 
Time Immortal: Tales of Marcus, the Blind Vampire

Laura A. Ellison

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011

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Outside in Darkness

I can't believe it, Julia thought. Not now, not during the day.

She checked her watch. Three–thirty. Damn. The van just had to break down now. She would have to get out and walk. She would have to leave Marcus alone.

Julia, soon after she pulled off the highway, heard Marcus emerge. The lid of the old casket opened and shut, hidden by a heavy black curtain separating the back from the front of the van, where Julia was sitting in the driver's seat.

Marcus, his voice soft, asked, "What's the matter? Why have we stopped?"

"The van has stalled. I can't get it started."

Marcus did not reply.

"I'm going to have to get some help."

"Yes."

"Do you think you'll be all right?"

He sighed. "Probably. When I hear you coming, I'll get back inside my casket. Just keep an eye on the coolers, all right?"

"I'm sorry, Marcus."

His hand, long and white, reached out briefly from behind the curtain. He squeezed her shoulder. "Don't be sorry. We'll figure something out."

*****

Marcus did not want Julia to know how worried he really was.

Marcus, being sightless, did not like to travel. His clear blue eyes, which a female admirer had once compared to an autumn sky, registered nothing, not even shadows.

His long fingers brushed against the four large coolers Julia had packed into the van. Along with his casket, this left little room to move around and, for a blind person, a possible hazard.

The coolers were used to store the packets of blood Marcus received from the fellow vampires he gave prophecy to every year. Marcus the Prophet provided the entertainment for the bored creatures that wanted to know if they would live one more decade or century. The only difference this year was the location change from the Sands in Las Vegas, which had been demolished, to the seemingly less decadent Heartland Casino in Michigan City, Indiana. This change provided Marcus with the convenience of being closer to his home in Chicago.

The supply of blood Marcus collected from his annual psychic readings kept him from having to hunt for it. His blindness made pursuing humans as prey almost impossible, although his other senses were as sharp as any vampire.

Marcus knew of others like him, who had suffered irreversible injuries. One had lost a limb, another an eye, but Marcus was the only blind vampire he knew. This gave him a kind of humility–it almost made him human, to have such a glaring vulnerability. His handicap elicited pity in some, and a grudging respect in others, because Marcus the Prophet had survived longer than most of them.

Marcus calling himself psychic may have seemed redundant to his fellow creatures at first, because most of them possessed a kind of sixth sense; however, they could not predict, with such amazing and painful accuracy, the events Marcus could. Some recalled Marcus predicting the rise of Hitler and the beginning of World War II. Many of them took his advice, and left Europe before Hitler became Chancellor of Germany.

The crowd at the casino did not doubt Marcus's psychic abilities, even if some of them remained unconvinced when he spoke of his spirit guide, whose current name was Despair. Marcus's guide had been with him from the moment he was born in the city of Viscontio, seventy years after the death of Christ, in northwestern France. Despair had saved Marcus's life once, and was the one to tell him he would always be blind, after marauders, who had escaped from a Roman prison, attacked the small village where Marcus was living in eastern Italy, near Picenum. His house was robbed, his servants murdered, and he was dragged into the sunlight, which burned every bit of him, including his eyes. Despair took on a physical form, in the guise of a Roman soldier, and carried Marcus to shelter just before it was too late. The burns on his skin recovered, but his eyesight was never restored.

*****

Julia Royer, Marcus's twenty-five year old assistant, knew why he had to make this ridiculous trip every year. He had prepared her, they had planned carefully, but in no way did they expect the van to stall in the middle of nowhere.

Marcus needs a more dependable vehicle, Julia thought. Of course, I was the one who left my cell phone on the kitchen table.

Julia had been walking down the highway for almost twenty minutes. She was starting to sweat in her leather jacket and jeans.

Well, at least the September weather has been pleasant, she thought.

Except for the occasional inconveniences, Julia knew she was lucky to be working for Marcus. When he hired her, she had been unemployed for almost a year. She knew better than to tell potential employers she had manic depression, and she still would not get the job. She had two years of college as a nursing student and certification in home health care, but it did not seem to matter. She was ready to give up when she met Mrs. Yuen, Marcus's former assistant.

Julia had seen a 'help wanted' ad in a local newspaper for someone to help a sightless person with their housekeeping. Julia sent her resume to the post office box, and got a reply a few days later from Mrs. Yuen, asking for an interview.

The interview ended up being three, held only by the petite, soft-spoken Mrs. Yuen, who had to be in her late sixties. On the third meeting, Mrs. Yuen finally asked Julia if she wanted to work for Mr. Marcus, who Julia did not meet until a week later, in his small apartment in Cicero.

Julia, at first, had seen nothing odd about the blue-eyed man with the ash-blond hair. She noticed his large hands, which rested at his knees as he sat straight. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the shape of his face, with its wide forehead, slightly hooked nose, and small mouth. His clear blue gaze stared straight into nothing.

Mrs. Yuen left the room, and Marcus continued to sit at the couch.

Julia took in the furnishings of the man's apartment. The dark green couch and matching easy chairs, one of which Julia was sitting in across from Marcus, were comfortable. The carpeting was a dark gold color, thick and plushy. An impressive stereo system rested in one corner. Near her chair, a brass lamp sat on an end table made of dark pine.

The silence was growing awkward when Marcus finally spoke. "I had a student named Julia once, when I was a teacher at a school for the blind. She died from scarlet fever, long ago..."

Julia sat there quietly, wondering why he would tell her something like that.

Marcus cleared his throat, in an effort to change the subject. "I can pay you whatever the going rate is for this type of job. I can't offer any insurance, but if you need to go to the doctor or dentist, I would be happy to cover the expense. I don't need a cook, but I need someone to clean and to answer the phone during the day. I need quiet then...when I sleep."

"Why?"

Marcus made a sound, almost like a snort. "Well, I guess Mrs. Yuen didn't tell you. I was hoping she would."

"Tell me what?"

He sighed. He had found no easy way to explain what he was, so he kept it short. "I lived and died before the fall of Rome. I am a monster...a blind monster."

Julia's shock quickly turned to anger. She could not believe Mrs. Yuen, who had seemed so sensible and kind, would be part of such a sick prank. She grabbed her purse off the end table, ready to leave.

Marcus rose slowly from the couch. "Before you go, I want you to see this. Mrs. Yuen told me I could trust you, and she is never wrong."

He walked carefully to the front window, feeling for its exact location. He lifted one of his big hands up to the tiny crack of sunlight between the drapes. He turned around clumsily, as his face grimaced in pain. Julia heard the sizzling sound, smelled the burning flesh. She saw a tiny flame shoot out as he jumped away.

Julia did not need any further convincing. She rose from her chair and cautiously approached him, but he was already sitting calmly, gripping his burnt hand with the other. His hands were beautiful, and Julia, her fear momentarily forgotten, brushed her fingers against the cool flesh of his cheek. His skin was as white as milk, exceptionally smooth, with no large pores or blemishes.

He smiled, his small mouth twisted in a crooked bow. "So...do you want the job?"

Julia took the job. Having Marcus in her life, and watching him deal with what he was, taught her more than she could express. He touched her to the soul, and she repaid him in devotion.

Julia did not tell him about her struggle with manic depression until three months after he hired her. He listened attentively to the whole story, although he already knew, and assured her that her condition would not be a problem, as long as she was getting the proper treatment.

Marcus, as soon as he hired Julia, informed her of his psychic ability, and how he used it. One of Julia's duties was to answer the phone, and she received some odd calls during the day, most of them from creatures like Marcus. This alarmed her at first, but they wanted nothing from her, and usually left a courteous message for Marcus to return their call. Sometimes he did. Sometimes, after Julia relayed the message to him, she was told to throw it in the garbage.

Marcus also shared, after a while, his origins as vampire and psychic. He had known he was 'chosen' since he was nine, when his father, the Celtic rebel Brennus Getorix, had taken him to the Gallic seeress Veleda. She told Getorix that his son would be cursed in the arms of a woman, and the only way this could possibly be circumvented is if the boy remained a virgin. She then went on to tell the man that his son was very gifted, an old Druid god was speaking through him, giving him visions. Veleda felt the only way to guarantee Marcus's safety was to keep him with her, living in seclusion in her tower–like home deep in the Arduenna Forest, in what is now Northern France.

Brennus Getorix found the whole idea ridiculous. This man was a Roman-trained soldier of Druid descent, who had later fought with his people against the Romans. The idea of his only living son remaining a virgin, with no children of his own to continue the clan, was out of the question. Getorix, thinking Veleda senile, chose to disregard her words, and left with his boy.

Nine years later, Marcus lost his virginity, and Veleda's prophecy was finally revealed.

Marcus had been hunting with friends that day, in the woods outside his father's farm, and dusk approached before he knew it. He could hear Lucas and Virgil calling his name, when she appeared before him.

He remembered her raven–haired, with brown eyes. She was dressed in a white, loose-fitting tunic, her feet bare. Her long arms and neck were the color of ivory, her lips full and red. He had assumed she was a priestess from the few remaining groups of Druids in the area.

The young man followed her deeper into the woods. When he caught up with her, she seemed neither surprised nor startled. She smiled at him warmly, reached up, and kissed him, her tongue brushing against his upper lip.

She undressed him and herself effortlessly. He felt no shame, just dumb lust. Later, Marcus would recall these moments in a bittersweet way, because that was the end of his life as an innocent, gifted boy, and the beginning of his life as an eternal outsider.

He experienced his first climax, his breathing still coming in pants, the ground and her flesh sticking to him. The woods were completely dark now, and Marcus looked up at the clear night sky. Then her face came into view once again, her eyes shiny black orbs, the whites gone, her lips drawn back, revealing her ancient, saber-like fangs. Marcus didn't have time to gasp before she tore into his flesh.

The vampiress, as she consumed the blood of the young psychic, received a terrifying prophecy. From the far corners of Marcus's subconscious, Despair found a way to torment the bitch with the future scene of her death...her head being severed at the neck in one astonishing blow...the vampire hunter, a red-haired man in a buckskin jacket...her head being placed on his belt next to the others hanging by the hair.

Marcus awoke several hours later, his father's voice calling to him in the darkness. He saw men with torches in the distance. Lucas and Virgil had been found dead, their bodies in the river, throats torn as if from wild animals. Brennus Getorix broke down and wept at the sight of his son half dead on the ground. The man carried his boy home.

Marcus fled the following night, never to return. The thirst had overtaken him, and the memory of being with her only made it worse. He knew what he needed, and he was not going to submit his father to the shame of what he had become.

Another century would pass before Marcus returned to his homeland.

He would not see the vampiress again until centuries later. She took just enough of his blood to change him, but he never had a chance to drink from her, and to bond with another creature never occurred. Because of this happenstance, Marcus was like an orphan, his only guidance and help coming from Despair.

*****

Julia could feel a vehicle slow down next to her. She turned, and saw it was a pickup truck. Inside, an elderly man and his dog gawked at her.

"I saw a van back there," the old man said. "That your's?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, the next stop is about a mile away. Want a ride?"

Julia knew better than to accept rides from strangers, but this man could be her grandfather, even the dog looked friendly. Besides, the sooner things were taken care of, the sooner she and Marcus could get home.

"Uh...sure, thanks."

*****

The old man dropped Julia off at the Gas-N-Go near the highway. He was on his way to visit his wife at a hospital in a neighboring town, so he had to leave Julia there. She had planned, after calling the nearest towing service, to walk back to the van and wait. The tow would probably take an hour. The sun would be almost completely set, and Marcus could come out. Most likely, they would end up at a motel until the van was repaired. She was walking out of the store when another man offered her a ride back.

The guy seemed nice enough. He was fifty–ish, muscular going to fat, wearing a pullover sweater and beige polyester pants along with a white fishing cap. He looked like someone's dad. His Chevy Blazer was in the parking lot. Julia got in with him.

She felt safe at first. The van came up on the horizon.

"You can drop me here. There's the van."

She had her hand on the door handle, ready to get out, when she felt the blade against her left cheek. She turned, and saw the guy had a large kitchen knife in his right hand as he continued to steer. Julia pulled on the door handle instinctively, but it was locked.

The cold blade moved down, and rested at the side of her neck. "Don't move, young lady, and I won't hurt you."

Julia sat very still, too shocked to respond. Her thoughts quickly turned to Marcus, who was now out there alone.

*****

Marcus could sense Despair was near.

Marcus?

Yes?

Julia is in danger.

Marcus jumped out of his seat. "Where the Hell is she? What's happened to her?"

The sun has set, Marcus. Come out into the night. I will be your eyes.

The creature carefully exited the van. He felt around the doors, making sure the vehicle was locked up. He had to leave behind his casket and coolers, but so be it. He was hanging on to the passenger-side door handle when he felt a hand on his right arm, gently turning him around in the direction Julia had taken. Despair had said she would be his eyes in this strange place, and he could feel her guiding him away from traffic.

Where are we going, my Despair?

We will go where she was last seen.

Do you know where she is now?

No, but she is being taken away by automobile.

Has she been harmed?

No, not yet...but we have to find her soon.

*****

The young woman working at the register in the Gas–N–Go could not believe what she was seeing when the two men walked in–one blind, and the other unlike anyone she had seen before, at least in Mount Vernon.

The blind man's companion, his right arm hooked in the other's left, approached her cautiously, almost shyly. Tall, thin, and swarthy, he looked almost Arab. His dark hair was thick, black, and unruly. His eyes were dark, more black than brown. Below his aquiline nose, she stared at his beautiful mouth; he had full lips, the top bow- shaped. He was dressed in jeans, a denim shirt, and brown corduroy jacket.

"Miss, could you tell me if you saw a young woman in here this afternoon? Short, with reddish-brown hair? She was wearing a leather jacket?"

No trace of an accent, the guy must be from this country. "Um...no. Maybe Derek-he works with me-might have seen her."

"Would he have been here around three-thirty?"

"Uh...yeah."

Despair may have been a spirit guide, but even she could not communicate with someone this dim. "Is he here now?"

The girl suddenly snapped to attention. "Yeah, I'll get him."

Despair and Marcus continued to stand at the cash register. The spirit guide looked around the place. She had not taken on a physical form in a long time, and only chose this male shape from a magazine Julia had left in the van. Despair was in a hurry, and may have chosen unwisely. She had assumed that being a man would be more convenient, but her looks were too conspicuous. People were staring.

Despair took a long look at Marcus. Julia need to buy him some new clothes; his gray jacket looked old, his jeans were faded. He wore an old pair of sneakers with Velcro straps. He did not trust anyone to give him a decent haircut.

The girl returned with Derek. An obese young man in glasses and a red work-smock, he eyed the two men suspiciously. "You looking for someone?"

"Yes," Despair replied," a short young woman with red hair. Her name is Julia."

Derek nodded. "Yeah, she was in here this afternoon. She said she needed to use the phone, her van broke down—"

"That's her. We were waiting back at the van, but she didn't show."

"You think something happened to her?"

"Yes. Did you see her leave with anyone?"

Derek sipped his Big Gulp. "Well, Old Man Dickerson dropped her off. And his wife is in the hospital, so he left. See, I was at the register then, but I didn't see her leave. You know, you have to wait twenty-four hours before the police will even help you."

Despair knew it would be too late then. One of the killer's young victims had contacted her on the Other Side, pleading with Despair to find her killer. The spirit had only lived sixteen years in the flesh, and had her life torn from her.

Despair had explained to Marcus, during their long walk, about the visit from the young spirit. Her throat had been cut, her killer watched her die, and Julia would be next if they did not find her first.

Marcus finally spoke, asking, "Derek, do you know of any regular customer, a man, who wears a white cap, is overweight, drives a...Blazer...a Chevy, red and white in color?"

Derek scratched his head. "Christ...that could be anybody. Lots of people drive those things..."

The two knew the guy had a point, the description was too broad. This place was near the highway, people come and go. Julia could be with anyone anywhere.

Despair recalled, on the way to the Gas–N–Go, passing a school. The victim had only been sixteen years old, she must have attended school. "That school building, about a mile away, is that the only one in this area?"

Derek nodded. "You must mean Dewey High School, I went there-"

Marcus suddenly saw a flash of a living room in someone's home, the rustle of papers. "Do you remember any teacher at your school that used to invite students to his home? Maybe something to do with writing?"

Derek sighed. He leaned his bulk against the counter near the register, to take the weight off his feet. "You know, that reminds me of a girl who disappeared about six months ago. Her family, everybody, combed this whole town looking for her. My guess is she's either dead or ran away. But she was involved in writing and plays at Dewey High."

"How old was she?" asked Despair.

"Sixteen, I think. She was waiting for her mom to pick her up from a rehearsal at the school, outside the building, and when her mom got there, she was gone."

"What was her name?"

"Andrea Carlyle. Here, I can show you a picture."

Derek left behind the register and returned with a white, legal-sized, Xerox copy. At the top, in large letters, the word 'MISSING.' Underneath, the name 'Andrea Christine Carlyle,' featuring a recent photograph from school pictures, along with a description of her vital statistics and when she was last seen outside Dewey High School in April.

Despair saw what the young spirit looked like in life, and was disturbed by Andrea Carlyle's resemblance to Julia. Although the print was in black and white, Despair could see the girl's auburn hair, brown eyes, and fair skin.

Derek, at this moment, burst out, "Hey, shit! You don't think whoever took Andrea took your friend?"

Marcus put his index finger to his lips, trying to shush the guy. "We don't know for sure, but it's a possibility. When you went to school at Dewey, who taught English or Drama?"

Derek purposely lowered his voice. "Dewey's a small school. We only had two English teachers, Miss Danvers and Mr. Webb. I had Miss Danvers for tenth and twelfth grade English. She was a mean old bitch, died the year after graduation. Mr. Webb still teaches there. Actually, he is kinda fat, and always wears these pullover sweaters, in winter and summer. Nice guy, though. His wife died last year, and he was Andrea's teacher. He was there the night Andrea disappeared, but he wasn't arrested. No one was." Derek leaned in closer, and whispered, "If you ask me, Andrea Carlyle's family is a mess. Her dad's a drunk, her mother was never home, and her brother is in jail. Andrea could have run off with a boyfriend, or her father could have killed her. People get crazy when they're drunk."

Despair already knew Andrea had been killed by someone outside the family. "Did you hear any odd stories or unpleasant rumors about Mr. Webb while in school?"

"Uh...no. But sometimes he would have some of his students get together at his house, to read poetry, I guess. And he did that when Mrs. Webb was alive, so everybody knew about it, nobody thought it was wrong. See, Mr. and Mrs. Webb didn't have any kids..."

*****

Webb sat facing Julia. He was still wearing his fishing cap, the knife resting on his lap.

Julia had no idea what this man was going to do next. He must not have been in any hurry to kill her; otherwise, she would not be sitting in this motor home, gagged and tied to a chair.

Webb cleared his throat, squirmed in his chair. "You know, some things just get out of hand. I tried explaining this to Andrea, but she was too young to understand. I should have known better. I never wanted to...kill any of them. But I would look at them every day, see how young and good they were, and know they would lose it all. This town has churned out more than its share of teen pregnancies, abused wives and children. Their parents tell them lies about their bright futures. But the kids are just another group to be herded out and herded in to the next factory or trailer park." Webb smiled at his own humor, but avoided eye contact with his captive, staring down at the knife in his lap instead. "I used to have hope, now it's just memories of a more innocent time."

Julia remained confused. If he cared about these kids, why did he murder them? Julia was a stranger to him, so why did he take her? She turned her head from side to side, trying to get Webb to look at her. As a manic-depressive, Julia had educated herself about abnormal psychology, and she guessed this man's delusions had a long time to grow into something so strong, he could not hide his madness anymore. If only he would take the gag off her, she could talk to him.

Webb continued, but his voice was starting to crack.

"What was the point in them even living? Nothing could justify their suffering, and when Andrea wrote, her stories were full of what I had been feeling for years. Everyone knew her father drank, and her brother was sent to jail. She was mature for her age, but did she really understand the enormity of her pain? Did she know she would have to live with it for the rest of her life?

After rehearsal that night, when all the others had left, she was waiting for her mother in the parking lot. But it was getting late. I offered her a ride home, but she refused. I knew she would. There was a part of her that already didn't trust anymore. She had avoided boys at school, even the ones that liked her. I wouldn't be surprised if she had been molested—"

Julia was not feeling so understanding now. Actually, she could feel herself starting to fume. She had to deal with the same kind of insensitivity as a kid, because so few understood her condition, labeling her as everything from hyperactive to schizophrenic.

Webb went on. "She came back into the building. I told her I wouldn't leave until her mom came. The school was empty except for us and the night janitor, who was in another part of the school. It had been awhile, but the time had come to save another. I gave her some hot cocoa mixed with a sedative. She fell asleep on the sofa in the back of the office, and I carried her to my car and put her in the trunk. Before anyone knew she was missing, I already had her out here. She was tied to that chair, just like you. And all I wanted was to try to tell her, to make her understand, to teach her..."

*****

Marcus and Despair returned to the van, with the tow already there. The driver explained that he could take the van to a nearby auto repair, but it could not get worked on until morning. The tow left with the van, Marcus's coolers and casket going with it.

*****

A cab dropped Despair and Marcus off near Webb's home in a local subdivision, only a few miles from the high school.

Despair, hoping for a sign, soon found one. The appearance of a presence, its aura a light shade of blue, could be seen against the darkness. The blue light slowly took on the shape of a human being, the outline of its head and arms outstretched, fully visible.

"Stella," Marcus whispered, "his wife."

Webb's dead wife. Marcus could sense the unrest within this ghost, who spent much of her time in the world of the living, because she could not pass on to the Other Side.

Stella Webb had been a weak woman in life. She had known her husband was the killer of children.

Stella found proof twenty years ago, when they were living in South Carolina. An old cat Stella had owned since she was a teenager had died and, in the act of digging a grave for it, had unearthed a dead body in her backyard, which was surrounded by a high wooden fence. The body was that of a young girl, Stella was sure of it. Webb had been in the hospital for a tonsillectomy at the time his wife made her grisly discovery. In an act that would seal both their fates, Stella concealed the body, covering it again with dirt. She never told her husband, not anyone.

Stella then became concerned for her own safety, fully aware that the man who slept next to her could kill her whenever he chose, and this dread may have contributed to her premature death.

Give me a place, Stella, Marcus thought. That's all I need...

There is some property...near a body of water...Webb would go there to fish...Stella never went with him...Andrea is buried on that property...Julia is there, inside a camper, an old Airstream, shiny, like silver, on the outside.

Where is the property? Marcus asked himself. It could be anywhere between Mount Vernon and Indiana.

Indiana...Indian...Marcus could see, in his mind's eye, a sign with the face of an Indian on it...Seneca Hills Campground...further out...Webb owns this property...it's closer to the water, on the banks of this river, but it is close to Seneca Hills Campground.

Despair could see the presence of Stella Webb starting to fade from view. Helping the living was one way for restless spirits to feel forgiven for evil acts committed while alive. Hopefully, Stella Webb might rest in peace someday.

*****

The cab driver gave them the time, ten–thirty. Despair, from the back of the cab, could see a smiling profile of an Indian, with 'Seneca Hills Campground' painted over the head in red letters with a white background. The sign was made out of aluminum, and trembled against the wind on a wooden post. Several campers were parked next to each other, the lights on inside.

Despair paid the cab driver with Marcus's last twenty–dollar bill. As the car pulled away, they started the walk into the woods outside the campground.

Marcus was hoping he 'saw' the right place. He knew there must have been several Airstream campers in that campground, but Webb was too smart to commit his crimes where they could be seen, he would most likely choose a more solitary place.

Despair, pointing the flashlight she bought at the Gas–N–Go with her right hand as her left arm stayed locked in Marcus's right, knew what Marcus wanted. If Julia were dead, nothing else would satisfy except the taste of Webb's blood. Despair would not be able to stop Marcus, she knew how strong he was physically; he could tear a man apart if he had one in his grip. Directly, Despair could not let herself be a party to such things, she had learned too much in the place of the dead.

Despair, in spite of their long, long history together, had always feared the day Marcus would have to feed from her. In this hastily constructed human shell, she was flesh and blood and, with the exception of newborn babies' blood, hers was the purest of any kind.

Her blood could have healed Marcus of his blindness all those centuries ago.

You could have healed him, but it was your own shame that stopped you, she thought.

Despair had once been a male vampire, named Imat, in Egypt several thousand years ago. However, after centuries of existence, the creature took his own life, burning to death in the desert. This was Despair's last incarnation before choosing to become a spirit guide on the Other Side. Despair, although she had been with Marcus since his birth, never told him about her past lives.

Marcus was oblivious to the thoughts of his spirit guide as they continued to wind through the woods, the crickets softly chirping. These woods, as did all woods, reminded him of that place so long ago when she, his magnificent seducer, had appeared to him in the little forest. It even smelled the same.

The vampire froze in mid–step as Despair stopped walking. She asked, "What if he tries to kill us? How are we going to stop him, anyway?"

"I don't know."

Despair was quiet for a moment, then said, "There is a way, but if we do it, the results are only temporary. There is not enough time for anything else."

"What are you talking about?"

"Promise you will forgive me..."

*****

Webb lit a kerosene lamp, the flame low enough to make a dim light in the camper.

Julia did not want to give herself any false hope, but Webb was stalling for some reason, because he could have killed her hours ago. She was so drained; she sat as comfortably as she could in her bound position in the heavy wooden chair.

She was not surprised that her mind kept drifting back to Marcus. She believed he would try to find her, although he would not involve the police, she was sure of that. If she did die tonight, she knew she was going to be Webb's last victim. He might even kill himself, and no one would know what he had done. He would get away with it.

*****

Marcus could feel the change almost immediately, the darkness becoming shapes and shadows, which became the forest. He looked down, and saw the beautiful man Despair had been in his powerful grip.

The vampire wanted to join with her again; her blood warm and real in his mouth, but it was too late. He had come here to find Julia, and Despair had given him the tool to do it, but the effect would only last so long, and then his blindness would return.

He gently laid the shell of his beloved Despair on the ground. Marcus noticed the whiteness of his hands as he caressed the face of the dead man. He knew his spirit guide was now safe on the Other Side, and he had readily forgiven her, so she would be back.

The forest was a splendid place, he could see the colors of the autumn leaves under his feet, and the moon in all its brightness. The clear night sky was full of stars, but Marcus knew he could not slow down in his pursuit.

The vampire would take flight again, feeling the branches and leaves brush across his face, his restored sight integrating with his other extraordinary senses as he flew through the woods, searching for Webb's camper.

*****

Julia wondered if a cut throat was the fastest way to die.

Webb stood behind her, his knife at her neck. He used his left hand to pull off her gag.

"Do you have anything to say, young lady?"

"Please don't kill me! It's not going to change anything!"

Webb shook his head. "It's too late for change. We will be standing side by side in Hell—"

Something hit the side of the camper so hard, it rocked dangerously. Webb stumbled, but did not lose his grip on the knife.

Julia and Webb heard someone at the door, followed by the sound of metal and wood tearing. The hinges popped, and the door disappeared. Marcus entered, bringing the autumn wind and a cloud of leaves with him.

Shades of yellow and red stuck to his hair, his ponytail undone. His skin was ghostly in the dim light. Julia had never seen the very distinct fangs that broke through the delicate mouth, which was smeared red. His stride was confident, almost strutting, as he went after Webb, his sight straight on the man. His eyes glowed with rage.

Julia did not know when or how, but Marcus could see.

Webb lunged at Marcus with his big blade. He lost his balance, and Marcus turned him around. The vampire easily tore the knife from the man's grip, throwing it over to the other side of the camper, where it landed with a loud clang.

Marcus was more than ready to kill Webb. He saw Julia tied to a chair, relieved she was still alive. He did not know her face until now, he tried harder to focus on her, but his vision was starting to blur.

Webb, who Marcus had pushed to the floor, could not believe the monster he was seeing.

"Marcus!" Julia cried. "Don't kill him! The families of the victims need to know!"

Webb got on his knees in front of Marcus. "Please. Do it."

Marcus was feeling his sight fade, but he had to think. If he let Webb live, he would run the risk of exposing himself. If he killed Webb, the families of the victims would have no justice, Andrea would never rest. He swung his failing gaze over to Julia. She would have to be the one to tell the police where Andrea was buried, and her remains would be the key to putting Webb away. Julia was right. Besides, who would believe a psycho like Webb? So Marcus balled his large, long fingered right hand into a fist, and punched Webb-hard. The man sprawled, unconscious, to the floor.

Marcus stumbled over to Julia, and tried to focus on the ropes that bound her. The thick fibers snapped like twigs between his fingers.

"Marcus! How can you see?" she asked. "How did it happen?"

Colors and shapes were fading as all the ropes finally gave. Julia reached down and untied her feet. As she was doing this, Marcus took one last look at her face.

Julia, when she had finished, turned to Marcus, and quickly noticed that the blank look in his eyes had returned.

"Marcus? Why is it gone?" She turned herself around and slid off the chair, joining him on the floor where he was sitting, gripping his head. "You could see! I know you did!"

He pulled his hands away, and sighed. "Yes, I did."

"Well, what happened? How did you find me?"

Marcus raised a pale finger, and brushed her cheek. "You really are beautiful, you know."

Stolen Souls

Marcus and Julia waited at the door.

Julia took this time to look around at the Michigan wilderness surrounding the large, log cabin home. She had drove Marcus and herself all the way from Chicago to the outskirts of Charlevoix, Michigan for this meeting. The drive had taken about ten hours, and she was tired and hungry, the sun setting hours ago.

Julia had answered the phone call yesterday that preceded this hasty journey. The caller was a Deborah Seymour, and she left a long message, asking if Marcus could return her call.

Marcus, when he emerged from his casket at sunset, had Julia read the message to him.

He told her to throw it in the garbage.

Julia had never questioned Marcus's decisions in all the years that she had worked for him as his assistant, but Deborah's voice sounded so urgent, so desperate.

Marcus had stood before Julia, fully dressed in a baggy blue shirt and old jeans. She needed to buy him some new clothes. Like most sightless people, Marcus did not always notice these things.

Marcus had been a powerful psychic since birth. He was born around 70 A.D., in the area of ancient Gaul that is now northwestern France, in the Roman-occupied city of Viscontio. He possessed a spirit guide named Despair, who had been with him for as long as he could remember. He was meant to be a seer among his own people; however, a vampiress named Demetria intervened by the time Marcus was eighteen, and then he was permanently blinded one hundred years later. Marcus now only used his abilities to help others when he chose.

Marcus, with his tapered, pale fingers, pulled back at his long ash-blond hair until he secured it with a rubber band, making a tight ponytail. This set off the rest of his face-the high forehead, slightly hooked nose, small mouth, and the clearest blue eyes Julia had ever seen.

"Marcus," she asked, "I think this woman is in real trouble."

Marcus, who was now sitting across from her at the kitchen table, shook his head impatiently. "Most likely, Deborah is having family troubles again. I used to know her parents and her brothers, the whole family."

Julia was fascinated. "You mean...your kind can have children?"

Marcus laughed softly. "The boys were from their mother's first marriage, and Deborah was supposedly adopted. They were 'turned' by their step-father, William Seymour, when they grew up. He didn't really let them choose, but I never heard them complain. They are very wealthy people, the Seymours."

"Why do you dislike them?"

Marcus was suddenly shy. He became silent, and Julia wondered if she was annoying him by asking too many questions, although she could not help but be interested.

Marcus finally spoke up. "I used to be a tutor to Deborah and her brothers many years ago. The whole family was living in Pennsylvania then, outside Philadelphia. I had been teaching at a school for the blind the year before, but had to resign in a hurry. I knew I could...sort of...hide out if I took up the offer from Seymour. Deborah and her brothers were just children; they didn't know what he had planned for them. The family was so wealthy; the children were always sheltered. This way, I could be sheltered, too. But I became involved with Seymour's wife, Rachel. Like the children, she was also human then, but she was ruled by her husband. It was a pathetic situation. He kept her human to control her, and the children."

"They were a bizarre family?" Julia asked.

"How could they be anything else?"

Marcus rose from his seat at the table and walked to the refrigerator. Julia had grown used to Marcus's nightly routine. The bags of blood were kept in the fridge. He would open a bag with the sharp edge of one of his ancient fangs, dumping the liquid contents into an old Chicago Bulls mug, which had once belonged to Julia. He would consume the blood quickly, with no mess. The bag was thrown in the garbage, the mug rinsed out in the sink.

Marcus did not want to share the rest of the story with Julia or anyone else. When he thought back on it, all he could feel was embarrassment.

Rachel Seymour was young, a mother of three by the time she was twenty-five. She had been born and raised in Virginia, the accent never fading from her voice. She had smelled like lilies of the valley. Deborah had adored her mother, in spite of her obvious weaknesses, and she had despised her father, in spite of his power.

William Seymour was a monster, not only to his wife and children, but also to everyone else.

Deborah had once told Marcus she wished he were her father.

The children called Seymour 'Father' to his face, but the boys, David and James, called him the Old Man behind his back, although they would not know how old he really was until they became men themselves.

Seymour initially became wealthy through the railroads, oil, and steel. Over the centuries, he would move on to pharmaceuticals and technology. His boys made their money out of Silicon Valley now. The Seymours would always be rich, and immortal.

Marcus had heard a rumor, around 1935, that one of the boys had plotted to kill the Old Man. Almost forty years later, the Old Man had supposedly been seen in Chicago. Deborah, in the 1930s, would occasionally turn up in magazines or the society page, although the Seymours of that generation were presently keeping a very low profile. Rachel had committed suicide sometime in the 1940s, having been forgotten. Some had said, and the other creatures loved to gossip about the Seymours, that one of Rachel's own children had put a stake through her heart rather than deal with what a sad creature she had become.

Marcus had only wanted to forget about them. However, in the quiet of the kitchen, Marcus could sense Despair.

"Deborah's child is dying."

"Deborah doesn't have children," Marcus answered.

Julia remained at the table. She knew Marcus was not talking to himself. His spirit guide was making an appearance.

"She has two children that she adopted. The girl is starving herself. Deborah wants your help. You should give it."

"I have avoided the Seymours for over seventy years. Why does Deborah want me to help her, of all people?"

"Many of them see you as a healer."

"How can I heal this child? Is the child even human?"

"Yes, the girl is still human. Go to her. You may be the only one who can heal her."

"All right. I will speak with Deborah. But it is only my guilty conscience that makes me do it."

*****

"Marcus, remember when I was a child, and you could communicate with my brothers and I telepathically? You could even teach us lessons that way!"

"Yes, I remember."

The conversation was pleasant, once the awkward greetings were over with. The last time Marcus had spoken to Deborah, over seventy-five years ago, she had been eleven years old.

Marcus sat by himself in the living room with the phone. Julia had a class that night, so he was alone.

"Deborah, I know you didn't just contact me to talk about old times. My spirit guide—"

"Yes. Despair."

Marcus did not miss the sarcasm. The other creatures always found Despair to be a source of amusement. "She told me your child is ill."

The other end was quiet for several moments, but Marcus knew she was still on the line. "Deborah?"

"Yes, it's true, my daughter is ill. That's why I called you."

"What is her condition?"

"She is anorexic. She has been starving herself, on and off, since she was a child. She weighs only eighty pounds."

Marcus could sense the sadness in her voice, she was almost crying. He could recall Rachel punishing her children for crying. Marcus would say nothing, believing their discipline was none of his business; and they grew up to be so heartless. "Have you taken her to a doctor? There are specialists—"

"I can't. She could expose the whole family, you know that..."

"So talk therapy is out of the question. Can you bring anyone to her?"

"I was hoping you would come."

"Where are you living now?"

"Michigan, near Charlevoix. At the summer house."

"I've been there. That last summer..."

"I had the old house torn down, a new log home built in its place." She sighed. "Can you come, Marcus? I don't know what else to do. She might die."

Marcus could not believe he was going through with this, but he never could resist Rachel's daughter. Deborah had been 'adopted' when she was two years old, an orphaned child of a Seymour cousin. The Old Man brought her home like a puppy for Rachel; the Old Man had been sterile for centuries, just like Marcus. "Yes, I can come to your home. But I will only see you and your daughter. This has to be kept secret. I can't be making house calls for everyone."

*****

Deborah finally answered the door.

Julia could not help but notice how beautiful Deborah Seymour was. Deborah never knew her real parents, but her mother had been Swedish, and had supposedly died while giving birth to Deborah, who was a beautiful, cool blonde in jeans and a loose red sweater that brought out the paleness of her skin.

Marcus was not familiar with Deborah's adult personality, although he easily picked up on her nervous energy, which had not changed. Now, over a century later, Deborah was no longer human, but an undead creature.

"Marcus, I'm glad you made it. Please, come in."

Marcus, followed by Julia, entered the house.

"Deborah, this is my assistant, Julia Royer," he said. "She can be trusted."

Julia was already uneasy. She did not like being around other vampires, their behavior could be unpredictable. However, if they wanted Marcus's help, they knew they had to be civil.

Deborah, in her own way, smiled warmly. "Well, if you trust her, Marcus, then I am fine with her being here. Please, let me show you into the living room. We can sit and talk."

Julia immediately noticed the antiques and other expensive furnishings in the house. The living room was rustic, with a huge fireplace, with black leather furniture, a thick area rug over the hardwood floor in a dark green. Framed, sepia-toned photographs graced the walls. A large picture window dominated the room, revealing a view of Lake Michigan. More photographs sat on the mantelpiece over the fireplace; some looked just as old, some more recent.

Deborah graciously led Marcus by the hand to a place on the leather couch to sit, and then sat across from him in a reclining chair. Julia tried not to feel ignored.

Deborah noticed that nothing about Marcus had changed. He remained that quietly beautiful creature from a time when silence and discretion were the best defense for a vampire. He still kept his ash-blond hair long and pulled away from his hawk-like face. His hypnotic eyes, as blind as ever, stared into a place only he could see. He always sat up straight, his big hands resting on his knees. He was dressed in a blue turtleneck sweater, covered in a black blazer-jacket and matching pants. He didn't favor jewelry.

"Marcus," Deborah said, "I am so happy you have come. My daughter, Theresa, needs help. As I told you on the phone, she has been anorexic for years. Her brother and I have tried everything, even forcing her to eat. But that doesn't work, it only makes things worse. I have read all the books, but I am not a therapist, and I certainly can't send her to one—"

"Has she expressed any interest in changing her behavior?" Marcus asked. "Has she admitted that she is ill? That she could die?"

"Yes, she knows it, but doesn't care," Deborah answered. "Sometimes, I think she is purposely doing this to hurt me. My children are now old enough to know all about the family."

"You mentioned you have a son?"

"Yes. Matthew."

"How old are they?"

"Matthew is twenty. Theresa, seventeen."

"How were they educated?"

"Home schooled. Matthew has completed one year at college, but wants to take a year off. Theresa, since her illness worsened, has lost interest in her studies. She is now bedridden."

Julia, from her spot in a corner antique rocker, found Deborah's child-rearing skills interesting. Were her children lonely? How could Deborah relate to or understand the needs of human children? Although Marcus had explained that Deborah and her brothers had been human until adulthood, even their childhoods had been unusual.

"How old was Theresa when she started refusing food?" Marcus asked.

"Her mother is with me."

"Rachel?" Marcus asked silently.

"No. The girl's birth mother."

Deborah stopped talking. She could see the look on Marcus's face. He was almost in a trance. Deborah knew what this meant, and remained quiet until Marcus was finished listening to his spirit guide. Deborah had not witnessed this kind of event since she was a child, and Despair would occasionally interrupt Marcus when he was giving the Seymour children their lessons. Once, when she was ten years old, she heard a man's voice, speaking through Marcus in a strange language, when he was teaching Deborah and her brothers about the Egyptian pharaohs one day. When asked about it later, he did not bother to explain.

"Theresa's birth mother, Sarah, is with me. She needs you to speak of her to Theresa. Deborah may not be so forthcoming with information..."

This was not an unusual situation. So many souls contacted Despair in the After-Life, asking for Marcus's help. Some were human when alive, some were not, and Despair was not the only spirit guide available, but it was hardly a coincidence that in her last incarnation on Earth, Despair had been a vampire, a male named Imat, in Egypt, almost five thousand years ago. Imat had taken his own life after many centuries, burning to death in the desert under the sun's rays. When he died, he elected to remain in the After-Life as a spirit guide. So Despair was no longer in the flesh, and she served Marcus, although she occasionally used him as a kind of psychic instrument.

"Marcus, Theresa can still be helped, but Deborah will have to cooperate..."

*****

Marcus knew how to behave around married women. Rachel Seymour, however, had made the decision to seduce him.

Her tactics had been fairly simple. The children had been napping that September afternoon. Marcus was in his study, when the housekeeper told him Mrs. Seymour wished to see him in her room.

The old Victorian home, hidden in the Pennsylvania countryside, had windows that were covered with heavy drapes. Marcus was able to get around easily; he was used to the placement of every furnishing and doorway.

Marcus made his way up the stairs. He could smell lilies of the valley in the hallway. The scent grew stronger as he came closer to Rachel's room. He knocked on the door.

"Come in, Marcus."

He pushed the door open. "Yes, Mrs. Seymour?"

"Please call me Rachel. You've been here for weeks, and you still call me Mrs. Seymour. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"All right."

"My husband explained to me that you are supposed to be some kind of psychic. Can you tell fortunes?"

"Sometimes."

"Could you read mine?"

"Yes, I suppose I could." Marcus was not sure what this was leading to. He knew it was improper to be alone with her in her bedroom, and Seymour would not be pleased if he should find out. During that period, many people believed the blind to be asexual, but the servants liked to gossip, and Seymour knew Marcus was far from impotent.

"Please," Rachel said, "sit next to me on the bed." She took his hand, leading him to her. He sat on the soft mattress, part of the four poster bed Rachel usually shared with her husband, who was supposedly in Philadelphia on business.

"You can read palms?" she asked.

"I do not read palms in the typical sense. I have to trace the lines with my fingers. Give me your left hand."

He took her small hand in between his large one. He used his index finger of his right hand to trace the lines in her palm. He knew her future would be tragic, her life long and painful, so he improvised. She would not be able to see through his lies; she was still human, a puppet for her husband.

Marcus could not remember how the discussion swayed from his bogus predictions, to Rachel talking about her private relations with her husband, then her asking about how blind people made love.

"Rachel, are you trying to embarrass me?" Marcus asked.

"No, I'm trying to seduce you. How is it when you are with a woman? Does she offer the blood to you? I would willingly offer it, if you would offer yourself..."

Somehow, his finger had ended up in Rachel's warm, wet mouth.

Marcus tried a weak protest. "Your husband will not be happy with this..."

"I should be happy, too," said Rachel, her voice giddy with excitement. "So should you. I want to know you as a man, Marcus. William told me you can function just as well as he, and I want to know your bite. Let me, Marcus."

Rachel undressed the both of them before they shared their first kiss. Marcus could not remember the last time he had been with a woman for carnal pleasure, maybe decades. He enjoyed the warmth and feel of Rachel's flesh. The fine hair on her arms even made his fingertips tingle. She was playful and energetic; her enjoyment of the act relaxed him. She rubbed herself against the cool contours of his ancient flesh and bone, grabbing at him gently. He pleasured her orally, intoxicated by the musky, throbbing part of her, and his own aching sex, which he had ignored for too long.

Marcus was not sure if Rachel had experienced another's bite except Seymour's. With their physical passion spent, Rachel placed her hands to each side of Marcus's head, leading him to where she wanted his bite, in the warm cavern between her earlobe and jaw line. With great relief, he gave her his bite, his ancient fangs tearing urgently into her flesh, finding the fragile vein. She almost yelled out, but quickly stifled herself. He would not take much from her, only enough to satisfy them both. In seconds, he locked in; not only with her heartbeat, but also with the pleasure centers of her brain, causing the secretion of chemicals that would almost take Rachel out of her body. This caused the euphoric aspects of the bite, and pacified the victims while they were possibly dying. The bite could also cause a strong narcotic effect, and many humans ended up becoming addicts to it. Rachel was no exception.

Rachel and Marcus fell asleep in that big bed.

Marcus, at sunset, awakened when he sensed William Seymour standing over him.

The creature seemed hardly surprised to see Marcus in bed with his wife. His tall frame cast a big shadow in the bedroom. His thick hair and beard were as neat and tailored as his suit. A pocket watch hung from the vest. His dark gray eyes glowed beneath thick brows.

"I thought my spell would keep her better in check," sighed Seymour, his smooth voice no longer carrying its original British accent.

Marcus remained still underneath the sheets. He did not trust Seymour's cool exterior, he never did, not even when Seymour was still human and Marcus had met the man in Japan centuries ago.

Marcus could hear Rachel stirring from sleep. He sensed Seymour's presence near her.

"Marcus, you know they become like drunks. They come to depend on us as we do on them. Soon, I will have to change her or kill her myself."

He could hear the rustling of the sheets, and then Rachel's gasp as her inhuman husband fed from her.

*****

Julia had been sitting alone in the living room, staring at the photographs on the walls, when Matthew Seymour entered.

Matthew was twenty years old, tall and slender. He had a curly head of black hair and hazel-colored eyes with thick brows and lashes. He was baby-faced, with small lips twisted in a crooked bow. Julia knew he was arrogant before he opened his mouth, but also cute in a rebellious, punk-ass sort of way. Julia was quickly learning that the Seymour money not only came with privilege and immortality, it also bought an attitude.

Matthew bounced onto the couch; the leg cuffs of his Levis bobbing up, then down, resting against the tops of his Reeboks. He was wearing a black silky shirt that contrasted greatly with his eyes and hair. "You are the first human to visit this house."

Julia remained unimpressed. "What about you and your sister?"

"We don't visit. We live here."

"Nice house."

"Yeah, but it can get boring, especially during the day. Deborah sleeps, so does Theresa."

"What college did you go to, Matthew?"

"Hillsdale."

"Good school. Why did you leave?"

"I was doing all right, but I met a girl, and Deborah thought we were getting too close. I told this girl a few things, you see, so Deborah told me to get my ass home."

Now it's getting interesting, Julia thought. "You told your girlfriend about your family?"

"Not really. But I let Deborah believe it."

Julia did not get his meaning at first. Then it hit her. Matthew saw the realization on her face, and sat back on the couch, grinning at her.

Matthew thought Marcus's assistant was an attractive woman; in her late twenties, with short auburn hair, brown eyes, fair skin, and no makeup. She wore an old leather jacket with black denim leggings and a gray sweatshirt with the Southern Illinois University logo, along with cheap black loafers on her feet.

Julia could see Matthew undressing her with his eyes. Maybe he was not aware she was almost ten years his senior.

"Well, to remain a Seymour," said Julia, "you can't stay human for long..."

"I agree, but Deborah doesn't."

"Your mother has refused you?"

"Right."

"Why? I thought this was the tradition, based on what Marcus has told me."

"You mean, the parents 'turn' the children when they grow up?"

"Yes."

"Deborah is having a crisis of conscience. But I think she'll come around. When my sister dies."

"You think Theresa won't recover?"

"No. She's too far-gone. Deborah won't send her to a shrink; she can't let Theresa talk about us, the Seymours. Of course, there is the one, permanent cure for Theresa."

"Theresa would become a vampire."

"Correct."

"Would your mother do it?"

"If she had to, I think. But Theresa wouldn't be happy about it."

Julia knew Matthew was jealous of his sister, only because if Deborah made Theresa a vampire, this would show blatant favoritism, or would it? Being a Seymour was complicated.

"Matthew, have you ever met your grandfather?"

"You mean, the Old Man?"

"Yes."

"A few times. He doesn't seem to have much use for us; he's more concerned with Silicon Valley. He and Uncle David have a company there now. They also own a new Internet provider, Seven.com."

Seven.com. Julia had read about the company in the newspaper, reported to be a serious competitor against all of the Web titans. The Seymours could continue to be millionaires for centuries as long as they continued to keep up with the times.

"My Uncle James, however, wants to start a casino and hotel in Las Vegas. I'm trying to talk Deborah into letting me go there, to work for Uncle James. She's totally against it; she and Uncle James don't like each other right now. But that could always change."

Julia knew Matthew was just as bored as she was, and wanted to talk. He could keep her company for a while, because she could be stuck here, ignored, all night. Marcus was upstairs with Deborah and Theresa, and she did not know how long any of this was going to take. Julia had taken a course in Abnormal Psychology just last semester, and the professor had lectured on eating disorders, the treatment for anorexia long and difficult. Julia had the feeling she and Marcus were going to be guests of Deborah Seymour's for much longer than they had anticipated.

"So...what are your uncle's plans for his hotel?"

*****

Theresa, like her grandmother, slept in a four poster bed. However, this room was modern, with a TV and DVD player on a stand in the corner, and a small touch-lamp on a nightstand next to the bed. Theresa liked to read, and books lay scattered on the floor. White, lacy curtains hung from the windows.

Marcus could only smell sickness. Theresa was very ill.

The young woman lay in bed, covered with a floral-patterned comforter. The ravages of her disease could be seen in the monkey-like skull, the sunken brown eyes, the pasty skin, and the stringy dark hair that had lost its shine. She was a prisoner of her illness, one of the symptoms being the embarrassment she felt by the look of her emaciated body, which she kept hidden by the blanket and a baggy sweater and sweatpants, but this shame was still not enough to make her eat.

Deborah held on to Marcus's arm as she led him closer to Theresa's bed. "Darling, Marcus is here."

Marcus sat at the side of the bed. "Theresa, I am an old friend of your mother's—"

The girl's voice was soft, and the words were not sarcastic, merely inquisitive. "Another vampire."

"Yes, I am a vampire. I am also blind. I'm sure your mother has told you..."

"She has. But there is no reason for you to be here—"

Deborah interrupted. "Theresa, you are too ill..."

"I can deal with it, Deborah," the girl replied," I don't need—"

"Theresa," Marcus said, "give me your hand."

"What?"

Marcus remained patient. "Give me your hand."

Theresa joined her hand in his. He felt the bones through the skin of her fingers. Marcus could only imagine what she looked like, the victim of such an insidious disease.

He could feel how starved this girl was. She yearned for death, if for no reason than to be delivered from her own self-inflicted pain. She could accept nothing about herself–it was all lacking, hopelessly inadequate. Marcus flinched from the hate she felt for herself. She wanted to be rid of herself.

Marcus? I am here, so is Sarah. Let Theresa tell you why she wants to die. You can find the answer. Take Theresa back, but let her tell you...

Deborah sat quietly in a chair in the corner. She stared at Marcus as he sat in a trance.

Should I use a spell to take her back? Back to where?

Take her blood, go deep into her.

Marcus raised Theresa's small wrist to his mouth. She didn't make a sound; she would let him do it. Considering the family she came from, she held no fear of the bite.

"Marcus?" Deborah asked. "What are you doing?"

"If I take some of her blood, I can go deeper into her state of mind—"

"But she is so weak!"

Theresa sighed. "Let him do it."

"I don't like this."

"It's all right. He won't hurt me."

Marcus gently broke the skin and vein at her wrist with one of his ancient fangs. Theresa felt the rush of his bite, and her body went rigid, a tingling sensation spreading from her arm, to the top of her head, and everywhere else. She had dreamed of this for years, ever since she had experienced it with her Uncle James. The pleasure had only lasted minutes before her mother caught them. That was four years ago, and Deborah had not spoken to her brother since.

Theresa did not have to think about her disease, all the life she had missed, in this euphoric state. She hoped Marcus would take too much of her blood, giving her a sensual ride into death.

What Theresa experienced next she could not identify as death or a dream. She was standing in a place, a brightly-lit area. She did not see walls or a ceiling, but she knew she was not alone. Several figures were in shadow, and she could not make out their bodies or faces. Marcus approached from her right side. He looked just as he did in her room, except he could see, and he had to bend down to look into her eyes.

Theresa did not feel entirely aware of herself here. There was only what she saw, not what she felt. She wondered if Marcus had hypnotized her, or maybe she was dead, waiting around in some 'lobby' on the Other Side. From what her mother had told her, anything was possible with Marcus.

The seeing Marcus finally spoke to her, but he was not moving his lips. He was using telepathy. "Theresa?"

"I can hear you."

"Good. I want you to take me there, to the time and place..."

She did not understand. "What time and place?"

"Something you remember, Theresa. When you were a small child, your mother..."

"Momma..."

"Yes, her name was Sarah."

"Momma..."

"Where did you live?"

"We lived in the city. Momma. We had a dog. I was little..."

"How old are you?"

"I was...three. Yes, just three..."

"When did you meet Deborah?"

"Momma met her. We were in the park, walking home."

"It was night."

"Yes, it was dark."

"Did Deborah talk to your mother?"

"Yes, but she kept looking at me. I thought she was pretty, and Momma was talking to her, but she wasn't smiling. We didn't stay very long. Momma said good night to Deborah and we left."

"When did you see Deborah again?"

"I woke up in the old summer house."

Marcus?

Despair had entered through Marcus's subconscious. Theresa would not be able to hear her, although the area became brighter and the shadow figures parted to allow Despair's presence.

Yes, Despair? Marcus asked.

Sarah told me Deborah killed her. She took Theresa as her own.

Theresa knew, Marcus replied, but she just couldn't, or wouldn't, remember.

Her conscious mind could remember at any time. But it's possible the disease will kill her first.

Is she using the disease to keep the memory away?

Yes. She's also protecting Deborah with it, and Deborah knows this. The creature is ashamed.

I don't think I can take Theresa any further without killing her.

Then make Deborah confess.

*****

"...my Uncle James wants to incorporate the whole Renaissance era thing with modern entertainment. The staff would wear these Elizabethan costumes; they would have impersonators dressed like Henry the Eighth—"

"The family is going to back this venture?" Julia asked.

"Oh, we have the money," Matthew replied.

"What kind of job would your uncle offer you there?"

"Well, probably something entry–level. I don't have any experience."

"Bell hop?"

"No way! I was thinking assistant manager."

"Don't assistants have to be trained?"

"Oh, yes, I would definitely need training for the job."

Julia decided to throw Matthew off balance with her next question. "Why do you think your sister is sick?"

Matthew, however, was hardly taken aback. He shrugged his shoulders. "She thinks she's too fat. No, I'm kidding. I've read some of the books, and poor self-esteem or childhood trauma can play a big part with anorexia. But I can't help but wonder why Theresa would take it this far. I mean, I always knew the Seymours were monsters in more ways than one. But how a person copes with things, whether they come from a crazy family or not, determines their survival. My Uncle David taught me that. He's more uptight than Uncle James, but he's very wise. That's why the Old Man—"

Julia and Matthew could hear footsteps coming down the staircase in the foyer. Marcus entered the living room alone, sitting down at the other end of the couch. Julia noticed right away that he was still in trance. Marcus could be semi-conscious and still move around normally. She had never seen him trip, or even bump into anything. Sometimes, it seemed space moved for him.

Despair must be speaking to him, Julia thought. Maybe Theresa is near death.

Marcus sat quietly for another several minutes. Matthew had left the room. Julia wondered if Matthew would feel uncomfortable around Marcus for some reason.

Suddenly, the creature opened his eyes. "Julia?"

"Yes?"

"Come over here, please."

She moved from the rocker, and sat next to him. "What is it?"

"The only way Theresa can get better is if I confront Deborah about killing her birth mother. I can't guarantee what is going to happen, but I think Deborah knows that I know what she did."

"Will Deborah try to harm you?"

"I don't think so. They all fear me a little bit. But I feel a real obligation to help Theresa, so I can't just leave. Her heart is very weak; she needs to see a doctor."

"How can you get Deborah to go along with that?"

"I can't. But I think Theresa can."

"Emotional blackmail?"

"Yes, exactly."

*****

Marcus returned to Theresa's room. Deborah was still sitting in the chair. Theresa was sleeping, but her breathing was labored.

Marcus had not wanted to get this involved. He knew Theresa would be able to remember on her own very soon, although Marcus was unsure if the situation could wait. Theresa could die in days. Why had Deborah waited for so long? She would not let Theresa die; Deborah loved her children, he was sure of that. However, Theresa was almost an adult, and Deborah knew what her other option was, and so did Marcus.

Theresa was well aware of what she was doing to herself. She ignored her hunger; to devour was frightening. It was very similar to the way a vampire wants–needs–the blood. Theresa was rebelling by denying her hunger. She did not want to be the monster Deborah was. To self–starve and die was anathema to the vampire.

Marcus then realized the distress this must have been causing Deborah. Also, Matthew and Theresa were getting older. Matthew wanted to be a vampire, his choice was already made. He was just waiting for his mother to come around. If she did not, he could easily go to his Uncle James or the Old Man. Theresa was the wild card. She was acting out her refusal by letting herself die.

"Deborah, we need to talk."

"Yes?"

"I know you are not going to like what I am about to ask you, but Theresa's life depends on it." Marcus sighed. "Did you kill her birth mother? Did you kidnap Theresa?"

Deborah remained still. She was not a dramatic individual, even as a child she had been mostly self–contained. "I was supposed to adopt Theresa at birth. Sarah, her birth mother, was unmarried, just eighteen years old, with no family. I agreed to a handsome price for the baby. But no papers were signed, it wasn't a legal adoption. I knew it was possible Sarah would change her mind, and she did after she gave birth. She took Theresa and ran away to another city, Montreal. I found them three years later. My father taught me that you should never back out of a deal once it has been made."

Deborah sat in that overstuffed chair like a queen. Marcus could not tell by the tone of her voice if she regretted killing Sarah. Deborah had seen her mother become a victim, so it made a strange sense that she would choose her father's way of dealing with problems. Sarah would have been considered a problem that had to be solved, nothing more.

"Did Theresa see you kill her mother?"

"Oh, no. I brought her here afterwards, to the old summer house."

"Did you ever explain any of this to her?"

"I didn't think I would have to, she was only three years old at the time. She missed her mother for a while, then she accepted me. I already had Matthew, and she attached herself to him."

"How long did you think Theresa would forget?"

"To be honest? For the rest of her life."

"You've been a fool, Deborah."

"We're all fools sometimes, Marcus. You were a fool for my mother."

"But we were no help to each other. Just like you can't help Theresa."

"There is one way..."

"She will hate you. Whatever love was there would be lost."

Deborah sighed impatiently. "What do you suggest I do, then? I can't surrender Theresa to anyone else."

"Why not?"

"She can't speak of us!"

"When I was inside her mind, I could feel how weak her heart is. She may die soon if she is not taken to a hospital. Julia and I will stay with her. Let us take her to Chicago, we can easily find a specialist there."

"You want to take her?"

"Let me do this. No harm will come to her. If she can't talk to an outsider, she can talk to Julia and me. Despair and I can heal her from within. But only a doctor can understand the needs of her body."

Deborah slowly nodded her head. She was not easily defeated, but Marcus sensed she would accept this arrangement. "I'll get some of her things together. But I won't, I can't, stay away from her for long. I will find her, one way or another."

"I will call you as soon as we get home. I will keep you up to date on her condition, without fail."

*****

Matthew was not seen when he entered the University of Chicago hospital. He was just getting the use of his new powers, but he was progressing quickly.

He was leaving soon for Las Vegas. Deborah had given him permission. She had made him a vampire fast and easy; however, the physical and emotional impact was shattering for Matthew, as Deborah had warned him beforehand. He would never see her in the same way again. Naturally, she thought it was wise to create some space between them.

Matthew wanted to see his sister before he left for Las Vegas and Uncle James. Theresa was out of intensive care, and recovering slowly. There was initial concern about her heart, but she was becoming stronger as she put on weight. She had promised not to speak of her family to anyone but Marcus. So far, she had kept her word.

Matthew reached the wing of the hospital where his sister's private room was located. He was amazed at how easy it was to find places without asking for directions. His powers scared and thrilled him at turns.

He found Theresa awake and alone, reading a book. She looked good, she had filled out. Her brown hair was shiny, and her eyes were bright and alert. Matthew could sense the blood pumping through her heart, all through her body.

Theresa was not surprised to see her brother in his new state; the milky skin and the red tint in his eyes. Deborah had already explained over the phone.

Brother and sister chatted quietly for a while. Theresa did not want the nurses hearing them, visiting hours were long over.

"It must be boring, sitting up here," Matthew said.

"Well, Julia or Marcus visit me. Julia is really nice."

"Yeah, she is."

"Marcus is just...Marcus. He's incredible."

"You talk to him about us, don't you?"

"A little bit. Actually, he knows more than we do, Matthew. About the Seymours. The Old Man."

"Maybe Uncle James will be able to share more with me now—"

"Be careful around Uncle James."

"Why?"

"Well, I know you worship him, but—"

"You can't trust him."

"Right. They're all that way." Theresa's eyes filled with tears. "Promise me, Matthew, that we will always trust each other."

Matthew handed her the box of Kleenex from her nightstand. "I promise, Theresa. You can always trust me."

"I'm sorry I'm crying."

"Don't be sorry."

"So when are you leaving?"

"Very soon. Uncle James is sending the plane to pick me up at O'Hare tonight."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Focus on getting well, little sister. Do whatever you have to do to get out of here."

"I will. I've gained weight, and I'm eating on my own."

"Good, good. I gotta go, Theresa."

"All right."

They hugged for a brief moment. Matthew knew he would never see his sister again, as long as she remained human.

Matthew walked down the hallway towards the elevators. The sadness he felt earlier was becoming overwhelming. He could count with his three fingers how many times he had cried in his life. Now it would be four.

Deborah once joked about how when vampires cried, it was a waste of immortality.

A Vein Design

I have forgotten more than I can teach. In some respects, I have wanted to forget many things; however, the world continues to turn, people are born, grow old, and die. They take their memories with them, to this Side. These memories are like a fluid slide–show to us Here as the dead review their lives. For the monsters, it is the same, much to their dismay. They are treated no differently. I know, because I was a monster once, and I am no exception, no matter how long I have been Here, or how long I have been your spirit guide, Marcus.

The vampire Imat was a wretched thing, the meaning of his existence wasted and lost. He not only fed on blood, but power. He was a god to Djet, the Serpent King of Egypt. His people considered Djet a god, but Imat held him in his control. Imat was Djet's confidante. Imat did not want to be king; he just wanted to control the man, to make him a puppet, for amusement, and survival. Imat knew how to seek out and seduce powerful people, although Djet would come to worship the creature as a god, and for Imat, this was very fortunate.

Djet was assassinated years later, his sister and one of his wives following Imat to Greece after the king's 'untimely' death. The sister's name was Nefra, the wife, Tait, named after the Egyptian goddess of weaving. Their bloody trail ended on the island of Kea, off the coast of Greece. They spent close to a century there, with Tait as the passionate one, who had never loved Djet, and gave herself wholly to Imat, reminding him once again of the joys of love, or the closest he could get to it, the evil thing. Nefra had truly loved her brother, and she would have married him, but he wanted to avoid the sickly children and other diseases of intermarriage, so he chose women outside of his family. Djet was an intelligent man, but his greatest flaw was his pride, and he only confided his doubts about anything to Imat, no one else. However, Nefra never got over the rejection. She, Tait, and Imat all played a part in Djet's death, which led to distrust between the three of them, although Imat later learned to trust Nefra the most, and he would need her loyalty, because he always questioned Tait's, no matter how much he loved her.

The story of Imat and his female companions ended in the typical way of their kind. After decades of togetherness, they simply grew tired of each other. Tait's passion waned after Imat made her a creature like himself, so she no longer felt the need to worship him. She and Nefra had never been friends. Sometimes, Imat would not make the women stop fighting, although Nefra was still human, and no match for Tait. The evening usually ended with both vampires feeding from the unfortunate Nefra.

Tait left the island eventually, and Imat would not follow her. Nefra soon died from being used as a donor for so many decades, even if it did slow down the aging process. Imat believed she died from the guilt of helping to plan her brother's assassination. Without him, she was a lost soul. Her death had been a relief.

Imat made a return to Egypt, his suicide a magnificent blaze under the desert sun.

The vampire's long-buried soul would be released from its ancient skin and bones, and come through the Light, to this Side. Finally redeemed, he became a spirit guide, tutored by the best Here, the highest spirits, Imat the humbled student of the Godhead, existing inside His light, His breath. I was Imat, and now I am Despair, as you call me, Marcus.

Imat existed for many centuries before coming to the court of King Djet. When Imat lived on Kea, his memories were cloudy even then. There had been other courts, kings, and women. He annihilated the entire court of a Sumerian monarch; slaughtering the army, courtiers, then saving the family for a final, gluttonous feeding. His attack was for no other reason than over a slave girl he admired who had been brutally raped by the king's half–brother, in plain sight of the whole court, who did nothing to stop him. The girl poisoned herself afterwards. Out of an unusual sense of pity for the girl, Imat would punish the half–brother, letting the man's blood pour over his hand, arm, and face after the vampire impaled him through the ass with his own sword, lifting him off the ground, letting the blade gut him slowly.

Imat then burned the king's fortress to the ground.

Time can be a compass for us guides, because there really is a time and place for everything. The study of history teaches us this. Monsters like Imat have their history, too. There is so much humans do not know about these creatures. For instance, every five hundred years or so a vampire endures the molt. However, the molt can not always be exactly predicted, it is more of a physical response; the creature just feels it coming. He or she will have to find a safe place indoors for the next few days. It is best to be unclothed, because the skin will secrete something like a clear gel, covering the whole body. The gel thickens, drying in layers. The creature will fall into its undead sleep during this process, and will not awaken until the end of the molt, so feeding is not possible. When the creature does wake up, usually forty–eight hours later, the layers of dried gel will fall off like a snake's skin. I have been told this process is in response to the changes in the environment, considering the vampire has to 'walk the earth' much longer than any human, and the earth is never in a state of stasis, changes are always going on somewhere. Global warming may just make the molting more frequent among the ancient vampires.

Imat never could molt, some simply do not for some reason. You have, Marcus, three times already. The ones who can not molt are unaware of it until the many centuries begin to catch up with them, and their appearance begins to give them away, because the molting helps to keep the skin youthful. If the creature does not molt, it starts to age slowly, and then deteriorates. Imat had heard some of the most horrendous stories of other creatures turning into disfigured freaks that had to subsist on the blood of children to survive, to keep their physical form together. Like many of his kind, Imat considered drinking the blood of children as just...too base, no matter how sweet. Imat carried on, not knowing what would happen to him; how repulsed Tait would become by him, how he would have to hypnotize Nefra before she allowed herself to be touched by him. His suicide was brought on by his very disgust with himself; the faces of the terrified children he had killed, the ghost of the slave girl from Sumeria haunting him, telling him to go to the desert, to burn.

The molting allowed Tait to survive for millennia. She lived on in many places, by many names. She had been Demetria for a long time. You, Marcus, knew her under that name. So did Drusus.

So why do I bother talking about Imat, who ended his sorry life so long ago? Because you have to molt again soon, Marcus, and your timing is unfortunate. Drusus has been looking for you. He is seeking answers, and thinks your Julia can help him.

*****

Julia Royer, Marcus's assistant, climbed the stairs up to the apartment they shared. The time was almost eight-thirty that evening in April. She had stayed later than usual at class, discussing an upcoming research paper with her professor. She knew Marcus would not exactly miss her.

Julia entered the apartment, dumping her backpack on the kitchen table. She removed her old leather jacket, draping it across a chair. Her auburn hair was tousled from the strong wind outside. More rain was expected. Julia took off her wet sneakers, leaving the old Nikes by the vent in her bedroom to dry.

Julia used the bathroom and brushed her hair before checking on Marcus in his bedroom. He remained prone on the floor, on top of a large sheet of plastic. The gel-like substance from his skin had slowly wrapped around his body from the top of his head to his toes, drying on his ash-blond hair, his alabaster skin now resembling that of an uncooked chicken. His fingernails had grown several inches long, the color a pale yellow. His feet were covered so thick from the gel, as were his legs, belly, chest, and arms. The stuff was slowly drying on the vampire's skin, and would flake off easily after the molt was over. Marcus told Julia about all of this, they had planned, but Julia still remained awestruck over this process. Marcus reassured her that there was nothing to fear, he had been through this before. Julia wanted to trust what he said. Three days before, the molt started at sunrise, just as Marcus was getting ready to retire, as he always did. He could feel the change on his skin first; the gel coming in tiny drops from his hairline, covering his wide forehead, around the slightly overhanging brow, sticking to his pale lashes, trying to run into the large, sightless blue eyes, and beading past his nose, cheeks, the small lips and chin. Julia had purchased the sheet of plastic at a hardware store, taking the rug out of his bedroom, and replacing it with the sheet days before. That morning, after Julia had drawn the dark, heavy drapes, Marcus went to his room alone.

The blind vampire had lived in this Cicero–area apartment for almost twenty years. Julia's job as assistant was to answer the phone and keep the place clean, besides being quiet during the day so he could rest.

Marcus stripped off his clothes, laying them neatly on top of his old casket. He had spent the last two thousand years impervious to heat or cold, and this experience was no exception. He pulled his long hair out of its ponytail, letting the hair rest against his damp, clammy back. He lay down on the plastic, with his arms at his side. He did not fear this; he had been through three molts already. The process lasted no longer than two days, followed by a hot bath to get rid of the stale smell.

Julia had tried to understand Marcus as he explained the purpose of the molting, but she could not help but ask how the vampire could 'molt' as a biological process, although these creatures never suffered from any diseases, and had numerous supernatural powers. Furthermore, none of this explained the need for blood or why the vampire burned when exposed to sunlight. Marcus, however, did know that some vampires did suffer from disease, the need for blood being just one. The worst of these, he explained, was the inability to molt, which was a slow–moving disease, the ravages of it not showing up for almost seven hundred years, if the creature managed to survive that long. The rare ones, like Marcus, who live for thousands of years, end up becoming hermits, crazed and sad.

Marcus wondered sometimes if he had become as mad as they. Like them, he could now go for days without the blood, preferred to stay indoors at night, no close relationships except for Julia, and there was still so much he kept from her, although he knew she loved him.

Julia had heard the story of Marcus's life during her first week of employment. He had been born the youngest son of Brennus Getorix, a Celt of Druid ancestry, and a former slave woman, Pomona. Pomona gave birth to Marcus, born Mardoc Getorix, in the city of Viscontio in September of AD 70. Viscontio was a Roman city, but the Roman authorities were not concerned so much with Pomona as her husband, who had led a small Gallic army in an uprising against Roman infantry just weeks before. Brennus Getorix and his men slaughtered many of the soldiers before his army was defeated just outside the city of Burdicala, on the border between what is now France and Spain. Brennus Getorix managed to escape, as he always did. Ten years before, Getorix had been a soldier in Boudica's army, Boudica being the Queen of the Iceni tribe that had rebelled against Rome, she and her army destroying the cities of Colchester, St. Albans, and capturing London. When her people finally met defeat, the queen poisoned herself along with her daughters. Getorix made a quick escape, one of many he would pull off over the decades. He was a very tall, fierce-looking man, with the same blue eyes as his youngest son and long, rich-red hair. He was ferocious on the battlefield and his hatred for Rome went deep. He would attempt many uprisings as Marcus grew up, and the boy eventually became a warrior in his father's fight. However, this was not the path Marcus would stay on.

Marcus had always been aware of Despair, his spirit guide. Despair claimed to be present at his birth, which finally took place in the home of Marcus's Celtic grandfather. Marcus was born with a caul, a thin membrane that sometimes covered the top of a newborn baby's head at birth. The family, especially the superstitious Pomona, saw this as an omen. Her husband's people, who were Druids, considered her unusual and even they did not believe her when she claimed she could see spirits. Over time, with her marriage and the birth of her children, she kept the knowledge of her psychic gifts more and more to herself. Marcus was her fourth child, and a fifth, a girl named Brenna, followed. Although Brennus Getorix told stories of his Druid grandparents, he did not consider the old ways important to his life or that of his family. Pomona followed her husband's wishes, but their youngest son's burgeoning gifts managed to stun them all, especially when he spoke of his spirit guide, who was neither man or woman, and told him of a place where the Light was the breath of God. When Marcus told his mother of these things, she would want to listen, knowing that her spirits must know of this place, this After-Life. Marcus's three older brothers, Keiran, Padriac, and Liam, who aped their father's beliefs, preferred to ignore the strange notions of their child–like mother and younger brother. They were completely indifferent to little Brenna, who listened intently to the world her brother 'imagined.'

The family of Brennus Getorix was usually on the run, living in various villages throughout Britannia. Although Getorix was a Carnute, he and his family lived with other Gallic tribes. Getorix and his new army would fail in yet another uprising, with Getorix going on the run, followed by his wife and children going into hiding. This was the routine for the first nine years of Marcus's life until a deadly fever swept through the village in Northern Britannia where Marcus was in hiding with his mother and siblings. Pomona, her three oldest sons, and Brenna all died. Marcus was being cared for by a village woman when Brennus Getorix returned. The woman showed him where his wife and children were buried. He left on the same day with Marcus.

Getorix was taking his son out of Britannia by ship when Marcus went into a deep trance–like state, speaking in Latin, a language the boy did not know, his body inhabited by someone else. Getorix, crazed with grief, could almost believe that Rome sent one of its gods to possess his only living son just to torment him. However, what this strange voice, which sounded both male and female, went on to say alarmed Getorix even more, as he tried to understand with the little Latin he knew.

"The Roman Empire will not fall until hundreds of years after your death, Brennus Getorix. You will die on the battlefield, cut down by a Roman sword, and your name will fall into obscurity."

Marcus would be not be able to recall his father slapping him, almost sending him overboard, or what he said to his father.

Getorix took his son to the seeress Veleda weeks later, traveling deep into the Arduenna Forest of Northern France. Veleda lived in a tower-like structure, a dank and dark place. She was not young then, and Marcus could still recall the smells of smoke and body odor on her bony frame, covered by an old dress. Her stringy gray hair obscured her face; young Marcus could only see the tip of her nose as his father led him to Veleda's hearth.

Marcus could not easily understand what was being said between the old woman and Getorix, the regional dialect different from the Gaelic Marcus spoke with his father. Veleda's origins were mysterious, and she possibly knew more than one dialect. Getorix offered her a small bag of coins, but she refused the money. She pushed away Marcus's braids, touching the boy's face with her dry, rough fingers for a while, making Marcus uncomfortable and embarrassed, his gaze nervously shifting to his father. Veleda turned to her fire in the hearth, Marcus and Getorix sitting down nearby. Her head dropped, and Marcus thought she had either fallen asleep or died. He would later realize she had gone into a deep state of meditation, as he later learned to do. When she awakened, she told Getorix that an old god, of the Druids, was speaking through his boy, giving him visions of the future. These visions, she said, would lead Getorix to a final defeat of the Romans; he would raise an army that would destroy the Empire. Getorix was aware that these words were just the opposite of what Marcus told him on the ship. The man was steadily losing his patience as Veleda went on to say that Marcus should remain protected, hidden away, staying a virgin; otherwise, he would be doomed in the arms of a woman. Veleda told Getorix to leave the boy with her; he would be safe, although Getorix had no intention of leaving his only living son with a senile old woman. Also, no boy should remain a virgin if he was to become a man; this was something fundamental to every male Getorix knew, including himself. So he took his son and left Veleda laughing behind them. Getorix would try to explain to his son what Veleda had said. Since the boy had no memory of what he said on the boat, all of it left him confused.

Another nine years passed before Veleda's prophecy came true. At eighteen, Marcus would lose his virginity, and become a vampire, thanks to one female.

*****

Julia answered the phone on the second ring.

"Hello?"

There was no immediate answer. Julia was going to hang up when she heard a muffled sound that quickly gained in volume. Julia first thought the caller was a foreigner.

"Ereth si susurd."

"What? Who is this?"

"...si susurd."

Julia thought the 'si' might mean the caller was speaking Spanish. Then a loud, painful buzzing noise drowned out the voice. Julia hung up the phone, rubbing her ear. She opened her book bag at the kitchen table, pulling out her textbooks to do some assigned reading. She had a quiet evening ahead of her, or so she thought. She sat on the living room sofa, the psychology text in her lap.

"You've got mail."

Julia sighed, put her book down, and walked over. Their Internet access was DSL, and Julia often forgot to sign off. Usually, she would lose the connection to the Internet in hours of not signing off. However, the computer was still on-line, and someone had sent e-mail. Julia was the only person in the apartment who used e-mail because Marcus found the computer too inconvenient.

"You've got mail."

Julia accessed her e-mail, and there was one message.

"Ereth si susurd."

"What the Hell is that?" Julia asked. She tried to pronounce the words,"Ereth si susurd..."

Si. It reminded her of the phone call earlier. Julia checked the whole e-mail for the sender, consisting of an elusive address.

Julia could have dismissed it as a technological error, except the phone rang again.

Julia had turned on the answering machine after the last call, so she would not be disturbed. The phone rang four times before the machine picked up. Julia's voice was on the recorded greeting.

"Hello, you've reached the Marcus Duchon residence. Please leave a short message after the beep, and Marcus will get back to you. Thank you for calling."

Julia was printing the e-mail, although she was not sure why, when that piercing ringing sound came up through the speaker, then the same voice, this time sounding deeper, like a man's voice.

"Ereth si susurd."

Julia was starting to become nervous enough to wonder if this was some kind of prank, but why? Julia would be sure to explain this to Marcus when he awakened.

He won't be awake for days yet, she thought.

The caller hung up after about thirty seconds. Julia picked up the printed e-mail, staring at those three words. Ereth si susurd. A foreign language? If not Spanish, possibly German? Julia turned the sheet of paper around. Maybe the words were backwards. The sound on the phone reminded her of the seventies, when over–vigilant parents were backtracking their teenagers' KISS records, looking for Satanic messages from the hard rock band. The voice, or voices, on the phone sounded backtracked.

The paper was thin enough to look through it. She put the paper up against the light from a lamp.

drusus is therE.

Julia shook her head. Who is Drusus? Where is 'there'? In the apartment? She was here alone with Marcus, she was sure of it.

The phone rang again, making Julia jump. Just as she turned around, she caught a glimpse of a tall figure, the large black hood covering the face and head. The figure's gloved hand shot out, the force of it making contact with Julia's right cheek. She could feel her teeth rattle for a few seconds before she lost consciousness, the paper dropping to the floor.

*****

Humans should not always know about their past lives, Marcus. There are times when you have struggled against me, in your strange dreams, searching for the faces you wore at other times, other places, before you were born as Mardoc Getorix in Viscontio, the life you know best.

I tell you this, because to know one's past lives is a responsibility too hard to bear for some. Who would want to remember committing evil deeds? Who would want that burden of past guilt on top of present guilt? The stories behind past lives are usually quite boring, even the ones ended with a violent or traumatic death, because these souls are 'over it' before the living can shed their first tear. Also, the souls who have lived only a few lives, but were truly good people, may not reincarnate again. They simply do not have to. Reincarnation is only an option for those who feel they need it, to live in human form for the sake of their soul's education, to return to this Side more evolved.

Evolution is always around us. I am in a state of evolution; my relationship with you has contributed to that. Julia has evolved from knowing you, although Nefra was not the most stable of women, and she created a lot of her own suffering, pining for the brother who rejected her, playing a part in his assassination. Later, she let herself be punished by Imat and Tait. Drusus is relying on Julia's cell memory as Nefra, buried in Julia's body and the subconscious mind. Drusus hopes that Julia can tell him why he can not molt, because he thinks Tait, or Demetria, may have been keeping the answer from him for some reason, and Julia could lead him to the Other Side to Demetria.

Pity Drusus, his existence is a torment, as mine became as Imat. Drusus also has ghosts following him, of the children he has killed. The blood of children is the only thing that slows down the rot; this 'pure' blood kept Imat alive for centuries before he finally chose suicide. The only thing that keeps Drusus from suicide is the hope that Demetria would give him the answer. However, she was so filled with revulsion and guilt, she ran from him, as she did Imat from the island of Kea. Demetria had no answers for him, she never did, and her selfishness had been indulged for too long to want to help him find an answer. Demetria could not love unselfishly.

Demetria died days ago. Her presence is strong Here, on this Side, and I am full of joy that she has found me. Her soul is no longer shackled by her fears, so now we are truly in Love, because the Light is the breath of God, and God is pure Love. Our atmosphere on this Side is Love itself. There are many humans who would consider my words trite, but that is because they do not remember. It is this loss of memory in the material world that makes humans commit evil acts and one of the reasons why creatures like Imat or Drusus or you exist. The sacredness is forgotten so easily. Only God knows why. It is best this way, because our evolution would be greatly compromised if all living humans, or even the vampires, were to know what God intends. Spiritual evolution would be unnecessary, as would humanity, and humanity is very necessary.

Drusus is looking for answers that can not be found.

*****

Drusus could smell the scent of the molting. It was no coincidence that he chose to come to Chicago, to Marcus's home. Sundra 'Sunny' Yuen, the psychic medium, told him this was the place to find the woman, Marcus's assistant. Sunny had said the woman would have auburn hair.

Drusus carried Julia to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed, her head resting on the pillow. He looked around after flicking on the overhead light. The floor was covered with a rug in a southwestern, Aztec design in pink, beige, and blue. Her furniture was modern and simple; a small dresser in a corner, a full-length mirror in the other corner. Her bed was situated against the opposite wall, near the closet. Two Georgia O'Keefe prints hung on the wall, one above her bed, the other by the mirror. A blind covered the window.

Drusus did not intend to feed from Julia, although he could not ignore how beautiful she smelled, her bounty of red–blooded health. He had taken care of his hunger earlier, from a girl who lived in the building. She would awaken in her bed, with no memory of what happened to her. Drusus could make them forget, and the children let him do it, the trauma of looking upon his bandaged face as he took them, trying to bite gently into their flesh, their mouths in a silent scream. They did not, would not, remember.

Drusus had read of the stories of children who could recall their past lives. These children, Drusus was almost sure, had been used by vampires, their subconscious unlocked from the bite. The parents of these children, who lived in eastern countries such as India or Sri Lanka, did not know that so many of these creatures, the ones who could not molt, lived in that part of the world, occasionally wandering into these villages and island communities to feed. When they fed, it was always from children, their blood the only proven protection from the rot. If there was another solution, Drusus had yet to discover it over the last several centuries.

He had consulted with the geniuses of vampires, including physicians, alchemists, scholars and biologists. They all gave him the same answer–the molting was a chemical and environmental reaction, it could not be controlled, although some experimentation had been done with radiation and skin grafting and all kinds of nonsense. One physician, a Turk named Bey, approached the molting as a disease, and documented his experience during his own molt. He deduced that a virus, inherited only when the creature 'turned' from human to vampire in the early stages, caused the molt. The others, the ones who did not molt, were immune to this virus from the very beginning. Of course, typical of Bey, he named the virus the Bey virus.

Bey was not much help after that. He disappeared some time before the war with Iraq and was last seen in Spain. Drusus had presented Bey with Bey's own written report just a few years ago, which had been circulated on the Internet, accessible only with a secret password. Drusus was so persistent for answers, that Bey, with his dark eyes flashing anger in his formerly swarthy complexion, blurted out,"Drusus, poor Drusus, you can end it now! Take yourself to the desert at sunrise! I may even do it myself someday!"

"Then you consider your theory of a virus implausible?" Drusus asked in his smooth voice, which once captivated his clients when he was a praetor peregrinus, dealing with legal matters and lawsuits involving non–Roman citizens in the city of Rome. Drusus was a gifted lawyer from a patrician family, and would have had a future in the Roman senate, if not for the night when he met Demetria in Naples over two thousand years ago.

Bey had shaken his bald, well–shaped head. "Drusus, our kind are walking, talking theories! Humans consider us as myths, and we should stay that way, if only for our own protection. Immortality has been nothing but a torment for you from the day you knew you could not molt. But you can die. You have had centuries, when you were strong and beautiful, but that came to an end long ago. You have nothing to prove. Let yourself die, Drusus."

Drusus could not take his life just yet. He wanted, needed, to find the answer.

What would this Julia know about the molting that he, after centuries of frustrated searching, did not? Drusus had begun with the immortal lineage started by the infamous Imat. Demetria had spoken of Nefra and Imat on occasion during the centuries she and Drusus lived together. Demetria also spoke of Marcus, because she created him, and Drusus knew why she avoided contact with Marcus, although she did not tell Drusus herself; he had not been able to persuade her to talk about her estrangement from Marcus, even after she went into seclusion.

The news of Demetria's death reached him only days ago, she must have gone out into the world, because she was supposedly hunted and killed along with two other female vampires in Prague. The rumor was that the hunter was an American.

*****

Drusus sat on the bed next to Julia. He used his gloved hands to gently check her head and neck for any injuries. If his blow had been harder, he could easily have broken her neck or at least caused her a hearing loss.

Drusus was impatient to regress her; Julia could be repressing important information from when she was Nefra.

Sunny Yuen was a powerful psychic medium who had been Demetria's unlikely friend and confidante during the vampiress's last years. Sunny claimed Despair contacted her years ago, asking for Demetria to stay away from Marcus. However, none of this kept Sunny from wanting to meet Marcus; her aunt worked for Marcus for decades, but the loyal Mrs. Yuen, a powerful psychic herself, forbade her niece any contact with Marcus. Sunny wanted to accompany Drusus to Chicago from Seattle, but Drusus refused. Sunny was an unusual human; she was really too close to the creatures; she sometimes put herself in dangerous situations. Demetria and Drusus had warned her, but she already knew that she would not live to be an old woman.

Julia's eyes were fluttering open. Drusus knew her reaction to him would be the typical mix of terror and disgust. In order to make her quiet, he wanted to put her under hypnosis quickly.

*****

Marcus dreamed of being in a large room with walls made of stone, inlaid with blue-green tiles. The room was richly furnished; the small wooden chairs were covered with sheet gold and ebony. Marcus was seated on one of these chairs; the thick, hooked rug soft underneath his bare feet.

The blind vampire could see clearly here.

"Marcus?"

The voice was Despair's.

The figure that sat across from him was a tall, olive–skinned, handsome man. He wore a thin garment made out of white muslin. He wore kohl around his eyes. He head was smooth, shining. Sandals covered his large feet.

"What pharaoh am I sitting with?"

"Don't joke, Marcus. You know I was Imat."

Marcus gazed upon the face and body that had been Imat, who had lived during the Early Dynasty of ancient Egypt. He had not been very dark, and the Egyptians were fair compared to the people who lived in Southern Africa, making the Egyptians unique to anthropologists and other scholars, because no one quite knows when the very early Egyptian people appeared in North Africa or why they would have chosen such a place, the only real reason being the closeness to the Nile River. Marcus recalled listening to a ludicrous television program Julia was watching about Atlantis, and how some people believe the early Egyptians were refugees from the sunken continent. Marcus once asked Despair about Atlantis, but she did not give him a very clear answer.

"Why have you taken the form of Imat?" Marcus asked. "You have told me your life was very painful as a vampire."

Despair nodded. "Yes, it was painful, especially later..."

Marcus then saw the change come over the handsome features. The skin of the bald scalp and forehead started to recede first, the tissue becoming thinner, the rot coming fast down the neck, shoulders and chest. The whole head and neck looked raw and bleeding, followed by black decay.

"This was Imat before his suicide," Despair said.

The dark eyes remained bright in the disfigured face, the bone around the sockets becoming more distinct, along with the teeth and gums, the lips gone.

"Imat's life became such a torment..."

Marcus nodded. "Imat could not molt."

"Have you heard of Bey's studies? He is hiding on the island of Santorini now. I need you to tell Drusus this."

"Drusus? Demetria's Drusus?"

"He is in your home."

"Why?"

"He wants to regress Julia. He thinks her cell memory will give him an answer."

"How? Why Julia?"

"She once lived as a companion of Imat's, Nefra. She lived with Imat and Tait."

Marcus knew the whole story. "Tait. Demetria, my creator."

"Yes. But Nefra knew nothing about the molt. She remained human until her death."

"Will Drusus harm Julia?"

"No. He subsists on the blood of children to slow down the rot. He only wants the memories he thinks Julia has from when she was Nefra. But he will be disappointed, so tell him to go to Santorini. Bey is experimenting with some others there, who have never molted."

Marcus's gaze wandered around the space he inhabited with Despair.

Was this how Imat had lived? Marcus asked himself. Did he sit in a room like this? Can I see out the windows, to the desert? Is that possible on this plane? Am I really in the Egypt of Imat's life, or is this some kind of recreation—

"Also, tell Sundra Yuen to be careful. She should not let herself get that close to Drusus, no matter how lonely and wretched he is."

"Sundra. Mrs. Yuen's niece?"

"An admirer of your's, as she was of Demetria."

"Demetria." The very sound of her name made Marcus feel tired.

"She has passed on. She lived for almost five thousand years."

"My God. Who wants to live that long?"

The handsome face, now fully recovered from its diseased state, split into a grin. "There are creatures that have lived even longer..."

"How did she die?"

"You saw the same vision, Marcus, and that is exactly how she died. She knew it to be true, which is why she avoided you all this time. She feared you."

"Is she with you?"

"Not right now. But she is free; her soul is at rest."

"So you want me to tell Drusus about Bey? Is that all?"

"Yes. You must be going now."

Marcus nodded. He accepted these temporary good–byes, knowing he would always see Despair again. Her voice was the only truly dependable thing he knew.

He could feel himself pulling away, his vision of the room becoming blurred. He soon became aware of himself in his body, cold and clammy from the molt. His eyelashes stuck together as he tried to open his eyes, the sticky gel glued to his lips and nostrils as he awakened. He slowly moved his right arm, using his fingers to wipe away the dried gel from his face. His back was still sticking to the plastic sheet as he tried to raise himself up.

His mind briefly wandered to memories of his last molting, almost five hundred years ago, when he was roaming all over Spain and France that summer. Despair had led him to shelter in a barn, and he hid in the loft that smelled of hay and mildew as the family that owned the property worked in the sticky heat. Marcus molted there for three days, Despair amusing him with visions of the outside world of the fourteenth century. Whether it was the new fashions, inventions, or monarchs, Despair showed him all these things, so he could learn of the changes he could not see.

Marcus awakened one hot, heavy evening, his molt complete, his hunger great. He would go to the village to feed, in search of a lone stranger who would take pity on a poor blind beggar.

He had bathed in a stream, then changed into clothes he had carried with him in a sack. He threw the sack that contained his only other change of clothing over his shoulder and, with his walking stick in his right hand, made the walk into the nearby village, Despair providing direction.

The smell of smoke became stronger as the blind vampire neared the village. Marcus's sense of smell was more powerful than any other vampire, his four remaining senses making up for his loss of sight. He could discern what was burning, and it was not trees, a house, or the fire of warfare.

Human flesh.

The Plague had come to this village.

Marcus hesitated. He would have to look harder to feed; the sick would be quarantined, the others separated between those who would be compassionate enough to care for the dying, and those who were fleeing. He was too proud to feed from the dying; the notion of picking the wretches over repulsed him. He could find a place to hide until tomorrow night; he was sure there were many who had abandoned their homes. He would then have the time to find a human who was not sick—

"The Plague is here!" A young man's voice. "Turn around, and take the road to Rouen!"

Marcus noticed this person was using the type of French dialect used in cities.

"Pardon-moi," Marcus replied. "My name is Marcus du Val. I have friends who live here, I came to visit them. I have walked many miles, a blind man alone."

Marcus could feel the young man approaching him. Marcus sensed the vigor of the stranger's heartbeat. He smelled like sweat and blood, but he did not have the Plague in him. Marcus needed him to get a little closer—

Marcus, do not take him. He can not be harmed.

He knew better than to ignore Despair's voice. They had disagreed before, usually when Marcus's hunger was at its worst. The creature hesitated, trying to hold back as this man came closer to him. Marcus could feel the heat of the torch by his face.

"What was the name of your friends, Monsieur? So many have died..."

Marcus had to think of a name, a common name. Beauvais. There was always a Beauvais somewhere, whether in Paris or a tiny village. "Beauvais. I was hoping to stay with them for a night. I was on my way to Rouen, I have a sister there..."

"I know of no Beauvais here," the young man replied. "I would recommend going on to Rouen. There is no sense in staying..."

Marcus nodded. "Can I ask, are you leaving or staying? You do not seem sick."

Marcus heard him sigh. "I am a physician. I was sent from Paris. I am afraid I was too late to help; I can only assist in burning the dead. This village is like all the others; I tell them about proper hygiene, how the use of hot water is the only thing that will keep the Plague away. These rustics believe that too many baths are a sin."

Marcus had heard, when he was in Paris the year before, of these radical young medical students who were advocating the use of hot water and sterilization of surgical instruments. Many of these students had been expelled from medical schools all over the country.

"Are you one of those young physicians that follow the Plague, to learn about it?" Marcus asked.

"Oui, Monsieur. I follow, the Plague always ahead of me."

"What is your name?"

"Michel. Michel de Nostradamus."

Let him be, Marcus. He is a man with an important future.

He will invent a cure for the Plague?

No, he is a prophet, but the world will leave him broken.

Like Nostradamus, the world broke Drusus, Marcus thought. Human brilliance can be lost so easily.

Marcus pulled the plastic sheet off his sticky back. He felt his way towards his casket, his bare feet brushing against the towels on the floor, a terry-cloth bathrobe draped over the lid of the casket. He quickly wiped himself down with the towels, the gel flaking away in strips. He pulled the robe over his long, pale body. He had Julia leave these things out of consideration for her, because he did not want to offend her on his way to his bath.

He was also aware of his visitor, Drusus.

Marcus left his room, making his way down the hall.

*****

Julia could feel the sand rubbing against her bare legs, her feet in a pair of sandals, laced above her ankles. These sandals were unusually comfortable, as if worn many times before.

She looked up at the dark sky, a sliver of moon up there, and a few blinking stars. She was in the middle of the desert. She felt so calm, so peaceful.

Nefra...

I was Nefra. I am Julia now. These are Nefra's sandals.

She felt a presence behind her.

I gave you those sandals, remember?

Tait? My brother's foreign bride. Djet...

Suddenly, there stood the beautiful Tait, facing her. She had hated Tait.

Julia, please listen...

You knew me as Nefra...

Now you are Julia. Be grateful. Nefra was weak and pitiful; Julia is strong and kind. I want only to help now, to help Drusus and Marcus and you. Let me speak to Drusus, let me use your voice...

Julia could see the many images of her life as Nefra, looking over and above Tait/Demetria's head. Tait resembled a goddess; very tall, olive–skinned, her head covered by a braided wig of black hair. Her wide forehead, long nose, and full lips gave her the appearance of a panther. However, Nefra/Julia was no longer focused on her ancient, deeply buried jealousy of Tait.

The images of her life as Nefra passed her by. She was born to the same parents as Djet, who was ten years her senior. She waited only for him, believing she would be his wife someday. Their parents had planned on it, but Djet had seen the sickly children of other houses where the brothers and sisters had married, so he would refuse to marry Nefra. Instead, he arranged his marriages to the daughters of other families, some of these young virgins coming as far away as Greece. He wanted strong sons, and he fathered a few.

Djet was king for almost two decades when a man appeared at court one night; handsome, more regal and arrogant than Djet, his name Imat. Djet's oldest son, Zawi, was very ill with a fever. Imat, in the guise of a physician, had cured the boy. Djet suggested a possible marriage between Nefra and Imat, but the king's new friend wanted Tait, and Tait was the first to learn Imat's secret.

Tait chose to share this news with Nefra, because Nefra did not gossip. Tait was lonely in Djet's harem; the other wives hated her. She was Djet's favorite, but she could not, for some reason, become pregnant. She was too shy to consult with the high priests, so she spoke to Imat, thinking him a physician, as did everyone else at court. Imat seduced Tait, satisfying her in a way Djet or any other human male could not. When he fed from her, he took her to heights that left her breathless and wanting more. She was ready to kill herself by the time she confided her secret to Nefra. Tait did not know of Nefra's feelings for Djet; she knew Djet rather despised his quiet, reclusive sister. She would always be a burden, because she would refuse to marry the suitors he procured. She refused to go away, although she would later, with Imat and Tait.

Let me speak through you...

Tait, you are still a curse...

Julia could see the images fading, as was the landscape around her–Tait, the sky, sliver of moon, the desert, the sandals–yes, I remember when Tait gave me these, we still lived in that house, a big hut, on Kea. The sea, the rocky cliffs. I died there, Imat held me, my heart stopped. Is this what it is like when I am asleep and dreaming? I know Nefra, I know myself, who else is there? Why this darkness, this forgetting? I am peaceful, I am sleeping.

*****

Drusus, still sitting at Julia's bedside, waited patiently for her to speak. He had hypnotized her with no difficulty, she was now regressed.

He had pulled the hood off his mummy–bandaged head, his green eyes the only visible thing, except the slits for his nostrils and mouth. His lips were now non–existent, having deteriorated decades ago. His hands, under the gloves, were also completely covered in bandages up to his elbows.

He glanced at Julia's digital clock on her nightstand. Nine–fifteen. He had plenty of time to unearth Julia's memories as Nefra.

He crept closer to her still form, her breathing soft and slow. He smelled, over his own rot, the scent of her skin.

Her eyes opened.

"Drusus?"

He knew her voice, the accent a strange mix of British and Mediterranean. "Demetria?"

"Making Julia remember will not get you any answers; you are only prolonging your own suffering, poor Drusus."

Drusus had not been expecting this. Somehow, Demetria was aware of his plans.

"Warn Sunny," she said. "Tell her to be careful."

"Sunny?"

"She could lose her head as I did. Despair had warned me so long ago, the vision she showed me as I fed from Marcus..."

Sunny had told Drusus that Demetria had died from a beheading, carried out by a Hunter. He had killed Demetria and the two female vampires she was traveling with. Julia could not have known this, Demetria only died days ago.

"Is that why you stayed away, to avoid your own death?" Drusus asked.

"Yes, but now I know I could not run from it. I knew I would die with two others, females. I did not know it would be with Katerina and her sister, Thalia. I went to Prague to visit them; I had known Katerina for centuries. The Hunter, a big man, was following us. Katerina and Thalia were not as strong. I was so much stronger, and older. I should have fled when I saw him kill and behead my friends, but I attacked instead. He shot me with these special bullets, slowing me down. I was too weak to get away; he cut my head off before I could die..."

Drusus, when he had the chance, would find this Hunter, and make him suffer. "I am so sorry, Demetria dear. I miss you terribly, so does Sunny."

Demetria smiled with Julia's lips, her eyes glassy and unblinking. "Death is not the end, Drusus. If I had known this, I would not have walked the earth for so long; I would have let myself die. I could have known Marcus, to love him as I did you. Now I am on this Side, I am free."

Drusus's grief for her was still so new, so shocking, that he did not know what to say to her, in her new state of existence. He finally managed to ask, "What would you have me do?"

"Go to Bey. If not, he will find you. But you will have to accept your fate, knowing you can not go on with the blood of children, this will easily make you the prey of a Hunter. You may have to surrender as Imat did."

"I can't surrender, my dear. That is my real torment."

"Surrender is sweet. But go to Bey first, to Santorini, let him tell you about his new experiments."

"I will."

"I must go now. Your angels will be with you."

"I have angels?"

"Don't be so surprised. You're going to need them."

*****

Drusus could almost feel Demetria depart Julia's body. He was still thinking about his conversation with her when Marcus entered the room. Drusus looked up when the door opened, but he was not alarmed or surprised to see Marcus there, just having awakened from his molt.

"Drusus?"

"Good evening, old boy."

The sound of Drusus's voice brought back a flood of memories, many conflicting emotions. Marcus decided to put all that aside for the moment. "Has she told you anything useful?"

"No, but Demetria has."

"She spoke through Julia?"

"Yes."

Marcus could not deny the jealousy he felt for Drusus, the relationship he had with Demetria. There was a time, before Marcus was blinded, when they both lived close by in Syria. He knew she would always run from him, he had been the symbol of her death, and death was what they were all running from.

Marcus had first met Drusus almost a thousand years ago. Drusus's face and body were still somewhat fully intact; he was once a powerful and handsome vampire, from a prominent Roman family. By this time, however, the Roman Empire had fallen, and Drusus had sacrificed his political career for Demetria and immortality.

Drusus had found Marcus, blind and forever repentant, living in a catacomb outside the city of Rome. Drusus had not only come to check up on Marcus for Demetria, but was seeking prophecy. Marcus touched the Roman vampire's face and the skin of his hands, and knew Drusus was overdue for a molting. The smell was already there, although the rot had not set in.

Drusus did not like being in these catacombs, surrounded by the Christian symbols and the smell of human decay. The dust around him was from old bones, and that rotting smell was not only coming from him. There was no light in these tombs, but Drusus could see clearly in the dark. He thought it was a pity Marcus had lost his sight, because if Marcus could see how sick and filthy he looked, he would have been ashamed. An old white burial shroud, most likely borrowed from one of the resident corpses, hung in tatters around the blind vampire's emaciated form. His hair had grown very long, the greasy strands hanging in his ravaged, wrinkled face, which resembled a rotted cabbage. He was obviously abstaining from blood, or he would not have looked like a wizened old thing.

Marcus had turned into Veleda.

His long, dirty fingernails continued to trace lightly over Drusus's skin. "You will not molt, Drusus."

"Never?"

"You will suffer."

"Can I be cured?"

"I can't tell you that, but I do know Demetria molts, as do I. We are like a bizarre family; sometimes the children inherit traits from one parent, but not the other. There are many like you, Drusus, I have spoken to them. They subsist on the blood of children, then hiding away from the eyes of others. One of them came to me years ago speaking a dialect I could not understand. I touched him, and felt the rot. The smell was putrid. He had lost limbs, and an eye, but he could not take his own life."

"Should I do that?"

"Are you feeding from children?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Your torment shall become worse. You will start to see ghosts, become demented. By then, you will welcome suicide."

"Demetria sent me, you know this."

"Yes, Despair told me I would have a visitor."

Both creatures sat cross–legged on the floor of the catacomb, surrounded by sealed tombs of dead Christians.

"Demetria fears you," Drusus said. "But I can't figure out why."

"There is a reason why she keeps me at arm's length, poor Drusus. Let me tell you why..."

*****

Drusus grew to respect Marcus, his strength and integrity. Marcus knew things, heard things the others could not comprehend. He also seemed devoid of the inevitable narcissism of their kind. Marcus could have been a saint, if Demetria had not come between the young Celt and his state of grace so long ago.

Drusus watched Marcus come closer. "Is she sleeping?"

"Yes, peacefully."

"You did not harm her?"

"No, I did not."

Drusus left the bed, allowing Marcus to check on Julia, his pale hands brushing against her head and face. When he was convinced she was all right, he turned around, detecting the change in the other vampire's odor. A cross between rotting flowers and spoiled milk. "She told you nothing..."

"She couldn't help me."

"Despair told me Bey is on Santorini; he is experimenting there. She said you should go."

"Bey told me I should die."

"He has made advances in his research. Others like you are there, letting him experiment on them."

"He considers my condition a virus."

"He is closer to a cure than he thinks."

"So a virus causes the molting?"

"It's very possible."

Drusus nodded. "Santorini is a beautiful place."

"Yes, I have heard." Marcus sighed. "If you don't mind, I'm going to take a quick bath."

*****

Marcus was still in the tub, washing his hair, when Julia awakened to find Drusus at the foot of her bed; a dark figure, still in his long coat, with his bandaged head and face.

Her mouth was dry, her lips could not easily form the words. "Who are you?"

"Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Drusus. My creator was the late, great Demetria, who also created Marcus—"

"Who was Nefra?"

Drusus nodded. "She was you, and you were she. Djet's sister."

"She suffered. But she let Imat and Demetria hurt her. Why?"

"Her guilt. Death was a relief for her, I'm sure."

"Your bandages. Were you burned?"

"I can't molt."

"But you have survived?"

"Yes, a long time. Too long. I am seeking a cure."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Yes."

"You thought Nefra, or I, would know something. To help you."

"Demetria spoke through you."

"Did she tell you to give up?"

"I don't think so. I am not ready to die yet, even now."

"Nefra hated Demetria, when she was Tait, Imat's lover. She thought Demetria had been disloyal to her brother. The sandals. I was only sleeping..."

"I am sorry, Julia. You will feel disoriented for awhile, but it will go away. I struck you, but I did not know how else to go about it, you would have ran from me."

Drusus came closer, and the soft lamplight revealed the raw skin of his face underneath the bandages along with his jade–green eyes. Julia tried to imagine what he once looked like as she stared at the bone and remaining muscle that made up the contours of his decayed features.

"So...you and Marcus are like brothers?" she asked.

"Sort of."

"Why can he molt, and not you?"

"I don't know. Neither does Marcus, or any of the others."

Julia slowly sat up, Drusus sitting beside her. She immediately detected that horrible smell; she would have to wash her bedding, maybe even air out the whole apartment. She had yet to take in the yeasty aroma of Marcus's room.

"Did Demetria tell you how she died?" asked Drusus.

"No."

"A Hunter took her life, along with her friends, Katerina and Thalia, who were sisters. Demetria was visiting them in Prague after having been in seclusion for decades. A Hunter stalked and killed them as if they were animals. I would take my own life before I would let a Hunter stake me or behead me."

"Are these Hunters mercenaries?"

"No, they do it for sport, the maniacs. Some consider themselves saviors, protecting the human race from monsters that are more their half–siblings than a breed apart. But that's all nonsense, my dear. You have less to fear from me than from some fool with high–tech weapons."

Marcus was standing in the doorway, fully dressed in a white T–shirt and gray sweatpants. His long hair was towel–dried, but not combed. "Sunny Yuen is waiting for you outside the building."

Julia could not help but notice the change from the molting. Marcus's skin looked a little tighter; the shadows under his eyes, and the few lines in his forehead were gone. He was only eighteen years old when he became a vampire, and now he did resemble a younger man.

Drusus nodded. "She followed me, even when I told her to stay home. She feels she has to look after me, since Demetria's death. But she could end up dead, Demetria said as much."

Julia yawned and stretched. Marcus was already at her bedside when Drusus walked out of the room. Marcus took Julia's hand and sat beside her.

"I was once a woman named Nefra," Julia said. "Her brother was a king named Djet in ancient Egypt. Can you believe that?"

"Yes. Do you know who Imat was?"

"Yes. Imat created Demetria, and she created Drusus and you."

"Demetria is dead."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Nothing can be done now. She existed as a vampire for five thousand years, but she is at peace."

"Aren't you sad? I mean, you loved her."

"I could have loved her. She feared me; she saw her death when she changed me, when she took my blood. Despair gave her that vision to stop her, but she had already taken too much..."

"Drusus is desperate."

"Yes, I know. I pity him. But he will fight. I have seen what happens to them, the ones who refuse to end it. They become nothing but bones and teeth, the skin and muscle rot away, although their strength and consciousness remain. One of them attacked me once, in the Tube station in London. It was living in one of the old tunnels. Mrs. Yuen beat at it with her flashlight, and it fell apart, but then all of the bones came together again in seconds—"

"What were you and Mrs. Yuen doing there? In those tunnels?"

Marcus smiled and shook his head. "I'll tell you later. I think Drusus is ready to leave, and I want to say good–bye. You stay here and rest. You've had quite an experience."

"Yes, I have. You know, I never really believed in that reincarnation stuff. But if I have lived before, why didn't I know until now?"

"We learn these things only when we are truly ready. Maybe you were not ready to see how sad Nefra's life was; maybe you would not have been able to understand her until now. She wasn't all that complex; she simply wanted her brother to understand how much she loved him. When he could not do that, she mistook his rejection of their marriage as a rejection of her. She must have thought he considered her love for him unnatural and shameful. Her pride was offended, so she helped plan his assassination. Imat and Tait assisted her, but it was Zawi, under Imat's spell, who murdered his father. In return, Zawi became king, and Nefra ran away with Imat and Tait. Everyone got what they wanted, except Nefra. Her brother was dead, forever lost to her, until now."

"What do you mean?"

Marcus smiled, his sightless eyes pale in the dim light. "You have had other incarnations, before and after you were Nefra. So have I. I was a king named Djet once, so long ago. Or was I?"

*****

Marcus longed for one of the bags of blood in his refrigerator, but he had to properly say good–bye to Drusus.

He met the elder vampire at the door to his apartment.

"Sunny will want to go to Santorini with me," Drusus said.

"Try to talk her out of it. She is not familiar with those creatures. They are not like Demetria, or you. Some of them would kill and feed from any passing human."

"Bey would tolerate monsters like that?"

"Apparently, he is. Many of these creatures, of bones and teeth, go back to unrecorded time. Bey is using their tissues in his experiments, among other things."

"Why is he focusing on the tissues? He had originally approached the molt as a virus, although I always thought the virus theory was nonsense, considering that most human viruses can only be treated for the short term, such as the common cold, or even AIDS."

"But would it be any surprise if those viruses could mutate, and then possibly have an effect on our kind?"

Drusus nodded. "That is something I could ask Bey."

"Do you think Sunny is cold out there?"

"Probably."

"Wouldn't it be a treat if I let her in?"

Drusus imagined the joy on her plump, child–like face if Sunny could meet Marcus, of whom she was in awe of. "She would be delighted, Marcus."

The creature smiled. "All right, buzz her in."

THE END

###

Laura A. Ellison was born in Muskegon, Michigan in 1972, the youngest of four children. She is also the author of Karma House and The Last Girl. You can contact Laura through Facebook or Twitter
