A silvery mist oozed slowly over the grounds of the estate. The morose, silent guardians of this garden were lit only by the peculiar light of the quarter-moon, hazily and forlornly rising in the night sky. It was unusually dark for this time of year, as the stars that normally blanketed the atmosphere lay hidden behind dense, fast-moving clouds. Vague shadows danced across the surfaces of mischievous nymphs immortalized in white marble, and the randomly errant leaves found amongst the platoon of spherical topiaries reacted with a shiver to a steady but reluctant breeze.
This evening could not yet comprehend its own depth, its own magnitude, and so it seemed, at least at these particular coordinates, all was relatively still and calm. But then, the night had been young some hours earlier, and how quickly did dawn approach..
A rustling emanated from the copse of somewhat anachronistic palm trees at the edge of the ancient property, and then a great whoosh filled the air.
The family was home, after decades away. They came from the sky, bringing wind all their own.
The father, a small man who resembled a teenager but who moved with the grace of an angel. Patience was etched across his otherwise ageless face, and dark tattoos creeping up the neckline of Godric's half-open gray linen shirt belied how ancient his existence had been. Gray soulfully sad eyes took this in, this place he'd often called his home, relatively unchanged after nearly four hundred years of ownership.
The firstborn, a tall, lithe warrior and bester of lesser men, with a strong jaw and blue chips of Arctic ice for eyes. He moved like a rumble deep from within the earth, yet a placid, amused smirk overlay over Eric's Nordic features as the estate came into full view. He glanced at his father, and then over his left shoulder in time to see his sister arrive.
The daughter, taller than her father, smaller than her brother, and somehow striking an elegant balance between them. Adopting a demure posture that fit her poorly, Nora looked to them, a slight crinkle in her brow as she landed effortlessly on the dew-strewn grass, a smile spreading across her face as she too felt enveloped in fond memories.
All three turned their faces upward, to watch as the rest of their party arrived.
The eldest, a lean woman with a beautiful if world-weary countenance, a steely-eyed gaze fixed firmly behind her even as combat-boot-clad feet hit the grass soundlessly. Pam scanned the sky for the last two in their party, the last two who should have been mere seconds behind her, a hand on her hip imitating irritation meant to mask her worry.
The baby, a pretty young woman whose fangs never seemed to fully retract, and who barely contained her childlike-mirth at finally being able to fly on her own. Willa drank in the grounds with her eyes as she hit the grass absent the grace of her aunt or her sister, rolling an ankle and swearing quietly. Her mutters, and the slight crack of an ankle fitting itself back into place, broke the undisturbed quiet on the property.
And all five vampires turned to watch the last of their number descend.
For here was the shadow, the quiet ferocity of a young vampire who confused all who met her, vampire and human alike. The ebony vision in the moonlight evinced many of the characteristics of her vampire lineage with a smooth and easy posture: the attitude and ferocious dedication of Pam, her maker; the quick-witted intellect of her aunt Nora; the fierce environmental instincts of her grandfather Eric; the wisdom and, dare one even think it, humanity of the patriarch of their clan, Godric. Even the younger Willa's undisguised wonder and excitement at being dead yet so alive had imprinted itself somewhat on Tara.
But she was their pride. Even as she came down from the sky, a messianic glow seemed to frame her body. It helped to land with the moonlight at your back, but still, the effect was breathtaking. Godric wondered to himself how he would have the conversation he knew he must with his great-granddaughter, wondered how he could break up the joy of this night, of this triumphant return home, with news of such a dismal and serious nature. Once Tara had landed, and his children had clustered around him and one another, the joy and satisfaction on their faces was such that he knew he must wait. He could not wait long, but they could have this night, this first night with each other. This first night without the threat of the True Death hanging over all the heads.
"My family, welcome, and welcome back, to Farthing-End. Let us go inside." He spoke quietly, as he always seemed to, but the power that rolled off his body in waves amplified his voice to a bone-rattling boom that shook his progeny and grand-progeny to their cores. The group made their way towards the main house, chattering exhaustedly, for the most part relieved and ready for some light reveling and rest.
"It has been too long, Father." Eric raised a glass as they all stood around the enormous but cozy wood-paneled den, a fire blazing in the vast fireplace, large enough to house a compact car. "To Godric, may your wisdom hold our family together for centuries to come." His sister and progeny followed his lead, murmuring the words "To Godric" into glasses of dense dark red liquid. Their father stood directly in front of the magnificent stone mantle, staring absently into the controlled inferno framed in white, until he realized that someone had said his name. He turned, quickly, seeing his whole lineage aglow with tired ecstasy, the flames dancing in their eyes as they looked contentedly at their progenitor.
"Oh, my wonderful children, do not drink to that, nor to me. Drink to yourselves, may all of my bloodline find peace and happiness in this world, as well as in the next." The English translation of the old Gallic saying was not nearly as elegant as it was in his mother tongue, but dwelling on the past was one of the first lessons he'd un-learned after being turned. It was one he struggled with even now, after nearly 2200 years, and it was a struggle he experienced with heart-aching sadness tonight. Watching the unabashed mirth of his children, he was moved, and saddened to know that he must soon dash it to pieces. It pained him, what had happened over these last few months and that he would ruin this joy, and he sunk into an overstuffed Chesterfield chair, the sole furniture to be found in the large room, again lost in his thoughts.
The elders knew to leave him to himself, and sensed that the weight of his millennia were taking quite a toll. The younger followed their leads, and conversations soon began.
Willa and Tara clung to each other like eight-year-old twin sisters, both so new to this world in which they had been forcibly thrust. Occasionally, one would look to the other, smiling without cause, and then their glance would fall to their respective maker. When Willa's eyes fell upon Eric, she seemed to become electrically charged, and then would bound about with a ceaseless energy. Tara was more reserved, but Pam's presence in her eye-line had an effect as well. It was this relationship that Godric regarded with distinct interest.
The way these two got on continued to baffle him. And it had long ago become difficult to baffle Godric. Pam, feeling Tara's gaze, had the most peculiar habit of turning from her languid participation in the conversation between Nora and Eric to acknowledge her progeny's stares of—was that wonderment? fear? lust? or something else, something like… could that be love? But this tentative concession to the bond that they shared lasted no more than a few seconds before Pam would intentionally turn her back to her child, as though trying to block or stamp out the emotions surging between the two women. Pam was always something of a project when it came to the expression of intimacy. But her grandfather could take great heart, for her progeny was more than capable of picking up the slack left in the wake of Eric's failed attempts. And who could blame him for failing, as emotional evolution came not much easier to him.
After four or five such exchanges, and some quiet, giggling talk between themselves, Tara and Willa eventually merged their conversation with that of "the adults." Godric watched as Tara linked her free arm with that of her maker and lover, and the tension that had been cascading off of Pam since their final departure from Louisiana several hours prior seemed dissipate at Tara's touch, replaced instantly with an annoyed expression that clearly conveyed anything but.
Eric and Nora were discussing the state of his affairs in Louisiana, while Pam, and now Willa and Tara, listened on quietly but intently.
"Listen to me, broder. I'm only saying that I see no legitimate reason for you to return."
"You only say that because your concept of home has become… overly fluid. It's not your fault," Eric chuckled as his younger sister cast daggered eyes at him. "But all those years with the Authority really did a number on your priorities. Don't worry, I'm sure Fader still loves you." He grinned widely at the unquantifiable outrage on her face. "But for better or worse, that 'shithole' as you've put it has been my home base for a number of years, and I have a lot of things to tend to—"
"There was a just a war, a regional bloody health crisis that served as an object fucking lesson to all humans everywhere: there is no redemption, nor empathy, nor reason when it comes to our kind. The vampires are to be feared, indiscriminately. And if that weren't bloody enough, they've got to learn to coexist with predators for whom they are food, because now they know that on a certain level, they need us as we need them. And we've shown them just how vicious and without remorse we can be." Nora needlessly sighed, and did her best to draw back some of the exasperation in her voice. She'd been in such a good mood, so glad to be back at her favorite of their family homes, until Eric ruined it with a casual mention of his intention to return to Shreveport. "The fact that we've won does not mean that everything can return to normal. In fact, it means exactly the opposite."
Pam broke in, perhaps characteristically, though a departure from her attitude of the past few days. She'd grown quiet and observant, and Godric noticed, still teemed with worry and fear for the family she'd grown to accept and maybe even cherish. Especially Tara. He understood, and shared that fear for what might yet become of his furthest living descendant.
"Eric, listen to her. No one is less enthusiastic about change than me—" at which Tara and Eric both barely held back identical snorts of obvious amusement—", BUT Lady Poppins is makin' a good point. Why should we go back? Yeah, we saved all those fucking humans. But their instinct is to wipe us out, however they can. They needed our help against our kind, so it's only logical that they're thinking to wipe us all out. And there's older and stronger and more pissed off vampires than us who've begun to take notice."
Willa chimed in. "Older?"
Pam kept going, trying to check down the tongue-lashing she so wanted to deliver to her baby sister. "If we keep fucking around, we're going to get a real war. Not some bullshit epidemic, neither." Nora broke in. "All-out conflict, with the humans. The sort that won't stop until one of our two species is extinct."
Tara spoke in subdued support, but her voice rang clear through the sparsely-furnished room, echoing with the weight of truth. "And an actual war with the humans will lead to clashes among vampires." She looked to her maker, hoping that she'd surmised correctly. She was rewarded by Pam's curt nod, and she continued. "It's got to be brewin' even now, especially once people figure out that it was our line that dismantled the Authority and created this whole fucking nightmare in the first place. And until we figure some kind of plan, I can't really say I'll feel safest in the state we just helped burn to the ground."
Nora looked at Pam appreciatively, a rare exchange between the two women. "At least in Farthing-End, we've a safe place, a neutral place, and we can take as much time as we need to reflect, to figure how best to move forward."
Godric spoke just as a hush had fallen over the room. Walking across the room from his chair, he first laid an understanding hand upon Pam's crossed arms, which, he noticed silently to himself, were shivering of out what seemed either a very controlled rage or bare-faced fear. "Nora, Pam, and Tara speak wisely, Eric. But, my children, it has been a long evening of exhausting travel. We should all consider retiring with the satisfaction of a terror behind us. There should be rooms ready for us. Sleep well."
The group slowly dispersed, deep in thought. "Pam, a moment, if you please."
Surprised, Pam's hand, which had slipped thoughtlessly into her lover-progeny's, went rigid. She reclaimed her arm from Tara and crossed both across her chest, again reflecting an emotionally defensive posture.
"Your child may stay with us, this concerns her," he murmured, lost again in the thoughts that seemed to consume him of late. He'd wanted to give them the day, but this could not wait, no matter how much he wished for it to do so. Tara stopped walking towards the archway leading to the massive staircase at her dropped hand. Both she and Pam noticed the sadness on her grand-maker's face, and wondered at it.
The somewhat unlikely trio found themselves in the kitchen. A bowl of waxen fruit marred the otherwise perfectly white stone island, a motif that seemed to characterize the manor in which they sought refuge.
Godric, Pam, and Tara sat around the bowl, each contemplating the situation in their own way. Pam considered how tired she'd become after months and months of endless intrigue and exhaustion and fear. She'd lived in a state of regular terror for the safety of what she'd begrudgingly come to think of as her family. Tara silently mused over the events that had brought their little "rag-tag band of fuck-ups" together, recalling the same memories that fatigued her maker, but with a measure of studied curiosity. Though they'd all faced the True Death numerous time in the past year and a half, something about it, that level of togetherness that strife had brought out of these people she thought of with warmth and affection, was interesting, peculiar even. They'd become more than related through blood. They'd risked their lives for one another, over and over again. They'd become family.
The youthful ageless vampire who was the source of their powerful blood seemed to buzz. With anxiety, excitement, or satisfaction at having survived, neither woman could tell.
"You two are… remarkable. For a pair as opposite in appearance and demeanor, you complement one another in ways that are… unimaginable." Godric seemed to choose his words carefully, to evoke the respect that he had for his offspring. "Pamela, you have proven far wiser than I would have guessed." Seeing her right eyebrow begin its lightening-fast arch of indignation, he quickly added, "I was glad to be wrong. I rejoice in my mistaken judgments of you. Hold onto wisdom. And to your progeny, who has shown herself to be one of the most instinctual warriors I've ever had a chance to know."
Tara decided that the pace of this was going to try her patience in ways that their somewhat comfortable silence had not. "Look, Godric, this is the first time in months we had a bed to look forward to, so maybe we could…"
"Oh, of course, my child. But it is key to what I must say that your maker understand how much more respect I have for her. I realized that I don't talk to my children's children much, and that also is a mistake. It is folly to abandon your blood. Folly of which we are all guilty."
At this, Pam fidgeted as the realization sunk in that, yes, Godric was boring that sea-gray eyes into hers.
"Oh, yes. We are here, as we must be, to speak of Pam's firstborn."
Out of a curious show of deference to her maker's wishes, and a downright ordinary refusal to discuss what seemed like painful memories, Pam and Tara had never really spoken of her first time turning a human into a vampire. Pam had mentioned to Sookie and Lafayette that it hadn't "gone especially well," but that was less helpful than if she'd never mentioned it at all. On the night about eighteen months ago when her cousin had revealed this scandalous secret, Tara was determined to use whatever newfound vampiric means of subterfuge and deceit she'd developed to get answers on the matter of her maker's other child, her sibling.
It had gone absolutely nowhere.
It didn't help of course, that all-out chaos had broken out all over the world at precisely the moment she'd begun her search for clues about her long-lost brother or sister. She'd frequently thought about even that dilemma of non-information; she didn't even know whether it was a man or a woman that she sought. She liked to guess that Pam would have wanted a woman, as she seemed to for much of her human and vampire life. But also, a part of her reasoned, she had good reason to feel special when Pam's warmth would flood her end of their connection, that unquantifiable energy that linked the two of them in ways it would take lifetimes to fully discover. So maybe it was some dude, and she needn't be…jealous seemed the best way to describe the emotions coursing through her as she imagine Pam, her Pamela, sinking fang into some other dark-skinned chick.
Once, she'd not been as careful as she should have, and let a bit of her frustration and jealously and hurt touch their maker-progeny bond, and Pam, who'd been lying next to her after a particular frenetic bout of fearsome and life-defying sex, turned over a shoulder slick with sweat to face her child. "Gahh?!" her maker snapped, breaking the post-coital bliss that threatened to envelop them as dawn approached. "What was that? You just woke me up…Tara!?"
For a moment, Tara had forgotten how clued into her senses and feelings Pam could be. "It's no big thang," she muttered, almost whispering, hoping that Pam would just—
"'No big thang' is bullshit. It's you trying to lie to me. We've talked about this…Tara, I swear, don't make me say it."
"Why don't you just give me a damn break!? You always have these expectations for me, all these rules about how I gotta be honest with you. Well, I want to know about my—"
Pam stopped her abruptly, with a finger to Tara's full lips, currently curled into a scowl absent any feeling, a heartbroken but deadly look on her own face. "You and I won't EVER speak of that. Not unless we absolutely have to, and fuck me, but that day IS. NOT. TODAY." The last three words came out on the crest of a low growl, ever so slight, that tinged her otherwise even, calm voice.
Tara had resented the ever-loving shit out of her maker that morning, and had turned over petulantly, ignoring Pam's repeated attempts to caress her back and fuck the argument into the past.
They'd been living through tense circumstances. The Hep-V outbreak and resulting pandemic required the formation of a most tentative of outright alliances, between the American government and several vastly old vampire bloodlines. One of the nastier jobs involved an extermination of all infected vampires, a task that had fallen primarily to Godric's family.
The existence of the undead since Governor Burrell's introduction of the disease to vampire-kind had been fraught, to say the least. On more than one occasion, Eric and Godric could be overheard in hushed Old Swedish, their conversations speckled with words like "Nuremberg," "Auschwitz," and "Mengele." Their association of this current crisis with the atrocities of World War II had not escaped the others, particularly Tara, whose impressionability seemed higher than anyone's. Everything about life was precarious and temporary now, and while she'd decided to respect her maker's wishes at the time (because fighting got her nowhere), Tara was consumed by the sense that the one thing they especially had no time for was dishonesty.
So, Pam shutting her out on this issue was something she'd allowed to sit on the back burner for quite long enough, and she drank in Godric's eyes as he turned from Pam, and addressed her directly, seemingly with Pam's bitterly resigned permission. They all knew that whatever was coming was serious, and so Godric was going to speak whether she gave her consent or not.
"Tara, as you may already be aware, you are not Pam's first child."
"Yup," she said darkly. "I know, but that's ALL I know." She aimed a pointed glare at her maker, only to feel slight chastisement as she noticed how Pam's shoulders sagged slightly.
"Well, what you don't know is that we've got to find—"
"Wait." Pam spoke suddenly, her voice softer and an octave higher than usual. "Wait. It can't be that someone else tells this story for me. I don't know what the hell you're talking about finding anybody for, but let me at least explain this to her." The smallest hint of pleading was in her voice, and so, Godric relented. He knew that it would better this way, giving the two women a chance to commune before their worlds were turned upside down.
"Tara." Her progeny avoided her gaze. "Tara Mae, check down that attitude right the fuck—" "I can fucking hear you, alright? Feel free to start being honest at any damn second."
Pam sighed, irritated but mostly weary. "Fine. A long time ago, before you even born as a human, I did something that I've, well, regretted, I guess. I let myself—" At this, she hung her head. "I got stuck in a bad situation, and it got all fucked up."
"It was the mid–70s. Eric and I had were doing a favor for this asshole, King Mercury of California. We were lookin' for some fucktard named Binkerton…"
The memory was vivid to Pam as though it had taken place the day before. Sometimes she still dreamed of it, and this was one of many reasons why she'd always been so guarded with her end of the bond with Tara. She cannot know, a small voice always seemed to whisper inside her.
Mercury had summoned the pair of vampires to his gaudy Los Angelese manor one day with a request. He wanted to use Pam and Eric's "special skills" to track down a dispatcher he sometimes used, a vampire hired to take out the more unruly and unbending of Mercury's subjects. Their presence in the state was as his guests, but he was calling in the inevitable favor.
As they'd stood before his unnecessarily gilded throne, surrounded on all sides by his sycophants and blood whores, he'd promised them $150K for the the execution of one Harold Binkerton. "The fool has refused to comply with a mandated sentence. He killed one of my court in a brawl, and so was ordered by the good Magister—" At this, he gestured absently and without even a shred of reverence to the fetid little man off to his left, inattentively slurping down a young girl who looked barely seventeen. "—to create a new vampire life. And yet I have no baby vamps, suckling at the teat. Just the regular old group of slags and hangers-on." He'd let out a mirthless chuckle at this.
Eric and Pam, who held matching black motorcycle helmets behind leather-clad backs, glanced at one another, both wondering at the perverse dynamic between Mercury and his court. Electing not to comment, Eric assented to the King's terms and the two left immediately to search for the perpetrator. But upon finding him, their simple kill-order got somewhat more complicated.
They found Binkerton in a seedy warehouse district nearby an underground vamp club that seemed to masquerade as a condemned meat processing plant. He was sitting in the front seat of a cab, being sucked off by a dark head. Human, they both realized with a quick sniff of the air, and it smells heavenly. Eric had twisted Binkerton's head clean off in about a quarter of a second, and it took a few moments before his servicer realized that his charge was oozing all over the seat. But he did not scream. In fact, he grinned, seemingly at the realization that he'd finished work a bit earlier than expected.
Instead, he straightened up, grabbed the wallet from the dash, and pulled all of the cash from it, tossing it back and stuffing the wadded bills in his front pocket. Pam smirked at the kid's audacity, as he dabbed a finger or two into Binkerton's goo and rubbed it on his gums. Kicking the passenger door of the cab open, he began to walk off.
"Hey." Eric had called. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Nowhere with you, Viking," snickered the skinny, attractive black man without altering his course. He couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and Pam was instantly reminded of the pathetic child sniffling while being drained by the Magister. But no, this human was nothing like that. This one seemed to want someone to answer his unspoken challenge to any and all authority. He seemed to consider something, and stopped, turning back towards the two vampires who'd unknowingly just improved his night. Binkerton had smelled like old shoes.
"If you want what he got, it's $50. If you want to drink me, it's more like $200. And don't fucking glamor me afterwards. I'm not into that shit."
Eric still seemed taken aback that the kid had recognized his considerably diminished accent. The two vampires considered his offer. It was a strict law in California that any human who was fed upon and not glamored must be killed. Mainstreaming was still the order of the day, but this was long before vampires would come out of the coffin, and the last thing the community needed, at least in the minds of the ruling Authority, was exposure. But the kid smelled divine, and this seemed a rather reasonable offer.
But as newcomers to his territory, Mercury opted to have them followed by one of his sycophants. Upon their return to Mercury to collect their reward, they were met instead with rabid snarls, and the kid they'd paid off in chains in a corner of the king's obnoxious throne room. They were informed that their interloping disregard of his laws must be paid in blood. Eric, as the eldest of the pair, would be held responsible: he could either forfeit his own child, or command Pam turn the kid.
It was no option for Eric, but as he looked at Pam holding the squirming and highly unwilling teenager in her arms, fangs bared and poised, she could feel sadness, remorse, and fear for her, and for the life she must now take, careening into her from his end of their bond. His face remained stoic as she lowered her fangs to the boy, who screamed in pain and rage. This was not who he wanted this moment to feel for her, to be for her. But he wanted them both to live to regret it.
Even if it meant an unwilling addition to their family.