1 refg

After silencing Melusine with the promise of unbridled violence, I have the notable displeasure of facing a large group of irate vampires demanding answers. From their perspective, I was gone for half an hour while they were fighting for their freedom and the only witness to my disappearance was Martha. My friends would know that duplicity is not in my blood, quite literally, although deception is. The temporary allies I gained for this project are significantly harder to convince, and I do not blame them. Indeed, I have acquired invaluable strength while they held the line. The major issue here is that they are my allies and partners and therefore I cannot simply bash them over the head with a heavy root for questioning my honor.

Although, the drive is strong.

There is something different with me. I assumed some of my behaviors would fade with sobriety, but it appears some of the changes are permanent. The urge to remove shoes indoors will be manageable. My sudden bouts of irrational anger might prove more problematic now that the incentive to stop is considerably lower. Why would I care for consequences when I am the consequence? I must force myself to be mature, composed, and patient, the wiser person so to speak, especially when faced with an insistent Sephare buzzing with concern.

"Silence please, give me a moment to QUIET YOU LOT! As I said very clearly and several times, I will begin by telling you of my adventures, and then those of you who have questions can take turns to ask them. I will answer most questions to the best of my abilities, and we will not stop until the situation has been made clear. Now, I propose that we reconvene in the dead world where they have seats. Unless you wish to stand in the middle of the clearing until dawn chases us away."

We move through the portal with our 'prisoners', although they keep their weapons and armor. They spread across the tents while we gather on the ritual site with the most precious of commodities and the reason why I moved us all here in this starved, desperate place.

Coffee.

I would have stabbed Constantine if he had insisted on talking outside when I have my own fresh supply of ground beans waiting for me in a prepared pot. It has been close to five bloody years without a nice cup of java. To deprive me would be a crime.

For the next two hours, I give them an abridged and simplified version of my discoveries, omitting the adventure and insisting on the spheres themselves — their compositions, populations and so on. Cadiz supports me whenever my word comes into doubt, not that they believe I would lie but they consider that my mind could have been influenced. The existence of the Sovereign of Summer spreads confusion and dismay among my kin.

At some point, one of the Mask vampires thinks himself smart by 'retiring' to a nearby tent for the express purpose of eavesdropping. Although not completely a breach of contract, the practice annoys me enough to shove him back to his own men with a forceful application of roots to the groin. Let it be known that I shall answer low blows with lower blows.

The questions come soon, and most of them relate to what I can do now since I have kept the existence of Pookie and the Dalton's Fury secret so far. I answer politely. I answer patiently. Even the insinuations that I knew, should have expected, or planned my departure. The only accusations I struggle with are those of delaying my return. Unfortunately, they are correct. My arguments that the opportunity to gain advantages was simply too important fail to gain traction.

"A hypothetical final battle only you believe in makes for a poor excuse for leaving us alone."

"I left you for half an hour, and this battle is nowhere close to hypothetical."

"Even if you win, we would only be replacing a Devourer overlord for another."

"I can only assume you have never interacted with my sire for more than one minute, sir, or the difference would be obvious."

I can tell they are not satisfied and I know why. I have made incredible progress with this trip, progress that I have not shared yet. They most likely feel neglected. No amount of explanations will make up for that, and that is fine. I will reveal my gifts and acquisitions after they are properly secured.

I suspect what upsets them the most is the sudden upheaval of the balance of power. Constantine himself seems unsure on how to handle me, though my calm and lack of grandiloquent evil speech on world domination must assuage his fears.

Eventually, there is not much to do but to remind them of the reason for their coming.

"Mask is defeated once more and our land is secure. We have permanently removed their access to fae blood, equalizing the battlefield for the foreseeable future. I believe this calls for celebration more than blame."

To my surprise, Constantine diplomatically addresses me.

"You have to understand that we have learned of you disappearing through that portal against our expectations. Now you return much stronger. Have we swapped one threat for another?"

My outrage must have been obvious because the Speaker winces, aware of his heavy-handed approach. Have I not been his supporter all along despite what he did to me? Do the years spent working on golems together not matter at all?

"What Constantine means," Sephare rushes to correct, "is that this new situation is a lot to take in. We have seen much and been disappointed by much throughout the centuries. Please do not take our concerns personally."

Of course I damn will.

"But never from her!"

Most vampires turn to Jimena, who had been so far standing awkwardly and with puppy eyes next to her equally uncertain progenitor.

"You have no right to doubt her. My sister has been nothing but an abiding, honorable member of this community and one of the most active proponents of our continued independence. You heard her. She was kidnapped and simply made the best of it, as I would have done, as any of you would have done in those circumstances. Our purpose was to stop Mask and we have done so. You are not entitled to any other results than the ones you joined for!"

"Ariane has been unerringly loyal to her allies during our stay together. I have seen her respect her word every time, especially to me. She has displayed commitment and a sense of sacrifice. I am glad to call her a friend."

Suddenly, the public attention switches to Cadiz and I see something that I never anticipated from my kin. Relief.

Oh, they mask it so well I had mistaken it for concern but what they feel is fear, really. I can taste it in their aura, though they try to mask it. They are… smaller than I remember. The Accords vampires are afraid of me. Not all of them, of course, but enough to be telling. Despite what my dear Jimena said to defend me, the others will not trust me. Our kin cares about their immediate network to some extent, everyone else is rival, ally of circumstance, or prey. There is no in-between. She will not convince them.

In the next ten minutes, my ally and I perform an improvised social gig to soothe everyone. Sephare and a Constantine walk up to welcome Cadiz and fail to walk back, staying by my side instead. The Cadiz form a line behind the Progenitor who stays around while discussing his plans to stay for a while and observe. The Roland rally around Adrian who smoothly recenters the discussion around what demands we should make of our Mask captives. Ten minutes after the talk has started, I have graciously receded in the background of a newly formed circle, only intervening when the others involve me.

I am part of the group again.

The fear recedes, turned into the respect afforded to the strong as more and more people ask me questions about the fae spheres and the hypothetical danger they represent. I do not begrudge them their curiosity and answer truthfully, even though I know I will have to repeat myself in front of the council. The meeting winds down when Constantine walks to a waiting Bertrand, standing while surrounded by Hastings herself. I hear the unassuming woman jest to Sephare about the large number of Progenitors present. We do have four, an extraordinary occurrence. The fact I brought them together brings me great pride.

As expected of Mask, they smoothly turn the occasion into a socializing event and vampires who were skewering each other a couple of hours before now exchange jokes and taunts. A few sanctioned duels occur when opponents find themselves curious to see who would have prevailed. The abundance of willing mortals helps sake the thirst of those who were seriously wounded. I am fine with this outcome so long as they leave me alone, because I have not forgiven them. I only tolerate them because of our code. We are still on my land.

My mild annoyance melts when Urchin and Doe approach me.

"I knew you'd be back stronger ma'am. I told the big lug but he wouldn't believe me. You're so strong now, I feel like I'm standing in front of a coming storm. Are you fine?"

"More than fine now that I have had some coffee. I believe things are looking up."

"I thought I had lost you again, Miss Ari," Doe says.

He clasps my hands in his giant mitts in an unusual display of physicality. I allow it because it is Doe.

"I could not follow," he finishes.

"But you were here when I returned."

"I was waiting."

"I know I could count on it. Come on, do not stay on the sides. Mingle."

They obey, disappearing behind the arguing pair of Martha and Melusine. They look so similar besides hair color. I find the resemblance eerie. Shaking my head, I turn to Jimena as she discusses excitedly with her Progenitor.

"Not just the German School, but also L'Ecole des Armes and the progress of mounted fencing and formation! There is so much to discover!" Jimena says.

"I will be looking forward to it. I have my own treatises to write on fencing with vampire powers."

"Oh, oh and I have a request. If I may."

"Do tell," Cadiz says guardedly.

"Could we spar? I do not mean to presume…"

"I would love to receive pointers as well," Suarez adds.

Cadiz keeps silent for a few seconds, then slowly, a genuine smile blooms on his pallid face.

"I would love to."

Before we leave, Constantine together with Cadiz, Ako, and a few other warlords ask to spar with me. It soon becomes obvious that despite their considerable powers, I still win. The thorn forest may not seem as impressive as Jarek's seismic fists, but it is uniquely suited to making me control groups and their numbers do not help them when I can grow roots between each member of the squad and focus on one while keeping the others busy. Constantine's barrage of powerful chains exhausts itself chasing ghosts while statues overwhelm him despite his decent close quarter skills. Cadiz cannot match my speed and I show no mercy in my style, fully aware that any sloppiness on my part will be paid later when I face my sire. I outpunch Jarek — which brings him great satisfaction — thus canceling his main strength. Ako and Wilhelm are not strong enough to oppose me although they use axes to great effect. The chaos of battle inevitably ends in my victory although I do have to make efforts. Between magic, fencing, my Magna Arqa, and guns, I have the tools to overcome any opposition.

I use the opportunity to remind Jarek that he would personally sponsor me for the seat Queen of America if I were to defeat Bertrand in single combat. My remark is taken quite seriously and leads to a round of negotiations behind closed doors in the Boston fortress.

In the end, I accept not to claim that title for two reasons.

First, there should be no queens in America. The last time someone tried it did not end so well.

Second, I find our community to be a den of ruthless, manipulative, devious, stubborn old curmudgeonly predators and I refuse to spend a second more than I have to one unruffling feathers. I would very much leave that task to Sephare since she not only excels at it, but she enjoys it too. Truly career socialites are strange creatures. The same applies to Constantine and his Watcher-cursed paperwork. I am pleased to let him handle taxes, fees, trade dispute arbitration and the general application of the law and by that I mean that I would rather stab myself in the knee with a sharpened cross than be more involved. I have enough to handle as it is.

"We effectively hold all power between the three of us. I propose to simply enshrine yours by granting you a title and the power you desire, that of summoning the Accords to war," Sephare offers as we sit in comfortable chair in the Speaker's private quarters.

"Unfortunately, we need a majority of two-thirds for any major change to the power structure. We do not have it now."

"I can purchase it," I assure them. "I have a bargaining chip I wanted to share anyway."

***

The streets of Moonside have not changed much. A population of werewolves tends to remain stable at most times, due in part to their amazing physical resilience, and the lack of children. Jeffrey greets me with his usual congenial smile.

"It's good to see you bosswoman. How did that little thing go? I told June it would be fine, that you knew what you were doing after all this time but she wouldn't stop."

"I am sure the thought of losing me was too much to bear," I sarcastically reply.

The werewolf leader gives me a mischievous wink under the worried gaze of his guards. So long as I live, the werewolves are well-protected from many dangers.

"I happened to travel to the other side for a little while and I bear a gift. Or rather, I thought it was when I found it, but it might be double-edged."

"The other side? The dead world you mentioned?"

"No. The world of the fae."

"You… went there."

"Briefly. And I brought something back."

I remove a statuette from my pouch. It features the frame of a woman, little more than a miniature mannequin.

"Hmm. Very nice?"

"Touch it Jeffrey, and you will understand."

He does and his fingers freeze as soon as they touch the delicate artifact, or delicate in appearance at least. His eyes search mine.

"It is calling but… I cannot answer. So calming."

"Only women may bond this. If she touches it during the full moon…"

"It will cut her from the curse."

"Yes."

"But then…"

"Yes."

Jeffrey breathes hard. He licks his lips with nervousness and a powerful longing."

"Will the child…"

"I do not know. I only know that it will be possible. The artisan was quite certain it would function."

Jeffrey guffaws. It is not a nice laugh.

"Poisoned indeed, bosswoman. The sweetest poison you could ever find. Ah, and to think we went five years without murder. Only one person at a time can bind this item, is it not so?"

I nod.

"It was difficult to acquire, or rather, I had to find one who could do it."

"Yes. How wonderful and damnable. You know, bosswoman, sometimes hope is a curse. I read somewhere that all gifts of the fae were traps. You are no exception."

"You could return it."

"No, I really could not. Name your price."

"I want you and your clan by my side when I face my sire. I will not send them to fight my kin but I will need all the help I can get during daylight."

"When will it be?"

"Not any time soon. This is a pact between myself and your clan. Your clan must adhere to it and they will collectively hold the promise."

"The clan answer to me. Yes, you have a deal. All of my warriors and myself for that last campaign."

He stays quiet for a moment, though I can tell he has something left to say.

" You smell…different. What else did you find?"

"Power. I found power."

***

The White Cabal complex at Avalon may not have changed over the past years, but my accomodations have. Rather than being made to wait outside at the councilmen's convenience, I now wait in a guest office inside of the expanded government building with a cup of black tea. I do not really enjoy black tea. I hinted at it several times but the only reaction I get from the assistant who delivers my drinks is terror. The last time, she almost tipped the cup into my lap, and so I sip the bitter liquid with mild annoyance. Finally the woman returns to whisper that I am expected. She smells of cheap terror. I can go weeks without feeding now and the mild temptation is easy to keep under control.

The council room is circular, with seats arranged in an amphitheater and each chair placed behind the more decorated one belonging to the main counselors. The fat president still gives and takes the right to speak with bangs of his mallet — I never bothered to learn his name. The Head Librarian is the same positively ancient woman covered in trinkets. There are some new faces however, especially since a few were removed from their shoulders after the attempted coup a while ago.

"What is that she's holding?" a new councilwoman asks.

The president turns to me this time. I have in my hands a long staff wrapped in a snug wood casing. Its shape is quite obvious, especially for mages whose use of the gauntlet is only a recent change.

"Would you like to tell us now? I assume this is relevant to the conversation."

"I come bearing answers and a proposal. The staff is part of my proposal."

"How do we know it's not a trap?" the councilwoman insists, breaking protocol.

She is quite young and beautiful in a pouty sort of way, with raven hair and thick lips tastefully underlined with minimal makeup. I approve of her efforts but not of her interruptions. Ugh, every time I deal with mages, a good third of the time is wasted on grandstanding. They are like us but without manners.

"Then I propose you start with it since there are bound to be many questions"

"Certainly. I will be brief. There will be a battle in the future that will decide the fate of our planet, and I want you by my side when it happens."

"We have already agreed to a defensive alliance. Will this be any different?"

"The man we will be facing will not attack us, he will attack another immortal. If he wins, he will gain enough power to take over the world single-handedly, and there will be very little we can do to stop him."

"One of your kin?"

"The one who made me. The first of our kind."

They mull over the news in collective silence for a moment. I sometimes forget that the mortals know very little about us as we like to keep our affairs private and deny the curious with extreme prejudice. I consider the current notion to be relevant to the negotiations and ultimately harmless, unlike, for example, the number of top level civil servants we hold sway over. Which is most of them.

"How old is he, exactly?" the Black Dog asks.

"Approximately two thousand six hundred years."

This time the mages are dumbstruck. They know very well the older a vampire grows and the more powerful they become. It does not take a genius to realize the implication.

"Can a man like this even be stopped?" another counselor asks.

"Due to special circumstances, I have gained the strength to face him at least. Victory is not assured, however."

"Can you give us an idea of what he can do?"

In answer, I deploy my aura.

I always keep myself under control these days since it is only polite, but now I am here to impress upon them the necessity of unity. This time, I let go. It feels like removing an overly tight piece of garment if said garment encircled one's soul. I refrain from sighing in contentment.

A few of the people at the back gasp, but the archmages and veteran politicians facing me merely flinch, doing their best to keep their composure. The lights flicker, which is new. Slowly, the warm glow of the lamps turn blueish and the temperature drops. The fading warmth of the mortals' breath produces amusing puffs of mist.

"You have made your point," the president says.

I regretfully pull my power back in. The cold lingers for a while, even after someone opens a window to let warmer air in. It gives the mages a moment to consider. Eventually, they recover enough to pretend they were merely considering my words.

"And what do you expect us to do?"

"I do not expect you to face him in direct combat. The strength of mages has always relied on preparations, planning, and superior tactics. This is what I would like you to contribute. In return, I will offer you this staff," I say, and I open the package.

"What does this do?" a younger member asks with interest.

"It gives you a fighting chance."

I reveal a silver implement of sublime make, a work of art covered in thin, interlocking layers of runes. No human hand could craft such an elaborate masterpiece, and even a mundane human could feel the power it exudes.

"This is a Blue Court war rod, a proprietary design of their fighting forces. No human mages can live long enough to hope to harness its potential, although Frost would have been able to use the entire ice magic system. The man or woman who wields this shall become a champion among mortal casters. They will outshine entire cabals through sheer might."

"And the price for that…"

"I already paid it. Only one person may bind the staff, but so long as you hold your part of the agreement by supporting me with your full military for one battle, it will be yours now and forever."

We understand each other. Mages may not lie or break oaths easily. If they deny me, they might not lose their lives but the staff will at the very least become cursed, not least because it was made by a Likaean. I am asking for a very serious commitment.

"Where did you find such a thing?"

"You know the fae are gone," I start.

There is a little back and forth when they deny and deflect, as if the beat of their hearts and the smell of their stress were not all the answers I need. It takes half an hour of pointless deliberations before the leadership admits they knew of this phenomenon, which leads to another fifteen minutes of subtle recriminations from those who were unaware of the fact. It has only been two weeks. The news is still fresh. Casters in general only kept a handful of fae captive due to the amazing reward one could receive by giving them to our kin, and also the risk of being slaughtered if found sheltering them. It does not surprise me to learn that their fate would be hidden under a mantle of secrecy.

I admit I was also wrong, many of them did not know. Sinead has the truth of it. One of the most common mistakes is losing sight of what people know.

I will miss the smug bastard.

"The path to the fae worlds has closed and shall remain so for the next few millenia — barring the odd and unreliable phenomenon — so this is effectively a unique artifact of unmatched power. Please consider this a mark of my esteem, of my respect for your abilities, and of the hope that we will face that devil together."

Over the next couple of hours, I am asked much about the Likaean spheres and I keep my answers secret and mysterious for a single overarching reason: I am having fun. Besides, being insufferably mysterious is so deeply rooted in our personalities that to act with too much honestly would raise even more suspicions. They finally work their way backward to the conclusion.

"Wait… you freed the fae? You?"

"And sent them to their home plane, yes."

"How do we know she just didn't slaughter them all," the aggravating girl replies.

I learned that her name is Daphne and she is the new face of the human supremacy faction. Although I respect her for her attempts, her continuous insinuations are working against her at the moment. The proper way to do so is to save all those insinuations for her followers and only confront her foes with accusations that are too difficult to deny, otherwise the conclusion is what happens now.

"And how would she have collected the staff then? You can feel its power as well as I can. There is no denying it. It was made in another world," the librarian scoffs.

I let the argument wind down a little, until I am asked to leave so they can deliberate. I wisely leave the staff in plain sight with a small charge just so they can feel its power calling to them while they talk. Eventually, the temptation is simply too great and I get a signed, carefully worded contract signed. I have the core of a group. Now that it is done, I need to keep searching for new allies. I have time, but so does he.

***

"Ariane? Lass, is that really ye? I thought you were still in the new world doing your thing."

"I have not left yet and I also completed the project successfully. It is done."

That's great ta hear, aye. How can ye reach here from America? No mirrir should be this stable."

"I have enough power to fuel a spell at this range. I am also using the Aurora's chestplate. It has changed a little."

"What did ye do to my masterpiece?"

"The fae ice world helped it along to… completion, shall we say. You will see when you get here."

"And why would I get… what is that thing? Those runes, but no, it cannot be. I do not… Is that one gravity? Wait. Wait wait wait wait wai Ariane WHAT DID YE FIND?"

"Flying ships."

"Please tell me ye didn't let any of those young numpties catch a gander at this they'll demolish the bloody thing. By Tyr tell me ye kept the diagrams. Drawings. Anything!"

"I brought back the ship."

"You…"

"Yes. It is currently moored on my land, but we have a problem. The ambient mana is too weak to keep it afloat for extended periods of time. We need a way to adapt the design to our sphere. You are the best arcane engineer on the planet. Think you can help?"

"Dinnae move it, dinnae screw with it, and keep the humans' mitts of that thing, ye hear? I'm coming."

***

Over the next few months, I find that the recent crisis has subsided but that its waves only grow with every passing day. The news of Mask's second defeat and their retreat over the ocean is noted by most information networks including the more mundane ones. The reason for their defeat and the disappearance of an entire species all trace back to me. As a relatively public figure I have no need or advantage denying the truth, especially since many rumors claim I murdered the fae to the last one. The unintended consequence of my success, the sheer scope of the operation, and Bertrand's crushing defeat in a one-on-one duel propels me to fame. I receive much attention from almost every faction that knows of us. Isaac even hints that the information package on my person has been purchased so many times it became the information broker's most sold commodity this year.

Not all of this attention is good obviously, and I am compelled to hire additional help to protect the secrecy of my latest project, as well as my life. The sun has not lost its hold on me and as unstoppable as I am at night, the cruel orb still stops me. I suspect summer essence has increased my resilience. It just means I will simmer instead of roasting. Progress.

Eventually, Constantine and Sephare put my request forward and the vote is called. I can tell from the eyes of my assembled kin that they expect some sort of compensation as the council assembles in the courtyard outside of the Boston fortress. I point up to the night sky, surprising many with my seemingly absurd display. Above us, there are only low clouds.

First they hear the flap of propellers and the woosh of hot hair leaving a balloon, then the hull appears, soon followed by sails. Curses and exclamations of surprise emerge from a notoriously quiet crowd, pleasing me greatly.

"Is this a flying ship"

"It is more than a flying ship. It is a proof of concept. It is… the future. It is here, and through me, the Accords shall control the exclusive rights to it. Welcome to a new era of magic and technology. Let us control it, shall we?"

.....

June 1872

Of all the major industries that graced the humble city of Marquette, none were more emblematic than the designing and making of weapons of war. IGL, Illinois Guns of Liberty, had claimed the position of crown jewel of the American military engineering business. It had kept this title through a combination of reliability, excellent supply lines, and an ability to streamline any design they came across. The Illinois Guns of Liberty could be found in the hands of infantrymen as it had during the war, but also equipped private security companies, Pinkerton detectives, and all manners of discerning individuals. Contrary to most of its competitors, IGL had thrived in the post-war crunch. Its founders had used their profit to diversify their activities. IGL had contracted with grace to match the rarer orders, only to bounce back with more vigor like a gunpowder phoenix rising from the ashes of peace.

Now, the forges belched out black smoke in turn with falling hammers. Deadly contraptions emerged from its maw, contained in crates stamped with the eagle of its crest. IGL was Marquette's largest employer and its roaring fires never cooled.

Despite IGL's respectability, there were some questions as to the nature of its engineering department, as well as the strange materials they seemed to work with. Certain rumors of witchcraft and curious pursuits titillated the curiosity of the town's gossips. It was said that they were working on ships, even though the closest body of water lay far to the north. Those rumors were left to run amok for a good reason. As in most cases, they were a lure, a smoke screen to divert the attention of the hoi polloi from the true enigma.

Situated behind the factory wall on a small hillock, the Reynaud family estate occupied a modest stretch of ground and would, to the uninitiated, appear as nothing more than a Gothic Revival estate designed for a large family. Its facade showed arched windows painted white, pink brick walls hidden coquettishly behind rigorously maintained hedges. Flowers were rare, and so were the guards, though an imposing wrought iron gate blocked the main entrance. A more astute observer would have noticed that the house came to life at night while most of the company's activities were winding down.

Maybelle worked there as a receptionist.

Now, there were quite a few anomalies in this house, not least the death of its famed founder some thirty years before the company's official incorporation. A massive painting of Hercule Reynaud greeted visitors with a fatherly, warm smile. It was quite recent, yet felt almost lifelike.

No, indeed, discretion was the better part of valor for most employees. Maybelle had never hoped for such good employment as a single, unwed mother despite her training, and she never would find one again if she lost it. Similarly, Hortensia Staunton from accounting was on the run from a jealous and violently separated husband, while Glenn Jefferson was wanted for murder in Virginia. She knew it because Mr. September had left his memo open on his desk while she was bringing him an order to sign.

Everyone working at the estate had reason to stay here. Quietly.

This led to the most polite and soft-spoken environment Maybelle had ever worked in, which suited her just fine. The employees kept quiet about 'the' woman, her strange comings and goings, her mysterious guests and other, stranger details. In return, they thrived under her black wing, left to enjoy their second chance at life in a world that would see them crushed. The woman, whom her colossal bodyguard called 'Miz Ari' but everyone else called Miss Reynaud, showed unerring respect, and her requests were always reasonable. Maybelle was more than willing to excuse her peculiarities for those reasons, and also because she was terrifying.

Maybelle was reasonably certain others had noticed. When Miss Reynaud walked around, sometimes, the walls would rustle. Her comings were heralded by a strange chill crawling up the spine of her attendants. She was unreasonably strong as well, sometimes picking up samples or interesting metal pieces with inhuman ease, while at other times she would pretend to struggle. Like the others, however, Maybelle would not lift the mask to see what hid under. She knew witchcraft was involved. She also knew that looking deeper might cost one more than their lives.

No, the Reynaud estate would stay polite and peaceful. At least from internal disruptions.

A chime rang from Maybelle's desk, rousing her from her distraction. The sun had set, letting the August night dispel the day's stifling heat. She grabbed the copper horn hanging near the wall and spoke into it.

"This is reception speaking."

"Mrs. Starr, hello, whose child is currently asleep in the south wing guest room?"

"Wallace's, miss. The new hire."

"And where is she right now?"

"Undergoing training with Mr. Jefferson."

"Inform them the child needs changing. There is no need to alter their schedule further, however. And do we have an update on the Lynn contract?"

"I'll bring it to you immediately, miss."

Maybelle picked the prepared file and walked the stone stairs to the second floor, where the strange woman's palatial office was located. Her brand new leather loafers sank in the lush carpet with every silent step. Mr. Doe stood at the top, his attention focused on what appeared to be a primer on the Finnish language. He nodded at her in passing, as he always did. As usual, she held her breath when entering the last corridor until she was certain no one could hear her, and as usual, Miss Reynaud spoke as Maybelle' hand approached the polished wood of the door, but before she could knock.

"Come in."

The strange woman's desk occupied almost all of the space from wall to wall, cutting the large room in half like the world's fanciest barricade. Sober carvings decorated its surface, while gas lamps cast a warm glow over the rare wood essences. Shelves occupied the far wall, some holding books, others files of recent projects. They were only half-full as their contents were regularly archived to avoid cluttering. Miss Reynaud did not like cluttering, as her desk's surface confirmed.

The woman herself sat in her chair, holding a small telegram. One of her brows arched imperiously in a gesture that did not quite fit her youthful features. With her poise, she possessed an ageless quality that made receiving orders from her less grating to the more traditionally-minded employees.

Maybelle wordlessly placed her folder in the receiving rack and stood, waiting to be dismissed. The strange woman balled the message and tossed it in her bin. Her expression had returned to polite neutrality.

"I am informed that we should expect guests belonging to law enforcement soon. Please direct them to my office as soon as they arrive. Thank you."

"Understood, miss."

Maybelle returned to the reception. She spent the next hour scheduling appointments and checking inventories. The expected visitors showed up a little later.

The first was a handsome young man with hard features. He entered with vigilant eyes and a hand on his holster, from which a metal handle emerged. A cross hung from his neat tie. Maybelle surveyed the newcomer with distant interest, noting the double-barreled coach gun strapped to his back. Two older fellows in dusters followed soon after with guarded airs, weapons on display. They approached her as if expecting her to bite. She expected bank robbers to show less nervous energy.

"We're here for Reynaud," the lead man threatened.

"Of course. Take the stairs to your right to the second floor, then it's the large room at the end of the corridor."

The man blinked.

Maybelle blinked with as much exaggeration as she thought she could get away with.

"Was there anything else?" she asked coyly, but the man was already gone with his two partners in tow.

Maybelle resumed her work.

The vampire felt the men arrive when spheres of denial appeared in her Magna Arqa, bubbles of existence that refused her own, protected by their faith in something greater than themselves, and her. Her bodyguard had pulled back for now, leaving the men to trail dust on the expensive carpet. They filed in fearfully, weapons drawn, crosses revealed.

The vampire placed her elbows on the desk and rested her head on her balled fist, looking at the intruders with detached interest.

"You are Ariane, the Red Maiden?" the handsome young lad asked.

He smelled of delicious terror mixed with courage, a true hero facing impossible odds. And those were impossible odds.

"I have been called that, yes," the vampire replied with a half smile to three gun muzzles.

"You'll be coming with us."

The vampire lifted a finger.

A small ball of steel smacked into the man's revolver, tearing it off his hand. He yelped in pain when his knuckle cracked as well. The same fate befell the other two men as well with such speed that the swear words covered each other. The attack had been sudden and devastating, and the would-be hunters were left holding their broken digits. The scent of fear increased.

The vampire stood up, and the door slammed shut behind the three men. She walked around her desk with slow purpose, coming to stand in front of her guests. Her voice never abandoned its polite, descriptive tone.

"Hypothetically, if I were to stand in an empty room made of enchanted steel with a single exit you could block, three men could indeed neutralize me. I would be backed into a corner, so to speak, but this situation will never arise."

The vampire extended a hand, and the man's revolver jumped into it. She twirled it for effect.

"The purpose of the cross is not to make you invincible but to offer a safe haven, that is why it makes for a poor offensive tool. So long as you stay home and pray, we shall never visit you, but the moment you step into the night with a weapon in your hand is the moment you forfeit the protection neutrality afforded you. Why did you not attack during the day?"

The men kept silent, glaring at the ground and at each other with the embarrassment that comes with a swift defeat.

"Answer me!" the woman hissed.

The crosses flashed blue and the man signed themselves. One of them retreated to the door, only to find that it would not open. The vampire grinned. She cocked her borrowed gun. One of the men gave in.

"We know you cannot be found during the day. No one can see you. And there are too many guards."

The vampire frowned at the thought of a leak, then reconsidered. She was a well-known — if mysterious — quantity in Marquette. The nosiest gossips had already drawn a parallel with Miss Delaney who had led the Dream in its heydays. And reached an unfortunate conclusion. Such was the price of hands-on management.

"There are three reasons why you still live," she said. "First, killing law enforcement is infinitely more problematic than killing a nobody. Second, I do not want blood and brain matter on my brand new shaggy rug. Third, you were so hilariously incompetent I am more amused than vexed. You have two choices. You can leave by this door and never bother me again, or…"

Darkness crept in the corners of the room. An unnatural chill spread through the air, freezing the men's breath in their throat. Their visions narrowed to a corridor and at the end of that tunnel was a cold presence, purple iris slitted with cat-like, baleful pupils.

"I will shred your souls and drain your life force like a fine wine and then, I will kill you."

The men had not signed for eternal damnation. They took a collective step back.

"I thought not," the woman said.

The door banged open and they ran away. The vampire sighed in relief.

"An Suqqam Hayatu, the tall one almost soiled himself."

She grumbled and inspected the threshold, her toes sinking in the fluffy fabric. Satisfied that no irreparable damage had been inflicted and it was not too dusty, she returned to her paperwork, signing spending bills and inspecting diagrams of what appeared to be a large ship. Or perhaps a hot air balloon. An hour later, she contacted the reception once more.

"Maybelle, I do not see the report on the Indian territories trade route. Where is it?"

"Ah, sorry ma'am, analyst Briggs said he needed one more day because some of the reports were late. He has provided an outline of the situation. It's in the sector report folder."

"Hmm. Thank you."

"Oh! Your order has arrived, ma'am. From France. The Berthe Morisot?"

"The painting? I will be right down!"

The vampire hummed a horribly off-tune little jig and put on some moccasins. She made her way down to the reception where the cylinder encasing her prize in a protective embrace awaited. She unsealed and opened it with dextrous excitement.

Maybelle leaned in and caught a glance. The painting appeared to depict a port with a couple at the forefront. Masted ships waited, moored in the distance. She squinted and realized the lines were a little blurred, the colors strange and fleeting. It was a far cry from the realistic landscapes lining the wall. Concern filled her heart but the strange woman smiled fondly, revealing, for an instant, teeth that were perhaps a little too sharp. Maybelle noted the strange Miss Reynaud seldom displayed emotions, yet now covetous greed gave her cold beauty a strange animation. After a while, she deftly rolled the painting back and replaced it in its sheath.

"Have it framed and brought to the exhibition hall. I do not need to remind you of the rule?"

"No one enters without your express consent. We will leave it in the lockbox, as usual. Ma'am."

"Good. Well, back to it I suppose. Ta ta."

Maybelle nodded politely and watched the young woman's blue dress swish as she walked. Shaking her head, she focused on her next task.

***

The vampire returned to her desk, still humming with contentment. Paperwork disappeared with commendable speed. Sometimes, she would call down to request a specific document from the archive or send orders that could not be delayed. Her outbox collected notes filled with carefully written cursive.

Suddenly, she froze. Then she blinked very slowly. Ten seconds later, the chime near her copper horn rang softly.

"Ma'am, we have an intruder near the east wall. Your… security thing made a sound. It appears to be a young man with a backpack."

"I see. If he makes a move towards the entrance, apprehend him. Otherwise, just keep an eye on him. I want to know what he plans to do."

The vampire sat back and waited. Sometimes, her eyes would travel down as if she could see through the thick walls. Eventually, she stood and huffed a little laugh.

"Well, you are quite the little monkey."

She went to the nearest window. Suddenly, branches of pure darkness dotted with white flowers appeared out of nowhere. They parted to let the statue of a man in armor out. It rolled the precious carpet out of the way and disappeared just as it had come.

In the silent room, there was a loud thud. The strange noise was quickly followed by a muffled curse, then another lesser thud. Wards shone softly around the reinforced frame. The vampire sprang in motion. She opened the window, pushing aside the man who had tried to break in. She grabbed his wrist before he could fall back down and pulled him in bodily. Her visitor swore as he crashed on the varnished hardwood.

The man was young, muscular and tan. His clothes were worker garb, dark to fit in, and covered in sewn pockets. Surprise marred his handsome, honest traits. The vampire noted the acrid stench of garlic.

He scrambled to his feet and opened his backpack with movements panic made feverish. The vampire politely waited with a hand supporting her elbow, the other tapping a clawed finger on her chin. The intruder finally revealed his target: a rolled bundle of dynamite. The vampire's brows rose.

"You can't get away with it!" he blurted.

Grasping in his pocket, he found a matchstick. This did not seem to bother the vampire.

"I am afraid you might have to be more specific," she said

"... what?"

"There are many things I intend to or have already gotten away with. You need to specify which specific occurrence of me getting away with things you are referring to."

"You stole our land! You poisoned the well and killed the cattle, only to buy it for a joke of a price! You think you can just take our home? I'll take yours too."

With a terrible rictus of unbidden rage, the intruder brushed the red tip against his boot and… nothing happened. With a puff of cold air, whatever fragile ember had started to form died a lonesome, pathetic death. The intruder appeared a bit aghast, but another match soon joined the first on its path to incandescence with the exact same result. Panic replaced fury in his expression.

The vampire had not moved.

After the fourth attempt, cold sweat covered his face. The vampire, however, reached a conclusion. She headed back to her office and sat, writing a quick note.

"Name and address, please."

"What?"

A breath later, the temperature plummeted. The intruder heard a sigh and watched the monster in the skin of a young woman massage the bridge of her nose, a human gesture performed with a clawed hand.

"Are you hard of hearing or just dense? Your name and address, boy, what are they? If one of my employees has been overzealous, I want to know about it."

"Why do you care? You're a monster!"

"Because," the woman patiently explained, "I have no need to create grudges and deep resentment over business when the long term cost is that young men attempt to break into my place of work at eleven in the evening, carrying dynamite instead of flowers."

There was a lull in the conversation, but then the man frowned. He fiddled with the cross hanging from his neck, surprised that it had not stopped her from grabbing his wrist. His suspicion grew.

"You just want to go after my family."

"I swear that this was not my intention. However, you are free to decline. I suppose we should resume our previous business and address your invasion of my private property and your threats against me?" she asked, picking up an elegant revolver with a pearl handle from a side drawer.

The man considered his options.

"Hmm. The Lord protects me."

"Has your faith made you bulletproof? Let us put it to the test."

"Wait!"

To his surprise, she did.

"Wait. Are you.. are you really the monster behind IGL? Is that you?"

"Yes. Do you need my signature to prove it? The company's seal?"

"No, no, this is… quite sudden and unexpected. You are playing tricks with me, foul monster."

His heart was not into it. The vampire tutted.

"Language please. I believe I am already being quite understanding, no need to test my patience further. Now, please state the address of the house that was stolen from you. At least."

"My family farm. Near Rushville. We don't live in a city, it's just the old Adams estate. I'm Roger Adams. Folks around us know about it. They know we were done dirty by some city fellers."

The woman tapped her finger on the wood of her desk, the tick tick tick playing with his nerves.

"Schuyler county, was it? I will verify your claims. If you are correct, your property will be returned. I understand the concept of home more than most people, I assure you."

"Is this real? Not some lies to get rid of me?"

"Mr Adams, do you sincerely believe I need to expend any effort to get rid of you?"

She tapped on the revolver to make a point, but the man suspected there was more to it. She had not been afraid even before she got a hold of the gun. He remembered the way his matches failed. The truth was that he had no weapons left, except a stake hidden in his back pocket and a knife. He had counted on the threat of explosives to be enough and… perhaps he should have planned this with more care. So focused on getting in, he had neglected to prepare what to do once he had achieved that goal. It felt stupid in retrospect but… he had been so angry.

"No. Uh, are you speaking the truth about getting our house back?"

"If you have told the truth, then yes. The perpetrator will also be… disciplined. I provide incentives for the acquisitions of key properties across the state. Financial incentives. I also impose rules and guidelines. If someone broke my directives out of greed, there will be consequences."

The intruder thought the woman used a lot of what his sister called euphemisms. She said it was when you say something soft that means something hard. He thought 'consequences' here didn't mean what most folks meant.

The woman finished her note, then placed it on the table where it sat there waiting with the tantalizing promise of justice accomplished. She entwined her fingers in front of her and asked him a question.

"Do you know what I am?"

The intruder hesitated, thinking he could still die. Eventually, his honest nature pushed him away from the easy lie.

"I think you are a vampire."

"Is that so? And why do you believe that?"

"My family, they said only a monster could do that to us. When I learned those fellers that harassed us were from over here, I asked about you and also my sister has that book about fantastic creatures of the world. Says a lot about pretty folks who come out at night."

"Is that why you stink of garlic?"

"Hmmm, that's right. The book said… it would help. It does not, does it?"

"No."

"Damn that liar. This Simon, errr…"

"Sinead."

The name was barely whispered, and yet it carried with it impressions, feelings. For a moment, the wan light of a nearby lamp gained a golden quality and the air smelled sweeter. The intruder got an inexplicable vision of eyes like amber, a devastating smile, the taste of wine on his lips. And also, a vision of a very erect penis. It was an extremely disturbing experience.

"Err. Yeah. Simon Nead. That man."

He gulped.

"Can I go now?"

"Hm? Oh yes, let me help."

The vampire stood and moved to the window once again. She opened it, giving the intruder a vision of a nearby fountain near the main entrance.

"That should be fine."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped. His cross shone blue and she lifted an index in warning. He raised his hands in surrender. He did not know how but this affected the object, which lost its radiance.

"Well, Roger Adams, I cannot say that it has been a pleasure. Next time you have a complaint, use the damn door. Now kindly show yourself out."

Next, he was flying through the air.

Gravity and panic gripped him. He flailed his arms in vain before landing face first in the shallow pool. He managed to twist himself, hitting hard stone with his shoulder. The shock made him gasp. The cold water jolted his mind. He surfaced, breathing quickly, his heart beating against his chest. He wiped the liquid from his face.

He was in the fountain. Alive.

The window slammed shut behind him. A click to the side attracted his attention. A man wearing a crimson uniform under a Stetson sniggered, his hand resting on an engraved rifle. He had just unlocked and opened the main gate. Their presence told him all he needed to know. She had seen him coming and allowed him to do so.

He scrambled out of the fountain and advanced, dripping, through the exit. As he ran, he noticed a short blonde woman with a muscular build under a similar crimson uniform. He had not noticed her until now. She growled softly when he ran by.

Terror and relief fueled his flight. He ran until he found his room in a nearby hotel and spent the night awake with the lights on.

***

Maybelle did her best to focus on the expense sheet in front of her. Sadly, she was too curious about the intruder. She could not help but wonder what they were here for. Was this a burglary? Spying? A scorned lover? She burned to know.

Then, it started with a light tremor in the house's foundation, a vibration of sorts. Maybelle braced and covered her ears. The voice of Miss Reynaud was soft, yet it carried through the walls with unnatural clarity.

It started with a string of expletives in some language she did not know, then French curses peppered the unholy mix. Eventually, it was in English that the eruption took place.

"I HAVE BEEN EXCEEDINGLY PATIENT AND I HAVE NOT SHED THE BLOOD OF THOSE BRAINLESS TWITS AND SO I DESERVE SOME COMFORT."

Maybelle grabbed the copper horn. A moment later, the chime rang.

"This is the reception."

"Mrs Starr. Can I have a coffee please? Blend number five with some cream and a, no, make that two sugars. Have Mr Jefferson prepare it please. Thank you."

"A long one, miss?"

"Yes. And get the office of the architect to get me a proposal for a tower. Seven floors at least, with a large basement. And the office on the top floor. Gargoyles. The works."

"Understood."

Maybelle hung up and raced to the majordomo. Seven minutes later, he walked by her at a brisk pace with a silver platter in his hands, trailing the enticing smell of a perfect roast behind him.

***

Ariane aspired to some respite after being intruded in her sanctum not once but twice in the span of a few hours. Restraining specific instincts had become incredibly hard since the dragon hunt, especially those that related to territory. If anyone had dared enter her private, special collection of paintings and art, she would have just dismembered them where they stood. As it was, it had taken all of her self-control not to bite the idiots.

She raised the cup to her lips. Cream altered the taste greatly, especially to her enhanced senses, and yet there was a smooth quality to the sweetened coffee that brought balm to her irritated mind. A few sips later, she felt better. That was when the screams started.

The vampire stayed perfectly unmoving as cries and chants grew in volume until the words were clear to all but the most hard of hearing.

"No more gin, drink water, close the pubs and stay sober!"

The sentence was repeated at nauseam by distinctly female throats coming from the gate. Ariane placed the half-empty cup in its decorated saucer. Outside of her property, a group of women had gathered in conservative dresses waving around signs and banners. There must have been two dozen of them and they seem agitated. Ariane came to a quick conclusion.

"Tonight is Thursday. The temperance league holds its weekly meeting," the vampire idly commented.

It was well-known that IGL owned and regulated the town's brewery to contain the endemic spread of alcoholism which now affected most of the United States. The temperance league were merely complaining directly to the owner.

Ariane placed her hands on the window's stool, resting her head against the cold glass.

The lord was testing her.

The problem was that she had been forsaken by said lord long ago and really, that was a little too much. In the middle of her coffee. Sacrilegious, even.

She returned to her cup but the relaxation that came with the ritual had been broken.

"You know what? Fine. Fine!"

A chime later, she had Maybelle Starr on the horn.

"Reception here."

"We have manure, right? From the stables?"

Consternated silence met her question, though the girl recovered quickly.

"Yes. We do."

"Excellent. Have a boy race and fetch me a large bucket."

"... to your office miss?"

"Over my carpets? Have you lost your senses? No, have them meet me by the fountain. I will be right down. And tell them to hurry, my patience is wearing thin."

Grumbling, Ariane put on her moccasins, again, and walked down, again. It was dark in the inner court so the protesters did not spot her. She could see them and realized in a calmer part of her mind that they would pay for everyone else's behavior. She also knew she did not really care.

A sleepy stable lad rushed by her side, the required bucket held in a strong grip. The container looked heavy, and its payload let out an acrid stench.

"Good. Place it here."

"On the ground, ma'am?"

"Yes, and step back."

The lad did so.

In an instant, a root erupted from the ground and seized the bucket. It snapped forward like the arm of an ancient siege weapon, catapulting its nasty content across the courtyard.

Some of it splattered on the metal frame.

More found the dresses, exposed skin and singing mouths of the protesters.

Atrocious screams and terrible wails replaced the slogans. Their misery drowned the street with a terrible din. The abused troop retreated in poor order, leaving behind discarded hats and abandoned umbrellas soiled with excrement.

The root disappeared as if it had never existed. Only the discarded bucket remained, a mute witness to the terrible crime that had occurred.

Near the gates, the woman gagged. The man sighed and left to fetch a shovel.

"Kill one warn a hundred," the vampire soberly commented.

Nodding to herself, she left for the tranquility of her art collection, knowing that if anyone came to bother her, Pookie would get an extra meal.