Author's Note: See the bottom of the chapter for notes about two ideas that I used in this chapter and where I got them from as well as some details regarding Josef's home and art collection.
Chapter 004
A New Day Dawns
Thursday, January 31, 2008; 12:45 a.m. PST
Beth's Apartment, Los Angeles, California
After my maker leaves, Beth practically deflates, and her shoulders sag before she releases a shuddering breath. Her smile is shaky, but she asks, "Is it just me or did that go much better than it could have?"
I laugh and put my arm around her before I lead her back to the couch while I tell her, "That went about as well as it possibly could have, Blondie."
She has a slight tremor, and her legs seem a little rubbery, possibly from an adrenaline crash, so I help her sit before she says, "I like him. I think I'm going to learn a lot from both of you."
My hands tremble slightly so I shove them into my pants pockets and tell her, "He likes you too, or he wouldn't have even acknowledged you when you asked to speak, which it was brilliant of you to ask for permission to talk. He didn't show it outwardly, but I know him well enough to know that he loved that."
She smiles a soft little grin, so I jut my chin towards her once and tell her, "Then add in what you said and, well, I think you're going to thrive in this life. You have a knack for it that is rare among humans in this day and age. Generally, that understanding and ability to behave that way doesn't come naturally. People learn them, but it takes time and patience on the part of both teacher and student. You already have a solid foundation, though, that I'll be able to build upon, and probably pretty easily at that."
She flops back in her seat, so I sit beside her and turn to face her before grasping her hand in mine and addressing a few matters that I want resolved tonight, "Beth, I would like for you to accompany me to the dedication tomorrow night as my date."
Her eyes get big, and she grins wide enough to show teeth before she asks, "The Josef Kostan doesn't have a date to his own event?"
I laugh and shake my head at her wide innocent eyes and her arched brow before telling her, "I was going to bring a freshie with me, but I'd prefer not to have you too far from me at any given time. I don't really trust Mick not to try and kidnap you."
She grimaces and inhales a shaky breath, so I squeeze her hand in mine and tell her, "He could have arranged for someone else to do it, too, either in the time before he ran, or he could still do it while on the run so that means you could be in danger from any number of unknown individuals. The fact that he told you not to be here tonight tells me that he knew your human life was at risk. That means that he had the two days since I told him of the summons to make plans and backup plans."
Her eyes are vacant while she stares off into space, so I let loose a tremulous sigh and tell her, "Mick's smart enough to realize that a single plan might fail, so he likely has multiple plans in place, and he's had more than enough time to utilize any number of resources available to him. You need to understand that if you disappear, my maker's poor opinion of humans will cause him to assume that it was of your own free will and that would make your life forfeit…"
Her eyes focus on my face an instant later and then she sighs dejectedly at what I just said but says, "Okay, I'll go with you, but is that going to piss off your, uh, freshie?"
She pauses then with a quirk of her lips she asks, "I, ah, assume that word means a person who feeds you fresh blood, uh, from the vein?"
When she agrees to go with me, some of the tension in my shoulders and body loosen. I inhale a deep cleansing breath and then tell her, "Yes, our regular and recurring donors are referred to by vampires as freshies. The two-natured and other members of the supernatural community occasionally call them 'fangbangers,' but that's considered a derogatory term. You shouldn't use it, but you should know what it is just in case you hear someone else say it. 'Freshie,' however, is the politically correct term and freshies themselves even use that word."
She just stares at me, though, she's frowning a tiny bit, and her leg is bouncing before she stills and sits straighter and asks, "Two-natured?"
My grin widens a little while I feed her never-ending need for information and tell her, "Yes, the term two-natured refers to three groups of people. There are the werewolves whom we call weres. Then there are those who can shift into any animal at will, whom we refer to as shifters. Lastly, there are those who shift into a single animal other than wolves. We usually call the latter a were-whatever, so if they're a panther, then they're called a were-panther. A horse would be a were-horse, a tiger a were-tiger. The two-natured are sometimes just called their animal, so wolf, tiger, etc., too."
She's sitting on the edge of her seat and smiling so widely I'm almost afraid her face will break before she starts firing away questions, "What are they like? Do they only, err, shift, with the full moon or can they shift anytime they want? Are they dangerous, like to humans? Do I know any? Can I meet—"
I chuckle and place my finger over her lips before telling her, "They're just like everyone else except the night before, the night of, and the night after a full moon they are required to shift into their animal."
Her eyes are bright, and she's leaning towards me while I talk so I shrug and tell her, "The stronger ones can shift at will, day or night, regardless of the phase of the moon, but those with weaker blood can only shift at night and closer to the full moon."
Her eyes narrow and her brows furrow, so I say, "They, like vampires, are dangerous to humans in certain circumstances. They don't feed on humans like we do, so they're probably less of a threat. However, although most shifters and weres retain their human minds while they shift, their baser instincts are sharper while in animal form. If you ever find yourself alone with one who has shifted, and you act in any way that could cause the were to perceive you as prey, then you'll be in as much danger as you'd be with a wild animal."
She just keeps staring at me with slightly narrowed eyes. I square my shoulders and tell her something that Mick and I have kept from her up until now, "I'm guessing based on the incredibly faint whisper of shifter scent that I can still smell in your apartment that you have had one here in the last month or so. The scent was stronger when I was here last week, so he or she hasn't been here in a couple of weeks."
Her mouth opens to undoubtedly ask a multitude of questions, so I hold up my hand to forestall them and tell her, "Mick has mentioned smelling shifter in your apartment on multiple occasions. According to him none of the people he's met from your life have smelled of shifter themselves, so I have no idea who it is, but I'm sure given a little time you'll figure it out. Once you're my childe, you'll be able to smell it on all but the most powerful of shifters because only supreme supernatural shifters, those who can shift into any type of creature, animal, human, or supernatural can hide their scent. Supreme supernatural shifters are extraordinarily rare, though, as in for every 13 or 14 million humans you might have one supreme supernatural shifter."
She's still leaning in towards me, so I squeeze her hand again and tell her, "My area is the second largest in North America by population. There are maybe five or six supreme supernatural shifters that I'm aware of who call my area home, and experience tells me there are likely two or three others that have stayed off my radar. Really, the word rare isn't strong enough because if there are 6.8 Billion people in the world, then there are only around 525 supreme supernatural shifters currently in existence in this dimension. Therefore, I am certain that you will have minimal difficulty smelling it on whichever of your friends is a shifter simply because I doubt one of the supreme supernatural shifters in my area is our mystery shifter."
She tips her head to the left, so I say, "Finally, you're to be my childe, and I interact with shifters on a near daily basis, so you'll meet many of the two-natured in the coming years. In fact, my chef that I keep on the payroll to feed my live-in staff is a wear-bear, and I know you'll be meeting her in the coming days."
She's the consummate investigator, always thinking of questions and figuring out mysteries, so I know she wants more answers. Unfortunately for her, we don't really have time right now to hash it all out, so I tell her, "I'm sure you have a ton of other questions. However, sunrise is getting closer and closer, and although I can spend limited amounts of time in the sun, doing so drains our energy, and too much will kill my kind. It's been a stressful night so far, and that would make the sun's rays drain me quicker, so I'd rather get some time in my freezer before I go spending time in the daylight. So, I'll answer all your questions about the two-natured later, okay?"
She pouts which prompts me to laugh lightly. She just stares at me barely blinking, though, her pout is still prominently displayed, so I pat her hand that remains in mine with my free one before telling her, "Back to my freshie, I'll ask my maker to take Simone instead. He was planning to go alone, so he might be willing to save me the hassle of an upset freshie. The fact that I'm making the change to protect my future childe should go a long way with him, so I'm hopeful he'll agree."
She smiles at that, so I sit slightly straighter and square my shoulders. She notices my subtle movement and her muscles tense, so I work at slouching a little to help ease her possible anxiety, and then I address the other issue I want to resolve tonight and tell her, "I'd like you to pack a bag with several weeks' worth of clothes. I think you should come to stay with me until a.) we know that you're safe from Mick's machinations, b.) we're confident that you can control your urges and c.) we both feel comfortable being separated for periods of time."
I pause and use my free hand and run it through my hair before I tell her, "That last part will mean that you'll probably end up living with me for the foreseeable future, so I'll have someone come and collect anything that you want during your stay if you forget something. Or if you don't need whatever it is right away, we can come together after you have your urges under control."
Her eyes brighten, so I take a relaxing breath and meet her cerulean eyes before telling her, "The urge to be close will have to do with my blood inside of you calling to me and your human blood being inside of me calling to you. As we drink from other humans regularly, our bodies will absorb each other's blood more fully, and the need to be right next to each other will slowly diminish."
Her eyes are narrowed but she doesn't say anything, so I tell her, "A few months down the line we can talk about whether you want to keep your apartment or officially move in with me. But the truth is that I was well over 1,000 when I noticed that I didn't feel, for lack of a better way to put it, itchy whenever I wasn't near my maker. Before that day, I had always had this underlying itch that wouldn't go away unless my sire was near."
She's not really blinking, and now her eyes are wide and round like dinner plates, but I continue my explanation, "Anyway be prepared to want to be near me for just as long at least. Probably longer because for some reason when a maker and childe are not of the same sex, the effect seems to last longer. For example, I had been a vampire for just over 1,400 years when my separation from Jorge didn't drive me to distraction. However, I was just over 575 years old when Celeste mentioned that she didn't feel that itch anymore and she has been a vampire almost 1,600 years longer than I have. That means she was over 2,100 when she didn't get twitchy being parted from him."
I'm just glad that Beth and I are so compatible. I can't see her getting too annoying being in close quarters with me for the next couple thousand years, in fact, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to get to know her better and unravel the mystery that is Beth Turner. I think she has seriously hidden and unbelievably deep depths that will take millennia for me to fully explore and I can't wait to start.
She has a relaxed posture throughout my entire explanation about the mysterious itch. Still, I expected her to argue about moving in with me, so my eyes widen when she merely inhales and then exhales what is probably meant to be a cleansing breath and then hops to her feet before going into her bedroom and calling out, "It'll just take me 10 or so minutes to be ready to go."
Standing, I follow her into her room and ask, "You're not going to argue about needing your freedom or your own space?"
Her face turns rosy, and she chuckles lightly, and with a broad smile on her face, she says, "First, you're the expert on what a new vampire will need. If you say I need to be with my maker for at least the first couple of months but possibly much, much longer than that, then I'm going to do that without arguing. Secondly, I'll have my own space, no? I mean, I assume you'll give me a room of my own, and I'll be able to go hide in there anytime I need space. I might ask for an office depending on the setup of your house and available space, but I'm pretty laid-back Josef. Furthermore, I trust you. I trust you to take care of me, and I trust you to teach me what I need to know to be a good and happy vampire."
That's slightly unexpected, not unwelcome mind you, but I figured it'd take a while to foster that trust that she seems to be giving me so freely.
I give one firm nod and then tell her, "Thank you for your trust, Beth. I'll do my best not to abuse it." I mean that 150% too. I fully intend to earn and keep her trust for the rest of our existences.
She glows at me and then steps the few feet to me before she hugs me. It's been just under 53 years since I was so demonstrative with a human, so it takes me a minute to hug her back. After a couple of moments of hesitation, I bring my arms up and around her and bury my face in her soft and silky hair before we just hold each other for several long seconds that really aren't long enough.
Brushing her silken blonde locks with my nose, I breathe in the fragrance lingering there before my tense muscles loosen just a bit. The essence of wild lavender and freshly ground vanilla are at the forefront. I'm sure those two smells come from her shampoo and body wash. Her underlying natural perfume beneath that, although slightly off as if someone altered it somehow, reminds me of the forest I used to play in with my siblings near our home in what was once known as Pictland but is now part of the British Isles.
The scent conjures a memory that I associate with sunshine filtering through a dense canopy of trees, the leaves, and tiny budding flowers on the forest floor still damp from an afternoon spring rain-shower while childish laughter hung in the air. It's an aroma I smelled a lot as a child before my father died and I had to stop being a boy and start providing for my mother and six younger siblings.
Mesmerized by the lingering yet entirely enticing aroma from my childhood I once again thank whoever is responsible for Beth avoiding Mick's rebellion.
She pulls away a moment later, and I struggle not to pull her back into my arms. Goddess, Josef, get a grip. You went 53 years without a hug, not to mention thousands of years before that one, blissful, year with Sarah, and now suddenly you can't let go?
She's wholly unaware of my internal struggle, though, and winks at me before moving to her closet, so after straightening my tie and suit jacket, I ask her, "What are you planning to wear tomorrow night?"
She's inside her closet, but a few seconds later she comes out and holds up an elegant, floor-length, one-shouldered scarlet dress with a cut to it that dips enough that I hope it will hug her delicious curves and give just enough of a glimpse of her smooth milky cleavage to be distracting. When she moves a bit, the bottom of the dress glints in the light of the room and highlights the glossy appearance of what is probably satin but looks exceptional enough to be silk.
It's breathtaking on the hanger, so I'm confident it will look phenomenal on her. She has a wonderfully curvy body, and what I really want to do is ask her to try it on for me now. However, in the long run, I'm sure I can wait until tomorrow to see the vision I'm sure she'll be in that crimson dress, so I keep the urge under control, but only just.
It looks like a finely made garment that any designer would be proud to lay claim to, so I tilt my head to the right and ask, "Valentino?"
She shakes her head and chuckles before telling me, "I'm afraid civil service doesn't pay quite enough for designer clothes, Josef, heck not even Buzzwire paid well enough for Valentino."
I shrug at that and then sit on her bed and bounce up and down on it. It's too bouncy for my tastes and my vampiric sense of touch bristles at the scratchiness of the sub-par cotton and polyester blend of her comforter beneath my hand. I rub my hand on my expertly tailored silk pants leg to try and remove the memory of the scratchiness.
I glance at her for a second and tell her something that may or may not anger her, "Once you're my childe, you will be my responsibility until I release you a minimum of three or four centuries from now. During that time, I will be expected to provide you with everything you might need or want."
She turns and stares at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips that are probably as soft as the silk pants I'm still rubbing. Drawing my hand away from my slacks I hold it up to forestall whatever complaint is about to fall from her full lips and tell her, "Before you go all feminist on me, that would be true even if you were a man. Because it's usually a minimum of several centuries before a sire releases their childe, you should prepare to be pampered for the foreseeable future."
She's frowning but nods once. I force myself to tear my gaze from her shiny, bouncing, blonde curls before I meet her eyes and tell her, "Don't worry. I will make certain to teach you how to provide for yourself in the manner to which you will become accustomed while under my care. And by that, I mean I'll teach you how to invest, and invest well, because you will be eternal and eventually the 9 to 5 job will get old, and you'll need to be able to provide for yourself without that minuscule income."
Her frown smooths out, and the edges of her lips tilt up gently, so I add, "Although, the area investigator job pays enough annually that you should be able to buy some designer clothes on your own as well. As I said earlier, Area Two includes all of L.A. County, and it is the second largest area in the country by the population of both humans, vampires, and supernaturals in general. Because it's so big and dense the area has been paying Mick $5 Million annually. The way I see it, you've singlehandedly increased the speed with which he solved his cases and increased his solve rate by more than half. Therefore, I think I'd be justified in offering you twice what he was making because you have essentially been doing twice the work."
She gazes at me for an instant and then waves her hand back and forth like she's swatting the idea away before telling me, "I'm not responsible for Mick having a better track record."
Arching a brow at that, I tell her, "And yet his speed and solve rate both remained steady for his 47 years as the Area Investigator right up until he started working with you. Once you began helping him, it took him a week instead of a month to solve his cases, and he was solving twice as many of them. Please note that the cases he worked on without you continued to take the standard month on average to solve if he managed to solve them at all. The way I see it, I'll be getting an investigator who is twice as competent and worth every penny in my book."
She's frowning when she asks, "Did his speed of solving them really become a quarter of what it was?"
I grin and tell her, "It really did. I also wasn't kidding about Mick's solve rate doubling. By my count, you've worked 19 cases with him in the five months since you reconnected. The two of you solved every single one of them, and it took no more than two weeks to resolve any one of them. Conversely, Mick worked on an additional 27 cases for me as Area Investigator in that time, and he only settled 12 of them, and although I realize he was working on multiple cases at once, it still took him a minimum of a month to solve most of them."
Her brow is furrowed, and her head is tilted to the left like she's trying to sort out a puzzle, so I tell her, "You should keep in mind that a vampire usually only requires three hours of sleep a day. That means he was working those cases for up to 18 to 21 hours a day and it still took him four times longer than it took you to solve your cases and your work day was at least 6 hours shorter."
She moves and sits beside me with her dress laying in her lap, and while looking at her rug, she asks, "You only sleep three hours a day?"
I clear my throat and tell her, "Mick sleeps three to four depending on how much sun he was exposed to the previous day, and I sleep anywhere from one to two similarly depending on how much sun I am exposed to. It gets ever so slightly shorter the older we get. Though, keep in mind that in addition to sunlight exposure, contact with or consumption of silver or severe wounds will lengthen the amount of sleep we need. Actually, it's less the sleep and more the sub-zero temperatures."
Her eyebrows furrow and then release while she gazes at me, so I pat her hand before telling her, "It delays our decay, and if we don't neglect our freezer time, it will reverse the previous day's decay provided we lay in sub-zero temperatures on a daily or near-daily basis."
She angles her head to the left, so I meet her cobalt eyes with my chestnut colored ones and say, "Anyway, your track record far exceeds his. Yet, he's far more experienced than you are, so I have high hopes for what your solve rate will be with a few decades under your belt, never mind a couple of centuries."
She shrugs one shoulder and then ignores what I said about her future mystery solving abilities and says, "It will be nice having a longer day, though, I think I'll miss the sun. I like the beach, so I'll definitely miss that."
I reach over and grab her hand before rubbing her knuckles gently with my thumb and telling her, "You'll still be able to go to the beach. You'll just have to do it from twilight to crepuscular."
She turns her face and gazes at me and asks, "Uh, I'm not familiar with that word. What does crepuscular mean?"
I chuckle and tell her, "It's the technical term for the morning twilight. It can be used to describe both, but it more accurately describes the morning twilight rather than evening twilight."
She glances at me and titters lightly before she says, "Oh, okay, learn something new every day."
I bump her shoulder with mine and tell her, "Stick with me kid, and you'll learn all sorts of new things."
She winks at me again and says, "I'm counting on it, Josef."
I just pat her hand and then tell her, "Going back to your buying designer clothes, I think I'll set up an account for you that will essentially be your fun account. I'll donate the first deposit as a welcome to immortality gift and then put your paychecks from the D.A.'s office and perhaps five to ten percent of any money the area ends up paying you into it so that you can have some fun from time to time. I'll put another 10% aside in a savings account and $7,500 per week in an account in Venezuela under an assumed name and then invest the remaining amount of your salary and eventually teach you what I'm doing with it and why."
Beth grins and then stands, and after carefully laying her dress on the bed behind me and smoothing out any wrinkles, she moves into her closet and pulls out a pink and brown plaid suitcase that seems held together in part by many assorted colors and patterns of duct tape. It's also got some multi-colored stitching on it that leads me to believe that Beth, or a previous owner, tried to sew some of the tears before resorting to the tape. If I had to hazard a guess, though, I'd say the bag is older than she is.
Refraining from commenting on her ancient luggage, I tell her, "Anyway, due to my age, known financial superiority, and my station within the community the other vampires and supernaturals will look down on me if I don't provide my childe with only the best of everything. So, don't even try to argue the point with me."
She plops the suitcase onto her bed and fights with the zipper before she manages to open it and lift the lid. Smiling, I glance over my shoulder and tell her, "Now, that dress is lovely, and I'm certain that you will look even more beautiful than usual in it. Therefore, I won't offer to buy you a new one, but know that your days of off the rack shopping are effectively over as of tonight."
She sighs but doesn't argue, and after striding to her dresser and opening the top drawer she takes out a bright rainbow of silky underthings, strides over to the suitcase with her bounty, and places them inside before she tells me, "I won't argue, but only because 1.) I already know that you're just as stubborn as Mick is, if not more so, and 2.) I've gone digging through Coraline's closet and extensive shoe collection, so I know vampires, or at least just over 300-year-old ones, don't wear shoes from Payless or clothes from Target and the Dress Barn."
Chuckling, I turn my head in her direction before asking, "There is such a thing as a Dress Barn? That's an actual store?"
She giggles and then walking back to the dresser she says over her shoulder, "Yes. They have clothes that are nice even if you aren't a stick figure, especially if you aren't a stick figure, and until I started working at Buzzwire, I shopped there regularly. Now that I've lost the extra 15 pounds I gained in college, I tend to frequent thrift stores, Target, and Walmart when I need new clothes, and Payless Shoe Store is still my go-to shoe source."
She stops and glances at herself in the mirror on top of her dresser before smirking at herself and then she shakes her head gently and piles more colorful and silky items from her bureau into her arms before she turns and gazes at me saying, "Coraline's wardrobe was impressive, though. She had shoes by Prada, Y-3, and Manolo. And the designers… I've never drooled over another woman's closet before, but Versace, Valentino, Donna Karan, Gucci, and Stella McCartney were just some of the designers I noticed hanging in her closet. I hate Coraline and everything about her with an unmatched passion, but her closet was enough to inspire the green monster, so I'm kind of looking forward to what my closet will look like in 300 years. If it's anything like hers, then I'm going to be an unbelievably happy girl."
I chuckle at the image that pops into my mind of her drooling over designer duds. After I manage to calm my chuckles, I ask her a question that not even the slightly hysterical image of her drooling and panting over a pair of shoes like a new puppy can distract me from, "And how exactly did you come to be digging through Coraline's wardrobe? She's not particularly well known for sharing the contents of her closet with, well, anyone."
She snickers and after dropping a pile of brightly colored and patterned satin and lace bras into her suitcase, she turns and saunters to her closet before beginning to remove clothes from their hangers and put them into the case resting behind me. After her first trip from the wardrobe to the bed, she tells me, "I may or may not have broken into her apartment and her party house while trying to ascertain if Morgan was really Coraline."
My jaw drops at that. She did what? Mick must have forgotten to mention that little detail. Shaking my head nice and slow, I tell her, "You have a death wish, don't you? Only someone who doesn't mind dying would break into Coraline's home. The woman is the epitome of psycho, even by vampire standards, and you of all people should have known that."
Beth folds a pair of pants before quirking her lips and telling me, "I know. Mick insisted that Morgan was just as human as I was, and it wasn't until I had confirmation that she was Coraline that I thought she was a vampire and somehow hiding it. Anyway, I think the fact that she was human at the time is the only reason that I was so willing to disregard the danger she posed. I work out regularly, and kick-boxing and Taekwondo are my current sports of choice, so because I'm pretty advanced at both and I knew she's too lazy to work out, I think I figured I'd be her equal or close to it while we were both human."
That mollifies me, if only a little, but still, I need to know if my new childe is going to have a casual disregard for her own life and safety. She seems to sense this, so she stops what she's doing and meets my narrowed gaze before telling me, "Don't worry Josef, I stopped and weighed the risks before breaking into her apartment and her party house and decided based on my probably being in better shape than her that it was worth the risk. Plus, I know that now that she's a vampire again I stand no chance, and I won't go looking for trouble. So long as she steers clear of me, I'll happily do my best to avoid her."
Breaking my eyes from her intense stare, I lean back so that I'm resting on my elbows with my legs hanging off the end of the bed and say, "That's something I suppose. She shouldn't become an issue, though. First, the base of strength, power, and control in a newborn is significantly greater the older their sire is. Because her maker, who is her father as well, had not been a vampire for even three decades when he turned Coraline in 1721, and I have been a vampire for only 17 years less than 5,400 years you will be stronger and more powerful than her from the get-go, significantly so."
She snorts and then bursts into giggles before calming enough to say, "And yay again for you being older than dirt!"
I chuckle at that, and then I continue my explanation and tell her, "Once you're my childe, you'll be off limits to other vampires even more so than you are now as my human, in part, because childer are sacred and no one can mess with them without suffering dire consequences. Add in that I'm sheriff and more than 5,400 years old and that most supernaturals are aware of not only the enormous difficulty inherent in killing me but also the fact that I am fully capable of avenging anything that might happen to you, and the overwhelming majority of supes should be smart enough to leave you alone. Of course, that's true, if only, because their survival instincts will warn them to stay away from you."
I shrug one shoulder and then add, "The fact that Jorge is my sire will help, too. His maker turned him 7,494-years-ago give or take a decade or two, and in those almost 7,500 years he's earned a reputation among vampires because my sire was one of the leading forces of the Inquisition. He used it as a cover to remove those who posed a threat to the supernatural community. The ironic part is that he mostly did it by accusing them of being witches or something similar. Not even close to a tenth of the ones he was responsible for torturing and/or killing as part of the Inquisition were supernatural in nature. Anyway, he's not only an excellent interrogator, but he's also well known for his torture techniques so that should make people think twice before they go after you."
Her eyes are round like dinner plates, and she has a slack mouth, so I give her a moment and then tell her, "Going back to Coraline, the vast majority of vampires are under 250 years old. That means that even though Coraline and her sire are old by modern vampire standards at 313 and 338-years-old respectively, they're both practically babies. Coraline seems to completely disregard my advanced age compared to her own, but her maker, François, is fully aware of the fact that he's barely a toddler by my standards."
I pause and run my hand through my hair before telling her, "François knows that not only is he an infant, but that Jorge and I are not just older but are, in fact, significantly older than he is. Although he might not know exactly how much older we are."
Her head angles to the left in question so I tell her, "The fact that I've been a sheriff for about 5,000 years is public knowledge as is the fact that I was the youngest sheriff ever appointed, but not many know exactly how old I truly was when appointed, and even less are aware of Jorge's exact age. Anyway, the few times I've met François he's been dutifully respectful and suitably scared, so I don't foresee him allowing Coraline to be an issue."
She glances up from folding another blouse, and when her cobalt eyes meet mine, she says, "That's a relief."
I tilt my head towards her and then continue, "Of course, it'll be several centuries before she's allowed too far from her maker's feet. The combination of each of her crimes against you and Mick would have warranted her death, not to mention she has a nasty habit of disobeying direct orders. The only reason she still exists after committing all the crimes she committed against you both is that her sire stepped in and promised the Authority to suitably rehabilitate her. They've made it clear that if she steps out of line again, they'll issue death warrants for her and François, both, so she should behave."
I pause and then laugh while my eyes follow Beth when she returns to her closet before I add, "Well, as much as she knows how anyway. Regardless, I'm sure François will keep her in Europe for at least a couple of centuries after her punishments are completed."
Beth turns and peeks out of the closet so that all I see are her eyes, forehead, hair and slender fingers holding the door of the closet. She stares at me for a second, reaches up with one elegant hand and pushes a lock of her blonde tresses out of her eyes and then asks, "Do you know what her punishments are exactly?"
I shrug both shoulders and then rub my ear before telling her, "Something vampires call 'Our Most Sacred Rite,' was performed on her the moment she arrived back in Paris. The rite unreleased her from her maker's control, which honestly, she's far too young to warrant releasing her now never mind over 200 years ago when François originally did it. The rite, however, is permanent, so if her maker gives her an order in the future, she won't ever be able to refuse him. Incidentally, my maker has ordered the rite performed on Mick with my sister as his new sire. I'm not sure yet whether that will turn out to be a blessing or a curse, though I'm confident Mick already considers it a curse."
Straightening her stance, Beth moves out from behind the door, and with wide round eyes, the size of dinner plates, she just stands in the middle of her room holding a partially folded shirt.
I give her a moment to absorb that news, and when her eyes return to their normal size, and she begins moving again, I tell her, "Back to Coraline's many punishments. Her sire staked her, and he won't release her for at least a handful of decades. After that, her freedom will be non-existent for a minimum of five centuries. She's also restricted from initiating contact with Mick or you, and that's a permanent order that François won't ever lift. She's similarly prohibited from siring anyone new without the prior written approval of François, the Regional Magister, the royal or royals whose territory she and/or the prospective childe are residing in, the local sheriff or sheriffs, and the would-be newborn. That restriction was presented to her as a Maker's Command right after the rite was performed and it will last a minimum of a millennium after her five centuries of restricted freedom is finished."
Beth turns from her suitcase with a cobalt sweater in her hand that matches the color of her eyes. She looks me up and down for several seconds before asking, "Wow, vampires don't mess around, do they?"
She doesn't know the half of it. Everything I just mentioned is child's play and mild as far as punishments go in the supernatural world. François doesn't have the stomach to torture his childe, mostly because Coraline is also his daughter, but most vampires, myself included, don't generally have that problem inflicting pain as punishment whenever we deem it necessary.
The only supernatural I've ever not appropriately punished is Mick, and see how great that's turning out? Therefore, as much as it will pain me, I will do things the proper way with Beth, which means there will be times when she will hate me because I will cause her pain the likes of which she's never felt before. The pain will have a specific purpose, though, which will be to correct undesirable behavior.
That's not to say that Beth will misbehave often, but every newborn receives a painful punishment like that at least once. Hell, even I suffered punishments like that a couple of times before I learned my place. For most supes once or twice is all it takes to teach them to obey our rules and laws.
Just like human parents need to punish their children to teach them how to be law-abiding adults, vampires must punish their childer at least a few times to turn them into fine upstanding vampires, and a little pain goes a long way towards not only teaching the lesson but making sure it sticks.
Beth is much smarter than most, so I'm sure she'll figure that out for herself in short order once I turn her. I don't really want to scare her into resisting her turning, though, because Jorge won't accept no for an answer, so one way or another Beth will become my childe. I'd prefer that her turning be a willing event for both of us so instead of explaining how much of an understatement what she just said is, I laugh before telling her, "Not generally, no."
Beth wrinkles her nose while she places the sweater into her suitcase and then closes the top of it and tries to zip it. She pulls at the zipper and pushes at the lid several times before she hops up on top of it and sits on it to get it to close enough for her to zip it all the way.
Laughing again, I run my fingers through my hair and tell her, "I think the first thing I'm going to buy you is a new set of luggage and a new phone if your phone has a habit of not working. Though, I'm thanking our lucky stars, God, the Goddess, Buddha, and everything in between that your phone wouldn't show you the texts that Mick sent you tonight. We got extraordinarily lucky because I have no doubt that he asked you to meet him and planned to run with you."
She hops off her suitcase and turning to face me says, "I'm grateful that my phone didn't work too because I don't even want to think about what would have happened to me if I had been stupid and run with him."
Still reclining on her bed, I tip my head back, and my eyes gaze heavenward before I exhale a heaving breath and tell her, "We both got exceptionally lucky, Beth, because your life would have been forfeit. I would have argued on your behalf that as a human you didn't know any better and that part of Mick's punishment should remain my turning you because if he ran to prevent it, then it's obviously the one thing he wants to avoid at all costs, but it might not have worked. It would have been a 50/50 shot that my sire would have agreed with me. So, if you believe in God, be sure and thank Him for faulty technology because it likely saved your life tonight."
She has wide round eyes, but a minute later they narrow before she puts her hands on her hips and then lifts one elegant hand, pointing a slender finger at me while telling me, "As for you buying me things, no going overboard. I don't need new everything."
I chuckle and smirk at her before I say, "I'll be the judge of what does and does not need replacing, Blondie. After all, I've lived a lot longer than you have, so I know a thing or two about quality and craftsmanship. The quality of everything I buy you will be top-notch with no room for shoddy workmanship. It will all be top-of-the-line, including your Louis Vuitton luggage, which I will order for you when we get home. Your new iPhone I will purchase next week when the new 16 GB version is released."
Catching her gaze, I look her in the eye, and after winking, I tell her, "If you behave between now and then I might even let you offer your opinions on which set of luggage to get and the color of your new phone."
Her hands are on her hips again, and she's pouting something fierce, but when I merely continue to smirk at her, she quickly shifts her lips into a beaming smile before she says, "Guess I'll just have to be on my best behavior then."
Her brow furrows for a second while she pauses then her forehead smooths out and she says, "I have a smaller suitcase that's much nicer than this one, but it's too small for a couple of weeks' worth of clothes."
A flush creeps across her cheeks a moment later before she ducks her head and tells me, "I also have an iPhone. About two months before I met Mick, or re-met him, whatever, I left my phone in the pocket of my jeans when I washed them. Although it's mostly worked once I dried it out, which took just over a month, I think the heat of the water more than the water itself fried it, so I won't object to you buying me a new one. It started acting up right after Christmas, and I joked with…"
She hesitates, and her eyes get glassy with unshed tears. The briny aroma of salt fills the air a few seconds later when a single tear makes the trek down her cheek. She wipes at the errant tear, brushing it off her face before she continues her thought, "…Josh that it should have stopped working before Christmas so that Santa could buy me a new one."
She pauses and seems lost in her memories of her recently deceased boyfriend before she shrugs, and after wiping away another tear, she tells me, "Anyway, I'll just have to keep it out of the washer from now on."
I ignore the sad turn her thoughts have taken before standing and asking, "Are you finished packing?"
She stands there for a minute while she nibbles on her bottom lip before she throws up her hands and begins shaking her head and exclaims, "Oh, I forgot my shoes for tomorrow."
Opening her closet door again she bends over, and I turn my gaze to the side to fully appreciate the exceedingly beautiful view of her nicely round, upturned ass. Hmm, what I wouldn't do to become personally acquainted with that plump ass.
The good news is that makers typically have physical relationships with their childer, so I have high hopes. Now, that's not to say that I will force the issue. I won't demand that we have a sexual relationship by any means, but if the opportunity presents itself and she's willing, then I certainly won't say no.
Standing straight and turning to face me with a shoe in each hand, she smirks when she spots me staring at her and asks, "Enjoying the view again?"
At my age, not much embarrasses me and especially not anything having to do with sex. Even still, if I were human, the tips of my ears would be turning red like they used to when I was a boy, so I clear my throat and leer at her before saying, "Your ass is deliciously full and round, so yes I was enjoying the view very much. Of course, it would have been even better if you weren't wearing clothes, but beggars can't be choosers."
She laughs and with a raised eyebrow and one shoe holding hand on her hip she asks, "Josef Kostan, when have you ever begged for anything?"
I saunter towards her, and when I'm standing right in front of her, I tip her chin up and stare into her bright, crystal clear, sky blue eyes and tell her, "I wasn't always as affluent as I am now, Beth. Remember that vampires can be centuries if not millennia older than they appear, and most of us weren't royalty or from the aristocracy when we were human. There are some who were, François and Coraline, for instance, who are distant relatives of Louis XIV of France, but most weren't wealthy or of a high station and I'm no exception."
She just stares into my eyes with a slight frown on her pretty face, so I tell her, "I met Jorge because when I was about 12-years-old I stole some vegetables to feed my family and he was the local Magistrate for the humans. It was a couple of centuries later that he became a Magister for the Authority which is the Vampire's internal government body."
Her brows furrow so I interrupt my story to explain who they are and tell her, "They're the legislative branch of our government that I mentioned earlier. Think of them as a mix between Congress and the President, only the members of the Authority aren't voted into office, and they hold the position until they die their final death."
Her narrowed eyes widen a fraction, and her brow smooths out just a bit, so I tell her, "Back to my history of begging. I was born to a pair of peasants on the British Isles, though back then it was known as Pictland. We didn't have a lot, but we had enough until my father died when I was ten. My father immigrated from Akkad before he met my mother and had no family on the island, so as the oldest son, it fell to me to begin providing for my mother and my six younger siblings. I didn't have much in the way of skills at that point, so I resorted to stealing to keep food on my family's table."
I brush my thumb along the corner of her lips and then tell her, "That worked for about two years before the authorities caught me, and Jorge, as the Magistrate for the humans, tried me. I received a guilty verdict, and he sentenced me to slavery, which was a mite harsher than usual for a first-time offender. Normally, there'd be torture, and then they would release me to deal with the injuries I received and their lasting and often debilitating effects. If they caught me stealing a second time, I would suffer more torture, and then they would sell me into slavery."
She leans her face into my hand almost imperceptibly, so I brush my thumb along the ridge of her jaw and tell her, "Jorge saw potential in me, though, so he sentenced me to slavery and paid the modern equivalent of about $275,000 for me, which was a hefty price back then. When I had been his slave for just over 14 years, he felt I was mentally ready and physically old enough at 26 years old, so he turned me, and we've been close ever since that night. Well, my maker felt a mystical pull towards me, so he knew the moment he bought me that he would be turning me when I was old enough, so he fostered a close relationship between us from the start."
Still stroking her cheek, I explain further, "I was never treated as poorly as other slaves of the time were by their masters. Jorge taught me how to read and write, and I spent most of my time studying and learning about both the human and the supernatural worlds instead of doing manual labor. He was more of a father figure than my owner, but technically I was his property."
Her eyes are round, and she's barely blinking. Her mouth is hanging open, so I gently lift her chin and close her mouth before telling her, "I didn't fight his teachings while I was still human, but then when I first turned, I accidentally killed someone I cared for and then rebelled against my maker. Honestly, I was more like Mick than I'd care to admit. Even though I had known about vampires for my entire time as Jorge's slave, after I experienced the bloodlust for the first time, I thought he had turned me into a monster. Fortunately for all involved, Jorge and Celeste knew what they were doing, and I think the last time I actively rebelled against them was five or so months after my turning. By six months old I knew being a vampire truly was what I made of it, and I'd only be a monster if I chose to be one."
Pausing, I continue to stroke her cheek and then tell her, "I realized that humans did monstrous things just as often as vampires did, maybe even more often in that era. After that revelation, I became the well-heeled vampire you see now. But my origins were less refined, significantly so because I was first a peasant for 12 years and then literally a slave for 14 years."
She frowns and says, "I'm sorry I didn't mean anyth—"
Placing my finger over her soft lips, I tell her, "Don't apologize, Beth. I just want you to realize that your reality is changing and that from this moment forward the life people have now is not necessarily the life they've always led. That's true in some respects for humans, too, but it's more pronounced for vampires."
She gives a crisp nod, and after pushing that errant lock of hair behind her ear again, she says, "Okay. I'll try and remember that, but, really, I was just teasing you."
I grin at that because there are scant few people in this world who would feel comfortable trying to tease me, and the fact that Beth is already one of them bodes well for our future together. I chuckle lightly and tell her, "I know, and I ruined it by turning it into a teaching moment."
Her eyes are soft while she gazes at me, and she places her hand over mine on her cheek and says, "It's alright, I understand that I'm entering a new world and there's a lot of stuff that you need to teach me. I'd rather you ruin a good teasing than I end up dead or in trouble with my future grandsire."
I laugh at that and stroke her soft cheek again before telling her, "That's incredibly wise of you. In the future, do anything and everything you can to avoid getting onto Jorge's bad side because I guarantee that you won't enjoy him if he's angry with you."
Her eyebrows rise and her lips purse, but she jerks her head once in acceptance, so I drop my hand, step back, and then ask her, "Ready to go?"
She doesn't respond verbally and instead hurries into her bathroom. She's in there for several minutes, and I can hear her opening drawers and cabinets before she returns to her bedroom with two small bags with handles and a curling iron. I grab the bags from her hand, and we move to the bed.
After she struggles to fit the iron into the side pocket of the suitcase and slides her dress and her shoes into an only slightly less battered and worn garment bag similarly held together by colorful, strategically placed duct tape, I grab her suitcase while she slings the garment bag over her shoulder.
We stroll into the living room where she grabs her computer bag off the island in her kitchen and then marches to the table that works as her makeshift desk in the living room and puts nine hard drives and half a dozen Altoids tins into it.
She picks up the one USB drive laying on the table and then takes one of the tins out of her bag and opens it revealing that it is full of thumbdrives. She closes that tin and pulls out another that seems to have room for one more and places the USB drive into the tin and then drops it into the bag.
When she has all the drives on the desk in the bag, she then strides back over to the kitchen island and adds her phone dock and its cord to the bag and then zips the case before she returns to her purse and jacket and grabs them off the kitchen counter. Then she turns, and after I place my hand on the small of her back, we leave the apartment and stride outside to my limo, which is still waiting for me.
My were-lynx driver has fallen asleep, so when we reach the vehicle I knock on the window, and once he opens his eyes and sees me standing there with Beth's luggage in hand, he pops the trunk open and then hops out and grabs her bags.
While he puts Beth's things in the trunk, I help her into the car. Then I slide in after her and sit beside her. I smile when she grabs my hand and holds on for dear life. Although she's known of our existence for a few months, the next couple of months are going to be a bit of a learning curve for her. As her maker, it will be my responsibility to make sure it doesn't overwhelm her while making sure that she knows everything that she needs to know not just to survive but to thrive in her new life.
We sit in comfortable silence throughout the ride, and when Beth and I arrive at my home, the driver pulls in through the back entrance that is only a couple hundred feet from the street. He drives around to the far side of the circular driveway so she can get the full effect the first time she gets a look at the place.
I help her out of the limo on the driver's side, so she has an unobstructed view of the fountain. My Butler almost immediately opens the front door, and after instructing him as to which room will be Beth's, I watch her while she examines the enormous house before her.
She stares at the fountain in the middle of the drive for a minute and then swings her eyes to the house itself.
It's more impressive in the daylight, but even in the dark, you can see the magnificence of the four-story Châteauesque style mansion. The only privately-owned house in the United States that is anywhere near as big and impressive as my home is the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina.
Beverly House, as my home is known to the locals, is this coast's version of an American palace. The exterior is a muted orange color that I tried valiantly to talk the previous owner out of painting the house. I failed in that endeavor, and now it's one of the more widely well-known and distinctive features of my home, so I don't have the heart to paint over it at this point.
Gazing at Beth's profile, I tell her, "The home is mostly in the shape of a Serif 'H' with two long legs connected by an only slightly more modest leg in the middle. Both of the longer legs have smaller 'Serifs' attached to both ends. The outer serifs are about half the length of the middle connector, and the inside serifs are about a third of the length of the central leg."
She doesn't say anything, but, instead, her eyes slowly travel up and up. She inspects the side of one of the longer legs of the 'H' that surrounds the circular drive and then her eyes go up farther until they reach the bamboo roof.
I bring my hands behind my back and clasp them before I continue extolling the amenities, "Construction on the house began in 1886, and it was completed in 1892. The grounds used to cover just over 16,536 acres, but the original owner sold some of it in 1894, so now it's more like 14,128 acres. A good chunk of my staff live in homes on the property surrounding this building, and that street we just came in on and a few leading up to it are, in fact, owned by me and not the city, though, the locals have been known to use them as a shortcut and the police patrol them as a courtesy."
She turns and looks at me with wide eyes and then returns her gaze to the house. I beam at her and say, "At the time of its completion, the house was the largest privately-owned home in the United States. It still is despite the Biltmore Estate, which is the second largest privately-owned home in the country, being completed three years later in North Carolina."
Her eyes glance over at me, and then they return to inspecting the exterior of my home, so I tell her, "The house sits atop a hill with a spectacular view of the city below from just about every room in the house. There is a total of 499,905 square feet of floor space, though, the actual living space is only about 473,202 square feet. Every single last square foot is full of unadulterated opulence. There are 496 rooms in the main house, 68 of which are bedrooms. Every bedroom is part of a suite that has the bedroom, a walk-in closet, a sitting room, a study, a fireplace in each of the three rooms in the suite, and a full bathroom. There are 184 additional fireplaces and 20 additional bathrooms scattered throughout the house."
She turns to stare at me again, and I almost laugh at the size of her eyes and the fact that her mouth is loosely hanging open.
Instead of laughing, I tell her, "Despite being a vampire who hasn't eaten human food in 5,383 years, the house has three full professional kitchens that I mostly use to feed the live-in freshies. There are many pools on the property spread out between the homes my staff live in. This house, though, has three outdoor pools and one indoor pool as well as a handful of saunas and hot tubs, stables, tennis courts, two home gyms, two theaters, a bowling alley, several billiards rooms, a four-story library, and a disco that is by the pools. I usually use the disco as part of pool parties I host on occasion."
She glances back at the house, gives one sharp nod and then grabs my hand before practically dragging me to the front door that my butler left open when he brought her things to her room. I'm not even sure she noticed him or the driver carrying her belongings inside or me telling him which set of rooms I want her living in.
I'm putting her on the opposite side of the house from my suite of rooms to give her a sense of privacy and space that she may very well need from time to time while she acclimates to life as a vampire.
When we enter the front hall, her head acts like it's on a swivel stick going from one side of the room to the other and back again while she tries to take everything in.
The whole house is full of artwork that I've collected over the course of my long life. In the foyer alone, there are paintings and sculptures worth tens of millions.
About 60 seconds into her exploration her eyes land on one of my more famous pieces hanging on the wall and she rushes over to it and immediately begins gushing, "Oh Josef, I love this painting. Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe has been my favorite piece of art ever since I studied Manet in a college art history course."
She pronounces the name correctly, and my estimation of her that was already sky high gets that much higher.
She briefly glances away from the painting in question and tells me, "My mom saved her money during my high school and college years, so she could pay for me to go on a trip to Europe when I graduated with my bachelor's degree."
She glances back at the painting by my old friend, Édouard, and continues her story, "I made sure to go to the Musée d'Orsay, mostly because I wanted to see this up close and personal. Unfortunately, when I got there, they informed me that the private owner who had been loaning it to them had requested it back. It figures that you'd be that private collector."
I smirk and tell her, "I'm terribly sorry for having made you wait to see it."
She leans in closer to it and then says, "Oh don't worry Josef, it was totally worth the wait. It's even more amazing when you can see the actual brush strokes. To think, Manet spent two years of his life creating this masterpiece, and when he tried to show it, the Salon Jury rejected it. Then once he managed to exhibit it in the Salon des Refusés everyone laughed at it."
My mouth is hanging open a bit at her extensive knowledge of the piece, and I just blink at her without making a comment.
She steps away from the painting after a moment and strides to the other side of the entry room to inspect a lesser-known piece by David, and then she proceeds to drag me around the ground floor of my own house for just over an hour, so she can see all the art I have on display.
We only manage to look through a handful of rooms on the first floor before she yawns for the third time in as many minutes, so I tell her, "Okay, you, I promise to finish giving you the grand tour when you're not practically falling asleep on your feet."
Her eyes droop, and she yawns again before slowly and haltingly telling me, "I'm going… to hold… you… to that… Josef." Then mostly to herself, she whispers, "I can't… believe… this is… where… I'm going… to be… living… for the… foreseeable… future."
I reach out and squeeze her shoulder before telling her, "Good, I hope you do. It's been a long time since anyone who appreciates art as much as I do has been here to enjoy my vast collection."
She frowns and says, "That's… a shame."
I incline my head towards her before putting my hand on the small of her back and leading her down the hall to the nearest elevator. While we walk I tell her, "My home is now your home, too, so feel free to make yourself at home and explore freely. Any room that isn't locked, which I don't recall any other than the freezer rooms being locked, is open for your discovery."
She smiles a lazy grin at that news but says nothing in response. I beam at her and then take her to the third floor in one of the many elevators scattered throughout the house because I'm not sure she would manage to safely make it up two flights of stairs to the third floor.
When we reach her room, I glance into her walk-in closet that's frankly bigger than her bedroom in her apartment and see that my butler already placed her suitcase on the luggage stand and her garment bag is hanging from one of the poles in the closet that is full of built-ins.
She glances around the room with heavy-lidded eyes for a minute. Her eyes stop briefly on her computer bag, which is sitting on top of an antique bureau, but then her eyes swing towards the rest of the room.
What does she think of the California king bed or the shades of aqua, ochre, and brown that make up the decorations and accents throughout the room? Does she like the white comforter with black, grey, and aqua diamonds scattered about it? Is she even registering that the space is twice the size of her entire apartment and does she realize that the furnishings and artwork are worth more than her little silver car cost her?
Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) that is hanging above her bed in all its ochre and brown colored glory is easily worth more than she makes in a year. Yet even though I'm sure she recognizes the painting, she says nothing of the fact that she's about to sleep in the same room as a famous modernist piece of art. She just sort of looks around in a casual manner and then without commenting on her new room she goes into the closet before returning an instant later with her pajamas in her hand.
She glows, and with lightly stilted speech that indicates just how tired she is, she tells me, "Okay… I'll inspect my room… later… and tomorrow I'll… gush over the fact… that the Duchamp… that happens to be… a personal favorite… of mine… is hanging over… my new bed. For now… you need… to go do… whatever vampires do… in the middle of the night… because your human… needs to go… to sleep… so she… won't… be a zombie… at work… tomorrow."
I laugh at that and ignoring the thrill that shot through me when she called herself 'my human,' I tell her, "If you insist."
She giggles and says, "I… do."
I lean in and brush her soft cheek with my lips before telling her, "Sweet dreams, Beth."
Her grin is a bit on the silly side like someone about to fall asleep standing up, so I make a quick exit and go to my bedroom suite and change out of my business suit into my own pajamas of black silk sleep pants and a grey, 100% cotton t-shirt. Then I go to my office that's connected to my suite of rooms.
After I sit down, I remove my laptop from the desk drawer and turn it on before I go over everything I have on Mick and all his assets. I spend a good chunk of time writing up a list of all his contacts that I'm aware of so that Jorge and his people can question them all. The fact of the matter is, most of them won't be pleased with Mick for causing the Magister to interview them, which should work in our favor.
I work for an hour before a freshie comes in to check on me and give me a bite to eat. I make quick work of drinking her blood, and due to time constraints, I don't bother savoring my meal. I also don't bother with the sex that I usually partake of this late at night. Honestly, I have far too many other things I need to be doing to be entertaining a freshie in my bed right now.
When I finish eating, I lick the wound clean, and when it begins to clot, I tell her, "That will be all for tonight."
She pouts and runs her finger along her collarbone before asking in a simpering tone, "Are you sure there's nothing else you'd like before I go?"
Ordinarily, I'd take her up on her not so subtle offer but not tonight. No, tonight I need to find my best friend before he gets himself killed.
I wave her away, which causes her to huff before she practically stomps her way out of my office.
I forget about her the minute she leaves the room, and I return to reviewing everything I have on paper about Mick.
Another hour later, I stop when my maker calls me to discuss everything that has happened in the last 24 hours.
After he greets me, Jorge asks, "Where do you think St. John would go to hide, Childe?"
I inhale a deep breath, and then after releasing it, I tell him, "Honestly, Sire, I don't have a clue where he would go. Any of the safe houses that I helped him set up will be the last places he goes to because he knows I will obey you and tell you everything I know."
My computer bings at me, so I lean forward in my seat and glance at the screen, and after clicking on the new email that just arrived, I tell him, "Rider just sent me all the information he has on Mick's accounts beyond what I already knew. When we hang up, I'll send it to Celeste so that she can see if she can find any hidden purchases of property or the like that might be a safe house. I'll also send her all of the information Rider gets off Logan's computers as soon as he finds anything."
I can hear the frown in my maker's voice when he says, "Good, as for the computers, my people just finished confiscating all of it, much to Mr. Griffen's consternation. It should be arriving at your home within the half hour."
I sag back in my chair and turn it, so I can look out the floor-to-ceiling windows and stare at the twinkling lights of Los Angeles before I tell him, "I'll make sure it's safe until Rider can get a look at it."
I can hear the smile in Jorge's voice when he says, "Excellent, now for a happier subject, you were correct that Ms. Turner is an exceptional human. We are fortunate that she'll be of our line."
I release a calming breath at that, but then he says, "I only wish you had taken her for your own without my ordering you to do so. She deserves that honor."
I heave a hefty sigh and frown before telling him, "I know she does and I, too, wish I could have given her that honor, but I was working on a solution that wouldn't get Mick killed. I was hoping we'd all get lucky, and he'd agree to turn her himself or give her to me without a fight."
I can picture Jorge shaking his head when he says, "Childe, you had to realize that St. John would never agree to turn her or give her to you free and clear. I dare say, you understand him better than anyone else, even me, and even I know he would never give her to you, especially if he knew that you wanted to turn her."
I'm frowning when I tell him, "I get that. The compulsion to turn her is getting stronger by the day, so I think I was just trying to enjoy as much of my friendship with Mick as I could before the compulsion became unbearable. I would have waited as long as possible to give her and me as many happy memories with Mick as possible and then in a year or two, I would have made my move if Mick hadn't already."
I imagine my maker is curling his lip and leaning back in his chair before he asks, "Why are you so attached to that insufferable vampire? I've never understood why you like him so much or why you repeatedly overlook his bad behavior. If he was anyone else, I am certain he would aggravate you as much as he annoys me, and your attachment to him is so out of character it baffles me more often than not."
Despite the subject matter I laugh and tell him, "I honestly can't explain it. I just felt a connection to him the moment I saw him for the first time when he was still human. I ignored it then and left for New York soon after, but when I returned to L.A. and re-met him, I felt the connection again. The connection felt like the one I felt with most of my previous childer, so I'd say he should have been my childe all along and that Coraline never should have turned him. He should have been mine from the start, but I was distracted, so I didn't pursue the feeling and unwittingly gave Coraline the opening she needed to ruin everything."
Jorge releases an audible breath and says, "That explains so much. He was your intended childe just like Ms. Turner is and circumstances prevented you from turning him, but because he still exists you nevertheless have an undeniable connection. I understand now, and I won't give you any more flack for your attachment to him, though, don't misunderstand me, I still think as he currently is, he's wholly undeserving of your esteem. Perhaps that's because Coraline DuVall ruined him for everyone else, but he doesn't deserve you currently. However, I won't force you to suffer the loss of him if I can prevent it, so once I catch him, I will exile him for a millennium and have Celeste work her magic on him. Make no mistake, Childe, if he continues to cause trouble and disobey direct orders, I will have no choice but to save face and end him."
I let out a deep sigh because it's entirely possible that that will become necessary, but I tell him, "I understand, Sire, and I appreciate your willingness to give him so many chances all for my benefit. I hadn't noticed the true scope of his pattern of bad behavior before he killed Anders, but I can see it now in hindsight clear as day. I think I was too close to him and the situation to be able to properly see what was happening. Anyway, I can now see that he's prone to completely disregarding orders and stubborn enough to fight tooth and nail not to have his habits changed, even if it would save him, and all of us, a lot of trouble and unnecessary pain. I'm preparing myself, though, because it will take a miracle or an act of the Goddess for Celeste to get through his thick skull and rehabilitate him properly. I also need to figure out how to prepare Beth for the worst without making her think I've completely given up on him."
I imagine my sire's eyes widening and him rubbing his index finger along the side of his brow before he asks, "You doubt your sister's abilities?"
I squint my eyes and suck in my cheeks before I tell him, "Not at all, in fact, if anyone has a chance at fixing him, it's Celeste, but she's going to have her work cut out for her. Despite his being a fraction of our ages, he's even more stubborn and set in his ways than you or I are, so it will require quite the effort to change how he thinks and acts."
He exhales a heavy sigh the same time I do and says, "I will pray that this situation has an ending that will please you and my future grandchilde when it's all said and done."
I smile almost imperceptibly and say, "Thank you, Master."
I can hear his grin when he says, "You are quite welcome, now I will let you return to compiling everything you know about St. John."
I exhale a soft breath and tell him, "I'll send it your way in a few minutes."
He says, "Perfect, don't wait too long after sunrise to go to rest. You've been under a bit of stress this past week, so I think you need the cold more than usual, Childe."
I rub the back of my neck and tell him, "Thank you, Sire. I can feel the strain, so I won't put it off longer than necessary. I hope you have an excellent rest of your evening."
His smile is apparent when he says, "And you as well."
We disconnect a second later.
Half an hour later, all of Logan's computer equipment arrives. I have it placed in the study attached to the bedroom next to mine for safe keeping until Rider shows up tomorrow to look it all over, and then I return to my work.
About 15 minutes later, I send Celeste and my maker everything Rider has sent me, and then I call Vincent, as promised, and explain everything that's happened.
When I finish telling him tonight's events after we parted ways, he says, "I'll make a list of everyone that I know has had contact with Mick, too, so that we can compare our two lists."
I inhale and then exhale a shaky breath before saying, "Good. I look forward to seeing if I've missed anyone. I'll be working from my home for the rest of the week, so I'll expect you to deliver anything that needs my immediate attention here instead of the office."
The grin in his voice is obvious when he says, "Of course, Master. I know you have the dedication tomorrow night, so I'll do my best not to bother you until Friday unless absolutely necessary."
After leaning back in my seat, I tell him, "Thank you, Vincent. I still say you're a lifesaver."
He laughs and says, "And I still want to be an orange one."
With a chuckle back, I tell him, "Call me if anything pressing comes up, even tomorrow night, especially if you get a lead on Mick."
His tone is grim when he says, "Don't worry, Sire, I'll call you if the situation warrants it."
In all the years we've been together, he's never let me down, so I'm confident that he'll do exactly what's needed in any given situation.
I give a sharp nod before I tell him, "Excellent, now I'll let you go make your list."
He says, "Thank you. Have a good night, Sire."
A soft smile grows on my face before I say, "And you as well, Childe," and then I hang up.
I return to making my list and checking it twice and don't stop until I feel the sun break the horizon when a new day dawns. It's time for all good, little vampires to climb into their freezers for some sub-zero temperatures, so I forward my list to my maker, Celeste, and Vincent, and then I go to my freezer room.
Author's Note: Two of the ideas I used in this chapter are not entirely mine.
First, Robin M. and Ithought up the bits about supreme supernatural shifters while we were working on another project together. The initial idea of shifters who can shift into any creature including humans and supernaturals was Robin's, and we fleshed out the details together. I believe the name was her creation, too. I've used the idea here with her permission. Thank you, Robin, not just for letting me use this idea but for all the help you've given me on various stories I've worked on through the years (and for putting up with 20,000-word chapters…lol!)
Second, a Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Willow Rosenberg/Spike fanfiction called 'The Charms of Dancing' by Anastasia was the inspiration for the bit about Josef and Beth's blood calling to each other after she turns. Unfortunately, I don't think she ever finished it, but it was a remarkable story. I've put my own spin on the theory, but I got the spark for the idea from that story.
I've searched for Anastasia, but I have been unable to find her, so if anyone knows how to get in touch with her so I can make sure she doesn't mind me using her idea as the basis for my own idea, I would much appreciate any help I can get. Either way, I thank her for writing such a phenomenal story and inspiring me to write my own tales.
Now, for the art and architecture in the story. I fudged the details of Josef's art collection. Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe (1862-1863) by Édouard Manet is a real painting that's hanging in the Musée d'Orsay in France. I have no idea who owns it (probably the museum) but for the purposes of this story Josef owns it and was merely loaning it to the museum.
Additionally, although I know that Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) (1912) is hanging in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I don't know who it officially belongs to, but in this story, Josef owns it and has it hanging in his home.
Furthermore, I fudged the details of Josef's house. Josef's home is based on a real home in Beverly Hills called Beverly House. In real life, Hollywood often uses Beverly House for exterior shots in their films, including but not limited to The Godfather (it's the house Jack Woltz lived in when he found his horse's head in his bed,) and the Bodyguard.
I've changed the acreage, square footage, and the numbers of rooms and floors to be larger than the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina. In real life, the Biltmore is the largest privately-owned house in the United States. However, in my story, I'm making Josef's home the largest by more than double the square feet.