When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain.

(Mark Twain,

American writer, humorist, entrepreneur, publisher, and lecturer)

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

(Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher and writer)

Latsis was tall and lightly built, with dark complexion and a thin face. His natural state was unperturbed with ruffled hair. He liked his job very much, his employer less enthusiastically. Eric had noticed when his secretary's appreciation had shifted. When Latsis had seen his king preferring direct, ruthless behaviour instead of the subtlety and deceit he favoured, the daemon had resorted to a quiet opposition.

The king approved of it. Having an acquiescent aide was no use to him. Therefore he had increased his ferocious choices, letting his second be the flexible counterpart. Patiently and not without grace, the daemon had proved to be in his element swerving across the bumpy path and playing his own tune. He was young and promising.

The king was in his study. A crossing between a library and an old men's club, minus cigars. A waiter had let a pitcher of fresh blood on his desk, and two fingers of whiskey, neat. The latter was Latsis' mind fertiliser. He could nurse a drink for hours, letting its woody, nutty smell fill his head and the room. But the king's nose was choosy and allowed his secretary only the blends with most sweet notes. Presently, he had just finished reading his mail. Apparently not many good news. He lifted his gaze and met his secretary's black eyes. "Latsis, you can practice some of your finesse with these… humans who don't understand what is better for them." He let some annoyance colour his tone.

The secretary smiled knowingly. "The Chinese, I guess."

"You know already, don't gloat over it," Northman said dismissively. "It does not suit you."

"Cannot I rejoice just a little, sir?"

The daemon's smile widened but he did not push it beyond the king's patience. This latter was not among his best practised virtues as of lately. And the Chinese, one of the counterparts in a multilateral agreement over a mining concession on Mars, were already doing their best to absorb most of it since two quarters. They kept requiring changes and renegotiating articles stretching the talks beyond everybody's tolerance. The secretary had suggested a different approach to win the Chinese but the king had pursued his ways. Till now.

"Do what you want, but take home that concession," Northman said. A pleasant fragrance of caramel wafted from Latsis glass. "If you need, ask Hunter to assist you."

"With pleasure, sir" Latsis bowed slightly, collected his tablet and waited to be dismissed.

"Yes, it's all," the vampire sighed, "on your way out ask the donors service to send one up here in twenty minutes." Nervousness, or any other kind of physical or psychological tension, burned energy and required more feeding. Or, maybe, it was simply a psychological response to the emotional strain that imbalance caused to his bodily functions. Some humans had chocolate or alcohol as primary reaction to stress, vampires had blood. It eased the pressure and cleared the mind. He had not tasted the synthetic blood in decades now, even if his children had told him it had improved a lot, both in nutritional content and flavour. His diet was mostly donors, or fresh blood bags.

The same applied to sex. It was a tension, both in his body and mind, that did not find the right outlet. He had somehow reverted to his past habits, when his sexuality had been mostly tied to feeding. He fed, then his penis hardened, then he ejaculated into a mouth, a vagina or an anus. Holes were almost interchangeable to him, as were individuals whose hole he was using. And only after his first wife, he found it boring and slightly annoying.

Actually his third wife, Rehema, was his best friend, his favourite business partner, his preferred companion in most activities on a par with his children. He loved her. But she was not his love interest in a romantic way. Although he had to recognise that his expertise in this specific field had been very limited. He had had only one relationship that could be listed in that category, romantic, and it had not ended up very well.

At one point he had hoped that things with Rehema would have turned into romance, but it did not happen. They had never been in love with each other, nor had had any physical attraction to each other. And it was a waste of opportunity, in a way. Rehema was the best candidate he could have fancied: she was a vampire, therefore a long living creature who shared the different perspective that time gave them. Strong, intelligent, pragmatic. It did not hurt that she was probably one of the most beautiful female he had ever met, and had retained part of her humanity as a shield against the ferocity of life.

Rehema shared exactly the same view, considering him her best possible mate but for the lack of proper feelings. And, nonetheless, they had tried to make it work.

Their marriage agreement was the traditional contract vampires had adopted since a few centuries, and required blood exchange and sex once per year during the hundred years of its duration. They had dutiful complied. And it had not worked. Therefore, after a few years they had ceased to have sex altogether. To mix a sincere friendship with sex felt unnecessary and, after a while, somehow forced.

Their union was recognised strong and solid in their community, even if to the human world they were only business partners and good friends. It did not fool anyone, though, that their businesses encompassed several borders, both national and international, and that their friendship was deeper than what web news coverage showed.

Indeed, it was much deeper and various.

The day of their twentieth wedding anniversary Eric met his wife in one of the formal sitting rooms at the royal residence in New Orleans. They had never moved together, though both spent some time of the year at the other's residence. However this one was not a usual anniversary and Rehema was unusually nervous.

"Rehema," Eric started and she flew into his arms. "Don't worry, everything will be fine," he said closing his arms around her back.

"Yes, I know," she said, her voice thin. "Just repeat it some more times, please."

"I checked on him just as I woke up this evening, and now Karin is with him. Everything is just fine."

"Yes, I know," she repeated, "fine, everything is fine."

"Rehema, look at me" he said shaking her lightly. "You did everything correctly and he's a strong man. He will wake up perfectly when the circle is complete. Now, feed well and go back to him."

"Yes, I know," the vampiress let herself fall as Eric pushed her on a sofa. "A donor is coming."

Eric felt his wife's inner turmoil through the blood they had shared a month ago. And he felt a tenderness only his children made him experience. Rehema had just turned her longtime human lover and was worried that something could go wrong. It was her first child and she had asked Eric to assist and guide her through the proceedings. Indeed, the beginning was a very critical moment in a vampire's life.

Legends had artfully concealed the real danger under the cover of a dreadful pattern involving the death of the turned before his waking to vampire's (un)life from the ground. The truth being less imaginative but definitely as dangerous as its creative mythical counterpart: the vampire had to suck a relevant amount of blood from the human and give it back from his untainted supply. The trick, in fact, was to draw the right quantity of blood from the would-be turned (which varied according to the dimension and strength of the individual) and to return it from a part of the vampire's body not yet reached by the blood just ingested.

There was a series of issues which could lead to death before the true transformation began: the most common being heart failure due to a larger than optimal draining or heart attack due to terror. Then, if the chosen (or victim, depending on the willingness of the subject) passed the draining stage, problems could arise with the blood the vampire had to give back: it could be too little (on the contrary, too much was never a problem) or not enough pure. In both cases a real transformation never started and the drained died for the haemorrhage (mostly because the blood vessels punctured by the vampire's fangs did not close and the draining continued till death).

In the event of a successful exchange, yet other circumstances could unfold in the wrong way and determine death or other incapacitations of the chosen: blood incompatibility. The receiving organism, in fact, could turn its defences against the invading blood's cells and tragically succumb to its own internal war. Though, this case was debated. Given the superior strength of vampire blood it was deemed unlikely that it could be successful fought by the host organism. Those who argued so explained the rejection the other way round: it was the vampire blood which tested and dismissed the host blood (because of a disease or other unfathomable weakness) thus causing the organism's death.

At the end, if the chosen overcame all said pitfalls, the true transformation began and the vampire blood worked its magic, turning its host into the perfect organic machine that could challenge centuries unscathed.

It could take from a few days to up a week for the stronger blood to infiltrate all organs and change the dna code, so modifying the main requirements of the body. From then on, in fact, feeding would be restricted to blood and water, sun's radiation would be life threatening, sleeping patterns would resemble a comatose state. Though, in exchange for these shortcomings the body would gain overall strength, significant improvement of senses' capabilities, unparalleled healing ability and, in some cases, what used to be called special gifts.

Cillian Byrne, Rehema's lover since a decade, was going through all those physical alterations in his deep sleep and today was the eighth night. He was expected to wake up any time.

Eric's phone's vibration drew his attention and Karin's voice filled the large hall as he opened the communication. "It's time. Bring her in."

Eric and his wife entered the area of the basement specifically reserved for turnings and adjusted their sight to the dim lit space.

"Go ahead, Rehema," said Eric putting a kiss on his wife's forefront. "It's better to be alone to imprint on your child. I'll stay outside the room with Karin."

Rehema nodded and hastened toward the door Karin stayed by, squeezed her hand and entered the room.

The imprinting was the last most delicate moment of the turning, and doing it properly assured the right onset of that momentous and complex bonding that was the base of the relationship between maker and child. It was the inception of a deep mental and emotional connection that marked and tied indelibly the rising vampire to his maker.

A good and strong imprinting assured a powerful bond.

A good and strong maker assured a healthy bond.

"Everything went on smoothly," Karin remarked sitting on the couch.

"Did you doubt?" Eric seemed surprised.

"No… it's that… so much could go wrong—"

"Cillian is a strong man, with a good head. He will be a good vampire."

"Sure," Karin stood, then sat again.

Eric typed over the transparent screen of his handheld terminal and pocketed it. "It's almost over, Karin. I just sent a message to the donors service. Three, large and sturdy," he smiled. "Cillian will be so thirsty to drink a sea, if his thirst is comparable to his appetite as a human."

Karin smiled uneasily and nodded. "Once you told me my turning was about to screw up badly…"

"I most certainly did not express myself that way."

"What happened exactly?"

"I told you, Karin," Eric reached out and took her hand, "you were quite beaten up, that's why your body's reaction was slower and more painful that what would have been had you been healthy to begin with."

"Are you sure it was not my… bad blood?"

"Karin," Eric took her other hand and locked eyes with her. "Your blood was and is perfect. You were and are stronger than you think. Your desire to live was fierce and deeper than all the evil you had faced in life. I'm proud to have been your maker."

Silent tears went down her cheeks. "I don't know why I'am so emotional… I don't—". She swept her face and continued. "Anything could have gone wrong and Rehema would have lost the love of her life."

"Turnings are difficult moments, yes. But the odds were not against in this case," Eric countered. "Tell me what is really going on in here," his finger tapped her head lightly.

Karin was silent for a while, discomfort running in her body. "Hunter told me he's not ready to be turned: he needs more time," she whispered.

A gentle knock at the door of the basement made them remember why they were there. Three donors entered and sat nervously on the seatings scattered in the lounge. Eric assessed their suitability and was satisfied. Then he turned his attention to Karin and said: "Dawn is closing in, child. Tomorrow night first thing join me as soon as you wake up."

She closed her eyes and nodded.

That day Eric did not sleep comfortably.

A disturbing edginess constricted his lungs, his stomach, his gut.

It was longtime since he had dwelled in that specific past that included Felipe's minions, Ocella, Sookie and a lot of regrets. It was not healthy. It brought back pains he thought forgotten and gave them new life. Surely somewhere, sometime a philosopher had warned against living in the past. Eric did not remember the name but he was positive that a human had come up with this useless piece of advice. As if one could really direct his thoughts and push them toward greener pastures as a herd of compliant sheeps.

Indeed, most times Eric swerved his wandering mind far from dangerous places. The trick was to busy himself with anything else, and governing offered umpteen inspirations in that regard.

Yet, sometimes, a word, a colour, a gesture triggered an uncalled for reminiscence and the void inside him resurfaced again.

These past days, Cillian's impending turning had stirred up all those offending memories in which Sookie had refused (or implied to refuse) the opportunity to be turned. It had stung then. It still stung now.

And presently, as Rehema entered their private drawing room hand in hand with Cillian, Eric could not avoid thinking that had he turned his first wife she would have been there with him. Maybe. A sharp stab in his guts reminded him how detrimental to his mental health were such pointless musings.

Rehema had regained her composure and beamed shamelessly.

"How do you feel, Cillian?" asked Eric offering him a cup of blood.

"Thank you," replied uncertain the newborn vampire, "it's more than creepy. As if someone had beaten me up then shot me with all the best chemistry money could buy." His slender and tall frame looked like that of his lover, while his milky white complexion offered a superb counterpoint to her chocolate shade. His body, though, had not Rehema's grace nor her flexuosity; it was hard surfaces and pointy corners marked by years of fighting. And his face was not any better: a crooked nose between deep set eyes and a mouth without lips. The only gentle, and incongruous, feature was a swarm of freckles that dotted his cheekbones giving him a weird childish look.

"Yes, disorienting, uh?" Karin nodded. "Feed well and sleep plenty: in a couple of months you'll be fine."

"You can say it, I feel wonderfully… but upside down."

"Well, we're better going," Rehema said turning to her lover. "I have to test your movement coordination, physical resistance and so on."

Karin watched them leaving the sitting room and caught his maker's face out of the corner of her eye. A ripple of sadness, quickly replaced by his usual blankness, had flashed briefly at the sight of the two vampires' knowing looks.

"Maker, how are you?"

Eric turned to her wearing an amused expression. "Fine, child. What about you?"

"Happy and scared," she said after a brief hesitation. "I think… I think I'm beginning to understand what it means to lose one's peace of mind for a human."

"Tell me," Eric offered watching her with a quiet smile.

"Probably… exactly what you felt… for your human…"

He froze.

"If a series of unforeseeable circumstances forced me to part from Hunter—"

Eric interrupted her hastily lifting a hand. "Don't go there, child."

"…I would fall apart," she carried on unfazed, "and I can't say how long it would take me to stand up again."

"I don't want to go there… again."

"Did you ever leave that place?" asked Karin in a whisper. Sweetly.

Eric swallowed a lump of sand down his throat. "I made a choice, then. Her life for a few of my years and—"

"A choice?" interjected Karin. "A choice implies at least two possible actions. What was the action you did not choose?"

"I could've accepted to comply to my maker's will and leave immediately for Oklahoma and give Sookie to Felipe and—"

"I would hardly call it a choice," Karin's tone lost all its sweetness. "You bargained for her life 'cause your own sanity depended on her living. Freely."

"Karin, I—"

"No, maker. I just wanted to tell you that I understand what you're living since… then. You're not fooling me, or Pam. Not even Rehema, I think."

"There's nothing to say, and I'm not trying to fool anyone," Eric stood up and exhaled slowly. "I live. And that's more than most people of that time of my life can say."

"Maker…"

Eric stopped in front of a window, staring at the dark sky. Immense and indifferent, as usual. It was weirdly comforting that a sky was always up there no matter what happened down here.

"I'm scared at the mere idea of losing him. To age and death, or to a turning gone sour."

"Do not let fears make your choices," Eric did not turn his gaze from the sky, "and stalling is a choice, child."

Karin nodded behind him. Then, in a whisper barely audible, she asked, "What scares you most?"

After a long time he said, "Not knowing. Not knowing if she's alive, happy, surrounded by her children, loved by the man (or vampire, were, fairy, whomever) she loves. This void is always with me."