A Journey of Black and Red

Boston, October 12th, 1862.

I lean back into my chair and sigh with relief.

Paperwork.

The bane of civilization.

Although I have delegated most of the tasks related to the day-to-day handling of my manufacturing empire to competent subordinates, and while Loth’s kin, the werewolves, and pretty much everyone else manage themselves, there are still decisions to be made. Conflicts to be settled. I simply cannot distance myself too much.

Normally, it would be dangerous to leave my humans unattended for too long. Some would forget the price of duplicity. The wars, both overt and secret, have kept them on the straight and narrow, for now. I expect that it will last for a bit longer, just as I expect some culling after all of this is done.

And so, I keep in touch with my various managers via spell, telegraph, or surprise visits in the dead of night when they think they are safe. It depends on what is best for the cause.

And also a little bit on my mood.

There is but one telegram left, labelled ‘for your amusement’ in Sophie’s elegant style. Constantine’s assistant has been taking on more and more duties as time goes on.

I open it and learn that the Confederate slave owners with more than twenty slaves exempted themselves from conscription, by vote. Just yesterday.

“Why not just allow them to pay someone to go in their stead?” I ask myself.

Someone knocks on the door. Without waiting for a reply, Melusine barges in with great haste. She throws me a condescending glance.

“Talking to yourself in your old age?”

“And a good late evening to you too, my faithful minion. Now who are you running from?” I ask, picking up agitation in her aura.

“Martha,” the redhead soberly replies. She smoothes the sides of her skirt in a very human gesture of nervosity. Her eyes take the vacant stare we sometimes have when focusing on other senses.

“Martha? Lady Martha of the Lancaster, the head of Mask in Mexico?” I ask.

“Shhhhh! Not so loud!”

“And why are you afraid of her? She is a political leader, not the bogeyman.”

But then I hear it. Soft feet paddling over lush carpets outside in the corridor. One person. They stop by my door, just as I stand in front of it.

I take a step back.

“This is the room, mistress. Should I announce your presence?” one of the maids says. I recognize her voice, she is a recent hire.

“There is no need, dearie. You have been a great help. Off you go then. And take good care of yourself,” a more mature and confident voice replies.

“Thank you, mistress. Bye!”

The footsteps pad away until silence returns. Only then do three heavy knocks sound on my door.

“Melusine, I know that you are in here. I can smell your rustic floral perfume in the air, you little twerp. Open the damn door.”

“I have nothing to say to you, you old bat!” my companion roars, head buried into one of my pillows. I did not see her move.

“Perfect, because I meant for you to listen. You can open now, or I can inform your dear Speaker that I want you to be my assistant for his pet project. Then we will see a lot of each other over the next few weeks, mark my words.”

“Urrrrrrg.”

“Young lady, do not make me raise my voice!”

“I’m one hundred and seventeen!”

“Then act like it!”

I wait a while as Melusine huffs and grumbles into my pillow, which will now be tainted with Lancaster saliva. Finally, she bumps back and stands back up. She takes a moment to make sure that her green dress is well-adjusted and nods at me.

Which means that I have been demoted to doorwoman. Fine.

I lower the handle and Martha rushes in, trying to PUSH ME ASIDE.

MY TERRITORY.

MINE.

“HSSSSSS!”

A step back. Raised hands.

Silence.

“Now that we have determined that you are a big bad predator, can I finally have a conversation with my descendent before the sun rises?”

“Do not be too cocky,” I warn, “remember what you are. A guest.”

“My my, how proud the younger generation is. I would remember our respective positions, if I were you. We are no longer within naval artillery strike range.”

“We very much are. Behave,” I warn. Then I let her in.

Martha rolls her eyes dramatically. She can roll however she wants as long as she does not overreach.

Melusine is up by the time the haughty lady makes her way to the tea table. Both Lancasters are short, beautiful, and quite shapely. They even share the same heart-shaped hairline, though Martha’s locks are black. It occurs to me that when Martha speaks of descendents, she is being literal.

“How did you even know I was here?” my friend asks.

“I simply made a few inquiries. Your Nightmare was stabled with the others. Splendid beast, I might say.”

Melusine gives me a very small, very arrogant look and I bare my teeth. Those two idiots are wrong. Metis is the best pony. Theirs could never charge into a battleline as the Watcher intended, so they are necessarily inferior.

“Then it was only a matter of checking every location with the helpful assistance of the staff,” the Lancaster lady finishes with a predatory smile. It does not matter that the local humans were loyal to us and not her. They are accustomed to serving vampires. It was child’s play for Martha to turn it into her advantage.

“I must admit that this is the last location I checked. I never expected you to keep such… exotic company,” she adds, casting a glance my way.

“Rude,” I note.

“Whatever do you mean? I just find it curious that my blood would agree to play second fiddle to another while they have the potential to lead their own territory.”

“We joined forces,” I retort with a fake smile, “against pushy seniors who would see us brought to heel.”

“If only my own clan had not deserted against me and left me to die,” Melusine adds, “who knows what I could have achieved?”

From our tones, a passing mortal could think that we were discussing the weather. A passing vampire would direct us to the nearest duelling grounds. We are not being subtle.

“If we were back in England, I could have you flayed for your tone.”

“Then perhaps you should return there,” Melusine growls, all pretense at diplomacy now abandoned.

“I shall even provide your ship ticket if you are as short on money as you are on manners,” I add helpfully.

Monstrous pressure erupts from the old twit as anger gets the better of her. She is not wearing a gauntlet, but someone of her power can cast without one.

Our auras flare.

Far below, something answers. Something powerful.

Martha closes her eyes and leans back into her seat. Her brows rise a bit in an expression of surprise. A second later, she returns to her normal, composed self, as if nothing had happened.

“I do not know whether to condemn you for your foolishness, or praise you for showing some spine. Of course, in other circumstances, I would slap you with said spine.”

She considers the question for a moment.

“Or at least a few vertebrae. But these are strange times and I am in a strange land, and I have not come this far without a few compromises. Am I to understand that you do not recognize me, your ancestor, your elder in the blood, as someone worthy of obedience?”

“Hell no,” Melusine states without hesitation, “hell no. I was turned by an arrogant madwoman. I was caged like a beast when she lost her bid for power. I was sent here, under the yoke of that bitch Moor, to do menial tasks and provide ‘favors’. The only person I owe my soul to died defending me from the Order of Gabriel. He saved me from myself. He crawled through his own blood to hide my defenseless form. Even that blonde battering ram—”

“Hey!”

“—showed me more respect than any of my kin. As for playing second fiddle as you say, I am a City Master and part of a well-defined alliance, not some glorified eye candy to be paraded at social events. I have my own trade empire for fuck’s sake. Second fiddle indeed…”

“I see,” Martha notes, “I always thought that Moor was a good ‘element perturbateur’, but a poor administrator. Too focused on intrigue, I always said.”

“Oh that is grand.”

I watch the two go at it. It feels curious seeing people who so closely resemble each other being so at odds. As if I were watching two sisters argue over men, or something.

“I have not come to uproot you, young one,” Martha finally allows. I have the impression that she is not used to having to negotiate with her inferiors. Which we still are.

“Then what is it that you want?” Melusine answers guardedly.

“I have come looking for an apprentice.”

Both of us stare at that, though the two Lancaster’s attentions are now focused on each other.

“You must understand. Those of us who were born mages do not consider magic the same way as Masters who gained access to blood spells. It can be a blessing, but only with adapted training. I want to train a pupil, so I am no longer the only vampire at the apex of traditional casting. And before you ask, Constantine does not count. His approach is different, and bound to his nature as a Progenitor. You, however…”

“I am not the best caster out there.”

“Not yet. But you managed to make significant progress despite little access to proper resources. And there is one more thing that sets you apart from others.”

Melusine does not look surprised. Both Lancasters raise their right hands at the same time, palms up. Twin flames flare up.

“We understand each other. I do not require obedience. I require commitment and respect. Three months per year living together in Mexico city, once the current crisis is over. You can even use that wild card of yours, the one who travels through the Nightmare lands, to shorten distances.”

“What do you demand in return?”

“Greatness. As I said, it is lonely at the top.”

“Then I agree. For now, I have matters to attend to. I shall take my leave.”

Melusine finally remembers my existence and gives me a nod before departing. I go to grab a bag of fresh coffee and turn to see Martha gauging me.

“An apt ally for her. And you do deserve your reputation.”

Ah. Finally. It only took escaping Bertrand three times and cutting my way through two Mask squads back in Paris to finally be recognized. Or perhaps she is referring to my commercial success? I straighten a bit under the praise.

“You really do have vampiredom’s best rear.”

“Excuse me?!”

Fredericksburg, November 25th 1862, from the perspective of George Cavill of the White Cabal

It was dark and cold.

Winter was in full swing. The weather was overcast and the clouds low, their presence weighing on the man’s shoulders though he could not see them in the black skies above. The frigid wind carried in the air the rank smell of the river, and behind it that of spent powder. And behind that, in turn, that of blood and spoiled flesh.

George was a soldier of the White Cabal. It was his second mission. His best friend had died during the first.

George’s little sister had shown some strange ability when she was young. She could close wounds. When George was thirteen, he escaped the very religious village they lived in with her and traveled the land in search for a place to settle. It had been George’s most difficult time of his life, even considering the recent events. At least dying in battle was fast. It was not the long agony of starvation.

But some people had found them and made them move to a city called Avalon. They had found a home, and now it was time to defend it.

George was rather small and stocky, with a slightly too large face that made him look more like a fat teen aping a soldier than a real one, but he could shoot with the best of them. He was also cool under pressure.

“I will need people with nerves of steel, my lad,” Archmage Cedric Birmingham had told him, “as brave as they come to do what must be done.”

So George had said yes. And he would do it again.

Their small column made their way through the muddy path at the back of the Union lines. The army, under a general with epic facial hair called Burnside, had managed to cross the Rappahannock near the city before it could be fortified. Now, the combat had degenerated into a siege as the more experienced Lee had drawn him into a protracted battle. Things were taking a turn for the worse for the besiegers as the defenders were now dug in, but it would not matter to them tonight.

What mattered was the dead. There were plenty of those across the fields and outskirts of the city, fat grapes of them rotting in ditches and fallow fields. Grey and blue. And red. And the white of the exsanguinated.

Yes, it was rather chilly tonight.

George ran his hand along the barrel of his repeater and took solace in the familiar gesture. Their group consisted of twenty mundane infantrymen in borrowed Union uniforms, two strong lads in chainmail under their heavy cloaks, and archmage Cedric, quite fetching with his majestic dark beard and his confident step.

God, George hoped tonight would go better than last time. They had pretty much been overrun by the drones. He would never forget the look on his Jeb’s face as he was disemboweled, and the dying plea to make sure his body would be burnt immediately.

“Think we’ll see her?” his neighbor whispered excitedly.

“We’ll definitely see her. She’s heading the expedition,” he muttered back, focusing on his surroundings.

“I’ve never seen a vampire before.”

“Yeah, well, remember that they can hear everything. So don’t say nothing you wouldn’t want her to hear.”

“Is it true that they drink blood?”

George turned to the man. His name was Peter, and he was a dumbass.

“Maybe you should ask her in person. See where that gets ya.”

He left Peter to ponder the question. Everyone said that she stuck to her agreements. At least, there was that.

They followed a curve in the road snaking its way between bramble thickets and the odd field. A large rock hid the city from sight, and they could now see a lantern lighting the side of a decrepit barn. The mangy door was open, and a few men were standing in animated discussion by the side.

“This is all quite irregular,” a wiry man in a clean lieutenant uniform protested.

“You saw the written order,” another calmly replied. That one was a tall man with brown hair greying at the temples, and a waxed moustache under a peculiar hat. He had an accent that George could not quite place.

“Well, I will be verifying their legitimacy, mark my words!”

“You do that.”

The officer huffed and turned around. The hatted man then nodded at the archmage and banged on the side of the barn.

“George, Eli, come with me please. The rest, keep a lookout.”

George and another infantryman detached themselves from the column as it split. They moved into the building, which proved to be just as cold as outside, and found a soldier sitting in front of a curious crate containing equipment that he did not recognize. A woman was next to him. He could see an elegant dark travel dress and blonde hair held in a conservative tail. She was facing away from him. He made a conscious effort to avert his eyes and keep a lookout for anything unusual.

The far end of the barn contained one large crate sitting on some sort of trailer. There was also a table by George’s side, upon which he saw a few papers lit by yet another lantern. One of them had ‘confidential orders’ printed on it. It was half-open. Inside, words flowed in an elegant, refined calligraphy. It read like this:

‘Stop annoying me, I can do whatever I want.’

And below:

'You twits.’

The vampire leaned a bit more and poked the construct with a taloned finger.

It was easier to notice what was different if you expected it. What he could see of her face was quite pale and possessed the glacial beauty and alabaster immobility of a statue, like those he had admired in the Avalon Council Hall. Her nails were quite sharp and dark as the night. A human woman would have turned around to see who was coming. This one had no need.

The operator of whatever machine that was looked up at her and blinked.

“Do you need to see the order again?” she asked softly.

The man frowned and shook his head, before returning to his task, eyes vacant. He was, George realized from the rhythmic clicking, telegraphing something.

George did his best to stay alert, and saw Eli by his side do the same. The two of them were the smartest of the bunch. Not like that moron Peter who would have spent his time ogling. He thought that vampires did not like it, but who knew? There were so few of the buggers.

And that was for the best.

Sorcery was one thing. It could not come from the devil because his sister had it and used it to heal people. Those aristocrats of the night were another thing altogether. They said that a single one of them could slaughter a whole company. They said that cities under their grasp could not be visited at night without their leave. They said that striking deals with them could propel someone to the top of their world, but that they extracted a heavy price.

They said many things, but it had remained a faraway thing to George who had never been present on the rare occasions when that one visited. Now, he could see her with his own eyes, so close. The red maiden. His heart beat powerfully under his ribs and sweat pearled under his khepi despite the chilly air.

“How are things?” Cedric asked, debonnaire.

“When corporal Miller here is done sending my message, we will proceed. The cage is at the back. You will need two people to drag it,” she answered without moving. Her voice was smooth and cultured with a rather neutral accent. It was the sort of voice you would expect to hear in a salon, speaking little nothings in the ears of blushing suitors.

“A cage?” said corporal asked from his prone position.

“Do your job,” the vampire retorted.

George and Eli left the chastised soldier to his task. They pulled the trailer out with no difficulty. A moment later, the vampire strode out with Birmingham by their side. They continued down the path now with the crate and up to a massive carriage sitting by the side of the road. The vampire climbed in without a word.

What came out was how the evil queen in Cinderella would look like if she led evil armies as a side gig.

Usually, the White Cabal tried to keep a low profile even when they were on a mission. What the vampire woman wore did not follow the same logic. It made a statement. The outfit was dark scaled armor with a heavy breastplate and covered in weapons. The armor itself had seen much use, obvious from the parts of it where repairs had discolored it.

It was happening again.

George had felt it when the ‘Scourge Hive drones’, as they were called, had attacked. It was a peculiar feel of falling backward as if swallowed by the earth while still standing. George had raised his repeater rifle and shot bullet after bullet into the creature’s wire-thin frame, a primal part of him taking over from the depths of his psyche. All the while, his conscious mind had remained paralyzed by the horror and realization that things walked the earth that God had not placed there. He was looking at one now, he realized. The only difference was that this one struck deals and honored oaths. She also looked exactly like a person, if you didn’t know.

He did not know if it wasn’t worse.

The vampire casually stepped down and clapped her hands together. Once.

A woman in a thick travelling cloak popped out from behind a ridge, smirking at archmage Cedric who just rolled his eyes. The newcomer was short, but when she jumped down, he could see that she was quite muscular. The shorter woman’s posture had a strange quality to it. Almost feral. She went to the side of the man with the strange hat.

They moved out once more towards the city, George still pulling the cage with Eli. They left the road behind and crossed through water-soaked fields towards the city proper. They came across a picket line of Union sentries but the vampire did her thing and soldiers were sent back with various expressions ranging from curiosity to annoyance. None protested their passage. When they came in view of buildings and ditches, things changed.

“Alright. Blind the lanterns, lads. We don’t want to be catching bullets.”

He wondered how they would see until he heard it.

“Nu Sarrehin.”

The vampire’s voice was both soft and incredibly deep. The words possessed a weight that anchored their existence deep in George’s mind, present and yet somehow incomprehensible. They fell over his shoulders like a heavy mantle. Darkness was pushed back.

No, it would be more accurate to say that light was stolen.

The column was now caught into a bubble of purple light shining selfishly from the vampire’s palm. A few feet to George’s left. the timid sphere of visibility cut abruptly, and beyond it there was nothing.

The muscular woman let out a throaty laugh.

“Up to me then?” she asked in a raspy voice.

“If you please,” the vampire answered politely.

The muscular woman snarled and George finally realized what she was. One more monster to add to the pile.

Despite her aggression, she sniffed the air and shook her head.

“We are probably too close to the troops. We will follow along the lines of fortifications and stop every three hundred paces. Follow.”

They did. George huffed and drew the crate behind himself with the occasional help of other soldiers when the terrain grew too unforgiving. There was a peculiar charm to walk in the wake of creatures of legends on a hunt for something truly evil, a sort of spice that made the world more interesting. In his feverish mind, the attraction of being witness to such an event warred against his instinctual fear of the unknown. It was winning too. Truth had an addictive quality to it. Once tasted, it could not be abandoned. Not for him.

Peter by his side was showing another reaction. He was softly praying and denying the world. Bloodshot eyes dug into the back of the fighter in front of him. Perhaps, for some, it was too much.

They stopped again. And again. In the shallow, purplish bubble, time lost its meaning and distances extended no further than a few steps forward. It was on the fifth — or perhaps it was the sixth stop — that a change finally occurred.

“I smell them. To the west. Close,” the werewolf woman said.

“Good. You may return, June,” the vampire said.

“I can fight.”

“I know, but...”

The vampire’s voice trailed off and she turned to the rest of the column, her gaze passing over the men. George saw no trace of contempt here. In fact, the complete detachment made the experience that much more surreal.

“Prey,” the werewolf snarled, “perhaps I should return. I will see you later.”

The werewolf raced out and disappeared out of the bubble. The vampire looked ahead and slightly to the side. She addressed archmage Cedric.

“I see where they must be. We can bypass the pack’s frontline by walking along the wall. I will drop our concealment when we are on top of our target and leave the capture to you. Would that be agreeable?”

“Indeed. Let me talk with my men first.”

The vampire nodded.

“Alright everyone, gather around. That’s it. Now, I can finally share the details of the operation with you. You may be wondering why the secrecy. Let’s just say that even allied forces might want a piece of what we get tonight. Indeed, we are here to capture a node drone.”

Silence.

“A node drone is one that strongly feels the presence of whatever horrid entity animates them. Under its nefarious influence, the other drones move with more haste and coordination. For that reason it always stays at the back, and for that same reason, it will flee if the battle is lost, to bring knowledge of its foes to the next pack. We are going to capture one.”

“But… will the others not… object?” one of the older fighters remarked.

“Yes of course, that is why we have Lady Ariane with us. Now, here is how we will proceed. I will restrain the creature’s movement, then Kant and Philipps bind it with chains,” he said, looking at the two strong people dressed in chainmail.

“The rest of you must cover us. Four groups, five riflemen per group, one volley per drone. Stay close to each other and make every shot count. If you are overrun, aim for the head and remember that I won’t be able to assist until after the node drone is secured. The capture takes priority. Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

“Then go, and may God be with all of us. Ariane, we are ready.”

“Take each other’s hands or grab the trailer,” the vampire said, “do not let go. Nu Sharran.”

Darkness spread over the group.

The absence of light was so total, so absolutely final that George found himself blinking and searching for a hint of shape, anything to prove that he was not suddenly blind. Even the sounds were muffled. The only reliable sense he had left was touch, and he grabbed the trailer like a drowning man to a buoy. And then they started moving.

The march through shadow lasted a small eternity. George held to the trailer’s handle under his fingers until he could recognize every nook, every shard, every curve of it. His own labored breath was incredibly loud in his ears. He clung to the sound with all his might because it was proof that he was still alive.

They slowed down to a near halt. Every step was the matter of seconds.

They stopped.

The veil fell. The world reappeared under his eyes as the lantern-bearers simultaneously lit their own. Trees, lights, blessed lights of humanity far into the distance. More worryingly, a horrible head with flattened nose, and a large mouth filled with serrated teeth right in front of him.

Eyes of pure ink focused on him as the creature prepared to scream. George grabbed his repeater.

There was a flash and the head silently fell from its shoulder.

In a maneuver ingrained into him through countless hours of drilling, George fell back to back with his squad. The White Cabal detachment was surrounded on one side by searching drones who grabbed corpses to a pile where a few of them defiled them. They were in a small clearing.

“Left one!” his corporal bellowed.

George let his gun slide, pressing the trigger as the barrel passed over his target. Guns roared all around. The drone his NCO had picked reared back with half its head missing and three holes in its chest. Something alerted George. He looked quickly to the side.

Eli was missing.

Had he let go?

“Next target! Center!”

The world came sharply into focus.

On the right, Cedric had trapped a strange horned drone inside his shields and the two chainmailed men were using chains to bind it. As to why the vampire was not doing it herself, the answer was clear.

While the soldiers eliminated stragglers coming to them, the brunt of the fighting happened through the forest by his side. George could only catch glimpses of it, but whatever he saw filled him with awe and terror.

The drones were after the vampire. Almost all of them. They pursued her in a thick, organic group that moved with eerie coordination, trying to corner and killed her.

It was not working very well.

The vampire was always one step ahead. She always pierced through gaps before they could close, and behind, she left mangled corpses.

“Next Target! Left!”

George shot again and a drone collapsed forward, claws raking the ground. The monstrous battle beyond was paradoxically much more silent than their own powder-heavy struggle.

“Hey,” Peter said, “I think we riled the city up!”

He turned away from the battle and pointed at lights flaring in the distance.

The fallen drone let out a piercing shriek and jumped once. Its left limb tore through the idiot’s torso.

George didn’t have a shot. Peter’s gurgling body was in the way. He dove backward and avoided a furious slash. The drone fell immediately afterward. It was already dead.

“Shit.”

More drones smelled the blood in the water. They were coming from God knew where, always more of them. The vale beyond the nearest line of three was a mass of pallid flash sometimes sliced by a black bolt.

George aimed and shot at a charging beast. The first blow took half of its jaw out. The second caught it under the left eye. The next drone used the first one’s corpse as a shield.

There was pain. An agony so immediate and so shocking that it stole his mind. George fell backward with a gasp. There was no air. He was drowning. He coughed something.

An horrible face leaned before him, jaw wide.

It blew up.

George saw what happened next from a strange angle. He was on the ground. The man with a strange hat was blasting away with an engraved revolver, helping men to their feet. George had one hand free. The other was trapped under the heavy corpse. He tried to pick up his discarded rifle with fingers made sticky by blood.

A distant part of George knew that he was dead, but it was muffled under his need to kill the things. They were wrong.

“We got it, go go go!” Cedric yelled in the distance. The vampire landed by his side a moment later.

For the first and last time, their eyes met.

Time slowed down.

She gave him the tiniest nod.

Her armored hand grabbed something from her back and passed it to him. He took it and looked. It was a squarish object, one that it did not take a genius to recognize.

The others left. Drones scrambled around him. One stopped and sniffed the air. It saw him.

George smiled. He showed the creature his middle finger, brought the object to his mouth, and pulled the pin with his teeth.