focus; the fact that all of his companions were dead had not swayed him from his intended task. He was here to destroy a vampire, and he would not rest until that mission had been accomplished. He kept his shield up, and his spear at the ready, just looking for an opening. From the looks of it, Mokolo was not the first vampire he had hunted; he appeared to be seasoned in combat, and familiar with the ways of the undead. Even as they faced each other now, the dawn was not far off, and the original plan had been for his group to just impede the creature’s departure long enough to let the rising sun do their work for them. But now that he was the only one left, he would have to fight. Almost as if he had read the other man’s innermost thoughts, Mokolo said, “Are you quite sure you wish to fight me now?”, trying to reason with him. “Your advantage in numbers has just disappeared; you could always stand aside and just let me pass. There is always tomorrow.” “There will be no tomorrow for you, evil one,” the man said, and Mokolo almost had to laugh. It was as if he were facing his own self, and he knew for a certainty that if their roles had been reversed, he would have said and done the same. Still, I gave him the chance to avoid this, Mokolo thought. “Do what you will,” he said, still circling and watching his opponent’s eyes. All of a sudden, those eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and as the man lunged at him, Mokolo was ready. He blocked the violent thrust of the man’s spear, snapping the sharp head of it off cleanly. The man tossed the wooden shaft away and dropped his shield, ready to do battle with feet and fist only now. His opponent was wary now, and he too began to circle cautiously, keeping Mokolo in front of him. He tried to make a sweeping foot move, but Mokolo nimbly jumped back just in time to evade his maneuver. As he landed, the other man rushed at him, trying to get his big arms around Mokolo, but once again Mokolo was too fast for him., sidestepping his opponent’s rush and landing a punishing blow to the back of the man’s neck as he went by that brought him to his knees. He picked the big man up, tossed him over his back and then slammed him down to the ground hard with a loud, sickening crunch of bone. He had broken the man's neck, and now Mokolo could see the light disappearing behind the big man's eyes as he looked down into his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you gave me no choice." After the fight was over, he saw a tall, slender white woman with wavy dark brown hair coming down towards him from the high surrounding hills, carrying a long rifle over her shoulder. She was wearing loosely fitted tan trousers, with a loose sort of tunic in white linen over them. She had a medium brown leather bandolier of rifle shells draped over her shoulder, and two pistols tucked into the waistband of her wide light brown leather belt, and wore dark brown leather boots with khaki gaiters over them on her feet. Her clothes and her face were covered with dust and dirt, but she still looked like a shining angel to Mokolo at that moment. “Bravo, my friend, well done!” she said, smiling at him. ”I must thank you for helping me,” he said. “But why did you do it? What is your name?” ‘’I was out hunting when I heard all of that commotion, so I followed the sound of it. When I saw all of them surrounding you, I said ‘That’s hardly fair, is it?’ The woman tossed her hair back from her face, exposing her lovely features to his gaze. “So I took it upon myself to even the odds a bit. I hope you didn’t mind too much… our kind have to stick together, you know.” “Our kind? What do you mean?” “I know what you are, my friend. I know, because it takes one to know one,” the woman laughed now. She smiled at him again, exposing her snow white fangs this time. “My name is Mokolo. What is your name?” the giant asked again. “My name is Judith, “ the woman replied. <TO BE CONTINUED> \/-----\/
  12. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt.27) A BIRD IN THE HAND... (Celestin) Paris, France 1625 (sound track: Gavotte with Six Variations on piano, by J.P. Rameau) The edicts had clearly banned dueling, and yet there they were in the courtyard of the Carmelite convent, swords drawn and ready to fight shortly after the tower bell had tolled midnight. There was no mistaking their posture for anything else. The younger man, slight of build and with long sandy blond hair, his clothing simple and quite unadorned as if he had just arrived in Paris from the countryside somewhere, and the older one, darker and dressed in the full regalia of a King’s Musketeer, were both facing one another with determined mien. Two more men, also musketeers, lounged nearby, one rather heavy-set with a ruddy complexion who was watching avidly while standing and sipping from a bottle of wine, and the other, much thinner although tall and handsome, seeming quite bored and disinterested as he sat quietly on a small outcropping of rock, reading from a book of verse. “Our friend should dispatch this fellow without too much trouble,” the heavy-set man said to the one who was reading. “Even with that wound to his arm, I cannot believe that this young country lad will be much of a challenge for him.” “A pity, really…” the other man spoke in a refined tone without looking up from his book. “It seems a shame to waste such fighting spirit. I doubt that he will live long enough to settle with either of us, and yet-“ He broke off his sentence suddenly as a small group of Cardinal’s Guards entered the convent courtyard. “What’s this, musketeers dueling in defiance of the edicts?” Their leader, Monsieur de Jussac, said this with a sarcastic sneer. “I must ask you to put down your weapons and follow us.” “You again! Why don’t you leave us alone? If we saw you fighting, we’d be sure not to interrupt you!” the older man cried. “Just let us be, and you’ll be amused at no trouble to yourselves.” Monsieur de Jussac said, “Out of the question. We have our duty to do, so put up your swords and come with us.” “If we were our own masters we would most surely comply with your request, but unfortunately, our commander Monsieur de Treville has forbidden us to do anything of the sort,” the seated musketeer said in a dry tone, finally looking up bemusedly from his book. “So you’d best continue on about your own business, and leave us to ours.” The five guards all bristled at this comment, and de Jussac replied, “If you don’t come at once, we shall force you to comply.” The three men in uniform drew together quickly at this last threat and conferred with each other in a low tone, while the young man listened closely, then declared, “You are not three; we are four!” Looking the young man over quickly, de Jussac said, “Monsieur, you have no place in this quarrel; out of the way, you have leave to withdraw.” The youngest man made no such move however; he stood fast, to the great pleasure of his new allies and the surprise of de Jussac, who had expected this green young upstart to turn tail and run, jumping at the chance he had just been offered to save his own skin. “You’re going to resist, then? All of you?” de Jussac cried. “Did you expect anything else, you fool?” The heavy-set man laughed heartily. And so the fight had begun. At the end of it, three of the Cardinal’s guards had been wounded, one was dying, and the last one standing, now outnumbered, had been ordered to surrender by his commander, de Jussac. Rather than hand over his sword, he had broken it over his knee and then tossed the two pieces over the convent wall, and now he stood there with his arms folded over his chest, whistling a little Cardinalist ditty, to the amusement of his opponents. Such gallantry could only be admired… The four who had been challenged now helped the unwounded man gather his comrades and lay them on the steps of the convent, all except for the dying guard, who they thought to be beyond saving and therefore had left where he had fallen. They then withdrew from the courtyard. Shortly thereafter, the wounded men rose from the steps of the convent and left the courtyard along with their intact companion, carrying the dying man… although his suffering was great, he had not yet passed on. They brought him to the section of town called Port Royal, past the Jardins de Luxembourg, and left him with a leather sack of gold louis coins on his chest outside of a small house in the rue de La Santé across from the prison. Once they had departed, the door opened quickly, and the man and the sack of coins were taken inside by a thin pale figure. “Ah, I see the Cardinal’s Guards are about to receive another into the ranks of their undead forces,” the creature inside said to the dying man as he laid him upon a bare wooden table in the middle of the room. “And by what name were you called up until now?” “My name is Celestin D’Issy,” the man on the table said in a whisper. “Celestin, ha, that's a good one!” The pale figure laughed at the irony of it. “Well, Monsieur D’Issy, there will be naught of heaven about you after this night, I assure you.” As the man on the table passed out and lay there, weak from loss of blood and unable to move, the pale creature bared his fangs and sank them into his neck to begin the slow process of turning him into a vampire. The following night, de Jussac and the other three returned to the house in the rue de La Santé. Celestin was standing by the doorway when it opened to reveal the four men who had carried him to this house the night before. “We have come to collect our friend,” de Jussac said. ‘He is ready,” the pale vampire replied, baring his fangs in a distorted smile. “This is passing strange, my friends. I should be dead of those wounds, and yet here I stand before you, intact and unharmed,” Celestin mused. “Have you not yet guessed what has happened to you?” de Jussac said, his eyes narrowing. “You are not dead, but neither are you quite alive." “Speak not in such riddles,” Celestin said plaintively. “It is no riddle, it is merely the truth of it. You now exist in a realm somewhere between life and death; you have become like the four of us,” de Jussac said as he bared his teeth, and extended his fangs. “Now you know why the Cardinal’s Guards wear red and black; the red is for the blood we must take for our sustenance, and the black for the dark of night… the light of day you shall not see again, lest you be destroyed by the sun.” “May God have mercy on my soul!” Celestin exclaimed, horrified. “God has nothing to do with it; your soul is beyond his reach at present,” de Jussac said, an evil smile upon his thin lips. “Since you now owe your very existence to His Eminence the Cardinal, swear once more your loyalty to him, above all else this time!” Celestin fell to his knees and swore fealty and obedience to Cardinal Richelieu, for he had no other choice now it seemed. “Henceforth, you shall be known only as Cestus, the demon maul of His Eminence.” de Jussac and the others laughed as he rose and took his sword from them. Drawing their cloaks around themselves, the five demonic guards left the house and disappeared into the night fog. <to be continued>
  13. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 26) WHAT GOES AROUND... (River and Kat) (sound track: Born Under A Bad Sign, by Albert King and Stevie Ray Vaughan) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26qBxol3Lx0 New York City, present day It had been a couple of days since River had pulled her disappearing act at the warehouse, and Hannah and I were starting to get a little worried. She had seemed really upset at her inability to handle the katana, especially in contrast to both Vicky and Petra. In any case, worried or not, we had to keep training and hope she would return to us soon. In the coming fight, we at least needed to field the correct number of fighters, and if Hannah and I had to protect her and keep her safe while Kat, Vicky and the twins cut the opposition down to a more manageable number, we could live with that. The main problem was we had no idea of the strength of the opposing clan, since all they had to declare was the number of fighters they would be represented by. We could count on Judith and Kris, and the two of them were undoubtedly competent and experienced. The other five were a complete mystery, and might remain so right up until the moment we confronted them. We simply had to train our hardest, and prepare for the worst case scenario, seven lethal and experienced vamps facing us. Kat had been up against more than one opponent at a time in the arena; she had experience in that situation both alone, and as part of a small group. The plan was for us to form a circle around River, and facing outwards we would defend against any attack on her. By fighting mainly defensively until we could isolate any weak links in the opposing clan, we could conserve our strength and energy, and then hopefully dispatch the weakest ones rapidly so that we would have them outnumbered. Personally, I thought the plan was a bit optimistic; I didn’t see how we would be able to hold the circle for very long, but Kat was convinced it would work and she had a lot more experience in these matters than I did, that was certain. She had the five of us in a circle around a chair, and she took turns attacking each of us with the point and edge of her twin blades, and you can believe me when I say that her attacks were furious; to me it felt as if she was really going for the kill, even though I knew she was pretty much in cruise mode, maybe giving about six tenths of what she was really capable of. She didn’t want to put any of us out of commission before the actual fight, just give us a workout and a taste of what was to come. Well, we were getting a workout for sure… I was dripping clear blue perspiration from all over, from my forehead, from my armpits, it was dripping down the small of my back from between my shoulder blades under my black lycra sportsbra, the waistband of my matching leggings was soaked with it… I was wet almost everywhere. My breath was coming hard and ragged, but I was still able to hold the katana up in the proper position to parry a strike. Damn, girl… there was only one of her, and she was testing the five of us like this! Only Hannah seemed unfazed; she wasn’t sweating, or even breathing hard like the rest of us. She was just standing there; calm, her katana at the ready, eyes focused… waiting. Suddenly, I heard that familiar rustling sound and felt a chill on my back. When I turned around, there was River, sitting in the chair in the middle of our circle. She was holding a large and oddly shaped blue canvas bag in her lap and she was smiling broadly. “Hi, sweetie! Welcome back,” I said. I wanted to give her a huge hug, but I still had a razor sharp katana in my hands. There would be time for hugs and kisses later… “Yes, welcome back! Where did you get off to, then?” Petra asked. “I had to fetch something, something I haven’t had in my hands for quite a while,” she replied. She opened the bag, and pulled out a long thin fencing foil. She raised the foil up in salute, and then said, “En garde!” before lunging savagely at me. I barely had time to parry her lightning fast thrust before she whirled around, attacking from the other side. Her insane speed made her just a blur of motion, her footwork was precise and sure, and the way she handled that foil, OMHG. She kept up her onslaught for a while, and I defended as best I could, somehow just barely managing to keep from getting skewered on the point of her sword. Finally, Hannah said, “Enough!” River had proved her capabilities, and she didn’t want either of us getting hurt before the upcoming challenge. We all had to be at 100%. “Where the hell did that come from?” Peter muttered. “I couldn’t handle the katana; it was too heavy and not balanced for me, but there are blades, and then there are blades,” River said. “I was a Junior Fencing Champion once, before I became what I am now. If I can use this in the challenge instead, I shouldn’t be totally helpless.” Kat reared her head back and laughed. “What’s so funny?” River asked, a bit defensively. “Oh, nothing,” Kat said in reply. “It’s just that you remind me of someone I once knew, a long, long time ago.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Imperial Gaul, circa 85 A.D. The campfire was warm, although there was already a hint of winter in the air. Catulla and Despina (for that was what the girl with the green eyes was called) were huddled together under a blanket of sorts made out of wolf skins. The unfortunate wolf pack that had thought to have the two vampire girls for a meal had ended up being dinner themselves, the meat and blood enough to sustain them for a few days. They needed blood to survive now; Despina had made that very clear. She didn’t regret what she had done, because as far as she was concerned there had been no other real option. It was either let the girl who had saved her perish from loss of blood, or turn her. Now they were traveling through the countryside together, and at nightfall they rested. Despina had no real clan; she had become a vampire after being acquired as a slave. Her lanista master was actually a vampire himself. He was one of the rare ones, a daywalker. He was impervious to sunlight, and all of his fighters were daywalker vampires too, slave vampires who fought viciously in the arena, and who, as victors, could slake their thirst to the amusement of the crowd. Despina had been relatively new to the vampire life when she and Catulla had battled in the arena, but her strength and speed had already been exceptional; now, after training alongside Catulla for the past four years, the two of them were almost invincible as a team. Despina was extraordinarily fast, and of course she had the strength that came with being a vampire. Catulla was not quite as fast, but she was a bit stronger. They had had to give up the arena of course; it was too public and they had to keep a low profile now, after what they had done to Catulla’s husband and the four soldiers who had tortured her on his behalf and left her dying in the woods on the day they had first met. Before leaving Rome, they had first found all four soldiers drinking up the profits from their crime in a small tavern. When the soldiers left the tavern at closing time, roaring drunk, Despina and Catulla had followed them into a dark alley where they had stopped to relieve themselves and showed them what a vampire’s thirst was like, draining all four completely. The last one had actually lost control of his bladder and wet himself just like a little girl, trembling in fear as Catulla had approached him, her eyes flashing and fangs red with the blood of his fallen companions. He even had the nerve to beg for mercy ! Mercy... they had been merciful indeed, for his end was comparatively swift and painless. Especially compared to what they had done to Catulla's husband... they had taken his hands, and his feet, and his eyes, and finally, his manhood; by the time they had finished with him, he had been begging for death, but they had left him alive to suffer. "Catulla, why do you shiver now? The fire is blazing, and we are warm beneath our blanket, are we not?" Despina wrapped her arms around Catulla, holding her ever more tightly in her strong embrace. "Fear not, it was but a fleeting thought, and one of no import," Catulla replied, returning her vampire lover's caresses. <to be continued> \/-----\/
  14. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 22) FAMILY TIES Brentwood, Essex County, UK 1997 (sound track: Almost Blue, by Chet Baker) The cancer was growing within her, spreading through her body like wildfire raging through a dry woodland forest. The doctors had given her only months to live. “Sorry, but there is nothing we can do.” ‘Incurable’, ‘too advanced for treatment’, ‘little to no hope of remission’… By now, she had heard all the different versions of the same thing time after time. No matter how many specialists she had consulted, the end result was still the same: a death sentence. How unfair was it, after all the time lost in that institution, to be finally free and then to have her present happiness snatched away from her in this manner? It wasn’t even her incessant smoking catching up to her, she thought. Liver cancer; then it had spread… oh, the irony of it. Now she had to tell Peter, and Vicky. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Petra pulled her dark blue BMW Z3 into the driveway at the Kushkin family estate. She could see Peter and Vicky were already there, her twin brother’s black M5 parked next to her little sister’s silver M3. There was a third car in the driveway also, an unfamiliar one. It was a brand new alpine white Z3, with its more powerful all-aluminum straight six motor producing almost 190 horsepower. Hers was the older 1.9 litre four cylinder version. Nice car, she thought to herself as she pulled in alongside it. Hmm, I wonder who it belongs to? She got out of her car, then dropped and stepped on the cigarette which had burned down almost to the filter before pulling out a pack of Gitanes from the inside pocket of her fitted leather jacket. She tapped the end of the pack against the fender of her car, then removed another cigarette from the pack and placed it between her pretty lips, lit it with her Bic lighter, and inhaled deeply. What difference could it possibly make now?, she thought, smiling bitterly. I might as well enjoy myself... Steeling herself for a major emotional maelstrom, she slowly walked up the steps to the house and pushed open the door. As Petra moved past the foyer and into the large living room, she saw her two siblings, but she was surprised to see that there were three other people there as well. Vicky ran to greet her, embracing her warmly before she spoke. “You remember Hannah and Cool, I’m sure, and this is their sister, Kat.” Petra said, “Not that I'm not pleased to see you girls again, or to meet you, Kat... but I thought this was going to be a family meeting.” “We are family; we have been ever since Cool turned Vicky, remember?” Hannah replied. Cool added, “When she told us what was happening with you, we all had to come over here immediately.” “Ahh, so you've heard then?" Petra said, a wan look on her face. "I appreciate your concern, but there’s really nothing to be done, or so they tell me. I’m to pray for a miracle, I suppose.” Cool smiled at her remark, glancing over at Hannah before speaking in a low voice. “Miracles can happen, you know. And they come in many different forms…. Sometimes, even a curse can turn out to be a kind of miracle.” Vicky nodded, and as if in response to her cue, Kat suddenly seized Peter from behind, while Cool firmly grasped his twin sister, immobilizing her. As she laid Petra down tenderly onto her back, lowering her head into Vicky's lap, Cool spoke to her now, her voice soft and hypnotic. “You know that you desire this more than anything; give in now, and become one of us. It is your destiny to become our sister; you know this in your heart and always have, ever since we first met.” As Cool said those words, Petra felt herself relaxing, realizing the truth of it as Hannah began to feed her the blood and 'blue' cocktail mixture from a large glass she held up to her soft lips. Petra drank deeply of the liquid in the glass, feeling her body consumed by a cool fire as it began changing her, her damaged cells rapidly regenerating, chasing the cancer from her as she became something new and different. Something no longer quite of this world... Peter cried “NO!”, but he was powerless to resist. The small vampire holding him was far too strong, and there was no way for him to escape her grip no matter how hard he struggled. Kat bared her fangs and sank them deep into Peter’s neck. The sensation was almost sexual to him, the pain mingled with a sweet pleasure that was totally irresistible. In just an instant he was captivated, and he gave himself over to the feeling completely, falling under Kat’s spell as she continued to drain the blood from him. When she finally stopped, he was weak, but blissful. To die like this wouldn’t be a bad way to go, he thought. Then Kat sliced at her wrist, and held the cut to his mouth. Unable to help himself, he began to suck at it, taking her blood into his mouth and swallowing it, gulping it down before Kat eventually pulled her wrist away, saying, “That’s quite enough, my boy.” It had felt wonderful to her to mingle her essence with his, and now, they were joined forever. Vicky cradled Petra’s head in her lap, stroking her soft, sweet-smelling hair and gazing into her older sister’s dark brown eyes as Cool held her close and Hannah continued to feed her the blue liquid cocktail that would not ever let her die. “You both never gave up on me, and saved me more than once, most recently getting me away from Judith and Kris." Victoria smiled. "Now it’s my turn to repay you… We discussed this, and we refuse to let either of you die so needlessly, so senselessly.” “This is our gift to the both of you… health, and eternal life. Please forgive us; we do this out of our love for you.” As Vicky said this, Hannah smiled sadly. She of all people knew their ‘gift’ was at best a mixed blessing, but for Petra at least, it was her only hope. And it was too tragic to condemn Peter to grow old alone, without either of his sisters. In time, the twins would accept what had happened to them, just as they all had had to. In time… --------------------------------------------------------- NYC, present day Hannah opened the envelope containing the challenge with a single swipe of a razor sharp fingernail, and spilled its contents out onto the living room coffee table as River and I sat on either side of her. What was inside was a rather old fashioned calling card with an address in Porte de Vanves, and a playing card: the 7 of Spades. OMHG, Judith and Kris were challenging us after all this time? They must have finally found enough allies to take us on, I thought to myself, and they must be pretty strong ones. I wondered who the other five were that they had gotten to join them. Well, it didn’t make too much difference anyhow. We now had to come up with seven fighters to match their number, and there were only three of us there at the moment. Luckily, as the challenged clan, we could specify the time, the place, and the weapons. If I knew Hannah, she’d want this over and done with as soon as possible, and she’d choose blades. It was going to be a nasty battle, and before it was over, heads would roll. <to be continued> \/-----\/ (
  15. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD Chapter 13 REUNITED (The Doctor) St. Andrew's Hospital, Essex, UK 1991 (sound track: HEATHER, by Billy Cobham) The rain poured down relentlessly as Petra looked out the window of the small office. The last time she had seen a window without bars on it was more than eight years ago, shortly after the night she and her brother had gone looking for their younger sister Vicky in the suburbs of Paris, only to encounter... Petra turned her thoughts away from that night with only a small degree of effort. She’d become quite an expert at not thinking of certain things in the time she’d spent here, and even at denying the existence of things she knew to be quite real from her own personal experience. Like someone undergoing the tortures of the Inquisition, she had finally recanted under duress, at least externally. It was only by denying what she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt to be real that she could convince these unsuspecting idiots that she was actually sane. The irony of it was not totally lost on her; even the fact that her own personal sense of ethics had prevented her from telling them what they wanted to hear for so long was quite ironic, her insistence on telling the truth about that night being interpreted as clear proof that she was still delusional. Peter had tried his best to have her released. He had even tried corroborating her story to the best of his ability, but he had been outside on the doorstep while she was suffering through her ordeal, and during the brief time he had actually been inside that cold, dark room, he couldn’t truthfully say that he’d seen anything at all. Still, he had stood by her all these years, visiting faithfully every weekend and trying to convince her to just tell the doctors what they so obviously wanted to hear: that there were no such things as vampires. That she had experienced some sort of mental breakdown without any apparent cause. That she had imagined the whole thing. That their sister was alive and well, and had simply chosen to arbitrarily leave her life behind and to not have any contact or communicate with her brother in any way for all this time. And they claimed she was delusional? Petra laughed bitterly to herself, eliciting a quick glance from her doctor before getting her emotions in check once more. “Miss Kushkin, are you feeling alright?” he asked solicitously. “Yes, Doctor Perry. I’m fine… I’m just happy I’m finally going home.” Petra moved her head slightly towards her doctor and smiled warmly at him before returning her gaze to the rain falling steadily outside the window. For some reason, she found it comforting to watch it fall. Doctor Perry was a gentle and quiet fellow with sandy blonde hair and oval glasses, and his concern for Petra was obvious. In fact, over the years he had had her under his care, he had grown quite fond of her. Her physical appearance hadn’t hurt; her face was still quite beautiful, something even over eight years of her having been institutionalized couldn’t change. Nor did the baggy pajamas issued to all of the clients at St. Andrew's do so much to hide the fact that she also had a stunning figure. As attractive as the doctor found Petra physically, however, he was even more attracted by the quality of her intellect. Even her delusions were logically coherent. Dr. Perry was amazed at the way in which she had been able to keep up her insistence that her story was the truth for so long, and that no matter how he tried to pick her strange tale apart with logic, it stayed consistent. It even made perfect sense… as long as one could bring oneself to believe that vampires actually did exist. There had been times when he had even come close to believing it himself, although he had never let that become evident to his lovely patient. Still, they had made great progress together. Petra was now free of her delusions, and about to be released into her brother’s care. Seeing her for the first time in street clothes, the young doctor couldn’t help noticing her long slim legs as she stood by the window in his office looking out at the rain, lost in thought. The suit she was wearing might not have been quite the same fashionable item it was eight years ago, but that didn’t make any difference to him as he took in the way her grey silk skirt stretched tightly across her shapely bottom, either. He realized now just how much he had bonded with this woman during the time they had spent together, and that he was actually sorry to see her go, even though he was happy for her. He was truly going to miss her... yes, he would even miss the way she kept beating him at chess, he thought, and smiled to himself. His reverie was interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom on his desk. He pressed the switch, and heard the nasal voice of the receptionist announcing that Petra’s brother had arrived. “Excellent, Miss Haverstraw. Please do send him in right away.” Dr. Perry rose from his desk and walked over to where Petra was standing by the window, still staring out at the rain. “Miss Kushkin? Petra?” The doctor spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. He touched her very gently on her arm and was surprised by the feeling of hard, firm muscle underneath her suit jacket. The combination of diet, medications, and lack of vigorous exercise made most of the long term patients at St. Andrew's soft and doughy after a few years. This woman was as fit as a panther, though. “Your brother is here. He only has to sign a few documents, and then you’ll be free to go,” he said. Petra turned all the way around to look at him now. Doctor Perry had never liked the fluorescent lighting in his office. He always preferred to use the small lamp on his desk, and now he knew why. It was just for this moment to be possible. Looking at Petra with the soft light of the desk lamp accentuating her angular cheekbones, the slightly Asian cast of her brown eyes, her pale, almost translucent skin, her long dark brown hair framing her pretty face, she reminded him of the girl in the Modigliani painting 'Jeanne Hebuterne'. She was exotic, and she was so beautiful. She was perfect. There was a knock on the door. Stirring out of his dream state again, the doctor tore his eyes away from the lovely woman at the window and said, “Come in.” The dark, heavy wood-paneled door opened, and Peter Kushkin entered the room. Petra wanted to shout with joy and fling her arms around him immediately, but she managed to restrain herself somehow. There would be time for that later; for now she just smiled and spoke softly. “Hello, Peter. So glad you could make it.” Both Peter and Dr. Perry laughed at her quiet understated remark, and the doctor motioned for Peter to sit at the large desk. He pushed a few sheets of paper in front of her brother and indicated where he was to sign. “Alright, this is the last one,” Doctor Perry said, finally. Peter affixed his signature to the proper place, and the doctor placed the stack of release papers in the file on his desk. He got up from behind the desk, and extended his hand to Peter, who took it in his own large hand and shook it rather vigorously. This was as close as Peter would come to showing his true feeling of elation at finally getting his sister back. “Thank you so much, Doctor Perry,” he said. Petra walked over to her doctor, and gave him a hug, taking him by surprise. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, startled as much by the strength of her embrace as by its unexpected quality. “Yes, Doctor. Thank you so much. For everything,” she said softly. "You... you're both very welcome," Doctor Perry stammered, a bit flustered now. Petra smiled at him warmly once more, then turned and followed her brother out of his office. The good doctor shut the heavy door behind them and then sat back down in his chair, sighing to himself and thinking about things he probably shouldn’t, but could finally allow himself to. Meanwhile, Petra followed Peter down the hallway and out the front door of St. Andrew's into the pouring rain. Peter hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, but she didn’t care. She was feeling the cold rain on her face and seeing the fading light of an English autumn evening with nothing between her and it as she walked down the short flight of steps to where Peter’s black BMW M5 car was waiting. Peter held the door open for her to get in, shut it firmly, and then walked around to the right side. He opened his own door and climbed behind the wheel. Then he leaned over and popped the glove box open, pulled out a pack of John Player Specials and casually tossed them into his sister’s lap along with a lighter before closing his own door. “Thought you might fancy a fag,” he said quietly. Petra pulled out a cigarette, stuck it between her lips, and lit it without a word. She knew she didn’t need to say anything. Their psychic connection was already telling her twin brother everything she was feeling at this moment, and it could all be summed up in one short sentence. She was finally free again. -----------------===================------------------------ St. Andrew’s Psychiatric Hospital, Essex, UK Excerpted from Doctor’s Clinical Notes re: patient PK 9/13/82: Patient presents as 24 yo female (DOB. 4/11/58) with no prior history of psychiatric problems. No allergies, no prior history of drug usage or addiction. Patient was admitted to hospital with minor physical injuries but soon showed signs of severe psychological trauma – i.e. paranoid schizophrenic delusions. In preliminary interview, patient repeatedly claimed younger sister had been ‘abducted by vampires’, and that she must ‘rescue her’. Became violent; had to be put in restraints. Performed PSYCH. EVAL. & OK’d subsequent admission to psych. ward. Patient transferred to St. Andrews, admitted and placed under my care. Patient exhibits symptoms as follows: severe agitation, sleep disorders, nightmares, frequent nighttime bedwetting. Daytime depression alternating with manic state. Periodic fits of rage. Occasional daytime incontinence. RX. Thorazine / 50mg PO 2x daily. 1983: Minimal progress. Increased dosage to 100mg 2x daily. 1984: Minimal progress. Increased dosage contraindicated. 1985-1989: idem 1990: Entered patient in clinical trials for experimental drug Sertraline. Responsive. Marked improvement. Reduced agitation, sleep patterns normalized, bedwetting reduced. Delusions less prevalent. 1991: Patient released into brother’s custody. Patient will need to continue antidepressant/antipsychotic medication as per RX: 50mg Sertraline PO 2x daily / 100mg Clozapine PO 1x daily (bedtime) 3 month follow-up, then 6 month, then yearly. Prognosis: Guarded, but optimistic of full recovery. G. Perry, MBChB (to be continued) \/-----\/
  16. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD Chapter 12 Stage Fright (CESTUS) Cannes, 1996 (sound track: Violin Concerto, by Philip Glass performed by Adele Anthony with the Ulster orchestra conducted by Takuo Yuasa.) “Welcome, wilkommen, bienvenue, Mesdames et Messieurs, au Petit Bal des Vampires,” he said, his deep voice resonant in the small space. The man spread his arms expansively, the spotlight focused entirely on him. It was otherwise totally dark in this room, but our vampire night vision was more than adequate to the task of taking in the scene around us. Once Hannah and I had been admitted to the house, we had looked around for any sign of the three who had entered just before us, but they had vanished. The room we were in wasn’t large, and although it was packed, it was only with the dozen or so people I had estimated while we were still outside. There wasn’t a heartbeat among them. All of them were vampires, and although there did seem to be different groups, every single one of them had a certain predatory air. And they were all hungry; as I passed through the room, I could feel eyes on me, and I could almost hear the thoughts going around Inside their heads, thinking, “I wonder what she would taste like?” It sent chills up my spine. These weren’t ‘nice’ vampires, not in the slightest, not a one. I pressed closer to Hannah, holding her hand tightly like a frightened little girl clinging to her mommy as we walked towards the back of the room which had once been a salon or living room, but appeared to have been converted into a small theatre now. On the low stage, the man they had called Cestus stood in front of a heavy blood-red velvet curtain, and as he gestured towards it, he continued on. “Tonight, we have for your delectation and amusement, a special morsel provided for us by my friends Judith and Kris. They never fail to bring us the very best, and I’m sure tonight will be no exception.” He grinned, exposing his yellowed fangs as he did. “And so, without further delay, I give you… VICTORIA!” As Cestus moved aside, the curtains parted, exposing a bizarre scene on the tiny stage. The small girl we had seen earlier was now stripped naked, intricately bound with black and red nylon rope knotted shibari-style, and suspended from another black nylon rope running through a thick steel ring fixed to the ceiling and then connected to another set of rings in mid-air. She was tied up in a complicated pose: hands behind her back, legs crossed at the knees, feet pointed to the outside, and doubled over with her head down so her face was hidden at first. I could feel the pain of her position, her feeling of humiliation at being thus exposed so cruelly, and the severe desperation of her urgent need to urinate as she writhed and squirmed in her bonds. Standing next to her was the red-haired vampire girl Kris; she was just finishing up the last of the knots. I was amazed that she had managed to execute such a complicated bit of rope work in such a short time, although to me she seemed less than pleased at the result herself, at least from an aesthetic viewpoint. Devotees of shibari don’t like being rushed, and it was obvious from the way that Kris was tying those last knots that she was an expert: suspensions were notoriously difficult to achieve safely. Still, the position was clearly painful; the joints at the girl's shoulders, elbows, hips and knees must have been extremely stressed. At first I was surprised that the bound girl wasn’t moaning in agony, but Kris passed in front of her and cupped her chin to raise her lovely face up towards the audience. Then the reason was revealed. A red rubber ball gag had been inserted in her mouth and fastened securely around her neck by a black leather strap with a silver buckle, and no sound was even possible, other than a sort of soft whimpering noise. The poor girl was starting to shudder and convulse, both with pain and from her urgent need as her full bladder cried out for release. Kris applied an icy cold fingertip to the swollen bulge at the bound girl’s belly, and was rewarded by a gasp from behind the ball gag and a short spurt of clear urine as it jetted out of her victim's privates, splashing onto the floor beneath them. My empathetic powers had me already squeezing my own pelvic floor muscles tightly as I willed her to stop the flow and not provide this humiliating spectacle to the hungry-eyed vampires gathered in front of the stage. I couldn’t help but imagine myself in her place, and I felt sorry for her, but at the moment there was nothing at all I could do to prevent this from happening. I could only watch, and do what I could to support her psychologically. Of course, me being an omo vampire, I was also now getting somewhat aroused by the whole scene despite my sympathy for the trussed-up victim. I just couldn’t help myself. In the meantime, I could sense that Hannah was busy trying to assess the threat level of the other guests, figure out a plan of attack, a retreat route, and how we might be able to extract the girl safely. Aroused though she might have been, she was so much better at keeping those feelings in check than I was; then again, she’d had a lot more time and motivation to work on that, being an older dominant vampire. Kris smiled, her evil grin spreading across her face as she raised a finger in front of Victoria’s terrified eyes. She waved it ever so slowly back and forth in front of her, and then she moved it down towards Victoria’s midsection once again. This time, instead of a gentle touch, she made a sharp stabbing motion, jabbing suddenly into Victoria’s bladder and provoking another quick squirt of pee before I was able to help her regain control again. The audience was really enjoying the spectacle; I could hear a collective murmur of satisfaction every time the poor girl would release another spurt of her hot, fragrant urine onto the stage floor below her. They weren’t omo vampires; they were simply savoring her pain and her humiliation, and Kris was doing a very good job of making sure that the girl’s pain and humiliation were severe, and that it would last for quite some time. Now I wasn’t sure if I should continue helping her to stay in control, or if it would be better to simply let her lose it totally and empty herself onto the floor in order to end her pain and suffering. Her naked body was covered with sweat; every muscle was clearly in spasm, convulsing from her vain efforts to relieve the stress of her own weight and her uncontrollable need to urinate as Kris pointed her finger once more. She smiled that cold, evil smile yet again. Victoria’s pretty brown eyes were welling up with tears, and as they trickled down her cheeks, I made my decision. I couldn’t let this go on any longer. I willed her to relax her sphincter muscles, and even before Kris could touch her again, she released a long stream of urine from out of her tortured insides, the bulge of her bladder visibly shrinking as she voided its contents in a strong, hot, fragrant stream, accompanied by a hissing sound that was clearly audible to me even over the disappointed mumblings of the audience and the splashing noise of it pooling beneath her. “Dammit, Vicky! What the hell is going on with you tonight?” Kris muttered. “Normally you can take this for hours!” I could tell that Kris was furious, having been deprived of an opportunity to prolong the suffering and humiliation of her helpless victim. From out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cestus and Judith arguing bitterly at the side of the stage. I smiled. Apparently, the rather abrupt end to their little show was going to be a bit of a problem. Suddenly, they seemed to come to an agreement. Judith walked rapidly to the stage, and exchanged a few quick words with Kris, who then moved to the hook and pulley system at the rear of the stage that secured the rope holding Victoria suspended in the air. Kris unlocked the carabiner and unclipped it from the hook in the wall. Then she easily lowered the small girl down from her higher position to one just above the floor before securing it to the hook again. Now Victoria’s feet could touch the ground, and I could feel a sense of relief flooding her body, once the stresses of needing to pee and being suspended had been removed. Still she squirmed uncomfortably against the ropes that bound her tightly, as if in anticipation of some other bit of unpleasantness still to come. Cestus moved to the center of the stage again, and spoke once more in his deep, resonant voice. “Mesdames et Messieurs, I apologize for the brevity of the first part of our show. However, I am positive that you will enjoy the next bit." He smiled and said, "We shall now auction off the right to taste the lovely Victoria to the highest bidder.’ The clamor of hungry vampires as they rushed towards the stage drowned out anything else he was saying, and after a brief chaotic moment, he had to shout for order to be restored. In the tense atmosphere of the club, the anticipation was great as Cestus explained how the silent auction would go. Pen, paper and envelopes would be distributed, and anyone who wished to bid would simply write down their amount on the paper, along with their name, and seal it in the envelope. The envelopes would then be collected, and the bids tallied. As the sinister Cestus moved among the audience, not a few vampires gestured for the materials to place their bids. As he passed us, Hannah extended her hand, and received the pen, paper and envelope. She quickly wrote something down, and then sealed the envelope. “How much did you bid?” I asked. “Do you think it will be enough?” I sincerely hoped it would be. “Don’t you worry, Cool. It will work out, I promise,” Hannah replied. “We’re going to win.” Cestus made another round to collect all of the sealed envelopes. Some of the vampires had a smug look on their faces, as if they were already sure of winning the auction. There were some obviously wealthy types there, and a few of them knew each other already, as we could tell from their glances back and forth. They had obviously played this little game before. Cestus and Judith began to open the envelopes carefully, one at a time, arranging them into the order of their bid amounts. There were eight bids in total, including ours. Finally, when all of the bids had been opened, Cestus slowly walked back to the center of the stage, holding two pieces of paper in his pale, bony hand. He glanced at the name on one of them, and then read it aloud. “The winner is…” He paused dramatically, allowing the suspense to build before announcing the name. ”HANNAH OLIVEIROS!” I looked at Hannah, and asked quietly, “How did you know you would win?” “It was easy,” she replied, smiling. ”I just wrote ‘Take the highest bid, and double it.' ” I laughed. Such a simple and effective strategy… only my Hannah could have come up with something as elegant as that on the spur of the moment. Hannah moved towards the stage and Cestus came forward quickly to meet her, barring her way momentarily. He first bowed deeply, and then looked straight into her eyes. With a theatrical flourish, he showed her the other paper, which contained the amount she was to double. In his deep voice, he intoned somewhat coldly, “You do know that this is quite a large amount of money, my dear Mademoiselle. I don’t mean to be indelicate, but…” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “Ahem…” “Monsieur, I’m sure you are familiar with the expression ‘If you have to ask…’, ” Hannah replied and laughed, tossing her long shiny dark brown hair aside as she opened her small black leather Coach clutch purse and removed several large bills. She then placed them in the hand that Cestus had greedily extended to receive them. He glanced at them just long enough to verify the proper denominations. Then he nodded at Judith to signal that all was in order, and moved aside to let Hannah take the stage. Before she moved on, however, she spoke to Cestus again. “For such a large sum, I believe my lover and I should be entitled to not just slake our thirst, but also to…” She then whispered into the tall thin man’s pointed ear, causing him to smile and expose his yellowed fangs once more. “Mademoiselle, you have unusual requirements and tastes,” Cestus replied, unctuously. “However, I am quite sure that this audience will enjoy seeing them gratified. Do what you will.” At this, Hannah gestured to me to join her on the stage. Despite my reluctance to be a part of this show, I had no other choice but to obey. When I did, she whispered to me softly, explaining what she wanted me to do. Now I smiled, showing my own snow-white fangs in the process. Hannah turned towards the audience. “You have already been introduced to Victoria. I would now like you to meet Erica, who will soon be performing for your amusement and delight,” she said in her most sultry voice. “Erica is my submissive, and she will do just about anything I require of her. Isn’t that so, Erica?” I nodded demurely, my eyes cast down towards the floor, where I could still see the pool of fragrant urine under Victoria’s gagged and suspended naked body. “Well, then, why don’t you hold little Victoria still for me? I’m feeling quite thirsty now!” Hannah said. Without a word, I got to my knees behind the bound girl, and held her tightly in my arms. I could feel the perspiration on her skin against mine, and smell the sweet fragrance of her as I bent down towards her face. OMG, it was so hard for me to resist the temptation to drink up the still-warm pee from the floor under her. “Don’t worry. We don’t want to hurt you, but we’re going to have to make this convincing.” I whispered softly into her ear. "Just go along with it, please. Everything will be alright in the end, I promise!” Just as I finished saying that, Hannah bit hard into Victoria’s neck, sinking her fangs deeply into the small girl and taking a taste of her blood as she writhed in my arms from the pain. I held her as tightly as I could and sent her my empathetic support to help her bear it. I knew what she was feeling, intimately. Although it had been a very long time since I had felt it, it was something I’d never forget: the extreme pain of that first penetration, the searing burn as the razor sharp fangs sank into the vein of one’s neck, the sting of an omo vampire’s bite being particularly severe due to our peculiar venom, the kind that would be lethal unless countered. And I was lucky, having been on death’s doorstep when it happened and barely able to feel it. The pain VIctoria was feeling must have been easily more than a thousand times worse than what I only dimly recalled from my own ordeal so long ago. But it had to be this way. The assembled guests looked on raptly, every one of them wishing they had won the right to drink from her. They were all so busy watching Hannah feed that none of them noticed as I discreetly unfastened the buckle securing the ball gag behind Victoria’s neck. “Shhh,” I murmured, loosening my grip slightly and stroking her light brown hair gently with one hand to comfort her. I knew what was coming next, and she probably wasn’t going to like it at all. As Hannah finally retracted her fangs, withdrawing them from Victoria’s jugular vein, I could see the two perfectly round holes beginning to close rapidly. She was still in pain, her eyes closed, the omo venom streaking through her body like liquid fire as she writhed in agony. Hannah gestured to me, again, letting me know it was time to remove the ball gag from Victoria’s mouth. I whispered in her ear again. “Hannah’s going to do something now, and you’re not going to like it, but it’s absolutely necessary. You need to take what she’s about to give you.” Hannah laughed loudly, and said, “After such a long drink, I think I need to relieve myself. Erica, would you please help me find a place to do so?” That was my cue; I quickly removed the ball gag from Victoria’s mouth and pressed her cheeks inwards, forcing her lips open as Hannah hiked up her short black leather mini, exposing her bare privates under her skirt. Yes, we had both gone commando this evening, so when she squatted over the bound girl, there was nothing to impede the view of Hannah’s beautifully formed shaved private parts or the flow as a stream of hot and clear blue pee shot out of her urethra. It splashed directly into Victoria’s mouth as I held it firmly open underneath her. I was almost jealous, but Victoria just sputtered and tried to close her mouth or turn her head away so as to not have to swallow Hannah’s urine. Her attempts were in vain; I had too tight of a hold on her. I remembered suddenly that Victoria wasn’t an omo vampire… yet. Hannah’s pee probably didn’t taste so good to her. As for me, I eagerly licked up the bit that had gotten on my hands during the wetting. The audience murmured with delight as Hannah then ordered me to clean up after her, and I licked off the remaining urine from Victoria’s face as tenderly as I could. Then I surreptitiously took a tiny bite of the flesh at the heel of my hand, drawing a small amount of blood. Holding it in my mouth as I kissed her on the lips, I then teased her mouth open with my tongue and let that bit of my blood out onto hers. I caressed her deeply as she began to respond, her body reacting almost involuntarily to my soft stroking ministrations. Her eyes closed, and she moaned again, but this time with pleasure instead of pain. The vampires in the theatre all watched in hot fascination as I began to work little Victoria with all my ability, and believe me, Hannah had taught me a few things in all the time I’d known her. The audience didn’t know it, but we were now bonded as sisters, Victoria, Hannah, and I. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  17. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 11) The Evil Ones (Judith and Kris) Cannes 1996 We were in town for the film festival. With so many activities taking place at night and in cold, dark theatres, it was an annual pilgrimage for many vampires. In fact, the whole entertainment industry was a haven for vampires, at least on the creative side of things. Ironically, the management end was almost entirely run by humans. We often got a laugh out of this agent or that manager being referred to as a ‘bloodsucker’, considering who their clientele was in all likelihood. But I digress… Hannah and I were sitting at a sidewalk café table, dressed in our finest, most fashionable clothes. We were going Euro style, wearing matching outfits, too: gold lamé tank tops and black leather mini skirts. Sipping our drinks and watching the famous and the near-famous passing by on their way to or from some venue. Hannah was having a pastis, and I was drinking crème de menthe. Even after all these long years, I still really didn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. Tobacco, on the other hand… I pulled out a Gitane from the thin blue pack on the table and lit it with my trusty brass Zippo lighter. I inhaled the smoke and held it in my lungs for a while, savoring the taste of a strong French cigarette. Totally relaxed, I leaned back in my chair and stretched my legs out in front of me, then pulled them back quickly under the table when I remembered I was wearing a skirt for once. I pulled on the hem of it, tugging it back into place with some effort. It was a very short skirt, too… I certainly wasn’t used to that; wearing this thing was all Hannah’s idea. A black leather miniskirt, and high heels; really high gold snakeskin stiletto heel pumps. Jeez. This was so NOT me, really. At the moment, I was glad to be sitting down; as awkward as I felt in this miniskirt, it was better than the torture of trying to walk in these darn shoes I was wearing. It wasn’t even that they hurt, so much (although thumb tacks in my sneakers would probably have been more comfortable); I hadn’t worn high heels in so long, I’d forgotten how difficult walking in them could be. And we had walked around quite a bit before I was able to convince Hannah to stop and have a drink. She was busy catching up with friends, and I dutifully tagged along, clomping around clumsily in these unfamiliar shoes. Walking behind her, I looked like some sharecropper stepping over rows of cotton as Hannah glided effortlessly along in her own mile-high heels as if she were floating over the pavement. Her skirt seemed even shorter and tighter than mine, probably an illusion due to her long, toned legs, yet it didn’t seem to slow her down even a little bit. And oh my goddess… she had the perfect bottom. Despite my pain, I did love that view; it kind of made it all worthwhile. Still, I was happy we were sitting at a table in this crowded café now. The sights, the sounds, the smells of humans and vampires all mixed together… often, when humans and vampires mixed it didn’t end well for the humans, but there were always certain events that were exceptions to the rule, and this was one of them. There was an unwritten agreement that we vamps wouldn’t ever feed during the film festival; there was no point in drawing attention to our existence, especially with all of the publicity surrounding the event. As a result, we were all hungry. Starving, in fact. It was like being at a banquet while having your mouth sewed shut. So we were all acutely aware of any slight opportunity for a snack. (sound track: Evil, by Earth, Wind and Fire) All of a sudden, both Hannah and I looked up from our drinks to witness the most pitiable sight I think I had ever seen. Two girls were leading a third one around as if she were on an invisible leash. They were all vampires; the lack of any heartbeat was a dead giveaway, so to speak. The first two looked healthy and well fed, and at first I couldn’t figure out why. Then I looked more closely at the third girl. She was pale and thin, her light brown hair was dull and a bit dirty, and she was clearly miserable. I had never seen anyone look so unhappy in my entire existence, alive or undead. Suddenly I realized why; I was horrified, and I could tell that Hannah was incensed. These two girls were actually feeding on their own sister in order to sustain themselves! A small exchange of blood was required when you became part of a family, and a single feed and exchange in order to turn a human was necessary, but what these two were doing contravened all the laws of our kind. A vampire would feed on human blood, or animal blood if they were squeamish about feeding on humans. Rival clans would fight and even exterminate each other gleefully, but even the most hateful would never, ever consider feeding on another vampire consistently. It just wasn’t done. The three of them walked past us as we sat there, never once glancing in our direction. Cannes was full of vampires, and we were just another couple taking in the night air. Well, not anymore we weren’t. Hannah carelessly tossed a 200 franc note onto the table and said sharply, “Come on, Cool. We need to go, now!” As I rose up from the table, I pulled my skirt down towards my knees once again, somewhat unsuccessfully. When I heard that tone of voice from Hannah, I knew that there was a battle coming. Neither of us was really dressed for fighting, but I was ready to back her up, no matter what. She was a vamp enforcer, and in this situation, she wasn’t going to wait for orders before she acted. By then, it might be too late for this poor unfortunate girl. They were already halfway down the block as we began following them. The smallest vampire stumbled on a bit of uneven pavement and almost fell to her knees, barely able to right herself in time. The eldest, a tall woman with wavy dark brown hair, turned and said, “Hurry up, Victoria! We have places to be, and you are slowing us down.” Her tone was harsh, and her accent was strange; I couldn’t place it at all. "Kris, make sure she keeps up with us." “I’m walking as fast as I can,” the girl moaned, her soft voice plaintive. “I’m weak, I’m starving, and I can’t do any better than this. And I really need to pee, too.” The third vampire, the one called Kris, was another small girl, with reddish straight hair. She laughed at that. Her laugh sounded quite cold and evil to me. In fact, both of these two exuded an aura of evil. Only their poor victim seemed to be free of it. On the surface, I suppose most people would see all vampires as evil creatures, but most of us really weren’t evil at all. We had an affliction, or an addiction, as some of us preferred to think of it, and we dealt with it in varying ways. Only the worst of us fed indiscriminately. Many of us modern day vampires had chosen a moderate lifestyle, hunting only animals in general. Some had even eschewed hunting altogether, if there was another blood supply available. There was a large black market in blood packs for those who chose not to hunt, and this was the most popular option for those who could afford it. Most of us who fed on humans only fed on the worst low-life evildoers, people the world was better off without in any case. We justified, or rationalized, our behavior by telling ourselves that they deserved their fate and wouldn’t really be missed by anyone. But to feed on another vampire, over and over again? What kind of scum were we dealing with here? These were the thoughts running through my head as we followed this trio at a discreet distance. We were moving out of the main part of town; the streets were less crowded now, but we still weren’t about to start any sort of confrontation here. As we walked along behind them, I turned to Hannah and asked, “So, what are you thinking?” She replied quietly, “We free the girl. No one deserves what she’s going through.” “And what about the other two?” “Well, that depends on what they do, really. It would be better if they were willing to let her go without a fight, but somehow I don’t envisage that as a possibility.” I saw her clench her fists tightly. Trouble was brewing, for sure. Meanwhile, I could feel the desperation welling up in the poor little vampire as her need to pee became more and more urgent. The other two walked along in front of her, either oblivious or uncaring as she struggled to maintain control of her swollen, overburdened bladder. Every so often, she would double over as a spasm hit her, and even from this distance I could smell the urine leaking out into her panties as they grew more and more damp with each small occurrence. The smell was so sweet, and I longed to taste her. “Cool, get a grip on yourself, please,” Hannah scolded, her voice pitched to my ears only. By now we had been walking for some time, and we had left the crowded part of town far behind us. We had entered a residential district, with small houses lining either side of the narrow street. Hannah and I slowed our pace so as not to be obvious, but there weren’t many other people around, so we had to make a real effort not to draw attention to ourselves. Luckily, the three vampires ahead of us seemed to be lost in their own little world and totally oblivious to our presence for the moment. They finally stopped in front of a tiny house on a side street, and rang the doorbell. After a short interval, the door was opened by a tall, skinny man with very pale skin. “Good evening, ladies, and welcome!” he intoned, his voice deep and sonorous. “And what have you brought us tonight, Judith?” “Good evening, Cestus,” the tall woman replied. “I brought dessert.” She smiled, exposing her parchment colored fangs. The man moved aside to let the three of them pass, and I could hear noises inside that led me to believe there was some kind of party going on. There were at least a dozen vampires there, judging by the sound of it, in addition to the man she called Cestus and the three newcomers. Then the door shut firmly behind them. I turned to Hannah again. Her mouth was set into a hard line, her fists still balled up tightly at her sides. “Maybe we should scope things out before we just rush in there? It looks as if we’re going to be seriously outnumbered this time,” I said. “You need to keep cool, girl!” She looked over at me and smiled, although still somewhat grimly, as she extended her fangs. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to do anything rash. Let’s just see what’s going on at this party, shall we?” Hannah took my hand firmly as she walked towards the door and rang the bell herself. The door opened once more, and the man called Cestus looked us over quite closely, then opened the door to let us in, greeting us with another “Good evening, ladies, and welcome!” (to be continued) \/-----\/
  18. Chapter 10: Hello Kitty (KAT) At the loft, NYC, 1996 (soundtrack: Rivera Paradise by Stevie Ray Vaughan) “So, how was Paris? Did you girls do any shopping while you were over there?” I watched her rummage through the familiar red and white paper bag she’d brought with her as she spoke, pulling out a wad of napkins, a large soda, a straw, and finally two cheeseburgers wrapped in paper. After laying everything all out carefully on the table in front of her, the small woman rubbed her hands together and then picked up the first hot cheeseburger and unwrapped it. She took a bite, and as her razor sharp teeth sank into it, her pretty hazel eyes almost rolled back into her head like those of a shark in a feeding frenzy. “Jeez, Kat! I don’t know why you still eat that stuff… it’s not like you need to.” I laughed. “I know I don’t need it physically,” she replied. “But it just reminds me of how things were before… almost as if it makes a connection between who I used to be and who I am now.” She mused, “It’s like you and your music, my junk food and I…” Kat was one of Hannah’s oldest friends; they had known each other for a very long time. They had started out as members of rival clans, but Kat’s clan had been decimated in the Vampire Plague of 1902, and she herself had barely survived. Hannah had found her wandering the streets in a delirious daze and nursed her back to health, after which Kat became family to her. And of course, being family to Hannah, she was family to me, too. She repeated her question as she rapidly finished the first cheeseburger. “So… shopping? What did you girls find?” Coming from someone as unfashionably dressed as she was, the question might have seemed a bit bizarre. I never saw Kat in anything other than jeans and a v-necked t-shirt, unless she was going hunting. She usually wore these funky little Hawaiian sandals too; her “five dollar specials”, she called them. But Kat was a professional photographer, and she did everything from nature photography to high fashion spreads, so she was always interested in the latest trends. Physically, she was almost the exact opposite of Hannah. Kat was short and a little bit… well, I wouldn’t say chunky, but not exactly thin either. Still, she was beautiful; her pale skin was perfect, her eyes were clear, and her lips were inviting, so she always had a few boy-toy thralls who were willing to do virtually anything she asked of them at any time. She had short hair somewhere between sandy blonde and light brown in color, pixie-like ears, and a dazzling smile, which she flashed as Hannah replied. “We didn’t really go shopping this last trip… but we did find something rather... interesting.” Kat began unwrapping the second cheeseburger. “Our friend delights in riddles,” she said, then looked up at me and continued. “She is as mysterious as the Sphinx; by the way, did she ever tell you that she was the model for the original sculpture, before they changed the head to look like one of those pharaohs?” She bit eagerly into the cheeseburger in her hand. “Oh, Kat!” Hannah said, laughing. “She told me before they opened up McDonald's restaurants everywhere, you had to catch and grill pterodactyls yourself to eat for dinner,” I gibed. Now Kat laughed and said, “Oh, goddess, I do remember those days well. I must say, the drive-thru is a heck of a lot more convenient, and these burgers are so yummy, but occasionally I do still find myself yearning for a bit of grilled ptery!” “Too bad you hunted them all into extinction then,” I quipped. Kat laughed again. It was always such fun having her over. She looked directly at me, and said suddenly, “Cool, why do you keep squirming around like that? Wait, wait… don’t tell me, let me guess,” she giggled, biting into her cheeseburger. “Is Hannah making you hold again, poor baby?” She smiled her radiant smile at me, giggling once more. “You omo vamps, you’re so cute! I just love watching you when you’re desperate; it’s absolutely adorable, really.” Kat took another bite of her cheeseburger, delicately wiping an errant bit of juice from the corner of her mouth with a napkin held in her other hand. Her clan had been aristocratic old-line classic bloodsuckers, and they were usually a bit snooty and prejudiced against us newcomer ‘minority’ omo vampires, but Kat loved Hannah like a sister, and she loved me like a daughter; we were the only family she had left. She did enjoy watching us when we were holding, but it was a totally different thing for her. For us, it was always compulsive and ecstatic; for her, it was simply amusing to see us in a somewhat weakened and comparatively helpless state. That being the case, she picked up her soda and took a long, loud slurp of it through the straw, followed by an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “Bitch…” I muttered softly as my very full bladder suddenly went into spasm and contracted, forcing a spurt of hot, fragrant pee out of my wee hole and into my black cotton bikini panties before I could stop it. I seriously hoped I hadn't wet my denim shorts as well, but just in case, i pulled my old oversize white "RELAX" tee down a bit further over my backside. As I crossed my legs as tightly as I could and doubled over, still squirming, Kat giggled, and then she did it again…and again, as I kept making little uncontrollable squirts of pee into my undies in reply. Well, I was definitely wet now, no doubt about it. Darn it ! I just sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing that her domme side wouldn’t let it go, no matter how much she loved me. Especially since she knew how much I actually enjoyed holding until I just couldn’t take it anymore, and how much Hannah loved seeing me lose control. “Aww, does poor widdle Cool need to go really badly?” Kat giggled again, her rhetorical question accompanied by yet another loud slurp. She laughed at my contortions as I began to pee dance right there in front of her. Hannah says that of all the girls she’s known, vampire or human, I have the best pee dance ever. I wouldn't know; I've never seen it... no reflection, remember? The worst thing this time was that the desperation I was feeling at the moment wasn’t really even my own, at least not entirely. Yes, I had been holding for over 24 hours at Hannah’s command… but I was a pro at holding, and 24 hours was no big deal for me anymore. It was the amateur in the next room that was causing me such distress at the moment. “Sometimes this empathetic connection thing really sucks.” I said, and Hannah laughed. “Everything has a downside, Cool. I thought you would have figured that out by now,” she said, impassive. Even though she was feeling exactly what I was, her many more years of training had given her the self-discipline to not let it affect her, at least not visibly. Any sign of weakness in a dominant vamp was real cause for concern, as that would leave them open to challenge by a rival vampire. Since I was a submissive, I could pee dance to my heart’s content and even wet myself fully, but I still resented the humiliation in front of Kat, no matter how much she and Hannah were enjoying the sight of it themselves. “Dammit, Vicky! Will you please just go, already?” I muttered to myself. I was finding my new sister’s lack of self-control a wee bit annoying, so to speak. From the next room, I heard her call out, her voice strident, “I heard that! And no, I won’t. You did this to me, so you can suffer right along with me, sis!” “Victoria, would you come out here, please?” Although it might have sounded like a request, both Vicky and I knew from the tone of Hannah’s voice that it was a command; one that she had better obey, and quickly. With a soft rustling sound, Vicky appeared suddenly in the doorway. She’d gotten the hang of the teleportation thing pretty rapidly; much faster than I had after I'd been turned, in fact. She was a natural at it, and within the first 48 hours of her new life, she could do it effortlessly every time. She was wearing one of her favorite outfits: a short pleated green plaid tartan skirt, white knee socks and dark brown pennyloafers, her white shirt unbuttoned at its Peter Pan collar to reveal a bit of a lacy black bra underneath. “That’s MY bra, dammit,” I thought. We were just about the same size, and she was constantly going through my clothes and grabbing anything she liked. It was really annoying to me, and she knew it. Far from letting that stop her, it only egged her on. Her light brown hair was done up in pigtails on either side of her head. Vicky always looked so cute in her schoolgirl mode; I could hardly stand it. “Trolling for child molesters again, are we?” I said, coldly. Vicky tossed her head, and wiggled her pretty bottom seductively. In her saucy British accent, she replied, “You know it, sweetie!” She stuck her tongue out at me. "You'd better keep that tongue inside your mouth, or I might make you bite it off, you little pop tart!" I threatened. That was how it was between us. We were bonded forever by blood and by urine, so we had undying affection and love for each other, but we still teased and tortured each other unmercifully. Sisters, you know? Hannah sighed and said, “If you two little girls are quite through, I’d like to introduce Victoria to Kat now.” Kat stood up from the table, walked over to where Vicky was standing, and extended her hand. As Vicky took it, she suddenly pulled her close and, holding her tightly, sank her now fully extended fangs deep into my little sister’s neck, taking a nice long sip of her blood. For some reason, I found myself thinking of cheeseburgers. “Ow, that hurts!” Vicky exclaimed. I don’t think she was expecting Kat to be quite as forceful as she was, but the small woman was used to taking what she wanted and not asking permission first. She was a dominant vampire, and an aristocrat to boot. After a while, Kat finally retracted her fangs and let Vicky go, licking her lips as she did. “Mmmm, tasty!” she said, and smiled. As I rubbed my own neck in sympathy with my sister's pain, the tiny puncture wounds Kat had made in Vicky’s neck were already closing, thanks to our regenerative ability. As family, she was now obligated to let Victoria taste her blood; Kat wasn’t about to let this little schoolgirl newbie vampire anywhere close to her neck, though. She pulled her v-neck tee shirt down just enough to expose a little bit of one lovely breast and drew a sharp fingernail across it lightly, then extended her finger imperiously towards Vicky, who fell to her knees in front of Kat. I watched as my sister eagerly took the finger she was offered into her mouth and licked the small drop of blood from it. “Welcome to the family,” Kat said to Vicky. “So that’s what you picked up in Paris,” she said to Hannah, rather dryly. (to be continued) \/-----\/ \/-----\/
  19. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt. 9) ‘Round Midnight (PETER) Porte de Vanves, 1982 (sound track: Round Midnight, by Miles Davis) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=td3SE3zEVP0 Peter had been waiting for quite some time on the steps outside the building. In fact, it had been hours since the sun had gone down beyond the horizon, and the sky was now purple-black, moonlit and cloudless. This had been one of the longest and most difficult days of his life. As a man of action, having to stand by and do nothing while both of his sisters were still inside was pure torture. It was as if the vampire girls had created a private hell specifically for him. He was powerless to help either Vicky or Petra, and while he knew that Petra was a very skilled fighter, the fact that there was no sound coming from the house and that neither of his sisters had emerged was causing him a great deal of concern. He was so worried now that he couldn’t keep his mind off of what might have been happening to his sisters inside that house all along, or even right this instant. What was even more worrisome to him was this: for some reason, the normal psychic connection he shared with Petra, and to a lesser extent with Vicky, seemed to have been disrupted. In the past, there had been many times when he had been dismayed, embarrassed, or bothered by that unusual connection to his sisters and had wished it didn't exist, but now that it was no longer there, he felt truly alone for the first time in his life. It was a very odd feeling, as if an essential part of himself was missing. The sensation of loss was almost unbearable. He had thought about trying to force his way back in, but with there being double doors, he would have given away the element of surprise, even if he could have somehow managed to get them both open. Then he would have had to find an effective way to orient himself within that cold, dark room once he had gotten inside, and fight off at least two virtually undetectable opponents of unknown strength and skill in order to extract his two sisters, who might both be injured. Even for a master tactician such as himself, the difficulty of the situation at hand seemed insurmountable. So he did the only thing he could do under these very trying circumstances: wait patiently. He centered himself, breathed deeply, and forced his mind to empty itself of all conscious thought. He counted very slowly to ten, thinking only of breathing in, and breathing out, over and over; thinking only of breathing and counting, allowing no other thoughts to intrude. “One… two… three… four… five… six… seven... eight... nine... ten.“ Counting, and breathing... "One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten." Breathing and counting... "One... two... three... four... five... six..." Suddenly a soft sound interrupted his meditation. It was the click of the door latch being released. He glanced down at his wristwatch, pressing the button that illuminated the face. It was almost midnight. He rose from his kneeling position, pushed the door open, and waited inside. The second door’s latch opened with another click; Peter opened that one as well and walked into the dark room. He heard that strange rustling sound again, and then the American girl spoke. She was behind him. “We’re leaving now, and we’re taking our new sister with us. You can have the other one back.” She laughed that cold laugh once again. “Walk forward about twelve steps, and you’ll find her. What’s left of her, anyhow…” The rustling sound grew louder suddenly, there was a feeling of cold air right next to him and Peter heard Vicky’s voice. “It’s better that you forget about me, Peter." The woman with the odd accent said, "Don’t try to follow us, don’t try to find us.” The strange rustling sound became louder still, and there was a rush of freezing cold air moving rapidly past him towards the open antechamber. Then, there was only silence. “Petra?” Peter called softly, but there was no answer. Fearing the worst, he walked forward twelve paces. He stopped suddenly, having bumped into something... a shadowy figure sitting in a chair in front of him. It was his twin sister. Peter knelt down on the floor in front of her, feeling something wet soaking into the trousers of his suit as he did. There was a puddle there, and the unmistakable odor of urine. "Oh, sis...," Peter said to himself, sadly. "What did they do to you?" He gently felt around the seated figure, finding the ropes that held her captive. He pulled out a small, sharp knife from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, opened it, and carefully sliced through the thin rope binding her hair, then did the same to free her arms and legs. She was unconscious, but still breathing, and Peter could feel a strong pulse at her throat. Petra was alive. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  20. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD (Pt.8) Two Pairs / Doppelgangerin (PETRA) Copland Violin Sonata It was definitely their sister’s voice coming from the intercom; the twins were sure of it. Vicky repeated the same phrase: “GO AWAY!” This time she added, “Please, just leave me alone.” “What’s wrong, Vick? Tell us what’s going on.” Petra spoke softly into the intercom. “We just need to see you, and talk to you face to face. We only want to help.” “You can’t help me anymore. No one can.” Vicky said. Her tone of sadness was clearly evident to both of her siblings despite the static. This only made them more determined to see their younger sister, of course. Peter spoke for the first time. “Vicky, we’re here, and you know we’re not leaving. So you can either come out here, or let us in; it’s all the same to me.” Victoria knew her brother and sister well enough. They would stay there until they saw her, one way or another. “OK, have it your own way then. I’m going to buzz you in, but don’t blame me for whatever happens afterwards,” she said. “Just remember, you insisted on seeing me, and entered of your own free will.” The buzzer sounded, and Peter pushed the door open. Petra shoved past him and found herself standing in the middle of a tiny cobble-stoned courtyard. It was an old small factory complex: three buildings laid out in a ‘u’ shape; two long low grey stone buildings with metal and glass roofs on either side, and a three-story beige brick structure at the back. The gate swung shut behind them, leaving them in the pale light of early morning. From the building at the rear of the courtyard, they heard Vicky call to them over another intercom mounted on its exterior. “I’m in here. You can come in if you want; I can’t come out now.” Petra strode quickly to the short steps leading up into the central structure and bounded up them, with Peter following close on her heels. With a click, the front door opened, and then closed behind them automatically as they entered, leaving the two of them in complete darkness and silence. As their eyes adjusted slightly to the lack of light they could see that they were in some sort of small antechamber, and that there was a second sealed door at the other end. There was another click, and the second door opened just a crack. Petra pushed it open, and she and Peter entered the house. The room they were now in was cold and dark. Although the twins couldn’t see it, the windows were all shuttered with heavy metal blinds inside forming a complete barrier to any light from the exterior of the house. There were no lights on inside the room either; as close as they were standing, the twins could barely see each other, much less anything else. “Vick?” Petra called out softly. “I’m here, sis,” a voice came from the shadows at the far recesses of the room. “Don’t come any closer; in fact, don’t move at all, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.” It was Vicky’s voice. “Vicky, what are you talking about?” Peter asked. “How would we get hurt?” There was a strange rustling sound, and a flurry of barely perceived movement in the dark. Another woman’s voice came from behind them now. “Oh, I can think of so many different and fun ways for that to happen,” the woman said. Her voice was somewhat low in pitch with a slight accent neither of the twins could place, and her tone was as cold as the room they were standing in. Peter whirled around towards the sound of the disembodied voice, while Petra remained facing in the other direction. They now stood back to back, both dropping instinctively into combat stances. “Luckily for the both of you, your little sister has made me promise to behave myself... and I will do so, at least for the moment.” There was another rustle accompanied by rapid movement. “I, on the other hand, made no such promise.” This was a different voice now, and coming from a different direction. An American accent, definitely, and belonging to a younger girl. “You said you wouldn’t hurt them!” Vicky exclaimed. Another soft rustling sound in the darkness, a slight feeling of a bit of air moving in the still, cold room. “Oh, I don’t intend to, unless they make it necessary.” This was the first strange voice speaking again, coming from a different location within the room now. With each passing moment, Petra was getting more and more angry. She was holding again, having chosen not to use the WC in the café earlier. Now, the uncomfortable sensation of her full bladder pressing against the waistband of her tight skirt was beginning to make her irritable.She resisted the almost overwhelming temptation to cross her legs, however. She knew that doing so would only make her all the more vulnerable. Petra had a bad feeling that she might just regret her decision not to use the facilities in the café soon, but brushed that thought aside for the moment. “We don’t have time for this nonsense,” she said. “Turn the bloody lights on and show yourselves, bitches.” A soft laugh came from the depth of the shadows. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, little girl!” It was the American speaking. The same strange soft rustling sound again, and this time Petra could feel a chill invade her whole body as an icy finger brushed suddenly against her neck. The sensation of unexpected cold caused her bladder to spasm suddenly, and now she could feel a slight wetness dampening her knickers as a few drops of urine escaped from her urethra before she clenched her pelvic floor muscles to stem the flow. “Dammit, not now!” she thought to herself. This was not the time to lose it; not here, not under these circumstances. She took a deep breath to bring her body and mind back under the control of her will. “Such a pretty little girl, too.” This was the first voice again. “Victoria, you never mentioned how lovely your sister was. I am quite tempted to…” “You leave her alone! You already have me, isn’t that enough for you?” Vicky cried. “You promised!” Peter closed his eyes. He knew that eyesight wasn’t going to be of any assistance in this blacked-out environment, so he focused entirely on the sounds he could make out: the soft rustling noises, a faint sound of breathing, and the voices. Every time they spoke, the voices came from a different spot within the room, but Peter had noticed something very odd now. There were no footsteps at all to indicate movement. Even barefoot, there would have been some sort of sound, soft as it might be. His finely tuned ears registered nothing, except for that eerie rustling, like the faint sound of a bird’s fluttering wings. Peter was thinking hard. This was going to be difficult. The first thing to do was keep these strange girls talking. That was the only way to know where they might be in this total darkness. It seemed as if there were only two of them, plus Vicky. That was a plus; at least they weren’t outnumbered, as far as he could tell. There was no way to be totally sure, but their informants had only mentioned two girls, no more. Peter spoke again, saying, “Listen, all we want to do is talk with our sister and find out what’s going on. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt here, okay?” It was the old classic routine, good cop/bad cop. Since Petra had already taken the role of the hard case, he would have to play the part of the nice one this time. Both girls laughed, and the older one said, “Fine, then. We’ll let one of you talk to her while the other one waits outside.” “I’m staying,” Petra said quickly. She knew it would be easier for these girls to underestimate her fighting skill than that of her brother, and therefore they would be more likely to agree with her being the one to remain. Peter wasn’t entirely happy with her decision, but he understood the reasoning behind it. There was a frigid touch on his arm; he could feel the icy coldness of it even through his suit jacket and shirt. Then, without a word, he was being guided back towards the door leading to the small antechamber. The inside door latch clicked, and once again it opened up just a bit. “Now, you can get out.” It was the voice of the American girl. Feeling his way in the darkness, he opened the door fully and stepped into the antechamber. The inner door shut behind him firmly, and then the outer one was opened a crack, letting in a narrow beam of light. Peter pulled the outer door inwards to open it. He stepped through the doorway, and was back on the small stoop leading down to the cobblestones of the courtyard. Now, all he could do was wait. He sat down on the stone steps, wishing he had a cigarette. “Where’s Bou-Boule when you need him?” he said out loud to himself, laughing as he remembered the way the frightened odd little man had hurried off into the dawn. -------------------------------============================------------------------------------ Standing in the dark without her brother by her side, Petra felt a twinge of fear invade her mind. It seemed to become a palpable physical sensation, traveling directly downwards almost immediately, and she was suddenly almost overcome by her urgent need to pee. She felt a bit of hot urine dampen her knickers once more as it seeped out of her urethra and trickled down slowly through her feminine folds. “Dammit!” She thought to herself again, regretting that she had been so close to a rest room in the café earlier and hadn’t taken the opportunity to have a wee then, stupid girl. Now she was quite desperate, and there really wasn’t much she could do about it at the moment. Her unseen adversaries, their advantage in numbers and unknown capabilities, the darkness and pervasive numbing cold of this room, her full bladder… everything was conspiring against her. She forced her thoughts to turn away from her desperate state even as she began to pee dance just a little where she stood, her body and her mind each satisfying their own needs. “OK, you’re not going to wet yourself in front of these two bitches,” Petra told herself firmly. “Now just concentrate and work the problem.” Even as she was thinking that, she heard that odd rustling noise again. As Vicky shouted “NO!”, she felt a pair of cold hands closing around her throat from behind, choking her, cutting off her ability to breathe… and she blacked out. -----------------------------------------------===============--------------------------------------------------- When Petra regained consciousness, the first thing she felt was an overwhelming sensation of cold. She was freezing… she realized this was because she was only wearing her black lace bra and matching knickers and the thin gold chain around her neck, nothing else. The next thing she felt was that her bladder was incredibly full. She had no idea how long she had been holding for at this point, but judging by the sensation, it had to certainly have been close to her twelve-hour limit. She knew she was quite desperate and had to have a wee very soon, or she would be wetting herself. She squirmed a bit in the chair she was sitting on, but she couldn’t really do too much in the way of moving, because she was bound to it tightly and intricately with rope; her legs were spread apart and hands tied behind her, and her long hair was pulled up and attached in such a way that she could barely move her head in any direction. The rope was even threaded up between her thighs, and a few very strategically placed knots were pushing against her vulva as it passed underneath her. They were creating a stimulating pressure there that increased with every slight movement she made. It was a very strange and unusual combination of pleasure and pain she was feeling, and despite her peculiar plight, Petra found herself actually enjoying the sensation. She had always loved the feeling of desperation she got from holding her wee, but now there was something new added to the mix. She couldn’t help squirming because she had to pee so badly, and she had no way of squeezing her thighs together, but every time she moved even a little bit, the rope between her thighs pulled tighter, which excited and aroused her more, and made her even more conscious of her helpless and desperate state. She couldn’t have stopped squirming even if she had wanted to, thanks to her overly full bladder. She didn’t want to stop though, because of the way she was bound was making her feel. So she just continued to squirm, which got her more excited, which made her squirm even more. "Oh my god, I really need a wee this instant," she thought, "I'm about to wet myself." The mix of humiliation, pleasure and pain was almost too much for her to bear. It was as if it had all been tailored specifically to her psyche, to her innermost dark secret thoughts of what really turned her on. How could anyone have known, or guessed? She heard a soft laugh coming from the darkness in front of her. Oh, god, that bloody American girl; Petra was really starting to hate her with a vengeance. “Did you really have to do all of that?” Vicky asked. “She wasn’t threatening you at all.” “Did I have to? Of course not,” the young American girl said, obviously amused. “I just felt like having some fun with her. I said I wouldn’t hurt her, and I haven’t… so far.” She laughed, coldly. “It doesn’t look like she’s really in pain to me. In fact, it seems as if your sister is finding some pleasure in her situation.” “Who’s the bitch now, bitch?” The American was now addressing Petra, who was still squirming in hot distress in front of her. “Well, you said you wanted to talk to your little sister. Here’s your chance.” She laughed yet again; her laugh was quite evil sounding, really. It was a huge effort, but Petra managed somehow to get her focus away from the doubly intense sensations caused by her full bladder and her bound state. “Vicky,” she said breathlessly, “what’s going on here, sis?” “Let me make this simple. She’s not your sister anymore, bitch.” That cold, evil laugh again. “She’s our sister now.” “Who are these girls, Vicky?” Petra spoke, ignoring the other girl’s comment. “They are vampires, and they made me into one as well. I’m sorry that you got involved, P.” The sadness in Vicky’s voice was almost palpable. “Vampires? What the hell are you on about, Vicky?” Petra couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This wasn’t some bloody gothic movie, this was real life, and there were no such things as vampires… were there? The older one spoke again. “Yes, we have turned your little sister, and there is nothing you can do about that now. Although she is a bit unhappy at the moment, she has plenty of time to get used to her new situation.” Another cold laugh came from behind Petra’s chair. “Oh, yeah!” It was that damn American girl again. Even though she had been living in New York for the past several years, or perhaps because of that, Petra had already despised Americans before this; this one certainly wasn’t doing much of anything to change her opinion either, she thought to herself. There was a sharp twinge in her belly, and Petra could feel that she had just leaked a bit of urine from her bladder into her lacy black thong knickers again. It was an unmistakable signal that she wouldn’t be able to hold on too much longer, and she squirmed uncontrollably, straining against the ropes binding her, causing the knots down between her legs to stimulate her even more. She gasped again, unable to prevent her involuntary reaction. “Plenty of time… now you, on the other hand…” The American girl laughed yet again. “Speaking of which…let me give you one!” Petra suddenly felt an ice-cold hand against her stomach, and as it pressed hard into her bulging, swollen bladder, she gasped once more. The unimaginable cold and pressure forced her to squirt uncontrollably and release a strong hot jet of pee right through her lacy undies, soaking the rope which ran between her legs and dampening the seat of the chair as well as her thighs as she tried desperately to clamp them together to no avail. With a huge effort, Petra managed to tighten her pelvic floor muscles once more and stop the flow, but it was clear to her that she wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. All of the hot pent-up urine trapped in her full-to-bursting bladder was going to force its way out in just a few moments. She could feel it. The young vampire girl laughed at her predicament, giving a little mocking wiggle of her own. “Ooh, it feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetie?” No matter how badly Petra wanted to, she couldn’t deny the truth of what the American girl was saying. She was so turned on, her nipples fully erect beneath the thin lacy fabric of her bra, her vulva so obviously radiating heat and dripping sticky wetness. She was only seconds away from losing control completely, her head spinning from the sensations overwhelming her. “Look, your sister is about to wet herself!” the American said to Vicky almost gleefully. “Want to watch?” Despite herself, Vicky felt compelled to watch Petra’s degrading humiliation. A mixture of horror and hot fascination invaded her mind as her older sister twisted and squirmed in the chair before her, sweating despite the cold and straining against the rope ties that bound her so tightly. She could sense the arousal coming from Petra now. It was as if visible waves of heat were radiating off of her entire body, but especially centered in that one particular warm wet place between her sister’s thighs, and now Vicky was beginning to feel an answering heat coming from down inside of her own panties. “Oh, god, “ Vicky moaned. She suddenly realized that she was getting wet with her own girl juices; she was actually excited by what was happening to her sister. She didn’t want to watch this, but at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Petra was panting loudly now, struggling to retain control of her tortured bladder as she moved, causing the knots which were pressing against the swollen flesh of her womanhood to bring her ever closer to the point of climax. Her arousal was such exquisite torture and her desire for a wee so great she had no idea which would come first or feel better, the release of the urine she had been forced to hold for so long or the orgasm she was about to have. Meanwhile, Victoria was feeling quite overwhelmed. She had always had something of a psychic connection with her two older siblings, but this was something else entirely. It was a truly empathetic reaction; now she was actually feeling every single thing her sister was feeling, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Petra’s excited state, her uncontrollable urge to pee, her feelings of humiliation, and her rage were mixing together to form a potent cocktail of sensation, and it was all just about to come to a head. To make things even more intense, she could feel the heat and arousal from off of the two vampire girls added to the mix, their feelings feeding off of those of her sister’s just as hers were, but now all four of them intertwined. It was almost unbearable in its intensity, yet so pleasurable, the intricate complexity of what they all were feeling as it fed on itself combining with her ability to feel what others were feeling, which had been heightened to such an unimaginable level. Petra had reached the extreme limit of what she was able to withstand. Vicky could feel her sister’s desperation as her will, no longer equal to the twin tasks of holding her pee and also keeping herself from climaxing, finally failed her. “OHHHHH,” she gasped, as the hot tears of shame ran down her pretty, chiseled cheekbones. She was wetting her knickers as well as the knotted rope between her thighs now, the hot stream was jetting out hard and fast with a soft hissing sound and there was absolutely nothing at all she could do to prevent it from happening. To make matters even worse, she could feel herself in the throes of orgasm, the relief of finally letting go combining with her excited state and causing her to climax. The other three girls in the room were now having orgasms as well, and like a feedback loop the sensations fed on each other as they all climaxed together, over and over again. Petra was still peeing all the while as she came, her panties soaked, the chair dripping, the warm wetness pooling beneath her bare feet. She had been so full, and held for so long. Now she moaned, she sighed, she gasped for air. Despite the unbelievable humiliation of it all, she found herself relishing the sensations of release; both her relief at being able to pee and the thrill of her orgasmic state. It went on seemingly forever. She had almost totally lost track of time and place when, finally, both her urine flow and the waves of multiple orgasms engulfing her began to slow, diminish, and finally stop. Completely drained, sitting in a hot, wet puddle of her own pee, she sagged in her bonds, and collapsed. Before she passed out again, the last thing she heard was, “Was it good for you too, sweetie?” It was that hated American girl’s voice again. Then the darkness swallowed her whole. “Wow, that sister of yours is something else,” the young girl said to Vicky, who was leaning on the wall to support herself now. Her legs were weak and wobbly, having never felt anything that intense before in her life. “Is it always like that?” Victoria asked softly. “Pretty much,” was the reply. (to be continued)
  21. SISTERHOOD OF BLOOD PT. 7 The Round Man (Bou-Boule) AU BAR-TABAC, Porte De Vanves 1982 (sound track: Chitlins Con Carne, by Kenny Burrell) At the roughly y-shaped junction of three cobble stone lined streets sat a somewhat seedy café. Its windows were a bit dirty, and the interior was paneled in dark wood with mirrors on the walls to make it appear larger than it was. A narrow wooden bar, its counter top done up in polished brass and zinc, stretched across the back wall, with the usual bottles arrayed behind it, and glasses suspended from inverted racks above. This section of town on the outskirts of Paris wasn’t trendy by any stretch of the imagination; it was working class, and the clientele at this early pre-dawn hour were actually mostly night laborers who were finishing up their shift with ‘un coup de rouge’, a glass of cheap red wine instead of the cup of coffee most people would usually be having at this time of the morning while getting ready for work. The regulars were staring quite openly at the strangers who were sitting at a table by the front window having café au lait with their croissants. These two were too well dressed to belong in this setting, and it definitely seemed as if they were waiting for someone, or something. They didn’t look like a pair of sightseeing tourists on holiday, that much was certain. The man was tall and just a bit heavy set, his dark brown hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Although fashionably attired, he had the look of someone who wouldn’t back down from a fight. His hands were large, and the one holding the cup he was drinking his coffee from made it look like something from a little girl’s toy tea set. He drummed the fingers of his other hand on the small table impatiently; then, suddenly noticing what he had been doing unconsciously, he stopped. The woman across the table from him emitted a low laugh, then leaned in and murmured something to the large man, who simply smiled grimly at her and shook his head in response. His attractive companion shared the same long dark brown hair and had similar facial features, although in her case they manifested themselves in a much different way, soft and yet angular all at once. Somehow, even though the woman was very pretty and was wearing a tight suit with a very feminine cut, she still managed to convey the same impression as the man seated across from her. They both looked as if they meant business, and wanted to be left alone. Normally at least one of the regulars would have tried to challenge these upscale visitors for daring to enter their turf, but these two actually looked very dangerous and intimidating themselves, and although the locals were a tough lot, it was nonetheless very clear to all of them that the unfamiliar customers who were seated at the front of the café were tougher still. They knew enough to recognize trouble when they saw it, and these two were trouble, in spades. So they simply contented themselves with a low-voiced discussion of theories as to why the two of them were sitting there, and what they might be waiting for. Finally, tiring of their rather circular conversation, they decided to nominate a representative to question this unusual pair of transients. After some brief and animated, but rather hushed, argument accompanied by Gallic gesticulation and a bit of swearing, one of them turned away from the group clustered by the bar and headed towards the table at the front, having drawn the metaphorical 'short straw'. He was a small rotund man with a sallow complexion, both mustached and unshaven, and dressed in a grimy blue work coverall. As he walked slowly towards the seated couple, not without some trepidation, one of the others called boisterously after him, bold now that someone else was in the line of fire. “Allez, Bou-Boule… vas-y, demande-les qu’est-ce qu’ils cherchent !” Having finally reached the table, the man they called Bou-Boule looked at the two people sitting there and simply spread his hands apart, shrugging his shoulders. He noticed that, up close, the woman at the table looked even more beautiful and more dangerous than she had from a distance, while the man simply looked more dangerous. "Excusez moi, mademoiselle," he said, addressing the woman, who he deemed the less threatening of the two. "Mes amis veulent savoir qu'est-ce que vous faites ici. C'est clair que ce n'est pas par hasard que vous vous trouvez dans cet endroit. " Silently, with a smooth and rapid movement, the large man reached inside his jacket, causing Bou-Boule to flinch. When he withdrew his hand, however, he was only holding a small photograph. Bou-Boule felt relieved, but also a little ashamed. He had actually wet himself in fear a bit just now, thinking that the man was about to produce some sort of weapon. He only hoped that it wasn’t enough to soak through his underwear, a pair of work trousers, and the coverall he was wearing on top of them both. If the other guys at the bar noticed that these two strangers had made him pee his pants, he would never live it down. The large man put the photo on the table and pushed it over to the woman; without a word exchanged between them, she picked it up and looked directly at Bou-Boule with a piercing gaze. Her brown eyes met his, and he involuntarily looked away, dropping his eyes down towards the scuffed and oil-soaked tan work boots he wore on his feet. In doing so, he missed the beautiful woman smiling at him. He did look up in surprise when she unexpectedly spoke in perfectly accented French, however. “Eh bien, pardonnez moi de n’avoir encore rien dite, mes chers monsieurs. Nous cherchons notre petite soeur, qui a disparu depuis quelque jours.“ Petra showed him Vicky’s photo. She smiled again, exposing her perfectly even white teeth. ”Est-ce que l’un de vous l’auriez vu dans le quartier?” Their curiosity piqued even more now, the locals all began to approach the table, in order to get a better view of both the photo and of the lovely woman holding it. They crowded around, jostling each other for room, their usual high-spirited nature returning now that they knew what the couple’s purpose was. A lost little sister, that was cause for sympathy, not fear. “Ah, celle-la!” One of the regulars responded, stabbing towards the photograph with a tobacco-stained forefinger. “Oui, je l’ai vu.” It had been a couple of days now that the Kushkin twins had been tracking their younger sister, visiting each café near the Lycée Michelet in turn, hoping to find someone who had seen her. Finally their systematic efforts seemed to be paying off. Someone here claimed to have actually spotted Vicky. Petra turned towards her brother, who had been sitting impassive and motionless after producing Victoria’s picture. She said, “This man says he’s seen her.” Peter nodded, and spoke tersely, “OK, find out what he knows… but go gently, sis. I think we already scared the heck out of that first guy!” He could now see a small but obvious wet spot forming at the front of Bou-Boule’s crotch, and had to suppress a laugh. Another of the regulars piped up, “Moi aussi, je l’ai vu ! Avec ces deux gouines, celles qui habitent au fond du petit cul de sac.” Bou-Boule nodded his head in assent. He was about to spit contemptuously, but suddenly seemed to remember that he was still inside the café. “Oui, c’est vrai… elle erre parfois la nuit dans le quartier depuis quelques jours, toujours avec les deux autres.” Petra looked at the small man in front of her, trying to assess his reliability as a source. He had a dour look on his face; he appeared to be chronically unhappy, but her senses told her that he was not a liar. Her brother nodded again, having reached the same conclusion concurrently. “Où ça? Vous pouvez nous montrer, oui?” Petra asked. “Je sais où c’est, moi; je peux meme vous y emmener tout suite, si vous voulez,” Bou-Boule said in a low voice. He could feel the dampness seeping through his pants now, and was quite glad to have an opportunity to leave the café without all of his friends seeing the telltale sign of his little accident. “Putain, j’ai carrément pissé ma culotte cette fois,” he thought to himself. “Ah, merde…” “Come on, Peter. This fellow is going to take us to where Vicky is.” The Kushkin twins rose from the table and followed the man out of the café into the surprisingly cold street. Dawn was just beginning to break in the eastern sky over Paris, a pale sliver of lighter blue faintly tinged with red and gold appearing at the horizon. Bou-Boule paused and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and offered the pack to the twins in turn. "Cigarette?" “Non, merci,” Peter replied, wincing slightly. He had given up smoking a while ago, but the sight and smell of tobacco still filled him with longing. Petra took one of the proffered smokes from the thin, flat rectangular blue box with a stylized image of a dancing gypsy woman on it. She rolled it back and forth in her slim fingers briefly and then placed it between her lips as Bou-Boule produced a small orange plastic Bic lighter from the pocket of his coveralls and put the flame to it. She inhaled the strong, almost acrid smoke deeply into her lungs as he proceeded to light his own cigarette, then blew a series of small, perfect smoke rings in her brother's direction as she exhaled softly. Peter winced yet again. Petra delighted in torturing him at times. They continued walking through the deserted streets lined with small houses and compact factory buildings. Finally, the man turned into a dead end and stopped at the very bottom of it, in front of a large blue-grey solid metal gate crowned with spikes. Surrounding the gate was an old stone wall, somewhat scarred, but clean and still quite sturdy. Unlike all of the other surfaces nearby, this gate and the surrounding sections of wall were completely devoid of graffiti scribblings, both twins noticed. “C’est ici qu’elles habitent,” the round little man said. “J’ai meme vu votre soeur entrer la-dedans une fois. Mais faut faire gaffe, ces filles ne sont pas du rigolo.” “Qu’est-ce que vous voulez dire?” Petra asked, but he had already turned away. “Vous allez voir vous memes,” Bou-Boule said under his breath. “Moi, je me casse.” Bou-Boule felt as if he was about to lose control of his bladder yet again, and wanted to get away as quickly as possible. He walked off stiffly, heading back towards the safety of the café at a rapid clip. It was almost as if he couldn’t put distance between himself and that gate fast enough. Peter looked at his twin sister and then at the retreating back of their guide. “What the heck was that all about?” he inquired. “That guy seemed genuinely scared of something.” “He said he’d seen Vicky going in here, and he was warning us to be careful, because these girls she was with were nothing to joke about,” Petra laughed. “He definitely was a nervous sort of fellow. I think he actually wet himself back in the café when you took out Vicky’s photo!” "Yes, I believe he did," Her brother smiled. “Definitely the nervous sort. Well, just to be on the safe side, we’d better watch the house for a bit before we walk up and ring the doorbell,” Peter mused. “It's still very early, and I don’t mind a little recon time on this one. The bartender at that club did say pretty much the same thing.” “Nonsense! How dangerous can they be, really? If Vicky’s in there, I want to know now,“ his sister replied. “We’re going to stick out like a sore thumb standing around here anyway. Just look at us!” Petra was usually the more impetuous of the two of them, and sometimes Peter had to rein her in just a little, but in this case he realized that she was absolutely right. There was no way to discreetly observe the comings and goings at this location without being seen. The dead end street was far too exposed, too empty. Even if they were sitting in their rental car, it would be obvious to anyone who set eyes on them that they didn’t belong here. “Fine, it's the direct approach then. You take the lead, since you speak the language.” Peter took a small step backwards as Petra pressed the button on the intercom. It made a loud buzzing sound; there was a crackle of static, and then a voice. “GO AWAY!” Distorted, but unmistakable. It was Vicky. (to be continued)
  22. Chapter 6: Paris Blues, 1982 ( sound track: Afternoon In Paris by the Kenny Clarke Quintet) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3Z64YatlIs The Kushkin twins had arrived in Paris and immediately gone to the hotel their sister Victoria had been staying in, where they only confirmed what they already knew. Vicky had disappeared. They had seen her room, after Peter had slipped the tall, skinny, bespectacled concierge a rather large sum of cash to overcome his doubts as to the propriety of such a thing. Monsieur Arnaud had been happy to escort them to the room after that, his scruples allayed by the crisp new bills in his pocket, as well as by the fact that one of his two visitors was a very attractive young woman. All of Vicky's things were still there, except for her passport, her purse and the keys to her rental car. Peter had discreetly pocketed her diary from the nightstand while Petra distracted the concierge with idle chitchat about the weather and a view of her ample cleavage. She had purposely worn a low cut top and short skirt for exactly that reason. Petra was not above using the gifts nature had bestowed on her to her advantage, Peter thought as he watched the concierge from the corner of his eye. She did know how to work it, that was for certain. Just to add some extra spice to things, Petra seemed to be feigning a bit of desperation as well. At least, Peter hoped it was feigned. Petra was a very good actress, but this looked a bit too realistic, even for her. She was crossing and uncrossing her long legs, squeezing her lovely thighs together, and even squirming in place a bit. The sandy-haired concierge was transfixed by the show. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Petra for even a second while she was doing her seductive pee dance. She raised one shapely leg up behind her slightly, letting her high heeled pump dangle from her foot enticingly as she spoke of trivial banalities in her breathy voice, then put it down and raised the other as she bent over slightly to give him an even better view down the front of her top. She then rubbed the back of her firmly toned calf muscle with the reinforced toe of her sheer black stocking-clad foot, having left her pump on the floor this time. At this point, the poor concierge was well and truly flustered, not knowing whether to look at Petra’s perfectly formed size 5 foot, her lovely 34C bosom in its cradle of mauve lace, or the gently undulating swell of her hips. He glanced first at her creamy white breasts, losing himself in the scenic valley between those hills, then down at her foot, which wafted a subtle fragrance of musk and leather towards his flaring nostrils. He took in the motion of her bottom; it was quite evident to his practiced eye that this lovely girl ‘avait envie’, and wouldn’t be able to hold on for too much longer. She was a fetishist’s dream, for certain. When Peter gave his sister the nod to let her know she could stop, she straightened up and pointed her formidable breasts directly at the poor man, who remained quite beguiled by the charms on display. She lowered her perfect foot slowly back into her shoe, causing the concierge to sigh softly but nonetheless audibly with regret. “Merci bien, Monsieur Arnaud.” Petra spoke in flawless French. Her accent was almost like that of a Parisian native, the result of some years spent studying there when she was younger. “Est-ce que vous auriez une chambre disponible pour quelques jours?” Petra inquired. The concierge replied, “Je suis desolé, mademoiselle, je n’ai rien pour ce soir, mais dès demain, je pourrai vous trouver quelque chose. Je peux meme garder vos affaires jusqu’a demain, si ça vous convient.” Petra turned to Peter and translated for his benefit. His French was rudimentary, at best. “He says he doesn’t have a room for us tonight, but he will have one available tomorrow, and we can leave our things here until then if we wish.” Peter nodded, and said, “Perfect. I have a feeling we won’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway, between the jet lag and trying to pick up Vicky’s trail.” ”Vous avez été si gentille. Si nous avons besoin d’autre chose, pourrions-nous vous contacter par téléphone?” she asked, and the concierge quickly produced a business card with his name and phone number on it. Petra smiled radiantly at the concierge then lightly kissed him once on each of his pale cheeks, and he assured them emphatically that he would be ready to assist in any way he possibly could if they ever had need of him again. Peter shook his hand firmly, and the twins left the Hotel Des Mines. “That was quite a show you put on there, sis,” Peter said, laughing. ”That pee dance, oh my god…” “It wasn’t pure show, actually.” Petra smiled. “I should really find a WC before too long. Nothing is quite as convincing as the real thing; I’ve been holding since we boarded the plane.” After stopping at the Patisserie du Sud Tunisien in the Rue de La Harpe to purchase some food and drinks, they walked a few blocks back along the Boulevard Saint Michel to the Jardin du Luxembourg, where they sat on one of the low stone benches to eat and consider their options. Petra was squirming just a bit more obviously now, riding a wave of desperation as her discomfort reached a momentary peak. “Oh, no… ,” she muttered softly to herself. She had felt a small leak dampen the tiny cotton crotch panel of her mauve lace thong panties, an unmistakable sign that she was nearing the end of her ability to hold. Not surprising, considering it had been over ten hours since she had last had a wee. “Let’s start with the diary,” Peter said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “There might be something there to give us an idea of where to begin searching.” “OK, you do that… I’m off to find the loo!” With that, Petra walked away quickly, her somewhat hurried pace betraying her urgent need. Peter hoped she would make it in time. It looked like it would be close, either way. Skipping through the pages of the small leather-bound book, Peter went right to the last entry. Sure enough, there was a reference to the club Victoria was going to on the night she disappeared. In her neat, tiny bubble-shaped script, she mentioned that she would be meeting some new friends at Les Bains Douches that evening. Now they knew where to start looking; they only had to wait until nightfall. Peter bit into his sandwich tunisien; he suddenly realized that he was starving, and ate it quickly, savoring each spicy bite as if it were the last bit of food he would ever taste. ---------------- ============== --------------- (sound track: I Love Paris by Alpha Blondy) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gjr-z_qBTIw Night had come, and the twins were outside of the club in the trendy Les Halles district, watching fashionably dressed people entering after being approved by the doorman and his two bouncers who stood there manipulating the clipboard and velvet rope like Cerberus the three-headed dog guarding the gates of Hell. The twins were both still dressed in their traveling clothes; Peter was wearing a dark Armani single breasted suit and a white button-down shirt, his hair slicked back into a long ponytail, while Petra had on the same form-fitting Azzedine Alaia outfit that had totally captivated the concierge at the hotel earlier that day, only adding the matching slate grey jacket to her pencil skirt over her low cut mauve silk blouse. Peter was about to let his sister take the lead once again; it was usually easier to let her deal with the men. In this instance, however, the way the doorman was looking at him and almost licking his lips gave him the idea that he should be the one to approach first this time. Petra’s charms would be wasted on this particular person. As they got closer, the doorman simply pulled back the rope and allowed the twins passage into the club without anything more than a warm smile at Peter as he walked by. It never hurts to be tall, dark and handsome, he reflected. It had certainly paid off this time. Once inside, they separated, the better to cover the club faster, and so that people wouldn’t mistake them for a couple. It was easier to work their good looks as singles. Peter headed over to the main bar to talk to the bartenders while Petra decided to find the club’s chief security person. There was probably some sort of club surveillance tape system, and if she could check it, she might just get lucky. Petra found the door that was marked ‘Privé’, and walked through it, making her way down the dark corridor until she came to a room filled with television monitors, and a very large bald headed black man. He was smoking a cigarette, and staring at the monitors, obviously bored. When Petra entered the room he glanced up at her, taking in her beauty before quickly returning his eyes to the monitor array. “Qu’est-ce que vous faites ici, mademoiselle?” He spoke curtly. Lovely girls were nothing particularly rare at Les Bains, and he had a job to do. “Je suis desolée de vous deranger monsieur, mais je dois vous démander une petite service.” Petra pitched her voice to the sweetest tone she could muster. “Je suis desolé moi-meme, mademoiselle, parce que je dois vous démander de sortir d’ici immediatement. Vous n’etes pas autorisée d’entrer; ces lieux sont pour le personnel de securité seulement.” His voice was deep, resonant, and had a slight African accent; possibly Senegalese. Having dismissed her, or so he thought, the giant turned back towards his security monitors. He obviously takes his job very seriously, Petra thought to herself. Oh well, she had tried doing things the polite way. Time to do things the Kushkin way… she silently stepped up behind him, and without warning, delivered a sharp hand strike that rendered the large man unconscious instantly. He never knew what hit him. As he slumped forward in his seat, Petra rolled his chair back away from the bank of monitors. As she did, she reflected on how the combat training her military father had given them all could be very useful from time to time. She quickly rummaged through a storage rack and located the security tapes from the night her sister had disappeared. Scanning through the exterior tape rapidly, she found the part where Victoria had shown up at the club, then synced the interior tape from above the bar to shortly after that. Sure enough, there was Vicky, talking to two girls at the bar as they ordered drinks. Both girls were very pretty; it was hard to be positive in the dark of the club, but Petra could at least tell that there was one who seemed a bit older than Vicky, while the other was closer to her in age, in her late teens or early twenties. Petra looked at the tape a moment longer, just to see who was working the bar that night. Then she pulled the security tapes, and carefully put them back where she had found them. She pushed the large man in his rolling chair back to his console, laid his head gently down on it, and then left the office, closing the door softly behind her. She walked back down the hallway, and through the door leading to the public areas of the club again. She could see Peter standing at the large bar at the back, chatting with the bartender as he sipped his drink. They were in luck; it was one of the same girls that had been working the night Petra had disappeared. “Salut, frangin!” Petra exclaimed as she pushed up next to Peter at the crowded bar. She wanted the girl at the bar to know she was Peter’s sister, not a girlfriend. “Any news about Vicky yet?” “I was just getting around to asking,” Peter replied, smiling. “Vous cherchez quelqu’un?” the pretty blonde bartender asked. “I speak English, maybe I have an idea for you?” “Yes, we’re looking for our sister. She said she would meet us here; have you by any chance seen her this evening?” Peter pulled a picture of Vicky from out of his pocket. She was certainly striking enough; petite and slender, her light brown slightly longer than shoulder-length straight hair framing a pretty, oval face with delicate features. Her brown eyes looked almost a bit Asian, betraying the Kushkins’ Mongolian Tatar ancestry as she posed looking coyly over her right shoulder. When he showed the picture to the bartender, she seemed to recognize the girl in the photo immediately. Her face darkened a bit, and she bent closer to Peter as she spoke. “I haven’t seen her tonight, no. But she was here just a couple of days ago, here at the bar with two other girls," she said. "These girls, I have seen them before, quite often. There’s something weird about them, these girls. Many times, I have seen them leave with others, and then they come back again later the same night. The others… the others, they never come back at all.” She shook her head emphatically. “Jamais… ” The bartender continued on in French, speaking as softly as possible while still managing to be heard above the pounding music. “Elles habitent Porte de Vanves, pres du Lycée Michelet apparament. Je les ai entendu parler de ca. " “Thanks!” Peter said. He discreetly slipped a 200 franc note into the bartender’s hand, and she pocketed it with a smooth, well-practiced gesture. “I hope you will find your sister,” she said. “ I think these two are rather dangerous, yes. Be very careful, my friends.” She straightened up and turned away, the conversation very obviously at an end as far as she was concerned. The twins had a solid lead now, though. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  23. Chapter 5: Long Distance Call (New York, 1982) (sound track: Long Distance Call by Muddy Waters) Petra Kushkin had been on the phone, talking with her younger sister and squirming slightly. She had been holding for several hours, and although she wasn’t fully desperate yet, she could definitely feel the need to pee growing within her. As always, she was enjoying the sensation, and it was distracting her somewhat as Vicky was talking rapidly in a low voice, describing a party she was at. She had met a couple of girls at a club, and gone back to their home with a small group of other people for a drink afterwards. Vicky whispered, ”I’m beginning to get a little freaked out now, though. I think that something really weird is, um… “ She was in the middle of a sentence, and then she suddenly had fallen silent. That was strange… it wasn’t like Victoria at all to stop talking for more than a few brief seconds, Petra thought. Vicky was very sweet and charming, but she could also be quite manic at times. For a moment, Petra enjoyed the quiet; it was such a rare occurrence when talking with her sister that she savored every instant possible, focusing instead on the feeling of growing fullness in her bladder as it swelled slightly beneath her tight tee. She caressed it gently, then reached down with a slim hand and undid the top button of her blue jeans, sighing as the external pressure was relieved a bit. She really did enjoy holding so much. When the silence continued, however, Petra came out of her hold-induced daydream and began to worry. Had something happened to little Vicky? “Hey, Vick… you still there?” More silence… Petra was getting very worried now. Then the connection was broken, and all Petra could hear was a dial tone. “Oh, my goodness… not again!” She thought to herself. Her younger sister was always getting into trouble of one sort or another, and it was up to Petra and her twin brother Peter to get her out of it and clean up her mess, just the way they’d promised their dead parents. Sometimes it seemed as if she was more like Victoria’s mother than her sister, but Petra was determined to keep her promise, no matter how difficult Vicky made it at times. She wasn’t really bad, like some girls Petra knew. Little Victoria just had a knack for constantly ending up in the middle of some situation she couldn’t handle, and then the twins would have to come to her rescue. Petra hung up the phone and sighed again, deeply and with frustration this time. It looked as if it was time to give her brother Peter a call. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- When his phone rang in the middle of the night, Peter Kushkin had a bad feeling. When he saw it was his twin sister calling, he knew it couldn’t be good news. Petra hardly ever called him, and never just to ask how he was doing; as twins with exceptional psychic abilities, they were always aware of each other’s mental state. They didn’t have to ask; they just knew. Right now, Peter could feel Petra’s anxiety even before he picked up the phone, and he could make a pretty good guess as to why she was upset. Vicky was in some kind of trouble again. After calming his twin sister down, Peter was able to get a few facts out of her. Victoria was in Paris for her summer vacation, just bumming around, hanging with some friends. That’s how she described it. Just graduated from college, and taking it easy before returning to London to start seriously looking for a job. She had been out at a club, gone back to somebody’s house for a drink, and then, she had disappeared. She had never returned to the hotel she was staying at after that night. She hadn’t checked out, or told anyone at the front desk that she was planning on going anywhere. There was only one thing to do for it; in the morning Peter made a call to his travel agent and booked two seats on a plane from New York to Paris leaving the following day. He called Petra back to let her know which flight they would be taking, then replaced the receiver in its cradle, took his British passport out of the desk drawer and started to pack his things. There was no point in trying to get the Parisian police involved; a young British girl tourist wouldn’t even be considered as being ‘missing’ for a couple of days yet. They would just have to search for their little sister themselves. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  24. Chapter 4: Eternally Yours (RIVER) Cielo, 18 Little West 12th Street, NYC… present day (sound track: Essence, by Direct) I had come to this club we often frequented in order to lose myself in the madness of a rave… loud music, flashing lights, sweating bodies dancing to the pounding rhythmic beat of the music. Of course, it was always a good place to pick up a boy, too; they were quite happy to leave with me whenever I asked, and I do so like takeout. I was trying to key in on a suitable victim, preferably some macho lady killer type, when I suddenly became aware of something unusual. In the middle of all these sinners, I felt a different presence. Amidst the heat and noise and clutter of hundreds of pulses, hundreds of heartbeats, I could distinctly feel that there was one heart that beat differently, a heart that beat true, beating with a perfectly unspoiled purity. I hadn’t felt this from anyone in so many years. This was a heart childlike in its innocence, yet fully formed. It was a contradiction, an oxymoron, it was a total impossibility… and yet there it was. I could feel it beating, so it was definitely real. I certainly wasn’t dreaming; you have to sleep in order to dream like that, and I hadn’t slept for a very long time. How I envied the girl who possessed this pure heart. Once, I had been the same as her; before the car accident that had left me battered and bruised and so near death that it had taken a vampire’s kiss to save me. I wanted desperately to hear my own heartbeat again, to hear it beating in synchronized time with hers. But of course, that would never happen. My own heartbeat had been silenced long ago, when I became the creature of the night I now was. This thought only made me want to find the girl whose heartbeat I could feel pounding rhythmically throughout my whole body all the more. It was as if her heartbeat had taken the place of my own, and for a brief moment, I felt truly alive again. I had to meet her face to face; nothing else mattered at that instant. Not even the insistent hunger which had begun to consume me once again. I searched the club, homing in on the sound of her heart, passing writhing bodies covered with sweat as if they were phantoms, my urge to feed subsumed by the desire to meet her. I could feel her presence now; I was getting closer. With my heightened senses, I could even smell her. It was a sweet yet spicy odor, like a pumpkin spice or gingerbread latte from my favorite coffee shop. I was getting high on her scent, almost as if I’d taken a drug. I could feel what she was feeling, the blood coursing through her veins, the flush of her heat coming through her clothes, the slightest hint of perspiration on her soft body, the music pounding in her ears, taking her outside of herself. There was something else drawing me to her also now; as I got closer, I could feel a need beginning to build inside of her. And then suddenly, there she was, standing in front of me. I saw a slender wisp of a girl, wearing a short red and black plaid mini with a black chiffon and lace ruffled hem and a tight black sheer long-sleeved scoop neck top, a black lace bra underneath covering her shapely breasts. On her legs and feet, black over-the-knee socks, and black Converse high top sneakers. She had shiny dark brown hair, almost black; the same color as Hannah’s, I thought, but straight, not wavy. Two metal rings pierced her lower lip, and they glinted in the light with a bluish glow. They almost looked like fangs right then, although her unmistakable heartbeat was proof that she wasn’t one of us. She was moving rhythmically to the music, her eyes closed. As I stood there before her, I was captivated by her physical beauty, but even more so by the quality of the soul I sensed within. She was even more beautiful spiritually than she was physically, if it were possible to improve on perfection. Then, as if suddenly aware of my presence, she opened her eyes and looked straight into my own. Her eyes were like clear brilliant blue pools of water, and I felt as if I was sinking into them, drowning in her essence. She and I would have been the same height if I hadn’t been wearing heels, but as it was, she had to look up slightly at me. I liked that. She smiled at me, and her smile was so bright, it was as if the sun had risen in this dark club. The sun, which I hadn’t even had a glimpse of for over half a century, was there in her smile and I realized at that moment just how much I had actually missed seeing the sun rise. “Hi! I’m River,” she said, still dancing, her eyes locked with mine. “Do you want to dance?” I could feel her heartbeat quicken as she said that, a sharp intake of breath, a little more warm flush to her body. The signs of attraction were all there, plainly… and I hadn’t even tried to enthrall her. This was real, and I wasn’t used to it. Normally, I would have used my powers to make a person attracted to me, and they would have had no choice but to feel that way; but this young girl was a rare thing, a true innocent. I had no intention of spoiling that. Her feelings would remain her own. I was just incredibly happy that she had chosen to like me of her own free will. I was not above putting a tiny suggestion into her head, though. “I’m not much of a dancer,” I replied. “You seem thirsty. Can I buy you a drink?” “Sure!” She nodded emphatically. Without another word, she took my hand in hers and we headed towards the bar. When we got there, I waved to the bartender, a girl with long purple hair and a nose ring. "Orange Whip?" I asked River, and she nodded a yes. “Becca, can I buy you one also? Another nod. “Three Orange Whips, then?” I had a feeling that River would enjoy something a little sweet, and I loved Orange Whip cocktails myself. I guess I have a sweet fang. “Sure, Cool! Comin’ right up!” Becca replied brightly. Becca was OK. She knew Hannah and I were night people, and she accepted us for what we were. She didn’t have a problem with freaky… her words, not mine. As Becca prepared our drinks, mixing them in a gleaming polished steel shaker, River looked at me and asked, “Why did she call you cool just now? I mean, not that you aren’t, but… ” I laughed. “Oh, it’s an old joke. My real name is Erica, but no one has called me that in… well, forever, really. Everyone just calls me Cool. I used to say ‘cool’ all the time… ‘She’s cool, he’s cool, that’s cool, it’s cool’… people just started making fun of me, calling me Cool. And it stuck.” Becca poured the drinks into two glasses and set them in front of us. In her thick New Yawk accent, she said, “Here ya go, Cool… enjoy!” She gave me a little wink. I smiled at her, and said, “Oh, I’m sure we will. Nobody here mixes a better Orange Whip than you do, Becca!” “I’ll have mine later,” she said, and then Becca smiled back before moving off to take drink orders from some customers at the other end of the bar. I slid one of the glasses over in front of my new friend and watched her as she took the glass and raised it to her pretty lips, taking a sip and then sighing contentedly at the taste of it. Thursday night was always busy at Cielo and the club was packed. River was pressed up against me as we stood together at the bar. It was nice to feel her warm body, to take in her intoxicating scent up close, to hear her heartbeat. She was so alive… I wanted her more than I had wanted anything in a very long time. But I wasn’t going to force her; she clearly was beginning to want me also. Leaning over so that I could speak directly into her ear, I asked, “What do you say we finish these drinks and get out of here? I’m dying for a smoke, and we have to go outside for that.” River nodded. “Okay. I don’t smoke, but I’ll come keep you company while you have one.” It didn’t take us long to finish our cocktails. They were ice-cold, delicious, and went down easily. Setting our empty glasses back on the bar, we headed off towards the exit. “Don’t you have a jacket or coat?” I asked. “It’s a bit chilly outside.” “I never feel the cold,” she replied. “I guess I’m just naturally warm.” Oh, my goddess… this girl! I was falling in love. We walked out of the noisy club into the street and around the corner. I steered River into the shelter of a doorway to keep us out of the wind, then pulled out my pack of smokes, placed a cig in my mouth, and lit it with my trusty brass Zippo lighter. That lighter had seen some miles. It was another gift from Hannah, and it had been with me for almost as long as I’d been undead. I inhaled the smoke deeply, feeling the sweetness of it filling my lungs. “Kids, don’t try this at home, “ I thought to myself, and laughed out loud. “What’s so funny?” River asked. “Oh, nothing… just a thought that passed through my head. A private joke between me and myself.” “You’re kind of strange,” River said suddenly, laughing too. “What’s really weird is how comfortable I feel with you. It’s like we’ve known each other forever, even though we’ve just met and I don’t know anything about you.” “Well, what would you like to know?” I queried. “My life is an open book.” Yes, I was a liar… but she would certainly find everything out in due time. Before too long, she would know everything she wanted to know, and much more. For now, though, I just gave her a little mental nudge to let it drop... and of course, she did. The night air did have a chill to it, apparently. I could see River’s nipples reacting to the cold through her bra and thin top, even though she seemed immune to it otherwise. I pulled off my leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders, quickly and without asking, so that she wouldn’t have a chance to refuse my gesture. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess it is colder out now than it was when I got here. But won’t you be cold? “ “Don’t worry about me. I like the cold. I’m kind of used to it.” I laughed again and pointed at myself. “I’m Cool, remember?” “Why don’t we go back to my place?” I projected the thought as my green eyes met her blue ones. She opened hers just a little wider, letting my thought in. It was just another gentle suggestion, though… really. Not imposing my will at all. “Hey, do you live around here?” River asked. “I kind of need to pee, and the lines for the restroom at the club are always really long.’ I smiled to myself. “Yes, my place is just a few blocks away.’ I answered. “Let’s go, then,” she said, her decision made. Just a gentle suggestion… I smiled again. (sound track: So What, by Miles Davis) We started walking down towards Greenwich Street as a light powdery snow began to fall from the night sky, the soft flakes forming a sort of moving veil as the streetlamps illuminated them and the wind swirled them all around us. River’s long black eyelashes caught a few of the snowflakes and they hung there suspended for a few instants like pendants from a crystal chandelier before her body’s warmth caused them to melt. She blinked, and they fell slowly to her cheeks before disappearing into nothingness. The world seemed like it was moving in slow motion to me, and it was beautiful. I wanted this moment to last forever. A sudden sharp twinge in my bladder brought me back to reality. Poor River… I could feel she wasn’t kidding about having to pee. ‘Kind of’ was kind of an understatement. My empathetic powers made me all too conscious of the pressure building within her, aching to be released. It wasn’t a long walk, but I began to wonder if she would make it all the way there. She was starting to look a little more desperate; her hand was pressing on her abdomen as she walked, and she was taking shorter strides now. “Don’t worry, honey,” I said reassuringly. “It’s not too much further. We’ll be there soon; just try to hold it, OK?” As soon as I finished saying that, River gasped, and I could feel that she’d actually let a little bit of pee out into her panties, making them warmer and wetter than they already were from her arousal. She stopped mid-stride, crossed her legs tightly and bent over. "OMG, I have to pee so badly right now!” As much as I really wanted to see her wet herself, I decided I’d help her just a little. I projected a bit of my willpower into her, allowing her to keep the desperate feeling at bay a little while longer. It wasn’t gone, but at least it receded somewhat. If she was going to wet herself, it wasn’t going to be right there in the middle of the street. I wanted it to be for my eyes only. River stood up straight and uncrossed her legs with a sigh. “I really thought I was about to lose it totally a minute ago!” “It sure did look that way, sweetie. Desperation usually comes in waves, in my personal experience.” I smiled. “We should probably hurry, before the next one hits.” River smiled back at me sweetly. “Yeah, I might not make it next time.” She was so cute, this girl. Every little thing she did or said was making me fall deeper and deeper in love with her. Her soft voice, her lovely body, her beautiful soul, her irresistible scent; even her urgent need to pee all made me hopelessly attracted to her. I put my arm around her protectively and we continued on our way towards the loft. I could feel her shivering now, not from the cold, but from her desperate state. If we didn’t get inside soon, the poor thing was going to lose it completely. I could sense her leaking pee steadily now, although she was making a valiant effort to hold it. Luckily, we had arrived at the loft building where Hannah and I lived. “Hey, honey… we’re here. Just a little while longer now, and you can pee.” I pulled my keys out of the pocket of my leather jacket and stuck them into the lock quickly as River stood there bent over again with her legs crossed tightly, a look of sheer desperation on her pretty face. “Please hurry,” she said. “I’m just about to wet myself.” She had no idea how her words affected me, or what that act would do to me, either. I had to get her inside quickly, for both of our sakes. I opened the door, and we stepped into the small lobby. I pressed the button to call for the elevator. It was already there on the ground floor; the door opened and River and I got in, and I selected the top floor. I could feel just how desperate River was now; she was just moments away from losing it completely. Her chest was flushed, she was biting her lower lip, and her hand was now pushed up under her skirt between her slim legs. Her face was showing the stress she was under, trying to keep holding as we rode the small elevator up. It was agonizingly slow, too, this old elevator, which wasn’t helping her at all. The look on her face, the way she was standing with her legs crossed tightly together, her lovely scent filling up this small confined space; I was ready to make love to her right then and there. River gasped again, and I could feel that she’d just spurted a stream of hot pee into her little panties again. She clamped her thighs together, and I could feel her fingers pressing into her wee hole through her panties to stem the tide. Her other hand grabbed my arm, and squeezed it hard. I was both surprised and pleased by the fact that she had remarkably strong fingers. “Oh, gosh, I really need to pee soon,” she said softly. River was almost at the limit of her ability to hold the flood back, and it was just about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Her skirt was hiked up around her hand, exposing her black lace boyshort panties as she rubbed herself a bit, applying pressure on her outer lips before replacing her fingers on her urethra to relieve the pressure building up inside of her. I was trying my best not to look at her; if I had, the sight would have been enough to drive me crazy, and I would have ravished her instantly. As it was, I could feel everything she was feeling and everything she was doing to herself as she started pressing on her wee hole again to try and keep herself from wetting. Finally, the elevator came to a stop on the 13th floor. I stepped out, but River remained motionless inside, her pretty face looking down at her feet. “Come on, sweetie, we’re here,” I said, opening the door to the loft, but River just looked at me helplessly as tears began to flow from her beautiful blue eyes. I heard a soft hissing sound, and I saw she was wetting herself now; her pee was flowing freely out from between her fingers as they were pressed up against her panties between her long shapely legs. It streamed down, soaking her over the knee socks, and forming a small fragrant pool at her feet. “I’m so sorry, Cool… I just couldn’t hold it any more,” she said softly. The helpless look on River’s face and the sweet scent of her pee was starting to drive me insane with desire. It was all I could do to keep from kneeling down and slurping her liquid gold up from off of the elevator floor. To an omo vampire like me, your pee smells so sweet and delicious; it’s what attracts us to you. So if you’re wet, or even full, we’ll come and find you. I was so excited, but I had to keep a grip on myself until we got inside. What I was going to do to her in a few moments, in private, oh goddess… “Don’t worry about that, sweetie,” I said to her. ”Come inside and we can get you cleaned up in a jiffy. I can even lend you some clothes if you’d like, since we look to be just about the same size.” River nodded sweetly and walked into the loft. She didn’t know it yet, but she had just changed her life forever with those few small steps. She was all mine now; or rather, she would be very soon. As soon as River crossed our threshold, she was in my arms. I gently slid my motorcycle jacket off of her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind her. I pulled her close, and began to kiss her ever so tenderly, and I felt her soft body relaxing against mine. "Cool, I'm so sorry I wet myself, I just couldn't..." "Shhh, don't worry, it's OK. It's OK, baby girl," I whispered softly into her ear, my voice pitched to soothe her. All of the stress and strain and tension was draining away now that she was no longer struggling to keep from wetting herself. As she spread her legs apart and pressed up against me, I could feel the warm dampness of her panties on my thigh, and I raised my hands to her breasts, kneading them gently under my fingers, caressing her nipples as they grew into pointed barbs under her bra and sheer top. Her lips were so soft and wet I could have kissed her forever. She tasted like sweet strawberries, probably from her lip gloss. Her eyes were closed, but her body and soul were open to me. I let my fingers enter her, one hand on her breast and the other working up inside her panties, feeling the slick wetness of girl juice gathering there. I slipped two fingers up inside her and was rewarded with a soft gasp and then sweet little moans of joy as I fingered her love tunnel with short quick stroking motions. I removed my fingers and brought them to my mouth to taste her… oh, goddess, she was delicious, the girl juice and sweet pee mingling to form the most exotic cocktail imaginable. Better than an Orange Whip, I thought to myself, and smiled. I reached down and inserted my fingers into my sweet River again. Suddenly, I felt her spasm around my hand, and I felt her squirt forcefully into her panties as she shuddered uncontrollably. “Oh, I’m coming!” She convulsed around my fingers, gasping for air and moaning. I was creaming in my own panties now as well. River had gotten me so very aroused by her display of unbridled passion I couldn’t help myself. This girl… she was pure innocence, and pure sex at the same time. It was a deadly combination. Luckily, I had no life to lose. I picked her up, still trembling with joy. She was so light; I carried her easily to the back of the loft and laid her down on the giant bed, watching her sink into the soft comforter and feather bed as if into a fluffy cloud. Her eyes were open now, and with a quick fluid motion, she sat up and pulled her top over her head, her hair falling back into her sweet face as she tossed it aside. All of a sudden, a light seemed to flash behind her eyes, and she grabbed me and pulled my face into her soft breasts, holding me there firmly. I was surprised at her strength; she was powerful for such a small girl. I liked that too. Although I could have broken her grip easily, I didn’t want to. I was used to being the aggressive one in this type of encounter, but River had turned the tables on me, and I was enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of not being in control for once. She kicked off her sneakers, and I rolled her over-the- knee socks off of her legs. My hands moved under her short skirt to remove her still-damp panties as she lifted her bottom up off of the bed slightly. I could smell the sweet scent of her pee on them as I let them drop to the floor beside the bed, and it was driving me almost insane with desire for her. She rolled over so she was now on top of me, pinning me to the bed as her hands flew to the zipper of my skinny jeans, undoing it and quickly shoving her hand down into my pants to feel the slick wetness of my panties. River may have looked young, but she was certainly no novice at this game; she knew how to turn a girl on, that was for sure. She reached around behind her back, deftly unfastening the clasp of her bra and letting her shapely breasts fall free as I moved my mouth to one of her nipples and began to suck hungrily on it. I had to resist the almost overwhelming temptation to bite her; not yet, I thought to myself… not yet. I stopped sucking before I wouldn’t be able to help myself. “Oh, Cool…OH, MY GOD, “ she gasped, as I reached up and began to fondle her nipples, kneading them firmly between my fingers. I could sense that she wanted me to squeeze even harder… so I did just that, and was rewarded with a moan of pleasure from her sweet lips. She closed her eyes again and bent her head down to my neck and sucked on it before suddenly biting it hard. I could feel a little of my blood gathering under her sharp teeth; luckily the lights were still off, so she wouldn’t notice the strange blue color of it until afterwards. She began to suck harder now that she had drawn blood, and her passion seemed to increase as she moved above me, her hand busy down between my legs as she rubbed herself against my thigh, making it all slick and wet with her juices. Her short skirt was bunched up around her waist now. She was almost completely naked while I was still fully clothed, but I felt like she was the one in control at the moment, not me. “River, oh, River,” I sighed, whispering her name. I was melting underneath her. I was the vampire, but this young girl was drinking my blood. I hadn’t anticipated this at all. Now I had no choice. I had to turn her, or she would be dead before morning. Just as that thought passed through my head, I heard the front door open, and footsteps coming down the hallway. Hannah was home. “Cool, where are you?” she asked. River’s eyes flew open, and I could feel her body tensing up. She wasn’t expecting us to be interrupted in the middle of our passionate embrace. “Who’s that?”, she whispered nervously. “You didn’t tell me you had a room-mate!” “We’re in the bedroom, Hannah!” I replied, smiling. I whispered to River, “Don’t worry, it’s OK… Hannah’s going to love you, sweetie!” “’Oh, so it’s ‘We’, is it? Hmm, would you like a little privacy?” “Actually, I was hoping you’d be home in time to meet River!” I giggled, thinking of what Hannah would be doing to the both of us very soon. She walked into the bedroom, as stunning as ever. Tall and slim, with magnificent breasts, long legs, shiny dark brown long wavy hair, large brown eyes and full sensuous lips. She was the whole package, and gift wrapped in tight black leather to boot. Hannah exuded sex in the same way that River exuded innocence. And I was about to be made love to by both of them at the same time. How lucky can an undead girl get? (a passionate night follows) [THIS PASSAGE HAS BEEN CENSORED DUE TO OVERLY RISQUE MATERIAL] The night was passing all too quickly; soon the morning light would be breaking over the city, and I had to take care of River now. She was getting weaker. The blood she’d sucked from my neck was killing her, slowly at first but once the sun was up the process would accelerate unless I fed her the antidote. There’s only one true cure for a mortal who has tasted vampire blood, and it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, either… you have to drink that vampire’s urine. Of course, you’re not really cured then. You just become one of us: an omo-vampire; a blood-sucking, pee-loving vampire. I got up out of the bed. Leaving Hannah and River behind, their bodies entwined in a post-coital embrace, I headed to the kitchen. I grabbed the nearest container, which was a large bowl. Taking it with me into the bathroom, I squatted over it and let loose a nice torrent of transparent blue pee, enough to fill it almost completely. I wanted to make sure we had enough to complete River’s transformation. I picked up the bowl and carried it carefully into the kitchen, where I poured some of it into a glass over ice. It would make a sweet cocktail now that River had tasted my blood. I took the tall glass full of my pee back into the bedroom, and lifted it to River’s lips as Hannah and I held her up. “You need to drink this,” I commanded her, and she obeyed me instantly, submissive now. I wasn’t about to take a chance that she might refuse for any reason. We were running out of time. As soon as she took the first sip, I could see a change come over her. She sat up straighter in bed as I continued to feed her the sweet-tasting liquid, taking a deep gulp now as her body responded to its tonic effect. She grasped the glass with both hands, taking it from me and raised it high as she drained the last dregs. “That was delicious! What is that stuff?” She licked her soft lips. I said, “I’ll tell you later. Right now you need to get some rest,” and then Hannah and I both looked at each other and laughed. They were almost exactly the same words we had exchanged the night we first met, over fifty years ago. (to be continued) \/-----\/
  25. Chapter 3: Wind In The Reeds (COOL) Thursday night, the meatpacking district, NYC… present day. (sound track: Naima, by John Coltrane) I was hanging out alone in our loft on Greenwich Street, and feeling mildly desperate from holding. It had been at least ten hours since I had last allowed myself the luxury of a wee, and I had been consuming green tea pretty consistently. Holding and being desperate actually feels good to an omo vampire; it’s part of the curse, choosing to hold when we could so easily just release our urine any time we wanted to. Feeling the fullness in the bladder, the pressure building within, the yearning to just let go; it’s all just so wonderful, and we learn to prolong the sensation, holding for as long as we can stand it before giving in to the urge to release. And with our metabolism and capacity for pain, ‘as long as we can stand it’, well, that can be a lot of pee held for a really long time. Hannah was off somewhere, dealing with some elder vamp business. Every so often, the local elders would get together and discuss some stuff that needed taking care of: a clan that wasn’t following the rules, for example, or maybe a human that was getting a little too close one way or another. As the current enforcer, Hannah was required to attend and give her opinion, although she wasn’t actually allowed to vote. Then sometimes, she’d have to act on their decision… and that might take awhile, depending on whether she’d be able to just give someone a warning, or more extreme sanctions were warranted. Believe me, you didn’t want to be around for that part. It usually got pretty messy. So I was on my own for the night. To pass the time, I pulled out some sheet music, lit a cigarette, and played my soprano sax for a bit. Yes, I smoke… deal with it. One of the advantages of being undead; I don’t have to worry about getting lung cancer, or any other kind. My cells regenerate much too rapidly, and are also immune to most forms of degradation and decay. It doesn’t affect my playing either; I have superb breath control. I can use circular breathing and make a note last all night if I wish, or choose not to breathe at all. That particular skill takes conscious effort and a lot of practice to master, but it’s a nice trick if I have to spend time underwater, or if someone is trying to track me. I picked a Coltrane ballad, and started to play the haunting melody before taking on a solo. ‘Naima’… it was a seemingly simple tune, but those are often the hardest to play. The temptation to fill all the spaces is almost unavoidable, but leaving space… yes, there’s the art of it… not overplaying, but letting nuance take precedence over needless complexity. It’s harder to do than it sounds, really. After more than fifty years of daily practice I’d improved a lot, was actually finally a decent enough player, maybe even good… and my long dead idol John Coltrane still cut my behind to ribbons. So frustrating, really. Then again, he was a genius. I was just a girl with a whole lot of time on her hands. It was Hannah who had suggested I take up playing the horn; she presented me with a beautiful gleaming gold Selmer soprano sax for my vampire birthday, the very first year we were together. She said, “You might as well have a hobby; it helps to pass the time. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll even be able to play like that man you idolize so much.” As if I could ever dream of being that good, even with all of eternity stretching out before me. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I started learning to play. It was rough at first; I couldn’t manage to get anything like a decent tone out of the horn. With time I got better, though; I had a lot of time to spare, and I learned. Fifty-plus years later, and I was still learning; learning that I’d never play as well as John Coltrane, no matter how much time I had. Oh, well... ‘c’est la mort’, as the Creole vamps say down in New Orleans. Finally, I took the horn out of my mouth, and stubbed out the clove cigarette I’d left burning in the ashtray on the table next to me. I lit another, and took a deep drag as I put the music away. I unscrewed the ligature and removed the reed, pulled off the mouthpiece, then cleaned the moisture out of the sax by running a cotton cloth through it. I carefully placed the horn and mouthpiece back into the purple plush-lined case, closed it and latched it shut with the deliberate gestures that come with having all the time in the world at your disposal. I had finished my practice session, but I was still feeling unsatisfied and restless for some reason. Usually it had the opposite effect, making me feel calm, peaceful, and relaxed. I thought back to the way Trane had played the tune the last time I saw him. It was in Antibes, the summer of 1965, just about the final days of the classic quartet…. damn, he had been so amazing. His choice of notes, his fluidity, and his extraordinary ability to express what he was feeling, and to make you feel it too; they were all… perfect. I put on the recording of that concert; his live version of the tune was so different from my own and also from his original studio recording, moving so seamlessly from quiet to frantic tension anticipating the final ‘free music’ period he was about to enter and then back again to a peaceful statement of the beautiful melody. As usual, Trane’s music had a calming effect on me. There was a healing power in his playing; it was always there, and it always worked. I pulled the thin straps of the black silk slip I was wearing off my shoulders and let it fall softly to the floor, feeling it caressing my body on its way down towards my bare feet. I stepped out of it, leaving me clad only in my black silk and lace panties. My bladder created a slight bulge above them, indicating that I was fairly full and ready to release any time I wanted. I caressed the bulge softly, cradling it with both hands. Not yet, not yet, I thought. “There’s still plenty of time for holding,” I said to myself, even though I was starting to feel a bit more than slightly desperate now. “Hmmm, which look shall I go for this time?” I wondered out loud. Should I play the innocent schoolgirl, the sexy seductress, or a tough chick? Each different role had its own wardrobe. I flipped through the clothes in my closet until I found what I was looking for. Ah, yes… tough chick. That’ll work. I was feeling as hard and as sharp as a steel razor tonight. I dressed in a tight black ribbed tank top and black skinny jeans, a black leather belt with silver conchos, black suede high heeled boots with silver skull buckles, silver bracelets on my arm, silver hoop earrings. I laughed to myself as I fastened a silver chain with an upside down silver cross on it around my neck. Yes, I thought the cross was a nice touch. The legend was that a cross would be an effective weapon against a vampire, but in fact a cross, without true faith to back it up, was nothing but a useless ornament. So very few people had a true, unshakeable faith nowadays. They were all too smart for that, and so they were all easy victims. Wearing a cross was kind of a private joke for me, in fact. As a former parochial schoolgirl, I found it was almost as funny as the uniformed girls who wore circle pins nowadays even though they obviously weren’t virgins. Well, it was obvious to me, and I certainly knew what a circle pin was supposed to represent. I laughed again. I wondered what the nuns from my old high school would think if they could see me now; little innocent Erica. Yeah, right. Of course, they weren’t thinking anything, most likely. They were probably mostly either dead, or so old that they could barely remember their own names, much less mine. 1956 was a long time ago, at least by my reckoning. To Hannah, fifty-six years ago was like yesterday… or even five minutes ago. She was not quite an elder, but she must have been close to that. Sometimes, I teased her about lying about her age. When she was in a good mood, of course; only then. She wasn’t shy about hurting me pretty badly if I made her angry, since she knew I’d regenerate quickly. Which didn’t mean it wouldn’t be very painful, though. So, yeah; only when she was in a really good mood… I gathered my reddish-brown hair up above my head and sprayed a musky perfume onto both sides of my neck, behind my ears, under my arms and between my small breasts before letting it fall loosely onto my shoulders again. Then I sprayed it onto both of my wrists, and in the crook of my elbows. Opium, by Yves Saint Laurent, my favorite scent. Putting on makeup sucks when you can’t use a mirror. Having no reflection makes it kind of pointless to even try; but vanity being what it is, I still want to look my best when I go out, so I always try anyway… even if it’s difficult. You do get used to it after fifty years or so, though. And you get better at it. One of the luxuries of an undead existence; you have more than enough time to get better at everything and anything. I laughed to myself once more as I thought that. I was cracking myself up tonight, really. Such a shame nobody else was around to appreciate all my jokes; then again, most people wouldn’t have found them very funny at all. They were too weird, too morbid, too dark. Just like me, I thought, and laughed to myself yet again. Ignoring my steadily increasing desperation for the moment, I tried to imagine what I looked like as I applied a red gloss to my lips. Almost the color of blood, I thought, looking at it shining on the tip of my index finger. I rimmed my green eyes with black kohl eyeliner, and teased my lashes out with liquid mascara, making them into long curled boy traps, then applied just a little pale foundation to cover my sparse freckles. Hannah always told me my freckles were cute… but I wasn’t after ‘cute’ tonight. No, I was thinking more along the vein of ‘Kiss Me Deadly’. I wanted to look lethal. I wanted to look just the way I felt. I was getting hungry, and it was almost time to go find someone to have for dinner… yes, some unlucky boy was going to satisfy my appetite and make me very happy, for a short time anyhow. As the tune ended, I walked over to the stereo. I lifted the tone arm up and moved it to its cradle, then shut the amplifier off, watching the glowing tubes dim and fade as they powered down. Tesla's latest sound system was much more compact, and the thick cables were gone now; he'd been wireless long before the current technology had caught up to that. He still preferred the rich sound of monoblock tube amplifiers though, and my ears agreed with him. Vinyl LPs, and tube amps... old school. The loft was in complete darkness now, but my night vision allowed me to see everything as clearly as if it were broad daylight. Daylight... I hadn't seen daylight in over fifty years. I probably didn't even really remember what it looked like. I threw on my black leather motorcycle jacket, grabbed my keys and a second unopened pack of vanilla clove cigarettes. Then I headed out the door, slamming it shut behind me. “Watch out, party people,” I thought to myself, “something’s coming to get you.” I laughed again, somewhat evilly this time, as I took a cigarette from my open pack, stuck it between my blood-red lips and lit it. Inhaling deeply, I savored the sweet smoke as it filled my lungs. Dressed to kill, made up to attract, and as desperate to pee as possible… I was ready to hunt. I began to walk at a leisurely pace uptown towards the club on Little West 12th Street, my footsteps illuminated by the silvery sliver of a new moon. (to be continued)
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