

Down the Shrinking Hole

Jamie Ott
Copyright   Jamie Ott 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without permission.

For more information: ladysonoma@americamail.com

ISBN: 978-0615564595

Publication Date: 7/9/2012
New Neighbors
Chapter 1

Miles pulled back the curtains. Across the cul du sac, the new neighbors unloaded patio furniture.

A little blond boy opened the door and called his mother. He stood back and allowed her to enter. Before he closed the door, his eyes met Miles'.

Miles held his breath.

For a moment, he thought he saw a red gleam under the blue surface of the boy's eyes.

The door shut, yet he felt like his eyes were still on him, burrowing into his mind.

He looked left, down the street.

Standing on the sidewalk were all six of the other neighbors. They were motionless with their eyes directed at Miles.

Slowly, he released the curtain.

"Mom," he called.

"Yes?"

She was polishing the living room table.

"The neighbors are staring at me."

"Yeah, okay, babe. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes," she said absentmindedly.

She turned and walked into the kitchen; Miles followed.

"That's not all. The new boy across the street is creepy."

"Mm-hm. What do you want for lunch?"

"P, B & J, of course!"

After lunch, Miles sat down to a game of Hostile World, in his room.

"Miles, you know the rules," his mother said through the cracked door. "No games during the day. Go outside and play."

He turned off the television.

From his closet, he grabbed his pellet gun and target paper.

In the backyard, he tacked a sheet to the door of the shed.

Right as he lifted the rifle to take aim, he froze. In the little scope, he saw the reflection of the boy.

"Can I try?" he asked.

Miles turned around.

The kid had a dead pan face. His voice was just as cold and expressionless.

He wanted to say no, but his tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth.

The boy moved closer to him. He walked slowly and steadily. With lizard-like reflexes, he snatched the rifle from his hand.

Miles gasped.

He pointed it at the target and pulled the trigger without pause.

The pellet hit the target, dead center.

He pulled the trigger several more times. The center of the paper was gone, but the pellets kept hitting the dead center.

"I don't really like you," he said nonchalantly. "I need a friend, though. You'll do," he said as he lowered the gun and looked him in the eyes.

Just like before, his eyes had a tinge of red that gleamed through his circles of blue. But up close, the red danced fluidly across the surface.

Miles wanted to yell for his mother. But, somehow, the kid held him still; kept him from screaming or running.

Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes.

"I gotta go, but I'll be seeing you," he said, as he pointed the butt of the rifle at him.

His arms could move again.

Miles took back the rifle.

He, then, walked off, but before he opened the gate, he turned and said, "Oh, I almost forgot. You, of course, won't know who I am," he sighed. "I'm Seven."

When Miles finally got back the use of his tongue and the rest of his body, he sank to his knees, in the grass.

He cried, silently.

The sound of the sliding glass door made him look up.

His mother came out, knelt down, and asked, "Honey, are you okay?"

"I don't know. I just feel really bad."

She lifted him onto her hip and carried him to bed.
The Gifts
Chapter 2

Miles fell into a fever that lasted several days after. He tried to sleep through it, but his dreams wouldn't let him. Over and over, he saw a white water whirlpool, spinning and spinning.

In the dream, he was caught in the tide, like a fish in a toilet bowl; only he was alive.

As the funnel sucked down everything that was around him - the ground, the trees, and animals, Miles swam away from the suctioning center.

The pull of the center was too strong. He was stuck in the same spot; neither going down the hole nor moving further away.

One afternoon, he woke when his mother called him.

She and the boy, from across the street, stood in the doorway.

"Honey, this is Seven. He says you two met a few days ago. Because you're sick, he brought you a gift."

Miles sat up and backed against the wall.

He wanted to shout, "NO," but his tongue was stuck again.

His mother asked, "What's wrong, Miles? He just wants to be friends."

She pushed Seven in and closed the door.

"Go away," he managed say around his immobile tongue.

"I brought a gift," Seven said with the same dead pan face and voice.

He held out a softball sized pink quartz rock. It was nearly opaque, except for a golden light that moved under its surface.

"For good dreams," the boy said.

He reached for Miles' hand.

Seven's touch was deadly cold. The chill traveled up and down his arm.

He turned Miles' palm upward, and set the rock on it.

Curiously, he brought the stone close up to his face, trying to see what the source of the light was.

As he turned the rock over, in his hand, he got sleepy again.

After a couple heavy blinks of his eye lids, he looked up.

Without a goodbye, Seven had already left the room.

~~~

A few days had passed.

His fever lifted and, having managed to get some restful sleep, Miles felt refreshed.

He walked into the living room. His father was there, flipping through the channels.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, kid-o, glad to see you're feeling better."

He went to the couch and sat.

His father, who could never stand to see him sitting about the house doing nothing, said, "Son, go out and play. I see there's a new boy living right across the street. Make friends with him; everybody needs friends."

"Can't I just go to Joey's?"

"He lives on the other side of town. Now, you can finally play all the time, and we'll know where you're at."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Here," he said. "Go across the street and ask if he'd like to go for ice cream."

Miles took the ten dollar bill, and put it in his front pocket.

Slowly, warily, he walked out of the front door. In the neighbor's front yard, the boy sat on a lawn chair.

He reminded miles of a ventriloquist's dummy as he sat there, dead still. His eyes were focused on some invisible point in the sky.

Thinking there was no way he was going to have ice cream with Seven, Miles walked on down the street to the Mapley Liquor Store.

"Hi, Miles," said the old guy behind the counter. "How's your dad?"

"Well," said Miles.

He made a bee line for the freezer in the back.

"A moment later, he came back with two large chocolate ice cream cones with sprinkles."

"Nah, enjoy, it's on me," said the old man.

Miles smiled widely and said, "Thanks so much, Mr. Mapley."

"Have a good day, kid."

The sun glared down into his eyes, making him squint.

He pulled back the blue and white wrapper of his ice cream. Little chopped nuts fell all over the ground.

It was only 10 am, and his skin was already getting that prickly feeling, letting him know that he was about to break into a sweat.

Miles turned left and walked further down the street.

Traffic was heavier than usual that day. Instead of crossing the street mid section – like his mother told him never to do, he waited at the cross walk.

Across the street, the Thai restaurant his father loved to frequent was open early. Mr. Choy was running a rag across the light brown surface of the window.

The light turned green.

Miles took a deep bite of his ice cream, catching a bit of the waffle cone, as he crossed the street.

He munched down a piece of the solid chocolate coating and swallowed.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and paused.

The hedges in front of the restaurant were shaking, wildly. A strange noise, almost like a barking squirrel, came from them.

Slowly, Miles approached the hedge. He bent over and craned his head, looking around the bush, but he saw nothing except the trembling leaves.

He switched his cone into his other hand, and then reached over and pulled back a particularly leafy vine.

There was only dirt.

Whatever it was, it had gone.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued on.

Past a couple blocks of houses, he went until he came upon his school. Summer vacation started several weeks ago, but it was the only other place he could go to burn off energy.

Miles slipped between the fences that'd been chained together.

He walked over to the swing set where he un wrapped his second cone and took a huge bite.

He swung, idly, only pausing when he noticed many little round impressions appearing in the gravel some feet before him. They were about the size of a quarter.

The impressions traveled toward him in a line of three at a time. First, they were off center-right, and then they were off center-left.

Quickly, he got off the swing and walked a few steps back.

The impressions continued to get closer.

Miles ran back to the chained fences and slipped through onto the sidewalk.

Quickly, he walked back toward the liquor store.

When he got close to the Thai restaurant, he crossed to the other sidewalk. All the while, he kept his eyes focused on the hedges, watching for anything unusual.

Back on his street, Mr. Malbec was in the front yard, watering the lawn.

"Hi, Miles."

As Mr. Malbec looked at him, Miles saw that his eyes had a strange red gleam to them, too.

He turned back to the lawn, but Miles could see that he was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

He decided not to go inside. His father would just tell him to leave anyway.

Miles walked down the side of the house and unlatched the yard gate. In the farthest corner, he sat with his back against the tree.

Despite the shade the tree provided, the heat took him down into the lofty layers of his mind.

Sometime later, Miles woke when something buzzed at his face.

Assuming it was a bug, he swatted the air with his hand, accidentally smacking himself on the cheek.

Something rolled out of his hand, fell onto his lap and thudded to the ground.

He opened his eyes and saw, lying in the grass, a little red ball. It was no bigger than a large marble. In its center, something dark moved beneath the surface.

Curiously, he picked it up and held it close to his eye.

Though he couldn't see what the source of the darkness was, somehow the little red ball comforted him.

"Hey."

Miles flinched. There, over the gate, Seven's head appeared.

He slipped the red ball into his pocket.

"Wanna play?" he asked dully.

"No."

"What's that in your pocket?"

"A marble."

"Can I see?"

"NO!" he said and stood up. "Go away!"

The kid stared motionless.

"My mother wanted me to invite you and your family over for a barbeque. I already told your dad."

He turned and left.
Summertime Blues
Chapter 3

Miles was bored out of his mind. More than anything, he wished they could have moved to the other side of town; that way he'd be closer to his school buddies.

They got a great offer for the house. His parents were always complaining about money. But, instead, they stayed.

One by one, since Christmas, the old neighbors moved out, and in moved Mr. Malbec and the others. They were all nice, in a creepy way. Seven and his family were the last to join their cul de sac community.

He lay back in the grass, throwing a basketball at the door of the shed.

His mother opened the sliding glass door, and stuck her head out.

"Do you have to do that? The banging noise is annoying. Why don't you go and do something?"

Miles said nothing.

He picked up the book that was beside him and read.

It'd been a strange week. Between what happened at the school, Seven who was always watching him and his family, and the creepy neighbors, he didn't feel safe when he was alone. Even the night before when they went out to dinner, Miles had the feeling he was being watched.

He had a burger and fries, as usual. Before he ate, his mother told him to go to the bathroom and wash his hands. When he came back, right as he sat down, he could have sworn that some of his french fries shuffled across his plate.

"What's wrong?" his dad asked.

"There's something in my food."

He stuck his finger into the fries, and moved them over, looking for the intruder, which he supposed was a bug.

"Ouch!" he cried out.

He pulled back his hand. Blood welled up from under the skin of his finger.

"What was it, son?"

"I don't know. Something bit me, I think!"

Every day, Miles would look out the window and see Seven sitting, motionless, in the front yard.

"You know what's strange?"

"What?" asked his mother.

"I haven't seen Seven's parents since the day they moved in."

"Maybe they're working."

"And leave a kid home, alone?"

"When I was your age, I stayed home alone all the time while my parents went to work. Not everyone can afford daycare, or a full time parent."

He turned from the window and watched her flip the pages of her magazine.

"You really don't like that kid, do you?"

"He never blinks."

She got up from the couch and looked out the window.

"Yeah, I guess he does look a little odd."

A few days later, his mother baked a chocolate cake. His dad made him put on a green polo shirt.

They walked across the cul de sac.

Chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck! Came sounds from all over their yard.

"They must have a lot of squirrels," said his father. "Funny, I don't see any though."

As they walked up the little red brick path, Miles noticed the rose bushes trembling, as did the row of hedges that lined their porch.

Seven opened the door.

"Hi," he said. "Come in."

Inside, the house was barely decorated. It had a couch and two chairs in the living room. There was not a single photograph, painting, or any kind flourish – not even a television.

They followed Seven into the kitchen, which was just as bare.

A dark hair woman, who looked nothing like Seven, was cutting up vegetables.

She looked at them and said, "Hi, I'm Janet."

She smiled widely and extended her hands.

"Thanks for baking a delicious cake!" she said enthusiastically. She set it on the counter, looked down at him, and said, "Hello, Miles, would you like something to drink?"

She pulled back the corners of her mouth into a forced smile. Her teeth were unusually white and shiny. She had the same red gleam as the others.

"No, thanks."

After she poured his parents two glasses of beer, she led them through the kitchen's sliding glass door.

The back yard was much the same as theirs. It had a large cement patio to the right, and twenty square feet of plush green grass covered the rest of the ground.

Seven's father, Bob, stood on the patio, behind a large gas grill with a spatula in his hand. He, too, looked nothing like Seven. Where his son had delicate features, Bob seemed boorish.

"Hi," he said with a big smile.

Miles looked to Bob's left and saw that Seven, now, sat with the same blank expression, at a heavy glass table with an awning.

"I'm so glad you came over. We're new in town, so we don't know many people."

In his hand, he held a glass of bright yellow beer.

His parents seemed not to notice anything was off with their behavior. They didn't see that despite his smile and jovial laugh, that in his eyes was indifference.

Idly, he stood there listening to them talk and laugh, until they told him to sit with Seven.

Seven looked unblinkingly at Miles, as he scooted into the chair opposite him. Between his fingers, he twirled a thin green piece of glass. It was about four inches long and glowed with a light green aura around it.

"What is that?"

"It's magic. Want a try?"

He twirled it flat onto the surface of his palm, and held it out to him.

A blue light sparked out, as he reached for it.

"Ouch!"

He yanked his hand back.

"I guess it doesn't like you much."

He returned to spindling it between his fingers.

Although he didn't smile, Miles saw the amusement in Seven's eyes.

"I'm bored. This place sucks."

"Where are you from?"

Seven stopped and pointed the green crystal at Miles left arm. A jet of blue light shot out, again.

"Ow! Stop!"

When he wouldn't, Miles stood up, breaking the connection. Without saying goodbye, he walked back to his house.

His parents were too engaged to notice.

He went to his room and closed the door.

On his bed, he found a folded piece of paper.

Thinking his mother must have put it there, he opened it.

There was a bunch of tiny lines that he couldn't read.

He crumpled it up and threw it in the waste basket.

He heard the front door of the house open and close.

Miles quickly pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed.

"Miles," he heard his mother's voice. She opened the door, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not feeling well."

"What do you mean? You were fine, a few minutes ago?"

"I don't know; I just don't feel well."

"Fine, don't leave your room."

As soon as he heard the front door open and close again, he turned on Hostile World.

He was just about to shoot down the intruder trying to break into his house safe when a cool air rushed around the room.

The intruder punched him in the face, getting 20 points and earning a code.

When the box opened, he took $20 and a gun, and wrote on the wall, "See ya, sucker!"

The sound of air whooshed around the room again. He went to his closet and put on a sweater.

As he turned back to his television, he noticed a dark space under his bed.

He stared at it a moment, thinking it was just a shadow. But he couldn't make sense of where the shadow came from.

Miles got down on his knees and crawled under the bed.

He gasped.

The darkness was not a shadow at all, but a hole the size of large pizza.

Miles leaned in for a closer look. The air blew up into his face.

It was too dark for him to see the depth of the hole. The sides of it were black and grainy, almost like asphalt.

The front door of the house opened and closed again.

His mother would never believe he had nothing to do with disfiguring the floor.

Miles jumped up, grabbed his suitcase from the closet, and slid it over the hole.

"Miles, come out here," called his mother from the living room. "We need to talk about your behavior, today."
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Chapter 4

His mother was disappointed in him for being such a poor guest. Miles tried to explain about the green glass and how it shot static electricity. He tried to tell her about how he enjoyed shocking him with it; how he wouldn't stop.

She didn't believe him.

"You're gonna spend the rest of the night in your room as punishment for being rude to the neighbors. Now, go."

Miles brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas.

All he wanted was to look at the hole under his bed, but his mother always liked to check on him before going to bed, herself.

So he climbed into bed and waited.

After his mother came in and kissed him goodnight, he got up and switched the light back on.

He pulled the suitcase out, from under the bed.

Miles couldn't believe his eyes: The hole under his bed was gone.

"Where did it go?" he asked out loud.

Thinking he was cracking up, he pushed the suitcase back under the bed and crawled back under the covers.

"Maybe I am crazy."

He was down a few hours when a tapping noise woke him.

The tapping turned into a banging, and got louder. Thinking it must have been his parents', he wrote it off and turned onto his other side.

Just as he was about to doze off again, the middle of his bed slammed up into his side. The legs of the frame lifted from the floor, for a moment, and then slammed back to the ground.

Miles jumped out of bed and turned on the light.

He pulled the suitcase from under the bed.

The hole was back.

He crawled under the bed and peered into the blackness. There was a light way down at the bottom.

He heard movement in the tunnel. He reached his hand in to feel the wall, but he touched something clammy. Gently, he patted the clammy item, and attempted to grab it so he could pull it out.

"Ow!" he cried.

He pulled back his hand.

From two little puncture marks on his finger, blood welled up copiously.

He turned his eyes back to the hole and saw two pairs of large red eyes. One of the pairs of eyes bared fangs and hissed.

Miles jumped up and backed against the wall.

He stood there, waiting for the things to make their ascent out of the hole, but they never did. Instead, little round footprints made their impressions across the carpet.

His bedroom door opened and closed.

He opened the door, meaning to follow the prints, but he didn't see where they went.

Miles walked, quietly, down the hall.

Just as he entered the living room, he saw the little footprints at the front door. It appeared to open and close, and then magically lock its self.

He went to the curtains and looked out, but, again, saw nothing.

"Miles," said his father, who was behind him with a glass of water in his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Go back to bed."

He ran back to his room, and crawled under the bed.

The hole was gone.

Pricked Heels
Chapter 5

The rest of the week was more of the same thing. Miles would wander about, trying to keep busy, and his mother was always telling him to go out and play.

He wanted to go out, but the neighbors seemed to be paying considerably more attention to him than usual.

Now, he only felt safe when inside the house.

Every day, he'd watch for the hole under his bed, but it hadn't appeared since that night. Although he couldn't be completely certain of this; for all he knew, the hole opened while he was sleeping. He'd tried to stay awake, several times, but it was impossible.

Across the cul de sac, Seven continued to spend hours in the lawn chair, staring at the same invisible point in the air.

"You know," his mother conceded one day as she looked through the window, "You may be right about Seven. He's a strange a kid."

That Saturday, his father told Miles to get dressed because they were going to Pizza and Stuff.

He loved that place!

Miles ran to his room to change, but he didn't have any clean clothes.

"Son," said his father, who saw him digging around in his hamper, "Later, you're gonna learn how to start doing your own laundry."

Miles grabbed a pair of jeans from the bottom of the basket, along with a shirt.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the car.

From across the street, Seven and his mother were walking toward them.

"Oh, no! You never said they were coming!"

"It was Janet's idea. Apparently, Seven needs to make friends. I thought it was a great suggestion," said his father.

"I don't want to be friends with him, Dad. He's mean to me."

He turned in his seat.

"Fine, you don't have to play with him, but you have to be polite."

The door opened and Seven scooted in, followed by his mother and father.

Miles' and Seven's parents talked all the way to Pizza and Stuff.

Inside, the place was pretty busy. Many kids were either playing games or eating lunch with their parents.

They found a table and sat.

When the waiter came, they ordered a couple pizzas and a round of sodas.

Their parents continued to talk and laugh while Miles and Seven said nothing to each other. Every so often, he'd look at Seven, sitting stiffly while not blinking.

A few minutes later, Seven's mother said, "I'm gonna go wash up real quick."

Miles watched her go to the back, but she didn't go to the bathroom. Instead, she went right and down a hall.

A minute later, she reappeared, looking rosy cheeked, and licking her lips.

Almost immediately, her husband, Bob, excused himself, too.

After they had pizza, his mother gave Miles ten dollars to play games.

Seven followed him, closely.

"Why are you following me? Go away."

Seven didn't seem to care that Miles didn't want him around. He said nothing, and followed him anyway.

The first few games, he said nothing. He stood dead still, watching.

When he approached the slot machine filled with gold coins, he put in a dollar and used the claw to shove as much of it as he could into the center pan.

"What a dumb game," he suddenly said.

Miles ignored him.

Suddenly, a mass amount of coins started moving forward into the center pan. Shocked, Miles stood back and watched as the tickets spewed forth from the machine.

When all the coins were in the center, cutting his game short, he asked, "Did you do that?"

Miles didn't know if he was more shocked or angry, at what he'd seen.

Seven merely looked at Miles while saying nothing.

"Don't mess with my game!" he said angrily.

Under the light, his blues showed the red gleam again.

"What are you, anyway? My parents won't believe it, but I know you're not human. What are you, a troll or something?"

Briefly, Seven's eyelids squinted, and his lips pursed, tightly.

Miles collected his tickets, and moved on; Seven followed.

He made his way over to the basketball game, which he happened to be good at.

After he'd made twelve good shots, Seven pushed him aside. Miles fell to the floor.

"Hey," Miles shouted. "Wait until your turn!"

But Seven ignored him, as he threw ball after ball, and missed; the more he missed, the angrier her got.

Miles stood up and laughed.

He went over to the boxing simulator game.

Miles stepped up onto the pad and took the guard position when he saw Seven disappear down the same way as his parents did before.

Quickly, Miles stepped off the game pad and ran to the back of the room.

To the right was a short dark hall. At the end was a door. Miles walked down and pushed it in, slightly.

Seven stood at a counter.

A guy held a plastic cup under the spout of a large white igloo.

When he pressed the lever, a sparkling gold liquid poured, thickly, down into the cup.

Seven accepted the cup and appeared to relish it, as he drank it down.

Not wanting to be caught spying, Miles returned to the game room where he went back to his boxing game.

Right as he mimicked a jab, hook, upper cut, Seven approached, looking rosy in the cheeks, like his parents.

"Let me try," he said.

"No, wait your turn, idiot."

Seven pushed him, hard.

Miles fell off the pad, onto the floor, hurting his side and smashing his ankle.

Miles tempered flared. He imagined Seven flying across the room, and smashing into the wall.

Then, as if someone were listening to his thoughts, Seven rose a foot off the floor, and sped, fast, across the room. He slammed into the painting on the wall, and crumpled to the floor.

Seven's parents ran to him.

Miles' father picked him up off the floor and dragged him outside.

"What happened?" asked his dad.

"Nothing."

Seven and his parents came outside.

His parents pretended to be mad, but Seven looked as though he couldn't have cared less. He returned to his usual unblinking manner.

"Bull," said his father. "I saw you guys pushing each other, earlier."

"This is hardly fair. Why isn't Seven in trouble, too?"

"Because he's hurt," said his mother.

"I'm hurt. He pushed me off the boxing pad. Now my ankle is twisted. I told you before; he likes to hurt me, so I hurt him back this time."

"Ah!" Seven's mother exclaimed.

"You're in big trouble. Lets go!" shouted his father.

His dad reached for Miles shoulder, but he stepped back, out of his reach.

Miles turned and ran, limping; his father followed.

He ran so much that he didn't even know where he was when he stopped.

When he looked back and didn't see his father, he walked aimlessly.

Anger seethed out of his pores.

It just seemed like, no matter what, his parents wouldn't listen to him. They didn't care about him, only their selves.

He happened upon a small grassy park, where he sat on a bench and thought more about what happened.

Miles just couldn't believe that his parents took Seven's side over his. He didn't understand why they'd force him on someone whom he clearly feared. Maybe they didn't really love him, he wondered.

That wasn't even the main problem, he told himself. What happened in the pizza place? How did he send Seven so far across the room like that?

He exhaled loudly.

He considered all the strange things that'd been happening: Seven, the creepy neighbors, and now he'd somehow hurt someone without even touching him.

And what about the hole underneath his bed? What were those invisible things that came out of it?

How were all these strange things connected?

He remembered back to when he'd stuck his hand in the tunnel. The thing bit him, and he saw two pairs of eyes.

Maybe they had control over their appearance, Miles considered.

He moved his leg and something hard, in his pant pocket, hit the bench.

He reached in and pulled out the red ball. Miles had completely forgotten about it.

Under the surface, something moved, but he still couldn't see what it was.

"I'm never going home again," Miles said to himself.

Suddenly, he heard many barking squirrels around him. He turned his head about, looking for the source.

He didn't see anything, which made him nervous. Normally, squirrels weren't so vocal when people came around.

The same thing happened at Seven's house, he reminded himself.

The noise from the squirrels got louder. He stood up and walked closer to the trees at the edge of grass, and looked up.

Like before, he saw nothing.

The branches trembled, violently. Air rushed past him as something whizzed past his face. Next moment, there was a stabbing pain in his ankle.

"Ow!" he yelled.

He lifted his pant leg and saw two puncture wounds.

The barking got even louder and became multitudinous.

Frightened, he ran down the street, until he found himself facing a mall he'd never been to before.

He went inside and sat on a bench.

When his heart calmed, he thought about the shaking trees and barking squirrels. Something was hiding in them, yet he couldn't see what they were. Same thing at the Thai restaurant and same thing in front of Seven's house.

Miles wondered if, perhaps, the things that made the noises and disturbed the trees were the same things that came out of the hole underneath his bed.

"It would certainly make sense," he said aloud to himself.

After a while, Miles got bored. He went to the bookstore and bought the next book in his favorite series, Monster Lives.

Miles stayed in the coolness of the mall, reading until twilight approached.

When the announcement that the mall was about to close came over the intercom, he walked across the street to the parking lot.

He walked up the dimly lit stairwell.

On every floor was a bench that sat next to the elevator. Miles sat on the one at the very top of the floors, enjoying the cool night air.
Little Devils
Chapter 6

Miles barely noticed when he fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes, it was pitch black outside, except for the street lights.

He felt something moving across his belly, but he saw nothing.

He stood up, and something smacked to the concrete floor.

Then it felt like many little hands were grabbing his pants. Whatever they were, they were crawling up his leg, and they pricked his skin, as they pulled themselves up.

Shrieking, he swiped his hands across his jeans, and felt something clammy and smooth break away.

He took a second swipe at his left leg, and then at his calves. Then he kicked at the air, and felt his foot connect with the invisible things, sending them back.

A pipe that stuck out of the wall made a low ding noise, as one of them flew into it.

Chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, he heard.

Miles ran down the stairs.

Something was hanging on the belt loop of his jeans. He pounded his fist onto his pocket, but the thing managed to get inside.

Miles grabbed the invisible thing and pulled it off. He was about to toss it away when he saw the red ball suspended in air.

The thing cried out, as he wrestled it away.

He dropped the invisible thing and kept running.

A dozen blocks later, he stopped and sat at a bus stop. From his pocket, he pulled the marble out and looked at it.

Why would those things want it? He asked himself. What was so special about it?

"Well, they're not gonna get it," he decided.

He lay back on the bench and stared at the stars until the sun started to rise.

Momentarily, he dozed off, and woke to the sound of steps on the concrete.

He looked up and saw a cop walking toward him.

Miles was about to run, when the cop shouted, "Stop, right there, son!"
Grounded
Chapter 7

Naturally, his parents banned him from doing anything but reading books. They removed his television, and wouldn't even allow him out of his room for meals.

His mother walked in and put a tray of cereal and juice on his bed, and then walked out without saying a word.

Miles walked to the window and looked out. As usual, Seven sat on the porch, looking like a dummy.

As soon as his mother shut the door, he grabbed his pellet gun and loaded it with BBs. Then he got out the little leather pouch he'd gotten from the renaissance fair, months ago.

He put the red ball in the pouch and hung it around his neck. Then he removed the suitcase from under the bed, and kept a watchful eye on the floor as he ate breakfast.

Occasionally, he stood and walked around the room because sitting on the floor made his butt numb.

When he'd done reading the book he'd purchased at the mall, he went over to his book case and put it next to the others.

As he was about to pull a comic that he'd read many times already, he noticed a little book he'd never seen before; it was no bigger than his palm, and the writing was very small.

After struggling a few moments to make out some of the words, he gave up. He set it on the night stand and went back to his spot on the floor.

By early evening, Miles wanted to pull his hair out. He couldn't stand being grounded. Normally, he wasn't such a poor sport when it came to staying in his room, but that was because, before, he'd always gotten to leave his room periodically. Plus, they'd never taken away his game before.

Miles paced about his room. He heard the television from the living room suddenly come on.

Thinking he was being clever, Miles cracked the door of his room so he could hear it more clearly.

He lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling when he heard a commotion outside.

Curiously, he sighed as he stood.

He pulled back the curtain, slightly. Across the cul de sac, at an angle, Seven's back yard was slightly visible.

"Whoa!"

A bright, yellow light glared out from their house into the back yard.

A moment later, he heard a knock at the front door.

Miles leant his ear against the bedroom door and listened.

"Hi" said Seven's voice. "My mom is having a barbeque. Some of the neighborhood kids are over. She wanted me to invite you and Miles."

"Well, we can't. Tell your mom I said thanks, but Miles' is still grounded."

The door closed.

He watched Seven walk back to his house, but, just before he closed the back yard gate, he looked directly into Miles' eyes and smirked.

He went back to his spot on the floor and fell asleep.

"Miles," said his mother, waking him up sometime later. "This door is to stay closed."

She put a tray of meatloaf on the bed.

He ate jealously, as he thought of the kids, across the way, eating hot dogs or hamburgers.

Some of the kids screamed delightfully, followed by a splash.

He looked out of the window again.

Kids jumped up and down on a trampoline. Behind them, he saw they'd put in a swimming pool. A kid was standing on a diving board, about to jump in.

From down the sidewalk, a group of kids walked up the block, but they didn't look like they belonged in that neighborhood. In fact, they looked a little rough around the edges, with torn jeans and dirty sneakers. One of them looked like he hadn't brushed his hair in a couple days.

They walked up to the house and knocked.

About 9 pm, things began to wind down. Miles listened to the sounds of cars approaching, the parents' chit chatting, and then driving away.

His mother and father had already gone to their bedroom, where they liked to have quiet time in the evenings.

Once more, he peeked out the window. Just like earlier, he saw a strange gold light flash from the house and light up the backyard.

Determined to find out what it was, he waited until he heard his parents turn off their television, and the sounds of their snores through the walls.

When he heard these things, he opened his bedroom door and tip toed to the living room, unlocked the front door and ran across the street.

Afraid that to approach the property from the front would set the squirrels – or whatever they were, off, he walked to the rear of the house, up to the gate.

A light glow was still coming from the house.

Carefully, he unlatched the gate.

Amazingly, the trampoline and the pool had disappeared. In the center of the yard was a large white refrigerator, only it looked like it was from the fifties.

It had a chain locked latch.

He turned his attention to the kitchen, which was completely visible through the glass.

First, he noticed that dozens of cups lined the counter. They surrounded an igloo with a nozzle, just like the one at Pizza and Stuff, except this one was blue.

Gently, he pulled back the glass door and walked in on the balls of his foot.

He looked into one of the cups and noticed that a gold liquid had been left on the bottom.

He stuck his finger in. It was warm; somehow, it gave him a lift. He felt energetic, like he could have run a mile in a minute.

There was a stirring from the other side of the house.

Miles exited, quickly, left the back yard and ran back to his house.

He looked out of the window, and could have sworn he saw a pair of red circles gleaming at him from between the curtains in Seven's house.

The next morning, his mother brought him breakfast.

As he munched his corn flakes, there was a knock at the door.

Gently, he opened the bedroom door. From the sounds of it, two police men were looking for some kids who lived at the group home on the other side of town.

"They went missing last night. The lady who works at the house said they were headed this way, for a pool party."

"No, I never saw anyone. We didn't go to the party last night. My son is grounded, so we stayed here," he heard his mother say.

They exchanged a few more words, and then the door closed.

Miles looked through the window. Seven was in his usual spot, but, this time, he was watching Miles' window.

He returned to his breakfast. Later, he looked across the cul de sace, again. Seven was still staring at his window.

~~~

That following week, his parents decided to let him out of his room. He was feeling happy about that, until Seven came by and told his parents that they were planning a camping trip for the kids.

Although Miles tried to argue, his parents insisted that he go.

"Look, Mom, I didn't tell you this because I knew you wouldn't believe me, but I saw a couple kids that didn't look like they were from around here. They showed up at the party just after dark."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I'm saying the neighbors lied about not the seeing the missing kids. They did, in fact, show up."

"How did you know they're missing?" asked his mother.

He was silent a moment before saying, "Whatever, I'm not going."

"Miles, the neighbors are not bad people. And you are going. You've been moping around this house since school ended. This is a good chance to get out, get some exercise and make some new friends."
Camp Happy Grounds
Chapter 8

The following week, Miles and several other kids from the neighborhood squeezed into Seven's family's SUV. Though he tried to fight his parents on this, they wouldn't relent.

All the kids piled in, happily, not knowing what they were in for. But Miles wasn't stupid; he'd packed his pellet gun and enough BBs to last a year. If they tried anything, they'd be getting stitches.

And he was sure they were going to try something. They kept throwing him evil glances, now and again.

Miles pretended not to notice, but he was prepared.

Also, he didn't forget to pack the red marble. There was no way he was going to leave it in his room, so that when those invisible things came up the hole, they could steal it.

The leather bag was, now, hanging around his neck.

A few hours later, they pulled up to a guy at the camp entrance. He collected $50 from them, and gave them a map.

They drove up the dusty road, past many other camp settlements.

Finally, they made it many miles out to a large bald spot that was surrounded by trees. Miles' heart pounded a little, as he realized that help was quite far away.

He sighed, deeply, when another family of campers came up the way, right as they parked. They waved as they drove by.

Miles looked at Janet's face in the rearview mirror. She looked disappointed.

They climbed out of the SUV and began to setup.

Miles had been designated to sleep in the tent with two boys he'd never met before: Brian and Mike.

While they worked on the tent, Miles pretended to go looking for fire wood. Instead, he sat on a stump in the trees by the SUV.

He watched the kids wondering how many of them were like his strange neighbors. Would they all jump him when he wasn't looking, or would they wait until he fell asleep and kill him?

His answer came, a moment later, when he heard Seven talking to his mom.

They'd walked up to the SUV to get bottled water.

"So, tonight, I'll grab him," Seven said.

"No," said the mother. "It's not a good idea to make him disappear without a trace. We have to find another way. If we take kids from around us without clear explanation, then we'll have more humans around. This would make our mission harder."

"What do you suggest?"

"We rip him to shreds..." his mother said with a wicked tone.

"And blame it on a bear, haha."

"Tonight!" she affirmed.

There was no doubt that they were talking about him. Now that he knew their plan, he would be prepared.

He wanted to stay in the bushes and watch, but his stomach started rumbling shortly after.

Trying to act normal, he joined the other campers.

That evening, as they were roasting s'mores, the neighboring campers came over and asked if they'd be interested in a sniper hunt.

Most of the kids were excited.

"Come on," said Seven, trying to coax him.

"No, thanks."

"Miles, go play!" said Janet with a meanness he'd never seen before.

He got up and walked with Seven to the next camp.

The adults of the campers told them to find the sniper, and whoever got it would get a bag of snickers bars.

Like the others, he ran into the trees, but instead of looking for the sniper, he snuck into his tent and got his BB gun ready.

He sat on his sleeping bag and listened to screaming and laughing in the forest.

About midnight, the kids returned to the camp.

Soon after, his tent-mates entered the tent.

Miles pretended to be asleep.

The snores of his tent-mates drowned out the sounds of the crickets.

He lay awake for many hours, wondering when Seven would come for him.

He'd just started to doze off when he heard the crunch of gravel getting closer to his tent.

He saw the fingers of a hand, through the nylon of the tent, reach out to the zipper and pull it up.

Miles didn't waste time. Though he didn't see for sure that it was Seven, he sat up and shot multiple pellets at the figure.

Whoever it was screamed high and mighty.

Miles crawled to the flaps and looked out. He didn't see Seven, but it had to have been him.

He turned around and saw the other two in his tent were watching him.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing," he said. "Go back to sleep."

He stayed awake most of the night, but nodded off toward morning.

The kids had breakfast while he slept.

Then the sound of screaming came from the next camp over.

Soon after, a woman came into their camp and shouted, "My son, he's gone."

~~~

After Janet, Bob, and the kids answered the sheriff's questions, they packed up and headed back.

He tried to explain to his parents that Janet and Bob were responsible for the missing kid, but they still didn't believe him.

That night he kept up the same pretense, except he slept on the floor, facing the bed with his rifle in his grip.

He turned off the lights and pretended to be asleep.

Just when he felt he could no longer stay away, and was considering getting into his bed, he heard a stirring from the floor.

Miles stayed right where he was, with his eyes closed.

He listened intently for the sound of the carpet mushing inward under the things step.

When he heard it, he sat up, quick, pointed his rifle and shot directly in front of him.

Chuck, chuck, chuck chuck, came the squirrel noises.

He continued shooting when, finally, "Stop! Please, stop," something said.

"Show yourself," said Miles, "or I'll keep shooting."

Although he couldn't see too clearly, a small boy-like creature appeared. Keeping the rifle steady, Miles flipped the light switch so he could get a better look.

The boy had the largest green eyes Miles had ever seen, and his hair was a greenish blond color, almost like he'd spent too much time in a swimming pool. He was the size of a large stuffed animal, standing at two feet. Even more shocking then its size was its button nose, red pupils, pointed little ears and little knobby horns that stuck out of its head.

"What are you?" asked Miles fearlessly.

The little person revealed two long canines when he spoke.

"I'm a Brownie," he spoke in a high pitched voice.

"What?"

"A Brownie. We are a race of people. You have a book that explains, but you didn't read it."

"What book?"

"That book," he pointed to the desk.

"That tiny thing?"

"You are insulting, sir!" he shouted.

"SHHHHH!!!" Miles said. "My parents are sleeping. Keep your voice down."

He walked to the door and put his ear against it to make sure his parents hadn't waked.

When he was certain they still slept, he said, "I didn't mean to insult you. What are you doing in my room?"

"As if you don't know."

"No, I don't. You got two seconds to answer, or I'll start shooting again," Miles said as he raised his rifle to the ready.

"Uh - uh – okay!" he said, holding up his hands in a give-in gesture.

As it was, little dark blue welts had begun to form on his body.

"There's a war going on between my clan and the Sylphs."

"Who?"

"Another race that wishes to take over our world."

"Why?"

"Because our land is magical, and we have plenty of resources. They do not wish to stay here; they, like we, simply have no choice."

"So what are you all doing here? In my neighborhood and in my house? Why aren't you guys fighting in your world?"

"Because the way we cross into each other's dimensions is through portals in and out of this world. Kind of like worm holes, if you will. The universe is made up in a yin and yang way. You have magical dimensions tied to a non magical one."

Not sure if he understood, he asked, "So you're saying that our world is non magical, and it's tied to two magical worlds?"

"Not just two, but seven; however, your greatest scientists like to estimate that there are likely thirteen. But my people only know of the seven, as we've visited them all. Think of this world as a 3D puzzle piece, and all the pieces it connects to are magical. The universe is like that; many pieces interconnected."

"That still doesn't answer my question, though. Why are you guys coming in and out of my room? I've seen your buddies all over town. There must be other ways to get in and out of this world."

"There are, indeed, hundreds of ways to get in and out of all the dimensions, but they're all guarded by beings, like me."

"But I never noticed you or any of your kind before."

"The portals realign themselves every hundred years or so. That's why the men wanted to buy this house, and everyone else's on this block, because the portal realigned itself just a few months ago."

"So what am I supposed to do, then? Just ignore the fact that you guys are coming in and out of my house like you own it?"

"Frankly, you have no choice. There's no way you can stop it, and, really, who will believe you anyway? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to."

"Wait!" said Miles. "What's your name?"

"It's none of your business; pretend you never saw me. Now, go back to sleep."

He reached his little hand up to the door knob, turned it and left the room.

Miles was angry at the Brownie's dismissiveness.

He wasn't going to listen though.

Not his business, ha!

He was going to find the Brownie and his buddies, and then tell them to find another portal, or else.

Quickly he put on his shoes, and, not forgetting his pellet gun, ran outside.

He started to take off down the street, but then stopped.

Suddenly, his neighborhood was like a wild jungle. Chucking noises rent the air in the thousands. Trees and bushes shook everywhere, but, this time, he could see everything.

There were little people everywhere: in the trees and in the bushes around the houses. One was even sitting on a street lamp, brushing its hair.

Some of them moved around, inside and across, the trees and bushes by swinging from their arms, while others levitated or flew using wings.

At the end of the street, he saw the Brownie make a left.

Miles kept a distance as he followed him.

They went past the Mapley's Liquor Store, and across the street and past the Thai restaurant.

Finally, they approached Miles' school. He hung back a moment and watched the Brownie as he jumped clear over the chained fences.

A second later, Miles slipped through the fences and ran up the entrance of the school.

He walked down the side hall where all the lockers were. It led him down to the courtyard in the center of most of the classrooms.

He hung back, at the courtyard entrance and craned his neck just past the wall.

There, in the grass, a dozen creatures that were about the same height as the Brownie had a fist sized fire going.

They made the same chucking noises as before, only, this time, Miles' seemed to understand what they were saying.

As the one he followed approached the group, they all turned their heads.

"Tess, what took you so long?" asked a little blond man with a long red beard.

"The boy detained me!" he said angrily.

"What?"

They looked horrified.

"How did that happen?" asked one that looked to be in charge. He had black hair and brilliant blue eyes, and stood with an air of importance.

"He was waiting for me, and then he shot me with that filthy human contraption!" Tess squeaked.

"Well," said the one with the red beard. "We knew it would only be a matter of time. He's a kid, after all. They notice things that adults don't."

"It's incredibly unlucky," said another man with long chocolate brown hair. "Last thing we need is an interfering human. They can never mind their own business."

"So what's the word?" asked Tess.

"Uh, okay, everyone," said the black haired one. "Let this meeting start."

Everyone got real silent.

"I don't need to tell you that the Sylphs are watching every portal, just looking for opportunities to crossover into our world.

Well, a few managed to do just that; they got past our guards, and traveled down the west main shrinking hole, where they attacked the king's palace. Don't worry, the royal family is fine."

"Missing children's reports?" asked the smallest one of the lot. He had cherry red hair, and orange-ish looking skin.

"Good question, Mol. Several have been reported, but the humans aren't in a panic yet."

Miles stepped out of his hiding spot.

They all turned their heads up and looked at him with anger. Several grabbed their cross bows and spears from their backs, and took aim.

Miles raised his rifle and said, "I wouldn't, if I were you."

They all lowered their weapons.

"Tell me about the missing kids!" he shouted.

"It is not your concern. They're gone, forever," said the chocolate haired one. "Now, leave us."

"You're gonna talk, or I'm gonna start shooting."

"Just your typical American boy, thinking he can control the world with violence," said Mol angrily, his orange-ish skin looking even rosier.

"Keep quiet, Alto," said the one with the beard to the black haired leader.

"If he wants to know, I'll tell him. It's not like he can do anything about it," Alto replied. He looked at Miles and said, "The Sylphs took them."

"Where do I find these Sylphs?"

"Why, some live right across the street from you."

"You mean Seven and his family? They look normal to me."

"It's called a glamour, but if you saw them in their true form, they'd look more like us, only more human-like."

"What do they want with kids?"

They turned their heads at each other, repeatedly, before looking at him.

"What are you all staring at me, like that, for?"

"It's like I told you before, their world is depleted of resources," said Tess.

"The Sylphs aren't made like other dimensional races; they don't get energy from consumption: in their world, they eat it in pure form. Energy grows, there, on corpus flowers; a beautiful golden plant that drinks in every component of an atom of sunlight," Alto explained.

"But pure energy replenishes more slowly than anything you can imagine, with a new bud taking several centuries to form. The Sylphs don't understand the concept of conservation," said the one with chocolate hair. "Right, Pan?" he said to the one with the red beard.

"Yeah," Pan replied. "They have some weird idea that they're going to conquer the worlds, rule us all. For that, they've allowed their population to grow to massive numbers; it's also caused them to deplete their energy resources more quickly."

"So, what? What does that have to do with kids?"

"They eat pure energy, which only can be had in their world, but there is one living thing that, when turned, nearly perfectly emulates pure energy," Mol added.

"People?" asked Miles, thinking back to the igloo and the funny gold liquid.

"Yes, starting with kids. They're smaller, easier to overcome in numbers."

"They're eating kids? You're eating kids!" he shouted, about ready to shoot again.

"No," said Tess. "We are not eating kids; we live off the plants, fruits, and flowers. We are a different species."

"We're not all the same," someone squeaked in the back.

Miles caught his breath, lowered his weapon and asked, "How do we stop them?"

"You can't; there are too many of them, and they have magic. Likely, if they lose this war, they will annex this world, and humanity, permanently."

"I want to help! You have no choice but to let me. This is my world, and I'm gonna fight for it," he paused.

When no one said anything, he continued, "How do we get them out of this world?"

"There is one way," offered Alto. "We need a pure energy crystal, so that we might be as powerful as they."

"Where do we get something like that?"

"From your neighbor; it's called a Vertian crystal. It's a long green crystal formed around a bud of pure energy; it's a very powerful weapon. Get the crystal, and bring it to us, and we'll banish the Sylphs from this world, forever."

"Why can't you get it yourselves?"

"We've tried, but Seven has wielded its power against us, every time."

"So what do we do?"

"We need a plan."
Soldier Boy
Chapter 9

The next morning, Miles woke feeling, for the first time since his new neighbors moved in, like he wasn't afraid. Knowing who they were, and having a plan to get them out of the world, empowered Miles, made him feel strong and courageous.

The first thing he did when he got out of bed was look out of his window.

Seven locked eyes with him.

His ability to see the little people seemed to have lifted while he slept. The bushes that lined his porch trembled, but he didn't see the causes of the movement.

He went to the kitchen for breakfast. After, as usual, his mother told him to go out and find something to do.

He grabbed his rifle, and went into the yard to practice shooting.

Occasionally, the leaves on branches around him would suddenly flap, but Miles didn't fear anymore. He'd be ready for any attacks they might make.

When he could no longer stand the heat, he went inside and waited, anxiously, for night.

~~~

He waited until his parents were asleep and then crept into the back yard.

Tess was sitting on a branch, high up in the tree with his bow at the ready.

"I didn't think you'd show," he squeaked, and then jumped straight down.

"Of course I'd show! My people are as important to me as you're people are to you. Now, let's get this over with!"

Tess pulled out a little leather bag that was tied to his waist. It was full of a white dust that looked like salt. Tess blew a handful of it into his face, making him sneeze.

"What did you do that for?"

"I camouflaged you, you thick skulled human! You think they didn't hear about you sneaking into their house, last time?"

Miles looked down at his body, and, indeed, his legs looked like the grass, his midriff looked like the bark of the tree behind him. When he looked at his shoulders, it was to see they looked exactly like a section of his white house.

"Now, let's go," Tess said impatiently, and bounded for the gate.

Tess turned and waited for Miles to catch up to him, and then grabbed him by the shirt. He took Miles by surprise, by leaping them over the gate.

When they landed, Miles looked over and saw that Tess was, once more, invisible.

Miles followed the sound of Tess' foot patters across the cul de sac.

All around him, the sounds of little people in trees could be heard. Once again, he could see them as they ate, sang, and moved about their branches.

He reached for the latch of the gate, but Tess slapped him. His smooth, clammy hand grabbed his hand, and leapt him over.

At the sliding glass door, Tess grabbed his hand once more, and whispered, "Trust me."

He felt Tess' body move forward, and saw a water-like ripple in the glass. Miles took a leap of faith and walked through the glass, too.

Like before, the kitchen was empty, except for the blue igloo and cups with bits of gold liquid at the bottom.

The sight of the cups and igloo made him angry.

The living room was just as bare, except Miles noticed the brick lining of the fireplace appeared out of place.

Up close, he saw that the fireplace wasn't even real, but it was a door that opened up to a white porous material that resembled ceramic molded into the shape of a cupboard.

They opened the white cupboard and found a short stone basin; its bowl was enormous, but it barely stood ten inches off the ground.

"What is this?" whispered Miles.

"This is where they turn kids into pure energy. They place them, feet first in the bowl, and shut the door."

Miles lifted the bowl just above his head and smashed it to the ground, breaking it into three large pieces.

They went into Seven's bedroom and found it completely empty. There were no beds or furniture, except a small hammock that hung from the ceiling.

The other rooms were empty, too, except for hammocks.

"Where are they?"

"We're nocturnal in this world, so they could be anywhere."

"Is that why I can only see you guys at night?"

"I don't know," he replied.

Miles stopped in the hallway, in the bathroom doorway. In the mirror, his reflection was plainly him. The dust Tess used was starting to wear off.

They got out of there, fast.

~~~

The next day, Miles was deeply troubled they didn't find anything in Seven's house. More than anything, he wanted to help Tess, and get those awful Sylphs out of their neighborhood.

Then an idea came to mind.

He asked his father if he could ask Seven to ice cream.

"Well, I'm proud of you," he said as he reached into his pocket for money.

He walked across the cul de sac.

Seven looked at him with a deathly stare.

"Want to go for ice cream?"

Without a word, he stood and began walking toward the end of the block; Miles followed.

They walked to the liquor store in silence.

"Hi, Mr. Mapley," said Miles as they entered.

"Hi, kid."

Once they had their cones, they sat outside on a bench and ate.

When they'd done, Miles asked, "Want to play at the school?"

Seven turned to him with a knowing look in his eyes. A chill traveled down Miles neck.

"No, I'm going home," he stood up and left.

Miles ran to catch up with him.

"Well, let's shoot my rifle in the backyard."

Back at his house, he grabbed his rifle and target paper.

Right as Seven was about to pull the trigger, Miles stepped on his foot, making him miss.

Just like he'd predicted, Seven was livid. He pulled his hand back into a fist, but Miles ducked and ran right as he extended it toward his face.

Even angrier than before, Seven chased Miles into the shed.

Miles grabbed his father's shovel and turned right as Seven entered.

"OOOFF!" was the sound he made, when he swung it into his gut.

Seven doubled over and fell to the ground. He made terrible noises as he struggled to breathe.

Miles dropped to his knees and stuck his hand in all of Seven's pockets. Next, he pulled off his shoes. Finding nothing, he pulled back the collar of his tee shirt and, hanging around his neck, was the Vertian crystal. It had been wired with a silver chain.

Quickly, he yanked it off his neck.

Seven jumped at him, knocking him into the shelves, and stumbling to the ground. Tools crashed down around them.

His father walked in.

"What are you, two, doing?"

Miles had slipped the crystal into his pocket. Seven continued to try to punch him, so his dad dragged him out of the shed.

"Go home, now!" he shouted.

Miles laughed as Seven, looking surlier than ever, left the yard. He walked up to the fence and watched him walk across the cul de sac.

~~~

Later that night, he snuck out and went to the school. He was so excited; the Brownies would be so happy!

They were in the same spot as the night before last, discussing matters in their squeak speak.

"I got it," he said excitedly.

They turned their heads and stared up at the crystal in his hand. Then their eyes turned to him, and they all grinned evil.

Just as he was about to ask why they looked at him so, his eyes fell on the soft ball sized fire. Above it was a small spit that turned a strange looking meat that looked a lot like a liver.

Miles' breath quickened.

"Is that what I think it is?"

All the sudden, several arrows shot into his stomach. Their metal tips pierced his skin, painfully.

He cried out, as he fell to his knees.

One of the men grabbed the crystal from his hand, and then they disappeared so fast that he wasn't sure if they flew or ran.
Who's Who
Chapter 10

It was painful, pulling the arrows out of his skin. They were made out of a light, stretchy, resilient vine, of some sort. He'd tug and tug, and then the vine would break off, leaving the metal tip in his skin, which he, then, had to dig out.

Feeling defeated and stupid, he cried all the way home.

What did I do?

When he walked in the house, his parents were sitting on the living room couch.

"Where have you been?" his father loomed over him, and shouted.

Miles was speechless; all he could do was cry.

"Why are you covered in blood?" asked his mother.

Forcefully, she tugged the shirt over his head.

When she saw the wounds were shallow, she said, "Clean yourself up; there's disinfectant in the bathroom. Then, go to your room, and if you come out – at all, we will start locking you in. We will even bar your windows. Now, go."

After washing and putting six band aids on his belly, he went to his room and fell on the bed. From the living room, he heard his parents arguing.

He contemplated everything the Brownie told him, and how it was all a lie.

They were eating someone's liver! he yelled, inwardly, at himself.

He wiped more tears from his face.

But what would happen now that they got the powerful crystal? Had he helped them win the war?

He should never have interfered! Heck, he should have verified what they told him, before acting. He could have buddied up to Seven, who seemed to want to have a friend. He could have spied!

Then an even more disturbing question came to mind: Does that make Seven and his people the good guys?

After a while, he fell asleep.

He wasn't down long, when he woke to the sound of his door opening and closing.

He opened his eyes and sat up.

Standing in front of the door was a dozen little people, including Seven who wasn't wearing his glamour. He looked almost the same as before, except smaller.

They all had their bows aimed at him.

Without warning, they shot dozens of arrows at him. They pierced his legs, arms, chest, and two hit him square in the forehead.

He screamed out, in pain.

His eyes full of blood, he lifted his pillow to protect his face. Then he stood up and kicked at the little men. Some of them flew back into the door.

Miles screamed as a bow hit him in the thigh.

The Sylphs continued to shoot, even when his parents were at the door.

"Miles," his father said, "open up the door!"

A cool air rushed around the room; the hole was open.

He used the pillow to swipe at all the men, and then dove under the bed, and fell down the shrinking hole.

Vampin

By Jamie Ott

Copyright   2011 Jamie Ott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used without written permission.

Black Crowe (Robert Crowe) Books.

ISBN-13: 978-0615563053

ISBN-10: 0615563058

For all inquiries, please contact passionateprose@mail.com.
Vampin

Chapter 1

Before crossing the street, Starr tucked the wad of money she made that night, working at Billie's, into her black leather lace up boots. She didn't want the others to see she had cash because kids had tried to break into her room before.

Since Starr was a sixteen year old runaway living with undesirables whose ethics were long since compromised, she needed to be careful of all she possessed. Not that she owned much; just a few articles of clothing and a picture of her older sister whom she missed, terribly.

She walked along a couple yards of six foot high chain link fence, behind which stood an old abandoned building with boarded out windows and partially rotted walls.

The place used to be a clinic, but was now a forgotten, condemned building in the nastiest part of town. They'd only been there less than a year, but Starr didn't think there was much chance of them getting caught. Cops rarely made an appearance in that part of town, and especially not after dark. And with the way the neighborhood looked, she couldn't imagine many people wanting to move in and start a business, or, at least, not anytime soon.

So far, she'd been right about not getting caught. However, there were still dangers, like every once in a while a hobo would wander in looking for a place to crash, or someone would notice her and the others going in and out. At times like these, it was up to Starr and the others to defend their territory, and only use force when they had to, and, sometimes, they did have to.

She ducked underneath two slanted pieces of wood, nailed across a small walk way that lead to a glass door.

The warm air blew through her hair as she pulled back the glass door and walked into the hazy lit entrance where several kids were hanging about, doing homework.

Not all of them were untrustworthy thieves, though. Some of them really went out of their way to look after each other, becoming like a second set of parents or siblings.

Take Shane, for example, who could have moved into the Columbia University dorms on her scholarship, but, instead, chose to stay and help the younger one's get through school.

Then there was Marla who was already done with college and made a full time income working as a night auditor for the Mayflower Hotel, yet stayed on and contributed much of her income to re stocking the food supply. She made sure strangers didn't wander into the clinic during the day while it was nearly empty because they were all at school.

Finally, there was Mica who was a social butterfly and bartender enrolled at the Soho Beauty Academy. She already had a steady list of clients and was making more money than any of them. But she went out of her way to make sure the kids had clothes, and would try to get jobs for them through her many connections.

"Hey, Starr," called Lily.

"Hey, Sweetie."

She bent over and kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulders.

Lily was a twelve year old girl who attended middle school on the other side of town. Her mother was never around to take care of her, so she was often found hanging out in the clinic.

Starr almost walked right past her one cold night when she was sitting and shivering on a stoop. It was midnight and the freaks were out, so she brought her to the clinic. Since that night, she'd been a regular.

Although Starr was no mind reader – that was Shane's thing, she was still good at reading people. It was easy to see that Lily was a neglected, affection-starved child.

"You eat, tonight?"

Sometimes there wasn't enough food, despite their trying to keep the clinic's staff room and refrigerator full. Feeding a dozen people three squares each day was hard work.

"Yeah, I had a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. Marla made dinner tonight, before she went to work."

"Did you get veggies?" Lily hated vegetables, so Starr was always trying to convince her.

"Three pieces of celery," she grinned.

"Alrighty, then, finish your homework, brush your teeth and go to bed. Okay?"

"Okay."

Lily was a sweet girl. If Starr could have had another sister, it would have been her. She hoped her mother would never come for her, and even imagined what she'd do if she did appear. If she were hurting her in any way, Starr would put a stop it.

Becoming immortal had instilled a cocky sort of arrogance in Starr. Before they took her, she was just like Lily: sweet, trusting, looking for affection. Perhaps that was also why she went out of her way to be there for her, because, for Starr, it was that sweet nature that got her into trouble.

More than anything, she wanted to protect Lily; the way her sister tried to protect her – tried and failed. If only they had turned her sooner, she would have saved them both. She would have torn their limbs right out of their sockets and sucked the marrow from their bones.

She couldn't get much out of Lily about why her mother was never around. But Starr didn't care. The fact was she let her child wander the streets, and that was enough information for her. She would just trust that Lily would confide in her when she was ready.

Starr walked down the hall to the third door on the left. It was not a great place to have a room, with people always walking past, but it was a good way to keep an eye on all the kids.

Marla, Mica and Shane also stayed in the front rooms, so if someone wandered in, they were likely to hear it, or, at least, Mica would: super hearing – that was her power.

She closed and latched the door behind her. Kids loved to come in and sneak things, and, sometimes, they were able to do so without her knowing until later.

The fables would have people believe that their kind was ultimately supernatural in every way. Meaning that they weren't easy to fool, and their superhuman instincts would protect them always; that they lived by rigid rules of nature, but it wasn't so.

The truth was only their natural strengths were intensified after death, so if a person, like Mica, had good hearing while they lived, that person would have super hearing after death. If a person was an insomniac, and the insomnia was due to a natural lack of serotonin in the brain, then, like Marla, that person would never need to sleep. It was the same with Shane, who was already prone to glimpsing the thoughts of others when she was mortal. Now she was the ultimate mind reader.

And, Starr?

She was a natural runner, black belt in karate, and could bench press like a man when she was alive. Now she was literally a real life woman of steel.

There were only a few things they all, consistently, seemed to have in common: quicker minds, quicker reflexes, a stronger sense of smell, pale skin, brilliant eyes, resilient organs, and, yes, a desire for blood.

Whether they would truly live forever was a question that remained unanswered, as neither of them had ever met another of their kind before, but all the research they'd done pointed to the fact that they might be around for a long time.

Carefully, she pulled out the half dozen silver ear rings and hoops from her ears, and laid them on her desk.

Fortunately, her ears were already pierced before she died, so they didn't heal themselves every night. Unlike Shane whose mother would never allow her to get piercings.

Starr twisted her waist-length hair up into a tight bun on her head. If she could have, she'd have cut it off. Before she died, she always preferred short hair.

Unfortunately, it was the first thing that changed when she died: it grew and it didn't stop until the next day. The same thing happened when she, later, tried to cut it again. Luckily, it seemed to take hair dye like a sponge absorbing water; a great consolation because she loved her long, sleek black hair.

She unbuttoned her black leather vest, and untied the strings of her black leather boots and pants. Coating a cotton ball with makeup remover, she smeared the black eyeliner and mascara away from her eyes, revealing the depth of her soul in the mirror.

A long, deep sigh, she exhaled. She still had trigonometry and a paper to write, but she was exhausted. Pulling on her jammies, she climbed into bed.

~~~

The next morning, she was the first up, as usual. It was selfish, but she liked to enjoy the mornings in peace and quiet. To do this, she needed to avoid the others.

She'd leave before anyone was up, often taking coffee and a bagel in a shop a couple blocks from school.

The fables would also have people believe that they only drank blood, but it wasn't so. She could go many nights without it, and, if she had to, New York had tons of butchers in the city. She'd go and get a raw haggis or an uncongealed blood pudding. While some thought it strange, the ethnic butchers didn't think much of it.

Contrary to popular myth, certain animal blood was just as good, if not better, than a human's, like sheep, goat, and even dog. Sturdier breeds of animal always turned up the best tasting. This would explain why chicken blood was way better than cow.

According to Shane's research, people thinking human blood was the ultimate was pure arrogance. She read from a journal she'd picked up from the library that "'Being turned, turns one into a hunter, and there was nothing better than hunting a human,'" wrote the author, L. S. Credenza (1955).

"'They'd lost much of their animal instinct millenniums ago, and along with it, the ability to cloak their bodies chemistry. Often, that chemistry put off an exotic pheromone that was like catnip to them: fear.

For the vampire, it was the scent of fear that was most seductive. It's the hunt, more so than the blood that calls them (L.S. Credenza, 1955).'"

What Credenza wrote was the truth; they didn't actually need to eat anymore, let alone drink human blood. It was just hard to resist all the fear in the city, like watching an attractive mate; a mate who arouses lust, so like it was the scent of fear: walking to the store, to their cars, or in the dark, everyone was afraid of something.

Still, they could eat just like anybody else, if they wanted. Although coffee and chocolate didn't seem to have the same stimulant effect as it did when she was alive, the flavor and smell was still just as inviting and, sometimes, irresistible to her new sharpened senses.

One day, she passed by Godiva's and the intoxicating scent incited a fever in her. Her mouth watered like a fount and bits of perspiration soaked the shawl around her neck.

She walked in and bought chocolate macaroons, chocolate truffles, and cherry chocolates. Starr ran out of the shop, down an alley, and hid behind a dumpster where she shoved as many chocolates as she could into her mouth; then the fever came down.

Later, as she told Shane about her experience, she confided that she'd had a similar one. The aroma of hot chocolate wafted passed her, a while back at the university. A horribly embarrassing tale of how she pushed through students, filled a Styrofoam cup, and gulped down the 100+ degree formula without burning her tongue, as a hundred students in the commons area watched on in amazement.

Between them all, the scent of chocolate was a danger to their senses. They couldn't find any research to support what they'd experienced, but it was very real.

They found nothing from Credenza on the subject, whom they'd contemplated writing to on several occasions. Although much of the author's research was published in the fifties, they considered that he or she might still be alive. Maybe the author could help them fully comprehend the limitations of their conditions as well as how to deal with them.

But they never got around to writing; afraid that to do so would tip him or her off. Instead, they snuck into the library and stole all the books by L.S. Credenza, and kept them locked away in Starr's room.

She looked out of the window. It was still pretty dark and the chill was deepening, as it was October.

They needed to figure out how they were going to get a new generator because the old one was broken. Maybe she'd go and meet her friend, Michael, at the Salvation Army on the way home. Between all four of them, they should be able to get something.

Not that they ever got cold, anymore, but the kids would need it. Since she'd been turned, the only thing she felt was warmth, when in the direct sun. Her skin would perspire and burn.

Once, she left her arm under direct exposure to see what would happen, and, though it wasn't terribly painful, her skin felt irritated. It turned to a mocha-color and gave off a foul odor, like burning trash.

When she pulled back her arm, it healed back, instantly. Fortunately, sunscreen did work, and even on their kind. This confirmed L.S. Credenza's assertion that it was the ultra violet rays that were dangerous to them.

Still, that didn't mean they couldn't freeze. Apparently, in the mid-twentieth century, a piece of glacier arrived off the coast of Greenland. Geologists went to inspect, as even then they were worried about global warming. Inside they found a man had been frozen. A fable, to most, but to the author, Credenza, it was real: it was nosferatu.

A quick shower, into her usual black garb, and a smear of her vampire red lipstick from Manic Panic, and she was off.

Just as she ducked under the rotted boards blocking the entrance to the glass door, she caught Mot, a Danish kid who, if possible, was even whiter than Starr, smoking.

"Mot! I thought you promised to quit!"

"Where I fr-r-rom," he rolled his r, "everybody smoke."

"Fine, just as long as you keep out here, but I'm warning you: if you attract unwanted attention – like cops or hobos, I'm coming after you!"

Mot was a good kid, though. She just wished he'd stop smoking because, to a vampire's preternatural sense of smell, it was worse than a toilet.

He was fifteen years old, attended remedial school on the East side, and had a penchant for trouble. Though he was usually loyal toward those he cared for, he was the kind who always looked for an easy way out; he was the kind you'd expect to wind up in jail one day. From what Starr had gathered about his father, Mot didn't fall too far from his tree of origin, either.

She hunkered down at the bakery, her usual morning haunt and finished her homework.

Another advantage they seemed to have in common was their tripled reflexes.

Anyone who'd witnessed Mica slip up while cutting hair or serving drinks, saw her moving at demon speed. For this reason, she had so many clients and made a lot of money. She was talented and fast.

In the early mornings of the bakery, she'd often finish her homework just as quickly as Mica could serve up a few dozen cosmopolitans, which was about twenty minutes.

The lighting was terrible, but not to her dead eyes that could see better, now, than when they were alive. Also, the dark bakery was advantageous because it was quiet and no one would see how fast she could turn pages.

Starr looked at her watch and saw she had twenty minutes until class. She packed up, put on her leather jacket and entered the cool morning air.

As usual, the kids at Victorian High were lined up to greet her, graciously.

"Hello, Satan," said Marcus Rent, a typical school jock with smelly breath. "How are you today?" he asked.

Starr opened her mouth to say something mean, but then he convulsed, shook his hands, jumped up and squealed, "Aaaaa, she's cursed me, aaaa, hahahahah..." he laughed and ran back to his buddies.

Making Frenemies

Chapter 2

The day was another typical day. Rachel, Starr's sworn enemy since day one, made sure to let everyone in their chemistry class know that she was an apostolate from hell; that if they wanted to save their souls, they'd sit far away from her.

"Hey, Starr? Why are your lips so red? Have you been kissing demon butt?" she asked.

"What about that chain around your neck? Is that from your father? Is that from Satan himself? If so, please stay back. I don't wanna go to hell," chimed her best friend, Chloe.

Starr just ignored them as usual. She loved the metal look, which she first saw a girl in a comic book wear. It was nothing more than a thick metal chain that hung around her neck, clasped off with a full sized lock.

Starr wore the same thing; the key was in her pocket at all times.

Before she died, she would have been angered by her classmates constant taunting. Now, however, she rarely felt moved enough to even acknowledge them.

This was one way in which the fables also got things right.

According to Shane's research, "'sometimes the turning induced more of a base instinct; more simplified animal-like nature in humans (Credenza, 1955).'"

In other words, the virus that turned them also killed certain chemical parts of their brains. Parts that were likely responsible for the more complex emotions that humans felt.

As a result, they could feel extreme emotions – like love and hate, but only when a situation moved them enough.

But most adjective torment, like name calling, couldn't hurt them. They couldn't feel the complexities of loving something, yet hating it at the same time; wanting to achieve, but fear and anxiety holding them back. The nervousness and insecurity that humans were familiar with were complexities that vampires weren't capable of.

Although Marla disagreed, claiming she still felt anxiety from time-to-time, for Starr, Credenza was right.

For example, even with Lily, it wasn't her personality and sweetness that made her want to help her, but it was who Lily reminded her of. Because of this nostalgia, she felt a need to protect Lily's innocence and her person.

Starr was more like a dog protecting her puppy rather than an evolved human valuing the virtues of a person, which by definition is truly love.

Besides, her classmates couldn't hurt her. If she wanted to, she could crush them like cockroaches and feed them their own hearts while they still beat.

Knowing these things restored her hope for the future; knowing that she would be around long after her tormentors were gone. Inwardly, she knew that she could accomplish great things with this mysterious gift that she'd received.

One issue that did worry Starr was that Marla didn't turn the same way she and the others did. Not only did she feel anxiety, but she felt sorrow, from time to time.

This scared her because, when Starr was human, sometimes feelings made her want to withdraw from the world.

Being absent from emotional complexity is what made each of them stronger.

It was only after Starr was turned that she was able to pick up her grades at school, and forget about the crappy things that had happened to her; all except one thing, her sister.

Point is, numbing of those emotions made trivial things less important, and, therefore, unable to stand in her way.

At that point, life really was for the taking.

This change that took place in people was also addressed by Credenza. She dedicated many chapters to vampires who'd risen to success and fame, like Thomas Edison and Abraham Lincoln. Most assumed that vampires were thieving grave robbers, but this was also false.

"Simply, people who have nothing to fear let nothing stand in their way," (Credenza, 1955).

"Dying the way Starr did was the ultimate, but dying like Marla was a death sentence," Credenza also wrote.

Starr agreed.

How many lifetimes could Marla last?

Surely, a sensitive demon of her type would likely end up in seclusion, or premature end of life. Maybe not even make it to the end of what would have been her own natural life.

When Starr thought of going through several lifetimes without being de sensitized, it seemed comparable to a reoccurring nightmare. Each time with the same painful punch lines, and with the same terrible ends: death.

Loving people and losing them, again and again.

Eventually, she would have to end it, for who could stand it?

Finally, Alec, the instructor walked in.

"Alright, everyone." The room got quiet. "We will begin." Then, noticing Rachel and Chloe in the corner sniggering, he said, "Not today, ladies, and not in my class!"

They stopped, immediately.

Alec had little patience for their brand of high school idiot; that and he liked Starr very much. Despite their connection being chemistry class, he was also her sixth grade literary professor, and he, too, had a dark side.

Still, she never knew why he was keen to her until she spotted him, one evening, in the corner of the bar where Mica worked.

As he danced with a wanna-be manga girl, Starr noticed that, unlike his appearance during the day, in the evening it was almost like his inner ghoul had come out: spiked hair, tight black tee shirt, black jeans and metal tipped boots.

From across the room, Starr marveled at the metal bar that pierced his eyebrow, and the thick line of eyeliner, that was slightly smudged off.

The truth was Alec totally dug Starr's style. Before, she didn't know, but since being turned, she could sense animal attraction. Not that Alec was a perv, though; she could tell it was more of a nostalgia that he had when he saw her.

Countless occasions, she wanted to ask him who it was, she reminded him of, but didn't want to cross any student-teacher boundaries.

Besides, she didn't want to start any new friendships. One thing she always worried about was getting too close to outsiders.

She had a lot to hide.

~~~

As usual, Starr walked home after school.

Normally, she was alone on her afternoon walks, but, for some reason, Rachel and Chloe were up ahead of her.

Sensing that she was behind them, they turned and, seeing it was Starr, they made dirty looks at her.

Starr couldn't help but think how silly they were. To think that they could get away with taunting her outside school, where there was no one to protect them.

Inwardly, she dared them to turn and say something, so she really could frighten them. It would be such a laugh to send them running, screaming down the street.

This was another difference between her, before she was turned and after. Before, the thought of scaring them was purely vengeful. Now, it was a sadistic pleasure, sort of like cat and mouse, serial killer and prey.

To be more specific, Starr found she liked playing with people. It really was a thrill to not only kill, but to push her food across her plate.

That first night, when she escaped them, she stalked her prey for thirty minutes before caging her.

Just like in the movies, the woman sensed she was being followed. Scared, and looking for a quick way home, she was stupid enough to walk down a dark alley, and it was a dead end.

Trying to suppress her laugh, Star decided to approach her.

The woman tried to walk past, but Starr, like picking up a wistful cat, grabbed her by the neck and threw her up against the wall.

The satisfaction she got when seeing the fear on the girls face was orgasmic. Pheromones quickly filled the air between her and the woman.

She could hear the woman's heart beating.

Again, the woman tried to run past her, but Starr slapped her to the ground.

Grabbing her by the hair, she dragged her toward the exit of the alleyway.

Starr did this, not with the intention of letting her free, but for the sadistic pleasure of giving her hope that she could escape, if she gave one more good fight.

For a split second the woman was relieved, too. It was with great pleasure that Starr disappointed her belief that she could outrun her.

The woman was her lady-madam. Although Starr had never met her before, she could smell them all over her.

It was she who abducted girls and put them in that place. She helped subdue Marla, Mica and Shane.

Still, no matter how much she deserved what she got, the fact is Starr didn't do what she did for vengeance. She did it for pleasure, and that was the vampire in her.

After she'd done with the lady-madam, she felt bad for a long time: dirty and disgusting.

Despite promising she'd never participate in such twistedness again, she sometimes found herself fantasizing about scaring those who feared her the most.

She wanted to bathe in the scent of fear.

Starr never acted on those impulses again; although sometimes she couldn't help but taunt people, hoping that they'd take the bait and challenger her. Like exactly what would happen in a pack of wolves, or a lion in its den: hunting, breaking the weak, and challenging the strong.

Savage as it sounds, in her neighborhood, it was very much a reality.

The strong preyed on the weak, as is what happened with Starr and her older sister, because they were too sweet, like Lily.

The only difference between Starr and human predators was, despite her animal instinct, her morality was still intact. For that, she was grateful. She would never be a kind of monster like them.

Rachel and Chloe turned right at the stop light.

Starr, though she reminded herself again and again that she would not hunt, kill, drink fresh blood, or be sadistic, followed them from behind.

They continued to turn their heads, only they weren't giving nasty looks anymore. Starr could see, in their eyes, and smell, from their pores, aggravation at the fact that she was behind them.

Rachel noticed the smirk on Starr's face.

Her hearing wasn't super like Mica's, but her senses were still improved. She heard them talking about getting rid of her.

They were really starting to panic.

What were they up to?

Finally, they turned into a fenced off clearing. They were waiting for her, on the inside. Pretending she didn't know, she walked in.

"Okay, Satan!"

Chloe grabbed her and tried to push her into the fence. She might as well have been trying to push a bolted down statue.

Inwardly, Starr couldn't help but laugh at her attempt to be tough. She'd never thrown a punch ever in her life, and was clueless as to how to fight.

"Think this is funny?" she spat. "Stop following us."

"You just spit in my face. Do it, one more time, and I'll make you eat dirt," Starr said calmly.

"Hey!" a tall girl in a black bustier-top with a black, long shag hair cut shouted.

Starr laughed at the surprised look on Rachel's and Chloe's face.

The girl looked tough, like a woman from the amazon. Beautiful and fearless, a conquer-ess, thought Starr.

Quickly, they backed away, turned and ran.

Behind the tall girl was half a dozen, just as tough, looking people who were about Starr's age.

"Thanks," said Starr smirking.

"No problem," said the girl.

She turned and went back to her group.

Starr watched her and her friends for a moment.

Rowdy, they were, as they huddled together talking and laughing loudly.

One boy who sat amidst them particularly caught Starr's attention. He had a plain look, but gave off a strong scent of danger.

From somewhere inside, she felt her demon give off a light growl. This was something that happened when she felt she was in a dangerous situation.

He was just a kid, though, she said to herself. And he wasn't doing anything bad.

Writing him off, she left the clearing and went back to the clinic.

~~~

As she walked up to the clinic's entrance, she saw Mot outside smoking again.

"Always, outside smoking," she said irritably.

"I like to smoke," but Starr was starting to wonder if something else were going on.

"Do you realize how delicate things are for us? If we want to continue the way we are, we have to be careful. You, hanging out here, day and night, is not good."

"Yes, yes, okay. I move over there," and he walked to the end of the block.

Inside the clinic was chaos, as usual: there was ceaseless noise and racket.

Danny and Kay, two kids Marla and Shane picked up off the streets, months ago, were sweeping the waiting room while Misty, a girl who followed Kay to the clinic one day, and who was the youngest at the clinic, was dusting.

Starr went to her room and set her things down.

"Starr?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any money for the new generator? I went ahead and talked to your friend, Michael. He's gonna help us out, but it's gonna cost $300. I got $250, off me and the others."

Of them all, Marla was her favorite to hang with. She was a straight shooter and they had similar tastes in clothes and entertainment, plus she often shared the same sense of humor as Starr.

Sure she loved Shane, too, but it wasn't the same because it was hard being friends with someone who always knew the truth of what she was thinking or feeling.

Shane knew this, though, and she was trying to learn to restrain herself, as she was new to being such a powerful empath and telepath, as she seemed to be a little of both.

Nevertheless, according to L.S. Credenza, vampires, like Shane, could learn to control their empathy and telepathy with practice. Unfortunately, Credenza didn't write how it could be done, so Shane was left to figure it out on her own. Fortunately, zen masters and yogis had studied these matters for centuries, and it was all a matter of mental discipline.

Shane was getting better at controlling it, though, but there were times when she'd slip up, and it would make them uncomfortable. Like the time when they were talking in the staff room of the clinic, and, all the sudden, she started crying and beating the wall. Turned out, a little girl they'd picked up, off the streets, was having a tantrum in the next room; it was her power of empathy picking up the girl's vibes, and causing her to act exactly as the girl. She went home the next day, to Shane's relief.

Then there was the time they were all having dinner in the waiting room. Marla was having a flashback to her father abusing her in the bath tub. All of a sudden, Shane said, "Why did your father tell you to get into the bath tub when your mother had already bathed you?"

Shane, telepathically, overheard part of the replay Marla was having of the conversation with her dad and, without meaning to, embarrassed her, greatly. Since that night, Marla had been a little wary of her.

Lastly, Shane had a bit of a breakdown, and locked herself in her room for a week straight. Screaming, crying and beating the walls, until Starr brought her back her first 24 disc zen master's collection: remedy to tranquility.

She listened to the discs for three days straight before coming out of her room. It was only then, that Marla truly forgave her for being what she was. Of them all, Shane really did suffer the most.

Now Shane's room was littered with discs on meditation, and she even downloaded over a thousand different meditation tracks, called white and brown noise, from the internet to help her block out mental noise.

Despite the issues with Shane's telepathy and empathy, Starr and the others truly felt that her abilities were the most useful of them all, and felt that she'd saved their necks too many times to fully discredit her.

It was her who had gleaned malicious intentions from the drunken teenager who'd followed Mot home, one day. Shane knew, instantly, that the kid was severely addicted to drugs and wanted for robbery. The rest of them could have sensed he was bad news, too, if it wasn't for the fact that he was masked in alcohol and sweat.

One night at a club, their superhuman senses unfocused due to being surrounded by a hundred people at once, it was Shane who heard the thoughts of a serial killer who was attracted to Mica.

They didn't believe her until they sensed him following them home, afterward. There was no choice but to kill him. They could defend themselves, but what about the other girls in the clinic?

Yes, it was hard to be around her, sometimes, but every time their superhuman senses failed them, Shane's power saved them.

Like a team of superheroes, they each had predispositions that, when together, made them invincible.

Even Mica, who drove them nuts with her yammering and was always on the go, was important to their group. Her ability to hear across rooms, and even through walls, enabled them to outwit others and, in incidents passed, to know other players moves before they made them. This was important, as people were prone to saying and doing things, contrary, to what they thought.

Mica had a serious thing for fashion, though. One day she'd be wearing furry Uggs, and be a spitting image of Paris Hilton, and the next, a Prada model, or the epitome of emo-scene. Whether Starr liked her look of the day, or not, she always got the best clothes from her connections, and always got the best seats at fashion week. Starr and the others were always itching to get a peek inside her wardrobe, which Mica kept sealed with a make-shift cement closet that, not even she could break.

Starr walked over to her desk and, from the top drawer, pulled out a small stash of cash.

"Are you waitressing at Billie's tonight?" she ran her hands through her long brown hair. Her eyes were the color of bluish crystal, as she stood under the fluorescent lamp, lamps which they hung in the hallway and were battery operated. Once they'd get a generator, they could get rid of them.

"Yeah, I have an hour before I gotta go. Are you going to work, too?"

"Yeah, I'm going to drop off this cash, first. Michael will drop by later with the generator. Since you'll be at work, I'll ask Shane or Mica if they'll be here."

"Or Lily, she's trustworthy."

"When you get off, if you aren't too tired, stop by! You know I get bored, working all night. Seth will be working tonight," she looked at Starr as though she tossed her a lure with a diamond hook.

Seth was a hot guy who Starr had been crushing on for a while, now. With a face like a model, nearly black hair and shamrock green eyes, it was hard to stop looking at him, sometimes.

Starr smiled and shook her head, "Alright, maybe I'll stop by after work."

~~~

That night at Billie's was another delightful disaster. A wannabe biker came in with his 'bros' and thought it would be awesome to do a beer funnel upside down, in between the tables. During which, he nearly choked to death on his half regurgitated steak, which Billie was kind enough to order her to clean up.

Maybe I should go work with Mica?

There, the girls don't have to clean up puke; that was the barback's job.

She was so tired of the scum that came into her place. Not that The Gaul club was so much better, with its many creepy frequenters, but, at least, she'd have some respect.

Walking along, she sensed that someone was behind her. Her nose told her it was the girl from earlier that day.

Starr turned around, but she wasn't in sight. Her new senses never fooled her; she was probably hiding.

"Come out, now. I know who you are, and I know you are there," she said calmly.

From out of the shadows, she appeared.

"I'm gonna give you, this one time, a warning. I'm a very dangerous person, and I advise you not to threaten me or you will be dead quicker than you can blink."

"I'm not threatening you."

"What do you call following someone, and then hiding when they turn to acknowledge you? You must think I'm stupid."

The girl said nothing.

From the girl, Starr couldn't sense any malicious intention, but she had been fooled before. Sometimes, people's body chemistry changed, giving off a distinctive smell when they were lying or up to something shady, but sometimes they didn't.

Starr supposed that it was an advance in genetics. Shane agreed with her but said it could also be human conditioning. In other words, when a person does wrong for so long, they may lose their sense of morality, leaving them unable to feel things like regret and fear, despite knowing their actions are wrong. If such a person was not the result of genetic advancement, then he or she may be a most broken specimen of human.

She had already come across these types, and they weren't hard to miss in her neighborhood where most of the vermin of the city resided.

Starr didn't fear the scentless ones out of weakness, but she just didn't like not knowing what a person was likely to do from moment-to-moment. One minute, this cold, cold person would be a best friend and, the next, put blade in that same person's back.

Which one was this girl? Given her position, it was better not to take a chance.

And with that thought, she said, "Go, now!"

The girl watched her a moment, and then turned. Starr watched her walk down the street a moment before going on her way.

Starr continued on to the hotel where Marla worked. Inside, she said hello to the desk clerk and walked to the back where she knocked on the door of an office.

"Come in," came Marla's voice. "I smelled you when you entered the building."

Her head was on the desk and her eyes were closed.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to remember what it was like to sleep. I haven't slept in seven days, you know?"

"Well, you're lucky. Think of how much you could get done."

"Yeah, but after a while, it gets boring to always be working on something. Night life sucks; mostly wierdos are out and about."

"Have you thought about trying a sleep aid?"

"Yeah, I took some Ambien. All the rumors about the Ambien zombies, I figured why not try it."

"How much did you take?"

"The whole bottle."

"How much sleep did you get?"

"Three hours."

"Jesus, Marla. That would put a normal person to death."

Suddenly, she shot up, over jerking her body, tossing her brown hair onto her back.

"Let's get a drink. Maybe I'll get drunk and get some zzzz's"

"Marla, alcohol doesn't affect us anymore."

"Oh yes it does. We just have to drink a lot of it."

"Maybe you should just get a hobby. Ever think of that? Or a second job? We could really use the money."

They stepped into the elevator and went up to the seventh floor where a large empty restaurant was dimly lit by the backlights of its bar.

Behind the bar, was Seth setting up glasses.

"Hey," he said as they sat at the bar. "What'll it be?"

"Cape cod," said Star.

"Two Irish Car Bombs and a Zombie."

"I.D.?"

"I showed you my I.D. before," said Starr, fishing her wallet.

They made it a priority to get the best fakes in the city, for that, they went to the local cosa nostra in Little Italy.

"Yeah, alright. I was just teasing, anyway. It's just you both look so young."

After pouring himself a quick shot, he set to making the drinks.

"So what are you guys up to tonight?"

"I just got off work and, get this, some weird girl was following me. Earlier, today, I was cornered by two bitches at school. This girl, the size of a mountain, scares them off."

"Had you seen her any other time before?"

"No, but keep your eye out. It's very suspicious, I think." Leaning over, she whispered so only Marla could hear, "She's got no scent."

"Cheers," interrupted Seth.

They sat drinking and talking and, Marla was right, she was starting to feel a little something, but it was a very light, euphoric feeling.

Starr just about jumped out of her socks when Mica snuck up behind them, shouting at them: Seth knocked over his bottle of rum and Marla shrieked.

"Ah haha," she laughed.

"You suck! Don't do that!" shouted Starr.

"What? You didn't sense me?"

"No, we didn't. It's harder to sense our kind," said Marla.

"I thought you sensed me earlier?" asked Starr.

"Well, I smelled your deodorant. We're not all the same, remember that. Just because you can do something, doesn't mean I can. "

"Well, I sense you two all the time, so you're right, we're not all the same," she laughed. "You probably didn't sense me this time because I focused on cloaking myself."

"What are you girls talking about?" Seth looked confused.

"Nothing important," said Mica.

"How was work?" asked Marla.

"Was alright, I guess. Didn't make too many tips, though. It was slow and Jason kept telling me what to do, like he's my boss or something. I'd like to slip my fang across his throat, sometimes," she said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Do you think they would hire me?" asked Starr.

"Why? You didn't get fired, did you?"

"No but I'm sick of the drivel that comes into Billie's. Tonight I had to clean up someone's regurgitated steak and beer, it was horrible. I just don't want to do it anymore; bikers are trashy people."

"Well, let me ask. I'm sure he could use you for something. What drinks do you know how to make?"

"Uhhh.... None. But I can learn them, no problem. You know that."

"Okay!" shouted Mica. "Let's show Starr how to make some drinks. What do you say, Seth?"

"I say let's do it."

They were up until 4 am teaching Starr the many popular drinks that would come up, in a bar like The Gaul: Adios Mother Effers, tequila suns', cosmopolitans, dirty martinis, purple nurples, lemon drops, and much more.

Then, about 4am, they cleared out of there so Marla could close up, and leave before Meredith, her boss, came in.

Proper Introductions

Chapter 3

Starr had two hours until class. She, Marla, and Mica walked back to the clinic.

"I don't feel anything!" exclaimed Starr.

"Neither do I," said Mica.

"I feel something, really dizzy. Maybe it's something to do with my brain. I was an insomniac when I was alive, now I never sleep. Is there a connection between serotonin and alcohol, maybe?" Marla asked.

"Ask the brain, Shane," said Starr.

They walked along the chain link fence, reminding Starr of Mot.

"Have you guys noticed Mot hanging out here, smoking a lot?"

"Yes, I told him to move it to the next block. He was out here for a few hours straight," Marla replied.

"You think he's dealing drugs?" asked Mica.

"I don't know. It occurred to me but I didn't ask. I don't care what he does, just as long as he doesn't do it here," replied Starr.

"I care," said Marla. "If he doesn't straighten up, then we need to get him help. We promised to protect these kids, so we can't just turn our backs on them when they get into trouble."

"Marla," said Starr, "we're not his parents. We made it clear that they need to look after themselves, or else they have to leave."

"Well, he's looking after himself, alright," Mica said sarcastically. "He thinks he's slippin' by, right under our noses. What else could he possibly be hiding? What'll it be next?"

"What if he's storing drugs in the clinic?" asked Starr off the top of her head.

They all got extremely quiet.

Starr supposed they were thinking what she was thinking. That if he was selling drugs, he had to be storing his supply somewhere. It was likely that place was the clinic.

If there was one thing cops did come to their part of town for, it was to catch drug dealers. One could see them following suspected dealers on the street, and sometimes pick out the cops who were staking out houses. If there was one thing Starr was certain of, it was that all drug dealers get caught, eventually.

Starr and Mica walked behind Marla, up to the rotted wood boards covering the short walkway. She turned around and said, "Alright, then. He's gotta go. I'll talk to him about it later today."

"Wait for Starr, to do it. Mot can get loud and violent sometimes. If he tries anything, Starr will put him in his place."

Marla looked upset and worried. It was times like this, when Starr thought about Credenza's estimation of vampires like Marla.

One day, Starr was going to sit down and talk to Marla about getting into zen meditation with Shane because she needed to get her emotions under control before it would be too late.

~~~

"You guys suck," Shane greeted them in the waiting room where she, and several others, ate breakfast.

Sometimes Shane got jealous because, not only was she excluded because of her mind reading abilities, but also because she worked the most opposite hours of them.

Shane worked in the registrar's office of the University so she could get discounted classes while keeping most of her award and loan money. Since she was off work, and often done with classes, by 5 pm, she'd be home while Starr, Marla, and Mica were just heading out. One by one, as their shifts would end, they'd stop by each other's work while Shane was stuck with the kids at the clinic.

"Oh come on," said Mica. "We were teaching Starr how to bar tend."

"Great," she said and took a bite of her egg.

"We'll go out tonight," said Starr. "Don't look so down." She walked over and gave her a warm hug around the shoulders.

~~~

Starr showered and changed for school.

The morning went by in much the same fashion as it always did: Starr trying to stay awake during lectures, which had become too slow for her fast brain, and being awoken by the giggles and pricks of her tormentors after nearly slipping off into sleep.

"Hey, Starr," whispered Marcus from a few seats behind. "Why are you always sleeping in class? Do you walk on the dark side, at night? It must be a rough road, going to hell every night, only to return in the mornings. Did you get permission to come to this school? Because hell is not in this district."

"Tuh," said Starr; their taunts got more and more stupid.

Sometimes she contemplated testing out and going straight to college. Then, at least, could get ahead, quickly, and put to good use, her full potential. The only thing that held her back was that she wanted a diploma, not a GED.

She contemplated these thoughts over her lunch when a boy in a black leather jacket approached her at her table.

"Hi," he said. "I've seen you before."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, don't you remember?"

She looked at him a moment and, although she did remember, she decided to let him introduce himself.

"I'm Antony, no H, just Antony. I saw you get cornered by those two girls, the other day. My friend, Bielz, helped you out."

Starr tried to read him, to get some sense from him: friend or foe to her, but she got nothing. He was the plain one, but unlike his friend, he gave off the distinct scent of danger, despite her not being able to determine if he was a threat to her, specifically.

Taking measure of his calm eyes and face, and bleached out hair that was meticulously spiked, she decided that he appeared friendly, at the moment.

"I'm Starr," she said, serenely.

"Why do you look at me like that? Are you scrutinizing me? Do you not trust me?"

The question threw Starr, for a moment. Rarely, had she been directly addressed in such a way, before; rarely, had another read her as accurately as she could read them.

Perhaps she underestimated him when she thought he was the least clever. Maybe he was the cleverest because he noticed her without letting her know it.

Inwardly, she remained suspicious but meeting him and seeing his strength of mind was attractive to Starr.

"So I see you got the sloppy joe... I love these things," and he stuck his finger into the side of her sandwich, lifted some meat and sauce to his mouth and sucked.

The shock must have shown on her face because he laughed loudly, afterward.

She decided she didn't like him.

"Go away," she said aptly, and returned to her lunch.

"Wow! You really are a straight arrow kind of girl. You said that without the least bit of feeling, and I almost believed it."

"Believed it?"

"That you want me to go away."

Starr noticed a smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth, and the smile in his eyes: he thought he was being cute and flirtatious. He thought he was irresistible.

She leaned over, looked deep into his eyes and said, "Believe it. Go away."

"You know, I just started here, a couple weeks ago. My father works for this company called..."

She stood, picked up her books and tray, and walked to a table on the other side of the room, but Antony followed her, still talking.

She knew it would do no good to walk away, for he would just follow her. It was obvious, to her, that this was part of his plan to make her like him.

So she allowed him to talk as she ate and did homework, as if he wasn't even there. When the bell rang, she gathered her items and left without a word.

"Yeah, I'll see you later," he half shouted at her back.

At the end of the day, as Starr walked out of building, she looked to her right and noticed a crew of men in white jump suits with power washers in their hands.

On the wall, the words 'cut and bleed' had been spray painted, and they were attempting to power wash it off, as it was a brick building so paint wouldn't do.

As she walked along the school fence, she also noticed a small group of kids hanging out across the street from the power washers. One of them was Antony, and one of the others was the girl who followed her the prior evening.

They saw her watching them and waved, but Starr ignored them and kept on.

~~~

Back at the clinic, it appeared that Marla had already cornered Mot. In his room, he sat on the bed with a red face.

"Marla, I thought you were gonna wait for me?"

"He was about to leave, and I didn't know when he'd be back. We need to take care of this quickly."

Mot raised his red, saddened eyes to Starr. She could sense he was upset and knew she should feel sorry for him, even if she, really, didn't.

"Listen, Mot," Starr said, "we don't want to send you away. We like you but we have to put our needs, and the needs of the others, first."

"I know. I just tr-r-y," he rolled his r, "to make a-something for myself."

"Well, we can get you back into school, and we can get you a job. You know that's what we're here for, to help you," said Marla.

"I not a citizen. My dad was arrested and sent to immigration facility. He was deported two weeks ago," he wiped his tear streaked face, silently, on his sleeve.

Marla gave Starr a sad look; another instance of Marla's humanity that was still intact. Starr could see the caring and pity in her eyes. For a moment, the look in Marla's eyes disgusted her. She wanted Marla to be strong, to be better than what she was.

Yes, Starr knew she should feel sorry for Mot, but he could spend the rest of his days eating out of trash cans, and Starr wasn't sure that she'd feel an ounce of guilt.

"So you thought drugs was the answer? You thought it would be okay to get us all pinched?" asked Starr.

"No but I don't want to live the r-r-rest of my life, like 'zis. No offence.'"

"Well, we don't either, so none taken. We can help you get the life you want, but you'll never get it with drugs. We can help you with your legal status, but you have to stop what you're doing, now," said Starr.

Mot sat silent for a moment. He stood up and walked over to a section of linoleum square. He lifted it and pulled a pouch of white powder.

"He will not like 'zis, Stephen. He is big time, and might hurt you. It would be better for me to just go on the r-r-run."

"We'll return it, for you. There's no need for you to go anywhere. We've got our own, shall we say, resources. Don't worry, we got this. Just tell us where to find him."

Marla wrote Mica and Shane a note while Star went and changed into her black, steel toed boots. Inside her jacket, she stored two throwing stars and a dagger. She wrapped a makeshift belt around her waist; it held two machetes. From around her neck, she unlocked the chain she wore and wrapped it around her fist.

She hoped she wouldn't need to use them, but drug dealers were the worst sort.

They must have looked menacing as they walked down the street because people seemed to eager steer away from them.

Marla carried the drugs in a bag she held close to her gut. She looked scared, as if she already knew what was coming.

They continued on until they reached a large rundown red brick building. From somewhere inside reeked out a broken sewer pipe.

After looking at each other, one final time, they walked up the steps and rang the door bell.

No answer came, but someone buzzed the door open. Starr first, they walked up the pine cleaner scented steps.

"Oh man," Marla cried. "When I was alive, I could barely stand these smells, but now," and she started to make gagging noises.

Starr stopped and waited.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

Finally, they reached Stephen's door.

Starr knocked; the door opened.

"We want to speak to Stephen," said Starr.

"Who's asking?" asked a sullen faced man, but Starr could sense that he was the man they were looking for.

"I'm Starr. I'm here for Mot. We have your product, and we want to return it."

The man stepped aside and let them through the door.

"I'm sorry but the deal I made to Mot was that he would move this. Now you bring it back?"

"Give it to someone else."

"Well, actually, he still owes me $300, judging by the fact that this is all you have."

Marla bent over and got some money from within her shoe, but the man didn't look like he wanted to take it.

"Look, maybe we can work something out. I know you don't want your friend working, but it's only because of kids like him that I can move this stuff. He can't be held responsible and, without parents, he can't be questioned."

"We don't care. He's our friend, and he's off limits."

"Yeah, okay. Fine," but he didn't look fine. Starr could sense his body giving off the dangerous chemistry. He was planning one last attack, a little payback.

One look at Marla told Starr that she'd picked up the same vibe, too.

"Look, we're gonna give you one chance to change your mind about what it is you plan to do," said Starr.

"I plan nothing, you can go."

"But you're lying. You're planning, right now, to attack us. To beat us down, to show us up," Starr replied.

"Yeah, so what," he shoved Starr, but he might as well have been pushing a brick wall. He looked at her, strangely, but quickly recovered and said, "I can do what I want, now get the hell out!"

The man reached out to push Marla. Starr raised her hand, quicker than he could blink. He slammed his fingers into the palm of Starr's rock hard hand, and there was a multitude of loud cracking noises.

He lowered down his hand, holding his wrist: several of his fingers were, clearly, broken.

"Oh crap," said Starr looking at his misshapen hand.

She knew this was bad; that she might have unintentionally started a war. Now he was, for sure, gonna get back at them.

Starr pulled Marla aside, "We have to kill him."

"What? We're not killing anybody!"

They thought he couldn't hear them, but Starr sensed his change from pain to desperation, which meant he was planning an attack right there.

She was right, for he pulled out a gun and shot Starr directly in the stomach.

It was like being whacked in the gut with the flat head of a crow bar. The wind was knocked out of her, not that she breathed anymore, but she could feel air, that occupied her lungs, forced out.

Both Marla and the man looked at her; Star could see the concern and curiosity in Marla's eyes. None of them had ever been shot before.

And then the pain lifted, but the bullet was still inside her, she could feel it resting against her stomach tissue.

No time to waste, though. Starr grabbed the gun from Stephen.

But then there was a terrible feeling in her gut, like acid. She could feel it burning up into her esophagus. It was the bullet, like it was melting inside her.

She doubled over, fell to her knees, and then to the floor.

"Starr?" Marla freaked out. "What's happening?"

"It's –uh- the b-b-bullet. It's d-d-dissolving inside me, and it hurts. It smells and feels like acid reflux, b-b-but a million times worse," and she writhed about the floor, moaning in pain.

"Oh my lord. You should be dead!" screamed Stephen, and he lunged for the gun and readied to shoot Starr again.

Marla kicked him the balls, which sent him down in much the same fashion as Starr.

"Kill him, Marla, or he'll be back."

"I can't," and she pulled Stephen up by the neck, yanked back a fist and punched him in the face, knocking him out cold and spattering blood all over the floor.

"Ugh! I think I broke his nose or teeth, or something," and she wiped her hand on the carpet.

They may not have been as strong as Starr, but they were still stronger than most men.

"Come on, Starr. Get up! We gotta go!"

Starr walked limply with her arm around Marla's shoulders.

The pain shot up to her neck, and down to her calf with every step they took.

Sensing Starr's pain, Marla slowed down their walking pace.

"Let's just sit here, for a moment," said Marla.

"No. If someone comes by, like a cop, they could force us to the hospital. We don't know what they'd find about us, with medical devices."

As they walked, the pain began to, slowly, alleviate. By the end of three blocks, Starr was walking with a limp, but without leaning on Marla.

By the time they were back at the clinic, Starr was completely fine.

"How do you feel?" Marla had asked her over and over.

"Stop asking me. I'm fine. You know that bullets don't hurt us; Credenza said so, too. If they did, I wouldn't be walking, would I? So don't worry."

Inside the clinic, all was chaos as normal. A few of the kids were doing homework while others prepared for dinner and a movie, as they did on Friday nights.

Mot was standing at the stove in the corner of the waiting room stirring a large pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove that Michael, Starr's friend from the Salvation Army, installed months ago.

Despite the way things went down with Stephen, Starr didn't want Mot to worry. As she walked by, she winked and gave him a thumb up, as if everything was fine.

"Well, everything is okay, unless that jerk knows where we live," said Marla.

"I know," said Starr. "I'm worried, too."
Can't Stay Home

Chapter 4

Although they wanted to stay home, in case Stephen or someone he worked with came by, they couldn't; they had to work. Seeing as they, all three, worked in the service industry, Fridays were their biggest nights to make money, and they couldn't afford to go without it, not even for a single night.

Unfortunately, neither Mica nor Shane returned home before Starr and Marla had to clear off. They called their cell phones a dozen times, but they didn't answer. Finally, they just had to clear off and hope for the best; they couldn't risk losing their jobs! But, before they left, Marla gave Lily her cell phone and told her to call Starr if anything strange happened while they were gone.

Lily was sharper than Starr thought, for, although they tried to tell her that everything was fine, she was extremely suspicious.

Luckily, that night, everything was fine. No one came by, and the kids were alright. Mica and Shane were a little shocked to hear that Starr had been shot, but they were more fascinated than anything.

"What did it feel like?" asked Mica.

"Like getting a massage. What do you think, idiot? It hurt like hell."

"If bullets can't kill us," said Shane, "than neither can being stabbed with a knife."

"Yeah, but didn't you see 'Death Becomes Her'?" asked Mica. "What if we can lose our limbs?"

"If we save them, we should be able to reattach them," she walked over to the shelf and picked up a Credenza book.

"Well, ladies," said Marla. "We might just live forever. If our tissues regenerate and heal themselves from a bullet wound, time, bacteria or virus won't have much luck."

~~~

A week went by without word or any sign of Mot's dealer, Stephen. Starr and Shane went by the house, several times, to make sure he was still around, and he was. Shane couldn't get any thoughts or feelings from him, though.

"Maybe he's drugged out," she said. "It's like a snowy radio station, up there. I hear various thoughts, but can't make any sense of them."

Despite the appearance that the drug lord would leave them alone, they still felt vulnerable, so they took that following Saturday and made a special trip to the hardware store where they bought locks and wood, and then spent the day reinforcing the windows, locks, and the front glass door.

Later, they entrusted the older kids to a special box for their protection, in case anyone wandered in while they were away. Inside were two 1000 fps bb guns; far from deadly but painful enough to make a person think twice, and maybe even need surgery. Also, there were two cans of mace and a stun gun.

The others thought Starr was being paranoid, but Starr knew she wasn't. Drug dealers don't call the cops to right their wrongs: they handle their own business, violently. Maybe things were quiet, now, but Stephen could come around when they least expected it.

Besides, Stephen didn't look big time, as they say. It was likely he'd wait until his fingers were healed enough before coming, himself, to take revenge on them.

Only Shane seemed to agree that it was in their best interest to prepare for the worst, so they spent the next Saturday, letting the kids practice shooting in the back of the clinic.

Mot felt extremely guilty for bringing the situation down on them. He did everything he could to make up for it, like constantly cleaning and he cooked dinner every night that week.

Mica got Mot a job, sweeping the floors of a salon on the East side. They figured out it would cost him $1500 to get a visa and, from there, he could work on getting permanent status. At minimum wage, it was going to take a while, but he managed to procure a birth certificate from his country and was planning to apply for a passport, once it arrived.

Despite everything, though, Starr still felt like their place was vulnerable. She stood outside looking about, wondering what the place needed when she got an idea.

That night, when mostly everyone was asleep, she put on her old jeans and dirty old sweater, tied her hair in a bun and ran to the nursery on the other side of town.

Normally, this sort of trip would have taken an unfit human five or six hours, but she ran the distance in fifteen minutes.

Leaping over the twelve foot fence of a parking lot nursery, she landed on a barbed wire net that served as a ceiling. Below was a huge stack of soil and to her right, a row of baby coniferous trees.

As quietly as she could, she ripped the barbed wire apart with her hands; it was like snapping dental floss to her.

She leapt through the hole she'd ripped and landed on the black tar.

Starr picked up a potted tree, in one hand, and leapt up, through the ripped barbed wire, and landed on the black tar, outside of the fence.

Starr did this three more times, and then, taking two plants in each arm, ran back to the clinic as quick as she could.

Most of the fence that surrounded the clinic was blocked off with overgrown shrubbery, but the front was wide open, for the public to see.

What Starr did, didn't solve the problem of the missing gate that used to be a part of the chain link fence, but she would get Michael to help her with that, later.

That very night, Starr planted the trees, leaving enough space between them for them to grow outward as well as up. There was still enough space to see the clinic, but, in time, the clinic would be completely obscured.

Funnily enough, no one noticed the trees until several weeks went by, and they had grown to be nearly as tall as the chain link fence.

Halloween Disaster

Chapter 5

It was Halloween night, and although they would have rather stayed with the kids and had fun, they couldn't. Next to New Year's Eve, Halloween was the night they made the most money in tips, plus Starr still hadn't been able to put a gate in the fence at the clinic.

Danny, a sixteen year old who divided his time between his real home and the clinic, was planning to take them to the city's Halloween block party for kids under eighteen.

Starr, Mica and Marla felt extremely guilty about not going with them, but they could, at least, trust Danny. He was there, in the beginning, when they first moved into the clinic. He didn't come from a broken home, like some of them did; in fact, Starr would have guessed his family was well-to-do, as they say. Something was missing from his life, though, to make him spend so much time there, at the clinic.

Not that they cared. They only had two requirements for kids who wanted to stay with them, and that was they contribute when they can and tell no one that they were there, no matter what the circumstances or threat. Danny was a most helpful contributor, and he came through, for them, a few times when they were really down on their luck.

Shane was planning to take the night off. With all the nights they got to party while she stayed on, they didn't begrudge her. Starr and the others felt Shane deserved a night off.

As Starr left the clinic, dressed like dark angel with black wings, the kids were having a blast with music and make up in the waiting room. Pizzas and soda was spread all about.

Lily was drawing leaves on Marie's face. Marie was a little Asian girl who, like Mot, was going to have immigration problems, in the future. According to her, her parents died as stowaways, and her real name was Misaki, but Starr got the feeling she was lying about either her parents or her name.

Becky, a runaway from a children's home on the west side, was smearing black paint around Lucas', an abused boy from Harlem, face.

"By guys," Starr said as she grabbed a slice of pizza. "Have fun tonight. Lily, you call me if there are any problems, okay?"

"Okay, bye!" she smiled, widely.

That night was a typical rowdy night at work. It was too busy for her to think of anything at all, except the wish that Mica would hurry up and get her a job at The Gaul.

About ten 'o' clock, she got a message from Lily saying they were on their way home from the mall.

Starr texted back, 'Okay,' and to let her know when they made it back inside, safely.

At eleven p.m., a couple bikers, at the bar, were kind enough to spray her, and everyone within a few feet of them, with beer. Immediately, Starr ran to the bathroom to fix her makeup which streaked down her face.

At twelve a.m., a patron ran out, screaming, after he decided it was good fun to grope her ass, as she bent over to clean up a table.

Starr, who was especially annoyed with the aggressive crowd, grabbed his hand too hard, and he screamed out like a little girl. His buddies just laughed at him because they simply didn't believe that skinny Starr could have hurt the man.

Finally, two a.m. approached and it was time to start clearing out the crowd. As usual, the bar stopped serving drinks, but many of the bikers did not want to leave.

"What? It's only 2am. What is up with this city. I remember when bars would serve until 4 a.m.!"

At around 3 a.m., one guy decided it would be funny to stick his leg out and trip another guy who was on his way out of the door. It wasn't a problem for Starr, who grabbed them, both, by the back of their necks and tossed them outside to fully engage one another.

By the time two middle aged women tried to climb over the bar, because Starr refused to serve them, her nerves were highly peaked, and her patience, thinly stretched.

She only meant to toss them back over, but, instead, they flew into the wall, knocking down several pictures: shards of glass flying everywhere and the motorcycle that was drilled into the wall rattled halfway free of its cage, knocking one patron completely out.

"Starr!" her boss, Billie, yelled. "Do you realize how much that's gonna cost me? You could get me sued! I'm sorry, Starr. I like you and I know it wasn't your fault, but I gotta let you go."

She'd never been fired before. She felt sad, but relieved at the same time.

"Let me finish out the night. You still owe me money and I earned those tips tonight. We all did. I've bailed you out of trouble time and time again. Think about all the bar fights I prevented, all the damage you could have been paying for!"

Billie looked toward the door; several cops had just walked in.

"Alright, alright, she dug into her pocket and pulled out $300. But you better go, now, if you don't want to go to jail," she said, eyeing the police who were headed her way.

Starr walked out, from behind the bar, and made a right through the door that lead into the kitchen.

The cops knew she was about to run because they bolted toward her, but she was too fast for them.

Quicker than an eye could focus, she was through the kitchen, out the backdoor, and to the end of the alley where she watched the cops who were dazed and confused. They scratched their heads and were determined that she had to be hiding somewhere in the bar.

She turned around and walked toward Mica's bar, The Gaul. Starr couldn't afford to be without a job, neither of them could.

If it wasn't for the bouncer who recognized Starr, she wouldn't have gotten in because the line went on for blocks.

Inside, the crowd was going off. The whole room moved and swayed the way a concert would. The new d.j. was making wicked tunes and people repeatedly stepped on her feet.

She couldn't hear or see Mica anywhere in the room, so she called out anyway, "Mica, I got fired today."

Suddenly, she appeared at her side.

"I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"Some trashy biker chicks tried to climb over the bar. I threw them off, a little too hard. I didn't mean too! How the hell can you stand working here? Doesn't it hurt your ears? Super hearing and all?"  
"Haha," she laughed. "Sometimes, but no not really. My brain likes it, for some reason."

"So what about that job?"

Mica grabbed her by the arm and led her to the office where her boss was watching a movie on television; he appeared to be totally bored.

"Hi Gaul."

So he was Gaul, thought Starr.

"This is my friend, Starr. She's the one I was telling you about. She works fast."

"Have you ever bartended before?"

"No, but I worked at the biker bar, Billie's, so I can pour beer and make simple drinks. Mica showed me how to make quite a few drinks, the other night. I think with a couple nights, I could make a good bar tender. Maybe I could just waitress for you, for a bit, until you feel comfortable, but I could really use a job."

"You have your I.D.?"

Starr pulled out her wallet.

"Well, alright. Come back tomorrow, around 2 p.m. We will get you started when it's quieter."

"Thank you."

Outside Gaul's office, Starr said, "Thank goodness. I hate looking for a job in this city."

"Want a drink?"

Starr looked around at the room, and fun as it looked, all she wanted was peace and quiet.

"Nah. I'm gonna go home. I'll see ya later."

Starr just wanted to go home, close the door to her room, and relax, but as she neared the clinic, she sensed that something was off. There was a lot of fear in the air. The closer to the clinic, she got, the more she noticed the scent.

Sniffing at the air, she looked all around her. Then, it was like someone planted a thought in her brain.

Starrrr... It called.

Shane? She thought.

Can you hear me?

"Yes, I can hear you," she spoke aloud. "Where are you?" Starr asked the air as turned around and around.

I'm reaching you, telepathically. It's something I read about in one of my books. We need you. I think the guy who shot you is here, and he's got us under gun. Mot is badly hurt, and they've upturned the clinic. Be careful.

"Okay, I'm coming."

Starr picked up running along the street. She stopped at the light and took off her shoes so that she could run faster.

She sent text messages to Marla and Mica because the chance of them hearing, or answering their cell phones, was slim. Besides, Starr was pretty sure she could handle the situation herself. The night she escaped them, she took out four men in one sitting. Now that she knew she couldn't die from bullets, she felt even more confident.

Still, she thought to herself, bullets slowed her down, considerably, so she needed to be careful.

She stopped at the corner of the clinic's fence and sniffed the air to suss out how many strangers were in the clinic, but she couldn't tell from where she stood; she needed to get closer.

Like a frog, she leapt over the fence, over the shrub that grew over the top, and landed on the ground.

Her weapons were inside, and she could sense someone near the back entrance of the clinic, so she was going to have to use her hands to fight.

Carefully, she crept along the clinic's walls, smelling, calculating that there were, likely, four or five men keeping the kids hostage, inside.

She could smell the most danger and fear coming from the waiting room, and assumed that most of them were there, except for the scent of a man in the back.

Starr went around to the back where she noted the smell of gun powder, which meant the man, inside, had fired his gun.

If anyone had been hurt, Starr thought, she would enjoy hacking them all to pieces. It would be the perfect excuse to 'let the beast out of the cage,' so to speak... sickly, inwardly, she hoped...

Carefully, quietly, Starr pulled with force, the door they had boarded up and reinforced from the inside. Unfortunately, for Starr, pulling the door was the equivalent of pulling the tab off of a soda, for it snapped off the wall, making loud crunching noises with wood splinters that flew everywhere.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath.

She heard the one, who'd fired his gun, run toward the back door.

When he got close enough to the broken door, she yanked him out, into the night air, by the neck of his shirt.

Easily, she twisted the gun from his hands.

He, then, threw a punch, but Starr's reflexes were too quick. She instantly regretted using the move she'd learned in martial arts because instead of tripping him, she sent his skull through the pavement.

Looking down at his splattered skull, she realized he was dead. For the first time in months, she felt a real, complex emotion: surprise. She didn't mean to kill him, let alone shatter his skull into bits.

Instantly, she broke into a sweat that was like the time she passed the chocolate shop.

For the first time, in months, she felt her heart beat as she saw the flesh of his brain peak out from between his cracked skull; it reminded her of a partially de shelled walnut, revealing the meat within.

Starr heard Shane calling to her but couldn't tear her gaze from the fresh blood that was so fresh, so fragrant, so good.

They are coming.

But Shane was busy lapping up the blood, and she couldn't stop. She took a large bite of the brain, and gulped it down, just like a zombie in a movie would.

It was her animal, inside, that took over. She heard the footsteps, but, like a dog, it was impossible to pull herself away from her meal.

Her senses didn't come back to her until a man screamed bloody Mary at the top of his lungs.

Starr looked up and saw Stephen standing there with a look of horror in his eyes.

He tried to run, but Starr was already at his throat and ripping it out. Like cracking eggs, she broke open his skull into the concrete wall and sampled his brains as they spilled into her hands, between her fingers, and slid to the ground.

There are three more.

STOP IT, NOOOW!

Shane screamed in Starr's head.

Starr dropped Stephen and put her hands up to her head; the scream was painful, like someone had taken a bat to her brain.

Tearing herself away from her meal, she walked along the wall, like a cat on a fence. There was someone in the hallway with a gun. With the reflexes of a lion, she ran up, behind him, grabbed the weapon out of his hand.

As he turned around, Starr realized what she must look like, by the look in his bulging, trembling eyes.

It took a moment, but when the shock wore off, he screamed to his buddies.

Two more men with guns ran toward them, she could hear their footsteps. Starr grabbed the one who screamed and dragged him through the back of the clinic and outside where she felt the need to fight him.

It had been months since Starr had exercised her inner animal, and it felt good to be out there, under the moonlight and ready to rip apart a man.

He tried to wrestle free from Starr's grip as she dragged him.

His eyes majorly bugged out at the sight of his fallen comrades' that were busted up on the ground.

The other two guys ran out and started screaming, too. Starr knew she needed to kill them quick, or risk the cops being called.

Suddenly, one of the men shot her in the shoulder, but, this time, it didn't faze her because she was in full animal function. Grabbing the gun and punching him in the face was nothing to her.

Together, the other man, and the one Starr dragged outside, ran at her but they were no match. Starr ducked a punch from one of them right as she pushed down the foot of the other who tried to kick her in the gut. Then, like killing seven flies with one swat, she pulled her arm back and re extended a punch into both their faces, in a one-two type motion, knocking them out cold.

"Keep them back," Starr said to Shane through the air.

Instinctively, she ransacked the back of the clinic, looking for a laundry bag. Once she found it, she ran outside and, like ripping wings off of a butterfly, she ripped the two dead bodies into pieces and stuffed them inside. Next, she dug up the earth and moved it around so as to hide the blood that colored the ground.

She hoisted the three men, who were still alive, onto her left shoulder, and, under her arm, the two bags with the dead ripped up bodies. Starr leapt over the fence and hit the ground, running, fast through the streets; back to the drug lord's house, up the steps, up the stairs and kicked in the door.

Starr dropped the bags and slammed all three bodies onto the living room table, breaking it into pieces.

She didn't mean to break the table, just like she didn't mean to kill the first man; she simply slipped up. It was always at moments of high anxiety that she slipped, just like earlier at Billie's. One day, she berated herself, she was going to get into serious trouble.

She walked up and down the room, trying to think if there was anything she should do before she left: any evidence that would lead the cops back to the clinic.

Next, she wondered if she should kill the last three men.

"Kill them," someone said from behind.

Star whipped around and sighed with relief, "Shane, you scared me."

"Yeah, I followed you. Listen, I just want to apologize for laying the fight on you. I just didn't want the kids to see that we aren't, exactly, normal."

"It's all right," said Starr, sitting on the sofa. "To tell the truth, I enjoyed it."

"I know you did. Of us all, you are the most animal."

"Meaning?"

"You know what I mean, Starr. You worry about Marla, who has too much humanity left in her, about me and how I can't control my telepathy-empathy, but the one you need to worry about, is you: you who has very little humanity left inside. Sure, Credenza suggests that Mara may have a hard time, but you are headed down a dangerous path. If you do not control it, someone may put you down one day."

Starr couldn't believe that Shane was speaking to her in such a manner. This was exactly why Shane was excluded from them, on a regular basis: she just couldn't keep her nose out of their personal business.

"Screw you, Shane. Are you threatening me?"

"Look, we don't want to hurt you."

"We? So you've been talking about me behind my back?"

"Credenza said some who turn may completely vamp out. We can't have that, and you know that. We won't hurt you as long as you are still the Starr we know, but if you continue to indulge your desires, you'll be no better than a rabid dog or the serial killer we put down."

Vamp out was Credenza's label for those who'd completely succumbed to being turned; they were the basest form of vampire, like a lion in a jungle, pure animal, pure hunter, and pure, nearly, unstoppable beast.

"Don't you think I know that? I struggle with this, just like you struggle with your changes, and Marla with hers. Don't you think I know the way I feel is wrong? But, like you guys, I'm learning to control it!"

Shane said nothing.

"Fine," said Starr. "I'll leave tonight."

"No," said Shane. "We need you."

"No, I'm gone. Now you can all rest easy but, if you ever come after me, know that I will fight you. You think I got wild tonight, you just try me and you'll see just how wild I can get!"

"I didn't mean for this to happen; this is not what we want! We need each other! You can't leave, Starr!"

"Shane, you just threatened to put me down like a rabid dog. How can I stay? When I know that you three are watching me? When I know you're contemplating my every move? If you didn't want me to leave, then you should have kept your big mouth shut, but, as usual, you can't."

"Starr, you ate those men's brains!"

"We are vampires, Shane! Get used to it! I didn't do anything unusual, or unlike our kind, tonight. Just because you have a hard time accepting who you are, doesn't mean that I should have to, too. Don't put your crap on me, Shane!"

Starr walked out of the apartment, down the stairs, down the steps, and out into the night. As a bag lady passed her by, she screamed blood curdling.

Surprised, Starr looked in the window closest to her and saw that her face was smeared with blood.

Sniffing the air, looking around for empty apartments, she found several. She abounded for the empty live-motel, several blocks over. Climbing the side steps of the building, she opened the locked window with ease and climbed inside.

She could sense that nearly everyone on the floor was asleep. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap water, but froze at the sight of her face.

Blood, red like rubies, was cracked and dried like little bits of glass on her face. She looked sick like a monster. Maybe she was, in fact, a monster. What if Shane were right?

School, As Usual

Chapter 6

Next day was the same, as usual. The kids greeted her at the entrance to school: Rachel and Chloe had clever remarks as usual. This, she found amusing because they were clearly up to something and seemed not to realize they were taunting the only person that was onto them.

She would get them, thought Starr.

Although things seemed normal, the school building was more heavily laden in graffiti than usual. Starr assumed it was the pleasure of Antony and, probably, Bielz.

Starr saw Antony about, but he didn't go out of his way to say 'hi' to her, but he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Whenever she walked around him, she sensed his peaked interest.

She didn't need Shane's mind reading ability to know that Antony knew something about her, but she was too consumed with her departure from the clinic to care.

Later, after school, she saw them hanging out across the street, but they didn't wave this time.

There was one thing she was dreading that afternoon, and that was returning to the clinic to get her things. What if they tried to kill her?

Well, she thought, if she had to, she would bury them all. She would survive, even if she had to kill her best friends because that was the vampire inside her.

Demon Chase

Vampin Book Series #5

By Jamie Ott
Copyright   2011 Jamie Ott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used without written permission, except for where credit is duly given.

ISBN-13: 978-1467987746

ISBN-10: 1467987746

For all inquiries, please contact ladysonoma@americamail.com.
Last Leg

Chapter 1

Despite Starr's passport not matching her appearance, the airport employees gave her no problems. Her father, who was in the Air Force, got it for her when she was twelve, for when they were stationed in Germany. Now, at sixteen, she'd changed a lot since then: her hair was straight waist length and blue black like the midnight sky, and she never went anywhere without black eyeliner and red lips.

Her seat rattled as the person behind her put a tray in upright position.

She couldn't stand the tight little seats and the cramped little space of the 737 aircraft. All she wanted was to land so she could stretch her legs; that and she was tired of smelling the toilet.

The passenger in front of her lifted the shade. Beams of light reflected off the icy clouds, and glared brightly.

She smelled it, again, coming from a man in a black suit: a sweet scent that reminded her of a light sage. His dark eyes stayed forward, as though trying not to give away that he was onto her, but she knew he was.

Normally, once a human was turned, they stopped putting off their pungent animal smells – body odor - but they still secreted pheromones.

Deeply, she inhaled the air, tasting the sage and trying to pick out the pheromones so as to determine if he was a threat to her.

She was distracted by the pilot's voice, coming over the intercom, letting them know they had already begun their descent toward the Sibiu Airport, in Transylvania, Romania.

The man's scent filled the air at the news. He was just as happy, as she was, for the long trip to be over.

She and the man, who continued to pretend he wasn't following her, made it through customs and baggage claim, though he didn't have any bags. He even followed her to the taxi line.

Was he really so stupid as to think she didn't notice?

Oh well. It was better to play naïve, for the moment, anyway. She didn't want to get on the bad side of Louisa Credenza who was the reason for her flying to Romania. Unfortunately, she was hoping to make the trip in secret, so already being followed was real disappointing.

"Unde a face nevoie la spre energie?" asked her cab driver.

A trick of being a vampire was Starr seemed to have gained a, sort of, extra sensory perception to understand what people wanted of her, even if the language they spoke wasn't English. Unfortunately, her comprehension didn't always mean that she knew how to respond, which is why she spent many of the hours, mid-flight, studying basic Romanian phrases.

"A face pe plac lat, Marriott Hotel," she said slowly and awkwardly.

When he asked which one, she merely looked into his eyes, in the rearview mirror, shrugged her shoulders and furrowed her eyebrows.

The man seemed to understand, for he said "Nici o problema," and drove off.

Starr hadn't much time to plan before she'd left the city. It was a last minute decision that she should come and track down the headquarters of, what Louisa Credenza called, The Council.

Repeatedly, she looked out the back window, trying to see if the man in the suit was there, in one of the cars, but she couldn't find him, nor smell him out of all the exhaust and crisp mountain air.

Twenty minutes later, the cab driver parked in front of a hotel lobby in the center of Sibiu.

If she were still alive, her breath would have been taken away by the beautiful, old city.

As she stepped out of the car, she turned around, looking at the exotic medieval structures. It was true, what they say: Transylvania appeared to be an excellently maintained medieval territory.

The buildings were charming, though old, and, yet, somewhat garish. Rather than original restorations, the patrons mended their old frames with common house paint.

All up and down the cobble streets, colors of white, yellow and pink glared through the misty atmosphere of Sibiu. The paint simply didn't match their structures. She couldn't help but think they shouldn't have put drywall over the beautiful wooden churches, or over the old stone buildings.

Looking south, she saw enormous, intimidating mountains with blankets of mist threatening to drop down on them. She wondered if they were the infamous Carpathian Mountains that bordered the Ukraine.

Looking at them, she imagined wars upon wars, and blood and swords: people fighting and people dying, centuries ago.

As she walked up the path, to the hotel, she sampled the air, but didn't taste, smell or sense the man.

At the counter, a lady in a blue suit with her hair in a tight bun asked, "Cum pot ajutor tu?"

"A room, please," Starr said, hoping she understood.

"O'gay," she said with a thick accent.

It wasn't until the woman asked how she'd be paying that Starr realized she'd forgotten to visit the currency counter at the airport. She didn't have any credit cards, as she was only sixteen.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "They ar-r-re expensive, the air-r-rport," she rolled each R short and harshly.

The woman gave her directions to a spot down the street.

Starr couldn't help but laugh at all the Dracula propaganda posted in shop windows and passed out in pamphlets on the street. They all said, "Dracula lived here," "Dracula ate here," and "Come visit Dracula's ...," something, or other.

When she returned to the hotel, Starr was checked into a nice clean room, where she crashed on the bed and sighed, loudly.

Traveling was exhausting and, though she loved seeing new places, she hoped never to have to leave the Unites States again.

Inwardly, she told herself she just wanted to relax, after being cramped in a steel tube for nearly a day and a half, but that was completely changed when she looked out of her room's window.

Once again she was awed by centuries old beauty.

Across the sky, and along the base of the lower part of Sibiu, old houses were crammed next to each other in a long row.

Up higher, she saw enormous solitary structures: castles, dark and foreboding, even in the light of day.

Pressing her face into the window, she looked right and saw half a dozen castle-like structures; they had cylindrical shapes and conical pointed roofs.

Anxious to see, up close, the old city, she put her stuff in the safe, grabbed her bag and walked down to the tourist counter where she booked her first tour.

One thing that made her laugh was how all the brochures, behind the hotel's counter, called all the castles Dracula's whether he actually lived there or not. If he stopped in for the night, or only for a café, the place was, apparently, his.

She spent the day on the tour in the city of Sighisoara, one of Vlad III's real homes when his father, Vlad II, was in exile.

Like Sibiu, the fortified city was nearly perfectly preserved, and even the more rotted parts of the city were beautiful and enchanting. Just looking at the stone roads reminded her of how old the place, she stood on, was.

As she entered the infamous Clock Tower, which was built in the 13th century, she felt truly overcome by the realization that the clock was probably older than her own family line. It must have been a significant advance in technology to the common people of the middle ages.

By early evening, Starr returned to Sibiu where she wandered about for hours.

The town was known for having two levels of division. For the earlier part of the evening, she walked the upper level which was a business district. There she felt compelled to touch all the walls. To her, touching them was like touching a person's essence, a person that lived centuries before.

Except for the garish paint, and occasional dry wall, many of the towers were so excellently preserved that Starr could immediately see, in her mind, what life might have been like there: the Harquebusier, home to medieval infantry; the Carpenter Towers, fortified with a beautiful octagonal shape; Tanning Towers, and the Gunpowder Towers. People worked themselves to death, in those places.

To think that, in a mild way, she was connected, being what she was, to the town was a thrilling thought. After all it was mythology that Vlad, himself, was a vampire. The fact that an ethical tribe of vampires, who called themselves The Council, ruled and resided there, made the rumor seem possible.

She wondered if vampires were first born, there, in the Transylvania territory, or were they brought from elsewhere? Was Dracula still alive? And, if he were, was he as crazy, now, as he was back then?

When she tired of the upper level, she moved along to the lower level which was comprised of mostly houses that were centuries old, too.

Like the houses she saw from her hotel's room window, they were all crammed together, making long neat rows of house after house. The doors were small and close to each other, and people touched shoulders as they walked in and out of them. From what she was able to glimpse, from the street, the insides were considerably small, too.

In New York City, homes were also crammed together, though Sibiu's neighborhoods looked to provide little space or privacy for, and between, families.

The Romanian people stuck out, greatly, in contrast to their medieval surroundings. In fact, they seemed completely out of place, in their modern clothes, carrying their laptops and talking on cell phones.

At the corner of a cobble stone street, she spotted a little pub. Tired of wandering around, she decided to stop.

Inside, the pub was just like most of the other buildings she'd seen that day; although attached to enormous structures, the place, itself, was small and dark like a cave.

Inside, the décor was simple looking with thick whittled wooden tables and chairs crammed together, hardly allowing of patron privacy.

The crowd was mostly middle aged, though a few of them were fairly young. Many of them look well beyond their ages because their skin was already ruined from years of drinking and smoking; a trend that seemed to start early in the towns of Transylvania.

She walked up to the counter and ordered an Ursus, which was a beer from the top brewery in Romania.

The myths would say that her kind could only drink blood, but it just wasn't true. In fact, Starr really enjoyed the refreshing taste of the spiced ale. The hops made her taste buds come to life.

It was at that moment she noticed the scent of sage, again, but she wasn't surprised. Eventually, she knew he'd find her, again.

She remained where she was, thoroughly surprised, and enjoying her corba de peste, fish soup which turned out to be very delicious.

Finally, the man must have realized she was onto him, for, instead of trying to blend in with the crowd, he sat right next to her.

"So I figured I'd better just say hi," he said with a thick Romanian accent.

Starr kept eating as if he didn't speak.

"Ar-r-ren't you going to say something?"

He rolled his R, slightly.

"Go away," she said icily, as she sipped more of her fish broth.

"Well, that's hardly nice, Madam," he said, sounding surprised.

She took a sip of her cold brew.

After a moment of silence, the man continued, "You are just as shocking of tongue, as you are of presence: black hair, black eye liner, black leather. What is this? A chain ar-r-round your neck?"

Like an old character in a comic book, Starr liked to fashion a thick chain link around her neck, clasped off with a full sized metal lock; the key was in her pocket at all times.

The man reached out to touch the chain.

"Don't touch me."

The man ignored her.

Faster than the human eye could see, Starr put her hand around the man's neck, and slammed his head onto the counter, pinning him there.

He yelped and groaned as he clawed at her hands, but she was too strong.

Starr, who was a black black belt in Karate, a natural runner, and could bench press like a man when she was alive, was now a real life woman of steel. It was for this reason that The Council and, particularly, Louisa Credenza had taken an interest in her; however, Starr had a deep rooted feeling that their intentions were not wholly pure, and she wouldn't be forced to do anything she didn't agree with.

There weren't many vampires, young or old, who could take Starr on, which is why she flew to Romania to spy on The Council. If she could find out what their plans, for her, were, then she could determine whether, or not, she needed to prepare for the fight of her life.

Personally, thought Starr a few times, she'd rather just fall off the face of the Earth, and if it weren't for the people in her life that she cared about, she would have.

The problem with hiding from other vampires was some of them had the same natural ability, as Starr, to sense each other's presence; to pick each other out of a crowd. Worse was the older they got, the stronger their powers became. Hiding from Credenza would be like running from the law with a cell phone in her pocket; she'd always be on satellite and easily located.

The barrister, who was cleaning a glass stopped and stared, as did the other patrons. Normally, people were surprised to see that skinny, beautiful Starr could kick a man's butt.

He whimpered and clawed at her hand, trying to get her to release her grip.

Finally, she let him up. He looked at her, his face red and angry, and then walked out.

The patrons continued to stare; Starr stared back, defiantly.

" _Ce este?"_ she said loudly and angrily; the patrons turned back to what they were doing, quickly.

Castle De Negru

Chapter 2

The next day, she took the Carpathian Mountains Bonus tour, only it didn't go high up into the mountains, but, rather, just up into the immediate hills where they viewed the city from on high.

The road was a windy, winding path. Occasionally, Starr wondered if the bus could tip over the side. Judging by scent that other passengers were giving off, many others were a little frightened, too.

When they got to the top of their point, she caught sight of an enormous black- as-coal lake; it was long fished out and dead.

The bus driver continued up several more miles of road, and the further up they got, the more the road diminished; leaving barely enough room for the bus to drive on.

The higher they went, the more nervous the passengers seemed to get.

After a few more miles, the bus turned right onto a rocky road that took them, steadily, down an incline.

As they made their way down, they passed a herd of goats and a couple herdsman.

Crazy as it seemed, to her, and many of the tourists, this was a spectacular site to see; the idea that people still did such things was unimagined.

Further along, Starr saw, ahead, a dark castle approach: Castel de Negru, the bus driver called it.

As they got closer to the castle, Starr felt a tickle in her ear. She rubbed it, but the tickle turned into a buzz. Curiously, she looked around to see if anyone else noticed the weird noise, but no one appeared to be bothered.

A few hundred more feet and her head started to feel like it was being penetrated by infrasonic sound waves.

Trying to protect her ears, she put her hands to her ears, but it didn't help. Then, instantly, her mind was flooded with the thoughts of a dozen people, murmuring. It hurt bad, making her eyes water.

Although she was a kind of telepath, her specialty was sensing other people or vampires around her, and seeing pictures in her mind of what they were doing in the present. This was the first time she'd ever been able to hear conversations taking place, too.

Then, like someone put a movie in her mind, she saw that inside they were preparing a blood bath. The sight made her inner animal thirsty, and her fangs protruded forward a bit.

Desperately, she tried to ignore the images and commanded her fangs to recede, but, then, she saw a large stone bath in the center of the room, where a table could have seated 50 people.

A man in a white suit was tying up a goat that cried, loudly, by the feet; he strung him upside down, over the basin and slit its jugular.

The blood poured down in a thick stream. There were six goats, next to it, that were slowly dying, their gurgled cries becoming less and less, as they'd had their veins slit moments before.

Sometimes, when she didn't get blood, regularly, in her diet, she would 'turn' at the sight of it; meaning her vampire would show its self; her fangs would extend and her eyes would change colors. If she was really starved for blood, she could even 'vamp out.'

To vamp out was a serious thing that could cause Starr to lose human consciousness, turning her into a mindless zombie and killing machine.

Starr fidgeted, uncomfortably, in her seat; she didn't know if she could stop from turning right there, as the images continued to permeate her mind.

Finally, her skin started to tingle, she felt her fangs extended all the way, and it was too late.

She reached inside her jacket, pulled out her sunglasses and covered her iridescent-kaleidoscope eyes, which was a bizarre sight on anyone.

A low growl came from her throat. She tried to silence it but she felt helpless, like she was losing the fight against her inner demon.

Just when she'd given up, and was about ready to jump out of the window to avoid killing anyone, the feeling lifted.

She looked out of the window; the castle was a hundred feet behind them, and then five hundred, and then a thousand. The further away they got, the calmer Starr became.

The bus continued five more miles down the path, and stopped in an obscured little town.

Still unable to draw back her fangs, she decided to go to the bathroom and splash some water on her face.

After seeing her sweaty, pallid reflection in the bathroom mirror, she decided to stay behind, rather than return to Sibiu, because she didn't know if she could pass the castle, again. Next time, she would surely vamp out and someone might die.

Maybe she could track one of those goats she'd seen being herded?

Staring at the ground, and covering her mouth so as not to show her fangs to the bus driver, she explained that she would stay the night, at the bed and breakfast, and then take the bus home, the next day.

The driver stared at her and Starr got the sensation that he knew what was really bothering her: that she needed blood. Fortunately, the man just told her to be careful and then gave her a map of the area.

After checking into the town's bed and breakfast, she paced the room, trying to calm her inner animal which had picked up its growl again, but, like a nicotine addict she was bouncing off the walls. The smartest thing to do would be to go out and get a goat, but she hated hunting when she wasn't in her right mind.

It's too late; I need blood, now!

Fortunately, for her, as soon as she stepped outside, the scent of blood caught her. Tasting the air, she could tell that it came from the town square.

Following the scent with her mind, she saw that there was a little butcher shop. A man was cleaning out a cow he'd only purchased that morning, so the blood, she smelled, was real fresh.

She walked fast through the dirt, for the town had no sidewalks. Just before the front door of the butcher shop's building, she turned left down a walkway between it, and the building right before.

Twenty feet down, and to her right, was a little clearing where a man was spraying the meat of a cow with a water hose.

In the corner, there was a bucket full of the cow's blood. From inside the building, a phone rang. He put down the nozzle and disappeared through the door.

Quick as she could, Starr ran up, grabbed the bucket and then disappeared, further, down the walkway.

At the end of the walkway, she turned right and continued down the alley. A moment later, she sat on a trash bin, put the bucket up to her mouth, and poured every drop of the rich red liquid down her throat.

"Ugh!" she blurted out. Cow blood was the worst! It was the sturdier breeds of animal that tasted good: lamb, chicken, goat, and even dogs. But if she had to drink animal blood, her most preferred was chicken.

Despite the foul taste of the blood, she felt relief. She licked her lips and teeth, which retracted, instantly. Then she pulled a mirror from her jacket pocket and took off her sunglasses: her eyes were still glowing. It would be awhile before they'd return to their normal sterling grey.

Not wanting to be found in such a weird position, on a trash bin with a bloody bucket, she got up and walked, further, down the road, taking in the rest of the little town.

There wasn't much to it. She could count the number of commercial buildings on both hands. It was chilly and dusty, and practically a ghost town.

As she walked, it did occur to her that the Castel de Negru's inhabitants might have known something about The Council.

Perhaps they could give her some insight about the organization and tell her where it was?

Although the Castel de Negru's inhabitants might also _be_ Council members, she thought, too.

After contemplating the Negru vampires, she decided to check it out, later.

She spent the rest of the afternoon lying in her bed at the bed and breakfast, as there was nothing else to do in the little town.

When it was dark, she ran out and up the road. Although this task would have been arduous for a mortal, for Starr it took fifteen minutes to run the few miles back up to the castle.

As she got closer, she immediately sensed the dozen, or so, vampires in there, laughing, mingling, and still preparing for whatever was to happen, that night.

She stopped at a tree about fifty yards from the castle and probed the place with her mind.

Just like earlier, she could hear bits and pieces of conversation: a lady in a white dress was ordering the drained goats to be spitted and roasted, a man was sitting in front of a large fireplace, drinking brandy, and someone, whose face she couldn't see clearly, was setting up silverware in the enormous dining room where the blood bath was.

She looked at her cell phone and saw that it was only 8 p.m.; whatever event they were planning hadn't begun yet.

From what she saw, she couldn't conclude if they were good or bad vampires; whether they were in connection with The Council or not.

Then, suddenly, it got quiet inside the castle. She knew that some of them, if not all of them, probably sensed her sensing them.

One of them, whom she'd seen earlier, a man in a white suit with a red bow tie, opened the front door of the castle and was walking toward the gate. Several men and women, from inside, crowded the doorway.

Starr didn't know if it were wise to meet these vampires. They could kill her, or trick her, make her Credenza's slave. Who knew what kind of laws The Council lived by.

Caution told her to run, immediately, so she hurried back down the road, toward the town.

Briefly, she looked back and saw two red eyes gleaming at her, in the dark.

By the time she made it back to town, her legs felt gummy. Perhaps she was stronger than humans, but she could still exhaust her strength, as she'd learned in previous battles.

She stopped into a little bar, if you could call it that. It was the size of a closet, and all they served was beer and wine.

The place was barely lit by dim gas lamps. There were five tables with chairs, but no bar.

The dozen or so patrons looked surprised by her sudden appearance in the doorway.

Starr observed their ragged clothes and vagrant expressions. Unlike the other Romanians, these people were dark and ethnic looking. Starr wondered if these were some of the infamous gypsies one hears about in ancient lore.

"Assemanator un bere, Ursus," Starr said uncertainly. She'd only learned that phrase yesterday, and it still wasn't rolling off her tongue quite right, but they must have understood, for the fattest and ugliest man of the bunch stood up and went behind a counter.

Ignoring the other patrons who continued to stare, Starr watched the man as she walked to a table on the opposite side of the room.

At the table next to the men, there were two women in dirty jeans and tee shirts.

The blonde had hair like a poodle, and her cheap red lipstick was smeared onto her teeth and unevenly around her mouth.

Her dark haired companion looked even worse, with enough blue eye shadow to pass for a smurf. She had a huge rip in the knee of her jeans, and her rotting teeth reminded her of George Washington depictions.

Starr didn't need her animal senses to know they were threatened by her. She figured she'd better drink her beer and get back to her room because she didn't want to hurt anyone, but as she finished up and made to leave, the blonde one stepped in front of her.

She talked at her in Romanian, but Starr only got half of what she said: something about her being a trashy, ignorant American which made her smirk. The woman had, obviously, not looked in a mirror, recently.

Starr could have, easily, walked around the woman but it was common that vampires would walk slowly, so as to blend in better. Humans were often confused and bewildered by the pace, at which, they could move and walk. It was only for this reason that she tried, and failed, to walk around the woman, once more; she was trying to appear normal.

After her third failed attempt to exit, Starr picked her up by the shoulders, like she weighed no more than a large cat, and set her to the side of the door, and walked out.

Dismissing the woman infuriated her, for she went berserk and came at her from behind, swinging her beer mug at the back of her head.

Starr side stepped and made a side kick straight into her gut. The blonde flew into the wall and slid to the ground, unconscious.

Next, her friend came at her, slappity slap, trying to smack her to death, which only made Starr laugh harder.

Were they serious?

She weaved back and to the side a couple times, and then, like slapping a gnat between two palms, fast like, she smacked the woman on both her cheeks.

The pain stunned her, and then she plopped to the ground like fallen a sack of potatoes.

Shaking her head and laughing, she wandered back up the road, toward the bed and breakfast.

Halfway up the road, she knew someone was following her, and whoever it was must have been incredibly filthy, for although he was like Starr, he gave off a foul stench from his pores; almost as though he hadn't bathed in a century, like he'd rolled in pig slop.

"Now that was hardly fair, was it?" said the foul smelling man.

Starr turned around and saw he was just as foul to look at as he was to smell.

What was it with these crazy Gypsy Romanians?

From what she could tell, the rumors were true: they meant trouble.

She stood there and waited for him to speak again.

"Who are you?" he asked brazenly.

Silence; she wasn't going to oblige the arrogant piece of filth.

Her resistance angered him.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, as he walked up to her; the smell of dirty diapers emanating from him; his eyes dark and full of crazy. "What are you, deaf?" he asked irritably, but she simply stood there.

"What? You think you're tough?" and he made to spit in her face, but Starr jammed the palm of her hand into his nose, causing it to break and spray blood.

The man called her an evil name and tried to take a swipe at her, but failed. Next moment, out of the shadows, came a gang of them: filthy, rot smelling vampires.

Starr was shocked. Were they really going to gang up on her? Even the gang back in NYC was hesitant to gang up on a woman, but, then again, she'd always heard that Gypsies did everything, including fighting, dirty.

Suddenly, it was like a Kung Fu movie, and Starr was the star as she whipped out her ruby studded sickles that Lucenzo, an old vampire, gave her.

They were the worst fighters she'd ever engaged, even the gangsters, back home, had better moves.

One guy, behind her, moved toward Starr. The one with the broken nose told him to hold Starr, in Romanian.

Starr made two elegant steps, completing a full 360 degree circle. Next second, both their heads lay severed, on the ground.

Four more came at her; she spun like elegantly, like she was turning for the ballet, and four more heads rolled.

Starr was extremely disappointed. For a moment, she even wished they were still alive, and that she didn't use her knives.

The downside to being as strong as she was, was never, quite, meeting her match. In fact, it was downright depressing, for the only person she ever could practice martial arts with, anymore, was herself.

A high pitch, cross between a squeal and scream, emitted from her throat as she looked down at her blood spattered leather pants and vest.

She could have cried! Her Jones New York lambskin would be destroyed if she didn't wash and oil them, immediately! But her stuff was at home, in the city!

Awakening Starr from her moment of shallowness, she heard a woman scream Bloody Mary.

She'd forgotten about the two women, passed out, in front of the little pub!

Starr didn't waste time; she took off running.

Great! There goes my fact finding mission!

Now she needed to worry about getting back to her hotel, and on the next flight out of Romania.

But as she approached Castel de Negru, she sensed the inhabitants were anticipating her approach.

She wasn't mistaken, either, for as she got closer, three of the people she'd seen in her mind were standing in the road.

Starr stopped running, pulled out her sickles and raised them high to sky, then back down so that they gleamed under the light of the moon: a grand gesture, letting them know she was ready to fight.

There were three of them standing elbow-to-elbow: the dark haired man with the red bow tie, a Botticelli blonde in a white goddess-like dress, and a scrawny blond guy.

Strangely, they didn't attack, like she thought they would, but they beckoned to her, waving their hands in the air.

One of them spoke into her mind; it was the lady, she said:

If you put away your knives, we'll help you.

Starr said nothing but stood where she was. She tried to take in their essence but got nothing; they were old, that was all she could tell.

We're sorry you ran into those ghastly fledglings. We don't blame you for what you did; in fact, we would've gotten rid of them ages ago. You've saved us the trouble, but we do need to go and get the bodies. The people, around here, are not blind to us, Vampires. All they have to do is report us to The Council, and then we'll all be in trouble.

It was the mention of The Council that brought Starr's defenses down.

So they knew about The Council?

"Alright," said Starr as she put the sickles back inside her jacket pocket. "What do we do?"

In a row they floated toward her, almost too fast for her eyes.

"Grab on," said the scrawny blond one, as he held out his elbow.

When they got back to the town, the bodies were no longer in the dirt. "Come on," whispered the blond.

They walked between two buildings, down until they found a handsome dark eyed vampire with shoulder length hair.

He turned around, cigarette in hand, and said with a thick Eastern European accent, "Did you bring the trash bags?"

The scrawny blond pulled plastic bags from his pocket and handed one to each of them.

In a matter of minutes, they'd ripped up the bodies, pulling their legs and arms from their sockets, and put them in the plastic bags and tied them off.

Then they flew back to the Castel de Negru. In the back, a pyre was already going, on which, they tossed the sacks and watched as the bodies succumbed to ashes.
New Fiends

Chapter 3

Though Starr knew she was only protecting herself, she couldn't help but be overcome with the knowledge that she'd been in Transylvania less than 48 hours and had already managed to kill off half a dozen vampires.

An arm disrupted her view of the pyre; the man in the white suit with a red bow tie was handing her a gold colored byzantine-looking goblet filled with goat blood.

"You mus' not be too hard on yourself, Starr," he said. "If it had been me, I would have done the same thing," he said reassuringly. "Dr-r-rink your blood."

Starr looked at him and nodded her head, and took a sip.

"My name is Adam, and this," he gestured toward the blonde in the silk white dress, "is Madam Balaji, and this is Bulgari," he gestured to the handsome smoking demon, "and Mitch," he waved at the scrawny blond.

After brief acknowledgements, Starr asked, "Will The Council come after me for what I did?"

"Nooo," said Adam reassuringly.

"This vampire, Levi, said..."

"You know Levi?" he interrupted, eyes wide.

Starr looked at him, hoping Adam wasn't a friend of his.

Several weeks ago, Starr nearly killed Levi, in an attempt to keep him from killing her friend, Antony. Starr injured him so badly that he sought revenge. He trapped her, and then sought the help of Louisa Credenza as a means to kill her. Instead, she killed Levi, and drafted Starr to work for her, for The Council, whether she wanted to or not.

Adam looked searchingly into her eyes; she knew he was trying to read her mind.

"Were you friends?" she asked.

"No, he was with The Council," he said harshly. "I don't like that demon, not at all."

"I barely knew him. He just told me that I could get into trouble for certain things."

"Knew him?" he said questioningly, in a higher tone of voice. "Has something happened to him?"

Starr kept silent, not wanting to say anything more.

Adam must have realized she didn't want to talk about it because he continued, "The Council has no real set rules; the only thing they look out for is evidence of vampires who are out of control," said Adam informatively. "So, if you kill, you'd better clean up your mess, or leave it so that there is no clue that we exist. If humans found out about us, who knows what they'd do: dominate us, experiment with us, or exterminate us. Some other things: They won't tolerate vampire-to-human domination, mass murder, or vampires with god complexes, and if you vamp out, they will come for you."

Starr's ears perked up when he mentioned vamp out.

Reading her mind, Adam said, "Do not worry, Starr. We all have accidents, once in a while. As long as you are mostly inconspicuous, then they should not bother you."

The smell of the burning vampires was quite fragrant, kind of like roasting a pig. Starr was sure she would have been repulsed when she was alive, but, as part animal, the scent was as inviting as any other meat.

"What you haven't told us is why you seek The Council? Why did you come all the way from New York City?" asked Madam Balaji in perfect American English.

Starr really hated these mind readers. Her mission was to be secret!

Stalling, trying to decide how much to say, she took another sip of blood and slowly swallowed.

"I've come to find answers," she said vaguely, hoping they'd buy her reason.

After her ordeal with Antony and Levi, Starr had come to distrust other vampires even less. Not being bound by, or bothered with, law, as humans were, made them dangerous, and she still didn't yet know if she could trust the people of Negru.

"Of course," said Madam Balaji. "Others have come before, seeking information. Commonly, people want to know how the vampire came to be, and what our history is."

"Yes, but that isn't why Starr is here," said Bulgari, the smoking vampire, irritably. "V'at do you v'ant with Louisa Credenza?" he asked in a thick Eastern European accent.

Though he was quite rude, Starr was still stuck on what Balaji just said.

"Madam Balaji," she cut over, ignoring him, "how did we come to be?"

"Well, it was about 60 years ago when The Council hired a team of scientists and historians from all over the world, and who were vampires themselves. Although they failed to find the bones of the person who the demonic virus first afflicted, they managed to find a scroll, dated all the way back to the Iron Age, around 100 A.D.," she paused, taking a sip of her blood.

"It was in our own Carpathian Mountains that the ancient scrolls were discovered, buried beneath a tomb of, what appeared to be, a Carpathian King. In them was the story of a Dacian Queen who ruled near the Danubius River. Later, like so many rulers did in those times, she sided with the Romans, betraying her High King to death so that she could keep her reign. It was her, the anonymous writer of the scroll, blamed for bringing down the last of the Thracians.

The scroll claimed it was the High King's curse on the Dacian Queen that led to her fits of rage. It was a blood curse, sealed with his last breath. In those days, it was thought that hell was a place where one is always wanting, always, hungry, and always thirsty," she paused once more. "It was the king's curse that she should suffer that kind of hell while she lived, and to never be released from her torment.

One day, the curse began to set in.

She became irritable, angry, and was hungry, so hungry, and nothing her servants gave her satisfied her. It wasn't long after that, driven crazy by her hunger, she'd taken to madness and, after killing several hand maidens and one armored guard, she ran, wild, through the streets, drinking and eating, frightening the people in a one night blood bath, until a soldier cut off her head, but it was too late: the virus was spread.

As we know, now, just the bite from the vampire doesn't kill; just a bite is enough to turn a human into one of us, for the virus lives in the salivary glands."

"Madam Balaji," called a woman in black, "the guests are starting to arrive."

"Thank you, Nina."

"What were their names, the king and queen?" asked Starr.

"The scroll claimed the King to be Dapyx Thracius Scorillo Romana, a descendant of several lines of nobility and royalty, but The Council was unable to verify that he was who the scroll said he was, for there are no records of such a king or queen. In those days, it was the ultimate punishment to be wiped out of history, to be forgotten. Back in the fifties, carbon and DNA testing was virtually impossible."

Silence ensued, a moment. Starr sipped her blood as she watched the last of a torso disintegrate.

"You should stay here, a few days," said Madam Balaji. "I've already told Nina to prepare a room for you."

"I can't. I've got things to do."

"Stay a few days," she insisted. "We've got a festive week planned. You will have fun, trust me," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," said Starr, still feeling uncertain but not wanting to be rude.

"Great!" she exclaimed. "Now, why don't you go inside and ask Nina to show you to your room. I've had Nina lay out a couple dresses for you to choose from, and then join us for drinks in the Great Hall."

Starr walked through a large curtained door, and into an originally restored hall. Unlike the townspeople, the Castel de Negru had wood floors and walls that were literally made out of chunks of stone, some of it was round and others were squared off; the way Starr imagined castles should be.

On the walls, various paintings had been drilled into the stones with enormous bolts.

In the center of the hall hung an enormous wooden chandelier with real candles in wrought iron holders.

"Star-r-r," asked Nina, who appeared in the walkway to her left. "Come," she motioned.

She followed Nina through the walkway and into a very tight hall.

Every few feet, along the walls, there was a candle in a holder, and not all of them were lit, leaving them in near darkness.

Starr, finally, understood why others had not stuck with the original construction: the castles had many rooms but they were tightly confined. While the castles of kings and higher nobles were spacious, other places, like Castel de Negru, were like caves at the ends of tunnels.

To her left, she saw, through a tiny doorway, a fair sized kitchen. From it, she heard a dozen people rummaging about, and she smelled a dozen different delicious smells.

When they approached a set of stone steps, Starr saw that many of them were carved out of the same large pieces of igneous, and they were shiny and glittery even in the dim light.

Two more flights up and they stepped into a chilly hall with a ceiling that nearly touched Starr's head. People must have been shorter back then, as historians say, for Starr was only 5 feet 8 inches.

Nina opened a chunky wood door; Starr followed her through.

"If you need anything, I'll be downstairs," she said sweetly.

"Thanks."

The room was the size of a cupboard. It was about as glamorous as a half empty closet. No pictures on the wall, a couple lit candles hanging in the holders, a tiny little stone fireplace, and a small bed that left barely a foot of space between it and the fireplace.

The only thing modern about the room was someone had put in a glass window.

Starr walked up and peered through. She couldn't see anything but blackness for miles; that and the stars twinkling in the dark sky.

On the bed, there were three beautiful gowns and, for a moment, she sort of felt like she was in a fairy tale.

The first gown was a full length, sleeveless black silk with built in bustier and matching silk shoes; the second was as golden as the sun with sequins, glittering like canaries, to match; next to it lay an equally as brilliant pink with elegantly stitched flower patterns.

Surprisingly, Starr chose the yellow one which, she thought, brightened her skin. She never knew she could love anything other than her usual black leathers.

Downstairs, in what was called a Great Hall, according to her tour guide who'd explained castle construction the prior day, there were a couple dozen people dipping into the blood bath and sampling goat brains which lay in a pile on a plate in the center.

A little nervously, Starr walked up to the bath, picked up a goblet and scooped some of the ruby red liquid.

"You look beautiful" said Bulgari, eyeballing her as he scooped a slice of brain onto the little bread and put it into his mouth.

Starr accepted the compliment, though she hadn't quite forgiven him for his earlier behavior.

Again, reading her thoughts, he said, "I'm sorry if I came off harshly, earlier. You must understand that these are tough times, between us and The Council."

"Why is that?"

"Because we don't all agree with their new ways. We are who we are, and we shouldn't be ashamed of that, nor should we be persecuted for doing the things we enjoy, things we've done for centuries. If the council could have their way," he said nastily, smoke flowing through his nostrils, in between bites, "We'd all hide away in caves and never see the light of day again."

Though The Council was highly suspicious, to Starr, she couldn't help but wonder if Bulgari was being overdramatic. Louisa Credenza hardly seemed like the hiding in a cave sort.

"Preaching again, I see," said a man in a bright red suit, carry a silver staff he held for show, rather than need. "I'm Fer-r-rnand," he boasted loudly, and bent over to kissed Starr's hand.

Fernand was a tall vampire with long reddish blond hair, not so unlike Lucenzo, the one who'd given her, her beloved knives.

"He is my br-r-rother. I haven't seen him in years, but he emailed me about you, told me you were coming, and he was right, _you are a knockout!_ " he smiled broadly, grabbed Starr by the shoulders and kissed her on each cheek. "Those sickles, you should know how 'especiale' they really are," he said with an Italian accent. "Lucenzo won them at auction; supposedly, they belonged to a medieval Carpathian warrior, and the rubies are priceless," he said exuberantly, with arms flailing, as Italians liked to talk with their hands. "How lovely that they're finally being put to use, haha," he laughed gleefully.

Feeling irritated by, yet, another mind reader, Starr felt her face warm.

"I beg your pardon. As we get older, our abilities grow, including an ability to communicate with each other, mentally."

"It's alright," said Starr, trying to sound as if she meant it.

"In the future, you will get used to it. You will learn to have conversations with other people in rooms outside yours," he said with a large smile, his eyes twinkling in the candle light.

"Yes but you can learn to block out mental intruders, if you want. You must close your mind," Bulgari whispered into her ear.

"How did Lucenzo know that I was coming here?"

"I'm not sure, but he just told me to look out for you, and to help you, should you need it. He has a good eye for the ladies, you know what I mean?"

When a woman came in, jingled a golden bell, and told them all that dinner was ready to be served, Starr was relieved. She hoped she could shake the flirtatious Italian as they filed into the dining hall.

Over the long dining table, she'd seen in her mind earlier, the goats were tethered to enormous spits that had been removed from the fires only moments before, as they gave off heat and fragrant meat scent.

"That smells _delicious!"_ exclaimed Fernand, who took Starr's hand with force, and led to her a place at the table.

Over the next several hours, Starr met many vampires; some were over 150 years old. They seemed to be delighted by Starr, telling her how pretty she was when dressed like a lady. This, also, angered her! Were people watching her all the time? How do they know how she dresses?

"Some of us saw you, earlier today, and as you took out that gang of Gypsies, oh my, my, my..." said a middle aged looking vampire, sitting directly across from her, by the name of Lord Lucas, shook his head. "I've never seen a woman who could fight like that," he said as he scooped a bit of sauced goat into his mouth.

"My dear, you were breath taking, a woman after my own heart," said the man who sat to Lucas' right, who spoke with an English accent. "Have you ever tried fencing?"

Starr shook her head.

"Oh please," said a woman in silk red frock. "She is not the strongest vampire in the world."

"Maybe not, but no one has the skill that this young lady has," barked Lord Lucas, coming to Starr's defense.

The woman looked at Starr, back to Lord Lucas, rolled her eyes and looked away.

Starr reached for the bottle of red wine, in front of her.

"Allow me," said Fernand, as he pulled the cork and poured. "He told me what a beauty you were but terrifying and strong, all at the same time. Not much unlike Louisa Credenza, if I may say so. You know, you look somewhat like her. Are you related?"

"No," said Starr incredulously.

She was nothing like that wicked woman.

"In these times of upheaval and shifting of power, to have you would be quite an asset," Lord Lucas leaned in and whispered across, and under, the spit.

Thinking back to Bulgari's earlier comment about The Council, Starr asked "Can you tell me about this shifting of power?"

"No," said Madam Balaji, at the other end of the table. "No politics tonight, only fun."

"What you're asking is a subject that inspires fighting words," Lucas said with a smirk, as he chewed on a piece of bread.

After a time passed, the servers cleared off their dishes and came around with gelato, miniature pizelle crisps, coffee and espresso.

Into her third bite, Lord Lucas asked, "Starr, will you be joining us on Friday for the hunt?"

"The hunt?" she queried.

"Uh," Fernand cut across, "Uh, we like to go hunting; it is fun, but I'm sure you must be going on your way, soon, yes?"

"Yes, I shouldn't stay so long. I need to get back home."

After dessert, they went back into the Great Hall where they sipped brandies by the light of the five foot high fireplace.

"You know what gets me," exclaimed the lady who rolled her eyes at Lucas "is there's always going to be traditionalists. Sometimes people like the comfort of the old ways."

"Yes," Mitch, whom Starr hadn't seen all evening, concurred uninterestedly.

"Why is it that the reformists always must squash the old conformists? Leave us alone, that is what I say."

Starr watched them but asked no more questions. From the comment Bulgari made, and the others, that evening, it was easy to see that it was The Council oppressing other vampires, like those at the Castel de Negru. From the bits she'd picked up, since being at the castle, it was easy to presume that Credenza wanted to use Starr in her rise against other vampires.

They talked nonchalantly about things Starr knew not. Periodically, she thought she'd die of boredom, but then the English man from dinner approached her.

"May I have this duel," he asked with a bow.

"What?" Starr was shocked.

In his arms, he carried two long, heavy swords.

"But Parker," Fernand called the English man, "She has no jacket."

"She doesn't need a jacket, and I would love to find a fencing partner. We will just have a friendly assault."

"Assault?" she asked.

"Yes, a game of sword combat."

Suddenly, the room got quiet.

"Here, take your epee," he said, handing her a long sword. "We will just play, nothing too serious."

Starr turned as she watched him walk around her, sword at the ready.

"Raise your epee, Starr," called Fernand.

It took a second longer for Starr to realize the epee was the sword.

Suddenly, he took a jab at her middle, in what Starr knew was called an attack. Instinctively, she blocked it in, what was called, attack au fer, or a beat.

Starr wasn't a fencer, herself, but she watched it on television once, in the Olympic Games.

She remained dead still, turning on the spot as he crossed over, several times, moving to the left. Then, in, what was called a balestra, he lunged forward, but Starr side stepped as, at the same time, swinging her sword, upright, from right to left, knocking the sword from his hand.

Parker landed on his knees with a loud thump, on the hard wood floor. When he stood, it was to see bloody holes in cream colored pants.

Starr just stood there, wondering if she should apologize when the guests clapped and whooped at her cleverness.

"You are magnificent!" yelled Parker.

Starr just smiled.

"I will call on you, we must fight full force. It is nice to meet someone who is a challenge!"

Starr knew what he meant only too well.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I'd like to learn to fence."

"Brilliant," Fernand grabbed Starr's shoulders with his cold, hard hands, lifted her and put three wet kisses on her cheeks.

To his left, Bulgari exhaled a stream of smoke with a smile on his face as he stared at Starr.

"My, my, my," uttered Lord Lucas, "you are magnificent."

"You must come to call on Thursday because the party is Friday," said Madam Balaji to Parker. "I will have a costume sent, special. It would be a shame to let such talent go to waste."

"Parker, your pants are dreadful!" said Mitch, the scrawny blond.

"Yes, well, it is the first war wound I've had in centuries," he laughed heartily.

Starr enjoyed the party, but it was a relief, to her when the guests left, as she'd already begun to doze off in her chair, spilling a bit of the amber liquid on her lovely dress.

"Starr!" Fernand exclaimed with arms wide opened. He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. "I'll be back domani. We must have lunch, together. I cannot wait to tell Lucenzo about tonight!" and he kissed her several more times and walked off, not waiting for a goodbye.

Starr thanked Madam Balaji for a nice evening and bade her goodnight. She was relieved to retire, to be out of the dress, into her pajamas, and rest her head on the pillow.

Immediately, she lulled right into sleep, but, then, something awoke her, a sound. Was someone screaming?

She tried to forget it, but when there was a loud, continuous shout, Starr sat up in bed. With her mind, she scanned the castle for signs of trouble.

In the south end, there was a commotion. Like pictures in her mind, she saw the faces of men and women; they were scared.

She only saw them for a moment because, like throwing a blanket over her head, all went black. That had never happened to Starr before, and she knew, instantly, that someone had, in a sense, pushed her consciousness out of the room.

Briefly, she tried to make sense of what she'd just seen, but when nothing came to mind, she said "Whatever" to herself. "It's none of my business," and she lay back down.

The next morning, there was a knock on the door; it was Nina.

"Good morning," she said. "Madam Balaji sent Manu, the driver, to pick up your things, earlier today."

She walked into the room and put her bag on the floor next to the bed.

"Breakfast is served, every day, at 9:30 a.m. It is, now, 9:15. Okay?" she smiled and left.

Starr was irritated. Didn't these vampires have any boundaries? They read her mind, go into her hotel room; poke through her stuff.

Fortunately, all her things were there, even her cash.

Into another pair of black leather pants, and a suede black sleeveless shirt, she walked down the cold hall, down the steps, to the dining area where Madam Balaji welcomed her to breakfast.

"How did you sleep?" asked Madam Balaji.

"Well, thank you. Good morning Adam, Bulgari, Mitch."

A girl, Starr hadn't met, offered her tea.

"I hope you don't have plans, today, because I think you should see all of Castel de Negru. I'd like to give you the grand tour, after a bit of breakfast; then, Fernand will come by and we'll show you the grand reservoir, and then visit the grand labyrinth."

Starr didn't like the sound of a labyrinth. Some of the grand ones could be as big as a football field. Many a person, throughout history, had gotten lost inside such "grandness" and died.

She sipped her English Black Tea. The server put an omelet on her plate.

When they'd finished breakfast, Madam Balaji led Starr back through the Great Hall, through the large door, into the back area where the pyre burned the vampires, the night before.

Starr noticed there were no ashes and that it was cleaned.

Looking outward, she also noticed that there were no walls to protect the back portion of the castle, but it was simply open space all the way out to a large mountain that was miles back.

They continued along a cement path that led them a few hundred feet away from the house. Up ahead, there was a large white wall, behind which, Starr could see the branches of trees and many little pipes, which she assumed was an irrigation system.

Midpoint between the wall and the house, there were two more cement paths that went left and right, but they continue straight until they reached the chunky wood door in the ten foot stucco wall.

Madam Balaji pulled a key from her pocket and turned the dead bolt.

"We have to keep this locked up or locals will come and ravage it."

Inside, it reminded her of the natural gardens she'd visited on a grade school field trip, except this garden was 100 times more impressive with flowers of nearly every variety, and even some strange varietals of orchids, which, she thought, needed to be in high heat to survive.

"These are a Mediterranean flower; they are not orchids. They look similar, though, don't they? They're used to coastal climate, which means lots of fog and mist, so it's not so bad for them here."

They continued along the path. Every so often, they'd pass a garden worker spraying, mending, or breaking up soil.

"Here," said Balaji, plucking a green apple from a really tall tree.

Starr took a bite and it was the most perfect, most firm apple with a crisp lemon-like taste.

"That is a true Mediterranean apple. You will learn that certain fruits and vegetables grow better in this part of the world. It is the perfect green house, not too hot, not too cold, plenty of moisture."

As they passed further along, she sampled grapes, and strawberries, and then plums.

"This garden is nearly 100,000 square feet," she said when Starr couldn't believe she was looking half an acre of arugula. "This is our favorite green."

"Who?"

"Mine, Adam, Bulgari, and Mitch. We are old friends. I guess you could say I was a tomb boy, as a child in the sixties. We stayed friends, though Adam and I were lovers once."

After a few moments of silence, as they walked further along another isle, she said "So if you don't mind me asking, why were you turned? You are so young, hardly the age we'd recommend turning."

"How old do you recommend."

"Well, at least 18, though older is probably better. I was thirty when I was turned, and I think it was perfect. I was a fully matured woman when I was turned, and now I am a fully matured woman forever. "

"I was dying," she said.

"Dying?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Mitch was dying, too, when he was turned: adolescent leukemia. What about your friends at the clinic? Did you turn them too?"

More mind reading, thought Starr angrily.

"I didn't mean to do it," she said through clenched teeth.

If Starr's blood still pumped, her face would have flushed, for she was feeling uncomfortable with Madam Balaji asking questions. Still she answered, anyway.

"When Michael, my friend, turned me, he left me to learn of my new condition on my own," they passed a lovely row of roses of every color.

Starr stopped, dead, in front of the roses that looked nearly black.

"I should have known you'd like these," Madam Balaji smiled. "They are called Black Baccara roses, but, as you can see, they aren't truly black, just really dark. I'll have some sent up to your room."

She bent over to see if they smelled, and they did, almost as good as the red roses.

Straightening back up, she continued, "I woke up and..." she paused, remembering her sister, dead, on the bed. She skipped over, "I smelled them, locked and scared, in a room. I broke it down and that was the first time I met Marla, Mica, and Shane.

After releasing them, I wandered the streets hungry, and not even realizing what for. I was strung out, beat up, and bloody. Naturally, a cop picked me up, assuming I was on drugs. He took me to a hospital and, when they discovered I was healthy, that I'd been attacked and was suffering shock, they stuck me in a city home for abandoned children.

Over a few days, one by one, the police brought Marla, Mica, and Shane in from the streets; they didn't have families; which was probably why they were abducted, because no one would miss them.

Coincidentally, my room had the most vacant beds, and so the staff assigned us, all, to room together.

The next night, while we slept, I think I vamped out. I don't remember doing it; I don't remember drinking them and turning them.

Next morning, I woke and the room was a mess. Marla, Mica, and Shane were in their beds but they were different; their animal scent had gone. I knew they weren't human, anymore; that they were like me, whatever I was, as I still hadn't quite figured it out. They said I attacked them, one by one, and then stuffed them in the closet. Strange, really; it's almost like my inner animal had a mind of its own; it knew it needed to get rid of their bodies, but, then, of course, they turned instead of died."

She sighed loudly.

"It didn't take us long to discover what we could do, and our new taste, our new hungers and desires. We felt empowered; we had grand illusions and fantasies of what it could mean, though they hadn't quite forgiven me for trying to kill them.

Then came the time to make a decision, for the home we were in was only temporary until we were to find permanent placement: they were facing relocation, being sent to different orphanages and such, and me - my parents were supposed to come and get me by the end of the week - , but we feared that others would see us for what we were, and that that could be dangerous, so we ran away.

Marla had to leave, soon, anyway, because she was the oldest, at 21 years: the city only made special exceptions for minors to live rent free in homes if they got into under graduate school, directly: she was only 6 months away from graduation. Mica and Shane were still underage, at the time, but they were nearly eighteen.

And, me? There was no way I could go home and face my parents. I didn't know if I would ever be the same again, so I ran with them. We figured it was a new beginning, and we made a pact to stick together."

"Why did your friend leave you, the way he did?"

"I don't fully know. He was living with his mother and step father who were extremely strict, I remember. He says he didn't know how I'd react to being a vampire, but I think there was more that he wasn't telling me; in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd turned me against Levi's wishes."

"Levi? How did he know Levi?"

"His father worked for him, up in Boston."

"I'm glad he's dead. I never liked that meddling vampire," she sighed. "At least you made it, and, at least, you have friends."

"Yeah, but they turned on me, not more than six months later."

She stopped and looked Starr in the eyes, "They do not understand you, Starr. Sometimes people fear what they do not understand, and especially when that, which they do not understand, is powerful, like you. You are a special, special, person, Starr; that is why Louisa Credenza wants you. You are wise, ethical, philosophical, but you are strong, too. You are the kind of leader we need. The only problem is you don't know what you stand for, at the moment."

As Starr followed Madam Balaji, she thought to herself that she just wanted to be left alone.

"I think it is too late for you, Starr. You are involved, whether you like it or not."

Starr knew she was right.

"We, here, at Castel de Negru have our own order: The Order of Negru. We believe in Live and Let Live. What you do is not our business, as long as you remain inconspicuous. We would not force you to do what you don't want. You can make your own fledglings, and not have to answer to the likes of Levi. Honestly, Starr, if anyone should have died, or been punished, it was him. He's been butting into other people's business for years; it's no loss that he's dead."

"The Council put him in Boston to watch over the American vampires, didn't they?"

"I'm not sure. You see, when I first turned, it was by a Council member. We'd fallen in love, but he betrayed me when he destroyed someone else, someone that I loved too, my fledgling. That was back in the early seventies and, since then, I have not set foot in The Council, and I do not keep up with their events."

"Yes, I had the same thing happen to me, in Boston. That is what Levi and I fought about: he tried to kill my fledgling. I wound up killing him anyway, though."

"Starr, that is different," she said angrily. "He was just some boy; you hardly knew him. My fledgling was my daughter."

"I – I'm sorry," Starr stuttered, and looked away.

Thinking more on Madam Balaji's words, she asked, "Is that all the Order of Black Stands for? Live and let live principle?"

"Exactly. If you want to hunt humans, then so be it; if you want to make young fledglings, then so be it; anything you want, just as long as you do not give yourself a way."

Starr thought it made sense. She thought she might like to stand up for the Order of Negru.

"Do you know where The Council is? Can you tell me?"

"No," she said strongly, "it is not wise to go there, Starr. They have many guards, and they are strong. They will destroy you."

"Still, I want to see them for myself. I need to know what I'm up against, for when Credenza comes for me."

"The Council is located a hundred miles east of here, over that mountain," she motioned to the mountain she'd seen from the back of the Castel de Negru. No one, but us, knows it is there, for they have built their castle in a valley that is snuggled in between mountains, almost like it was built in a bowl. Your best bet is to rent an off road jeep, a horse, fly if you can, or go on foot. You will go over the mountain and, from there, you will hear them. Follow the voices in your head, but you must stay until the end of the week!" she said with a smile.

When they'd finished their tour of the garden, they returned to the castle where Fernand kissed her three times, on the cheek.

They sat down to a light lunch of avocado sandwiches and café latte on the back patio, next to the pyre.

Fernand was chipper as usual, and he chattered nonstop.

After, they walked back to the cement path but, instead of going straight, they turned right.

Fernand perched her hand on his, holding it outward, in old fashion, as they walked along.

They walked a number of yards until another cement path veered them slightly left, toward a hill that, from which, Starr could smell water.

Eventually, they reached the 200 steps that took them up the hill, leading them to the basin. It would have taken a normal human thirty minutes to an hour to complete such a phenomenal amount of steps, but they made it to the top in five.

They stepped off onto a landing. A chain link fence encircled the entire basin.

Madam Balaji pulled another key from her pocket and unlatched the chain link gate.

Inside, the water basin was the size of a professional swimming pool, and appeared to be just as deep. The water was crystal clear, and she could see all the way down to the bottom. Below them, a motor hummed loudly and vibrated.

The water shot large bubbles outward, in four corners.

"That's the irrigation system cleaning the incoming," she pointed to a large hose poking out of the mountain.

"This reservoir keeps everyone up to about 5,000 square miles of us," said Fernand who stayed annoyingly close to her.

They walked down the steps, back onto the path, and headed back, but, instead of going right, toward the castle, they made another left.

For another mile, they walked until what appeared to be, a large forest, in the distance, came into view.

Two minutes later, Starr realized realized that Madam Balaji was taking them to the labyrinth.

They made it to the wall: The trees lined a thick, ten foot high, stone wall.

Approaching a wood door, Madam Balaji, once again, pulled a key from her pocket.

Inside, it was twenty degrees cooler, under the shade of all the trees.

As she looked around, Starr got an eerie feeling that made her ears ring, sort of like when she was on the tour bus.

She rubbed her ears with her hands, trying to get them to stop.

People had died there, many people, she suddenly thought. Brutal, blood, was all she thought, terror, came to mind, too.

It was almost like a past premonition was trying to come into Starr's mind, but it wasn't quite making it.

Strange, really, because Starr had never been able to sense death before; her powers had grown so much, since she arrived in Romania.

Madam Balaji and Fernand both looked at Starr, then at each other with knowing eyes.

Starr wanted to ask what had happened there, but then decided it was better not to.

"This way," said Madam Balaji.

They walked left, into a gravel clearing where tables and chairs sat out under the shade of enormous trees. To the side, she noticed a set of wooden steps that led up into a set of stands that were about 12 feet off the ground.

To her right was the entrance to the maze.

"Come on," said Balaji. Starr must have looked apprehensive because she said, "do not worry. I know it by heart!" she smiled, holding out her elbow, beckoning Starr to her.

"Go on, Starr," Fernand urged her. "You do not trust us, after all this time?"

Reluctantly, she followed them into the maze.

It didn't take long for Starr to get, even more, spooked. For one thing, every stretch of the maze looked exactly the same and smelled the same: she literally had no clue where they were from one turn to the next. Each shrub, each tree, each pot or sculpture, and stone bench was in exactly the same spot as the next turn. If Madam Balaji left, she and Fernand could be stuck there for a long time.

When they made it through, an hour later, Starr was beyond relieved.

They agreed to go back to the castle and rest up before dinner, but, instead of rest, she sought out Bulgari who was in the castle library.

He must have sensed her coming because he said, "Hello, Starr," just as she walked in.

Bulgari was sitting in a cushioned chocolate leather chair, cigarette in hand and legs crossed. His eyes moving fast, left to right, over and over.

"Can I help you?" he exhaled a long stream of smoke.

She sat on the chair opposite him.

"Last night you mentioned..."

"That you could block out mental intrusion," he interrupted.

"Yes, and I..."

"Wanted to know if I could help you."

She was getting really annoyed.

"It is good that you come to me because you are like an open book, and that is not good. It will lead to your demise, trust me. Letting people into your head is as bad as passing out your bank account numbers to friends," he paused, taking another inhale.

"What you want to do," he said, switching his W's for V's, again, "is clear your mind, even when people are telling you things, you can absorb information without giving your thoughts away, and even when you are talking."

"How? I don't get it."

"Well, I don't know. It's not the same for everyone. For me, what works is imagining a bright light in a tunnel. In my mind, I wonder what is inside, but I never go in, I just stare and wonder. When people try to read my mind, they only see the lighted tunnel. I focus on it while I talk and as I listen. Try it."

Starr closed her eyes.

"Open your eyes. What? You gonna talk with your eyes closed, Da? Yes? No, no no," he waived his cigarette at her.

She looked at his cigarette and imagined the tunnel, but as she told herself to clear her mind, all her thoughts came flooding to her. It was like telling a person not to smile at a camera, or not to think about elephants.

"Stop," said Levi. "I'm getting a bunch of jumbled images from you. Take a deep breath, relax your shoulders," he motioned with his hands, "try to imagine a blank slate. On that slate, it is nothing, there is nothing and think nothing. Go ahead, try again."

Starr looked at Bulgari and imagined a blank wall, it was white, but she found white distracting, so then it was black.

"Okay, that is good, yes," he took another drag. "I still got some images, some thoughts, but they were faint. Now, what you must do is practice that every time you talk to someone, or they talk to you."

Starr and Bulgari tried it again, but with Bulgari rambling on about how he liked his blood thin and not thick, and his brains seared and not grilled or baked, it was hard for her to concentrate.

For a bit, she managed to keep her concentration on the blank slate, but even as he rambled on about bloody lamb chops, he still caught her thought about Fernand being too touchy feely, how she couldn't stand all the kisses he gave her.

Starr was especially embarrassed when he saw her trying to suss out the scream, from the other night; essentially mental snooping, but he didn't seem to care.

"It's just a perfect example of how open you really are. If you closed your mind, they would not have known you were there... Well, actually, that's not entirely true; they would have felt your presence, but it would have taken a bit longer to know someone was there, but they never," he waived his finger with the cigarette again, "would have known it was you who snooped."

After a few more practices, she got tired. She thanked him and returned to her room.

On her bed, she found her leather pants and vest from the prior night: they'd been cleaned.

She reached for the phone in her bag and turned it on. Immediately, it started beeping because she'd received rash of text messages from Marla and Mica.

"Marla: Are you okay? You were supposed to check in with us.

Mica: Lily's asking about you. Can you call us, when you get a chance?"

A couple times, she tried to call but there wasn't good reception within the stone walls of the castle.

Finally, she just sent them a message back, telling them not to worry.

An hour later, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called.

"Hello, Starr," said Nina, as she walked through the door. "Madam Balaji sent me to deliver these things."

Nina walked over to the bed and set down a neatly folded stack of clothing with a dark mesh-looking thing on top.

"For dinner," she motioned her other arm, emphasizing the red dress and matching shoes.

"Dinner is served, every night, at 7:30 p.m., and it is, now, 7," she said with a smile.

Nina turned around and left.

Starr picked up the dark mesh and realized that it was a fencing mask. Beneath it, lay a jacket and pants that were made with a thick white cotton that looked, somewhat, like it was made from the sail of a boat. And beneath the "knickers," as what was written on the tag, there were a pair of the goofiest looking white cotton shoes she'd ever seen.

If it weren't for the fact that fencing was a highly skilled, highly dangerous, sport, Starr would have chucked the lot.

She stood up and held out the red dress, in front of the mirror.

Hoping that Fernand wouldn't be there, she hurried down to dinner.

She was instantly disappointed, for he had not gone home, and was the first to greet her in the hall where he and the other inhabitants were taking aperitifs.

"I love the way your black hair shines against this beautiful red; it makes me hungry," he laughed.

Starr tried to duck his hands, but he wrangled her like a rope around a bull and kissed her.

"Here," he pushed a glass into her hand. "Have an Americano, after all, you're Americano, no?"

Starr took a sip and nearly gagged on the bitter.

"What?" he looked surprised. "You do not like?"

"Here," said Bulgari, smoke streaming from his mouth. He took the Americano and gave her a wine spritzer.

"Thank you," she said appreciatively.

Madam Balaji and Adam were seated on the couch, on the opposite side of the room, snacking on appetizers. He was whispering, ferociously, into her ear, and she was giggling.

Fernand drug Starr over to Mitch, who sat on the couch.

Mitch set down his drink, stood, and gave a light bow.

"Good evening, Starr," he said politely.

Bulgari sat on the chair and stared into the fire.

"Try this, chicken brains," he bent over and scooped, with the little spoon, some of the pinkish meat onto the little slice of bread.

Starr accepted, gratefully; it was delicious.

Fernand asked Starr many inane questions as Mitch and Bulgari chatted over them in some language that Starr didn't know.

Five minutes later, Nina told them dinner was ready to be served.

Fernand stood, held out his hand for Starr to take, and led her into the dining room, followed by Madam and the rest.

As Fernand pulled out a chair for Starr, she heard the noise, from the prior night, again. This time, it was much clearer; someone was screaming; that person was afraid.

She paused and looked at Fernand, questioningly.

"Don't fret, Dear," said Fernand. "It was nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing. What was that?"

"That is none of your business, Starr," said Madam Balaji. "However, if we come to trust you, in time, you will know. For now, just ignore it."

Rather than press the matter, Starr decided to drop it. She was there for The Council, and any other problems were not hers.

Dinner was just as delicious as the night before. Fernand dominated most of the conversation with loud boisterous commentary.

After, they took brandy, again, in the Great Hall with chocolate sponge cake that was, literally, soaked in chicken blood after it was baked.

If Starr hadn't been dining on blood and organs, the last two days, she was sure she would have turned, just like she did on the tour bus, for it was the most delicious blend of chocolate and blood that she'd ever eaten.

She wasn't the only one who enjoyed it, for she looked next to her and saw that Mitch's demon had shown its self: his fangs were extended and his eyes were wildly alight.

That night, as she lay in bed, texting Marla, she heard it again. She was in the middle of telling her more about Madam Balaji and the others when there was a distant sound of a high pitched scream.

From where she lay, she heard a woman pleading for her release, but then her sounds were muffled by the closing of a barrier, likely a door.

Starr clicked send and sat up in her bed. Focusing on the dark blank slate she'd conceptualized earlier, she found the source of the screams, once more, in the south end.

Not wanting to linger there, in case her consciousness was pushed out again, she slipped into the dressing gown Nina brought her, and into the matching rubber soled slippers.

Quietly and quickly as she could, she slipped through her door, down the hall, and down the steps. Mentally, she scanned the paths ahead to make sure no one was there for her to meet along the way.

She made it down the two flights of steps, past the tiny kitchen, and almost continued into the Great Hall when she realized she'd gone too far.

The scream came again, followed by shouting.

Starr retraced her steps, and stopped right at the kitchen stone archway.

Catching a scent, she realized that someone had just walked through there.

Concentrating on the blank slate, she walked through the archway.

The kitchen was tiny, just like every other room in the castle. It was amazing, to Starr, that they managed to provide feasts, as they did. To her right, there was a large wooden table that took up most of the space.

A shadow flickered at the right end of the room. Starr walked toward it.

In the left corner, instead of a wall, there was an even smaller archway.

She ducked under it and saw a tightly confined stairway, down which, there was a dim flicker of what must have been candle light.

Then she heard a couple of voices that sounded small but quickly grew louder. Starr knew that, whoever they were, they were getting closer, and were headed her way.

Immediately, she ducked out of the stairwell, tip toed out of kitchen, and hid in the shadows just outside of the archway.

Hard, she focused on the black slate while staring at the floor.

She looked up, in time, to see Madam Balaji and Adam walked past her without stopping. Starr continued focusing until she heard a door close from somewhere above.

She walked back through the kitchen and ducked into the stairwell. It was now pitch black, for the candle light had been extinguished.

Quickly, she ran down the steps, but, the further down, the darker it got until it was even too dark for her supernatural eyes.

Hands held out, she stepped off onto a flat stone surface and walked straight into a wall. Reaching out, to either sides of her body, she felt another wall to her right, and a space to her left.

Still holding her hands out, she walked into the dark space to her left.

Leaning her right shoulder on a stone wall, she carefully stepped her way across the floor until she felt a stiff wooden surface.

Feeling around the middle, she groped the handle of the door, but it was dead bolted.

She leaned her head against it, trying to hear sounds on the other side, but it was dead silent.

Normally, opening a locked door would be the equivalent to pulling the tab off of a soda can, but she decided it was better to go to bed. Her hostess and hosts had been more than good to her, and she hoped to maintain friendly relations with them, so why ruin it by snooping?
Parker Manor

Chapter 4

The next morning, when Starr went down to breakfast, the butler, whom she'd never met before, served her a letter on a silver platter.

She tore open the envelope, using the silver letter opener, and then set it back onto the platter.

"Dearest Starr,

Please join me, at my castle, for a friendly assault.

P.S. My car will arrive to pick you up at around ten 'o' clock.

Yours,

Parker, B."

"Thank you," said Starr.

The butler bowed and then walked off.

That day, she would break-fast alone, for Madam Balaji, Adam, Bulgari, and Mitch were nowhere to be seen.

She sat down and the lady, from the day before, poured her a cup of tea, and served her waffles and potatoes.

Ten minutes later, there was a honking noise from outside the castle.

"Madam," called the butler, "your ride awaits."

The ride to parkers was an hour of laborious gear grinding up hills, and down windy, winding roads. After bumping up and down, in her seat, for about an hour, Starr got really annoyed at the gravel roads that made it impossible for them to drive faster.

Parker's driver was named Peter, but that was all she had time to learn from him, as the noise from driving the old car made it impossible to converse.

Finally, the green tip of a conical roof appeared in between two peaks ahead. Slowly, the house came into view. It was a large contemporary brick house that was almost as large as the Castel de Negru.

As she stepped out of the car, Parker, already in his fencing costume, opened the door and walked down the steps.

With a large smile on his face, he said, "Well, well, well, I thought you'd never make it!" he smiled, grabbed her hand, bowed and kissed. "Come in," he said excitedly.

"Sit, sit, sit!" he pranced about in his white fencing costume. "Would you like some tea to freshen up from your ride?"

He must have been about thirty years old, when he was turned, for she could see little wrinkles at corners of his brown eyes as he smiled.

"No, thank you," she said. "I need to stretch my legs. Why don't we just get started?"

"Okay, come, follow me," he beckoned with his hand.

She followed Parker through a sitting room, through the kitchen, through a game room, and into a small gym.

Across the middle of the room was a long, four foot wide platform.

"For starters, this is called a piste," he said as he stepped onto the platform. "We only fight here so we don't destroy my floor, and so we don't lose points."

Then he walked to the corner of the room where a barrage of swords hung on the wall. After a moment of contemplation, he pulled the longest and heaviest looking sword.

"For today, and because it is simpler, we will start with a basic game of epee assault. You'll notice my swords are nearly the same as what we used the other night. As you get better, we'll try other forms, like foil and sabre which require a bit more skill.

Now, there are a few basic rules to the game of epee fencing: 1. You stay on the strip; 2. Each round is three minutes long; 3. You must get five touches to technically win. 4. A touch, anywhere on the body, counts. Is that clear?"

"I thought it was just the torso that counted towards points?"

"No, that is something called foil fencing. For that, we'd use, this sword," he held a long light sword that waivered, sending off gleams from the sunlight through the window.

He put down the sword and walked to the piste; Starr followed.

"Okay, you over there. Now stand like this, en garde!" he shouted.

Parker raised his sword as he made a box shape with his left hand in the air. He place his feet in an almost plié stance, with his toes pointed, diagonally, away from each other.

"This is how you move forward, and this, back. Remember to keep your back straight and arm upward, chest to the side, let's go!" he made toward Starr in a lunge forward motion.

Instinctively, Starr sidestepped, as she did before, but she went too far to the left, and touched outside the piste.

"No, start over," he said. "En garde!"

For a few moments, they moved forward and back together, Parker trying to teach Starr good posture and balance.

After a while, Starr felt like she was back in ballet. She put her front foot en pointe and proceeded back and forth, in what was similar to a pas, pas, a la seconde, and faille landing en releve; or step forward, step backward, side step left and/or right, lunged up and, and then landing on the ball, or balls, of her feet.

Fencing required much physical balance, like ballet or yoga, and Starr found herself getting impatient, quickly.

"Ahhh, this is not a dance class, Starr, like this," and he swung his sword, exuberantly, skyward as he flung his foot forward and stepped fast.

"Touche!" he shouted in French – he got the first hit.

They tumbled through a few rounds, but Starr knew she could get it; it would just take getting used to the new fighting format. She'd been on her own for so long that, even in martial arts, she'd lost form, and become sloppy, and more of a street fighter.

Later, they sat on an outdoor dais and ate a raw blood pudding.

"You did really well, today, Starr. Your posture and stance needs much work, but you could be good. You are a fighter, you've got instinct."

Starr merely smiled; she really liked the sport. It was different than other forms of fighting; it was calculating and thoughtful, almost like a game of chess.

"Yes, it brings a side of fighting that, sometimes, doesn't get enough consideration. In other art forms, you may discover an opponent's weaknesses, but that isn't your focus. Your focus is only acting on the moment, defensively and offensively. When working with swords, be they samarai or sabre, you are contemplating, anticipating, and learning in a matter of seconds, how to defeat your opponent; it requires much more scrutiny. More importantly, and even more valuable, is that the information you learn, in the sword play, hardly changes, from battle-to-battle; it is information that you can use to win the war as well as the fight. Changing our fight is like changing ourselves, and, similar to therapy, it doesn't happen overnight."

"I think that's what I liked about it. I felt like I was really learning about me, and about you, about how we think alike, and how we think differently. I felt like my personality was coming out in the way I sought to hit you."

"Exactly, Starr!"

They ate in silence for a moment.

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Yes," he said.

"Can you tell me more about why the Order of Negru despises The Council? I just got the feeling that Madam Balaji isn't telling me everything."

"Well, I don't want to say bad things about other people in my circle because I enjoy them very much. I do not wish to lose any of them, and I do not wish to be excluded from our privileged circle. I will say this much, however, the Order is old and, with it, comes old rites."

"Rites?" said Starr, her brain swimming with ideas, images of pyres and human sacrifice.

"I don't participate in the rites because I do not agree with them. Surely, we should be past all this superstitious nonsense, like pleasing gods," he took a sip of his tea. "The Council wishes to restrain groups from practicing pagan rites. In a way, I sort of agree, as this is the 21st century; people need to stop acting barbaric."

"What kind of rites? They must be pretty bad?"

"Well, I don't know, really, as I've never been invited. I think because it is obvious how I feel about them, but I do know that some of them practice savagery and brutality."

"And they do these things to please pagan gods?"

"Well, mostly, they do it for fun. I doubt any of them really believe in the rituals, unless they are from third world countries."

Starr didn't respond because she was remembering the strange noises in the castle.

"If I may offer some advice, and I know it is not my place, still, you must listen to me, Starr," and he looked her straight in the eyes. "Do not go looking for trouble. Ignore anything strange that you may see. If you only want to be left alone, I suggest you enjoy your time here, and then leave. If you stay, you will be dragged into a political war that is destined to become bloody."

When Starr said nothing, he asked, "What other strange things have you noticed?"

"I haven't noticed anything else," she said honestly. "I have another question: Was Vlad the Impaler a vampire?"

"Pfuugh, ahuh..." he splurted into his tea. "Oh my gosh, oh, hahaha," he laughed. "No he was not; he was a psycho who was so bloody that people assumed he must have been, but he was not. Even back then, The Council would not have tolerated such a demon."

"Back then?"

"Yes, Starr. The Council is old. I heard the very first members were a couple of vampire hunters from the fourth century. When they, themselves, got bit, they realized that we weren't mindless, bloody, soul-less things, but they still continued to hunt; they hunted vampires with god complexes, and especially those who were crazed, vamped out, zombies. Essentially, they still sought to protect humans, while allowing the more civilized vampires to remain."

After another cup of tea, Starr asked, "Can I come back tomorrow?"

"Well, I'm so happy you want to come back," he smiled and tapped her hand. "I would love for you to, but tomorrow is the hunt. I'm sure Madam Balaji will have something for you to do."
The Hunt

Chapter 5

The next morning, Starr was awakened by a commotion outside her window. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her eyes.

The sound of a large motor and of something being dragged across concrete vibrated through the walls.

She stood up and looked out of the window.

A large tractor was dragging a Ferris wheel across the lawn, and had cut a large corner of the patio when it tipped over a bit.

Behind the Ferris wheel followed a semi-truck that parked on the grass, followed by another.

A couple people left the trucks cabs, opened the beds, and began hauling large items out.

She dressed and went down for breakfast, but, once again, she ate alone.

Unable to find anything to do, Starr decided to help out in the kitchen.

It was a tight squeeze with seven of them working around the table, and the walls no more than three feet behind them.

Starr was put to work, slicing, peeling, and cutting potatoes, tomatoes, and everything else that came from the garden.

When she'd finished them, Starr moved onto kneading dough, for rolls, and making fresh pasta from egg and flour.

There was so much to do that time, literally, flew by. She worked straight through until Nina came to tell her she'd laid out another dress.

After a shower, she slipped into the grey finely spun angora dress with slip underneath. She liked the way the simple fuzzy grey conformed to her body; its length accentuated her torso, making her hips appear more shapely.

Suddenly, a ray of yellow light bled into her room, through the small window.

She looked through and saw that the lights of the Ferris wheel had been turned on. To her left, a carousel had been setup, as had a miniature game strip: there were rows of stuffed animals, and a couple attempted to shoot a duck with an old bb gun.

Back downstairs, Madam Balaji stopped her and asked her to help carry food trays into the hall.

As she entered, carrying a four foot wide platter, she found numerous guests were there that she'd never seen before, not even the other night.

After she'd transferred the last tray, she didn't know what to do because she didn't know anyone, so she decided to simply go around and introduce herself.

In the middle of the crowd was a group of men and women chatting. Starr walked up and was about to say when a man in a silvery tuxedo said, "Well here's our savage killing demon!"

Starr froze with her mouth slightly opened.

"Don't worry," said a woman in a blue sequined gown. "None of us liked those vampires. They gave us all a bad name."

"Like a stray cat colony, they needed to be put down before they got really nasty. Who made those vagrants anyways?" asked the man in silver, snidely.

"I believe it was a vampire by the name of Sherlock. If rumor is correct, he fell in love with a Gypsy, and so on and so forth," a man with a bow tie said as he sipped his wine.

Finding her voice, Starr replied, "Well, I'm glad no one is angry with me, but I would have avoided killing them, if I could."

"Yes, but they are very territorial. When they saw you in their town, they were angered," said the man with a bow tie. "They would have come after you, be you human or no."

Tired of the conversation, she went outside where there was a lot of laughing and screaming.

She wandered over to a large game of Whack a Mole, animal heads that popped out of slots at different times. With the large mallet in hand, she whacked them all, in under two minutes.

How easy these games were with her preternatural strength.

However, her aim wasn't so good, as she soon discovered at the Carnival Duck game. The little white plastic with a yellow beak scurried across a shelf; someone had somehow sped it up.

Starr missed every single shot.

Damn!

"Ah, Starr, you can't be perfect at everything," said Bulgari, who'd walked up behind her.

"Stand aside," he said, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and holding the bb gun up to his shoulder.

"Hold it more like this," she watched as he positioned his left hand lower on the barrel, "this keeps it more balanced. Look down the barrel, the stock to the bead, and line it with your target and," he pressed the trigger and shot the duck.

"Quack, quack, quack," the plastic shouted.

Bulgari chose the stuffed imitation duck, which he gave to Starr.

"What's that pin you're wearing," she asked, eyeing a dark blue sapphire that glittered on his jacket lapel. "It's beautiful."

"I see someone I must say hi to, if you excuse me," he bowed slightly, and walked off.

She walked through the patio toward the pyre where several goats were hanging. In front of the pyre, several tables of meat had been laid out, of which, Starr helped herself.

After her third serving, she walked back inside.

As she was about to enter the Great Hall again, she heard music coming from further down. People were standing outside a room she hadn't seen yet.

She walked toward them and found a large ballroom, in which, a couple dozen people were dancing to old music, performed by a small quartet and mini concert piano that was squeezed tightly in the far corner.

"Would you like to dance?" asked a man in a red army jacket that looked to be from English colonial times.

"No, I can't. I don't know how to do these old dances."

"Come, come, if you're going to hang around us old folks, you gotta learn to dance," he insisted with a smile.

After allowing the man to teach her for an hour or so, she wandered back out into the Great Hall where a bar had been set up.

She ordered a bloody Grey Goose martini with a couple snake hearts on a toothpick and sat on a divan and watched the people mingle.

Just when she thought she'd die from her boredom and was thinking about retiring to her room for the evening, she felt the presence of someone familiar to her. It wasn't anyone she'd just met, but it was someone who smelled like home, a fresh sea salt scent.

She perked up her head and looked around a bit. It wasn't long before she discovered the source, for he stood, his skin gleaming brighter than anyone else, under the dim light of the chandelier, about ten times paler than any other vampire, and the only one wearing sunglasses. His was Kris; he was a German albino, a friend to Levi and Lucenzo.

"Starr," he said in his soft voice without removing his dark glasses on, for even as a vampire, his lavender eyes were sensitive. He kissed her on both cheeks, "I'd heard you had come."

She was surprised to see him act friendly, for it was only a few weeks since Levi had died because of her.

"What do these mean?" she looked, closely, at the beautiful blue sapphire he, too, had attached to his jacked lapel.

"That is to show I am a member of the Order of Negru. We are the guests of honor tonight. How are you enjoying Romania?"

"I can't wait to go home."

Fernand joined them, exuberantly, hands flailing, and the same cane, from the other party, in his hand.

"How is my brother?"

"He sends you this," and Kris pulled a little parcel wrapped with a white handkerchief from his pocket.

He opened it up and it was a pin like the one they were both wearing.

"It is for you, Starr. It is one of a kind, from Lucenzo. You cannot get these anywhere. Here, put it on."

"But I am not a member."

"Tonight you are," he smiled. "May I?"

Starr nodded and he put the pin on her.

While Kris and Fernand played catch up, Starr wandered into the back and onto the Ferris wheel. From up high, in the distance she saw bright lights like at a baseball field at an evening game.

The light glared at her from between the trees. She knew it was the grand labyrinth. Though hard to see in the darkness, there were couples who walked arm-in-arm toward it.

Curious about what sort of games were happening there, she decided to follow suit.

She stepped off the Ferris wheel and continued through the back, along the cement path, taking a right and continuing straight until she reached the ten foot walls that were lined by trees.

At the gate, there were two men in tuxedos. One bent over to examine Starr's pin. When the man nodded, the other opened the gate, allowing her entrance.

She squinted in the bright lights. Up in the stands, lots of people were seated as they watched games and drank blood.

From inside the labyrinth, Starr smelled fear, and lots of it; even more fragrant then the fresh human blood that clouded her mind, making her heady.

As she walked up the stairs, someone tapped her on the shoulder; it was Madam Balaji.

"Starr," she said angrily, "what are you doing here? You will turn around and leave. Where did you get that pin?"

But Starr was already distracted by what was taking place inside the maze.

Naked people were running through the paths: some of them were bitten and cut up as well as covered in blood.

They had collars around their necks.

One lady was sitting on a stone bench, crying and praying to god while, just a few paths over, a vampire in a tuxedo heavily sniffed the air, tasting it and then choosing a path that led him straight to her.

Looking to the right upper corner, a heavily muscled naked man was running zig zag, up and down, along various paths. He thought he was going forward, but he wound up right back where he started.

Only a few hedges below him, a vampire stood, with arms crossed, just waiting for the man to get ahead: he was trying to extend his game time in the labyrinth.

Then over in the left lower corner, a vampire chased a middle aged man around a hedge. The vampire leapt at him, but landed flat on his stomach. He managed to grab the man's ankle, in which, he sunk his teeth into his Achilles heel and sucked a moment before the man turned over and kicked him in the face, forcing the vampire to relinquish his grip.

The man stood and limped – ran further around the hedge, his blood leaving a path behind him.

In the center of the labyrinth was where most of the people, in the stands, attention were: A vampire was on all fours, on a large stone table, ripping out the guts of a man, with blood all over his face and clothes.

When the crowd gasped, she looked left. A man made it out of the maze, but one of the tuxedoed security men grabbed him, and escorted him to the entrance where they made him start all over again. When he wouldn't enter willingly, they used a cattle prod on his back and he screamed.

Starr was horrified, but, mostly, she was disappointed with herself for being so stupid as to think that other people's problems weren't hers. She, herself, told Lily, once, that just because they were who they were, didn't mean they could behave badly, and her choice to ignore signs of brutality was behaving badly.

She felt shame heat the surface of her skin, almost as if there were blood boiling in her veins.

Starr looked at Madam Balaji and hated her for misleading her into thinking that she, and her order, was good.

But there was nothing she could do, she thought to herself as she looked around: there were hundreds of vampires there, in the stands, cheering.

Now, looking back, it should have occurred to her; she should have made the connection. Screaming in, what appeared to be, a dungeon, Parker and his tell-all about rites, pagans, war, and The Council.

She just didn't want to see it; didn't want to get involved; she was selfish and only cared about being left alone.

And the Order was no better than the man who kidnapped her sister, forced her to do things she didn't want, and then killed her. Her sister died because of people like Madam Balaji and her Negru followers.

In a zone, Starr walked back down the stand steps, and past Madam Balaji who was saying something to her, but she simply couldn't hear, at the moment.

She was betrayed, she thought to herself and, for the first time since being turned, she cared about that. Madama Balaji and the people of Castel de Negru let her down. She thought she'd found reasonable people, but all they were, was monsters.

Starr walked out of the gate, and continued through the dark, along the path.

When she returned to her room in the castle, she took off her dress and put on her leathers, packed her loose items, and walked out of the party, and out of the castle, without a word, without a goodbye to anyone.

Starr walked into the dark, east, toward the mountains behind Castel de Negru.

"'A hundred miles east,'" she quoted Madam Balaji to herself, as she pulled out her phone and set the GPS. "'Follow the voices in your head,'" she remember her say.

From behind, someone called her name, but she continued into the darkness, without looking back. She continued on toward her original mission: finding The Council, but, this time, with a new attitude.

Road to Heaven

Vampin Book Series #12

By Jamie Ott

Copyright © 2012 Jamie Ott.

All rights reserved. For permissions or information, please contact ladysonoma@americamail.com

Publication: 6/7/2012

No parts of this book may be used without permission.
Snow Mountains
Chapter 1

Too tired to care about being seen, she descended from the sky.

Softly, she landed a few feet from the entrance. The thick layer of snow crunched under her heels, as she walked, quickly, to the door of the shack.

From the air, she sensed that it was a café the locals visited, even though it looked like an old condemned building.

She kicked off caked-on snow from her boots, and pulled back the door.

The patrons all looked up, as she walked to the bar. She could see why, too: She stuck out greatly with her jet black hair and clothes.

In the rural parts of Scandinavia, many people were fair haired, not to mention dressed very plainly.

She slipped off her black faux shearling coat, and hung it on the back of a bar stool, and scooted in.

Her sunglasses had practically frozen to her face. Despite knowing that she should keep them on, she removed them.

Keeping her eyes down, she asked the bartender for a beer, stew, and sandwich.

She rubbed her cold hands on her face.

It had been several months since she'd left Lake George. The decision wasn't hard to make because she thought the images an old vampire planted in her mind would be enough to guide her to Valhol, but she was wrong.

Instead, she'd been searching for months, trying to tell her inner demon to use its instinct to find the old peak. Her senses continued to lead her between the half dozen countries; one day she'd fly to Norway, then to Finland, and the next: Sweden, or some other place.

As it was, she didn't even know what country she sat in, at the moment.

She was simply exhausted.

The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that Credenza would come for her, in the end; after she'd done massacring all the 'barbarian vampires of the world.' However, Starr, now, knew better, even the Order of Black had gone into hiding.

She just didn't understand it.

Valhol was on a Scandinavian mountain peak. Sestin, the old vampire, showed it to her before she killed him.

But why did she sense the city of Valhol in nearly every Scandinavian country?

"Here you go, Miss," said the man.

"Thank you," said Starr, as she greedily started drinking down the hot liquid.

Never in her life had she appreciated the taste and feel of hot soup so much. Not that her kind ever felt cold anymore – or at least not in the human aggravating sense, but it did suck to be wet and moist all the time; not to mention stiff jointed.

Since she'd died, her sense of hot and cold had become skewed, somewhat. The only way she knew when temperature was a problem was when her joints and muscles got extremely stiff. For a human, this would be called advanced hypothermia.

Thankfully, the stew helped considerably. She sighed as the warm liquid bled down her throat, and into her stomach. From there, like coals in a fire, the warmth spread to her heart and traveled up and down her back.

"Anything else, Miss?" asked the barkeep.

"A room?" she asked plainly.

"Yeah, you're gonna go down the road a bit, and, hey Miss, you're gonna wanna look at me."

Starr put her sunglasses on and looked up.

The man stared at her, like she was weird, and then proceeded to use his hands to point and charade.

She tried to pay the man with the little prepaid card she'd picked up before she left the United States. After all, she was only seventeen.

Not that she could get a credit card even if she was older, for most of the banks in the world still weren't working. This meant the half million dollars she owned was stuck. As it was, the money she had, she'd stolen from the penthouse of a rich dead man in NYC.

"We don't take that. We're just a small establishment."

"Well, I'm sorry," she said annoyed. "I only have U.S. dollars."

She slapped a ten dollar bill onto the counter.

The man bitched about her to his buddy in some language.

As a vampire, her kind inherited a certain form of telepathy; one that enabled them to understand people who spoke other languages. Unfortunately, that didn't mean they knew how to respond.

Starr was too tired to care, anyway.

Just as she was about to walk out of the door, the man said to her, "Hey, Miss! This won't cover the exchange fees. We need another five."

But Starr could tell the man was manipulating her. He was simply annoyed at having to deal with a foreigner. However, Starr was in no mood to humor him. In fact, when she was groggy and tired, she, her self, became feistier.

She turned around and said, "You think I don't know that you're messing with me. You don't need another five dollars, and you're certainly not gonna get it. But, if you'd like, you can come and try."

"You watch your mouth, Miss, or I just might," the man said, as he threw his pencil down on the counter.

"Come on, then!" she said, beckoning him with her fingers. "I've had a crappy past couple of days. Kicking your ass might just be the sort of release I need."

When he just stood there, silently, she shrugged her shoulders and opened the door.

"Don't come back," he shouted.

She turned her head back and said, "Don't tell me what to do."

As she made to exit the bar, a man in a grey baseball cap said, "Hello, Miss."

Starr ignored him and walked on.

She stood for a moment and stared over the miles of snowy plain. The sun glared down, crisply, making her skin tingle.

Normally, she was okay in the city or at the Lake. The sun didn't bother her, much, there; perhaps because of all the shadows of the buildings, trees, and mountains that obscured the sun's direct rays.

When it did bother her, a little sunscreen was all she needed, but ever since she'd arrived in Scandinavia, like a 3rd degree burn, her skin constantly, painfully, tingled.

The fables would have you believe that vampires just simply went poof because of ultra violet, but it wasn't so. When one dies, so does the body's natural ability to produce secretions.

It was the skin's production of natural vitamins', melanin and sweat that kept the living protected, and when they died, so did those defenses which took eons to evolve.

She pulled a small bottle from her pocket and smeared the sun protectant all over her face, neck and hands.

Starr walked left, down the road. Several trucks drove by, blowing up brown slushy-snow around her.

She turned left at the sign and walked under a short over pass.

The small hotel was a few miles down, in the center of a tiny strip. It was wedged between another restaurant and a large building.

Behind the hotel counter, a white haired lady checked her in without much fuss.

She set her bag on the lumpy bed. Immediately, she pulled her clothes off and hung them about the room to dry.

Into the hot shower she went. Her muscles and joints relaxed and expanded as they thawed.

As she toweled her skin dry, she couldn't help but notice the way her eyes showed up on the cloudy mirror, when even her blue-black hair couldn't hold up against the steam.

The redness was the result of the Primordial blood she drank, several months ago. That was the reason she kept her glasses on at all times.

She did try contact lenses, but flying through the air at those temperatures kept freezing them. Several times, she'd already peel them from her eye ball, as they broke down into little tiny shards in her socket.

Eagerly, she climbed onto the bed and dug in her bag.

Her cell phone still didn't get reception there. It was nice to know that there were still places in the world not connected to the so-called grid. She just hoped the kids, and her friends, were okay.

She flipped on the television. Not that there were any good channels that far away from major cities; just a few news and information channels. Sometimes, there were shows from other parts of Europe though.

She settled back on the mattress and closed her eyes.
Cry Out
Chapter 2

For months, she'd been getting these visions, but she didn't know what to make of them. The only thing she was certain of was Credenza needed to be stopped.

This was also the reason she'd set out to find Valhol, and hence Lucenzo. He was the only person who would answer her questions, like if Credenza really was the one behind the attempted vampire apocalypse? Or if she really told Lucenzo to move into the clinic so as to keep tabs on her?

She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her aching head.

Normally, visions weren't painful. Plenty of vampires had them, but this was different. This was a psychic cry out; a connection to all the unliving: It was a warning of danger.

That night, her vision was of some town in Italy.

Credenza meandered through the streets of an entirely vampire town. People dropped dead, one by one, as she walked by.

She's coming! was the message, over and over, through the psychic wave lengths.

Vampires were scared, and they were going into hiding anywhere they could. Shane, Marla, and Mica – her best friends and fellow vampires, begged her not to leave the Lake.

She did anyway, because she was the only one who could possibly stop Credenza. Sestin knew that when he chose her to end his life, and take his power into herself.

Besides, Starr was certain that Credenza wouldn't go after her friends, or, at least, not yet.

In her mind, she saw Credenza walking through a dark neighborhood. Her amber eyes danced in the light of the fires that people had set, in the streets, in their attempts to kill her.

She was too strong to be contained. Like walking through a sand storm, she simply covered her face with her hands, as she walked through rings of fire.

Wondering if any of this had hit the news, she turned the television back on.

The only newscast was a woman in a bright white shirt, who talked of some up and coming Danish holiday.

Starr flinched.

Did she just say Danish?

After months of so much flying around, and following the scent of Valhol, she began to forget to keep track of the countries she'd landed in, from day to day.

Not once, did Starr consider that she should have searched Denmark. She just assumed Valhol was further north.

She picked up her room phone and dialed Shane's cell number.

"Hey, Starr," answered Becky, a girl they rescued from the street, back in NYC. "Let me get Shane. She's been wanting to talk to you; she's been really upset."

A moment later, her voice came on. She said, "Hey, how are you?"

"I had another vision. Hundreds more are dead. Did you see it?"

"We all saw it. Marla is doing okay, but Mica is another story. Hearing the cries of dying vampires, day and night, isn't doing her any good. She's locked herself in her room, and won't come out."

Upon being turned, a person experienced an increase in their natural abilities. For Mica, this meant a supernatural ability to hear things from far away.

"When are you coming home?" she asked. "We're scared."

"I know, but don't worry. You'll be fine. No one will touch you, I promise. Credenza's wants me to trust her, and she can't get that by killing the people closest to me."

"Where are you now?"

"Denmark, actually, that's why I'm calling. Can you put Mot on the phone? I have a question."

"Look, maybe it's time to accept that Valhalla doesn't exist."

"Put Mot on the phone, please."

A moment later, his husky voice came through the speaker.

"Yeah?"

"I have a question. It's strange, but I want you to answer anyway. What can you tell me about Valhol?"

"Well, it's the hall for warriors, but that's about all. It's just some myth about heaven."

"Hypothetically, if a person were to claim it were a lost territory, where do you think it would be?"

"Uh, everywhere, I think."

Starr was stunned for a moment.

"What?" she asked annoyed. "Look, just answer the question. I don't have time for games."

"Hello, I did answer you. It's not my fault if you've got a thick skull. That region has only recently been calm. But back then, there were a lot of changes to the Earth."

Silence ensued a moment.

Slowly, she began to understand what Mot meant. It certainly would make sense as to why she'd been following a trail that led her aimlessly everywhere.

"Okay, I get it, now. What if a person wanted to locate the largest chunk of Valhol?"

"What a ridiculous question," he said. "I don't know. You'd have to ask a historian or something."

A few hours later, she packed her bag and flew to Copenhagen.

By ten 'o' clock she touched down on the upper level of a parking garage. She walked down several flights, and then checked into the adjoining hotel.

The city was just as cold as the north, except misty with salt-tasting air.

After dropping her bag off, in the room, she chanced another pair of blue contact lenses, and then walked down to the lobby and got directions to the Royal Library.

When she first entered the Met sized building, she stood about, wondering where to start.

From the ceiling hung many signs, but unlike other countries she'd been to the last few months, she was unable to decipher these words. It was known that these languages shared their roots with English, but Danish must have had other influences over the millenniums.

Her confusion must have shown on her face, for a friendly guy in a blue suit approached.

"You're not from here, I can tell. Can I help you?" he asked in nearly perfect English.

He looked familiar to her.

"Have we met before?"

"No, I don't think so."

Briefly, she told him she was looking for maps.

She followed him to a large section of laminated rung up books.

"What kind of map are you looking for?"

Quickly, she made up a story about doing a research paper about the theoretical location of Valhol for class.

"An exchange student who doesn't speak the language? Hmm..."

He browsed up and down the aisles; Starr followed.

After a few minutes, he stopped in a section with particularly large laminations. He pulled down a green one and tilted his head, signaling her to follow him.

They walked over to a large table, where he pulled back the pages. He looked at the keys a second, and then flipped the pages a couple more times.

Finally, he said, "Ahh! So, in that time, Valhol was the center of the world – before we knew better. The peak where Valhol was located was a large part of Europe," he said as he circled a large area with his finger. "But then the Earthquakes happened, breaking off a large part of Scandinavia." He made slashing movements to the coastline of Denmark. "Some parts of it drifted and others parts crushed in together. Pieces of this place could be everywhere."

He looked up at her, and said, "Hypothetically, for your homework assignment, if I were you, I'd look more to central Europe. If it were real, most of it was on its own plate; even if it were on a fault line, it would be nearly impossible for it to divide, without a volcanic surface."
Old Acquaintances
Chapter 3

It felt much nicer to be in the lower latitude. The air was still deathly cold, there, but the sun was less direct.

She'd been circling central Europe for hours. Every inch of her skin and clothes were iced over.

When she emerged from an enormous cloud and looked down, she saw a large mountain. From far below, she sensed something or someone familiar.

Tired, she decided to take a break.

Starr landed on a low incline. In the distance, she sensed a mass amount of people. Following her instinct, she walked down the incline and around a large boulder: In the distance, a large lift carried a lot of people further up the mountain.

She looked down from where the lift came, and saw a tall dark lodge. It sat in the middle of a snowy strip.

Carefully, she walked down the jagged snowy incline.

The town was tiny. To her left, a number of homes were scattered throughout the mountainous plain. When she looked right, all she saw was miles of gray sky that seemed to touch the ground.

She stepped onto what would have been a sidewalk, if it weren't covered with a foot of snow.

Starr inhaled deeply; the air was fragrant with burning wood from various fireplaces in people's homes.

A large plow slowly rode up the street. As she looked into the shops with her mind, she saw many people. Some were buying souvenirs, while others rented snow gear and ate meals.

In a bar at the end of a street, locals smoked and drank vodka as they watched some sports program.

At the opposite end of the street, of where she stood, was a row of wood cabins. Inside, she sensed families spending time together – and even caught the faint aroma of hot chocolate being served in one of them.

She walked left, to the lodge.

As she pulled back the door, the warm air, from inside, rushed at her face, making her skin buzz.

The log walled lobby was lit with a warm yellow light. Across the room, an enormous fire crackled in a five foot high fireplace.

Scattered throughout, people read newspapers and books, as they sipped mugs of coffee and other drinks the lodge staff brought out to them. All across the walls hung horned animal heads and family portraits of the locals.

Deciding she liked the feel of the cozy mountain town, she decided to stay the night.

The room re emanated the spirit of the rest of the lodge. With log walls and a deer head mounted above the head of the firm, comforted bed.

She dropped her bag on the bed, pulled out a change of clothes, and then returned to the lobby.

Starr smelled food coming from the back. She followed the scent and found herself in the lodge restaurant.

Inside, its mahogany walls were dimly lit by soft lamp lights. She picked the emptiest section of the bar, and ordered a chicken soup and a coffee.

The warmth, after being in the stone cold all morning, made her extremely drowsy. Her cold hands throbbed as she wrapped them around the hot mug, and lifted it to her mouth.

Just when she thought she'd fall asleep while sitting up, someone came and plopped down next to her.

"Starr! I saw you walk in."

With heavy eyes, she looked right, and said, "Emil? What are you doing here?"

"Me? I live here. What are you doing here," he asked with a smile.

"Wow. Uh, to be honest, I don't know." She leant over and whispered, "I was flying and the cold was getting to me, so I decided to stop for the night."

He lifted his chin and mouthed the word 'Oh,' silently.

"You're in Grindewald, my hometown in Switzerland. Remember? I invited you. Now, I'm sad because I thought maybe you were here to see me."

Starr didn't know what to say. She sensed something familiar about the place; it must have been him.

"Why do you wear sunglasses inside?" he asked. "It's so rude."

Her eyes still very cold, she hadn't bothered with a new pair of contacts. She leant over, again, and looked at him over the top of her glasses.

"V'hat happened to your eyes?" he asked.

When she wouldn't say, he urged her to sit in a booth, where they could talk privately. Once seated, she told him, briefly, about Sestin and her mission to find Valhol.

"So, what now?"

"Well, I gotta keep looking. I just know that I need to find it. It's what Lucenzo is trying to tell me," she stood and stretched. "Well, I'm gonna call it an evening. I'm gonna head out early tomorrow."

"Well, no! You just got here," he said in a higher pitched voice. "Tomorrow night is my family's annual snow barge. You must stay; it will be fun."

Although she knew she should have refused, she really wanted a break from the cold.

The next morning, Starr's inner animal woke her with a light growl. It had been a couple of days since she'd had blood.

Trying to ignore her red thirst, she made her way down to the restaurant for eggs and coffee.

It wasn't long before Emil joined her.

"I was wondering when you'd get up. I think I will take you to the mountain today."

Then a small lady approached the table.

"Starr, this is my mother."

"Hi, it is so nice to meet you," she said with a smile.

Then she turned to Emil and said, "I'm gonna need you at the restaurant today by 2 p.m. Ralf has gone home for a week."

"Okay, Mom."

"Does your family know about you?"

"No, of course not."

"I'm thirsty. Any good places to hunt?"

After breakfast, Emil took Starr to the garage located in the back, where the lodge's snow mobiles were parked. He took her past the locals homes, and down the other side of the mountain until they reached a large forest.

"Now, this forest is enormous. You should keep your eyes and ears peeled at all times. Even with our extreme abilities to perceive, a bear, or even a pack of wolves, might sneak up on us and takes us by surprise. All it takes is one chance to rip out your throat, and you're down. It happened to a buddy of mine, and he was even older and stronger than I, but the wolves still managed to carry him off. By the time I found him, they'd separated his arms, and were eating him alive. We didn't know if vampirism can transfer to animals, so we had to track them down and kill them all."

They stepped off the snow mobile and walked into the barrage of trees.

Although she could see nothing, for miles, she heard things in the trees. Winter birds and some squirrels, and other little animals that stayed awake through the year.

But she was hungrier than that. She wanted something bigger.

She stopped for a moment and deeply inhaled the air. Emil was right; there were real predators in the forest.

This was gonna be fun, she thought.

After half an hour of roaming, they spotted foot prints in the snow.

Emil recognized them, immediately.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Pack of wolves."

"That'll do: One for you, one for me."

"Yes, just be careful and quick about it. Grab the animal of your choosing, and then run. The others won't come after you: It's in their instinct to let the weak fall."

They followed the trail for another half hour. Finally, they happened on a bald spot where they spotted the wolves nestled in with one another; trying to keep warm.

"How do we do this? Surely, they'll see us and take off."

"Starr, are we vampires or what? Do you think they can outrun us?"

They counted to three and then bolted into the clearing. The wolves looked up, and then turned and ran.

Starr and Emil chased them into the other side of the forest.

Emil was surprisingly fast, so were the wolves. She knew they were faster than humans, but never expected they could still outrun her as a vampire.

He was catching up to the pack. He leapt forward and grabbed a bushy gray one by the tail. It yelped as it rolled over, and then tried to run but couldn't.

Emil dragged it back, jumped on top of it and broke its neck.

Starr kept going until she caught up to the brown one that ran beside Emil's wolf.

For a moment, she hesitated wondering how she was going to do this. She didn't want to jump on her front and land in the snow just to catch its tail. What if she missed?

So she jumped onto its bushy back, causing the animal to buck, but she wrapped her arms around its neck and held on tight.

Instantly, she regretted this move, for the animal kept running, as though she weighed nothing.

Starr clamped her muscles down hard, making it difficult for the wolf to keep up with the others.

When it realized it was losing the pack, it turned and attacked her, sinking its teeth into her cheek and forehead, making her scream out.

Blood ran into her eyes, blinding her.

The wolf lunged for her throat.

Starr released its neck, and closed her hands around its muzzle, forcing its jaw to clamp shut.

A second later, Emil jumped on the wolf and wrangled it to the side, long enough for Starr to roll over on her fours and drain it.

After, they looked at each other and laughed.

"Oh, Starr. Your face is so messed up. We should just stay here and wait for it to heal. Oh, wow," he said, wiping tears from his face. "You've obviously never done any real hunting."

"I have, too!" she laughed. "I've caught plenty of deer."

"That's all fine, but, out here, you take what you can get, and especially at this time of year. You might not see a deer for many miles. Our forests aren't small, like the U.S. which are nearly depleted, rumor has it."

"Not all forests are chopped down; we got a few."

As they laughed and talked, they dragged their wolves to a boulder where they sat down, skinned and gutted them.

"MMMmmm...," Starr said, as took an apple sized bite of her wolf's warm liver.

"My favorite part, too. It is good, ja?"

"Ja!" she said.

When Emil declared her face as presentable, they tied their wolf furs to the snow mobile and rode back to the lodge.

Starr wanted to wander in and out of the shops, but Emil dragged her to the local tannery to get their furs treated, and then to the rental shop where Emil insisted she get a snow suit and snow board.

That afternoon, they took the lift further up the mountain.

As they jumped off, Starr felt heart pound, as if it suddenly came to life.

"Did you feel that?"

"What?"

"I don't know."

She did a 180 turn, and saw an enormous mountain with a peak that disappeared into the clouds.

"I feel something about that peak."

"Please, Starr, you're not gonna find Valhol here. We're hardly central Europe."

"What?" she asked incredulously. "I thought the Swiss embraced the idea of a 'central' identity?"

"Starr, it's nothing about labels. Valhol is a myth. You need to go home and be with your friends; they need you to protect them."

"Emil, I appreciate your concern, but I know what I'm doing. Besides, who else is gonna stop Credenza? By doing this, I am protecting them."

"Let somebody else take her on."

"Emil, sooner or later, she'll be coming for me. I need to be prepared. The way to do that is to get to Valhol."

Distastefully, he shook his head and looked away.

Starr said nothing, but made a mental note to come back and inspect the mysterious mountain.

Starr found that she disliked snowboarding. No matter what he tried to teach her, she continued to fall without reprieve, leaving her legs bruised up, and ripping a hole in her rented snow suit.

When noon came, he excused himself for a shower, a change, and lunch before his shift at his family restaurant. Before he left, he made Starr promise to meet him on the street barge at 11 p.m.

After he left, Starr shed her gear and flew to the peak. Up and up she tried to go, but the peak seemed to go so high that the pressure of the atmosphere felt like it was crushing down on her chest.

But how was that possible? She'd flown even higher than that, before.

Miffed and confused, she stood at the base of the mountain, looking up. Her dead heart leapt several times. She grabbed gasped and grabbed her chest.

Somehow, her body was telling her that there was something different about that mountain.

Like a hover craft, she levitated further up the mountain base, keeping close to the ground. This way, the weight of the atmosphere didn't crush down as painfully.

The higher she got, the quicker her heart pounded.

This was it; it had to be, she said to herself.

By early evening, she'd made far above the township of Grindewald. She knew she needed to go back and get ready for the party. This disappointed her. Still, she felt exhilarated, for the first time in months.

Starr flew back to Grindewald, landing just behind some trees that obscured her descent. Then she walked back to the lodge, and then back to her room to get ready for the party.

About nine 'o' clock, she started drifting off to sleep, so she decided to check out the barge early.

For a moment, she got the feeling that someone was following her. She stopped and turned around.

She looked up and down both ends of the street.

"Hello?"

When no one responded, she continued through the town. Starr wasn't the best telepath, but she wasn't fooled, either. She knew it was likely that her trip might cause unwanted attention, and even dislike. It was common knowledge that the Primordials didn't want people to find them, let alone common vampires.

"I know why you're following me," she said to the air. "You just try and stop me. You just try..."

In the town center, in the middle of the street was 100 foot long barge. People milled in and around it.

On a high table on the stern, a d.j. was playing old music, and many of the older crowd danced and sung around him.

"Starr," called a small woman in a pink jacket. She waved, walked down the steps of the barge, and ran up to her.

"Hi, I'm Anna; I'm Emil's cousin. He told me to look after you until he gets here," she said with a wide smile.

In the center of the barge was a couple of bar men who kept stemmed shot glasses full of schnapps. Every few minutes, one of the men would yell something in Danish, the crowd would shout back, and they'd down the drink.

Anna grabbed her hand, dragged up into the barge and pressed one of the glasses into her hand.

"Skoal," she shouted.

Anna raised the glass to Starr; she rose her glass back and they, both, shot it down.

After they'd done, trays of food went around.

"Are you and Emil dating?"

"No," she said. "We're just friends, I think."

"What are you doing here, then? You didn't bring any gear, so you must not be here to ski."

"No," she said, wondering what kind of lie she should make up.

Fortunately, she was saved the trouble. Two men came up and interrupted them.

"Hi, I'm Tom," said the guy with a white snow beanie. "This is my buddy, Brad," he gestured to his buddy in the enormous blue jacket. "Would you, two, like to dance?"

They moved to the stern of the bow. Starr felt a little lost when dancing to the old timers music.

She was relieved when the music picked up tempo. Many of the old people moved off the barge.

When eleven approached, Starr looked up the road and saw Emil approaching the barge.

He took a few shots of schnapps, and said hello to his friends, before approaching Starr.

Immediately, he pulled her to the stern, into a close dance. Her heart sped when he put his arms around her waist and look into her eyes.

The last time they looked at each other like that was in New York. He'd nearly saved her life, twice.

"Why did you never call me?"

"I was busy. Plus, I didn't want to get mixed up in Council business."

"Well, I wish you would have."

"I figured you'd be off with the Fleet, exterminating vampires."

"Well, I was, for a while. Then I decided to take some time and visit my family. This is my favorite time of year, here."

She laid her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so glad to see you," he said.

He ran his hand up to the back of her neck. The touch of his fingers sent a chill down her back.

"There was something I wanted to tell you, last time we were together."

"What?"

"This," he said, and leaned in and kissed her.

Blood rushed to her head.

He pulled her in, closer, and kissed her more deeply. His tongue was soft and warm, and a hint of blood.

"Sorry, that was the rabbit I drained earlier."

Suddenly, the barge vibrated as all his mates ran around stomping, shouting and singing in Swiss-German.

They shoved glasses of schnapps in their hands, and toasted to the witching hour.

That night, he walked her back to the lodge.

"Stop," he said.

She looked at him, looking around.

"You sense someone, too?"

Slowly, he turned around, looking at the sky and the buildings.

"Are you being followed?"

"I don't know. After you left, I inspected part of the mountain. Since then, it feels like someone is behind me."

"Come out, now!" he said.

When nothing happened, he put his around her shoulders and guided her toward the lodge.

The next morning, Emil knocked on her door.

She invited him.

"Where are you going, now?"

"To the mountain, of course."

"Don't you want breakfast?"

"Emil, this is important. Why do I feel like you're trying to dissuade me for reasons other than my safety?"

"Starr, I don't want you to get hurt."

When she refused to go home, he said, "Fine, but I'm coming with you."
Flight Condemned
Chapter 4

For hours, Starr held Emil's hand as she circled the mountain. He was still a young fledgling; he hadn't come into flying yet.

By the early evening, Starr had had enough.

She couldn't sense anything about the peak, from the air. She didn't know if it was the cold, distracting her animal instinct, but she hadn't a clue of which direction to fly. Heck, she didn't even know if they were on the right side of the mountain.

It became apparent that she couldn't make the journey by flight instinct alone.

Finally, she lowered them onto a peak that was many thousands of feet higher than Grindewald. Emil tried to talk her into going back to the lodge to rest, but she couldn't stop.

She trudged up the peak, facing the daggers of wind and snow that tried to blow them back down the mountain.

They hiked well into the night; Emil complained nearly the entire way.

Starr wasn't ready to camp until midnight. They'd reached a leveled off inclined with a rock cliff that provided shelter from the down draft.

Emil hunkered down with his back against the rock while Starr flew off and gathered some wood that was, amazingly, pretty dry.

Staring at it and concentrating, she ignited a small fire.

As she zoned out, looking into the flames, she felt distracted. She looked around, again.

Emil stood up and shouted, "Who are you? Come out, now!"

But no one answered.

"The fire isn't doing any good. My muscles are so stiff."

"Look, if you want to go back, then fine, but I can't take you. I need to keep going."

"And let you alone out here? What kind of guy would I be?"

They agreed to take turns sleeping. Emil had pointed out that if they both did so at the same time – and they froze like ice cubes, they might not wake up until spring.

The sound of breaking limbs woke Starr, the next morning.

Emil had gathered more wood and was breaking it down and shoving it into his backpack.

Immediately, they set to hiking up the mountain again.

After about an hour, they came upon an icy slope. Starr was about to lean forward, and climb up on all fours, but Emil stopped her.

"What is it?"

"This slope is an avalanche waiting to happen," he said sounding annoyed.

She grabbed his hand and levitated them up, past the ice and landed on another peak.

At that point, the temperatures really dropped, and their limbs became especially stiff. Each step took great effort, and each step required yanking their legs out of the snow, which only exhausted more of their energy.

Only stopping for a break, they continued on and on, miserably.

At the top of another incline, they looked down, and it was just like out of book or movie. They were thousands and thousands of feet above the biosphere, where most people lived.

It was a breathtaking view.

That night as they sat close to another fire, they heard a loud Earth shattering crunch that echoed all around them, vibrating through Starr's very bones.

Emil stood up fast, a look of distorted fear on his face.

"Come on, let's go! Get us out of here!"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

"FLY!!!! NOW!!!"

"What, why? I'm tired!"

But her moment of hesitation cost them both.

The mountain rumbled, and the snow came down on them.

Before she knew it, she was tumbling back down the mountain.

She felt herself zoom off a cliff, and free fall for many feet, before crunching into the ground.

Pounds of snow crunched her into the snow-ground, packing and burying her in, deeply.

She screamed through her teeth, the weight crushed down on her body, making it stiff and shrivel.

Starr cried and prayed that it would stop. But more and more snow weighted her down.

When it finally stopped, she tried to move but couldn't.

She couldn't even open her mouth to scream.

Starr tried to command the snow to move outward and off her. Unfortunately, she was always a terrible telepath and telekinetic.

Again, she felt the strange presence of someone nearby. She cried for the person to help her, but whoever it was simply went away.

Starr cried herself to sleep.

Vision
Chapter 5

"No," she cried out, but he was there, forcing her to see him.

Lucenzo sat on the cozy pouf with his long red hair and blazing eyes. As usual, he was stuck in the room with the gold prison bars.

"Stop resisting me, Starr. You've only a little time left."

"For what?"

"To save yourself."

"No, I'm done! I'm buried in an avalanche."

"Who do you think is responsible for that?"

When she gasped, he said, "Louisa is coming for you, soon."

He stood up and walked to his tiny cell window and looked out at the sky.

"Now that you're closer to connect with me, I will tell you everything."

He turned around with a look of contemplation on his face.

"We haven't much time, so I'm gonna tell it to you quickly. Ask me no questions, and do not interrupt me.

The Primordial blood, or vampire virus to you, was spread to mortals because they were dying out.

After the first couple conversions of humans to vampires were made, it was obvious that it was killing them, and turning them into something else.

They wanted to experiment. So they brought humans in by the hundreds. They'd put them down here, in these very dungeons.

Some, they'd try to convert without the nasty side effects of needing to drink blood. Needless to say, it didn't work.

We are two different species. We can't breed with humans, and we cannot share blood. Only a few people were able to conceive, together, but it is unlikely that such connections will ever happen again.

After a while, they gave up. They were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, and accept blood drinking half breeds into their families. They were immortals and would take with them the traditions of their people, never to be forgotten.

But, then, one day an old scientist of the order by the name of Stelar made a prediction."

Starr remembered Stelar; he converted Sestin.

"He predicted that one day, the vampires would figure out how to put the soul back in the vampire. When that day came, a new and most powerful species, the world will ever see, will arise. The soul is pure energy, and it will make the common vampire more powerful than the oldest Primordial, and more powerful than any soulless vampire.

Credenza, who is one such rare connection, half human-half Primordial, was born with a soul.

Until you came along, she was getting closer to figuring out how to get it back."

Abruptly, he stopped speaking. With a quizzical look on his face, he tilted his head as if he were listening out for something.

Starr was impatient. She didn't want him to stop talking.

She said, "I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

He looked at her.

"There is one thing; one person preventing her from reaching her goals: you. Once she has her plans in place, she's coming for you. You are the last piece that she needs, to bring back her soul from the beyond."

He stood up, quickly.

"Someone's coming; I have to go."

"Wait, but why me?"

"Because you're connected. The soul is..." but then he trailed off.

"Wait!" she screamed.

All went black; he'd pushed her consciousness out of his mind. She tried to get back in but couldn't.

Her consciousness was pushed out of the room, and toward the city walls of Valhol.

As she was flying back, she saw Credenza, as she'd seen so many times that summer, running through the streets of the cobble stoned city.

Somehow, she thought she'd wake up under the cold snow, but, instead, a feeling came over her.

It was fear, so great and crippling.

She was soaring through the air. She smelled salt and ocean.

Then she saw Lake George. She flew into the house.

Shane and Marla were lying on a bed in her room. Shane had her arm wrapped around her waist, and was trying to comfort her.

They knew, thought Starr.

Somehow, they found out Starr had been buried in the snow.

But, how?

Someone had to have told them, because it wasn't possible for Shane or Marla to tap into psychic waves from so far.

Marla was crying uncontrollably.

"Don't worry," Shane said. "Everything will be fine."

Suddenly, she shot up, looking around the room.

Can she feel me? Starr asked herself.

But then Starr was distracted.

She floated into Mica's room where loud music was playing. Humming loudly, she danced about the room with her hands on her ears, and her eyes shut tight.

Starr heard the voices in Mica's head.

A few towns over, a man screamed to someone that they needed to go, now, if they wanted to survive.

In another, a group of vampires were discussing the number of estimated vampire deaths in Europe.

And yet, in many homes across the state, she heard people crying, and talking in panic.

Starr couldn't stand it, in Mica's consciousness, so she returned to her body.

Under the White
Chapter 6

She woke but still couldn't open her eyes, or move her limbs.

Tears leaked out of the sides of her eyes.

How am I gonna get out of here?

From above, she sensed the presence that she felt, earlier, lurking.

Whoever it was, was standing right above her. It occurred to Starr that it could have been Credenza.

The presence flew off, leaving her there under the icy snow.

More tears leaked from her eyes, making the snow seal to her face.

She started to get sleepy, once more. Slowly, all went black....

END
More about the series:

Lost and want to play catch up?

Visit the Vampin Box Set for Year One, books 1-9.

Vampin Year 2 Series to Date:

#10 Primordial

_#_ **11** **Valhol**

#12 Road to Heaven

#13 LYSSA (Scheduled for release 2012)

Originally a monthly short with the Black Press Online, Vampin is now available as a monthly teen series. For all questions and comments, please contact administrator@vampinofficialsite.com

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