"We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." - Abraham Lincoln, March 4, 1861

Chapter 1

Abraham Lincoln rose from death in the early morning hours of Monday, May 8, 1865.

It had not been an easy rebirth. Over three weeks had passed since his assassination, nearly the longest amount of time that any vampire had ever attempted to reverse. The former president had also been chemically embalmed, a modern scientific procedure, the effects of which were quite unknown to the vampire community. Considering the level of trauma sustained by the body in the hours after being shot, it was a real possibility that this most intimate of processes would not work.

But Henry Sturges had to try.

The changes were small, at first. A twitch here, a spasm there as his limbs loosened from the grip of death by the new poison of life running freely within his veins. Then the sickness came, as it always did. The last, violent throes of living flesh giving way to dead. Their function no longer necessary for his continued survival, his organs purged themselves of their human waste. Stomach, intestines, bladder and bowls. Tissue mended and bone regrew. The enamel of his teeth elongated into fangs, his nails calcified into claws. Black pupils blew wide and blue veins throbbed beneath cold, gray skin.

There was very little to be done to help a newly-made through the transition from death to life. The change was a terrible, almost spiritual procedure that left the born-again virtually catatonic, unaware of and inaccessible to the outside world. Platonic comfort was all that could be offered, to bear silent witness to days spent writhing in agony and provide a physical anchor to nights spent crying out in terror.

Even so, Henry held onto Abe through it all. Through every muscle tremor and through every anxious shout. He embraced Abe, soothing the pain and quieting the cries to the best of his ability. For forty years, Henry had never once allowed his friend to face the darkness alone. He wasn't about to start now.

As dawn broke on the morning of the third day, Abe opened his eyes. Finally, his gaze came to rest upon the young man seated beside him. Anguish overtook his features as comprehension flared.

"Henry," he said through vocal cords not yet ready to speak. "What have you done?"

Abraham Lincoln died on Saturday, April 15, 1865 at approximately 7:22 a.m. Hours before his final breath, the plans to protect and preserve his body had already been put into motion. Word of the attack upon the president spread like wildfire across Washington, reaching the ears of the Trinity, who as it turned out, were never very far from their former charge, despite their banishment from the White House. They surrounded the Peterson home, and much like the crowds that were braving the rain that cold spring morning, they waited for the announcement that was sure to come.

And come it did. There were many emotions suffered by the people of the capitol that day. Stunned grief soon turned to wailing sobs as men and women, soldiers and civilians, whites and coloreds mourned for their Father Abraham. The jubilee displayed just days before with the Northern victory now appeared as some cruel joke.

Sorrow then became anger. It overtook the nation like a wave. The spirit of vengeance rode fast and hot through the blood of all unionists and justice came swiftly to the South. Few vampires remained in the lower states, but those who were foolish enough to stay now found themselves trapped between a Northern army ready for retribution and a southern population desperate to show their fidelity to the victors. It was a bloodbath; a slaughter after the cannons of war had at long last fallen silent.

The Union was more than pleased. In life, Abraham Lincoln had won the war against the vampire oppressors and in death, he had ensured that the American people would never again allow themselves to be subject to the whims of the dead. Their orders were to stand down, to leave the nation in the throes of the anguished populace.

But the Trinity were not commanded by the Union.

As the autopsy on America's first slain President was underway within a guest room on the upper floor of the White House, Henry Sturges began the most important hunt of his existence. While he pursued the vampire named Booth, Henry entrusted Abe's mortal remains to his contacts. Many of the doctors who attended to Abe's corpse were Union sympathizers, well aware of what Abe had accomplished for the wounded nation. Adhering to the Trinity's explicit instructions, the surgeons and embalmers treated the body with absolute reverence, taking care to mend as much of the physical damage as was humanly possible.

Abe was never left unattended. All throughout the White House services and then through the cross-country funeral processions that spanned thirteen days and 1,664 miles, Abe's Trinity stood watch over the body of the man whose life they had once been held responsible for. Whether beside the coffin as it lay within the funeral car of the Lincoln Special or flanked around the open casket as it sat atop an ornate catafalque, the Trinity sheltered the body from any further harm, preserving it according to Henry's orders.

On Thursday, May 4, 1865, Abe's final service was held at Oak Ridge Cemetery in Springfield, Illinois. After the ceremony was over, after the sun had set, after the crowds had dispersed, Henry stood before the closed gates of the receiving vault, standing guard over his friend of forty years. Standing guard over the man who'd saved a nation from enslavement and driven darkness back into the shadows.

I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.

Images came to Henry, memories of standing over Abe as a boy, pulling him from the clutches of death after his first ill-fated hunt. Standing in the woods outside New Salem, Illinois, trying to convince a young man who'd just lost his first love that the future held great things for him. In the White House, the last time Henry had seen Abe, when the two of them had been locked in battle…

Most men have no purpose but to exist, Abraham; to pass quietly through history as minor characters upon a stage they cannot even see. To be the playthings of tyrants.

He couldn't let it end this way. It was Abe's purpose to fight tyranny, and soon, there would be more tyrants to fight. Henry knew this; he foresaw it. The ripples of time calmed themselves and for just a moment, Henry could see that Abe's purpose was not yet completed. Not by far.

I can see a man's purpose, Abraham. It is my gift. Your purpose is to fight tyranny… And mine is to see that you win.

Henry broke into the tomb just before sunrise. The Trinity helped him to lift the coffin out of its marble sarcophagus and together they maneuvered the ebony box onto a waiting carriage. Like many of the buildings and private homes in Springfield, the house on the corner of Eighth and Jackson Streets had been draped with black bunting, a symbol of the city's deep mourning for her favorite son.

But this house was different. A plaque beside the front door still read A. Lincoln. It was important for Abe to be somewhere familiar, to ease the shock that came with being pulled from eternal rest. It also had the added benefit of being sealed off for a period of official mourning – its shutters closed with heavy black drapes drawn inside. Darkness, privacy, and a sturdy bed were needed when becoming a vampire.

Some men are just too interesting to die.

AN:

This story has lived for years in my brain-pan. It should pay rent, really. But I decided to write it now because of - what "appears" to be - a horrid plot point at the very beginning of Seth's official sequel, The Last American Vampire. As the book has not yet been released, it's very possible that the spoiler in the beginning few pages (which you can preview on Amazon) is in fact, not what really happens. It's possible. Regardless, Seth seems to have Henry go off by himself and experience the years after Abe's assassination alone.

This is not how I envision it.

My story will feature Abe and Henry side-by-side, living through time together.

As always, thank you Emma_Holt for being my beta 3