NEAR DEAD BUT UNDEAD

Teenagers usually change their clothes after a formal dance, but before the after-party. Erica did. She put on jeans. Ethan did. It was back to jeans, shirt and letterman jacket for him. Skyler and Hodges were the same. But Trixie didn't bother. She kept her mini-dress and jacket. Coquette hadn't changed, but then she hadn't changed much since she had actually been a teenager back in the eighteenth century.

Erica hadn't seen Coquette yet. Nor had Hodges. But it seemed inevitable to happen as the two went up the street to the Barton house with Ethan and Trixie.

"I never thought I'd be going to a party with Ethan's best friend" Erica thought dyspeptically. "But he is cute."

Skyler Barton lived in a rambling Tudor-style house, actually, as Erica mentally noted, on the same street as Jesse's old place. Erica also noted this didn't seem to interest Ethan, who said nothing about it.

Erica did vaguely know of the house. Skyler in her timeline had been an average Whitechapel jock but no one special. What he did have were wealthy parents who went away on the weekend. Parents who didn't care much what their sons did when they were gone, so long as the house stayed standing. That meant that even had she not know whose house it was, she would have guessed from the music blaring out the walls and the "beaters" parked on the street and in the driveway.

As for Jesse's place, it was obviously abandoned. The full moon shone down on the desolate yard and driveway. Not a plough, not even a footstep made a dent in the blanket of snow. "TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED" read a large icy sign in front.

"Coquette's doing" said Erica under her breath. "I wonder why she just didn't sell the place. Maybe Anastasia was the one who decided to keep up the house, but Coquette hasn't had enough time to . . ."

"Buddy, no one is going to let you play designated driver tonight" Hodges muttered to Ethan, as they went up the sidewalk to the door. "Me, dude, I can get away with it. You owe it to everyone to get drunk out of your skull."

"You're mental" Ethan laughed.

"You can't let the party go to waste" said Trixie.

"I don't intend to" muttered Ethan into her ear, as the three went through the large double doors.

It should have been the four, but Erica stopped in her tracks. Looking into the large foyer already crowded with teens, she saw Coquette. Invited in, and on the side of Skyler Barton.

Coquette was statuesque, beautiful, and did not try to hide the haughty expression as if she was above all others at the party. Not only was she a vampire, but she was literally above everyone being on the bottom step of the flight heading upstairs. She was saying something to Barton, who was leaning on the large wooden newel with a smirk on his face and a bottle of Molson Canadian beer in his left hand.

Erica retreated to the front porch. What to do? If she went in, Coquette would recognize her. If she went back to Ethan's house to wait out the night, what would happen here? What about Ethan? Did it even matter? Couldn't they just smash through the ceiling and place the bolt back by themselves?

"I need to stall for time" Erica muttered and stepped to the side, away from the open door.

"SARAH" Erica texted. "Coquette and her new . . . ."

But that was as far as she managed to get before she was again whisked away at super-speed. Again, it was Andre. Their location was to the end of the Barton property; a snowy gazebo in a lonely, shadowy corner of the Barton yard. In summer months the gazebo looked over a large pond shaded by a weeping willow tree. Now it looked over bare branches hanging down like so many bony fingers above a dirty black expanse of ice criss-crossed by hockey skate blades.

"Ah, M'amelle will be so pleased with me" Andre crooned. "If it is not la belle fille traître. And we've just have heard so much about you."

Andre's face was so close to Erica's she could smell his bad breath, like stale blood. She could see every wrinkle in his ancient face. She could see his skin sagged from his cheek. He looked like he was over three hundred years old; well, at least he looked he was over ninety and ready to keel over.

"Get lost" Erica said, swallowing her fear. "Get your creepy claws off of me. Haven't you ever heard of breath mints?"

Andre laughed, or, more accurately, he wheezed.

Erica reached into her pocket and threw garlic in his face.

Andre screamed in pain.

Erica ran off, but was caught by icy fingers with well-manicured nails. Her new captor didn't smell of blood, but the fragrance of an expensive French perfume.

"Mademoiselle knows all about your Ethan, how he is now the loup-garou. Do you know who it was that bit him?"

"My Ethan?" Erica said in disgust, ignoring Coquette's assumption that Ethan had been bitten by a werewolf.

"No, he is not her Ethan" said Coquette. "Nor Trixie. La salope aux gros seins. You see, Andre, Ethan would not abandon zee girl who throws herself at his feet. Ethan confused the mix of loyalty and lust for love. But I have just said all this to Andre! Andre, are you recovered?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle" said Andre, although his wrinkled face was burnt red and still sizzling.

Coquette looked indignant for a moment, then with a cruel smile grabbed Erica's chin.

"Je ne l'ai pas endormie cette fois-ci" said Coquette. "She shall stay awake while I see."

Coquette's eyes went yellow and she burnt her gaze into Erica's own.

"She is also interesting, Andre. In this one, this Erica, I see wounds not yet healed of past bitterness and sorrow. A dreamy nature fused with the past experience of power . . . a volatile mixture. I know it well. But this . . . ah, this . . . a deep loyalty to one who stood by her, a sisterly love. It is a clouded, confused soul, not sure yet of its way. It is amusing this ex-vampire."

Erica was, not surprisingly, deeply offended by all this highhanded talk about her personality (Coquette was still gripping her chin). Her first encounter with Coquette was still in her mind, so she realized it was useless to try to bargain with this arbitrary, conceited vampiress. And Erica didn't feel like ending her life by begging for it, to someone she felt was so absurd.

"What the heck do you think you're talking about?" snapped Erica.

"The eyes are the windows to the soul, Mademoiselle" said Andre. "And Mademoiselle Coquette can read them in those who are yet alive and not undead. It is not, how you say, specifically a power of us immortals, but she knows the secret and has the talent. She may the last in the New World who knows this art."

"The what world?" sneered Erica. "You are old, aren't you?"

"I can see into your soul" reiterated Coquette mystically, ignoring Erica's comment. "You are yet unsure of where you are going, that much I can see. You see, the problem with glamouring, as I am sure you know, is that by taking control of your mind I cannot summon your memories and zee thoughts. But I can get an idea of you through your very eyes!

Under other circumstances, Erica might have thought "soul-reading" was cool. But not when it was Coquette was peering into hers.

"I will need her later for, how you say, interrogations, Andre" said Coquette, giving a fanged smile and rubbing her hands together. "She shall tell me all I want to know about Ethan, how he defeated Horace Black . . . or Jesse as he was last called, how he became zee loup-garou, their threats to us, and what spell was cast to kill Anastasia and her, how you say, Échevins. But for now, you would like a drink, Andre? She is young and tall."

Andre's ancient, deathly-ill, parchment-coloured face was highlighted by his large glowing yellow eyes and whitish-yellow fangs.

There was nothing the least big romantic about this as Erica could feel his stale breath on her neck.

"NO!" shouted Erica.

"Silence! Dormez vous!" ordered Coquette, and with a pass of hand made Erica obey. "But do not kill her, and especially do not accidentally turn her. We would have to give her the stake, immediatement. Quel inconvenient!"

"I have never done such a fool thing before. But, I much prefer to drain them dry, Mademoiselle. If you permit?"

"Vrai, true" said Coquette, as she looked down at Erica snoring in the snow. "I do not understand those that take a quarter meal and they must, at the same time, of course take care not to change their subject. Most of us prefer the pleasure of the complete kill. But, of course, we shall not tell her that is to be her final fate. It will be more trouble pour moi in the interrogating if she knows she will die anyway. But you Erica, shall forget I was here, not notice any of the immortals here. There! Now, mon ami, return to your party. It will be your last."

Erica sat up, and almost robotically, stood and began to walk back to the house.

"That's not up to your usual work" observed a new voice, the vampire guard who had stood outside Vampire HQ.

"She will act the naturally inside" said Coquette, airily.

"I'd like her" said the vampire, showing his fangs.

"She is reserved for me, Colby" said Andre.

"You have heard Andre! You would be well advised to leave her alone" said Coquette. "Now, how are my plans for my, how you say, mon petite massacre de la Saint-Valentin. I have heard there's been zee unrest in, what did Horace call them, my flock. So, I have thrown this little party for my supporters. We are going with 21 to enjoy my mecenat, my power and my patronage?"

"I wish you'd stop calling it the St. Valentine's Day Massacre" muttered Colby.

"Do you or do you not have zee petite noir livre with the names of your victims since you were made?" sneered Coquette.

"The St. Valentine's Day Massacre was completely different" explained Colby. "Seven men killed with submachine guns in a Chicago garage."

"Ah, it is just because you have a weakness for your, how you say, Roaring Twenties and the gangsters with the machine guns. But, you see, Colby, it is a perfect name for this, my wicked tribute for this day. See, I am throwing a feast! Our methods are much more, how you say, the subtle and gracious than putting zee bullet holes in the wall. I, the guest of that fool adolescent, will glamour our entrees and send them over for our midnight feast in Horace Black's house. You have the list?"

"I do" said Colby. "Everybody's favourite types of teens. But isn't this going to be conspicuous?"

"What conspicuous?" interjected Andre. "Adolescents leave party. Meals to order. After, we burn down the mansion to hide the evidence and put the blame on the inferno. It is our house to visit and burn, is it not?

"Now obey, and leave" said Coquette. "And, by the way, you'd better go back to the council chambers to get an errand. A bottle of my favourite blood from the cellar."

Coquette snapped her finger.

"Oui Mademoiselle" replied Colby, in his horrible French accent.

When Colby had disappeared into the night, Coquette again turned to Andre.

"Now, about mes ami Ethan. He may not mean to be it, I know he does not, because I saw into his soul, but he is, as les Anglais say, un renard dans le poulailler. The fox loose in the henhouse. A wild animal about will further hide our tracks."

"But Mademoiselle, the loup garou hunts us" Andre objected.

"He will have appetizing prey all around" said Coquette, waving away the objection. "Besides, I plan to wait until it is time for me to leave. There are two ways, both harder than it is to say. Steal his talisman. Ah, but that will not be easy."

"Porquoi?"

"He clings to it mind and soul knowing what he becomes without it. It is not so easy to pull off. But there is a more interesting way. A great joke is this! You know the secret to overpowering the talisman. One way is those of the magical, a spell called canis lupus. But I have not that power. The other is used by the loup garous who revel in their curse. A potion. But it is not really the potion, it is how you say, il n'y a qu'un seul ingrédient réel et quelques épices mélangées. One real ingredient besides useless things the loup garous think work; chalk dust, frog legs and salt. All you must do is trick the loup garou into drinking the blood of a human being. The crucial ingredient in the potion turning him. I just find a way to mix it into a drink. A funny joke, non?"

"He will not know why it's happening" said Andre, with his gasping laugh.

Coquette laughed.

"Ah, pouvre Ethan. But he will be none the worse in the morning and have a good meal besides."

Out of the darkness came the sound of a low, growling laugh.

"What is that?" said Coquette.

"It cannot be a thing" said Andre. "I see nothing."

"Vraiment" laughed Coquette.

Andre also laughed, and the pair disappeared into the night.

It was then that Tempus Daemonian stepped out the darkness. Or, rather, he formed out slowly out of inky shadows of the night.

"I've definitely covered all of the angles."

His eyes glowed red as he looked toward the Barton house and the blaring music coming within.