From the Lost Writings of Avr’sar: …by the time the blood-thirsty children of Sakhmet had reached Europe, the mythical order of aputi had reduced the creatures’ numbers by half. Having been created by the gods, the aputi had a well of eternal life running through their veins, and a strength and speed that matched the vampyres themselves. For centuries they lived among the humans, following numerous trails of rumors and blood. Any time the trail led to a rogue vampyre, the aputi executed them. As peace settled over the world, the aputi went underground, watching the children of Sakhmet from afar. Whenever a problem arose, they appeared to calm the waters and destroy the malcontents. When their task was done, the order of aputi crept back into the shadows, honed their skills, and waited… * * * The vampyre drank from the woman's neck one last time, like a child trying to get the final drops of soda from the bottom of a glass with a straw. He then unceremoniously dropped her body on the ground, wincing as she landed in a large muddy puddle, her long hair twisting like snakes in the water. That had almost been too easy. She seemed to have really wanted to go back to his place and watch the first season of The Next Generation on DVD. He pushed her body with his toe, pausing as her face turned towards him. She was the first pretty woman to show interest in him in a long time; maybe he should have taken her back to his apartment like he said he was going to. He could have finally gotten laid by one of the beautiful people. Once again, he had let his awkwardness and uncertainty get the best of him. Oh well. He kicked her this time, more out of frustration with himself than anything else. There would be many more years for him to develop some self-esteem, many, many more years… The dead victim quietly exhaled as the creature's footsteps faded into the night. After confirming that she was truly alone in the darkness, Dea LaMonica slowly sat up, her hair dripping sloppily across her back and face. She stood and reluctantly glanced down at herself. Her own blood mingled with the dirt and grime, forming a morbid pattern all over her clothes. She sighed. So much for the softer side of Sears. She tenderly rubbed the sore spot on her side where the vampyre, had kicked her, pausing as she noticed her reflection in a darkened window. She winced. It would be impossible for her to mingle with the mortals again that night… at least, not inconspicuously. Even the most indiscriminate members of the club crowd would think twice about approaching her… and that was not good for her business. She moved her hair away from her neck so she could see in her reflection where the creature had bitten her. The wound was already starting to heal; it was one of the perks of being an aputi. Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear it, she walked down the dark alleyway to where her motorcycle was parked. Sliding onto the polished leather seat she sat with her helmet in her hands, brooding. Although doubtful, this boy called Peter could be the leader of the town. He hadn’t really talked the talk or walked the walk… but he looked the look. Whether it was specifically what their goddess wanted or their own warped form of discrimination, Dea didn't know, but the vampyres' leaders were always dark haired with big, mysterious eyes. Peter had those physical qualifications, but the way he had attacked her: no finesse, no elegance, very little self-esteem, definitely not the stuff leaders were made of. Did that mean there was no leader in the area or was Peter the only from of authority there was? If the indecorous Peter was Premier of this town, then the people of New Paltz had a lot to fear. Dea kick-started the bike and smiled slightly as the powerful Harley-Davidson vibrated between her thighs. What if Peter wasn't in charge? Did his leader know what he was up to? The Followers of Sakhmet didn't normally kill their victims… they seduced them… showed them the wonders of being immortal… then used them as willing slaves until they caught on that they weren't going to receive the gift. With so many recent deaths and disappearances in the area, there had to be a renegade among the brood. The motorcycle engine roared as she popped the clutch and took off, heading for home and the one person she could talk these things over with. * * * Giovanni LaMonica watched his granddaughter through dark hooded eyes as she paced back and forth in the spacious living room. Dea had showered and changed; her hair was back in a severe bun and she wore no make-up, both of which made her look more her true age than her assumed one. The young aputi had been rambling for over five minutes about her latest encounter, about a third of which Giovanni had actually paid attention to, until Dea made a comment that he just couldn't ignore. "And then he bruised me," she complained, smiling slightly, "Imagine, literally kicking a girl when she's down!" Giovanni growled, crossing his arms over his chest, "If this Peter was the Premier, he might have been powerful enough to break your neck." Dea grimaced. They had had this type of discussion many times before. "Any vampyre could break my neck if they caught me off guard." "You are making my point," Giovanni rumbled, "You shouldn’t have gone out by yourself." “But why!” “Are you an immortal aputi?” Her eyes widened for a moment, then she relaxed. He was making a point, not starting a witch-hunt. “Of course I’m not!” “The you can still be killed, yes?” She turned away; she couldn’t look him in the eye. “Yes, I can be killed.” “There you go then.” Dea smirked. “It would be kind of tough to pick up guys with a behemoth like you hovering around me. Even the undead are scared of you." "But they aren't scared of you." "And that's my point!" Dea said, exasperated, "How am I supposed to find out if there is a Premier of New Paltz if I can't get close to them… find out their secrets?" She grinned wickedly. "Should I just go from bar to bar and throw beer at dark haired people until someone's skin melts off?" "That’s a sure way of getting kicked out of town." "Well then," she sighed, "I guess I'm just going to have to stalk these creatures the old fashioned way." * * * Peter nearly ran down the flight of stairs leading to the private room in the back of the vampyre-owned club. He skidded to a stop in front of a huge dry erase board and, under his name, drew a feminine stick figure. He turned to where his cohorts were seated, staring at him with mild interest. "There you go, guys! I'm catching up to you." Jean-Vieve, a petite brunette with light eyes, looked at the chart and smirked. "Puh-leese! I've seduced more women into becoming followers this month than you have in the past decade." She walked over to him, unconsciously swaying her slight hips, to the appreciation of the males around her, and looked up at the chart. Under her name were figures half the size and twice as many as Peter's, many of which were females. The statistics were similar under the names of the two other vampyres in their cadre that were competing. Only the total under Vaider's name was greater than hers, and he had been in the small village of New Paltz half a century longer than she had. "So, that’s where you were all last night, huh?” she purred, walking around him, “I figured when you didn't show up before dawn, you had either gotten lucky, or gotten dusted. Tell us, how did you manage to snag her?" she asked, "Did you drug her up? Hit her over the head? Either of those things would make that score inapplicable." "No!" Peter whined, “She really wanted me!” "So, tell me Petey," Vaider said, crossing his leather-clad legs, "If you seduced this so-called female, where is she? Why isn't she serving us drinks in a skimpy red negligée?" "Oh, I left her body in one of the alleys near the Gilded Otter," he answered nonchalantly, waiting for the praise he was about to receive… Vaider stood, startling the pretty blonde proselyte that had been kneeling at his feet. His raven hair seemed to melt into his flowing black duster as he walked towards Peter. "What do you mean 'her body'?" his light eyes flashed with alarm, "you don't mean you…" "KILLED HER!" The vampyres all turned as if in slow motion and looked to the top of the stairs, where a large shadow filled the doorway. "And the shit has hit the fan," Vaider murmured. The dark figure walked down the stairs slowly, each footstep echoing like a thunderclap. The human followers, including Vaider's pretty little blonde, left the room in a hurry, knowing that they were not welcomed in his presence. When he stepped into the light, the vampyres saw the angry features of their Premier, Marco Delamonte. Jean-Vieve and Vaider took a step backwards, both out of respect and fear of their leader. Peter, too innocent to know the wrath of the vampyre lord, looked up at his leader like a little puppy dog waiting for a treat. Marco's deep brown eyes glared at the young vampyre until he took the hint and moved back. "Did I hear you incorrectly?" he growled, "Or did you just say you killed a girl?" Peter ran his hand shakily through his hair and tried to inconspicuously wipe the sweat off of his brow. "I, uh… she, um… she struggled and…" Vaider winced, his leather duster rippling. "Oof!" he whispered to Jean-Vieve, "Wrong thing to say." Marco gritted his teeth. "She struggled?" he repeated quietly, "You mean she didn't give her consent?" "Well, she, uh…" he glanced over to the other vampyres for help, but they were too busy staring intently at the floor. "So, let me get this straight," Marco said slowly, pulling on his shirt cuffs, "Not only did you drain a woman, but she had never even given you permission to feed on her in the first place? You do know that is against the Law, do you not?" "But, Master, she wanted me to… she threw herself on me…" To that, Jean-Vieve made a small noise that sounded something like a giggle, and Vaider's mouth lifted in a slight smirk. Marco glared at them. "Would you like to let me in on the joke?" he asked. "No, sir." The Premier turned back to Peter and snarled, revealing a sharp canine. "So, Peter… how shall I punish you? I'm leaning towards cutting off your head myself…" "Why kill him for something that probably only happened in his imagination?" Marco didn't turn to look as his second in command, Antoine, entered the room. Unlike Marco, who was tall and broad shouldered, with mahogany hair and eyes, Antoine only came up to his master's shoulders, and had short, strawberry blonde hair and emerald eyes. Where the Premier wore dark silk suits that accented his v-shaped body, Antoine wore baggy shirts and jeans that hung on his slight frame. Marco glanced quickly at Antoine, then looked back at Peter. "What do you mean, in his imagination?" His seneschal shrugged. "Where's his proof that there was a female at all? A shoe? A jacket? Her body? Any of these things would give us some proof that she actually existed." "She did exist!" Peter insisted, "I swear on the Lady's name!” Antoine slowly shook his head. "Taking the Lady's name as proof is frivolous and archaic and quite honestly means nothing." He turned to Marco, "With your permission, I'd like to have a look at this poor lady's death site." Marco's eyes narrowed and silence filled the room, only broken a few minutes later when a bell chimed somewhere in the building. Finally, Marco made his decision. "You may go… and take Vaider with you. Jean-Vieve will have to entertain our guests alone." Jean-Vieve tried hard not to make a face. She'd rather be outside working with the bouncers than having to enthrall the zealots and convert the disbelievers. But her Premier had spoken, and she would obey… whether she liked it or not. Marco knew how Jean-Vieve felt about hostessing, but Muse was on one of her trips to 'find herself', and Peter had to be taken care of. The Premier, being the proprietor of the goth club The Sphinx, could not leave on such a busy night, even though he had wanted to take this matter into his own hands… Before Antoine could walk up the stairs behind Vaider and the neophyte, the Premier placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "If there is a body there, punish your childe for disobeying. If there is no body, punish him for lying." "Oh, sure. When he does something wrong, he's MY childe!" Antoine quipped. Marco would not give his second the satisfaction of seeing his amusement, but he couldn't help that the left side of his mouth lifted slightly. "Leave, now… before I decide to punish you as well." "Yes, M'lord." Marco shook his head and allowed himself a smile once Antoine had left the room, only to be reminded that Jean-Vieve was still there, waiting for orders. He growled at her, upset that she had seen his mirth. "Don't just stand there… our guests are waiting for you." The petite vampyre sighed. "Yes sir." * * * "I swear! She was right here!" Vaider nodded with a smug look on his face. "Sure she was, Petey. Sure she was." The young vampyre turned to Antoine, who was kneeling near a large puddle. "I swear, sir! She was here! I left her body right here!" Vaider grinned. "What did she do, Petey? Get up and walk away?" His heavy boots clumped across the alley as he raised his hand to his eyes. "Hmmmm, I don't see her. Do you think she took the bus?" "Vaider, please be quiet," Antoine sighed, holding his hand over the puddle. He stayed that way for a few moments, then stood and looked at the younger vampyres behind him. "There was someone here. A young woman, and she had been fed upon. But she was definitely not dead." "But she was!" Peter insisted, "Her heart stopped. Really!" Antoine glared at him. "Are you saying I am lying?" "No sir… I'm just, um… I am confused sir." The Premier's second in command turned to Vaider, who was leaning against a nearby wall, playing with the spiked bracelets on his right arm. "Something is wrong here." The dark haired vampyre shrugged. "Maybe the humans found her… carted her to the morgue. I mean, this did happen yesterday." "No. I only sense the woman here," he glanced back at the puddle, "I don't like this… I don't like this at all." Vaider glanced up slightly before going back to playing with his fierce looking jewelry. "What’s not to like? Petey lied… that means I get to beat the crap out of him. I see nothing not to like about this." Peter took a step back as Vaider cracked his knuckles. "I didn't lie… I swear on the Goddess I didn't lie." Antoine took a step between the two underlings and held up his hands. "Stop it now. I don't think that Peter lied. He did feed on a female in this spot… and he fed on her for quite some time. But I don't think she was dead when he left her, whether or not her heart stopped." "But… how… how can that be?" Peter stammered, "When a human's heart stops, they're dead!" "Who cares?" Vaider said, trying to side step his superior, "Whether she's dead or not, good ol' Petey here said that he fed off an unwilling victim. That alone deserves a sound thrashing." Antoine was about to argue, then sighed in resignation and began to walk away. "Fine, but don't take long. Get back to the Master's as fast as you can." Vaider licked his lips in anticipation and grinned wickedly. "It will be over quickly," he responded, taking another step towards the petrified Peter, "I promise." * * * The Sphinx was jammed with people when Antoine stepped through the back door. The bar served very few top shelf liquors and no imported beer, but the patrons weren’t there for the alcohol. Most of them were dressed in the black clothes and silver jewelry that they thought vampyres wore, and some went as far as putting on whiteface and black lipstick for added effect. Among the devotees and hopefuls were the obvious non-believers, standing close to the bar and looking around with a wary expression on their faces. The Premier's second in command spotted Jean-Vieve seated at the end of the bar trying, unsuccessfully, to look interested in the male that was talking to her. On the other side of the room was Muse, the wandering member of their cadre, vivaciously talking with the crowd of humans surrounding her. Their bloodslaves were doing the mundane chores, such as serving drinks and cleaning tables, hoping to curry favor with their masters in order to take another step towards immortality. Meanwhile the human followers were eagerly describing the bonuses of letting a Childe of Sakhmet feed off them, most of which were untrue. Antoine finally spotted the Premier seated in a far corner of the room, casually sipping from a large, ornate glass. Although it looked like he was entranced by the women and men dancing in cages on the stage, his second knew he was actually keeping an eye on every thing in the club. Antoine quickly made his way past tables to stop just shy of the Master's and waited to be noticed. "You are blocking my view," Marco hissed, waving at his second to sit. Antoine slid into the chair across from his lord. "Something interesting?" The Premier lifted his chin slightly, indicating a woman seated across the stage from them. "I find her… intriguing." The woman had her back to them, but her long black hair seemed to have a life of its own, curling down her back and across her shoulders as she raised her glass to the woman she was facing. When she turned, Antoine saw her soft features and sparkling eyes. She was quite lovely, but he was sure that wasn't what his Master has meant by 'intriguing'. Instead of pretending he knew what he was looking at, he gave Marco a slight look of confusion. The Premier smiled wryly. "That's exactly how I feel, Antoine. I don't know what it is, but there is something about that woman that draws me to her." "Would you like me to read her aura?" his second offered. Marco shook his head slowly. "Not just yet. This is a puzzle I'd like to figure out on my own…" Just then, a waitress walked over, carrying a tray with a frothy mug on it. "Excuse me, Master, but the lady seated over there has sent you this beer." The Premier nodded to the table, not bothering to look at the bloodslave. "Set it down and leave us be." “Yes sir." Antoine and Marco glanced across the room, where the mysterious woman was watching them. When they made eye contact, she raised her glass in salute, then went back to talking with her girlfriend. Marco rubbed his chin. "Very intriguing." “I don’t understand,” Antoine replied, “She’s just making a pass at you.” “Not just a pass,” Marco responded, taking the mug of beer in his hands, “A challenge: Drink this beer and prove I am not a vampyre.” “But Master,” Antoine stammered, “you can’t! I know you are powerful, but even you can’t…” Marco grinned lazily, “I know that, silly boy.” The owner of The Sphinx stood, still holding the beer in his hands. “I think it’s time for us to meet my challenger, don’t you?” His second stood clumsily, confusion still apparent on his face. “But, M’lord, here? In public?” “I don’t plan on harming her, yet.” Marco glanced over at the woman, who no longer seemed to acknowledge their presence. “I just want to find out her intentions.” * * * Dea leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “So Reb,” she asked her blonde companion, “What are they doing?” Rebecca Ansiloe’s blue eyes slowly slid to the right. “The big one is standing. It looks like they’re coming over here.” Dea grabbed her friend’s cold, shaking hand. “See, didn’t I tell you this would be fun?” “Wh… who’s having fun?” The brunette turned as Marco approached. “What’s wrong?” she drawled, “Did you not like the beer?” The vampyric leader put the mug down on their table and smiled. “I am more of a wine drinker myself.” “I see.” Marco nodded. “I do appreciate the attention, though.” A slow smile spread across her face. “I bet you do.” He bowed slightly. “I am Marco Delamonte. This is Antoine, my assistant. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.” “Fine,” she quickly responded, “I need to know about the rash of disappearances in this area.” “Dea…” Rebecca cautioned. “Disappearances?” Marco shrugged, “I did not know such things were going on. How dreadful.” “Indeed.” He held his arm out to her. “Perhaps you would allow me to give you a tour, and we can discuss this further?” Rebecca stumbled out of her chair. “Dea, I really don’t feel so good, maybe we should be going now?” Marco smiled. “Dea, is it? Well, I would be more than happy to get your friend a ride home if you would like to stay longer.” Dea glanced at Rebecca, who was adamantly shaking her head, then put her hand on Marco’s arm. “That would be perfect, thank you.” “Antoine,” Marco said, “get Lionel. Tell him to take this young lady home right away.” Marco’s second nodded. “Yes, M’lord.” Rebecca grabbed Dea’s free hand. “Please, let’s go.” The brunette turned to her, eyes harsh. “You are making a scene Reb. I will be fine, I promise.” Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “Fine, I find my own way home!” she walked past Antoine and disappeared into the crowd. Dea stared after her for a moment, then turned to Marco. “Now,” she purred, “M’lord, you had mentioned something about a tour?” * * * Dea smiled in satisfaction. While Marco had been distracted by some kitchen disaster, she had decided to do some exploring of her own. In a deserted part of the club, behind a huge statue of Cleopatra, she found a door marked ‘Petyr - Do Not Entyr’. It took her less than a moment to realize that the letters were made with red paint, and not the trickling blood that they were modeled to look like. And the spelling… how vampyre novel kitsch! Shaking her head in pity, Dea opened the door. The obligatory dark staircase was there, and without hesitation she started down them. She saw the sharp turn the stairs took in the darkness and continued down, stepping over the trip wire that would have announced her presence. The stairs ended in a room lit by torches that reeked of newly spilled blood. In the middle of the room, on a slightly raised slab of floor, lay Rebecca, naked and beaten beyond recognition, her life draining out of two deep holes in both her wrist and her left breast. “Dea,” she moaned, her breath rattling, “help me.” The aputi stepped over the dying girl and looked around, her eyes narrowing. More bodies hung on chains from the walls and the ceiling; some she remembered from Missing Persons ads, some from Wanted posters. Dea let a stream of curses fly. Peter was more than a pathetic loser with fangs; he was a sociopath. And there’s nothing worse than a vampire with a psychosis. “You shouldn’t be here,” came his voice from the stairway, “You do realize that I have to kill you now, right?” Dea turned to him, a stake tipped with a serpent’s tooth in her hand. “I was so hoping I had been your only victim.” “You’re… you’re supposed to be dead,” he stammered, “I killed you!” She frowned and stepped back over Rebecca’s prone form. “I heal quickly.” Peter shook his head; she smelt his fear. “You shouldn’t have come down here. No one knows about this place.” Dea slowly licked her lips and moved the stake from one hand to the other. “You see, here’s the problem. You’re killing people; that’s making me look bad in the eyes of the Elders. So now I have to kill you, and they’ll throw me a lovely party.” Peter was panicked. His body was still bruised badly from the beating Vaider had given him earlier that evening. If the Premier found out about this room, he would be dusted for sure. “How about, I let you take your friend, you tell no one about this place, and we’ll call it even, huh?” She shook her head and smiled. “No good. She’s going to die anyhow. Where’s the perk for me?” She took a step closer, and he noticed an odd look in her eyes, like that of a hungry wolf. She was less than a foot away, and he was out of options. Suddenly, she glanced away, towards the stairs. Peter seized the opportunity. The crack was music to Peter’s ears as the body of the young aputi fell to the floor. He then knelt down, brushed her hair away from her neck, and sank his teeth into her, drinking from the well of eternal life that ran through her now useless veins. Suddenly, he was roughly pulled away from her by two pairs of hands, and felt a wave of panic as he watched Marco descended the last three steps. “What have you done?” the Premier growled, “Are you that mad that you have killed an aputi in my house?” Antoine’s eyes widened as he tightened his grip on Peter. “An aputi, M’lord? Here?” Marco nodded, kneeling next to her broken body. “Look at her weapon. The poor child was just doing what I should have done a long time ago.” All Peter saw was a blur as his Premier grabbed the fang-tipped stake and drove it into his heart, leaving Antoine and Vaider covered in his dusty remains. “We have to hide her body,” Marco said, wiping a spot of dust off of his suit jacket, “Put her someplace where she won’t be found for a while. Meanwhile I will try to straighten things out before the town is flooded with aputi avengers.” The vampyres nodded and Marco, pocketing the sacred aputi weapon, went back to watch the people at his club. * * * Dea waited until she was certain she was alone in the warehouse to pull herself up. Her head hung at the worst possible angle, making it difficult to judge how much damage had actually been done to her. Clenching her teeth, she whipped her head around, waiting for that distinctive crack that would let her know her neck was once again in one piece. When she finally heard it, she rolled her head and shoulders, trying to figure out her next move. Not all aputi could survive a broken neck. In fact, it was supposed to be the only thing that could kill them. But Dea was different. She was immortal in the true sense of the word - only she could decide when to shed her mortal coil. This was a secret that no one knew, not even her grandfather. The Elders had ruled that none of their kind could be truly immortal for, without the fear of death, an aputi would forget the value and importance of human life. They believed that an aputi that couldn’t be killed would one day go mad. When they found such a being, they locked them in a windowless room and sealed the hallway with cement, leaving the poor aputi to suffer a forced insanity that made them end their immortal lives. That’s what happened to her mother. Dea swore it would never happen to her. The evening had gone so, so wrong. Rebecca wasn’t supposed to have died, not without Dea being a witness to it, at least. Dea had had been developing a friendship with her for months so she could be used as bait. If she had known that Rebecca was going to be killed so uselessly and quickly she could have used any poor shlub at the bar. Her death was a good waste of all those months of hard work. Dea had never expected a creature like Peter to be part of a cadre in New Paltz. Most of his type were drawn to larger cities like New York or Chicago. And in such cities, the brutality that Peter craved could be easily hidden by his Premier among the homicide files. In cities like those, Dea left such beings alone. The Elders didn’t notice when a vampyre in a metropolis went crazy, none of the citizens made a big deal about it and, in all actuality, who did it hurt… besides the humans, of course. But in a town like New Paltz, things were different. The humans knew each other too well. They were the odd types that smiled at one another and honestly wanted an answer to “How are you?” They went to church, were on the PTA, had daughters in the Girl Scouts and sons in little league. Not only did they notice when someone died, but they cared. If there was a vampyre problem in this town, the Elders would know about it, and that would call their attention to her. Dea shook her head, her newly restored bones creaking ever so slightly. Peter was going to have to be dealt with… but did he have to be killed? She tilted her head back, hearing the final crack of broken bones mending. If she killed him, she was going to have to destroy the rest of the coterie as well, and they hadn’t caused her any problems. Maybe Peter could just be convinced to expand his hunting grounds out of New Paltz… up north to Phoenicia, or west to Ellenville… that way the killings won’t be as conspicuous, and the Elders wouldn’t come. To destroy an entire nest of vampyres just because one was rotten seemed to her like such a waste of power. As she walked home she wondered how she was going to explain the bruises on her neck to her grandfather, for even Giovanni believed that immortality brought madness. But Dea wasn’t insane, she was aputi.
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