7.

I was standing at the entrance of a dilapidated graveyard. The smell of decay and death filled my nostrils, and I fought the urge to retch. I clutched my stomach tightly, keeling over, as my eyes took in the sight before me. The gravestones were in various states of disrepair — many of them sinking into the soft earth. A one-winged angel stared at me from atop a nearby marker, his head tilted, a slight smile covering his face. "Does an angel contemplate my fate?" I asked myself sardonically, staring back at the baby-faced angel. I thought I saw the angel nod his head, but statues don't move.

I swallowed hard and stood up straight, looking up at the midnight sky. Stars winked at me with a disturbing expectancy, and the moon peeked at me warily from behind stray, dark cloud, seemingly trying to warn me of the danger I was in. I thought I heard a voice whispering, and I looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone else trapped with me. I saw no one.

I turned to walk away from the graveyard, except there was nothing to turn back to. I was faced with a dark abyss that scared me more than the graveyard. I turned once again to the graveyard, my mouth drying at the thought of actually having to walk through it. I didn't have much of a choice though. I couldn't just stand at the entrance. Something told me that wouldn't be such a wise decision. In fact, if I did stand there, it just might be the stupidest decision I ever made in my life.

Walking through a graveyard barefoot in my nightgown didn't seem like such a smart choice either, but it would be better than standing there. And I wasn't about to take my chances with the obscure void behind me. I stepped into the cemetery, walking with slow, calculated steps.

My heart beat intermittently in my chest, betraying how afraid I was. This was ridiculous. Why should I be afraid of the one place I probably spent a large amount of my time? Then again, there was—and will always be—something infinitely spine-chilling about cemeteries. I walked between the rows of decrepit graves, letting my eyes examining some of the surnames. All seemed dreadfully familiar, but I couldn't place a face to most of the family names.

My pace slowed as the moon disappeared from view, rendering me lightless. Even the moon would forsake me in this place, leaving me in the dark shadow of a large, looming crypt. Written above the door were the words Justus Et Pius – Latin for just and faithful. That was an unusual phrase to have above a crypt door. Near the entryway were a stake and mallet. I picked them up, holding them familiarly in my hands, stepping into the door of the crypt. An ethereal glow emitted from the torches as I stepped into the main room.

Sitting in the middle of the floor was a stand holding a large book. The book was obviously very old. It was a simple, dusty, black book with a family crest on the cover; the pages had turned an aged yellow. Extolled on the cover were these words: Quod Sum Eris. Another Latin phrase meaning, "I am what you will be." This made better sense than the previous phrase because it was used mostly on headstones, but for some reason the axiom made my blood chill.

I opened the book slowly, scanning the words. It was written completely in Latin documenting the deaths of the inhabitants of the crypt. Most of them had met a gruesome fate. This family seemed to be hated and continuously persecuted throughout the centuries. I stopped, abruptly, when I read the name "Vega Fabio de Cerna". I stared at the name, committing it to memory. I wasn't sure if I wanted to read anymore, but at the same time, I was inquisitive…

Before I could read any of Vega's history, the feeling of being watched alerted my wits. I looked up from the book and I swore I could see Vega's green eyes appearing before me, seeming to blaze through me. "Ororo…" his voice whispered, snaking across my skin in a verbal embrace. I followed those floating, green pools down a long set of steps, leading to the final resting place of this family.

The smell of death grew stronger with each step I took, but I had to follow the eyes – his eyes. I gripped the stake and mallet tightly in my hands, unsure of what to expect. I just knew that if I was threatened, I would not hesitate to use my acquire weapons. Vega's eyes disappeared as I walked into a dim room where many caskets rested. They were all bolted shut, but there was one open.

I readied my stake, my bare feet padding softly against the floor. I moved with the stealth of a panther stalking its prey. I was no longer Ororo Munroe, weather witch; I was now Ororo Munroe, vampire hunter. My senses heightened, listening for anything that would disclose the vampire – or whatever it was. I walked to the coffin, peering over into it cautiously. I saw a pool of deep, rubescent blood. I frowned deeply, standing straight again.

That meant it was out. I looked around the dark room, carefully inspecting my surroundings. Abrupt movement in the coffin brought my attention back to the casket. I gasped loudly, trying to back away from the casket as a body sat straight up in the blood; two bloody hands suddenly grabbed my wrists with a death vise, pulling me back toward the casket. I dropped the mallet and stake into the blood-filled coffin, struggling against my captor. I stopped fighting when I noticed the magnetic, green eyes. "Vega?" I breathed.

He was speaking to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. Maybe, it was because I was revolted at the image of him bathed in blood, his normally blonde hair saturated so deeply that it now appeared a dark red. He pulled me toward him and once again, I resisted. He pulled me in for a kiss, the iron taste of blood invading my mouth, burning my lips, my tongue, my throat as his tongue struggled against my own.

I leaned into his hold, offering more of myself to him. "Touching you makes me feel alive…" He murmured in my ear, touching his lips softly to my ear, making me think he never said anything at all. A barrage of unholy kisses rained upon me, exploring the curve of my jaw and the line of my neck, leaving behind meticulously placed crimson lip prints.

Drops of blood spattered on my white gown; a couple of drops fell onto my bare chest. He dipped his head to lick the blood slowly from my chest, his tongue lapping at my skin. Closing my eyes another iniquitous wave of bliss hit me causing me to arch my back. Damn my emotions for betraying me, for wanting this. When he pulled away, I could still feel his soft lips against my chest. It was so feathery I thought I had imagined it, but he left a bloody kiss behind as evidence. He released my wrists.

Flattening his hands against my waist, he lifted me into the coffin with an ease only a vampire possesses. He laid me back in the coffin, hovering over me like a rapacious lion. Surprisingly, I didn't drown in the blood, but I was aware of it. I didn't care that I was being soaked it. All I wanted was more of that feeling, more of him. Lust coiled inside of me, winding tighter and tighter, threatening to explode. It was an excruciating bliss that I never wanted to end.

He tangled his hands in the straps of my nightgown, pushing them down my shoulders. Pulling the gown away from body. Freeing me from the inhibiting piece of material. All I wanted him to do was touch me, and he boldly explored my body. From the top of my head to my taunt stomach to the soles of my feet, nothing was safe from his kiss. Visceral desire coursed through my veins causing me to want to give him more, to give him something that would mean forever.

His lips trailed over my collarbone, sweeping the side of my breast tenderly, and then latching to it. I felt a pain as teeth sank into flesh. I struggled, panicking, but it was like fighting steel. Then, a blinding passion encompassed me, roaring through my veins. I moaned softly as he hands continue to caress my body, intensifying this new pleasure. I wanted more. The feel of his tongue swirling against my hot skin, willing the blood to flow, sent me down a spiral of longing. I buried my hands in his hair, pushing him closer into my bosom, wishing him to take more… to drain me…

I protested as Vega pulled away from me, leaving me with an aphrodisiac destitute that needed to be filled. "Quod sum eris," he whispered. I shook my head. I found the strength to pull away from Vega, scrambling out of the coffin, my chest heaving, standing before him as naked as the day I was born. My heartbeat was painfully loud in the silent crypt. I was now appalled at the blood that was now covering my body, trying desperately to wipe it from my body. I looked at him. I'm sure my eyes held a look of betrayal and contempt. He didn't seem affected by my glare.

He now had the mallet and stake in his hands. Where had those been when I was in the coffin? Nothing was making sense anymore. "I would die for you…" Vega whispered in my dreams, using the mallet to drive the stake through his heart. I screamed and sat up abruptly in my bed, panting hard. My gown was soaked with sweat, the muscles of my stomach tightening and loosing at a spastic rate.

I couldn't help making sure that my gown was free of blood, and I ran a hand between the valley of my breasts, searching for a bite when I knew there was none to be found. It was just a dream… just a dream. Perhaps, it wouldn't have been quite so bad if it had felt like a dream. I felt as conscious in that dream as I felt now sitting up in my bed – maybe even more so in the dream.

Someone knocked on the door, and I quickly hid my hands beneath the cover. Dream or no dream, I hadn't forgotten my war wounds. "Come in," I called. Jean entered the room cautiously, and I smiled at her. I pushed back all my random thoughts. I didn't think Jean would really peruse my mind, but just in case…

"Are you okay, Ororo?" She asked. "We heard you scream, so I came to check on you."

"I am fine. I just had a bad dream." I answered. That was true, wasn't it? It started bad and ended bad – a certifiable nightmare in my book. She looked at me with worry still etched on her face. "Don't worry, Jean. It was just a bad dream; I'll be downstairs in a little while."

Jean opened her mouth to say something else, but I silenced her with a wave of a commanding hand. She left my room silently, and I got up from my bed slowly. I hurt. I knew I was going to be sore, but I felt as if every muscle in my body was rebelling. I could already tell this was going to be a beautiful day – morbidly speaking of course.

I went through my usual morning routine, taking care to mind my bruises. I spent a few extra minutes looking for something appropriate to wear. By appropriate, I meant something that wasn't going to show any evidence of my excursion last night. I couldn't help sighing as I sieved through my wardrobe. I could think of better ways to spend my morning besides sifting through shirts looking for sleeves that would cover my badly scraped knuckles.

I was doing it mostly for the children's sake. The children had a curious disposition about what I did. I never divulged my other activities to them, but they were not blind. I'm sure they would be more interested in hearing about my night fighting the night creatures than learning about the Spanish Inquisition. Some might even be bold enough to ask me what happened if they spotted the injuries.

After finding a beige, peasant top with bell-sleeves that nearly engulfed my whole hands, I made my way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. Breakfast just didn't sound too appealing right now. I needed the coffee to help me sustain what little energy I had. I sat at the island table, preferring the solitude of the kitchen to dining room. I sipped my coffee slowly, mentally preparing a list of things that needed to be done today.

I needed to drop by my office at Animators, Inc to obtain additional files on the murders. I had no idea where to even start with that. Also, I wanted to stop by Vermillion Nights to check on Vega. It was the least I could do. Never mind I had this sneaking suspicion that he might be dead because he helped me. Christie said the master wouldn't be pleased. Why should I feel guilty, though? I didn't tell him to take the first step in making me a "human servant". I cringed at that term. Something about the pairing of the word "human" with the word "servant" didn't sit well with me.

I guess I should be half-way thankful. If it hadn't been for Vega, I would be dead. I still didn't comprehend how close I came to dying. At the time, I was scared and knew I could possibly die, but a deeper part of me believed that I would not die. When I try to think about it now, it seems surreal as if it never happened. The dull throbbing of the bruises were enough to remind that it did happen, but it just felt like a reverie. Dreams that felt like reality and realities that felt like a dream. Sounds like some psychoneurotic logic to me.

After I finished my coffee, I slipped to my classroom, preparing my last minute notes. One by one my students filed in. I started about the tedious task of teaching while keep my students awake. I paced around the class slowly. I was in the middle of my lecture when my head started throbbing. I leaned against my desk, closing my eyes.

"Ms. Munroe, are you okay?" I heard Marie ask.

I nodded slowly. "Yes, Marie, I am fine." My voice came out barely above a whisper and I grasped the edge of my desk tightly. Images of Vega flashed through my mind. No, this couldn't be happening. I couldn't make any coherent sense of what I was seeing. The pain and images subsided as quickly as they came. My heart was pounding in my chest. I hope this wasn't a side-effect of what happened last night. I regain my composure as the children stared at me curiously. "Can anyone tell me the name of the Inquisition general who was responsible for the inquisitorial procedure? He's credited with the execution of over 2,000 Spaniards…"



It was just after sunset when I left the mansion. Logan and Scott were out tracking the teenage boy they mentioned earlier, and Jean and the Professor were entertaining the children. As for myself, I was busy tugging a long, black jacket over my double holster (complete with firepower). I slipped out the house driving solemnly to my destination. Animators, Inc was housed in a building with two real estate agents, a plastic surgeon, three psychologists, a marriage counselor, and five lawyers. Edmond had really stepped up in the world.

Edmond Harris was the founding father of Animators Inc. He loved money and…well… more money. He wasn't ashamed to admit it either. There were three of us. Along with myself, there was Brad Wong and Matthew Stephens. All of us experienced in raising the dead. The pro-human groups called us an abomination to humankind because we raised the dead. Did they ever run out of things to complain about? I guess most of them would have to find real jobs if they didn't have us to persecute.

I walked into the office. "Bonjour Ororo," Helena, another of our secretaries, chirped at me in her French lilt. Helena Douglas was barely 21 with long, blonde hair she usually kept braided and big, green eyes. She reminded me of a porcelain doll complete with the artificial naïveté. She only looked innocent, however. She had a sense of humor that was borderline crude, but you couldn't help loving her for it.

I smiled warmly at Helena. "Hello, Helena. I'm just here to pick up some files." I said, walking toward my office.

"Brad is using your office." Helena answered. There were only three offices. That was not an oversight on Edmond's part. He figured since I only worked weekends why should he waste the extra money. I was convinced that if someone cut Edmond, he would bleed silver dollars.

"Do you know how long he's going to be?" I asked Helena.

"He shouldn't be long. He is speaking to a mother and son. Her son wants to join The Church of Eternal Life." Helena said, dropping her voice an octave.

Edmond didn't want to hire a real vampire expert, and he surely didn't want me counseling anyone about the advantages and disadvantages of vampires. Brad was the male version of Carmen. He loved our undead, and I'm sure he wouldn't have any qualms with betraying us to one of them. So, Edmond made Brad our resident "vampire expert".

I shuddered at the thought of Brad counseling anyone about "The Church", as I branded it. The Church of Eternal Life was a vampire church that promised instant immortality. Unlike most churches, they could back this claim up immediately. You had to be at least 18 to join the congregation. I knew if this mother and son listened to Brad, the son would be one of them before sunrise. I sat patiently in the lobby, and a few minutes later, Brad emerged from the room with mother and son in tow.

I stood up walking toward the three. "You should talk to a real expert. I recommend Frank Schubert; he can tell you the real truth behind vampires." I said flatly to the mother who looked like she just stepped out of Vogue magazine. Her son said nothing. He looked much younger than 18, but he had to be at least that old.

Brad frowned at me while the woman eyed me cagily. "And who are you?" She asked, her voice full of posh arrogance.

"I'm Ororo Munroe. Part-time animator. Part-time vampire hunter." I answered. I smiled at her for added effect. "I just want to make sure you and your son are making the right decision. You don't want him led astray because then he might meet his executioner." The word rolled off my lips slowly. The Executioner, it was part of who I was. My words were quickly melting her façade, even her son was looking at me fearfully. Brad steered them away from me, speaking hurried cajoling words and apologizing for my behavior.

When the client was gone, Brad turned on me, the corner of his mouth twitching angrily. "Are you trying to ruin us, Ororo? For some of us, this is our only means of support." He said acidly.

"You shouldn't tell those people what they want to hear, Brad. You should tell them the truth instead of sugar coating it for them." I said, not backing away from obvious fury.

"Everyone doesn't harbor your resentment of vampires. What are you doing here, anyway?"

There was no sense in arguing with Brad. He was set in his ways, and he believed vampires were our friends. "I came to pick up some files about the vampire murders I'm investigating." I answered.

I heard Brad take in a disbelieving breath. "You're working for the vampires?"

"Yes." I answered, looking away from him.

"Why?" He asked incredulously. Everyone knew I wasn't fond of vampires, but now, I had to put my prejudices aside. My friend's life was on the line.

"Money talks, Brad, even to me." I lied.

"Bullshit. You don't care about money. Edmond was afraid you wouldn't even take the case, so he tried to get them to hire me. They insisted on having you. So, tell me why are you doing it?" His voice betrayed a little jealousy. I think he didn't like that I was the "popular" one. I was a marketing tool. Edmond thought the public would like to see a "pretty lady". When people called Animators, Inc, they asked for me by name. Edmond was still trying to get me to work weeknights to boost his pocketbook.

"Something is out there killing master vampires, and I want to get to it before it decides that vampires aren't the only thing it wants to hurt." More half-truths. I didn't want whatever was out there hurting people, but that wasn't my main motivation.

Brad started to respond, but the door opened behind me. "Ororo, there you are!" I heard an unfamiliar voice call to me. I turned around to see Jean-Paul—the vampire stripper from Vermillion Nights—standing in the doorway. The vampire that I threatened to kill, the one who had his throat nearly ripped out by an elder vampire, was addressing me. What the hell was he doing here?

Jean-Paul stood lazily against the doorframe oozing of sex appeal and boyish charm. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a Gap catalogue. He wore an oversized, russet turtle neck and a pair of those boot-cut, dusted jeans that the younger crowd seemed to be into. They have that destroyed, dirty look that makes me wonder how that ever became a trend at all. Brown boots peeked from beneath the legs of his jeans. His dark, unruly hair was styled to cover his elflike ears; I guess the ears freaked some people out. He looked good, though, and he knew it.

He seemed very human, and I'm sure that if I couldn't sense he was a vampire, I wouldn't have known. "Jean-Paul…" I stammered, feeling my face warm considerably when I realized I was staring. Brad looked from me to him, eyeing Jean-Paul with interest. Jean-Paul smiled at Brad, winking at him. Brad actually blushed at this display of attention from Jean-Paul.

"Hello, Ororo," he answered as he walked into the office, studying the room.

Helena cleared her throat, and I turned to look at her. She opened her eyes wide, indicating that she wanted to be introduced. I let out a sigh and said, "Jean-Paul, this is Helena Douglas." He sauntered over to the desk while giving Helena his most charming smile. He boldly grabbed one of her hands, bringing it to his lips slowly. Helena began to blush just as Brad had.

"A pleasure to meet you." Helena breathed, batting her large, green eyes dramatically. Oh please, spare me.

"The pleasure is all mine." He answered, and then, he uttered something French, which made the Helena's cheeks burn brighter. It was rare to see Helena blush.

"And this is Brad Wong," I said interrupting the moment between the two. Jean-Paul turned and held out a hand to Brad. Brad slipped his hand in Jean-Paul's hand. I saw Jean-Paul caress Brad's hand like a lover. Brad—the self-proclaimed straightest man in America—blushed again, and let Jean-Paul stroke his hand. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a professional flirt on our hands. "This is my friend Jean-Paul Beaubier." I finished, pulling Jean-Paul away from Brad.

"Your friend, huh?" Helena said, working her eyebrows up and down. Goddess, she thought I was sleeping with him. I guess she would from the way he was staring at me just then. He had this affectionate, familiar look in his eyes. He looked like doting puppy. It was sort of cute in a nauseating way.

"I wasn't aware that Ororo had any… friends other than the people at the school she teaches at." Brad said, his cheeks were still a little flushed.

Jean-Paul slipped an arm around my waist. "Ours is a complicated friendship," he answered. I could feel the blood draining from my face; he was playing right into their hands. I wanted to shake his arm off and show him the true meaning of "complicated", but I couldn't make a scene.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to steer the discussion down a safer path.

"I was dying to see you. I tried to call you first, but someone named Logan said you were gone." Jean-Paul answered, clasping one of my hands between his own. I fought the urge to pull away from him – horrified at the impression he was giving Helena and Brad. I found myself looking into his eyes. He had nice eyes. They were an exquisite shade of brown decorated with golden flecks. I wonder if he was trying to entice me with those eyes. It wasn't going to work, but he still had nice eyes. "We need to talk."

"Okay," I answered when I saw something a hint of importance cloud his eyes. "Let me get my files, and we'll go somewhere we can talk." I quickly gathered my files, and Jean-Paul slid his hand in my own, keeping up that ridiculous ruse. I fought the urge to pick up a chair and throw it at him. I guess this was my payback for not letting him touch me at the club. Brad held the door open for us, grinning like an idiot.

"You'll have to come back sometime, Jean-Paul." Brad said with a big smile, looking knowingly from Jean-Paul to me. I wanted to tell Brad that he just let another man practically seduce him. That would wipe that grin off his face, but I didn't. Instead, I bid Helena and Brad my farewells.

I didn't speak to Jean-Paul as we walked down the hallway. One of the real estate agents walked by us. She did a double take when she saw us, and let me assure you, I wasn't the one she was staring after. I turned to stare at her, and she quickly averted her gaze. She walked into an office quickly when she realized that I was looking at her. I guess Jean-Paul was walking sex. I wonder if he was this appealing before he was turned.

When we were safely in the elevator, I yanked my hand away from him. "Don't you ever do that again." I said calmly. I wasn't particular infuriated with him. I could tell he had something important that he needed to say. I just didn't appreciate him giving my coworkers the idea that we were lovers.

He looked hurt that I'd scolded him. His face crumbled. He seemed so childish in that instant, and I wanted to apologize for hurting his feelings. But I don't apologize to vampires. "I'm sorry," he answered with that injured look still on his face.

"What do you want? I know you said you needed to talk, but about what?" I asked, trying to ignore that hurt look. I could not allow myself to feel sympathy for Jean-Paul. That was preposterous. That was like a cat coddling a baby bird. It just wasn't right.

His face fell more when I asked him that. He actually looked as if he might cry. I silently pleaded he didn't. Menacing vampires were one thing, crying vampires were another. I knew exactly what to do for a menacing vampire. "Vega hasn't returned." Jean-Paul said softly, and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.