A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Washington, two nights later.

The venue Lady Sephare chose for her meeting is the top floor of an elegant gentleman’s club she recently took over. The guests are led up through the deserted building by a butler exuding disapproval at the uncouth louts defiling his august halls with their unwashed bodies, grimy clothes, and rancid breaths. The gaping wastrels are then invited to sit at a long table in a large reception room upon which refreshments have already been served. When we come in, some of the rowdier ones are quaffing shooters of twenty-years-old Bourbon without ceremony like the absolute degenerates they are.

Besides myself, Sephare brought a protection detail of men in top hats and dark suits, all of whom are wielding canes. Separate, they could be any upper-class gentlemen out for a stroll. Together, they look exactly like what they are: high-end enforcers. They silently take position at every corner of the room, in front of both entrances and along the open windows.

As for the woman herself, she looks positively enchanting in a diaphanous green dress that reveals the curve of her alabaster shoulders.

Our host walks forward and claps twice. Immediately, the room falls silent. When the new Lady of Washington speaks, she does so in a smooth and melodious voice that lulls me, rolls me into its rhythm until listening to her words becomes the most natural thing to do.

“Good evening gentlemen, welcome to my humble establishment! My name is Sephare Hastings and I cannot express how delighted I am to see you all here gathered tonight—”

“A shrew? The new boss is a shrew?” one of the leaders erupts. He bares his teeth, two of them black, and stands up with fury.

Oh dear.

What Sephare does next is an exercise in control. She lifts the hem of her dress and runs behind the man with a speed that is just at the limit of what humans should be able to do. Too surprised by the suddenness of her reaction, the would-be rebel only manages to turn his head slightly before the diminutive blonde woman grabs it and smashes it down on his chair’s frame. Once, twice, thrice she strikes, and with the last impact, a dreadful snap resonates throughout the hall as the man’s neck bones shatter.

Sephare drops the dying man who collapses face first on the table. Once more, she displayed just the amount of strength that a human could reasonably wield, but twice the savagery.

The lady calmly removes her white gloves which she hands to one of her bodyguards while another fetches replacements from an inner pocket. She studiously puts them on in the ensuing quiet, the pathetic rattles of the paralyzed criminal the only perceivable noise.

It takes him a good twenty seconds to choke to death. His mouth opens and closes like that of a beached fish while his bulging eyes search the room for a salvation that none can grant.

Two of the guards grab the man under the shoulders as he takes his dying breath. Good idea, less of a mess.

Sephare makes sure the gloves fit before resuming her speech in the exact same pleasant tone.

“Please, kindly do not speak out of turn. Now, where was I? Oh yes! I am so glad you all decided to join us tonight! I have grand projects for your fair city, and I am sure that by working together, we will achieve all our dreams! Isn’t that exciting?”

The hardened felons mumble and bob their heads in respectful assent. Nothing like breaking spines like twigs to make a memorable first impression, it seems.

“Over the next week, I will be meeting each one of you in private to better understand your position and your strengths, and see which responsibility you can be granted. We have a lot of work to do and many rewards to reap, so let us all do our best together, yes?”

The barely veiled threat coupled with the promise of power and money smooth the mood of the visitors, which turns contemplative. How can they refuse when they have been presented with the alternative?

In short order, the meeting is adjourned, and I follow her to her office without a word. She closes the door behind us as I take in her workspace.

Sephare chose a corner office with a view on the Capitol building’s cupola half-hidden behind tall trees. A large desk of dark wood has been placed below the window offering said view for additional symbolism. As expected of Sephare, a corner of the office is dedicated to tea and its consumption. What does surprise me is the windowless wall currently covered with maps teeming with pins and colored notes.

I mechanically aim for the tea table but Sephare stops me with a gesture.

She nods. When she next speaks, the coldness in her voice would chill mortal listeners. To me, it only means that she is dropping the mask.

She smiles at the memory, her thin fangs displayed in a show of greed and gluttony. Then, her expression returns to seriousness.

I stare, askance. My surprise is simply too much.

Sephare grins, as if I had told a joke.

I already considered it many times.

Sephare smiles like a proud parent.

I hesitate at that.

I gape at that revelation. A rogue? I fight like a rogue? This does not make sense.

Sephare pauses to gather her thoughts and resumes her pacing.

I think I am beginning to follow.

I do not reply to that. She is not the first to credit me with such a strange achievement.

Her aura is concealed, the natural state of those of us with great control. Despite her best efforts, I can still feel her underlying tension. The act of offering blood is one of exposed vulnerability. It goes against our very instincts. I step forward and take the arm without ceremony. I know the experience is uncomfortable for her, and hurry a bit out of politeness.

I lick once to prevent pain and bite down.

I pull back and lick the wound clean, then lead the exhausted Sephare to her chair before sitting opposite her. I close my eyes and within moments, I am inside of my mind palace.

In the stone square where the statues of my conquest are gathered, her form kneels.

I return to the real world to find a visibly excited Sephare pouring me black tea. She is still weakened, and yet her enthusiasm is catching.

I feel a new instinctive way to appear more mortal, move more humanly and even bring a pink sheen to my cheeks by expanding a bit of power, an ability I can surely develop with a bit of practice. There is something else as well, though as expected, her main ability eludes me.

I pick up the steaming cup and dip my lips in the infusion. The warm liquid rolls on my tongue, the taste light and pleasant.

Taste.

I can taste it. I can swallow.

I allow myself to smile as I put the cup down.

My mind rebels at the very thought of anything solid.

I interrupt her by raising my hand.

I sniff the air like a bloodhound. There, this smell. The strong and unmistakable perfume of roasted beans, a powerful accent and a deep fragrance.

Amazing.

The deep, heart-wrenching sigh of abject betrayal that lifts my companion’s dainty chest speaks of a disappointment beyond words.

It takes only a week for me to wrap up everything and then return to Boston with John and a few promising administrators.

As for the others recent hires, it turns out that Jack, Wallace’s protégé and my agent, has managed to save their lives when the Mudmen and witches took over the warehouse to rescue the hostage. Most of them decide to stay in their home city under the employ of Sephare. The few who do not are given the funds and means to reach Marquette.

As soon as I arrive, I leave John in the arms of his worried ‘tender half’ Gladys and have King and Crews’ personal effects sent back home. David King had no family left, unfortunately.

Solveig ends up in my service once again and I find myself in the same room as before, now sadly empty. It will take Torran another week to finish his work and return, Nami traveled away to catch a giant squid, and Jimena is off on some confidential knight business which leaves me without company. As a result, I make some efforts to get acquainted with the manor’s population.

With Wilhelm of the Erenwald, the steward, I learn how to take better care of Metis. Although he is busy as the butler and master of ceremony, he still takes the time to visit the stables at least once per night and I manage to learn quite a few tricks from him.

For example, Nightmares love having their teeth brushed, something that Metis now demands during every visit. I also learn that Nightmare teeth brushing is a spectator sport and that participants are encouraged to have a way to regrow fingers.

The other thing I learn is the Nightmare’s fondness for having sweet grass dipped in their drinking water. My big pony will gaze at the infusing liquid with unwavering fascination, sometimes using her nose to stir the concoction.

It then occurs to me that Nightmares are deceptively malicious tea drinkers with a monotonous, meat-heavy diet. Therefore, Nightmares are English. The revelation helps me understand and tolerate Metis’ snorting antics with renewed patience.

Wilhelm also helps me repair the blue ethereal shawl Nami had gifted me. It had suffered from the fire and had been reduced to a single strip. With his help, I restore the ghostly living fabric to its former glory.

Besides Wilhelm, I also get to know a few visitors from various clans, including Roland exiles who are the first members of their clan not to attempt to kill or capture me. I also spend some time with Constantine’s secretary and assistant, a mousy woman who happens to be a Rosenthal renegade.

They are apparently extremely rare.

The woman, whose name is Sophia, carries a blade everywhere. It is her refusal to forfeit violence and bend to the clan’s rigid laws and hierarchy that prompted her self-exile. She is only too eager to ‘test my mettle’; unfortunately, the fight is extremely one-sided.

She relies on her memory and mind to analyze patterns and compare them to the styles she already studied in order to gain an edge. Apparently, my own style is far too chaotic and unpredictable for her to succeed. Add to that my superior reach and even without using much of my speed and strength, she still doesn’t stand a chance. We practice for a few hours, mostly for her benefit, though I manage to become familiar with different schools of fighting which she imitates with mechanical precision.

When I mention developing her own style, she agrees with me in principle, but observes that she has difficulties doing so as she simply lacks the mental flexibility.

I find that I enjoy myself more than I expected.

During that week, I also receive a few messages. Ricardo successfully arrives in Marquette with my newly looted tomes. He and Merritt finally broker an uneasy peace after bickering over laboratory equipment. My financial assistance in creating two separate labs proved vital.

I also learn from my witchy deputy that the White Cabal moved in successfully, and that they have so far respected their arrangement to the letter. They were quite surprised to find a completely independent practitioner on my land. In a worryingly short amount of time, my poor friend received one duel and three marriage invitations, all of which she answered with extreme prejudice.

I stock up on coffee beans, to Solveig’s complete disbelief.

Finally, I pay Urchin. So far, all I had given him was pocket money on top of a blood supply. I did pillage a few resources from Alexandria and decide to give the Vanheim Courtier a bonus, as a gesture of kindness. To my surprise, he decides to spend most of it on clothes.

I direct my minion to Wilhelm and possibly the help of the tailor Gunther Goode who had so masterfully renewed my wardrobe. Only a true expert could salvage the situation anyway. To my delight, the work is accepted, and Urchin soon parades the manor in a well-cut grey suit that fits him like a glove.

The Vanheim reject is almost respectable now that he no longer wears rags. And because he substituted his beret with a nice bowler hat. And since he takes regular baths. And combs his hair. Also, he walks, instead of skulking. And his back is straight which means he does not look like he is constantly plotting some unsavory plan that involves sneaking into women changing rooms. The improvement to his diction helps as well. He even stopped leering.

Well.

All in all, I would say that I did good work. He is almost no longer a rescue.

With everything going reasonably well, for once, I hire the help of Salim and officially submit my claim to the state of Illinois.

There are no specific rules concerning this sort of claim. Constantine remained purposely vague when listing the requirements in his laws. In order to be eligible, one must demonstrate sufficient martial power and have the means to control their territory. The rest is up to the Speaker, who is free to accept or not depending on if he believes the candidate has contributed or will be contributing to the community.

I wiped out a Gabrielite base and an actual horde of Wendigos. That has to count for something.

On the second day of December and three days before Torran is set to return, I am finally summoned to the Progenitor’s office.

Winter has come to Boston. A heavy cover of snow blankets the entire bay, including the manor. The air grows crisp and pleasant and the nights long and productive. I sometimes ride through the pristine cover of white powder shining like crushed diamond when I successfully coax Metis out.

Tonight is different. I knock on the door leading to the Speaker’s antechamber and Sophia ushers me in without fuss.

I must admit that for all his flaws, Constantine does not keep people waiting.

Constantine gazes at me from above his hawkish nose, assessing. I wait. The memories associated with this place surge and for a moment, I am tempted to pull on my fingers and check they are fine. Sometimes, it is hard to believe that I was tortured not two months ago. It feels like an eternity. I suppose that I should be grateful.

The Speaker nods.

Constantine raises a tired hand to stop my furious tirade before it can even begin.

Shock. Horror. Betrayal.

Constantine smirks bitterly. His parting remark stings more than I anticipated.

It helps that I took the time to calm down. Incidentally, a pair of training dummies from the manor’s armory were mercilessly savaged by some barbarian with an axe. If anyone asks, I was otherwise engaged at that time. Somewhere else.

It hurts that the Lord did not change at all since the time he and I allied back at the fortress. It is with his assistance that Jimena extracted me from the clutches of the Lancaster.

He was well rewarded for his efforts with comprehensive details on Lancaster economic assets, a condition of his assistance. In retrospect, I was incredibly naïve to think of us as allies.

Lord Ceron looks as good as the first time I saw him. He still has the same deep blue eyes and curly dark hair around a handsome face, and this time I can tell that his imposing muscle mass marks him as a brawler more than a fencer. Or at least he was before he was changed.

I do so, hold my hands before me and start immediately.

A pause. Lord Ceron considers me with widened eyes and chuckles, the old vampire equivalent of a full belly laugh.

Ceron relaxes in his chair as his eyes grow distant.

I do not react, indicating that he should continue.

I did request a briefing on her from the Rosenthal, and I also caught a glimpse of her memories when she shared her essence with me.

I stare at Lord Ceron, waiting to see if this is some sort of joke.

Ceron smiles magnanimously.

For an instant, I am almost tempted to seek an agreement. It does not last.

Devourers do not give up before the game has even started. Lord Ceron should have known, just as he should not underestimate the resources I can pull to get what I want.

I click my talons on my chair and force myself to stop lest I start raising my voice. I must not display any anger. This is a game, only a game, whose rules have stayed unchanging for centuries.

In the end, Lord Ceron is correct. There is nothing personal about his clan’s scheme because there is nothing personal between us. We are neither friends nor even allies, and that makes us fair game for each other. We will now compete, with the loser graciously bowing out with their body and followers intact.

I will play that game.

I may not be the most intelligent and calculating vampire around, but I have a few strengths and one of them is that I know when to rely on the assistance of a skilled ally. By provoking me, the Cadiz have unleashed the very evil they had sought to contain. They think Sephare too devious? Not only will I call for her, I will also ask the support of the most devious and manipulative entity this side of reality.

I am going to bring Sinead into this battle.

Then, they will know devious.