Once Upon a Midnight Dreary [Azraeth]

[Andrew Belanger (DELETED 5843)]

Sometime around Midnight

The throb of music sounded all around the young male who had parked himself at the bar - for now - but even that, loud as it was, had faded somewhat to the background. He was nursing a strong drink while toying with the piercing in his lip, all the while steeling himself for his nightly dare. First the tip of his tongue, stroking over the cool metal hoop and drawing it up enough to clasp between teeth and flesh, followed by the twist of his fingers, just to feel something different. He knew from experience he shouldn't mess with it too much - the last time he slipped, it had bled for an hour when he gave a too-rough tug before it swelled up from the small tear he'd caused. And who wanted a fat lip? It only drew attention, something the tall, thin Goth kid got enough of anyway. Why he couldn't simply walk down a quiet street in leather pants and studs without getting stared at was beyond him; he dressed to reflect his psyche, his own outlook on life. It was a personal thing, this inner despondence, and he felt quite keenly that people should respect that.

Another tug on the piercing and he felt the automatic wince that came to his features more than the pain of the move itself. He was stalling, and he knew it. Almost every night went the same way - once he figured out where he was going, he'd make his first stop for some Dutch courage in the form of something strong. Maybe one or two somethings. Almost always at the Necropolis - it was where the vampires hung out, right? At least, that was what he'd read when he'd first started looking at that message board on the internet. Those people were obsessed with vampires. It was either a very elaborate fantasy, or... well. Even he knew how ridiculous it was for a Goth kid more than a little obsessed with death to want to believe so whole-heartedly in the existence of actual walking, talking, bloodsucking vampires. But if there was even the slightest chance, he had to know.

Tonight was no different. The clouds had rolled in hours earlier, long after he'd got off work but before he left his apartment. It was the perfect night. Cool. Crisp. About to rain, or maybe even snow. And despite his lack of body fat, Andrew remained mostly impervious to frigid temperatures or tropical, for that matter. His casual girlfriend, Beca, liked to call him a furnace, but he never seemed to feel too hot or cold, no matter how many layers he wore. It would be pleasurable to walk through the cooling climate and wait for whatever the heavens might throw down upon him.

He sighed and tossed back the rest of his drink. Enough with the stalling, with the swirling thoughts. There had been nothing interesting to see that night, as usual, and so, it was time to be on the move. Time to work his way to the cemetery and absorb the atmosphere, to soak it all in and try, once again, to breathe through the panic attack that would surely come over him later. But first... first he would stop by that cathedral-type place again. The Temple. It was always so peaceful there...

[Azraeth]

The end of the cigarette burned orange and red as the paper and tobacco inside turned to ash, little mountains of grey that peeked through a valley of fire. Azraeth could not enjoy the benefits of the herbal ‘remedy’ of course, but the heat of the smoke in his lungs was pleasant, and then there were those Pavlovian responses. Few people knew it, but Az had been a smoker for a long time. Originally, he’d done it in this attempt to be ‘cool’ to fit in with the same group of kids at his school who had shunned him in favor of hanging out with his twin. In life, it had been something of an addiction. And he enjoyed burning plants of many of a variety for the way they could alter his perception, and calm his easily frazzled nerves. Stoner nerd boy had been his social class in high school. Throw in with that a taste for the occult, and you had exactly who Azraeth had been for years.

A boy who loved the idea of fantasy, an escape artist whose enemy was reality.

The scene looked like something out of a Roman orgy. He was naked. There was the body of a woman woven between his legs, and he laid against a pile of bodies, men and ladies who, only an hour or so prior, had all been alive. They were corpses though. There were tarps laid all over the floor of his apartment, and blood had pooled in various places. There were congealing strips of it on his flesh, on his hands, over his arms and down his torso, where the rusty fluid had flowed. The vampire twisted to lay on his front, his arms coming to rest under him so that his elbows could support the weight of his upper body. His back arched naturally and legs folded together at the ankle. His cigarette was removed, dropped into one of the little gathering pockets of fluid before he reached to grab a man’s head, tugging it close to look into his eyes.

There was blood smeared over his mouth and chin. Some of it splattered over one of his serpentine eyes.

“You know, there are public baths, and I know for a fact that most shelters provide at least some soap and other cleaning supplies.” The comment was directed at the smell. Az tended to select his food from the type of people most humans would not miss, like the homeless and criminals. In either case, when he needed to gorge on blood (usually after performing rituals or using his magic extensively), he always dumped their remains into the Quarantine Zone. Nobody went there unless they were crazy, stupid, or a vampire anyway. Certainly nobody went looking for lost loved ones in the ‘Hellmouth’. Even if they did go looking, most would have just chalked the dead bodies up to the unmistakable presence of the zombies. Eventually the corpses would begin to decay and become fodder for fledges to hone their skill on. Ingredients for Azraeth’s ceremonies.

Circle of life, or something like that.

Licking over his lips, he patted the cheek of the head he held in his hand, and then moved to stand so that he could retreat to his bathroom and shower. He left behind the evidence of his misdeeds, and knew that when the water washed away the blood; it would be half forgotten. On his part. Once his home was clean, it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

There were some who would have looked at that and questioned his sanity. Questioned the resolve he felt towards his own self-imposed pacifism. But he never had said he was a vegetarian. That was the mistake a lot of his kind made. They had trouble accepting their nature. And Azraeth did not view food as people. Not really. Maybe there was something broken about that.

Thirty or so minutes later and he had showered, dried his hair, dressed. His suit was monochrome, black on black on black, and he adjusted the tie carefully. His hand then moved so he could pull back the sleeve of his coat and reveal the face of a watch. Time to get a few things done.

He stepped towards his door and was suddenly walking right onto the front step of the Dragomir Temple. The building was vast, a testament to Gothic architecture with its sweeping arches. There were spires, gables and statues of every variety. The glass was stained, and the mason work was both immense and intricate. There were gargoyles that reached up towards heaven, but no crosses. A lot of the residents of Harper Rock considered it to be the city’s very own Notre Dame. It would have served as an excellent tourist attraction, but the irony there was that humans never seemed to step foot inside. Or rarely did for fear of the haunting tales that lay beyond the front gates.


A soft hum, and then the mumbling of lyrics to a song. “Lay your head down, child, I won’t let the boogeyman come.”

They began to appear seconds later as some of the hard won blood he’d consumed shortly before began to drip over the altar at the head of the building. First one spirit, and then the next. There were five or six of them to add to the throng of dead whose souls inhabited the keep. Beneath the church there were catacombs that had once been tombs.

The last ghost to arrive bore the same face as the head Azraeth had held earlier in the evening. He didn’t look happy to see the Mystic. None of them did. They were all caught in that moment of terror. The infestation of paranormal activity was a feast for some of his kind. More than that, he felt there was power in it. “Welcome to the Temple.” He said to them all, though the words carried and may have been heard by onlookers.

Outfit

[Andrew Belanger (DELETED 5843)]

The Temple was only a short walk up the street, and by the time Andrew had crushed out his cigarette, he was there. The building was a beautiful old throwback and one he often admired from afar. The few times he'd actually been there, he had admired every last detail up close, too, from the soaring spires to the fine stained glass work, to the hand-tooled pews that adorned the interior leading up to the altar. And oh, that altar. It was clearly old. There were some nights he sat right up front, up close, to soak in the atmosphere and the vibes that the hunk of stone gave off. It would go a long way to helping him grow a set tonight, to help him through the forced exposure to that which he found the most terrifying, even if he could scarcely remember why.

But tonight, as he stepped inside as quietly as he could, the place seemed occupied. Moreso than the last time, definitely. People were all about, drifting - wait, drifting? - around, it seemed. And until his fingers accidentally passed through one, leaving him to gasp in shock, he thought they were real. "Some kind of weird projection," he whispered. "Has to be." This, despite the looks of terror, the blood flowing from some ghostly-looking wounds. But hadn't Halloween just passed? Yes... yes, that had to be it...

But of course, maybe not.

He moved closer to the altar, only to see a young-looking guy seemingly praying... or... something. More blood flowed over the dark stone, and more ghostly-looking apparitions grouped about nearby. He felt himself growing paler by the moment, if that was possible, as the hairs rose on the back of his neck. Even if there were logical explanations, this wasn't right. Something felt very, very wrong, no matter what could possibly justify any of it. What the **** had he stumbled into? Was the Temple some sort of messed up, year-round haunted house? No - he didn't think so. But his taxed mind wasn't able to think of much else, not as these ... things, he supposed, seemed to form from the man's fingertips.

And that was when he spoke. Andrew took a pointed step back, uncertain if it was he who was being spoken to, despite the turned back and that there should be no way this guy would know he was standing right there. But before he could stop himself, he was stepping closer, to get a better look...

"Th-thanks...?"

[Azraeth]

Dark hair like his own. He was still getting used to that. His natural body had been blond, angelic in appearance with pale flesh, and blue eyes like the clear mountain skies. He had those back, though the shading was darker. More like what one might have found descending through the gradient of light and sea, into the deep waters.

What a beautiful boy. The thought rose unbidden and passed through his mind like a shadow dancing quickly across a wall. It flickered. Was there, and gone again. But his gaze didn’t translate those thoughts into the visible expression of body language. He stared with an intensity that was not so much intimidating as unnerving. His eyes were like the biblical red sea, deep pools split down the middle by a black chasm just wide enough to be noticeably not human. He looked alien really. Like he didn’t quite belong in the world, and that reptilian gaze was a cold thing. Unwavering, searching. Who was this creature?

He took in tiny bits. There was that lip ring he wanted to play with, see the way it reflected the dull lights in the temple, and watch as it tugged at skin. Dark clothing was similar in colour to Azraeth’s, but a different design altogether. Did the other man have tattoos? Part of him wanted to check. He looked like he might be the sort to sport them well, with his pale flesh. Like parchment, untouched and smooth of texture. There was intelligence in those eyes, he could see it plain as day. Complexity. God, if he existed, didn’t live in heaven. He lived the spark that resided right behind the windows to the soul, that fragment of the divine that made mankind stand apart from animals and rocks and everything else. The beautiful boy had that in him.

“One moment.” He said as he lifted his hand, three digits cast towards the other male, thumb tucked in, and index finger pointing upwards as if to ‘hush’ Andrew. It was the section of flesh that had been left to bleed, and it healed visibly, one corner stitching its way towards the other. Blood soaked into flesh, and he reached for one of the screeching spirits. They were caught in moments of agony. Emotion was a powerful thing, bridging the gap between mind and spirit. There was lore that stated certain feelings could imprint themselves on objects and environments. Az was of the opinion that was true. These were not spirits that could remain in the temple. With their anger, and vengeance built into their hearts.

So he consumed them again. But where the first time had been of the flesh, the second time was of the soul.

He drank them all in, pulling their energy into himself to bolster his own arcane abilities.

And only when they had dissipated, and the men were left with the spectres natural to the Temple did Azraeth continue. “Well that was a bit of a failed experiment. Don’t you hate it when that happens? You try something new with all the hope in the world it’s going to be a fantastic idea, and then it’s so…disappointing.” The complaint was issued without much of a negative inflection. Conversational. He made his way around the altar after wiping and pocketing his ceremonial dagger, a hand extended to his newest acquaintance. “Azraeth Dragomir, at your service. Humblest welcome. What brings you to the Temple?”

[Andrew Belanger (DELETED 5843)]

Andrew raised a brow as he was shushed and for a short moment, that mild outrage blighted out the stark point of fear that had stabbed its way through him, setting every nerve to argue over fight or flight. And it was perhaps this, more than anything, that had him doing as he was told. That lingering feeling that something was wrong with this picture before him remained a pervasive little nudge at the back of his mind, at first, one that soon grew into a full-on shove, urging between one of those two options as the good looking man consumed each of the tortured-looking apparitions, leaving the rest to float about as they would.

His brow furrowed as he took another hesitant step backward, all sense of this place being any kind of haven for lost souls now long gone. Ha. Lost souls. For a hot minute there, he'd forgotten the living ones he occasionally ran into in this place; even apart from the likes of himself, there were those who found peace here. But nope, not tonight. The only thing going on in his head, beyond that insistent instinct to get the hell out of there, was the effort to make some sense of that which had no explanation whatsoever. Nothing logical, anyway, and for someone like Andrew, who wanted to believe in the other-worldly, to know that there was something beyond death - no, who needed to know - well... this was a little too much. A little too real and in-your-face.

But then he spoke again, dragging the boy's attention back from the spirits still dotted about the cavernous temple, babbling about failed experiments and the like. Andrew had to shake his head slightly; this very moment was perhaps the most surreal he'd ever had to date and it had him thrown far, far off center. He rubbed at his temples, briefly. The man was treating such an occurence as an all-too-normal thing, and perhaps it was that that struck him as being the most out of place. And what the hell was wrong with his eyes? He frowned as he tried hard to keep any shock from appearing all over his face even as he was trying to look closer at the reptilian slits where normal pupils should have been, and he was fairly certain he was doing a good job thus far, but... then again. He'd never had a very good poker face.

And then the man was holding a hand out to him, to shake. Was it the very one the spirits had been summoned from? Who the hell knew at this point? He forced himself forward then, rather than back as he'd truly wanted, and slid a cool hand into the man's - Azraeth Dragomir - to give a firm shake. He seemed normal enough, despite, well... everything else, and despite the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't take kindly to an ignored handshake. Andrew released a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding, trying still to make sense of a senseless scene. Maybe the guy was wearing some of those new costume contact lenses. Why was anyone's guess, but it could go a long way toward explaining everything else, too. Maybe it all was just an illusion meant for show, after all. And it was this coldly comforting thought that finally allowed Andrew to find his tongue once more.

"Andrew. Andrew Belanger. I visit here now and again. It's ... peaceful," he said, quite simple, before adding a pointed: "Usually."

[Azraeth]

Andrew Belanger, a name to the face.

Surname Belanger of English or French origin. Possibly the latter given they were in Canada (Azraeth spoke French, English and Russian fluently), though it was hard to tell in the modern day. Even in the old world, the bloodlines had been mingled and muddied. These days, most people were mutts of some kind. Andrew was one of the English variants of the Greek Andreas which had evolve from andros meaning ‘man’ or ‘of man’. Words and their use was important to Az, in no small part because he was a ritualist, and working with the fae meant having a good grasp on phrasing and the way that things were said. But more than that, one had to know what characters and phrases meant. Even for something as simple as summoning a demi-fae.

The name did not tell him very much at all.

When a hand made contact with his own, Az’s flesh was unearthly cold, in a way that likely wouldn’t have been pleasant unless you were already dead. Of course, the chill in the air had dropped Andrew’s external temperature just enough that the vampire didn’t get much in the way of body heat. There was nothing there to suggest that he was human save for a pulse. Bu wasn’t that out of place? A gaze narrowed just a tad as sot fingertips slid from a palm towards a wrist. He didn’t let Andrew’s hand go, but instead drew it closer to him as if he were going to inspect. He could read omens and signs of the future, but nothing so mainstream as palmistry or tarot cards. While he could, and while they were effective means of gathering information about the future…well they were so well known. It was like those warnings people gave when using a Ouija board. You could open a channel and not know what you were going to end up with.

The use of traditional divination, in Azraeth’s opinion, was open to tampering with spiritual forces. His means of foretelling what could be was reliant on more wild forms of magic. “That’s a handsome name. You’ll have to forgive me if I use Andreas instead. Andrew is very common, so many of them running around, and you don’t really seem that common at all.” It wasn’t really a compliment or an insult.

The tip of a lone digit pressed over a line in the middle of the other man’s palm as if he were following it, and then it slid until he could touch right over a pulse. He applied just enough pressure to see if it existed.

“You have an unsually short life line.” His jaw worked just after that.

“My family owns the Temple, and it usually is very peaceful. Apologies for just earlier. I had no clue they would be so rowdy.” He continued conversationally, though he knew it hadn’t been the mood of the spirits so much as their appearance itself that had set the young man off. “Can I interest you in something to drink to make up for it?” He released a hand and motioned towards the back of the church. There was a hidden passage that led down into the catacombs beneath. They had been converted some time before into living quarters for the Dragomir. Of course. That wasn’t really why he was inviting the other man down.

[Andrew Belanger (DELETED 5843)]

Caught like the proverbial deer in the headlights, Andrew could no more stop his unabashed staring than he could pull his hand away as the man continued speaking. Sure, his hand felt cold - as much cold as he could feel, anyway - but he chalked that up to the chilled evening air. He was sure his own felt like ice, too. He'd forgotten gloves, again. And so he stayed put, stock-still, and allowed the strangely calm male to make his inspection.

"Um. Thank you..." What else did one say when he was called uncommon? "Andreas?" he asked, blankly. Did the man think he'd be returning to this place, after all of this - that there would be another opportunity to run into one another? He hadn't even thought that far ahead yet; still trying to make heads or tails of the apparitions still moving about the darker corners and everything else he had seen, he couldn't quite think past the surreal feeling that pervaded throughout the unfolding night. And it was highly likely that this once-calming location would now be as taboo to him as the mausoleum had become.

He tried to suppress the flinch as the tip of one frozen finger moved along his palm before coming to rest upon a pulse-point, instead flashing the male a look of near-disbelief. Who was this guy, anyway, and why did Andrew cause him such interest? Andrew, the tortured, mildly obsessive-compulsive kid who, if he admitted it to himself, was addicted to scaring himself silly despite the panic and anxiety it caused him just about every evening he wasn't with Beca. He ignored the momentary pleasure of the light touch, in favor of the questions running through his head. "I know," was all he could say in reply to the length of the line. It was an oddity, something a friend trying her hand at palm-reading had pointed out back in middle school. And maybe it meant something, if one took stock in those sorts of things. Andrew tried hard not to, to scoff at such things as palmistry or tarot cards because if it was true, then he was drawing ever closer to the end of a life he wasn't nearly ready to part with - not even a little.

That thought alone had his heart racing and he forced himself to breathe through the slow, crushing sensation in his chest, forced himself to relax from the panicky thought that someone else had mentioned the shortened line: a tell-tale hint, perhaps, of a stunted future. Which gave way to the inevitable early end, and then the... the what? What came after?

No. No, no. He couldn't let his thoughts turn that way. Not now. Not here. He worked to keep himself upright, even as his spine curved slightly, fighting to keep from curling in on himself.

He drew in a slow, slightly shaking breath and forced himself to straighten, though it ended on a short, ragged laugh when the male spoke again. "So this is a normal occurrence?" he asked, both rueful for his reaction and grateful for the distraction, still not sure if it had been some kind of practice run for a show or if he was looking at real, floating ghosts... but judging by his instincts, and the way the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck, it certainly seemed like he'd come into contact with something other-worldly. That, or his excellent imagination was running wild. Or maybe someone had slipped something into his drink at the bar. "You've gotta be kidding me, man." And then, another laugh. "Thanks, but... I think I either had enough to drink, or... I don't know what to think, actually..."

But still, he took a hesitant step forward, despite that little voice telling him it probably wasn't the best idea to follow the strange man anywhere he couldn't easily leave of his own volition...

[Azraeth]

Azraeth hadn’t been entirely right since his most recent return to the world of man, from that place of shadows and blight. He wasn’t mad, not really. Not by vampiric standards. It seemed that being turned really twisted some of his kind into these unrecognizable creatures, but after his return, his mind hadn’t quite left that place between life and death. He saw spirits all around him, and magic, and signs. It was a lot like he saw the world the way everyone else did, but just a thumb’s length to the right. So that if it were a film, he would have been glimpsing right off the screen and into the very nature of the darkness, and the realm of the old forgotten things. It was some mix of being touched by otherworldliness and not being wholly sound in the head.

Not that it was immediately obvious in most cases. He still retained his full faculties, after all.

“Yes. I think it’s a name that suits you much better. Comes from another time, you see. Do you ever feel like that? Like you weren’t meant to have been born to the modern world?” That was something he was always curious about. Az was of the mind that he would have been better off at the turn of the previous century, lost in his mind lying on some bench in an opium den, wasting away. Or maybe cheering in some Roman crowd as men in front of him were torn apart by lions. There was a savage beauty to the past and its many mistakes.

He watched some sort of emotion flicker its way over the other man’s features. Was that fear? Dangerous vice to indulge in, in front of a Dragomir. It was subtle, the faint curving of Andrew’s spine that forced the vampire into stillness. His slitted gaze grew so narrow that his pupils almost disappeared from sight. He had this urge to press closer and draw that response out of the other man again. A single taste of it wasn’t enough. He wanted to consume every single drop of apprehension, and wariness the other could muster up.

He didn’t realize his smile had disappeared until he shifted his attention away from the other’s body language. It reappeared.

“Not really no. Well yes, it is a normal occurrence, but you’re not meant to know about it. Surprise, reality isn’t what you thought it was, and you didn’t even need to be on LSD to get a glimpse beyond the curtain.” His tone was good natured, and unscathed by the previous moment. He always had, had problems with something of a high prey drive. Time had taught him how to quell his hungers when they were arguing against his distinct sense of reason. Only way to survive as a vampire, really.

There was a telltale sound of hissing, the barely audible scrape of scale against stone as she approached from the door he had opened. The snake was white, a death adder, an albino that had been Az’s companion for as long as he could remember (Not that that was saying anything). Magog was like a ghost, the way the light hit her made her scales seem translucent. Made her seem like she was no more material than the actual spirits wandering about. She waited as Azraeth descended the stairs leading down. He beckoned with one hand for Andrew, and then she waited while the vault of stone closed behind them, only to follow. “Ignore her, she’s a bit picky with people. And perhaps if I can’t interest you in a drink, there’s some other way I can make you comfortable?”

[Andrew Belanger (DELETED 5843)]

A name that suited him better. It was an amusing thought, even in light of the panic that had not quite crept away just yet. But Andrew had never gotten quite so carried away with the more mainstream Goth scene that he had ever dubbed himself anything but Andrew. That level of ridiculous was almost too much to handle, and he had known - still knew - the angsty younger teens who referred to themselves as "Raven" or "Lucien" or even - shudder - "Lestat," long-discontented with whatever their parents had chosen.

But Andrew's association with all things dark and dreary was not simply an attitude - it was a reflection. It wasn't a phase, but a way of life, no matter how he chose to express it. His parents, artists both of them, had been accepting (even if they didn't quite understand the reasons their only child had descended into the darker side of life), perhaps especially helped along by the appearance of Beca, who's soul was beautiful, light, infectious, and addictive. And, of course, she didn't dress the way he did, lending them some sense of relief that he was more normal than he appeared.

But these thoughts fled as the man continued speaking. Something had Andrew feeling slightly off-kilter, dizzy with the still-screaming instincts to get the hell out of there, urges that had chills racing down his spine as he struggled to fight past them. The faded smile that suddenly reappeared, the way the man seemed almost dream-like in his manner and tone... the blood still adorning the altar. And those weird-*** spirits floating all around the place. Andrew didn't think he'd ever seen a ghost before, no matter the hours spent in the graveyard and mausoleum. And now, the kid who'd gone looking for almost all of his life for some evidence of what came after finally had it dancing naked in front of his face, with him having little idea what to make of it all. He frowned then, shaking off the fear and the instincts that still spilled over him like icy water, and felt himself taking a deep breath as he straightened to his full height, his features growing resolute. Without quite realizing it, Andrew had come to a decision of sorts. His chin tilted slightly upward.

"A glimpse beyond the curtain. Is that right?" He finally asked, feeling less and less inclined to believe this was some sort of joke, or show, as the minutes marched by, until the natural skepticism had worn away to leave nothing but a mass of curiosity and questions. He blinked at the man, before his gaze flickered to the gorgeous snake slipping past, and back again to the beckoning hand.

"Beautiful," he remarked of the ghost-like serpent as he took a few confident steps forward to peer down the stairs. A stray thought about tombs and catacombs lurking beneath temples and churches was mentally brushed away. "I'll join you after all, I think. I'd like to know more about what's behind the curtain." And without an ounce of hesitation, with the unmistakable sense that things were about to change, he followed Azraeth down the stairs.

It was almost as if the strange man knew what he would decide, Andrew thought, as the wall slid closed behind them.

[Azraeth]

He had worn many faces, and that evening he was a guide. Like the faerie lights written about in myth and legend, he was a will-o-wisp. He was something bright and tempting, that could lead to enthrallment and eternal loss of self. But he was a creature of the grave, and so there was that dynamic, that dichotomy found between the natural world and the darkness that animated him. He was a step outside of real, a hop and skip towards some beautiful and deadly fantasy. He was the promise of death undone, and a dream composed of cryptic prophecy that could lead to nothing to ruin, both of those things, and all of the above at once.

Curiosity killed the cat. “I hope you’re not disappointed. It’s not nearly so mystical as it all sounds. Really, it’s even a bit dreary.” He said as he continued down the stone steps. One hand grasped his coat, his fingertips brushing over buttons, as the other slid underneath so that he could find the hidden sheath that always contained one of his favored weapons; the ceremonial dagger. With metal that curved back and forth, and script etched into the surface in a long dead language, the edge was sharp enough to split hair. It wasn’t particularly long, but it could draw blood with barely a knick. It wasn’t obvious from behind, but the specters that called the crypt beneath the church their home, they knew Az’s intentions. He could indeed share the secrets of his kind, but boys in coffins didn’t tell tales.

At the base of the stairs there was one large chamber that had been converted into a meeting spot of sorts. Az was of the opinion that the décor needed to be updated, but that was pretty low on his to do list. There were other necessities, like a library office, and Circe – the most favored of his creations. Magog was a creature of silence who moved like the winding of a river. She was like the man whose soul she supposedly shared – a creature of life and death poured into the same cast. Because, you see, snakes represented rebirth. With each time they shed their skin, they were made new and fresh. Az, being a mystic, identified with that. But they were also venomous.

She wound around Andrew’s leg first, ascending his body with lax movement that said she had no particular urge to get anywhere quickly. Around his thigh and then narrow waist. She was long enough that one might have guessed her to be old. And she ended up wrapped around a neck – not constricting, because that wasn’t her nature. She laid there across shoulders with her tongue darting into the air.

“You see, I am a vampire. I think our community settled on that term because it was the easiest way to describe what we do. Who we are. When you pass over into the darkness, where we play, you gain the gift of unfaltering life, but at the same time – you lose everything that you were. The afterlife is all around you. There are spirits that roam the streets, seen only by a few, and then there are those who have faded into nothing but dissipate energy. For us, for my kind, when our bodies die, we pass into this land of shadows. Because we come from the shadows, you see.” He half turned, and was ready to pull the dagger from his coat. He was going to cleanly slice a throat and be done with it, but Magog lay there. She saw something in Andrew, and had given him her favor. Seer of omens, soothsayer, Azraeth let his hand fall away at the sight. It was as if she said to him: This one. This one is chosen. He is to be protected, cherished, loved.

He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with the weight of the new development bearing down on his shoulders.

“We return through the veil that separates this world and that. Tell me, Andreas, have you ever felt safe in the knowledge that you are eternal? I think that’s something only a few people ever feel. Great men who invent things that change the world, warlords who consume vast lands, men who amass fame, fortune, respect. But those men are never truly immortal – theirs is a legacy of blood that becomes more shallow with each passing generation.” He took a step closer so that he could lift his hand. The pad of his thumb brushed delicately over the scales of his serpent, and then lifted so that they could draw down over jaw, ending with a faint tap right at the tip of a chin.

“Do you feel safe, Andreas?”