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I never planned to be gone so long, that’s why I didn’t leave a note with Micah or Eve. Just for the weekend I’d told myself. Getting there was the hardest part. I found flights during the hours after sunset but before sunrise, and reached in two days. My healing ability allowed me to quell the thirst for blood that crept up several times along the way. Over a hundred humans packed onto an airline with a starving vampire...it wouldn’t have mixed well.

As soon as my feet touched Louisiana ground, the timeline was blown. How would I ever turn my back on NOLA, again? From the start I experienced her in ways I never had before. The scent of waters from the Gulf and Mississippi mingled with the holy trinity sizzling in countless restaurants, and sweet sugar coated it all as king cakes were baked and Bananas Foster were set ablaze. The scent clung to everything and everyone. Never had I missed being able to consume food as much as I did then.

I soon discovered the blood of the people was laced with the very spirit of my city- hot, from more than body temperature. There was a smoked spice woven into the metallic flavor profile, as if someone had been liberal with cayenne and paprika. My first taste was my last, though- the feeding troubles I’d encountered in Canada seemed to follow, so I reverted back to healing. As I shied away from human prey, I took interest in seeing what the land had to offer, and on the third night I stalked an alligator down in a marshy area. He didn't attack immediately as I stepped out before him, but when there could be no mistake about my intentions that changed. It was my favorite kind of fight- unpredictable and downright dirty. The skin was tough and slick from water and vegetation coated in mud, making good grip nearly impossible. The struggle for power was tiring, but I managed to straddle its shoulders, and my hands forced the jaws together. I only wanted a taste- killing would be a waste of good meat and skin. The throat was like armor and my fangs hesitated before cutting through, but the prize was well worth it. The blood was cleaner than human’s, and tasted of the flora the reptile likely fed on. As I drank, the beast beneath me calmed; perhaps he found the sensation pleasurable, or maybe he knew he’d lost that one. Whatever spell I had on him subsided though, when the pressure of my body lessened as I got up. He got real bold then, and went for my legs, trying to knock me over, likely trying to drag me beneath the water and drown me. “Not tonight!” I’d called out into the night, like the gator could understand, and with my new-found speed and dexterity I was gone.

During the night I combed the streets, getting to know them inside and out much like I’d begun to do up north. When the first signs of sunrise came in the sky- a lightening no human could discern- I retreated. Often times I broke into abandoned homes and buildings, some of which I knew had fallen victim to Hurricane Katrina and were never restored for one reason or another. Their water damaged walls were my shelter. Sometimes, when I was feeling particularly adventurous I’d target luxury condominiums or houses on the market, the types of places I used to dream of owning someday, where I’d start my own family. I couldn’t do that anymore, at least not by the means I’d like using to get there. I could add to the Andras bloodline if I chose, but with feeding being so traumatic, I’m doubtful I’d turn someone. Still, I’d never say never.

I was scheduled to fly out to New York, then go on to Toronto, and finally Harper Rock from there the morning after my dance with the gator. I bothered to go through the motions of going to the airport, completing check-in and waiting for the call to board. At the last moment I bolted. I was kidding myself, thinking that if I spent the time getting ready to leave I'd actually go. There was too much left unseen, so many things I wanted to know about my city.

To say I was unprepared to stay past the weekend would be an understatement. My clothing was becoming worn, I smelled of city pollution, and the cash I’d brought along was quickly dwindling. Luckily, as I didn’t need food this wasn’t too much of a problem. In fact, none of my problems were problems the more I thought about it. Perhaps if I were human, but I wasn’t. My contact with them was minimal to none- I’d fallen in love with the the roads less traveled, and stuck to the wild where everything was overgrown in its natural state. There I could hunt a variety of fauna when healing became monotonous, and study the hunting methods of the animals in turn. One evening I watched attentively as a water moccasin went for the kill. A small frog perched on the bank stood no chance as the snake approached. In seconds it was over- the mouth was splayed wide and came down around the prey, clutching and constricting until it made no sound or movement. Consumption was a slow process, but I watched it all to the end, fascinated. I would’ve stayed longer, to observe the behavior during digestion but I became distracted. I got the sense that someone or something was watching me, and noted a particularly foul smell had been introduced to the vicinity. It was as familiar as it was foreign.

Suddenly, I was on the defensive. The only weapons I had were several sharp daggers I’d managed to smuggle onto the flight over. My dominant hand slid slowly into a hip pocket, seeking the hilt of a blade as my eyes combed the area. I saw nothing, but the subconscious feeling remained, and even intensified. I’d started to take a step, I had it in my head that I’d seek out the source. That plan was crushed as a voice, low and velvety smooth erupted in my mind, overtaking my own thoughts so that all I heard was it.

”Yé pèl mò Silvio.” They call me Silvio he'd said.