The Book of All Things New

Jonathon sits reading his centuries old, vellum journal. He carefully turns the pages reviewing his time in London during the catastrophic contagion of the sixteen sixties, the fall of Byzantium to the Ottoman empire and countless other places as well. Then he takes out a new, dollar store, composition book and begins to inscribe the details of hism current life........ Outside, Morticia is on the snow covered roof with Albion, Marianne and  one or two of the other elves. Albion speaks. He says - No, really we can. We can share the gift with you. We can enable you to fly....... Morticia giggles nervously. She does not believe it. She says - How? How can you do it? I don't have any powers. I can read minds a little, but everybody can do that........Marianne interjects - You do not require any magic of your own....... Albion - We have more than enough to go around. It is a gift. Think of it as a gift. We are giving you a gift. Are you ready?..... Morticia - I, I think so........ She stands her ground, closes her eyes and clenches her mitten-clad fists. She shivers a bit, more from apprehension than from the cold. Albion neatly bites into the skin of his inner wrist, draws in some blood, throws back his head and gargles a little. Then he lowers his gaze and focuses on Morticia. He rises up off the powdery surface  till his feet dangle six inches above the roof-top. Then he blows the blood out of his mouth and into the cold, frosty air, where it instantly solidifies into a glittering mist of tiny, sparkling points of light, which settle on Morticia, gilding her with radiance. She giggles some more....... Albion speaks - Now do not simply dream it. Do it. Be it. Become the air. Rise up. Break free....... And so she does. Morticia rises up, a bit wobbly at first, but soon finding her balance. The elves rise up and join her.And they streak off (wearing clothing of the appropriate black color) to penetrate the night. Such are things in The City of Brotherly Love......... Yet  on another continent things are different. The Teacher comes to the shoreline. It is dark. An icy, bone-gray, January moon holds court above a silver-black sea, as the starry chorus twinkles in the background. The Teacher steps into the cold as death brine. He moves forward till the water reaches his chin. Then he begins to swim. Does a vampire feel the cold? Yes. Is it painful? That is relative. Pain is a signal announcing injury or infection. What are they to a creature beyond death? So, no, they do not 'acknowledge' pain. Not like mortals. It is merely a sensation, like an exotic flavor one developes a taste for. And so he swims on till the land turns back and forgets him. A meteor quickly slashes across the sky. But he is fixed on other things. And a song begins to pulse across the waves. A chant, a drone, an aria sung by beings vast and knowing. The whales rise ever toward the surface, until he feels their huge, leviathan presence. It brushes his belly. He stops swimming. He is familiar with these creatures and has traveled like this before. He kisses the back of the benevolent beast, drawing in a throatful of rich, hot blood. Then he seals his lips around the bleeding wound and closes his eyes. And this is how they move on, united as one. When the whale dives down into the abyss, he dives with it. In this manner the exit the Pillars of Hercules and pass out on to the broad, immensity of the North Atlantic. Do the whales have to surface? Do the whales require breath? Was he naked to the sun? I do not know. Some secrets are kept even from Zebulon and I do not know what magic happens when a vampire voyages thusly. I cannot tell you. But they continue on in this fashion and will do so till they reach the Jersey Shore.