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This is Billy. I'm not alone in the townhouse anymore. The elferinos came for me. They're still here. Philadelphia is not devoid of vampires. It's true, Baylah spends most nights with her rich financier boyfriend at the shore, but she's always been like that. Blackie's still here. Our group is cordial to him, but he mostly stays to West Philadelphia, Roxborough, places like that, whereas we're primarily Center City. I say 'we,' even though I am not a vampire, though I've blogged for them so long... well, you know how it is.
Before they came, I was afraid to stay in the townhouse at night, lest Pig Blood Annie show up again. I have no idea where Jonathon and the rest of them are. I tried to get into Franklin's compound under the Navy Yard, but they don't know me. They won't let me in. Luna, his vampire, physician assistant must know who I am, but she plays dumb. Always was a two face.
So I'd walk around the city. When it got real late, I'd go into a museum... any museum. Jonathon and Sarah love museums. They'll wander the galleries all night. Watchmen know them. There's a knock, a certain knock. If you go to the right door (usually around in the back) and know the cadence, someone will let you in. I know the knock. There's not a lot of us in there, maybe three or four a night. Most are impoverished art students. Some are Goths. I see two quiet, nicely dressed old women from time to time. They're deaf and converse in sign language. They alternate between The Philadelphia Museum of Art (The Rocky Museum) and The Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts ( where Eakins taught). Nobody turns the lights up for us either. We silently move through exceedingly dim passageways, salons and display areas. Sometimes we nod. Occasionally the mummies in The Penn Museum groan and shriek, but no one pays them any mind. Who knows Coptic? They only know Coptic, or an ancient form of it called Kemeti and I think they mostly tell us to go to hell and drop dead. That's what it sounds like. I don't go near them.
Some nights I don't walk around the city. I stay home, but sit in the cozy, little library because it's right off the entrance hall and I can run out the front door if I have to, provided no one else is running in. So I sit there in the small, shelf lined, octagon room, in a pool of light from the porcelain table lamp, watching reruns of The Meredith Viera Show with breaks to thumb through old bound copies of National Geographic. Sometimes the little ghost boy who mostly stays in the basement sits with me. We keep the sound turned down low. No use attracting attention from the street. But I don't know who could hear us through the heavy, green, velvet draperies. Once in a while I fall asleep and wake up in that room.
One night, the draperies suddenly billowed into the room as a figure morphed through the mullioned window and came down to rest on the thick 'Turkey' carpet. I was half asleep. I didn't know what it was. I almost had a heart attack. The little ghost boy jumped in front of me. The porcelain table lamp fell over. And the intruder said - Billy... Billy... It's alright. Don't be afraid. It's me. It's Marianne.... I said - What's wrong?! What happened?!..... She said - Nothing happened. We never see anybody. Where is everybody? My God. It's been nights...... I told her about Pig Blood Annie, how she came back, what she did, how the others got out and went somewhere..... She looked around, sniffed the air in the room. Elferinos and elferinas are very scent oriented. I'm sure she smelled something of the born-witch, for she made a face and said - Quick, come with me.... Then she turned toward the little ghost boy and asked - Rodney (how'd she know his name?), will you be alright?.... He nodded and said - I'll be alright. I'm not alone. I can see 'ghosts' you can't see..... I never knew. I don't think the others did either.... That satisfied her. And quick as a wink, she bit into her wrist, drew in some blood, swished it around and blew it out (in the form of tiny, red, glistening, sugar-like crystals) all over me. Then Marianne grabbed my hand and said - Fly.... I did. We sailed through the draperies, the mullioned window too and rose up over the rooftops, till we were a pair of small 'somethings' moving in the night..... Elferina magic is strong and sure. Was I scared? Of course... but deep down, I knew I'd be safe and the view was quite distracting, as we skimmed along just above the highest spires of the tallest buildings more than eleven or twelve hundred feet above the ground.
Yonder sprawled the dark and leafy necropolis of Laurel Hill, where the Elferinos and elferinas made their home. Marianne began to descend. I was only along for the ride. Where she went, I went. A few heartbeats later we skipped down on a winding path amidst an old collection of picturesque, ever so slightly moldering mausoleums.
She led me toward a small, classic 'temple.' The heavy copper door soundlessly opened. We went inside. It closed. And there were the others, lounging on cushions in a coffin-less space, illuminated by a few, fat, yellow sputtering candles... elfin creatures with somewhat pointy ears, long fingers and large, reflective eyes. Elferinos and elferinas are pubescent vampires. The hormones are strong at that age and even after what they term 'death' certain body parts continue to grow... thus the pointy ears and such.
And I was a guest among them.....
<more next time>
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