Been told you can access my RSS by clicking on bit.ly/297pDxg ... and clicking on SUBSCRIBE TO RSS rectangle at upper right portion of the screen.. takes to to the new way they do things... I think... I want to get the direct link to that page but do far I don't have it.
I'm at the British consulate house on Rittenhouse square with the others (Jonathon's faction)... I listen to the talks and meetings... Learned a spell or two from the magicians. I can make people who KNOW they saw me, forget that they did. I can lure animals into quietly following me. Works best with dogs and crows... probably ravens too...
Boy, do they go through a lot of absinthe. I can't drink it. It's harmful, but the magicians and vampires don't mind.
They have a singer, a girl who accompanies herself on the harp. When she's done, she just stops... freezes and stops. I never see her recline or rest. I never see her lower her arms or blink or breathe.
They feed me rich stews. Not just me. The magicians get food too. They are mortal after all, even if some claim to be more than five hundred years old.
Jonathon and Cressida (Aura's new name) are off somewhere 'renewing' their acquaintance. They give each other slow, lingering 'cat baths.'... She does him. He does her... Probably in one of the bedrooms upstairs.
I'm charged with logging all this down. It's what I've always done. There are two cats here. They have silvery coats that change color from bluish silver to russet silver to, oh, I don't know what you'd call it. They sit and listen in the meetings just like humans and dine on little cans of crab meat.
A magician-girl tells me their enchanted mortals... twins from Normandy, but that's all she knows.
I try to speak with the emperor. I try to talk to Marcus Aurelius. But he keeps his own council. The cook makes him garon sauce, a fermented fish condiment ancient Romans dote on. He smears it on bread and spreads a little on broiled meats and such. He likes hot dogs too, vile cheap ones with hog's lips and cow farts.
They're listening to a concert now... Mongolian throat singers... an ethereal sound seeming to come from two unrelated sources. The singers are conjoined twins from Ulan Bator. They're joined at the base of the spine... never see each other face to face, only reflected in mirrors.
I see a big wing chair over in a corner. It's empty. I'm going to go grab it an try to fall asleep. No one's offered me a bedroom yet. I sleep where I can. Clothes and toiletries are no trouble. A magician from Nairobi conjures them up for me. Right now I have on a hip length, long sleeved, fitted tunic that fastens with little bone toggles and slim, legging-like pants such as Persian noblemen wore in the thirteenth century. I'm shod in fine, dark purple leather mid-calf boots. My underwear and socks are fairly normal. Oh, the tunic and pants are deep olive green and made from a roughly woven silk The magician offered me a turban. I turned it down. No turbans. I don't do turbans.
I'm going to take two accent pillows from a sofa and go commandeer that wing chair. That throat singer music is hypnotic. I'll be asleep in no time.
The enchanted human cats are watching me. I wonder what they think... cat thoughts, or human?
<until next time>
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Cressida sublimated out of 'the Annex.' She flew over the trees. They passed beneath her like bullets. Her vampire eyes uniquely attuned to the moonlight. She caught snippets of the world çbelow.... a black bear curled up against the wall of a shuttered cabin... a bobcat eating a dead crow.... something feral, furtive and vaguely humanoid, perhaps a 'Jersey Devil?' They were known to frequent the deep woods of Pennsylvania and New York too.
Then she had to land. Her abilities, strong as they are, only went so far. She needed to rest. She needed to feed, if not on humans, something like a human, or even an animal. She ran through the trees, skipping over roots and rocks and all manner of things. Night-folk can do that. It's automatic. It's instinctive. She caught the scent of that feral thing and closed in. He stopped and froze, just like a deer. She studied him... a true Jersey Devil. Not the convoluted creature of colonial penny dreadfuls, but a basically human shaped creature, covered in short, glossy 'horse hair,' though with a slightly long and somewhat equine face. The cranial hair was thick and feathery, continuing down the neck till it stopped between the shoulder blades, rather like a horse's mane. How scared he was. His night vision was nowhere near as keen as hers. She slowly circled him, weaving in and out of the trees. He gasped. He flinched. The vampirina made no sound. Her lack of scent only added to his fear. She saw the wings. Great bat-like things they were. One was carefully folded behind his back. The other hung lose, torn and broken, perhaps from a bear attack. He couldn't fly. He couldn't get away. He was helpless.
She moved in, ready to feed... not human blood, but close enough. Unlike little Horsey Skeezix and his clan, in the New Jersey Pine Barrens, this one was a true wild specimen, probably come down from the Adirondacks up north. Maybe it had a language. Maybe it didn't. Could be he knew a word or two of English. Crypto-biologists might be interested but Cressida wasn't. She just needed food.
Five heartbeats later she was on him and it was done. He moaned a bit. He cried for his mate and young one hidden in a nearby cave. Cressida didn't want to do it, but had no choice. Jonathon was waiting for her. Stupid Franklin thought she was a renegade. Some renegade. But Jonathon and she had a history... all those slow, lingering sponge baths in the dim, hidden passages of the mole-people. She remembered. He did too. So she took the blood, felt it osmotically pass through every part of her body, not through the arteries, but directly into the tissue itself. She absorbed it like a sponge. Soon after, when she was restored, the vampirina rose up, sublimating through the very molecules of the atmosphere and continued on her way. Jonathon was waiting, so he traveled south, roughly following the northern extension of the turnpike and made her way into Philadelphia.
Cressida, the daughter of a mole-king, had family in town, both night-folk and mortal. She missed her sister, silver to her gold, Sylvia to her Aura and stopped into the subterranean, lower level of never used subway tunnels before arriving at the residence on Rittenhouse Square, where the others were waiting.
The vampirina, formerly known as Aura, played both sides of the crypt. Night-folk need spies too. True, she was new to this and her sympathies lie with one side more than the other... but what difference does that make?
Aura beamed when she saw her sister. In the low, orange glow from the Sterno can it was hard to discern any difference, though she sensed her transformation. Cressida knew that she did. Neither referred to it and their visit was loving and cordial just the same.
Later that night, she 'appeared' in the upstairs sitting room, among those assembled at the consulate and they were very glad to see her.
Marcus Aurelius said something in an ancient Vampire-vulgate (an old basic type of Vampire Latin) and the discussion continued...
Outside life went on. Cars passed. Delivery vans rattled by. An occasional pedestrian crossed the screen... That is it would have been a screen if we were filming this...
Trouble is, somebody was...
<more next time>
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Jonathon met with emissaries of the British paranormal community at the residence of the British consul in Philadelphia. It was a polished and tailored beaux arts place directly on Rittenhouse Square. He'd been there before, back when it belonged to a Sears and Roebuck heir. The dining room originally graced a later Medici palace in France and crossed the Atlantic just prior to the start of The Great War. Higher vampires, those from 'quality' have their place in Society. Oh, people know what they are, though it's never ever mentioned. Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea stemmed from the Hasmonean Dynasty, second in all Israel only to The House of David. It's odd, people read the Bible. They see Saul, David, Solomon and assume that's basically all there was. A few other kings are mentioned, but nobody pays any attention to them. We read about The Herodians and The House of Maccabee, as the Hasmoneans were known, yet who realizes that Hasmonean descendants are still with us today? Believe me, our vampire friend is not the only one. After the fall of Rome, client kings throughout the empire insisted on the careful compilation of family histories. It's all they had. Some found favor at the Persian court. That empire still survived. Indeed, scions from The House of David had a court in exile there... a very lively place too... and were known in ruling circles as 'the exilarch,' or Prince of The Exile. Hasmonean heirs were about in the world as well. Many lent their names and position to Northern communities in French, or what would later become German lands. Their status, though less exalted, still meant something. Muslim and Catholic rulers on the Iberian Peninsula were intimate with the ben Macabis. Had not our Jonathon fallen into Crusader hands and been rescued by 'Papa' (an uber vampire), he'd have spent his life as a Cordoban courtier, attending dinners and symposiums at the Alhambra and taken part in royal 'progressions,' or sumptuous mounted parades throughout the kingdom.
Our son of Al Andalus was basically a snob. Jonathon knew who he was and although very careful to ask after the comfort of others (aristocrats love to appear considerate), keenly protective of his own lofty estate.
So he called for this meeting and they all came. Grigory Usipov, that very regal Russian, vampire, oligarch flew in from Moscow. Haute 'magicians' from The Hermetic Order of The Golden Dawn house in London, took a whole floor in The Ritz Carlton and a little known cabinet liaison from Washington showed up too. Each participant arrived separately in a plain, basic, Cadillac limousine. Everything was hush hush. Security was tight. In truth, the media had no idea. Some old time members of The Fourth Estate had an inkling, but also the good sense to keep quiet. A certain much celebrated magician from that Golden Dawn house threw a 'crystal fence' about the place. That venerable spell has never been breeched since the time of the first Pope Gregory.
Upon entering, each invitee was ushered up the wide stairway to the large sitting room on the second floor. Jonathon preferred that setting. Why make the situation seem more troubling than it already was? Here they could sit in club chairs and talk. The auditorium was a place for lectures and a lecture was the last thing he wanted.
The paranormal world is an extremely volatile place. True magicians have little use for night-folk, or witches of a more rustic sort. Lesser breeds, like non-decomposing zombies were thought more diseased than enchanted. And lower forms, such as ghouls, true zombies and lucid wanderers were never received at all.
He had to make this congress of allies, as he called it, work. Grigori Usipov was to be second in command... a grand vizier, or secretary of state. Other members of the ruling council would be named at the conclusion of this meeting. Right away, the magicians were already talking ----- Oh, two vampires at the helm? Yada yada yada. Buzz buzz buzz. Jonathon pretended not to hear. Marcus Aurelius (yes, 'that' Marcus Aurelius) told him to be patient. The former emperor had friends in both camps. As a stalwart of The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, he'd always favored consensus.... Many vampires and magicians thought he should lead. But Jonathon ben Macabi was known as a gentleman of true faith. His ancient royal blood provided him with a certain cache too. A group of paranormal types from Spain already referred to him as 'el rey.' Many older attendees still resented Rome. Marcus Aurelius, as honorable as he was, could never live that down. Extreme longevity presents problems of its own. Memories never die.
So they made their plans, or moved closer to making their plans... Doctor Franklin and his group made plans too. A certain comely, newly minted, Korean vampirina lass was already en route to her East Asian assignment. But that group never considered that the mark in question had an eager first cousin who was even worse.
Global intrigue is a hard game...
And nukes trump paranormal any day...
<more next time>
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Jonathon sits in the small library, his favorite room in the townhouse. Sarah, his consort, sits with him. They do not read, or watch the small television. The drapes are drawn, as they always are and a small, glazed, ginger jar lamp, brought back from the China Trade almost two hundred years ago provides the only illumination. They communicate telepathically, sometimes whispering a word or two when precise elaboration, or detail is necessary. Most nights they go their separate ways, but not this night. Jonathon - I should have let Doctor Franklin die. He loves his life more than he fears the vampiric burden. Sarah - Why not sublimate in there and destroy him? Just pass through his body and that'll be it. But she knew, as soon as she thought it. Jonathon 'took vows.' He never kills indiscriminately, but relies on 'visions' sent from above and even then, when he takes a life, it is a 'culling' and not a killing. Sarah follows that philosophy too. It's all she knows. Jonathon made her a scant four or five years ago. Occasionally she speculates, but that's as far as it goes. Jonathon spoke. He said - Destroying an evil doer never destroys evil. Someone always rises to fill the void. Franklin wants to rule the world, or at least control and influence a good bit of it. He thinks he can sculpt humanity like a stone. Trouble is, stones don't have souls. That's what we are, even night-folk. How complicated you make things - said his consort. He poured a bit of chilled vodka into her glass. They drank.... Then they drank some more and stared into the middle distance. Jonathon said - I love this room. If I was sealed in here, like a genii in a bottle, I could survive. I'd lay on that sofa and read every book, beginning with The Trials If Gillgamesh and ending with THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS.... I've been meaning to ask you. Why no books more recent than THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS? - asked Sarah. I promised Jackie Susanne. You know she was from Philadelphia, don't you? - said the tipsy vampirino. God, I'm glad vampires don't have to pee - went Sarah. Yet we always feel as if we've just had a good one... a good pee, I mean - said Jonathon. Remember when you were mortal and you had such a good pee, you could walk around with a relaxed urethra and nothing would drip out? Yep - said Sarah. It's why people become vampires. We feel like that all the time... That's not why people willingly become vampires, though - said her creator. It's not? - asked Sarah. No - said Jonathon. Most don't become vampires willingly. They are brought over when near death by more or less compassionate vampires, or desperately beg for it to avoid death. Others are beguiled, or seduced. You mean like me? - she said. He didn't answer, at least not that question. But he did say - Unto every generation saints are born and thirty six is their number for eighteen is the number of life and they are more than mere mortals. It is for the Lord alone to know their names. Thus any soul we meet might be one of their number. That's why we don't kill on our own. Never know if it's one of the blameless... Is that a Jewish belief? - she said. Maybe I've heard you say it before, but I don't know. I don't pay attention to what you say... Thank you - he said. Then he poured them both some more vodka and went on. Among their number, the saints, I mean, is The Messiah.... Does this happen in every generation? - asked his consort. Uh huh - he said. And you don't want to be the vampire that kills the Messiah... I don't get it - said Sarah. Doesn't The Messiah get bored waiting around for his time to come? No. He lives a regular saintly life. He doesn't know he's The Messiah. Others see it in him. Like Miss Congeniality in Miss America? - she asked. Don't be funny - he said. What kind of vodka is this? Remind me to ask Edith. But the thing is, there's always one human on Earth worthy to be The Messiah. That's why they've killed so many people throughout history. Satan doesn't want him to come. Is that why? - she said. It's what they taught me - he said. You are one complicated vampire - said Sarah. He just shrugged... Sarah thought for a few heartbeats and asked - But Doctor Franklin is a vampire. He's not mortal. Can't you just kill him? I told you! Someone else will just be the new Doctor Franklin... Like the new Doctor Who? What? Who! Who! - she said. And you know what else? Where's that beautiful vampire voice, the sound, the cadence you usually have? It's the vodka. It'll be back... You know, I read that NASA will make a big announcement Monday about something they say on Europa - said Sarah. Maybe the manta ray people waved back? - mumbled Jonathon. I forgot about them - went Sarah. So what are we going to do about Doctor Franklin? I mean he's programming those killer vampires like Doctor Goldfoot and the Bikini Bomb... Jonathon snorted, thought about drizzling a bit more vodka into his glass and reconsidered. Vodka provides night-folk with a bit of release. ... If you're spiritually constrained, like Jonathon, you need that. But now he had to sober up... and go face Doctor Franklin... Back when Cressida was 'Aura' she was a friend of his... Now he didn't know... So he got up, went out of the house into the cool night air and started walking... Vampires, even thousand year old ones, like Jonathon, don't know everything... but they have personality and sometimes that's enough... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click - TALK ... to join me on Twitter... click OLDER POST at the bottom of this page to go back and see posts you may have missed... learn who Cressida is and all. please comment. thank you.
Bon note, mi amici... This is not a regular post, just a little idea I have for what could be a cool, cable show based on the day to day lives and intrigues of a 15th century, ruthless Italian dynasty ruling a wealthy, powerful city-state in the North. Welcome to the rebirth of KNOWLEDGE, with more plunging bodices and clingy hose than the Ballet Russe... Stone halls with courtiers and feral hounds. Great galleons plying the sea. Byzantium has just fallen to the Turks. While to the west, a rapidly rising Spain threatens to recreate the world entire.
Meet the family Monte di Ferro, or Monte Antica, as they are sometimes called, descendants of an old clan dating back to the dissolution of the Frankish Empire. They've produced popes, statesmen, domineering consorts and a secret Illuminati or two.
Franco fights to keep the ducal throne. His wife dallies with a wealthy Converso (secret Jew). His heir held for ransom on the Island of Rhodes, while a daughter, banished to a convent for 'inappropriate behavior' threatens him at every turn.
Witness the glamor and pageantry of violent, bloody horse races careening round the public square.... the masked balls of carnivale... occult magicians and alchemists... refugees fleeing a nascent Inquisition.... and enemies slowly boiled in oil and sulphur...
Then there's Zio Lorenzo (Uncle Lorenzo) a bitter, younger brother engaged as a mercenary cavalry officer for the Polish-Lithuanian magnates... or at least he was, until he returns in the company of a beautiful witch, la strega Isabella...
Like GAME OF THRONES? ... No, this is real. These things really happened...
What a day, what a day for an Auto da Fe, but that comes later...
We open as Franco oversees the torture of a spy. Since spying was considered theft, they snip off the offender's fingers with huge, razor sharp shears, throwing the guilty digits to the lampreys, writhing in a nearby zinc lined tank. You see all manner of things in a dungeon.....
The victim screams. He trembles and nearly chokes on his own snot... They stop, leaving one fore finger and a thumb on his left hand... He fights for breath, bound to a rough, wooden 'throne.'...
Franco speaks. He says - Name your master. Name the leader. If you do that, your wounds will be bound and you can keep what you have left.
The man sits, snorts and thinks for a few moments, then he raises his head and laughs like a maniac.
Franco fights to maintain his composure. He approaches the man, stands before him, studies the pathetic fool, then suddenly boxes his ears. The laughter turns to shrieks. Franco leans down and says - I hope you can hear me, for I chose to be merciful. You may keep that finger. You may keep that thumb. I'll have something else instead...
The brutal, human ape of a torturer looks up.
Franco goes - Prepare the cucchiaio ......
And watches as the butcher heats a an old, specially shaped, rusty spoon...
Approximately ninety six heartbeats later, the butcher scoops out both eyes, turns to the duke and asks - should I finish him?
Franco says - No, let him live....
( cue the music... as the credits roll)
<<<<< KNOWLEDGE>>>>>
Just an idea, but I could get into this.
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She glares at Doctor Franklin. Even in silence, his look is judgmental and accusatory. They sit in 'the residence,' his rustic private quarters within 'the annex.'
Cressida - What the hell do I care what you want. I'm not a piece of equipment. You think I'm going to kill people because you tell me to? Go to hell. I hope you burn and go to hell. I'll kill who I want to kill. And you know what? I don't CARE who I kill. That's the kind of vampire I am. Why should I care? I lived underground. My people lived underground. They didn't want us. Those bastards walk by homeless people all the time. They ignored my humanity and the humanity of everyone I cared about. So don't tell me who to kill. We're not all crazy. They like to say that. Makes it easier for them. I went with you. I saw those 'powerful' people. I sat there. I didn't say a word. You thought I bought the whole thing.
Doctor Franklin - I thought you understood.
Cressida - Think whatever you want. I don't care what you thing. You want me out of here? Who cares? I'm hardly ever here, you bastard. You know why I played dumb? You know why I came here and stayed quiet? I had to learn. I had to learn EVERYTHING. I had to learn how to sublimate. You're right. It is the most important thing. It's freedom. It's power. (in a quiet, controlled voice) And I can do that now. I'm a natural. They all say I'm a natural....
With that she instantly seems to disappear and reappears behind Doctor Franklin's twig chair.....
CRESSIDA - You see? (blows in his ear... he flinches... she laughs... she leans on the back of the chair) I could have destroyed you. I could have sublimated right through you. My 'aura' is stronger. I could have torn through your body and ripped you to shreds. Liquefied you. You know how it is. You saw. You saw when we practiced on the prisoners. You watched everything. Who's idea was it to shoot them up with muscle relaxers? Who's idea was it to paralyze them? Yours? ..... (he doesn't move).. What'd you do, just grab them off the street?
Franklin - No, the police supplied them. They make people disappear all the time.
CRESSIDA - Some of those 'people' were kids...
FRANLLIN - (shrugs) Some were criminals...
CRESSIDA - What are we?... You know where I was last night? I killed somebody. I sublimated out of here and I killed somebody... an old man. He had a souvenir shop, a real nice little, Pocono Mountain souvenir shop. Had a little cat too. Such a cozy place. The cat watched the whole thing. Licked up the grease after.... He wanted to close up. Wanted his can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew. Lived in the back. Wanted to see his reruns of Match Game '78. I pretended to browse... little varnished cedar boxes... books about the area... t-shirts.... stuffed chipmunks. Bit the back of his neck... crushed right through the vertebrae... snapped the spinal cord....makes them more pliable... like you and your muscle relaxer... Maybe the cat inspired me?... I don't know... but I got down on the floor and carefully nipped into his scalp, right on the top of his bare, pink pate... the cat was intrigued... Then after incising a pattern of similar cuts from ear to ear... and you know these were deep cuts. I am a vampire after all.... Peeled his scalp, the front half, I mean, down over his eyes. I don't know why I did it. Guess I'm just creative that way.. He whimpered. Sounded like he was singing. Sang all the while I drank his blood... almost. Then he stopped... Death will do that. He ignited into that 'cool' blue flame, like they all do and disappeared. Burnt right up. Cat meowed a little. I took a nice, little varnished wood box. Then the cat tip-toed over to lick up the mess and I left. Just another case of spontaneous human combustion. That's what the local paper will say. That's what they always say... A lot of that going 'round.
Franklin didn't say a word.
She took a bottle of vodka from the carved, oak bar and left.
He exhaled and cried.
That girl was gonna be trouble...
<more next time>
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Doctor Franklin sits in his 'residence' and thinks. He has impressive digs in the Philadelphia compound and another in his Pocono annex. The mountain place is more rustic, like an 1890's upper class fishing camp... plaid sofas... twig chairs... rough stone hearth... oak paneled walls. The windows look out on 'the lake.' Not real, like a 3D projection. You have to remember this is all underground.... It's getting dark. The fake, 3D sun goes down over the mountains. He occupies a twig chair by the fireplace. Is it lit? Sure, it's always lit. They have a good air conditioning system here. What do you think?
He goes over his plans to insert vampire assassins into the coteries of inconvenient leaders. But that seems cumbersome now. No need for anything so elaborate. No need to create relationships. Just get them in. Do the deed. Kill the 'mark,' sublimate through the roof and be gone. Who cares what the security cameras show? Who cares what people think? These are vampires. Let them go to hell.
So sublimation it is. They have to learn that skill and it has to be perfect. Most night-folk fall into it naturally after a bit. They exit a 'culling' (sounds so much better than 'a killing') and BOOM, instinctively whoosh up through the ceiling plus any other floors and disappear into the night. He's never done it yet. Luna tries to work with him, but he's afraid. Jonathon used to tell him stories. For centuries he's heard the stories. I mean when he was mortal... an English vampire from Restoration London who solidified while passing through a stout, stone wall.... Crushed clear through he was... legs and hips in the privy... all the rest in the garden, except for the nine inches liquefied into the ancient, Norman masonry.... They burned his nether half before he could retrieve it, or rather before his allies could retrieve it. Familiars spirited away what was left of his upper half. To prevent desiccation they carefully positioned him on a thick, glass table (alchemists had such things). Can you imagine such exquisite torture? Vampires feel their injuries quite acutely. The only difference is they usually survive them. So he was there, balanced on a smooth, reflective surface, as if rising from a cool, clear lake. His spleen, the stump of his spine, raw nerves, a ripped stomach, all manner of offal, pressed against the glass. How he wheezed. The look in his eyes. He knew. He knew what was coming. The had to cauterize the 'wound.' Not with fire. They couldn't use fire. The substance of vampiric bodies drinks it right up. They ignite like tinder. But every drop of blood, lymph and serum oozed from his mangled thorax and they had to stop that. Desiccated vampires endure as papery figures, paralyzed and still, with blind eyes. So they lit a fire in a large stone pot and placed it right under the table. Can you understand how hot a two inch thick slab of glass gets? I don't think you can. Some have been revived. It's very tricky. At times it works. At times the dry tissue and supposedly healing blood combine into a thick, sticky paste-like mess. After that, there's nothing else to be done, but burn what remains. If heaven approves the vampire 'lives.' Soon after a thick, white stiff, rubbery mass sprouts from the truncated spine and from that new growth begins. Victims die like flies to nourish this resurrection. How they shriek and scream at the sight of such monstrosity. Eyes flutter back into skulls, as the clammy arms reach out for them. This all takes place in a very dim chamber. The less seen the better. But they see plenty. Death must be a balm....
Franklin remembers that story. Maybe as a mortal he didn't think about it all the time, but as a vampire forced to master the art of sublimation he does.
Wouldn't you?
So sublimation it shall be. Those trained at 'The Annex' will excel at it. Those who don't will die trying.
It takes real dedication to be a vampire these days... at least in the eyes of a vampire master who seeks to rule the world.....
<more next time. click OLDER POST down below to see what you've missed>
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