Chapter Nine
Hunter as Hunted
At the behest of his latest employer, Malik had been keeping an eye on Greywolf. He had been consorting with one of the Anarchs of late, a woman by the name of Anne Bonnie. Tonight though, he was in the company of a different woman. After a while, he realizes that he’d seen pictures of this woman before. It was Mara Ravenclaw, who Greywolf had asked him to investigate three years ago. And from the looks of things, he was helping her take some furniture to a consignment place. As Greywolf drove through the city, even Malik, who considered himself a pretty good driver, had a tough time keeping up with him. The Brujah made numerous sharp, sudden turns, not bothering to signal. And Malik had been very careful not to follow too closely. Had he spotted me? No, I don’t think so, though in the sparse traffic of the early morning hours, it was always hard to tell. Even so, Greywolf never changed his driving pattern. Even so, Malik lost sight of the car before they left downtown. Cursing, he decides to back track and return to the apartment. Having done research on Ms. Ravenclaw, he had an idea where she lived, assuming she hadn’t moved in the past three years.
Malik parks his car a couple blocks from the building. The Cherryview Apartments were rather average apartments, by Seattle standards, though its proximity to downtown meant that the community was gated, and the first floor windows featured black wrought iron bars. That posed a bit of a quandary. How to gain access to the building? At this late hour, there was little foot traffic going into or out of the building, which would let him enter the building behind someone, and picking the lock could prove risky if the complex had 24-hour surveillance and security. And based on the camera just above the entry door, it was more than likely that it did. Another problem was that her apartment was actually on the third floor of the building, which meant that since the complex featured no balconies or patios, the only real entry or exit was her front door, which was located inside the building.
As if in answer, an older gentleman comes out from the locked pedestrian door. He was bundled up tightly against the cold and leading a small black Scottie dog on a red leash. He looked like he would have preferred sleeping to taking the dog for a late-night potty break. What luck. Malik gets out of the car and closes the door quietly. He calls upon his powers of Obfuscation, and then waits by the door, watching the man and his dog. He did not want to follow them, because while mortals were susceptible to Obfuscate’s mental clouding, animals were not. Not only could they smell vampires, they could also sense that they were somehow different from humans, and would balk from all but a few vampires that were either lucky or had the gift of Animalism. While the dog moves quickly on its stubby little legs, it takes its time finding the spot it wants. The man offers the dog encouragement, but it does not seem to have any effect. Finally, the dog lifts its leg and pees on a mailbox. Malik chuckles silently at the dog’s lack of respect for the U.S. Postal Service.
The man yawns. “Okay Jock, time to head home. Daddy needs to go back to bed.” The dog seems to listen and scurries back toward the front door. Malik steps out of their way, being careful to stand downwind lest the dog catch his scent. He watches the man unlock the door, and Malik is quick to follow behind them, as the discipline of Obfuscate did not allow one to touch anything while using it, lest the effect be broken. He pauses a while, allowing the man and his dog to go ahead of them. Now that he was in the building, time was not quite so critical, though he did have to be mindful for the approach of dawn. Malik takes the stairs to the third floor, and finds Mara Ravenclaw’s apartment with little trouble, for it was clearly marked and directly across from the stairs, a good thing when one needed to make a fast exit. I wonder if Miss Ravenclaw chose the apartment for its security and proximity to the exit, or if she had simply gotten lucky. If the former was the case, he had greatly underestimated her.
Malik takes out a small black case only slightly longer and thicker than the average credit card. He opens it up, revealing a set of lock picks. These were highly illegal to possess, but he wasn’t a cop anymore, and in his line of work, they were sometimes very useful for getting into places. Sure, it was technically breaking and entering, but what did that really matter to a vampire? As long as you didn’t get caught by the cops, it was all good. He takes out the lock picks and chooses a couple, then checks the lock. Luckily, it was an older building, and the locks had not been retrofitted with deadbolts. The lock should be easy to open. He inserts the two picks and works them into the lock. Within a matter of seconds, the lock’s tumblers give way, and Malik opens the door. Smiling, he puts the picks away and steps inside.
The apartment had been totally stripped. There was no furniture evident, not even a phone. Malik opens the cupboards and the refrigerator. Both had been emptied. The place had been cleaned out so thoroughly, there wasn’t even a scrap of paper. It was obvious that they probably wouldn’t be coming back here anytime soon. Well, there were other ways to find someone. For example, one had to give a forwarding address for a final utility bill. Luckily, he had a contact that worked for Qwest, the local phone company. And fortunately, this one worked the graveyard shift.
Malik heads back to his car, being careful to lock the apartment when he leaves, lest it raise any suspicions and possibly get the police involved. Without turning on the light, Malik takes out his cell phone and dials his contact’s number. He hears the phone ring several times and an automated system picks up. “Yo, you’ve reached Sparky. You know what to do.”
“Hey Sparky,” Malik says. “Jack Dempsey here. I need to get a forwarding address on a customer. I’m going to be around until 4:00 this morning. Give me a call before then, or call me after 6:00 tomorrow. P.M., not A.M.” Malik pushes the End button on the phone and drives away. If Ravenclaw has fled, then with any luck, she and Greywolf are together, assuming he hasn’t killed her and dumped her body somewhere. So then it is merely a matter of knowing where he is. The Brujah feeding grounds are located in the Industrial District, so his haven is more than likely located somewhere inside it.
The hour was growing late. Dawn would be approaching before too long. And he would have to make a report before too long. He drives back to his own small apartment, which also was located downtown, with a stunning view of Interstate 5. He pulls into the underground garage and takes the elevator up to his apartment on the fifth floor. Malik unlocks the door and tosses the keys on the small table near the door. He then goes back to the door and locks the four locks, including the chain. Malik feels something circling his ankles. He looks down and sees it is his pet cat, Snack. He picks up the cat and strokes its grey and black fur, and scratches it behind the ears. The cat closes its eyes and stretches out its neck, purring.
Still carrying the cat, Malik heads to the second bedroom that served as his alternate office. A metal desk had been set in there, along with a comfortable office chair, a computer, a metal filing cabinet, and a phone. Malik takes a seat in the chair and picks up the phone. Snack starts to knead Malik’s stomach, but soon makes himself comfy in his lap. He dials up his client. The phone rings once before it is picked up. The man on the other end says but a single word. “Reinhardt.”
“Reinhardt. Malik here.” His client, the current Kindred Sheriff of Seattle, was a Gangrel and a man of few words, and expected the same of Malik.
“What news do you have of Greywolf?”
“I saw him in the company of a woman tonight. It wasn’t the Anarch Anne Bonnie this time.”
“Who then?”
Malik decided to withhold that piece of information, as he didn’t want Reinhardt to realize that he had worked for Greywolf once upon a time. He wasn’t sure why Reinhardt wanted Greywolf watched. Maybe it was because even though Greywolf was a former Archon for a Toreador Justiciar, he still chose to associate with the Anarchs. Now, there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with the Anarchs. The Prince of Seattle didn’t consider them enough of a threat to kick them out of the city and allowed them to remain as long as they didn’t cause too much trouble. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure that she’s Kindred.”
“What are you sure of?”
“She moved out of her place and took off with Greywolf. I tried to follow him, but he lost me. I know he’s probably holed up somewhere in the Industrial District.”
“When’s the last time you saw him with Anne Bonnie?”
“Thursday night, actually. They were hanging out in some chop shop in the SoDo District along with a bunch of other Anarchs. I wasn’t able to get real close.”
“Keep me informed of what he’s up to, but stay out of the Industrial District. The Brujah have been complaining about too many Camarilla Kindred encroaching in their territory. They’ve asked for permission to bring any offenders to the Prince in a…less than intact condition, and the Prince is considering granting that request.”
“Sure thing boss.” Tangling with a Brujah was the last thing Malik wanted to do.
“Call me again tomorrow, just after sunset.” Before Malik can reply, the connection is broken.
Malik hangs up the phone and wiggles the plastic mouse attached to his computer. The dark screen comes to life. Snack gets up. He yawns, arches his back, and hops nimbly from Malik’s lap onto the desk and from the desk to the top of the monitor. The cat sits down on top of the monitor, letting his black striped tail hang down in front of the monitor screen.
Malik connects to the King County website, and heads to the Property records. He spends an hour scanning the records of properties in the Industrial District, looking for properties that hadn’t changed hands in more than twenty years, as it was usually a sign of either a corporation or the haven of a well-established vampire like Greywolf. He finds a small handful of warehouses fitting this requirement, but upon further investigation, they prove to be held by various corporations, including a couple held by Boeing, one of Seattle’s largest employers. Greywolf, it seemed, was rather good at covering his tracks. But one usually in order to make it past the first 50 years of unlife, much less make it past the one hundred years that granted a vampire the status of Elder.
Like many of the Seattleite Kindred, Malik was a rather new addition to the ranks of the Kindred, but unlike many of the newer licks, he had moved up here from Portland, Oregon after having a not so friendly disagreement with the Primogen of his own Clan, the Nosferatu. He had found out Malik had been working for the Seneschal, a fellow Nosferatu by the name of Anotah. It wasn’t really that he was mad that he was working for the Seneschal, but rather that neither had bothered to tell him or offer any of the interesting secrets he had been able to gather.
Well, he did have a list to work from. He could start driving around the Industrial District and check out each property on the list. It was possible that the Brujah might find him, but he planned to be very very careful, and minimize the risks of being seen. Malik prints out the list and listens to the whir of the printer as it spits out the paper. He pulls it off the printer and picks up Snack, wearing the cat almost like a fur collar. He puts the paper on the stand, and moves his keys to allow it to serve as a paperweight.
With Snack still draped around his neck and shoulders, Malik heads toward his bed. Out of habit, he pulls the blinds shut, even though the windows had been covered with several layers of masking tape and aluminum foil. Malik lies down on his bed. Snack takes up his usual position on the right-hand corner, curling up by Malik’s feet. Malik reaches across the bed to the battered brown fedora sitting on his nightstand. He sets it on top of his head, shielding his eyes and nose. It wasn’t the best protection against the sun, but it was better than nothing.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Pinch Me
When I awoke, I found myself in my own apartment, safely tucked underneath the sheets and the familiar down comforter with its dark blue cover that I used during the cold winter nights of Seattle. The previous night must have all been a bad dream, but why didn’t I remember coming home? I look around, and noticed that there were things that were different. The blinds, which I normally left open, had been drawn tightly closed. I roll over and look at my alarm clock. I didn’t remember hearing it go off. It was after 5 o’clock p.m. P.M.? Where the hell had the day gone? Well, at least it was Saturday. It was still Saturday, wasn’t it?
I get out of bed, dressed only in my bra and panties, just like I usually did. I open up my dresser and pull out a pair of faded blue jeans from out of one drawer, and from my shirt drawer, I take out a dark red long sleeved shirt with lacing in the front. As I pulled it on, the shirt molded to the contours of my body. A silver-plated brush comb and mirror set sits on top of my dresser. I pick up the mirror once again, turning the object in my hand to see the mirror and the blue and white floral damask fabric on the back. The set had been my gran’s once upon a time, handed down to my mother, reclaimed by my gran after my mother’s death, and then given to me after I came to live with my gran. I set the mirror down, and brush my long brown hair back into submission using the matching brush.
Well, it may be late, but it’s not too late for a caffeine fix. I walk out of my bedroom toward the kitchen. As I reach the living room, I freeze. The blinds had been pulled shut, and I never close those. And in the darkness, I could see someone sitting in the sofa. The guy from my dream! What was his name? Ah, yes, Greywolf. He was scanning my body with his eyes. And he wasn’t being subtle about it. “Enjoying the view?” I ask. A chill comes upon me. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all. But if that were the case, it would mean I was a vampire, and vampires don’t exist.
Greywolf reaches behind him and flips on the light. His eyes shine with amusement. He shrugs. “You could say that.” He replies cryptically. He gets up from his place on the couch, and I continue heading to the kitchen. I look at the knives sitting in the butcher block and momentarily think about picking up one of them and attacking the man, but when I look at Greywolf, the thoughts flee from me immediately. I take the bag of coffee down from the shelf and set it on the counter. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask, putting the filter into the coffee maker.
“Don’t bother.” Greywolf tells me as I spoon the coffee from the bag into the filter basket. “I don’t drink coffee, nor can you drink it anymore.”
I couldn’t drink coffee? This had to be some nightmare, and I just needed to wake up. I pinch myself. It hurts a little, and I look around. I am still in my kitchen, and the guy is still on my couch. Shit. It wasn’t a dream. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why can’t I drink coffee?”
“Because your body can no longer digest normal food and drink. Only blood will truly satisfy a Kindred’s hunger.”
Kindred. That was what he had said I was. It was their term for what mere mortals called vampires. I pour the water into the coffee maker and watch the dark brown liquid brewing and filling the pot. I do not say a word to Greywolf, but alternately watch him and the pot. Before long, I get a cup down from the cupboard, a black one with gold lettering that spoke of the SBA, otherwise known as the Seattle Bar Association. When the last drop has fallen into the pot, I pour myself a cup of coffee. I take a sip. I can taste some of the coffee’s more subtle notes. I don’t recall ever tasting them before tonight. I don’t feel any different, at least not right away.
I drink the coffee, daring Greywolf to say anything. He doesn’t.
Within five minutes, I feel the acid rising from my stomach. I feel cold and clammy, and know that I was about to vomit. I rush to the sink and throw up, barely making it there in time. I run the water, and the liquid goes down the drain. I start to take a drink from the faucet, but I stop myself, and instead wipe my mouth off with a towel. Maybe he was right after all. “You see? Your body no longer tolerates food and drink. It is time that you cast off your human habits and start accepting the fact that you are Kindred.”
“Never!” I shout, and toss the empty coffee cup at him. Greywolf gets up, and in a blinding flash of speed, meets the cup halfway, catching it in his hand. He sets it back on the countertop. “You’re not human.”
Greywolf offers the flash of a cruel smile. “That, my dear, is what I’ve been trying to tell you. We aren’t human anymore. We are Kindred, and beyond the reach of most forms of death. Old age, cancer, heart disease, none of them can harm us anymore. In fact, there is little that can. Fire, sunlight, decapitation, those are the only sure methods.”
I had slept through the entire day, just like Greywolf had predicted. Perhaps there was truth in what he was telling me. Okay, so perhaps I should play along. I nod, and go to sit down on the couch. “Okay, so I’m dead, and there isn’t much that can kill me. What else do I need to know?”
“Ah, the impatience of a Brujah. Has it taken hold so soon? Or is it merely a reflection of your own mortal passions?” Greywolf shrugs. “There is a great deal you will need to learn, and it will take a great deal of time to learn everything. So for now, I will teach you only the most important things, the things you need to know in order to survive in our world. One of the most important is that you need to be more careful about where you choose to live. Like your mortal job, you need to abandon this place in favor of some place more secure. Take only what you can pack in a few suitcases. We will get rid of the rest.”
And so the lessons began while I packed. I learned a great deal that night while under Greywolf’s tutelage and watchful eye. I learned about Clans, the distinct groups of Kindred descended from one progenitor. I learned that I was a member of Clan Brujah, descended from one named Troile, and that our blood left us quick to anger. I also learned the names of the other Clans. Ventrue, Malkavian, Setite, Tzimisce, Tremere, Giovanni, Lasombra, Toreador, Gangrel, Assamite, Nosferatu, and the Caitiff, who were those not Kindred claimed by any Clan. Greywolf told me I was lucky. The woman that had bitten me and made me Kindred, who is now my Sire? Is that the word? She had left shortly afterwards, and if Greywolf had not chosen to be my mentor, then I would also be a Caitiff.
Greywolf then spoke to me of the sects, and the great struggle that raged between them. On the one side, the Camarilla with their Traditions; on the other, the Sabbat, who believed themselves to be predators at the top of the food chain. In the middle somewhere were the Independents, who chose no sides, and the Anarchs, who rebelled against both of them. He told me that the sects hold different cities, and that Seattle was one of the more unusual cities, in that while the Camarilla held it, there was a sizable presence of Anarchs here because the Prince, the Kindred in charge of the city, actually allowed the Anarchs to remain as long as they did not cause too much trouble. He told me that while he was a staunch supporter of the Camarilla society here, my Sire was actually an Anarch.
Since it was Greywolf’s intention to introduce me to Camarilla society, I had to learn the Traditions they held so dear. Fortunately, there were only six, and they were simple enough to remember. Respect other people’s property, don’t reveal your nature to humans, responsibility for your progeny, introduce yourself to the Prince of the city, and don’t create progeny unless you have permission from the Prince. I ask Greywolf if my Sire had had permission to make me a vampire, he replies with a shrug. “She is an Anarch.” He told me, “And thus not subject to Camarilla Traditions.”
In the end, I got rid most of my furniture and household items. Most of what I owned was stuff I’d scrounged at a thrift store. We piled into Greywolf’s van and hauled it all off to a furniture consignment place and taken the paltry sum he gave us for it. The few pots and pans I had I left by the dumpster in hopes that someone else might claim them, and the food? Well, I didn’t have a lot of food around, so it simply got tossed. I packed what clothes I could into three large suitcases, the ones I’d had since I was little, along with some personal items. Among them was the expensive jewelry that had belonged to my mother, the gifts my gran had given me, and the two pillows from my bed. Those I took solely for my own comfort. I then drafted two letters; the first was to the landlord, expressing my intent to vacate the premises, and put it through the mail slot. In the end, I’d lose my deposit, but it was better than paying rent for a place I wasn’t going to use. The second was addressed to Mr. Marquis at the Office of the Public Defender, and was my formal resignation, which I intended to have delivered by courier Monday morning. I called the service, which fortunately offered 24-hour pickup, and had the delivery billed to my credit card. I also made the necessary arrangements to have the utilities shut off on Monday and the phone disconnected. I intended to keep my cell phone for a while though.
Once the service picked up the letter, we left the apartment that had been my home for the last three years. Midnight had long since passed, but I didn’t feel tired. Normally, I’d be on my way to bed right about now. I study my companion as he drives in silence, and I wonder where we were going. It wasn’t back to that warehouse, because he was headed in a different direction. However, I dared not speak. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know the answer. We continue to drive on, a series of so many turns that I lost track after about ten. That was another lesson he’d imparted to me. That you shouldn’t let too many people know the location of your haven. The sanctity of one’s haven, it seemed, was a matter of life and death, as one was virtually helpless during the day. If one’s enemy was to learn where your haven was, it was a simple matter to send someone to attack you during the day, as Kindred often had human allies, or even servants called ghouls, that were actually humans enhanced by the addition of Kindred blood.
We head to the SoDo district, which is named for being south of the Kingdome, home to Seattle’s pro football and baseball franchises, and one of the biggest eyesores in the Emerald City. It didn’t really surprise me that we were in the Industrial District; there were lots of available warehouses. “I thought you said it was a bad idea to let people know where your haven was. The Industrial District is crawling with people during the day.” I knew this well, as I’d visited the place on more than a few occasions to hunt down a client or witness.
“And that is why it is the perfect place.” Greywolf replies. “It is better to sleep in a populated area than one that is not. There are more eyes to watch over you.”
In an odd way, that actually made sense. I watch as he pulls the van into a building marked Warm Industries. It sat in stark contrast to some of the surrounding buildings, which were marked by huge swirls of graffiti and numerous broken windows, for it didn’t have a single window broken, though it did bear patches of fresher paint in spots, an indication of where graffiti had been painted over using the same color of paint. He must have seen me looking at the other buildings, because he then said “Neglect spawns more neglect, and eventually it attracts transients, which compromises the building’s security.”
This time, Greywolf stops the van in front of a rolling dock and gets out. “Wait in the car.” He punches some numbers on a security pad mounted on the wall nearby, being careful to cover the numbers so I can’t see them. The door slides open on well-oiled tracks. He gets back in the van and drives into the building. This time, there are lights on, and I can see that the warehouse is actually a rather small and empty space, with a door that must lead into the rest of the building. As soon as he stops, I slide out of the front seat of the van. I grab my purse, but wait for his leave before I start taking out the rest of my things.
Greywolf walks around the van toward me. “You might as well take your bags for now. You will be staying with me until I deem otherwise.” I nod, and get a couple bags out of the car. Seeing my opportunity, I throw them at him and then run toward the small door. A large building like this should have more than one entrance or exit, and with any luck, they could be unlocked from the inside. But almost as soon as I try to run, he is on me. He presses me against the wall and twists my right arm behind me. He leans in close and whispers in my ear. “That was stupid. Even if you knew how to use your gifts, I can still move much faster than you.”
Gifts? What the hell was he talking about now? He hadn’t said anything about gifts. I have little time to think about it, because he forces me through the very door I was trying to run toward. Keeping a firm grip on my arm, he turns on the lights. The place was sparsely furnished, but there was more furniture here than in the warehouse we’d slept last night. It must be one of his more permanent havens, and the furniture was probably there to offer the appearance of an occupied space, because there were desks and some sort of machinery on this floor. He pushes me toward the stairs. “Up the stairs.” He orders.
I walk up the stairs, and see that my suspicions were confirmed, as this floor was quite bare and nearly unfurnished. Only a few reclining chairs, and a couple of mattresses were scattered around the open space. The familiar glow of a computer screen was visible from an adjacent room, but I wasn’t able to figure out what the room was, as I felt a nudge from behind. I was forced to move again. When we get to the other side of the room, he speaks again. “Stop.” Having little choice, I obey. He does not loosen his grip on my arm. “You had me fooled for a bit there. I thought you had accepted what you are.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner. There are laws against that.”
Greywolf laughs and forces my arm farther up my back. I bite my lip rather than cry out from the pain. “Kine laws do not apply to us. Even though I did not make you, you are now my Childe. As my Childe, you are mine until such time as I choose to release you.”
I gather up what courage I had. “I belong to no one.”
“Brave words, childe.” With that, Greywolf picks me up and throws me against the adjacent wall. I barely have time to scream as my body slams into the wall, denting the plaster. I try to get up, but he grabs me by the hair and pulls me to my feet. I reach my hand back and put my own hand underneath his in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. “But wrong.” He spins me around to face him, and as I looked into his pale blue eyes, I felt my anger towards him melt away. He lets go of my hair. “That’s better.” He reaches up and strokes my hair, smiling at me.
“You will make a fine Brujah, my dear Raven. But a young vampire does not last long in Seattle without the protection of their Sire. Let me help you.”
I was confused. One minute, he tosses me against the wall, the other he’s offering me his help. “I don’t understand. Why are you helping me if I’m not your Childe?”
Greywolf smiles and strokes my face. “Of all the Brujah in Seattle, I am the eldest of them all. There is still a great deal about this modern world that is beyond me. I need someone to help me deal with some of this…modern technology.”
Funny. It seemed to me like he was doing just fine. “I see.” I suddenly yawn. The sleepiness was overtaking me again. I glance at my watch. It was nearly five a.m. The sun was going to rise soon, and I had to find a safe place to sleep. I start looking around frantically.
Greywolf notices my distress. “There is a suitable place to sleep on this floor of the building.” He offers me his arm. “Follow me.” It was almost as if he had entirely forgotten or forgiven me for my earlier escape attempt. I take his arm. In the end, I had quit my job and abandoned my apartment. Did I really have any other choice? At this point, I did not.
Pinch Me
When I awoke, I found myself in my own apartment, safely tucked underneath the sheets and the familiar down comforter with its dark blue cover that I used during the cold winter nights of Seattle. The previous night must have all been a bad dream, but why didn’t I remember coming home? I look around, and noticed that there were things that were different. The blinds, which I normally left open, had been drawn tightly closed. I roll over and look at my alarm clock. I didn’t remember hearing it go off. It was after 5 o’clock p.m. P.M.? Where the hell had the day gone? Well, at least it was Saturday. It was still Saturday, wasn’t it?
I get out of bed, dressed only in my bra and panties, just like I usually did. I open up my dresser and pull out a pair of faded blue jeans from out of one drawer, and from my shirt drawer, I take out a dark red long sleeved shirt with lacing in the front. As I pulled it on, the shirt molded to the contours of my body. A silver-plated brush comb and mirror set sits on top of my dresser. I pick up the mirror once again, turning the object in my hand to see the mirror and the blue and white floral damask fabric on the back. The set had been my gran’s once upon a time, handed down to my mother, reclaimed by my gran after my mother’s death, and then given to me after I came to live with my gran. I set the mirror down, and brush my long brown hair back into submission using the matching brush.
Well, it may be late, but it’s not too late for a caffeine fix. I walk out of my bedroom toward the kitchen. As I reach the living room, I freeze. The blinds had been pulled shut, and I never close those. And in the darkness, I could see someone sitting in the sofa. The guy from my dream! What was his name? Ah, yes, Greywolf. He was scanning my body with his eyes. And he wasn’t being subtle about it. “Enjoying the view?” I ask. A chill comes upon me. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all. But if that were the case, it would mean I was a vampire, and vampires don’t exist.
Greywolf reaches behind him and flips on the light. His eyes shine with amusement. He shrugs. “You could say that.” He replies cryptically. He gets up from his place on the couch, and I continue heading to the kitchen. I look at the knives sitting in the butcher block and momentarily think about picking up one of them and attacking the man, but when I look at Greywolf, the thoughts flee from me immediately. I take the bag of coffee down from the shelf and set it on the counter. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask, putting the filter into the coffee maker.
“Don’t bother.” Greywolf tells me as I spoon the coffee from the bag into the filter basket. “I don’t drink coffee, nor can you drink it anymore.”
I couldn’t drink coffee? This had to be some nightmare, and I just needed to wake up. I pinch myself. It hurts a little, and I look around. I am still in my kitchen, and the guy is still on my couch. Shit. It wasn’t a dream. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why can’t I drink coffee?”
“Because your body can no longer digest normal food and drink. Only blood will truly satisfy a Kindred’s hunger.”
Kindred. That was what he had said I was. It was their term for what mere mortals called vampires. I pour the water into the coffee maker and watch the dark brown liquid brewing and filling the pot. I do not say a word to Greywolf, but alternately watch him and the pot. Before long, I get a cup down from the cupboard, a black one with gold lettering that spoke of the SBA, otherwise known as the Seattle Bar Association. When the last drop has fallen into the pot, I pour myself a cup of coffee. I take a sip. I can taste some of the coffee’s more subtle notes. I don’t recall ever tasting them before tonight. I don’t feel any different, at least not right away.
I drink the coffee, daring Greywolf to say anything. He doesn’t.
Within five minutes, I feel the acid rising from my stomach. I feel cold and clammy, and know that I was about to vomit. I rush to the sink and throw up, barely making it there in time. I run the water, and the liquid goes down the drain. I start to take a drink from the faucet, but I stop myself, and instead wipe my mouth off with a towel. Maybe he was right after all. “You see? Your body no longer tolerates food and drink. It is time that you cast off your human habits and start accepting the fact that you are Kindred.”
“Never!” I shout, and toss the empty coffee cup at him. Greywolf gets up, and in a blinding flash of speed, meets the cup halfway, catching it in his hand. He sets it back on the countertop. “You’re not human.”
Greywolf offers the flash of a cruel smile. “That, my dear, is what I’ve been trying to tell you. We aren’t human anymore. We are Kindred, and beyond the reach of most forms of death. Old age, cancer, heart disease, none of them can harm us anymore. In fact, there is little that can. Fire, sunlight, decapitation, those are the only sure methods.”
I had slept through the entire day, just like Greywolf had predicted. Perhaps there was truth in what he was telling me. Okay, so perhaps I should play along. I nod, and go to sit down on the couch. “Okay, so I’m dead, and there isn’t much that can kill me. What else do I need to know?”
“Ah, the impatience of a Brujah. Has it taken hold so soon? Or is it merely a reflection of your own mortal passions?” Greywolf shrugs. “There is a great deal you will need to learn, and it will take a great deal of time to learn everything. So for now, I will teach you only the most important things, the things you need to know in order to survive in our world. One of the most important is that you need to be more careful about where you choose to live. Like your mortal job, you need to abandon this place in favor of some place more secure. Take only what you can pack in a few suitcases. We will get rid of the rest.”
And so the lessons began while I packed. I learned a great deal that night while under Greywolf’s tutelage and watchful eye. I learned about Clans, the distinct groups of Kindred descended from one progenitor. I learned that I was a member of Clan Brujah, descended from one named Troile, and that our blood left us quick to anger. I also learned the names of the other Clans. Ventrue, Malkavian, Setite, Tzimisce, Tremere, Giovanni, Lasombra, Toreador, Gangrel, Assamite, Nosferatu, and the Caitiff, who were those not Kindred claimed by any Clan. Greywolf told me I was lucky. The woman that had bitten me and made me Kindred, who is now my Sire? Is that the word? She had left shortly afterwards, and if Greywolf had not chosen to be my mentor, then I would also be a Caitiff.
Greywolf then spoke to me of the sects, and the great struggle that raged between them. On the one side, the Camarilla with their Traditions; on the other, the Sabbat, who believed themselves to be predators at the top of the food chain. In the middle somewhere were the Independents, who chose no sides, and the Anarchs, who rebelled against both of them. He told me that the sects hold different cities, and that Seattle was one of the more unusual cities, in that while the Camarilla held it, there was a sizable presence of Anarchs here because the Prince, the Kindred in charge of the city, actually allowed the Anarchs to remain as long as they did not cause too much trouble. He told me that while he was a staunch supporter of the Camarilla society here, my Sire was actually an Anarch.
Since it was Greywolf’s intention to introduce me to Camarilla society, I had to learn the Traditions they held so dear. Fortunately, there were only six, and they were simple enough to remember. Respect other people’s property, don’t reveal your nature to humans, responsibility for your progeny, introduce yourself to the Prince of the city, and don’t create progeny unless you have permission from the Prince. I ask Greywolf if my Sire had had permission to make me a vampire, he replies with a shrug. “She is an Anarch.” He told me, “And thus not subject to Camarilla Traditions.”
In the end, I got rid most of my furniture and household items. Most of what I owned was stuff I’d scrounged at a thrift store. We piled into Greywolf’s van and hauled it all off to a furniture consignment place and taken the paltry sum he gave us for it. The few pots and pans I had I left by the dumpster in hopes that someone else might claim them, and the food? Well, I didn’t have a lot of food around, so it simply got tossed. I packed what clothes I could into three large suitcases, the ones I’d had since I was little, along with some personal items. Among them was the expensive jewelry that had belonged to my mother, the gifts my gran had given me, and the two pillows from my bed. Those I took solely for my own comfort. I then drafted two letters; the first was to the landlord, expressing my intent to vacate the premises, and put it through the mail slot. In the end, I’d lose my deposit, but it was better than paying rent for a place I wasn’t going to use. The second was addressed to Mr. Marquis at the Office of the Public Defender, and was my formal resignation, which I intended to have delivered by courier Monday morning. I called the service, which fortunately offered 24-hour pickup, and had the delivery billed to my credit card. I also made the necessary arrangements to have the utilities shut off on Monday and the phone disconnected. I intended to keep my cell phone for a while though.
Once the service picked up the letter, we left the apartment that had been my home for the last three years. Midnight had long since passed, but I didn’t feel tired. Normally, I’d be on my way to bed right about now. I study my companion as he drives in silence, and I wonder where we were going. It wasn’t back to that warehouse, because he was headed in a different direction. However, I dared not speak. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know the answer. We continue to drive on, a series of so many turns that I lost track after about ten. That was another lesson he’d imparted to me. That you shouldn’t let too many people know the location of your haven. The sanctity of one’s haven, it seemed, was a matter of life and death, as one was virtually helpless during the day. If one’s enemy was to learn where your haven was, it was a simple matter to send someone to attack you during the day, as Kindred often had human allies, or even servants called ghouls, that were actually humans enhanced by the addition of Kindred blood.
We head to the SoDo district, which is named for being south of the Kingdome, home to Seattle’s pro football and baseball franchises, and one of the biggest eyesores in the Emerald City. It didn’t really surprise me that we were in the Industrial District; there were lots of available warehouses. “I thought you said it was a bad idea to let people know where your haven was. The Industrial District is crawling with people during the day.” I knew this well, as I’d visited the place on more than a few occasions to hunt down a client or witness.
“And that is why it is the perfect place.” Greywolf replies. “It is better to sleep in a populated area than one that is not. There are more eyes to watch over you.”
In an odd way, that actually made sense. I watch as he pulls the van into a building marked Warm Industries. It sat in stark contrast to some of the surrounding buildings, which were marked by huge swirls of graffiti and numerous broken windows, for it didn’t have a single window broken, though it did bear patches of fresher paint in spots, an indication of where graffiti had been painted over using the same color of paint. He must have seen me looking at the other buildings, because he then said “Neglect spawns more neglect, and eventually it attracts transients, which compromises the building’s security.”
This time, Greywolf stops the van in front of a rolling dock and gets out. “Wait in the car.” He punches some numbers on a security pad mounted on the wall nearby, being careful to cover the numbers so I can’t see them. The door slides open on well-oiled tracks. He gets back in the van and drives into the building. This time, there are lights on, and I can see that the warehouse is actually a rather small and empty space, with a door that must lead into the rest of the building. As soon as he stops, I slide out of the front seat of the van. I grab my purse, but wait for his leave before I start taking out the rest of my things.
Greywolf walks around the van toward me. “You might as well take your bags for now. You will be staying with me until I deem otherwise.” I nod, and get a couple bags out of the car. Seeing my opportunity, I throw them at him and then run toward the small door. A large building like this should have more than one entrance or exit, and with any luck, they could be unlocked from the inside. But almost as soon as I try to run, he is on me. He presses me against the wall and twists my right arm behind me. He leans in close and whispers in my ear. “That was stupid. Even if you knew how to use your gifts, I can still move much faster than you.”
Gifts? What the hell was he talking about now? He hadn’t said anything about gifts. I have little time to think about it, because he forces me through the very door I was trying to run toward. Keeping a firm grip on my arm, he turns on the lights. The place was sparsely furnished, but there was more furniture here than in the warehouse we’d slept last night. It must be one of his more permanent havens, and the furniture was probably there to offer the appearance of an occupied space, because there were desks and some sort of machinery on this floor. He pushes me toward the stairs. “Up the stairs.” He orders.
I walk up the stairs, and see that my suspicions were confirmed, as this floor was quite bare and nearly unfurnished. Only a few reclining chairs, and a couple of mattresses were scattered around the open space. The familiar glow of a computer screen was visible from an adjacent room, but I wasn’t able to figure out what the room was, as I felt a nudge from behind. I was forced to move again. When we get to the other side of the room, he speaks again. “Stop.” Having little choice, I obey. He does not loosen his grip on my arm. “You had me fooled for a bit there. I thought you had accepted what you are.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner. There are laws against that.”
Greywolf laughs and forces my arm farther up my back. I bite my lip rather than cry out from the pain. “Kine laws do not apply to us. Even though I did not make you, you are now my Childe. As my Childe, you are mine until such time as I choose to release you.”
I gather up what courage I had. “I belong to no one.”
“Brave words, childe.” With that, Greywolf picks me up and throws me against the adjacent wall. I barely have time to scream as my body slams into the wall, denting the plaster. I try to get up, but he grabs me by the hair and pulls me to my feet. I reach my hand back and put my own hand underneath his in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. “But wrong.” He spins me around to face him, and as I looked into his pale blue eyes, I felt my anger towards him melt away. He lets go of my hair. “That’s better.” He reaches up and strokes my hair, smiling at me.
“You will make a fine Brujah, my dear Raven. But a young vampire does not last long in Seattle without the protection of their Sire. Let me help you.”
I was confused. One minute, he tosses me against the wall, the other he’s offering me his help. “I don’t understand. Why are you helping me if I’m not your Childe?”
Greywolf smiles and strokes my face. “Of all the Brujah in Seattle, I am the eldest of them all. There is still a great deal about this modern world that is beyond me. I need someone to help me deal with some of this…modern technology.”
Funny. It seemed to me like he was doing just fine. “I see.” I suddenly yawn. The sleepiness was overtaking me again. I glance at my watch. It was nearly five a.m. The sun was going to rise soon, and I had to find a safe place to sleep. I start looking around frantically.
Greywolf notices my distress. “There is a suitable place to sleep on this floor of the building.” He offers me his arm. “Follow me.” It was almost as if he had entirely forgotten or forgiven me for my earlier escape attempt. I take his arm. In the end, I had quit my job and abandoned my apartment. Did I really have any other choice? At this point, I did not.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Awakening
Pain. Pain everywhere. The pain ranged from dull aches to sharp, stabbing pains. The worst was in my head, which felt like every drop of water had been squeezed out of it. Actually, I felt dehydrated all over. I needed a drink of water. Oddly, though, I seemed to be laying in a pool of some sort of cold liquid. Was it water? I was so thirsty, I felt as if even the contents of a swimming pool could not slake this powerful thirst I had.
My senses were starting to return now. My sense of touch told me about the liquid, and my nose was assailed by a number of smells: the distinctive, unpleasant scent of fresh urine, the rusty scent of old blood, the mingled scents of rusted metal and grease, with a slight hint of car exhaust. And though I didn’t have the strength to open my eyes, I could listen and pay keen attention to the sounds I heard.
Nearby, there were few sounds to be heard, but outside, I was keenly aware of a few passing cars and of the whoop of the police car sirens as they drove past. But where was I? I couldn’t tell, and I couldn’t open my eyes. The lights overhead were too bright, and seemed like they were burning holes into me. Keeping my eyes closed tight, I try to move away, but I find that I couldn’t raise my arms. I am aware of the presence of some fuzzy material surrounding my wrists, restraining me and holding me fast. Lying on the table, I felt vulnerable and naked, even though I was fully clothed. Had I been raped while I was unconscious? No, it didn’t seem like it.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, though there were no signs of life in this place, wherever it might be. Why was I here? Even more importantly, why was I still alive? I’d thought I was done for in that alleyway and that my life had come to an abrupt and violent end. I guess I was wrong. But I couldn’t feel a needle in my arm, which would indicate that I was hooked to an intravenous drip and thus recovering in a hospital. But if I wasn’t in a hospital, where the hell was I? And more importantly, why?
I hear footsteps echoing through the place I was in. It was a large empty space and the sound seemed to carry well, especially since it was the only audible sound inside the building, though I could easily hear the cacophony of the sounds outside. Wherever that might be. The harsh lights start to dim, and I open my eyes slowly. My eyes start to adjust to the light, but since I am held in a prone position, my field of vision is limited. The ceiling is very high, and there is no outside light of any sort coming in. I see windows above me, but even in the gloom, I can see that the glass had been painted over.
“Welcome back, my dear Raven.” I try to turn my head and look for the speaker, but it seems he is beyond my now limited ability to see him. The voice belonged to a man, that much I was sure of. I feel him near me and I get chills traveling down my body and shudder involuntarily. He had to be standing very close to me, but yet I could not see him.
I gather up every little bit of courage I had left. Who was this guy and what did he want? “My name is Mara Ravenclaw.” I reply. “And I demand that you let me go. People will come looking for me.”
The man’s laughter is chilling. I wasn’t going to leave here alive. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Even so, no one will come looking for you until at least Monday, and it will probably take even longer before someone bothers to search for you.” Shit. He’d called my bluff. “I’ll make you a deal though. I’ll release you from the restraints, but you have to stay here.”
“All right.” I lie. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this place and get back home. I wanted to put this whole ugly memory behind me.
The man starts to undo the straps and I can finally see his face. To no surprise, it was the man I’d seen at the bar last night. The one that didn’t seem to belong at the Cock. But for some odd reason, I didn’t feel threatened by him, but rather a feeling that this was someone I could trust. He loosens the second strap, and I can finally rise from the table. I rub my wrists to restore the feeling to them, and take stock. I raise one hand to my neck. There was no sign of any sort of wound. Though last night, I could have sworn that I’d been injured. Was it all in my head?
I look down at my clothes. A brown smear of something stood out on the stark white on my blouse. My navy skirt was wrinkled, and the pantyhose were totally unsalvageable. Another three dollars down the drain. My shoes were gone. Damn, I liked those shoes. And they went so well with the suit. The suit. Renee had warned me about burning it. Maybe I should have listened. My nose catches a scent, and I sniff the air out of instinct. Blood. That was what I smelled. It was nearby. The blouse. Maybe that was it. I am able to unbutton the cuffs, but after undoing two buttons, I pull at the blouse, sending buttons to clatter onto the floor. I take the blouse and hold it up to my face, taking a long whiff of the stain. Yes, that was where it was coming from.
I hear a snicker, and am hit with a sudden burst of modesty. Still holding the blouse, I cross my arms to cover my breasts and the beige satin bra I was wearing. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” He replies. “You are still a slave to your baser instincts. But that should pass after the first time you properly satisfy your hunger. You are still very hungry. I can see it on your face.”
How did he know that? I could feel a pain in my stomach. I can’t ever recall being this hungry before. It was a sensation stronger than monthly cramps, a feeling like something was clawing at my insides. It was all I could do to not give in to it.
“Fortunately, my dear Raven, I will not force you to hunt for your first meal. That lesson will come later.” He makes a move to touch my face and I pull away. His face does not register a change of emotion. He gets up and retreats into another corner of the building. I start looking for a way out. I must be in a warehouse of some sort, because I can make out a large sliding door, the huge metal door was totally shut, and the van that I had seen last night was parked in front of it. I get off of the table, and my legs are shaking so badly that I can barely remain standing. A metal folding chair had been left nearby, so I sit down quickly. It seemed that I wouldn’t get real far if I tried to escape. What had they done to me? I felt as weak as a newborn kitten.
From somewhere in the building, I can hear a refrigerator opening, and judging by the sound, it was a fairly small one. The door closes, and before long, I observe the man walking back towards me carrying what looked like…no it couldn’t be…was that a unit of blood? He looks at me and with one hand, grabs a second folding chair from somewhere out of the shadows and comes toward me. When he gets within a couple feet, he tosses the bag to me. I barely catch it, and the awkwardly shaped thing nearly falls out of my lap. I look at it, and sure enough, it was a unit of blood. What sort of crap was this? I look at the man accusingly, and all he does is shrug.
But still, I was hungry, and for some reason I’d gotten it into my head that this would satisfy the hunger I felt. Blood? Sure, lawyers had a reputation for being blood-suckers, but this was totally ridiculous. But I wanted it. No, I needed it. I lift the bag and turn it around. The bag should have been very cold, but to my sense of touch, it didn’t seem that way. And I wanted it so badly, but how was I supposed to get it? There was no tubing attached to it, and it seemed to be tightly sealed.
My instincts once again started taking over. I felt something move in my mouth. I tentatively use my tongue to explore it, and encounter needle-sharp points that had to be fangs. Fangs? I had fangs now? I bend down and bite the bottom of the bag, then start to drink from it. As I feared, it really was blood, but even though it was cold, it was extinguishing the raging hunger I felt. I feel the liquid running down my throat, tasting both salty and metallic at once, but as much as I try to pull away, I cannot. I had to feed.
At last the bag is empty, and I feel satiated, like a flea after a good meal of dog or cat blood. I look around, and the guy had been watching me the entire time. I had just drunk human blood and enjoyed it. I had fangs. None of this was making any sense. In my confusion, only a single word comes to mind, and I manage to get it out. “Why?” With that word out, I find my tongue once more. “Why did I just do that? Why did I just enjoy it?”
“You did what was necessary to survive.” His words are like an icy dagger, each one piercing my heart and chilling my already cold body. Cold? I didn’t feel cold, even though I’d removed my blouse, and no goosebumps had formed on my skin. The large warehouse didn’t seem to be heated, and on a cold rainy November night, I should feel cold. But why didn’t I?
I felt a bit stronger though, so I get up and try to look for another exit. I started walking away from the table and away from the van. Surely the garage was not the only way out. The man seemed to have noticed my confusion, and read my very thoughts, because he blocked my path. “You can’t go back to your life, Raven.” He tells me. “Because you are no longer alive.”
My eyes widen in shock and fear. “Wh- what do you mean?”
“Have you not noticed yet? You are dead, Miss Ravenclaw. You have no pulse, no breath, no warmth, no heartbeat.” My hand goes to my neck, trying to feel for a pulse. Nothing. I try another spot. Perhaps in my haste, I’d missed the pulse point. Still nothing. I raise my hand up to my mouth. When I exhaled, my breath still lacked its normal warmth. So I was breathing! The guy was lying! But when I stopped concentrating on my breath, my chest no longer rose and fell. “You have joined the ranks of those no longer living, more commonly known as the Undead.”
It started coming back to me. I could remember the attack in the alleyway, the slowing of my heartbeat, and thinking that I was going to die. “I- I remember being attacked, that woman, she drank my blood didn’t she?” I look around frantically for her, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Was that good? I wasn’t sure. To be honest, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. My life, it seemed, was over.
“Yes. We are Kindred, Raven. What the humans, or kine, more commonly call vampires, and we must feed upon blood in order to survive. Monsters we are lest monsters we become.”
I shook my head. Those last words sounded like a piece of fortune cookie philosophy, and like most fortune cookie sayings, it made no sense to me. “I’m a vampire? And you are too?” The man nods the answer to both questions. “So that means that I have to avoid the sun, crosses and garlic bother me, I won’t cast a reflection, and I can’t go into someone’s house unless I’m invited in?”
He laughs a little. “Those are old wives’ tales, my dear. Garlic and crosses typically have no effect upon our kind, I brush my hair in front of the mirror each night upon rising from my bed, and I do not need an invitation to enter someone’s house.” He offers me an unkind smile. “But the sun, now that is our mortal enemy. The sun can and will kill us if we are not careful. There is much for you to learn my dear, and that is why I am here. To teach you the ways of our kind.”
He gestures back toward the chairs. “Go back and sit down.”
Strangely, I obey. He was going to teach me what exactly? Were there some strange customs or traditions they practiced? “How did this happen?” I ask. I wanted to know. I think.
“First off, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is John Grayson, though you will call me Greywolf from this point forward. The woman that bit you, her name is Anne Bonnie. She was feeding and it went too far. She took too much blood from you. She tried to fix it by giving you some of her own blood, so you could heal yourself, but it was too late, you were too far gone. So you became one of us instead. A most unfortunate mistake, but I suppose now you must make the best of it. Few kine are allowed the gift of immortality.”
The gift of immortality? I was thinking it was more like a curse and that the price was far too high. “So you’re saying that all the old tales about vampires aren’t true except for sunlight and fire? And if the sunlight thing is true, how am I supposed to keep my job? My boss gives me flexible hours, but they’re not THAT flexible.”
The man named Greywolf smiles. “You can’t. You’ll have to quit.”
I look at him, eyes wide. I’d never quit anything in my entire life. And now I had to quit my job? That was crap! I bet he was just telling me this. I probably could walk in the sun, and could continue working. “I’m not quitting. The law is my life. There are too many people that need my help.”
“Then you’ll be fired for not showing up. But there are other ways to help people, my dear. The city has a need for a lawyer that is willing to help those who don’t have the means to hire one. And if you opened your own practice, you could set your own hours. I can help you, if you will only trust me.” He extends his hand toward me, the first time he had actually tried to touch me.
I did trust him. I wasn’t sure why. I take his hand. There was no warmth in it, though again, my own body was barely warmer than the room itself. “All right, so help me.”
“All in good time, my dear. As a Kindred, you have nothing but time.”
I shrug. I had time, but yet I couldn’t work anymore.” A rush of emotion washes over me as I realize that my life as I knew it was now over. I lower my head, overcome by grief for the first time since I’d lost my gran. I feel tears welling up in my eyes, but do nothing to suppress them. I feel the tears running down my cheeks, the liquid slightly warm. My nose remains clear. Odd really. Usually if I cried, my nose would start running too. It was some sort of sympathetic reaction or something.
Greywolf releases my hand and tilts my head up towards him. He wipes the tears from my face and holds up his hand. There was a watery red liquid on it. “Another hazard among our kind.” He tells me. “We do not cry real tears, but instead blood. If you cry too much, you could lose all of the blood stored within your body, and that would be very bad indeed. And more importantly, you should never, ever cry in front of a kine. It demonstrates your weakness, and raises far too many questions that you cannot answer.”
I nod, and raise my head to look at the ceiling, knowing that it would stop my tears. It was a trick I had been forced to learn as a young girl, as my cruel father did not tolerate tears. Happiness was required when his guests were around and when he came to my bed; it was only when he was at work or in the darkest hours of the rare nights he allowed me to sleep alone that I could cry without fear of a either a vicious beating that left no visible bruises or a merciless fucking.
My eyelids were starting to feel heavy. I was barely able to keep my head up anymore. I blink my eyes, trying to fight off the sleepiness. I notice Greywolf looking at his watch. “The sun will be rising soon. Kindred instinctively start to feel sleepy upon the sun’s approach, so it is a good idea to find a safe place to sleep for the day, what we call a haven, long before that. Because once the sun rises, you will be asleep, no matter where you might be at the time.”
That explained why the windows had been painted over. It was to keep out the sun during the day. This place must be Greywolf’s…haven? Was that what he called it? I get up and look around the warehouse for a suitable place to sleep. There was the table, but there was a pool of brownish liquid on it. That was what I had been laying in? Yuck!
Greywolf puts a hand on my shoulder. I turn to face him. He didn’t seem sleepy. Why? I didn’t really feel like asking him. Right now, I really wanted to curl up and go to sleep. “Forgive me, but I do not often use this place for sleeping, so it is a bit…lacking in the creature comforts that modern mortals are accustomed to. There is a mattress in the van if you would like to sleep there.”
I look at the mattress. There was no sheet on it, and a large brown stain nearly overwhelmed the pattern, a stain that was more than likely blood. Upon closer examination, it was actually several stains commingled into one large one, as I could see the edges of each stain. None of them were fresh though, as all I could smell was old blood. But how I knew that, I did not know. Perhaps somehow, this change causes my senses to be heightened, sharpened somehow. In a weird way, it made sense. If vampires had to hunt for prey, then like all predators, they had to rely more on their senses than humans.
The mattress wasn’t my first choice. Hell, it wasn’t even my fifth choice. I would have rather been sleeping in my own bed. But in the end, it was better than sleeping on the cold hard concrete floor. My limbs were starting to feel heavy, my eyes nearly closing of their own accord. I lay down on the mattress and curl myself into a fetal position. I felt so vulnerable. The last thing I see before I close my eyes is Greywolf, who is using a large cell phone and talking to someone. He is too far away, so I can’t hear him, but he seems to be making plans of some sort.
Awakening
Pain. Pain everywhere. The pain ranged from dull aches to sharp, stabbing pains. The worst was in my head, which felt like every drop of water had been squeezed out of it. Actually, I felt dehydrated all over. I needed a drink of water. Oddly, though, I seemed to be laying in a pool of some sort of cold liquid. Was it water? I was so thirsty, I felt as if even the contents of a swimming pool could not slake this powerful thirst I had.
My senses were starting to return now. My sense of touch told me about the liquid, and my nose was assailed by a number of smells: the distinctive, unpleasant scent of fresh urine, the rusty scent of old blood, the mingled scents of rusted metal and grease, with a slight hint of car exhaust. And though I didn’t have the strength to open my eyes, I could listen and pay keen attention to the sounds I heard.
Nearby, there were few sounds to be heard, but outside, I was keenly aware of a few passing cars and of the whoop of the police car sirens as they drove past. But where was I? I couldn’t tell, and I couldn’t open my eyes. The lights overhead were too bright, and seemed like they were burning holes into me. Keeping my eyes closed tight, I try to move away, but I find that I couldn’t raise my arms. I am aware of the presence of some fuzzy material surrounding my wrists, restraining me and holding me fast. Lying on the table, I felt vulnerable and naked, even though I was fully clothed. Had I been raped while I was unconscious? No, it didn’t seem like it.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, though there were no signs of life in this place, wherever it might be. Why was I here? Even more importantly, why was I still alive? I’d thought I was done for in that alleyway and that my life had come to an abrupt and violent end. I guess I was wrong. But I couldn’t feel a needle in my arm, which would indicate that I was hooked to an intravenous drip and thus recovering in a hospital. But if I wasn’t in a hospital, where the hell was I? And more importantly, why?
I hear footsteps echoing through the place I was in. It was a large empty space and the sound seemed to carry well, especially since it was the only audible sound inside the building, though I could easily hear the cacophony of the sounds outside. Wherever that might be. The harsh lights start to dim, and I open my eyes slowly. My eyes start to adjust to the light, but since I am held in a prone position, my field of vision is limited. The ceiling is very high, and there is no outside light of any sort coming in. I see windows above me, but even in the gloom, I can see that the glass had been painted over.
“Welcome back, my dear Raven.” I try to turn my head and look for the speaker, but it seems he is beyond my now limited ability to see him. The voice belonged to a man, that much I was sure of. I feel him near me and I get chills traveling down my body and shudder involuntarily. He had to be standing very close to me, but yet I could not see him.
I gather up every little bit of courage I had left. Who was this guy and what did he want? “My name is Mara Ravenclaw.” I reply. “And I demand that you let me go. People will come looking for me.”
The man’s laughter is chilling. I wasn’t going to leave here alive. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Even so, no one will come looking for you until at least Monday, and it will probably take even longer before someone bothers to search for you.” Shit. He’d called my bluff. “I’ll make you a deal though. I’ll release you from the restraints, but you have to stay here.”
“All right.” I lie. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this place and get back home. I wanted to put this whole ugly memory behind me.
The man starts to undo the straps and I can finally see his face. To no surprise, it was the man I’d seen at the bar last night. The one that didn’t seem to belong at the Cock. But for some odd reason, I didn’t feel threatened by him, but rather a feeling that this was someone I could trust. He loosens the second strap, and I can finally rise from the table. I rub my wrists to restore the feeling to them, and take stock. I raise one hand to my neck. There was no sign of any sort of wound. Though last night, I could have sworn that I’d been injured. Was it all in my head?
I look down at my clothes. A brown smear of something stood out on the stark white on my blouse. My navy skirt was wrinkled, and the pantyhose were totally unsalvageable. Another three dollars down the drain. My shoes were gone. Damn, I liked those shoes. And they went so well with the suit. The suit. Renee had warned me about burning it. Maybe I should have listened. My nose catches a scent, and I sniff the air out of instinct. Blood. That was what I smelled. It was nearby. The blouse. Maybe that was it. I am able to unbutton the cuffs, but after undoing two buttons, I pull at the blouse, sending buttons to clatter onto the floor. I take the blouse and hold it up to my face, taking a long whiff of the stain. Yes, that was where it was coming from.
I hear a snicker, and am hit with a sudden burst of modesty. Still holding the blouse, I cross my arms to cover my breasts and the beige satin bra I was wearing. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” He replies. “You are still a slave to your baser instincts. But that should pass after the first time you properly satisfy your hunger. You are still very hungry. I can see it on your face.”
How did he know that? I could feel a pain in my stomach. I can’t ever recall being this hungry before. It was a sensation stronger than monthly cramps, a feeling like something was clawing at my insides. It was all I could do to not give in to it.
“Fortunately, my dear Raven, I will not force you to hunt for your first meal. That lesson will come later.” He makes a move to touch my face and I pull away. His face does not register a change of emotion. He gets up and retreats into another corner of the building. I start looking for a way out. I must be in a warehouse of some sort, because I can make out a large sliding door, the huge metal door was totally shut, and the van that I had seen last night was parked in front of it. I get off of the table, and my legs are shaking so badly that I can barely remain standing. A metal folding chair had been left nearby, so I sit down quickly. It seemed that I wouldn’t get real far if I tried to escape. What had they done to me? I felt as weak as a newborn kitten.
From somewhere in the building, I can hear a refrigerator opening, and judging by the sound, it was a fairly small one. The door closes, and before long, I observe the man walking back towards me carrying what looked like…no it couldn’t be…was that a unit of blood? He looks at me and with one hand, grabs a second folding chair from somewhere out of the shadows and comes toward me. When he gets within a couple feet, he tosses the bag to me. I barely catch it, and the awkwardly shaped thing nearly falls out of my lap. I look at it, and sure enough, it was a unit of blood. What sort of crap was this? I look at the man accusingly, and all he does is shrug.
But still, I was hungry, and for some reason I’d gotten it into my head that this would satisfy the hunger I felt. Blood? Sure, lawyers had a reputation for being blood-suckers, but this was totally ridiculous. But I wanted it. No, I needed it. I lift the bag and turn it around. The bag should have been very cold, but to my sense of touch, it didn’t seem that way. And I wanted it so badly, but how was I supposed to get it? There was no tubing attached to it, and it seemed to be tightly sealed.
My instincts once again started taking over. I felt something move in my mouth. I tentatively use my tongue to explore it, and encounter needle-sharp points that had to be fangs. Fangs? I had fangs now? I bend down and bite the bottom of the bag, then start to drink from it. As I feared, it really was blood, but even though it was cold, it was extinguishing the raging hunger I felt. I feel the liquid running down my throat, tasting both salty and metallic at once, but as much as I try to pull away, I cannot. I had to feed.
At last the bag is empty, and I feel satiated, like a flea after a good meal of dog or cat blood. I look around, and the guy had been watching me the entire time. I had just drunk human blood and enjoyed it. I had fangs. None of this was making any sense. In my confusion, only a single word comes to mind, and I manage to get it out. “Why?” With that word out, I find my tongue once more. “Why did I just do that? Why did I just enjoy it?”
“You did what was necessary to survive.” His words are like an icy dagger, each one piercing my heart and chilling my already cold body. Cold? I didn’t feel cold, even though I’d removed my blouse, and no goosebumps had formed on my skin. The large warehouse didn’t seem to be heated, and on a cold rainy November night, I should feel cold. But why didn’t I?
I felt a bit stronger though, so I get up and try to look for another exit. I started walking away from the table and away from the van. Surely the garage was not the only way out. The man seemed to have noticed my confusion, and read my very thoughts, because he blocked my path. “You can’t go back to your life, Raven.” He tells me. “Because you are no longer alive.”
My eyes widen in shock and fear. “Wh- what do you mean?”
“Have you not noticed yet? You are dead, Miss Ravenclaw. You have no pulse, no breath, no warmth, no heartbeat.” My hand goes to my neck, trying to feel for a pulse. Nothing. I try another spot. Perhaps in my haste, I’d missed the pulse point. Still nothing. I raise my hand up to my mouth. When I exhaled, my breath still lacked its normal warmth. So I was breathing! The guy was lying! But when I stopped concentrating on my breath, my chest no longer rose and fell. “You have joined the ranks of those no longer living, more commonly known as the Undead.”
It started coming back to me. I could remember the attack in the alleyway, the slowing of my heartbeat, and thinking that I was going to die. “I- I remember being attacked, that woman, she drank my blood didn’t she?” I look around frantically for her, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Was that good? I wasn’t sure. To be honest, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. My life, it seemed, was over.
“Yes. We are Kindred, Raven. What the humans, or kine, more commonly call vampires, and we must feed upon blood in order to survive. Monsters we are lest monsters we become.”
I shook my head. Those last words sounded like a piece of fortune cookie philosophy, and like most fortune cookie sayings, it made no sense to me. “I’m a vampire? And you are too?” The man nods the answer to both questions. “So that means that I have to avoid the sun, crosses and garlic bother me, I won’t cast a reflection, and I can’t go into someone’s house unless I’m invited in?”
He laughs a little. “Those are old wives’ tales, my dear. Garlic and crosses typically have no effect upon our kind, I brush my hair in front of the mirror each night upon rising from my bed, and I do not need an invitation to enter someone’s house.” He offers me an unkind smile. “But the sun, now that is our mortal enemy. The sun can and will kill us if we are not careful. There is much for you to learn my dear, and that is why I am here. To teach you the ways of our kind.”
He gestures back toward the chairs. “Go back and sit down.”
Strangely, I obey. He was going to teach me what exactly? Were there some strange customs or traditions they practiced? “How did this happen?” I ask. I wanted to know. I think.
“First off, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is John Grayson, though you will call me Greywolf from this point forward. The woman that bit you, her name is Anne Bonnie. She was feeding and it went too far. She took too much blood from you. She tried to fix it by giving you some of her own blood, so you could heal yourself, but it was too late, you were too far gone. So you became one of us instead. A most unfortunate mistake, but I suppose now you must make the best of it. Few kine are allowed the gift of immortality.”
The gift of immortality? I was thinking it was more like a curse and that the price was far too high. “So you’re saying that all the old tales about vampires aren’t true except for sunlight and fire? And if the sunlight thing is true, how am I supposed to keep my job? My boss gives me flexible hours, but they’re not THAT flexible.”
The man named Greywolf smiles. “You can’t. You’ll have to quit.”
I look at him, eyes wide. I’d never quit anything in my entire life. And now I had to quit my job? That was crap! I bet he was just telling me this. I probably could walk in the sun, and could continue working. “I’m not quitting. The law is my life. There are too many people that need my help.”
“Then you’ll be fired for not showing up. But there are other ways to help people, my dear. The city has a need for a lawyer that is willing to help those who don’t have the means to hire one. And if you opened your own practice, you could set your own hours. I can help you, if you will only trust me.” He extends his hand toward me, the first time he had actually tried to touch me.
I did trust him. I wasn’t sure why. I take his hand. There was no warmth in it, though again, my own body was barely warmer than the room itself. “All right, so help me.”
“All in good time, my dear. As a Kindred, you have nothing but time.”
I shrug. I had time, but yet I couldn’t work anymore.” A rush of emotion washes over me as I realize that my life as I knew it was now over. I lower my head, overcome by grief for the first time since I’d lost my gran. I feel tears welling up in my eyes, but do nothing to suppress them. I feel the tears running down my cheeks, the liquid slightly warm. My nose remains clear. Odd really. Usually if I cried, my nose would start running too. It was some sort of sympathetic reaction or something.
Greywolf releases my hand and tilts my head up towards him. He wipes the tears from my face and holds up his hand. There was a watery red liquid on it. “Another hazard among our kind.” He tells me. “We do not cry real tears, but instead blood. If you cry too much, you could lose all of the blood stored within your body, and that would be very bad indeed. And more importantly, you should never, ever cry in front of a kine. It demonstrates your weakness, and raises far too many questions that you cannot answer.”
I nod, and raise my head to look at the ceiling, knowing that it would stop my tears. It was a trick I had been forced to learn as a young girl, as my cruel father did not tolerate tears. Happiness was required when his guests were around and when he came to my bed; it was only when he was at work or in the darkest hours of the rare nights he allowed me to sleep alone that I could cry without fear of a either a vicious beating that left no visible bruises or a merciless fucking.
My eyelids were starting to feel heavy. I was barely able to keep my head up anymore. I blink my eyes, trying to fight off the sleepiness. I notice Greywolf looking at his watch. “The sun will be rising soon. Kindred instinctively start to feel sleepy upon the sun’s approach, so it is a good idea to find a safe place to sleep for the day, what we call a haven, long before that. Because once the sun rises, you will be asleep, no matter where you might be at the time.”
That explained why the windows had been painted over. It was to keep out the sun during the day. This place must be Greywolf’s…haven? Was that what he called it? I get up and look around the warehouse for a suitable place to sleep. There was the table, but there was a pool of brownish liquid on it. That was what I had been laying in? Yuck!
Greywolf puts a hand on my shoulder. I turn to face him. He didn’t seem sleepy. Why? I didn’t really feel like asking him. Right now, I really wanted to curl up and go to sleep. “Forgive me, but I do not often use this place for sleeping, so it is a bit…lacking in the creature comforts that modern mortals are accustomed to. There is a mattress in the van if you would like to sleep there.”
I look at the mattress. There was no sheet on it, and a large brown stain nearly overwhelmed the pattern, a stain that was more than likely blood. Upon closer examination, it was actually several stains commingled into one large one, as I could see the edges of each stain. None of them were fresh though, as all I could smell was old blood. But how I knew that, I did not know. Perhaps somehow, this change causes my senses to be heightened, sharpened somehow. In a weird way, it made sense. If vampires had to hunt for prey, then like all predators, they had to rely more on their senses than humans.
The mattress wasn’t my first choice. Hell, it wasn’t even my fifth choice. I would have rather been sleeping in my own bed. But in the end, it was better than sleeping on the cold hard concrete floor. My limbs were starting to feel heavy, my eyes nearly closing of their own accord. I lay down on the mattress and curl myself into a fetal position. I felt so vulnerable. The last thing I see before I close my eyes is Greywolf, who is using a large cell phone and talking to someone. He is too far away, so I can’t hear him, but he seems to be making plans of some sort.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Initiation
Greywolf watches his temporary companion feeding off the woman. She does not give into the Kiss right away, but fights it for a short while, though a bit longer than most kine do. Soon enough, though she goes limp, as his fellow Kindred continues to drain the precious blood from her.
The woman finally stops, and licks the woman’s neck before setting her body down on the asphalt. She does this for two reasons: to make the wound close and to get the last sweet drops of her vitae. She looks to Greywolf, who is approaching her. “Mmm…she was delicious.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Would you like a taste?” She asks, offering him the back of her palm.
Greywolf shakes his head. “Give her your blood, Anne, or the ghoul will die, and the night’s excursion is in vain.” He warns. The female Kindred bends down for a moment and withdraws a knife from a sheath at her ankle. Greywolf backs away, staying well out of the way of the ten-inch blade. Without hesitation, Anne runs it across her palm, slicing it open. Dark blood wells up from the wound, and she presses it to the woman’s lips. The woman does not stir a muscle as Anne’s blood flows into her mouth. She wipes the blade on the woman’s white blouse, festooning it with a smear of red. She concentrates a moment, and the cut on her palm closes. The task done, she puts the knife away.
With that done, Greywolf picks up the woman. Even though she was unconscious, she was still holding onto her purse tightly out of some keenly honed female instinct. Very soon, Mara Ravenclaw would have more important things to worry about. He lays the unconscious attorney on a mattress in the back of the van. He then turns to the woman. “Get in.” He orders. He walks around to the driver’s side of the van and climbs into the seat. He does not look back, but he hears the panel door close, so he starts up the van and drives off.
The woman studies the unconscious quarry. With her long dark brown hair and pale skin, the woman was neither pretty nor homely, but rather just average. She could be just another face in the crowd. But what a woman this kine was. She had single-handedly decked that jerk in the bar. Greywolf had been right about her. This kine had the passion and fire to be worthy of being my ghoul. Plus, she could kick ass and take names when she had to. Which was good when your back was against the wall and your allies few. The woman sits on the edge of the mattress. She strokes the nap of the woman’s heavy wool coat. She was still motionless. The blood had not yet taken hold. But it would. It had to work this time. She was a fighter and wouldn’t, no she couldn’t give up and simply die.
Greywolf drives past the Walthew Building. That was Ms. Ravenclaw’s office. The operative word here of course being “was”. He continues to head down Third Avenue, driving fast, but keeping just a tick above the speed limit. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled over by the police. There was no time to lose, which is why he had selected this particular haven, a warehouse in the downtown district for its vicinity to Mara’s home, office and hangout. She should be rising soon, assuming that the blood had been delivered in enough time. Greywolf twists the wheel right and pulls the dented van into an industrial area riddled with warehouses and loading docks. As he takes the corner sharply, Greywolf hears a small thump as the woman’s body rolls off the mattress. There was no time to worry about that now.
Greywolf reaches for the garage door opener clipped to the top of the driver’s side visor. He pushes the button, and one of the many doors begins to open. He pulls into the building. There are no windows, but there is a tennis ball hanging from the rafters. He drives through the darkened building slowly, and when the tennis ball touches the windshield, he stops the van, shuts off the engine and gets out. He walks around to the other side and opens the panel door.
Greywolf extends his hand toward the woman to help her out. Of all the Brujah Anarchs in Seattle, Anne Bonnie was the one he was able to trust the most. But perhaps that was because she owed him a lot of favors. Or maybe because in addition to being Clan mates, they were both ten steps removed from Caine, the Father of all Kindred. Though it was not that unusual, it was a bit of a rarity among the Seattle Anarchs, for most of them were usually born of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Generations. Or perhaps he liked her because she was so blinded by her passion to recreate the persona of Anne Bonny, one of the most notorious female pirates, that she did not realize you did not have to entirely drain a kine’s blood in order to create the perfect ghoul. Which fit in perfectly with his own plans for Mara Ravenclaw.
Greywolf turns to Anne Bonnie. “I’ll get the lights.” He tells her. “When they come on, take her out of the van and put her on the table.”
“Sure thing.” She replies.
Even in the darkness, Greywolf knows his way around every inch of his haven. He’d had this haven for many, many years, even though he rarely used it for his daytime slumbers, as the age of the building didn’t allow the retrofitting of a state of the art security system. And for Kindred, a good security system for the place one slept during the day could often mean the difference between life and death. Especially when the Prince of Seattle had a rather bad habit of sending out ghoul squads for daytime raids on the havens of the resident Kindred to keep them on their toes. Perhaps it was because Seattle was a city where a large number of Anarch Kindred existed along with the Camarilla ones, and both sides barely tolerated the other.
Greywolf flips on the lights, revealing a large, nearly empty space. When it came down to it, Kindred did not need a lot of creature comforts, and having been a soldier in life, he kept his surroundings austere, in case he might need to leave on a moment’s notice. It had been some time, though, since he had been forced into such a situation. There was little in the way of furniture in the building. A stainless steel table in the middle of the building was actually the largest piece of furniture. A long green and white striped chair cushion had been placed on the top of it, but it did not hide the padded leather restraints. A stainless steel tray of instruments covered with a white cloth was shoved against one wall. Usually, Greywolf used this place for interrogations, but tonight, if luck were on their side, it would become the birthplace of Seattle’s newest Kindred.
Anne Bonnie picks up the woman. She was dead weight now, but hopefully that was not for too much longer. She smiles as she places her gently on the table. Her very first ghoul. Of course, she would name her Mary Read, after her namesake’s companion. And like Mary Read, this one would be a fierce fighter. She strokes the woman’s brown curling locks. It was so very soft. She would enjoy many nights to come of entwining her fingers in it.
Mara grabs the woman’s hand and pulls it close. Her eyes snap open and she sits up. Out of pure instinct, she bites Anne Bonnie’s arm, puncturing the skin with her own fangs and drawing blood from it like a babe might suck from its mother’s breast.
Greywolf smiles. Good. The blood had come in time, and now she was awake. He runs over to the table, and calling upon his gifts of blood, he sends blood in the direction of his biceps, triceps, quadriceps and deltoids, willing himself to be stronger. He grabs Mara’s left arm and while she is occupied with Anne Bonnie, he places it in the restraint and cinches it down tight. It was unlikely that a newly made whelp would be able to escape from two Kindred, but it was wise not to take chances. “Quick!” He orders. “Get the other arm restrained. But Anne Bonnie does not answer, as she is caught up in the passion of the Kiss.
Mara stops feeding for a moment to look directly at Greywolf. She utters an inhuman growl as Greywolf pulls Anne Bonnie’s arm away from her, breaking both from their respective reveries. He shoves her down onto the table, giving Anne Bonnie the perfect opportunity to place Mara’s other hand in the restraint. She steps aside to let Greywolf, but holds the woman’s hand as Greywolf buckles the fleece padded leather strap. The woman is still struggling, but before long she closes her eyes again. Anne Bonnie looks at the wounds on her arm. She’d bit her! She watches the wounds heal once more.
Greywolf turns to Anne, who is busy healing her wounds. The look of surprise on her face said it all. She hadn’t been expecting the woman to bite her, but then, after ten years of unlife, she had never been able to create a ghoul. And she still had yet to succeed. Because Mara wasn’t a ghoul, she was now a Kindred, like they were. Though the change was not yet complete, which is why the restraints were necessary. Now, the next step was to get rid of the odious Anne Bonnie. And he had a pretty good idea of how to do that.
“So what’s the next step?” Anne puts a hand on her hip.
“We wait for the change to take effect.” Greywolf replies. “In the meantime, we need to buy a bit of time. I want you to call her employer and pretend you’re her calling in to say you’re taking a couple of personal days.”
“Okay.” Anne Bonnie replies and heads back to the van. The woman’s purse had come loose when Greywolf had turned onto the street, so she goes to retrieve it. The panel door had been left open, so she climbs inside and finds the black purse lying against the other wall. The clasp was not closed, but very little had fallen out. A tube of lipstick, which upon closer examination, turned out to be a brick red color. A color not unlike that of dried blood. She puts that away and reaches into the purse. She had been trying to get something out of the purse. A weapon of some sort? She looks inside, and catches a glimpse of metal. She takes it out. A cylinder of pepper spray. No sign of a gun or any other sort of weapon besides that. There was a cell phone, but she didn’t mess with electronic devices. They were evil.
Next, Anne Bonnie removes the wallet. That should prove interesting indeed. The first thing she looks for is a Drivers License. Mara Ravenclaw. A name rather close to that of Mary Read, for Mary was merely a derivative of Mara, and both surnames bore the same first initial of R. Born November 13th, 1966, with a downtown address. She then continues to go through the contents, and comes across a small stack of business cards. Perhaps her boss’s card was in it. She takes them out and sees the crown logo in the top left corner. She looks at the card. Mara Ravenclaw, Attorney. She looks at the next card and the next. They were all the same. Ah hell, the bitch was a lawyer.
She drops the cards and gets out of the van. Using her own gifts, Anne Bonnie reaches Greywolf within a matter of seconds. Before he can react, she smacks him upside the back of his head. “You bastard! You didn’t tell me she was a lawyer!” She looks contemptuously at the woman, and doesn’t seem to notice that she still isn’t breathing. “A slave far better suited for the Ventrue.”
Greywolf hides his smile behind an emotionless mask. “This one helps people. She’s a Public Defender, not some corporate dog that inspires lawyer jokes.”
Anne Bonnie shoots him a look of pure hatred. It was a good thing looks couldn’t kill. “She’s still a fucking lawyer!” She screams. “Not worthy of the line of Brujah!” She then turns on one booted heel and walks away from the table, turning her back on both Greywolf and the unconscious attorney. She sighs. Another effort entirely wasted. She would have to try again, but next time she would be more choosy, more careful. She would rely upon her own research rather than trusting it to someone else. She wraps her arms around herself as she leaves the warehouse, trying to comfort herself on the failure of this latest effort to create a ghoul.
Greywolf does not stop Anne Bonnie as she leaves. He narrows his eyes as he watches her walk away, out of the warehouse. “Good riddance.” He mutters. He turns his attention to the table, and the woman lying on it. He had his prize now, and that was all that mattered. Miss Ravenclaw was pale prior to her death, but here, on this table under the harsh fluorescent lights, her skin was waxy and so drained of any color that it was nearly white. The change had not taken hold as of yet, and until it was complete, the newly made Kindred functioned solely upon their base animal instincts.
Greywolf pulls up a folding chair and sets it next to the table, turning it backwards before he sits down. He watches the woman, lying there motionless. He bites his own finger and squeezes a couple of drops into Mara’s mouth, then runs the bloodstained finger across her lips. And so the vigil begins.
Initiation
Greywolf watches his temporary companion feeding off the woman. She does not give into the Kiss right away, but fights it for a short while, though a bit longer than most kine do. Soon enough, though she goes limp, as his fellow Kindred continues to drain the precious blood from her.
The woman finally stops, and licks the woman’s neck before setting her body down on the asphalt. She does this for two reasons: to make the wound close and to get the last sweet drops of her vitae. She looks to Greywolf, who is approaching her. “Mmm…she was delicious.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Would you like a taste?” She asks, offering him the back of her palm.
Greywolf shakes his head. “Give her your blood, Anne, or the ghoul will die, and the night’s excursion is in vain.” He warns. The female Kindred bends down for a moment and withdraws a knife from a sheath at her ankle. Greywolf backs away, staying well out of the way of the ten-inch blade. Without hesitation, Anne runs it across her palm, slicing it open. Dark blood wells up from the wound, and she presses it to the woman’s lips. The woman does not stir a muscle as Anne’s blood flows into her mouth. She wipes the blade on the woman’s white blouse, festooning it with a smear of red. She concentrates a moment, and the cut on her palm closes. The task done, she puts the knife away.
With that done, Greywolf picks up the woman. Even though she was unconscious, she was still holding onto her purse tightly out of some keenly honed female instinct. Very soon, Mara Ravenclaw would have more important things to worry about. He lays the unconscious attorney on a mattress in the back of the van. He then turns to the woman. “Get in.” He orders. He walks around to the driver’s side of the van and climbs into the seat. He does not look back, but he hears the panel door close, so he starts up the van and drives off.
The woman studies the unconscious quarry. With her long dark brown hair and pale skin, the woman was neither pretty nor homely, but rather just average. She could be just another face in the crowd. But what a woman this kine was. She had single-handedly decked that jerk in the bar. Greywolf had been right about her. This kine had the passion and fire to be worthy of being my ghoul. Plus, she could kick ass and take names when she had to. Which was good when your back was against the wall and your allies few. The woman sits on the edge of the mattress. She strokes the nap of the woman’s heavy wool coat. She was still motionless. The blood had not yet taken hold. But it would. It had to work this time. She was a fighter and wouldn’t, no she couldn’t give up and simply die.
Greywolf drives past the Walthew Building. That was Ms. Ravenclaw’s office. The operative word here of course being “was”. He continues to head down Third Avenue, driving fast, but keeping just a tick above the speed limit. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled over by the police. There was no time to lose, which is why he had selected this particular haven, a warehouse in the downtown district for its vicinity to Mara’s home, office and hangout. She should be rising soon, assuming that the blood had been delivered in enough time. Greywolf twists the wheel right and pulls the dented van into an industrial area riddled with warehouses and loading docks. As he takes the corner sharply, Greywolf hears a small thump as the woman’s body rolls off the mattress. There was no time to worry about that now.
Greywolf reaches for the garage door opener clipped to the top of the driver’s side visor. He pushes the button, and one of the many doors begins to open. He pulls into the building. There are no windows, but there is a tennis ball hanging from the rafters. He drives through the darkened building slowly, and when the tennis ball touches the windshield, he stops the van, shuts off the engine and gets out. He walks around to the other side and opens the panel door.
Greywolf extends his hand toward the woman to help her out. Of all the Brujah Anarchs in Seattle, Anne Bonnie was the one he was able to trust the most. But perhaps that was because she owed him a lot of favors. Or maybe because in addition to being Clan mates, they were both ten steps removed from Caine, the Father of all Kindred. Though it was not that unusual, it was a bit of a rarity among the Seattle Anarchs, for most of them were usually born of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Generations. Or perhaps he liked her because she was so blinded by her passion to recreate the persona of Anne Bonny, one of the most notorious female pirates, that she did not realize you did not have to entirely drain a kine’s blood in order to create the perfect ghoul. Which fit in perfectly with his own plans for Mara Ravenclaw.
Greywolf turns to Anne Bonnie. “I’ll get the lights.” He tells her. “When they come on, take her out of the van and put her on the table.”
“Sure thing.” She replies.
Even in the darkness, Greywolf knows his way around every inch of his haven. He’d had this haven for many, many years, even though he rarely used it for his daytime slumbers, as the age of the building didn’t allow the retrofitting of a state of the art security system. And for Kindred, a good security system for the place one slept during the day could often mean the difference between life and death. Especially when the Prince of Seattle had a rather bad habit of sending out ghoul squads for daytime raids on the havens of the resident Kindred to keep them on their toes. Perhaps it was because Seattle was a city where a large number of Anarch Kindred existed along with the Camarilla ones, and both sides barely tolerated the other.
Greywolf flips on the lights, revealing a large, nearly empty space. When it came down to it, Kindred did not need a lot of creature comforts, and having been a soldier in life, he kept his surroundings austere, in case he might need to leave on a moment’s notice. It had been some time, though, since he had been forced into such a situation. There was little in the way of furniture in the building. A stainless steel table in the middle of the building was actually the largest piece of furniture. A long green and white striped chair cushion had been placed on the top of it, but it did not hide the padded leather restraints. A stainless steel tray of instruments covered with a white cloth was shoved against one wall. Usually, Greywolf used this place for interrogations, but tonight, if luck were on their side, it would become the birthplace of Seattle’s newest Kindred.
Anne Bonnie picks up the woman. She was dead weight now, but hopefully that was not for too much longer. She smiles as she places her gently on the table. Her very first ghoul. Of course, she would name her Mary Read, after her namesake’s companion. And like Mary Read, this one would be a fierce fighter. She strokes the woman’s brown curling locks. It was so very soft. She would enjoy many nights to come of entwining her fingers in it.
Mara grabs the woman’s hand and pulls it close. Her eyes snap open and she sits up. Out of pure instinct, she bites Anne Bonnie’s arm, puncturing the skin with her own fangs and drawing blood from it like a babe might suck from its mother’s breast.
Greywolf smiles. Good. The blood had come in time, and now she was awake. He runs over to the table, and calling upon his gifts of blood, he sends blood in the direction of his biceps, triceps, quadriceps and deltoids, willing himself to be stronger. He grabs Mara’s left arm and while she is occupied with Anne Bonnie, he places it in the restraint and cinches it down tight. It was unlikely that a newly made whelp would be able to escape from two Kindred, but it was wise not to take chances. “Quick!” He orders. “Get the other arm restrained. But Anne Bonnie does not answer, as she is caught up in the passion of the Kiss.
Mara stops feeding for a moment to look directly at Greywolf. She utters an inhuman growl as Greywolf pulls Anne Bonnie’s arm away from her, breaking both from their respective reveries. He shoves her down onto the table, giving Anne Bonnie the perfect opportunity to place Mara’s other hand in the restraint. She steps aside to let Greywolf, but holds the woman’s hand as Greywolf buckles the fleece padded leather strap. The woman is still struggling, but before long she closes her eyes again. Anne Bonnie looks at the wounds on her arm. She’d bit her! She watches the wounds heal once more.
Greywolf turns to Anne, who is busy healing her wounds. The look of surprise on her face said it all. She hadn’t been expecting the woman to bite her, but then, after ten years of unlife, she had never been able to create a ghoul. And she still had yet to succeed. Because Mara wasn’t a ghoul, she was now a Kindred, like they were. Though the change was not yet complete, which is why the restraints were necessary. Now, the next step was to get rid of the odious Anne Bonnie. And he had a pretty good idea of how to do that.
“So what’s the next step?” Anne puts a hand on her hip.
“We wait for the change to take effect.” Greywolf replies. “In the meantime, we need to buy a bit of time. I want you to call her employer and pretend you’re her calling in to say you’re taking a couple of personal days.”
“Okay.” Anne Bonnie replies and heads back to the van. The woman’s purse had come loose when Greywolf had turned onto the street, so she goes to retrieve it. The panel door had been left open, so she climbs inside and finds the black purse lying against the other wall. The clasp was not closed, but very little had fallen out. A tube of lipstick, which upon closer examination, turned out to be a brick red color. A color not unlike that of dried blood. She puts that away and reaches into the purse. She had been trying to get something out of the purse. A weapon of some sort? She looks inside, and catches a glimpse of metal. She takes it out. A cylinder of pepper spray. No sign of a gun or any other sort of weapon besides that. There was a cell phone, but she didn’t mess with electronic devices. They were evil.
Next, Anne Bonnie removes the wallet. That should prove interesting indeed. The first thing she looks for is a Drivers License. Mara Ravenclaw. A name rather close to that of Mary Read, for Mary was merely a derivative of Mara, and both surnames bore the same first initial of R. Born November 13th, 1966, with a downtown address. She then continues to go through the contents, and comes across a small stack of business cards. Perhaps her boss’s card was in it. She takes them out and sees the crown logo in the top left corner. She looks at the card. Mara Ravenclaw, Attorney. She looks at the next card and the next. They were all the same. Ah hell, the bitch was a lawyer.
She drops the cards and gets out of the van. Using her own gifts, Anne Bonnie reaches Greywolf within a matter of seconds. Before he can react, she smacks him upside the back of his head. “You bastard! You didn’t tell me she was a lawyer!” She looks contemptuously at the woman, and doesn’t seem to notice that she still isn’t breathing. “A slave far better suited for the Ventrue.”
Greywolf hides his smile behind an emotionless mask. “This one helps people. She’s a Public Defender, not some corporate dog that inspires lawyer jokes.”
Anne Bonnie shoots him a look of pure hatred. It was a good thing looks couldn’t kill. “She’s still a fucking lawyer!” She screams. “Not worthy of the line of Brujah!” She then turns on one booted heel and walks away from the table, turning her back on both Greywolf and the unconscious attorney. She sighs. Another effort entirely wasted. She would have to try again, but next time she would be more choosy, more careful. She would rely upon her own research rather than trusting it to someone else. She wraps her arms around herself as she leaves the warehouse, trying to comfort herself on the failure of this latest effort to create a ghoul.
Greywolf does not stop Anne Bonnie as she leaves. He narrows his eyes as he watches her walk away, out of the warehouse. “Good riddance.” He mutters. He turns his attention to the table, and the woman lying on it. He had his prize now, and that was all that mattered. Miss Ravenclaw was pale prior to her death, but here, on this table under the harsh fluorescent lights, her skin was waxy and so drained of any color that it was nearly white. The change had not taken hold as of yet, and until it was complete, the newly made Kindred functioned solely upon their base animal instincts.
Greywolf pulls up a folding chair and sets it next to the table, turning it backwards before he sits down. He watches the woman, lying there motionless. He bites his own finger and squeezes a couple of drops into Mara’s mouth, then runs the bloodstained finger across her lips. And so the vigil begins.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Celebration Interrupted
It was finally Friday again. And better yet, I was finally able to see my desk again. We’d brought two new attorneys on board, which took a lot of pressure of the rest of us. And unless the new employees had thoroughly snowed both Renee, and me they both should stick around for a while instead of bailing at the first scent of a better paying job. And even better, Philip Magruder had gone up against Nick DiAmato, our former boss, and won. The whole office was going to the Cock to celebrate tonight. Even De Sade was invited. And more strangely, he’d actually accepted.
I was boxing up closed case files to ship back to Records Management, and since my mind was not otherwise engaged, it was replaying events that had happened earlier today.
The happiness of a Friday had been marred a bit. I had come in this morning like I always had, with my usual Grande Mocha Latte from Starbucks. Then Renee saw me. She looked almost like she’d seen a ghost. “Tell me that isn’t the suit you wore to my mother’s funeral.”
I looked down at the navy suit I was wearing. It was the suit. It was even the same blouse that I wore. The only thing different was that I was wearing the heels I'd had dyed to match the suit instead of flats “Okay, it isn’t the suit I wore to the funeral.” I lied.
Renee looked really annoyed. “Mara, I told you to burn that suit. Otherwise, the bad luck associated with the death will continue to follow you.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. It’s just a silly superstition. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
Renee stamps her foot. “It’s not silly!” She replies. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Mara. Promise me that you’ll burn that suit tomorrow.”
There was no way in hell that I would do that. However, I also didn’t want to piss off my best ally in the office either. “Look, I’m sorry. If it’s that important, I’ll burn it. But you’re buying me a replacement.”
Renee smiled finally. “Sure, we can hit Ross and Target tomorrow.” She offered.
Now, thinking back, while my answers seemed to placate Renee, she was still very angry, and gave me the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. She wouldn’t come near me, and whenever I came near her, even to talk, she would walk away. I’d finally had to call her on the phone if I wanted to talk to her, and even then, I was only able to elicit two or three words from her at a time. Damn, the suit thing must be really important to her.
I pick up the phone to call Renee again, then put it back on its cradle. Hell, what was I going to say? I’d already apologized once.
The phone rings, breaking me from my reverie. I pick it up. “Mara Ravenclaw.” I answer.
“Mara, it’s Renee.” Funny, I’d wanted to call her, and here she was calling me. “I’m sorry I got upset at you. I can’t really expect you to understand the importance of my culture’s traditions.”
“It’s okay.” I reply. “I can understand. You’re still getting over your mom’s death. I know how hard that is.” That, unfortunately, was the truth. I then attempt to deftly change the subject. “So, Renee, are you still going to the Cock with the rest of us?”
“The celebration of DiAmato’s crushing defeat? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” She replies.
“Neither would I.” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. I’m walking straight over there after work.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Renee offers. “There’s safety in numbers.”
“Sure.” I hang up and get back to marking the box with a black Sharpie marker. I write on it “Return to Records Management – Cases to be Filed.” Then I haul the box into the hall and stack it on top of another box that is marked in a similar manner, headed for the same fate.
I survey my desk. There were only three thick files left on my desk now. They were some of my hardest cases, but they were also my newest. Murder cases. One had an overwhelming amount of evidence against him. Another was mostly a circumstantial case, and the last I could probably plead down to manslaughter, provided the client agreed.
I spotted another thick file sitting on a corner of my desk. I look at the tab. James, Quintel. Another murder case. But this one had been dropped because the witnesses against him had recanted their stories. Meaning they’d changed their mind about what they’d seen. James was a gang banger, so the whole thing stank of witness intimidation. Well, there wasn’t a lot that I could do about it, other than tell the D.A. what they already believed: that the witnesses had been threatened and intimidated into not talking.
Yes, it was true. Once in a while, we actually helped out the other side. But it was rare indeed.
Out of respect to Renee, I take off my suit jacket, revealing the white blouse with its neckline that offered a small hint at my cleavage. If she’s willing to buy me a new suit, I guess I would be willing to part with this one.
A little after five, Renee stops by my desk. She is carrying her black coat, getting ready to put it on. My eyes are drawn momentarily to the strip of black cloth around her left bicep. The black was very noticeable against the red silk of her blouse.
Renee had explained to me that the armband was a sign of mourning, and that the colors of the armbands depended upon what relation you were to the deceased. Strangely though, I’d seen Renee’s father a week ago when he came to visit Renee at work, and he hadn’t been wearing one. When I asked Renee about this, she told me that in her culture, husbands were not required to mourn the loss of their wives. I guess I will probably never understand the Chinese culture no matter how much I study it.
“So are you ready to go?” Renee asks.
I get up and start to put on my coat. I take my purse, but leave my briefcase. I can come and get it tomorrow morning, since I don’t live far from the office, and for once, I’m caught up on my paperwork. “I sure am.” Renee puts on her coat, covering the armband. We walk out of the building together, wishing the security guard a nice weekend.
When we get to the Black Cock, the place is pretty packed. But that’s not real unusual on a Friday night. The Cock usually changes the jukebox songs to 80’s favorites, and people come to dance. Friday is the time when college students, office workers and downtown residents all converge on the local bars for free food, dollar beers and maybe even a good lay. As for me, I just came for the free food and the company of my coworkers.
Luckily for Renee, and me a couple of our coworkers had headed out early and snagged a table for us already. We remove our coats in unison and set them on the back of the chairs we picked, and head for the buffet line.
While I wait my turn, I scan the room. It was the usual Friday mix of coeds and coworkers. Though there was one couple playing pool that didn’t really seem to belong. The woman was wearing a black leather halter-top that showed off both her cleavage and her flat stomach as she attempted her shots. Her provocative look was completed with a short black skirt and shiny leather boots that went up past her knees. Her companion, a man with long blonde hair, he looked oddly familiar. Like I’d seen him before. Did I know him? I don’t recall seeing him in the bar until tonight. Maybe I’ve seen him around the neighborhood. Though I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of the residents around here wearing leather.
The pair seemed to be keeping their distance from each other. Perhaps they were not lovers then. While the woman is taking another shot, the man hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his black jeans and ambles over to her. He gets close to the woman and says something to her. The woman then looks up and turns her gaze directly at me. Embarrassed at being caught staring, I turn away from the pair.
Renee leans over to me. “You okay, Mara?” She asks. I look at her and nod. I was fine. Just a touch embarrassed, that was all. Though I wasn’t about to tell her that.
When we get back to the table, there are three pitchers of beer on the table, and a glass beer mug set by each place. Our coats stood watch over our own empty glasses. I set down my plate of food and grab Roger Vance, who was sitting next to me. “What’s this?” I ask him.
“Marquis sprung for the beer. He wants to do a toast. You want me to pour you some?”
“Thanks. I can take care of it.” I reach for the pitcher and pour myself a glass of the amber colored liquid. I look towards Marquis, who is sitting at the head of the table. Only fitting really, since he was our boss.
Marquis gets out of his chair, revealing his modest height. I was actually a couple inches taller than him when I wore heels, so I’d put his height at close to my own five foot nine inches. He scans the table and our faces. “Everyone here?” He pauses a moment, seemingly taking roll call. “Everyone got a full glass?” In reply, we raise our glasses a few inches off the table. “Good.” He raises his glass high. “First, let me welcome the office’s newest recruits in the war for Justice. Mark Allen and David Gonzales.
The two stand up for a moment and sit back down quickly. I look to Renee, who sits on my left, and offer her a small shrug. The two hadn’t been the best qualified or the most ideal, in our opinions, but even so, they were capable attorneys and the final decision hadn’t been ours to make.
“But a toast to the man of the hour. Philip Magruder, who managed to reveal DiAmato’s overzealous prosecution of his client before he was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.”
We all get up and raise our glasses. “To Magruder.” We reply. He was sitting across the table from me, and I could see the people next to him slapping him on the back, congratulating him. I had to hand it to DiAmato. He was a lousy boss, and as a Prosecutor, he loved to cut corners and skate the legal lines. This was the first time though that any of us had been able to call him on it, because there were two things he was really good at: choosing a jury that would get him a conviction, and getting the police to help him find evidence that would help their case against the suspect, no matter what the means. I was almost sad that he hadn’t stayed a P.D. I got over that quick.
We continue eating, drinking, and otherwise carrying on. After all, it was Friday night, so none of us HAD to go to work tomorrow (though some of us probably would choose to come in), so we could spend the morning sleeping in. As the waitress comes to take away the empty pitcher, I grab her by the sleeve. “Hey, could I get a cup of coffee?”
“Sure thing, hon.” The waitress replies. God, I hated when women younger than me called me hon. There was something just so terribly disrespectful about that. I watch her walk away, and notice that the woman in black leather was sitting alone at a booth. Her male companion was nowhere to be seen.
The crowd was thinning out a little bit too. The workers were starting to go home, and the college crowd, fueled by the cheap beer, was starting to get rowdy. Three of the women got up and started dancing with each other. A couple guys got up and started dancing with them, coming gradually closer to the women with each move until you couldn’t even slip a credit card between them as their bodies gyrated against each other. I turned away from their simulated sex acts. It was too disgusting for me to watch.
My coworkers didn’t give any signs of wanting to leave quite yet, and I didn’t want to be the first to leave the party. Actually, the way I was brought up, one wasn’t supposed to leave a party until the guest (or guests) of honor did. Magruder is getting ready to regale us with the tale of how he was able to triumph over DiAmato, so I swirl the dregs of the beer around in my mug and watch DiAmato intently and listen to him tell his story.
I must admit that I wanted to listen to the story, even though I’d already heard it once. There was just something so satisfying about hearing about DiAmato’s crushing defeat. So maybe that’s why I didn’t hear the guy coming up behind me.
I felt a tap on my right shoulder. It must have been Renee. Maybe she wanted me to walk back with her to the office. I start to turn, and catch a glimpse of Renee laughing and talking to Marquis at the head of the table. If it wasn’t Renee, then who was it? I looked up and I see a businessman with a bit of a five o’ clock shadow wearing a rumpled suit and a tie that was half undone and now hung loosely around his neck. I feel suddenly vulnerable and look towards my coworkers, who at the moment didn’t seem to notice my plight.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I get up from my seat, wanting to even the height disadvantage between us. He must have been oozing booze from his pores, because I can smell the odor hanging on him like cheap aftershave. I’d seen this guy at the Cock before. He was usually trying to pick up the ladies, and more often than not, failed miserably. Obviously, tonight, he’d decided to try his luck with me. Dumb move. I don’t give the Cock’s pick-up artists the time of day, assuming they choose to bother me at all. Thankfully, most of them considered female lawyers just a bit too intimidating.
He grabs my hand and starts to pull me away from the table. “Dance with me.” He asks.
I try to pull away. “Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not good at dancing.”
The guy pulls me in closer and farther away from the safety of my coworkers. I can feel his hot breath on me. “I think you’ll do just fine. And that outfit of yours will look real nice on my bedroom floor.”
I roll my eyes. Oh jeez, that had to be one of the worst pick-up lines I’d heard in a very long time. The music stops, and no new song starts. All eyes in the bar are now on the drama between the drunken guy and me. Crap. To be honest, there are few times when I like to be the center of attention. This is definitely not one of them times. Well, either I do this with an audience, or I continue to put up with the guy’s crap. I didn’t want to encourage the guy, so I step away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m really not interested.” I try to head back towards my coworkers.
The guy grabs my arm and pulls me back so quickly, I swore I might have gotten whiplash. “I see how you are, bitch. You’re not interested because you’re a fucking lesbo! You tease men with your short skirt and cleavage, and then say you’re not interested so you can laugh about it later with your dyke girlfriend. I say you just haven’t had a guy screw you properly.” He then grabs me and kisses me, forcing his tongue between my lips, probing my mouth. To say that it made me uncomfortable was an understatement. It reminded me of the darker times in my life.
I lost it. Right there and then. I ball my right hand into a fist, pull it back, and hit the guy. It knocks him flat on his ass, and the whole bar starts to applaud. The women seems to be the loudest among them, as most of them had suffered the guy’s unwanted attentions at one point or another. I start to walk back to the table and Renee is running in my direction. “Mara! Are you okay?”
I reach the table and grab my coat and purse. “I’m fine, but I’m getting out of here before things get worse.” I look over toward the bar. The bartender and the waitresses were getting back to their tasks, and no one seemed to be going for a phone. Not even the guy I just decked. “No. I should probably call the cops first.” I look to my coworkers, and call the cops. Just because we were lawyers didn’t make us above the law. And of course the last thing the office needed was a lawyer getting busted for assault.
“Police Non-Emergency. How can I help you?”
“Hi there. My name is Mara Ravenclaw. I’m at the Black Cock Pub on South Jackson Street. I just decked a guy that tried to attack me.”
“Is the man hurt?”
I look back at the man, who was making a quick exit from the bar. “Um, I don’t believe so. He’s walking out the door as we speak.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I’ve seen him in here before, but no, I don’t know his name.”
“Ma’am, the police are very busy tonight. If the other person involved has left and you don’t know who he is, I can’t dispatch an officer to take a report about a fight that isn’t currently in progress. However, I will keep your name and information, and if the gentleman presses charges related to this assault, we will call you.”
I give the dispatcher my name, address and phone number, along with my daytime phone number. Luckily for me, she didn’t recognize the number right away. Or if she did, she gave no indication.
Renee looks at me expectantly. “What did the cops say?”
I put my cell phone in my coat pocket. “They said they’re too busy to deal with taking a report if the fight’s not in progress and the guy’s bailed.” Most of the other ladies were starting to crowd around me. They were congratulating me, saying the guy deserved it. That didn’t really make me feel better. I mutter a few thanks and excuse myself, only to run straight into my boss, Mr. Marquis. Well, at least it didn’t happen on the premises or during work hours. He shouldn’t be able to fire or discipline me for this incident. I look at the floor, a bit embarrassed and ashamed at my conduct. I’d single-handedly managed to spoil the celebration.
“Ms. Ravenclaw.” I look up at him, and Marquis has a dark look etched on his face. “I understand the cops don’t plan to take a report about this incident.”
“No Sir.” I reply. “They said they were too busy.”
Marquis hands me a piece of paper. Well, not paper so much as a cocktail napkin with fuzzy scribbles in blue ballpoint. “Well, in case you need it, I got the names and phone numbers of the bartenders and waitresses working here tonight.”
“Thanks Mr. Marquis.” I take the napkin, fold it in half and tuck it into the side pocket of my purse.
“Look, kid. The guy made a move on you first, and kept up his pursuit even after you told him you weren’t interested. Hitting him might not have been the best choice, but what’s done is done. I’m not going to write you up or have you disbarred for something that you didn’t encourage or start.”
I nod and put on my coat, then put my purse over my shoulder. “I appreciate that Sir. I really do.” I guess my boss wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Then again, like me, he’s familiar with the pathology of rape, and the guy’s attack on me had all the hallmarks of escalating into that. If I hadn’t fought back, things could have gotten much, much worse.
“Go home and get some rest, Ravenclaw. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”
I nod and put on my best insincere smile. Then I head for the door. Renee stops me before I can make it. “Mara let me walk back with you.”
I shake my head. “Thanks, Renee, but I’ll be fine.” I open the door and start to head back to the office. But when I left the Cock and its brightly lit façade, the neighborhood seemed much darker than it was when I left my office. Surely, it couldn’t be that late. I look at my watch to see that it is really only eight o’clock.
The Cock’s parking lot, like the building itself, is brightly lit. The owners were very safety-conscious. Though that could likely be due to the fact that a female student had been raped in the parking lot five years ago. While the cops never found who did it, the victim had hit the bar with a civil suit for providing the unsafe conditions that led to the rape. It was rather sad really, that far too often, someone had to be injured or killed in order for corrective actions to be taken.
I pull my coat tight around me to ward off the cold wind, and clutch my purse close to my body to ward off any possible purse-snatchers. I begin making the walk back to my apartment. The Cock was only three blocks from my office, and my apartment was another five blocks away from that. It was an easy walk most of the time, though the trip was sometimes fraught with the occasional hazards of puddles, bicyclists and red light runners, to name a few.
As I get two blocks away from the bar, I feel a cold chill go up my body as I come to a realization. The guy had left the bar before I did, and I had no idea where he’d gone. For all I know, he could have been waiting for me in the parking lot. Of course, I’d passed the parking lot, and I didn’t see any sign of him. Shit, maybe I should have taken Renee up on her offer. I look at the streets around me, but there was no sign of lights. Not really any sign of traffic either, though Interstate 5 was just a few short blocks away.
I get to the Walthew Building, which is where my office is, and all the lights are off. I consider heading inside. I look around the darkened street and the closed up storefronts. It wasn’t this scary during the day. Why was it creeping me out now? I think about turning back, but my apartment wasn’t that far away now.
I reach the corner of Third Avenue and Cherry, and the light turns red before I can get up to it. Damn. I hate when that happens. This intersection had timed lights, so that even though there was no other traffic, I had to wait at the light. I suppose I could jaywalk across the street, but I didn’t want to risk getting a ticket. I’ve already escaped one brush with the police tonight, so it’s better not to press my luck.
While I wait for the light to turn, a vehicle pulls up to the crosswalk and comes to a gentle stop. I hear the van’s rumbling idle as I wait for light to change. I glance over. It was an older van. The nearby streetlight reflected upon the body, revealing a surface that was marred by several dents. The driver’s compartment was unlit, so I could barely make out the silhouette of the driver, and I certainly couldn’t see the person’s face.
I look back at the red light, and I hear the van’s panel door open. I have a very bad feeling, so I suppress my first instinct, which is to look inside, and instead start to run back down Third Avenue, heading back toward the Cock.
The van goes in reverse and speeds past me. It pulls up onto the curb just ahead of me. Before I can change directions, someone gets out of the van. I back away. Was this the guy from the bar, coming to get revenge? But wait, they were getting out of the open panel door, which meant that there was more than one of them. I retreat into the shadows, my assailant moves into the light. It is the strange woman I had seen in the bar earlier. She moves into the range of a nearby streetlight, and I can see her eyes. There is a strange look in them, the wild, dangerous look of a predator.
I’d just run two blocks, in heels no less, and was feeling a bit winded. Keeping my distance from her, I touch the building to try to gain a bit of support and catch my breath to possibly prepare for another sprint. “What the hell do you want?” I demand, pulling from my inner reserves of courage. The adrenaline started kicking in, and I didn’t feel quite so tired.
For a moment, the woman says nothing, but starts to move toward me in a languid manner, like a cat playing with a mouse. In the dim light, I can see a smile appearing on her face. One that didn’t seem very friendly. She speaks a single word. “Blood.” Shit, she must be the guy’s girlfriend, trying to even the score. I back away, towards the nearby alley, feeling around in my purse for my can of pepper spray, keeping an eye on her and not daring to look down to better look for it.
My fingers locate the cold metal cylinder, and I look down the alley in dismay. There was no other outlet save the way I came in. I wrap my hand around the pepper spray canister, but before I can pull it out, the woman has closed the gap between us in the passing of mere seconds. She pulls me farther into the alley and shoves me against the brick wall then grabs me by the collar of my blouse and pulls me closer to her. In the depth of the shadows I can’t see anything.
I gasp in surprise as I feel a sharp, sudden pain on the side of my neck. I let go of the canister, and it falls back into my purse, lost to me. Had she cut my throat? I didn’t feel any blood pouring down my clothes. I try to pull away, but the brick wall offers me no possible means of escape. She tightens her hold on me, pressing my body farther against the unyielding wall. I hear a strange sucking sound, and I instinctively tilt my head. I can feel blood rising to the site of the wound, but there is no warm gush of blood running down my blouse. What the hell? Is she sucking my blood?
I can’t move though. I feel suddenly warmed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. A silvery feeling travels through me, and can no longer fight it, so I surrender to the feeling and cry out in ecstasy. So this is what good sex feels like. But now I there was another sensation, my limbs were starting to go numb and felt like leaden weights. And there was something else. Darkness. Blackness. Oblivion. I was no longer able to move, much less struggle, like a fly caught within a spider’s web. And this was one really big spider. Soon, the only thing I am aware of is the beating of my heart. It is beating slower, slower, and still slower. If this doesn’t stop soon, it would flat line. And I’d be dead. But the welcoming embrace of Death was so seductive. So this is it then. My life ends in an alleyway. I wasn’t ready, but what choice did I have?
Celebration Interrupted
It was finally Friday again. And better yet, I was finally able to see my desk again. We’d brought two new attorneys on board, which took a lot of pressure of the rest of us. And unless the new employees had thoroughly snowed both Renee, and me they both should stick around for a while instead of bailing at the first scent of a better paying job. And even better, Philip Magruder had gone up against Nick DiAmato, our former boss, and won. The whole office was going to the Cock to celebrate tonight. Even De Sade was invited. And more strangely, he’d actually accepted.
I was boxing up closed case files to ship back to Records Management, and since my mind was not otherwise engaged, it was replaying events that had happened earlier today.
The happiness of a Friday had been marred a bit. I had come in this morning like I always had, with my usual Grande Mocha Latte from Starbucks. Then Renee saw me. She looked almost like she’d seen a ghost. “Tell me that isn’t the suit you wore to my mother’s funeral.”
I looked down at the navy suit I was wearing. It was the suit. It was even the same blouse that I wore. The only thing different was that I was wearing the heels I'd had dyed to match the suit instead of flats “Okay, it isn’t the suit I wore to the funeral.” I lied.
Renee looked really annoyed. “Mara, I told you to burn that suit. Otherwise, the bad luck associated with the death will continue to follow you.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. It’s just a silly superstition. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
Renee stamps her foot. “It’s not silly!” She replies. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Mara. Promise me that you’ll burn that suit tomorrow.”
There was no way in hell that I would do that. However, I also didn’t want to piss off my best ally in the office either. “Look, I’m sorry. If it’s that important, I’ll burn it. But you’re buying me a replacement.”
Renee smiled finally. “Sure, we can hit Ross and Target tomorrow.” She offered.
Now, thinking back, while my answers seemed to placate Renee, she was still very angry, and gave me the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. She wouldn’t come near me, and whenever I came near her, even to talk, she would walk away. I’d finally had to call her on the phone if I wanted to talk to her, and even then, I was only able to elicit two or three words from her at a time. Damn, the suit thing must be really important to her.
I pick up the phone to call Renee again, then put it back on its cradle. Hell, what was I going to say? I’d already apologized once.
The phone rings, breaking me from my reverie. I pick it up. “Mara Ravenclaw.” I answer.
“Mara, it’s Renee.” Funny, I’d wanted to call her, and here she was calling me. “I’m sorry I got upset at you. I can’t really expect you to understand the importance of my culture’s traditions.”
“It’s okay.” I reply. “I can understand. You’re still getting over your mom’s death. I know how hard that is.” That, unfortunately, was the truth. I then attempt to deftly change the subject. “So, Renee, are you still going to the Cock with the rest of us?”
“The celebration of DiAmato’s crushing defeat? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” She replies.
“Neither would I.” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. I’m walking straight over there after work.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Renee offers. “There’s safety in numbers.”
“Sure.” I hang up and get back to marking the box with a black Sharpie marker. I write on it “Return to Records Management – Cases to be Filed.” Then I haul the box into the hall and stack it on top of another box that is marked in a similar manner, headed for the same fate.
I survey my desk. There were only three thick files left on my desk now. They were some of my hardest cases, but they were also my newest. Murder cases. One had an overwhelming amount of evidence against him. Another was mostly a circumstantial case, and the last I could probably plead down to manslaughter, provided the client agreed.
I spotted another thick file sitting on a corner of my desk. I look at the tab. James, Quintel. Another murder case. But this one had been dropped because the witnesses against him had recanted their stories. Meaning they’d changed their mind about what they’d seen. James was a gang banger, so the whole thing stank of witness intimidation. Well, there wasn’t a lot that I could do about it, other than tell the D.A. what they already believed: that the witnesses had been threatened and intimidated into not talking.
Yes, it was true. Once in a while, we actually helped out the other side. But it was rare indeed.
Out of respect to Renee, I take off my suit jacket, revealing the white blouse with its neckline that offered a small hint at my cleavage. If she’s willing to buy me a new suit, I guess I would be willing to part with this one.
A little after five, Renee stops by my desk. She is carrying her black coat, getting ready to put it on. My eyes are drawn momentarily to the strip of black cloth around her left bicep. The black was very noticeable against the red silk of her blouse.
Renee had explained to me that the armband was a sign of mourning, and that the colors of the armbands depended upon what relation you were to the deceased. Strangely though, I’d seen Renee’s father a week ago when he came to visit Renee at work, and he hadn’t been wearing one. When I asked Renee about this, she told me that in her culture, husbands were not required to mourn the loss of their wives. I guess I will probably never understand the Chinese culture no matter how much I study it.
“So are you ready to go?” Renee asks.
I get up and start to put on my coat. I take my purse, but leave my briefcase. I can come and get it tomorrow morning, since I don’t live far from the office, and for once, I’m caught up on my paperwork. “I sure am.” Renee puts on her coat, covering the armband. We walk out of the building together, wishing the security guard a nice weekend.
When we get to the Black Cock, the place is pretty packed. But that’s not real unusual on a Friday night. The Cock usually changes the jukebox songs to 80’s favorites, and people come to dance. Friday is the time when college students, office workers and downtown residents all converge on the local bars for free food, dollar beers and maybe even a good lay. As for me, I just came for the free food and the company of my coworkers.
Luckily for Renee, and me a couple of our coworkers had headed out early and snagged a table for us already. We remove our coats in unison and set them on the back of the chairs we picked, and head for the buffet line.
While I wait my turn, I scan the room. It was the usual Friday mix of coeds and coworkers. Though there was one couple playing pool that didn’t really seem to belong. The woman was wearing a black leather halter-top that showed off both her cleavage and her flat stomach as she attempted her shots. Her provocative look was completed with a short black skirt and shiny leather boots that went up past her knees. Her companion, a man with long blonde hair, he looked oddly familiar. Like I’d seen him before. Did I know him? I don’t recall seeing him in the bar until tonight. Maybe I’ve seen him around the neighborhood. Though I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of the residents around here wearing leather.
The pair seemed to be keeping their distance from each other. Perhaps they were not lovers then. While the woman is taking another shot, the man hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his black jeans and ambles over to her. He gets close to the woman and says something to her. The woman then looks up and turns her gaze directly at me. Embarrassed at being caught staring, I turn away from the pair.
Renee leans over to me. “You okay, Mara?” She asks. I look at her and nod. I was fine. Just a touch embarrassed, that was all. Though I wasn’t about to tell her that.
When we get back to the table, there are three pitchers of beer on the table, and a glass beer mug set by each place. Our coats stood watch over our own empty glasses. I set down my plate of food and grab Roger Vance, who was sitting next to me. “What’s this?” I ask him.
“Marquis sprung for the beer. He wants to do a toast. You want me to pour you some?”
“Thanks. I can take care of it.” I reach for the pitcher and pour myself a glass of the amber colored liquid. I look towards Marquis, who is sitting at the head of the table. Only fitting really, since he was our boss.
Marquis gets out of his chair, revealing his modest height. I was actually a couple inches taller than him when I wore heels, so I’d put his height at close to my own five foot nine inches. He scans the table and our faces. “Everyone here?” He pauses a moment, seemingly taking roll call. “Everyone got a full glass?” In reply, we raise our glasses a few inches off the table. “Good.” He raises his glass high. “First, let me welcome the office’s newest recruits in the war for Justice. Mark Allen and David Gonzales.
The two stand up for a moment and sit back down quickly. I look to Renee, who sits on my left, and offer her a small shrug. The two hadn’t been the best qualified or the most ideal, in our opinions, but even so, they were capable attorneys and the final decision hadn’t been ours to make.
“But a toast to the man of the hour. Philip Magruder, who managed to reveal DiAmato’s overzealous prosecution of his client before he was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.”
We all get up and raise our glasses. “To Magruder.” We reply. He was sitting across the table from me, and I could see the people next to him slapping him on the back, congratulating him. I had to hand it to DiAmato. He was a lousy boss, and as a Prosecutor, he loved to cut corners and skate the legal lines. This was the first time though that any of us had been able to call him on it, because there were two things he was really good at: choosing a jury that would get him a conviction, and getting the police to help him find evidence that would help their case against the suspect, no matter what the means. I was almost sad that he hadn’t stayed a P.D. I got over that quick.
We continue eating, drinking, and otherwise carrying on. After all, it was Friday night, so none of us HAD to go to work tomorrow (though some of us probably would choose to come in), so we could spend the morning sleeping in. As the waitress comes to take away the empty pitcher, I grab her by the sleeve. “Hey, could I get a cup of coffee?”
“Sure thing, hon.” The waitress replies. God, I hated when women younger than me called me hon. There was something just so terribly disrespectful about that. I watch her walk away, and notice that the woman in black leather was sitting alone at a booth. Her male companion was nowhere to be seen.
The crowd was thinning out a little bit too. The workers were starting to go home, and the college crowd, fueled by the cheap beer, was starting to get rowdy. Three of the women got up and started dancing with each other. A couple guys got up and started dancing with them, coming gradually closer to the women with each move until you couldn’t even slip a credit card between them as their bodies gyrated against each other. I turned away from their simulated sex acts. It was too disgusting for me to watch.
My coworkers didn’t give any signs of wanting to leave quite yet, and I didn’t want to be the first to leave the party. Actually, the way I was brought up, one wasn’t supposed to leave a party until the guest (or guests) of honor did. Magruder is getting ready to regale us with the tale of how he was able to triumph over DiAmato, so I swirl the dregs of the beer around in my mug and watch DiAmato intently and listen to him tell his story.
I must admit that I wanted to listen to the story, even though I’d already heard it once. There was just something so satisfying about hearing about DiAmato’s crushing defeat. So maybe that’s why I didn’t hear the guy coming up behind me.
I felt a tap on my right shoulder. It must have been Renee. Maybe she wanted me to walk back with her to the office. I start to turn, and catch a glimpse of Renee laughing and talking to Marquis at the head of the table. If it wasn’t Renee, then who was it? I looked up and I see a businessman with a bit of a five o’ clock shadow wearing a rumpled suit and a tie that was half undone and now hung loosely around his neck. I feel suddenly vulnerable and look towards my coworkers, who at the moment didn’t seem to notice my plight.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I get up from my seat, wanting to even the height disadvantage between us. He must have been oozing booze from his pores, because I can smell the odor hanging on him like cheap aftershave. I’d seen this guy at the Cock before. He was usually trying to pick up the ladies, and more often than not, failed miserably. Obviously, tonight, he’d decided to try his luck with me. Dumb move. I don’t give the Cock’s pick-up artists the time of day, assuming they choose to bother me at all. Thankfully, most of them considered female lawyers just a bit too intimidating.
He grabs my hand and starts to pull me away from the table. “Dance with me.” He asks.
I try to pull away. “Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not good at dancing.”
The guy pulls me in closer and farther away from the safety of my coworkers. I can feel his hot breath on me. “I think you’ll do just fine. And that outfit of yours will look real nice on my bedroom floor.”
I roll my eyes. Oh jeez, that had to be one of the worst pick-up lines I’d heard in a very long time. The music stops, and no new song starts. All eyes in the bar are now on the drama between the drunken guy and me. Crap. To be honest, there are few times when I like to be the center of attention. This is definitely not one of them times. Well, either I do this with an audience, or I continue to put up with the guy’s crap. I didn’t want to encourage the guy, so I step away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m really not interested.” I try to head back towards my coworkers.
The guy grabs my arm and pulls me back so quickly, I swore I might have gotten whiplash. “I see how you are, bitch. You’re not interested because you’re a fucking lesbo! You tease men with your short skirt and cleavage, and then say you’re not interested so you can laugh about it later with your dyke girlfriend. I say you just haven’t had a guy screw you properly.” He then grabs me and kisses me, forcing his tongue between my lips, probing my mouth. To say that it made me uncomfortable was an understatement. It reminded me of the darker times in my life.
I lost it. Right there and then. I ball my right hand into a fist, pull it back, and hit the guy. It knocks him flat on his ass, and the whole bar starts to applaud. The women seems to be the loudest among them, as most of them had suffered the guy’s unwanted attentions at one point or another. I start to walk back to the table and Renee is running in my direction. “Mara! Are you okay?”
I reach the table and grab my coat and purse. “I’m fine, but I’m getting out of here before things get worse.” I look over toward the bar. The bartender and the waitresses were getting back to their tasks, and no one seemed to be going for a phone. Not even the guy I just decked. “No. I should probably call the cops first.” I look to my coworkers, and call the cops. Just because we were lawyers didn’t make us above the law. And of course the last thing the office needed was a lawyer getting busted for assault.
“Police Non-Emergency. How can I help you?”
“Hi there. My name is Mara Ravenclaw. I’m at the Black Cock Pub on South Jackson Street. I just decked a guy that tried to attack me.”
“Is the man hurt?”
I look back at the man, who was making a quick exit from the bar. “Um, I don’t believe so. He’s walking out the door as we speak.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I’ve seen him in here before, but no, I don’t know his name.”
“Ma’am, the police are very busy tonight. If the other person involved has left and you don’t know who he is, I can’t dispatch an officer to take a report about a fight that isn’t currently in progress. However, I will keep your name and information, and if the gentleman presses charges related to this assault, we will call you.”
I give the dispatcher my name, address and phone number, along with my daytime phone number. Luckily for me, she didn’t recognize the number right away. Or if she did, she gave no indication.
Renee looks at me expectantly. “What did the cops say?”
I put my cell phone in my coat pocket. “They said they’re too busy to deal with taking a report if the fight’s not in progress and the guy’s bailed.” Most of the other ladies were starting to crowd around me. They were congratulating me, saying the guy deserved it. That didn’t really make me feel better. I mutter a few thanks and excuse myself, only to run straight into my boss, Mr. Marquis. Well, at least it didn’t happen on the premises or during work hours. He shouldn’t be able to fire or discipline me for this incident. I look at the floor, a bit embarrassed and ashamed at my conduct. I’d single-handedly managed to spoil the celebration.
“Ms. Ravenclaw.” I look up at him, and Marquis has a dark look etched on his face. “I understand the cops don’t plan to take a report about this incident.”
“No Sir.” I reply. “They said they were too busy.”
Marquis hands me a piece of paper. Well, not paper so much as a cocktail napkin with fuzzy scribbles in blue ballpoint. “Well, in case you need it, I got the names and phone numbers of the bartenders and waitresses working here tonight.”
“Thanks Mr. Marquis.” I take the napkin, fold it in half and tuck it into the side pocket of my purse.
“Look, kid. The guy made a move on you first, and kept up his pursuit even after you told him you weren’t interested. Hitting him might not have been the best choice, but what’s done is done. I’m not going to write you up or have you disbarred for something that you didn’t encourage or start.”
I nod and put on my coat, then put my purse over my shoulder. “I appreciate that Sir. I really do.” I guess my boss wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Then again, like me, he’s familiar with the pathology of rape, and the guy’s attack on me had all the hallmarks of escalating into that. If I hadn’t fought back, things could have gotten much, much worse.
“Go home and get some rest, Ravenclaw. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”
I nod and put on my best insincere smile. Then I head for the door. Renee stops me before I can make it. “Mara let me walk back with you.”
I shake my head. “Thanks, Renee, but I’ll be fine.” I open the door and start to head back to the office. But when I left the Cock and its brightly lit façade, the neighborhood seemed much darker than it was when I left my office. Surely, it couldn’t be that late. I look at my watch to see that it is really only eight o’clock.
The Cock’s parking lot, like the building itself, is brightly lit. The owners were very safety-conscious. Though that could likely be due to the fact that a female student had been raped in the parking lot five years ago. While the cops never found who did it, the victim had hit the bar with a civil suit for providing the unsafe conditions that led to the rape. It was rather sad really, that far too often, someone had to be injured or killed in order for corrective actions to be taken.
I pull my coat tight around me to ward off the cold wind, and clutch my purse close to my body to ward off any possible purse-snatchers. I begin making the walk back to my apartment. The Cock was only three blocks from my office, and my apartment was another five blocks away from that. It was an easy walk most of the time, though the trip was sometimes fraught with the occasional hazards of puddles, bicyclists and red light runners, to name a few.
As I get two blocks away from the bar, I feel a cold chill go up my body as I come to a realization. The guy had left the bar before I did, and I had no idea where he’d gone. For all I know, he could have been waiting for me in the parking lot. Of course, I’d passed the parking lot, and I didn’t see any sign of him. Shit, maybe I should have taken Renee up on her offer. I look at the streets around me, but there was no sign of lights. Not really any sign of traffic either, though Interstate 5 was just a few short blocks away.
I get to the Walthew Building, which is where my office is, and all the lights are off. I consider heading inside. I look around the darkened street and the closed up storefronts. It wasn’t this scary during the day. Why was it creeping me out now? I think about turning back, but my apartment wasn’t that far away now.
I reach the corner of Third Avenue and Cherry, and the light turns red before I can get up to it. Damn. I hate when that happens. This intersection had timed lights, so that even though there was no other traffic, I had to wait at the light. I suppose I could jaywalk across the street, but I didn’t want to risk getting a ticket. I’ve already escaped one brush with the police tonight, so it’s better not to press my luck.
While I wait for the light to turn, a vehicle pulls up to the crosswalk and comes to a gentle stop. I hear the van’s rumbling idle as I wait for light to change. I glance over. It was an older van. The nearby streetlight reflected upon the body, revealing a surface that was marred by several dents. The driver’s compartment was unlit, so I could barely make out the silhouette of the driver, and I certainly couldn’t see the person’s face.
I look back at the red light, and I hear the van’s panel door open. I have a very bad feeling, so I suppress my first instinct, which is to look inside, and instead start to run back down Third Avenue, heading back toward the Cock.
The van goes in reverse and speeds past me. It pulls up onto the curb just ahead of me. Before I can change directions, someone gets out of the van. I back away. Was this the guy from the bar, coming to get revenge? But wait, they were getting out of the open panel door, which meant that there was more than one of them. I retreat into the shadows, my assailant moves into the light. It is the strange woman I had seen in the bar earlier. She moves into the range of a nearby streetlight, and I can see her eyes. There is a strange look in them, the wild, dangerous look of a predator.
I’d just run two blocks, in heels no less, and was feeling a bit winded. Keeping my distance from her, I touch the building to try to gain a bit of support and catch my breath to possibly prepare for another sprint. “What the hell do you want?” I demand, pulling from my inner reserves of courage. The adrenaline started kicking in, and I didn’t feel quite so tired.
For a moment, the woman says nothing, but starts to move toward me in a languid manner, like a cat playing with a mouse. In the dim light, I can see a smile appearing on her face. One that didn’t seem very friendly. She speaks a single word. “Blood.” Shit, she must be the guy’s girlfriend, trying to even the score. I back away, towards the nearby alley, feeling around in my purse for my can of pepper spray, keeping an eye on her and not daring to look down to better look for it.
My fingers locate the cold metal cylinder, and I look down the alley in dismay. There was no other outlet save the way I came in. I wrap my hand around the pepper spray canister, but before I can pull it out, the woman has closed the gap between us in the passing of mere seconds. She pulls me farther into the alley and shoves me against the brick wall then grabs me by the collar of my blouse and pulls me closer to her. In the depth of the shadows I can’t see anything.
I gasp in surprise as I feel a sharp, sudden pain on the side of my neck. I let go of the canister, and it falls back into my purse, lost to me. Had she cut my throat? I didn’t feel any blood pouring down my clothes. I try to pull away, but the brick wall offers me no possible means of escape. She tightens her hold on me, pressing my body farther against the unyielding wall. I hear a strange sucking sound, and I instinctively tilt my head. I can feel blood rising to the site of the wound, but there is no warm gush of blood running down my blouse. What the hell? Is she sucking my blood?
I can’t move though. I feel suddenly warmed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. A silvery feeling travels through me, and can no longer fight it, so I surrender to the feeling and cry out in ecstasy. So this is what good sex feels like. But now I there was another sensation, my limbs were starting to go numb and felt like leaden weights. And there was something else. Darkness. Blackness. Oblivion. I was no longer able to move, much less struggle, like a fly caught within a spider’s web. And this was one really big spider. Soon, the only thing I am aware of is the beating of my heart. It is beating slower, slower, and still slower. If this doesn’t stop soon, it would flat line. And I’d be dead. But the welcoming embrace of Death was so seductive. So this is it then. My life ends in an alleyway. I wasn’t ready, but what choice did I have?
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Funeral for a Mom
I had arrived at Washington Memorial Cemetery a little after six. Once again, due to the lateness of the year, it was starting to get dark already. I had already made my annual pilgrimage to the graves and delivered the pink roses to my mother and grandmother. And left one my business cards by my father’s plaque once again. For the first time in five years, I had to study the layout of the cemetery again, because the grave of Renee’s mother was actually in a different section.
The Chinese section of the cemetery was one of the hilliest sections, which the cemetery’s brochures had described as a ‘preferred’ and ‘traditional’ setting for Chinese funerals.
The grave of Jing-May Choi was set about halfway up the hill. The majority of the graves bore Chinese characters, and Jing-May’s, evidently was no exception to this. The only real indication of the location was the presence of the mourners. They were all holding long thin brown sticks and standing in front of a wizened man wearing a white robe adorned with many Chinese characters inked in black along its edges. I can only guess that he is the priest who will conduct the ceremony. As I get closer, I realize that they are incense sticks. I take a spot behind some of the other mourners, and it elicits a surprised look from a young man posted near the priest.
This section of the cemetery was actually quite close to the road, because that’s the direction the others were facing. I soon learned why. The hearse was actually traveling up the hill, and comes to a stop close to the open grave. Oddly, the family was following behind it, their heads leaning against the hearse. The door to the hearse is opened, and I see Renee’s oldest brother holding a long stick of burning incense and sitting next to the coffin. He gets out, and the pallbearers begin to take the coffin out. The remaining family members, oddly, turn away from the coffin. I look around and notice that the others around me have also turned away. Must be some weird tradition, so I followed suit.
The other mourners turn toward the road again to watch the coffin being brought up the hill. Renee’s father and brothers follow closely behind the coffin, followed closely by Renee and her sisters. The procession seems to be in order of age. The youngest daughter is carrying a basket with something red and white in it. After a while, the coffin is brought up and placed upon the grave. Renee and her family gather around the grave, but turn away from the coffin again. When the others turn away, I follow suit.
I hear the familiar sound of the electric motor lowering the coffin into the grave. This would mark the second time I have heard that sound. When my grandmother died, I watched them lowering the coffin into the grave. I watched each shovelful of dirt as it hit the coffin. I didn’t leave until they finished.
The priest begins to speak, and again, the others turn back toward the gravesite. I stare at Renee, whose grief has turned to wailing. Her sisters, including Wendy, soon follow suit. The priest’s invocations are barely audible over their cries of grief, but since the priest is speaking in Chinese, I suppose it doesn’t really matter whether or not I can hear him.
Finally, the priest stops speaking. Renee and her family each take a handful of earth and toss it into the grave. Each utters a few words in Chinese as they do so. Some, but not all of the other mourners also toss handfuls of earth onto the grave. I look to Renee for some sort of sign, but she does not offer me any. So I don’t step forward, but stand solemnly, my head down.
Anne, the youngest daughter, approaches me. She hands me something white, and then offers me an envelope of red paper. I remember seeing this the time I had been invited to their celebration of the Chinese New Year. The envelope contained money and was meant to help ensure good fortune for the year. The white object was a very soft hand towel. I put it and the red envelope in my purse, not really knowing what to do with it.
Renee is the next to approach me. She is no longer wailing, but the overhead lights reveal tears running down her face. She hugs me, and I awkwardly return the embrace. She whispers to me. “You have to spend the money in the envelope.” I pull away and look at her. “And you have to burn your clothes. To get rid of the bad luck.”
What the hell? This was my favorite suit! The skirt was the perfect length, and the jacket seemed tailor-made for me. And better yet, I’d gotten it for a song at Nordy’s half-yearly sale. There was no way that I would burn it. I manage to get out a single word. “Okay.”
Renee goes back to join her family. I follow her, in order to offer my condolences. The family seems to have formed a receiving line, with Renee’s grandparents in the front of the line, followed by her father, her brothers in order of age, and then Renee and her sisters. I greet each of the Chois in turn, bowing to each and offering my condolences.
Finally, I reach Wendy, the youngest of all of them. She looked different today. Her long black hair hung loose, unfettered even by the hair wraps she usually favored. Even her nose, which usually bore a stud earring of some sort, was left unadorned, and she too had discarded her normally colorful clothes for a modest black dress. I bow to her, and suddenly her eyes go wide with fright. I take a step back, wondering what I had done wrong.
Wendy grabs my hand. “Be careful on your journey.” She warns me. “One seeks to change your destiny, and you are in great danger of losing your soul.”
I pull away as if I’d been burned. I’d heard Wendy’s dire predictions for me before, but this was the first time she said I was actually in any sort of danger. “I’ll be fine. I’m pretty familiar with the graveyard.” I hoped that was enough to placate her, but I already knew that she probably wasn’t talking about my trip back to the car. She lets go of me, and I can feel her eyes on me as I leave the gravesite.
As I drive back to Seattle, I am haunted by Wendy’s words. Who would want to try to change my destiny? I was just a humble underpaid civil servant. All right, so my father had tried to establish my lot in life when I was a teenager, but in the end, I thwarted his plans. No, I am the only one that determines my fate now. My father couldn’t do it when he was alive, and even though he had used his will to try to extend his control over me after death, I found ways around it. For example, he’d made my access to my trust fund contingent upon my becoming a lawyer. And I had become a lawyer, just not the sort that he would have wanted me to be.
No, I wasn’t going to let Wendy’s warning scare me. So to celebrate what was left of my birthday, I went out and got a tattoo. Since my name is Ravenclaw, I decided to have a raven inked onto the small of my back. After all, I hear it’s a symbol of destiny, and it was high time I became mistress of my own fate again. While it hurt like hell, it wasn’t as painful as I thought it might be. But then again, all the guy did was the bird’s outline. I have to wait a few weeks before I can have the rest of it done.
Funeral for a Mom
I had arrived at Washington Memorial Cemetery a little after six. Once again, due to the lateness of the year, it was starting to get dark already. I had already made my annual pilgrimage to the graves and delivered the pink roses to my mother and grandmother. And left one my business cards by my father’s plaque once again. For the first time in five years, I had to study the layout of the cemetery again, because the grave of Renee’s mother was actually in a different section.
The Chinese section of the cemetery was one of the hilliest sections, which the cemetery’s brochures had described as a ‘preferred’ and ‘traditional’ setting for Chinese funerals.
The grave of Jing-May Choi was set about halfway up the hill. The majority of the graves bore Chinese characters, and Jing-May’s, evidently was no exception to this. The only real indication of the location was the presence of the mourners. They were all holding long thin brown sticks and standing in front of a wizened man wearing a white robe adorned with many Chinese characters inked in black along its edges. I can only guess that he is the priest who will conduct the ceremony. As I get closer, I realize that they are incense sticks. I take a spot behind some of the other mourners, and it elicits a surprised look from a young man posted near the priest.
This section of the cemetery was actually quite close to the road, because that’s the direction the others were facing. I soon learned why. The hearse was actually traveling up the hill, and comes to a stop close to the open grave. Oddly, the family was following behind it, their heads leaning against the hearse. The door to the hearse is opened, and I see Renee’s oldest brother holding a long stick of burning incense and sitting next to the coffin. He gets out, and the pallbearers begin to take the coffin out. The remaining family members, oddly, turn away from the coffin. I look around and notice that the others around me have also turned away. Must be some weird tradition, so I followed suit.
The other mourners turn toward the road again to watch the coffin being brought up the hill. Renee’s father and brothers follow closely behind the coffin, followed closely by Renee and her sisters. The procession seems to be in order of age. The youngest daughter is carrying a basket with something red and white in it. After a while, the coffin is brought up and placed upon the grave. Renee and her family gather around the grave, but turn away from the coffin again. When the others turn away, I follow suit.
I hear the familiar sound of the electric motor lowering the coffin into the grave. This would mark the second time I have heard that sound. When my grandmother died, I watched them lowering the coffin into the grave. I watched each shovelful of dirt as it hit the coffin. I didn’t leave until they finished.
The priest begins to speak, and again, the others turn back toward the gravesite. I stare at Renee, whose grief has turned to wailing. Her sisters, including Wendy, soon follow suit. The priest’s invocations are barely audible over their cries of grief, but since the priest is speaking in Chinese, I suppose it doesn’t really matter whether or not I can hear him.
Finally, the priest stops speaking. Renee and her family each take a handful of earth and toss it into the grave. Each utters a few words in Chinese as they do so. Some, but not all of the other mourners also toss handfuls of earth onto the grave. I look to Renee for some sort of sign, but she does not offer me any. So I don’t step forward, but stand solemnly, my head down.
Anne, the youngest daughter, approaches me. She hands me something white, and then offers me an envelope of red paper. I remember seeing this the time I had been invited to their celebration of the Chinese New Year. The envelope contained money and was meant to help ensure good fortune for the year. The white object was a very soft hand towel. I put it and the red envelope in my purse, not really knowing what to do with it.
Renee is the next to approach me. She is no longer wailing, but the overhead lights reveal tears running down her face. She hugs me, and I awkwardly return the embrace. She whispers to me. “You have to spend the money in the envelope.” I pull away and look at her. “And you have to burn your clothes. To get rid of the bad luck.”
What the hell? This was my favorite suit! The skirt was the perfect length, and the jacket seemed tailor-made for me. And better yet, I’d gotten it for a song at Nordy’s half-yearly sale. There was no way that I would burn it. I manage to get out a single word. “Okay.”
Renee goes back to join her family. I follow her, in order to offer my condolences. The family seems to have formed a receiving line, with Renee’s grandparents in the front of the line, followed by her father, her brothers in order of age, and then Renee and her sisters. I greet each of the Chois in turn, bowing to each and offering my condolences.
Finally, I reach Wendy, the youngest of all of them. She looked different today. Her long black hair hung loose, unfettered even by the hair wraps she usually favored. Even her nose, which usually bore a stud earring of some sort, was left unadorned, and she too had discarded her normally colorful clothes for a modest black dress. I bow to her, and suddenly her eyes go wide with fright. I take a step back, wondering what I had done wrong.
Wendy grabs my hand. “Be careful on your journey.” She warns me. “One seeks to change your destiny, and you are in great danger of losing your soul.”
I pull away as if I’d been burned. I’d heard Wendy’s dire predictions for me before, but this was the first time she said I was actually in any sort of danger. “I’ll be fine. I’m pretty familiar with the graveyard.” I hoped that was enough to placate her, but I already knew that she probably wasn’t talking about my trip back to the car. She lets go of me, and I can feel her eyes on me as I leave the gravesite.
As I drive back to Seattle, I am haunted by Wendy’s words. Who would want to try to change my destiny? I was just a humble underpaid civil servant. All right, so my father had tried to establish my lot in life when I was a teenager, but in the end, I thwarted his plans. No, I am the only one that determines my fate now. My father couldn’t do it when he was alive, and even though he had used his will to try to extend his control over me after death, I found ways around it. For example, he’d made my access to my trust fund contingent upon my becoming a lawyer. And I had become a lawyer, just not the sort that he would have wanted me to be.
No, I wasn’t going to let Wendy’s warning scare me. So to celebrate what was left of my birthday, I went out and got a tattoo. Since my name is Ravenclaw, I decided to have a raven inked onto the small of my back. After all, I hear it’s a symbol of destiny, and it was high time I became mistress of my own fate again. While it hurt like hell, it wasn’t as painful as I thought it might be. But then again, all the guy did was the bird’s outline. I have to wait a few weeks before I can have the rest of it done.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Changes in Attitudes
My desk phone was ringing. I sigh, and pick it up. What else could go wrong on a Monday? Well, at least the day was almost over. “Mara Ravenclaw.”
“Ms. Ravenclaw.” I recognized the voice in an instant. It was my latest boss, Jack Marquis. We called him “De Sade” behind his back, but Sir to his face. And unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be planning on packing it in any time soon. “Do you have a moment? I need to speak with you.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.” I reply and hang up. Crap. This was all I needed on my birthday. The third anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday, to be exact. I look at the papers piled on my desk, the vase of pink roses that sat nearby. Well, my case reviews will have to wait until after I’ve had a chance to speak to his majesty. I negotiate the maze of cubicles and stride into Marquis’ office right behind Renee Choi. Huh? What the heck? Why has he called both of us into his office?
I look at Renee, who is wearing head to toe black today. Black suit, black blouse, black hose, black heels, and even black earrings. She was going to a funeral at Washington Memorial Cemetery this afternoon. Sadly, her mother had died in a car accident two days ago. The guy had hit her and then taken off, leaving her to die at the scene. The cops had caught up to him eventually, and booked him on charges of vehicular manslaughter and driving under the influence. Renee looks back at me. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and the black mascara that had run down her cheeks now marred her normally flawless makeup job. That prick De Sade had refused to give Renee the time off, saying that we were too busy because we were short-handed.
I offer a small smile and gesture to the door to Marquis’ office. “Ladies first.” I offer. Even though I was female, I didn’t consider myself a lady. Renee walks in and I follow.
Behind the oak desk, Marquis was on the phone. He looks up a moment, and covers the receiver. “Close the door and sit down.” He orders. Uh oh. There were few things worse than closed-door meetings with the boss. I again glance at Renee as I close the door. Renee sits down. She takes a wadded up tissue from her pocket and dabs at her eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer her what comfort I could.
I glare at Marquis. He was making us wait to throw us off balance. I study the deep lines in his forehead, and his short cropped salt and pepper hair. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. He was trying to do his job, just like I was trying to do mine. However, denying Renee bereavement leave was a shitty thing to do. We could have done without her for three days.
Finally, Marquis gets off the phone, and looks at us. “Choi. Ravenclaw. Thanks for coming.” His gratitude seemed as phony as a three-dollar bill, but I tried to hide my utter contempt. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have caught on. “I have good news and bad news for you.” He tells us. “The good news, Choi, is that Diego Garcia Rivera, the guy that hit your mother, isn’t going to need the services of the OPD. He’s hired his own counsel.” That had been a sore point for the last few days. If the guy couldn’t afford counsel, we were required to represent him, but on the other hand, since the victim’s daughter worked here, it was also a clear conflict of interest. I then wait for the bad news that was soon to follow. “The bad news is that Jeff Fisher quit this morning.”
Ah crap. That explained why I hadn’t seen him today. This made three attorneys we’d lost in a single month. That had to be some sort of record for this office. “How soon can we get replacements?” I ask. Our caseloads had been steadily increasing, and while the latest resignation was no surprise, it meant we now would have to handle even more work than before.
“The application notice was posted two weeks ago. The deadline to apply was today.” He replies. I try to hide my utter disgust. If today is the deadline, that meant we probably wouldn’t get any new help for at least a month, considering the long drawn-out process of applying and interviewing candidates. “I also put up a notice at the Gonzaga, Seattle University, Lewis and Clark and University of Washington campuses looking for paid legal Interns.”
Lewis and Clark. That law school was far to the south of us in Portland, and Gonzaga was in Spokane. If they were putting up notices there, they were indeed getting very desperate for help. I guess King County was finally trying to make an effort at granting defendants their Constitutional right to due process. I nod and try to change the subject. “What is the status of Fisher’s cases? Are there any that are due in court in the next week? Have the continuances been filed?”
Marquis picks up a stack of papers that had to be at least six inches thick. “Fortunately, Mr. Fisher had a knack for picking the easiest cases, and he managed to complete the majority of them. The remaining cases are the ones he inherited from Magruder and Vance. I’m assigning them to Harris and Nguyen.”
I stare at him in shock. He wasn’t giving us any cases??? That couldn’t be good at all. Marquis then sets the pile of papers in front of us. I can see by looking at them that they are standard King County Application for Employment forms. “These are all the applications we’ve received. I want you two to go through this pile, select some suitable candidates, and make arrangements with HR to schedule the first round of interviews, which the two of you will conduct. Select the best 6 of the interviewees, and refer them to HR, who will then arrange the second round of interviews, which I will conduct.
Renee is the first to speak. “Why us, Sir?” I had to wonder the same thing, actually. Usually, the person in Marquis’ job made all the hiring decisions.
“Ms. Choi, of all the attorneys currently in the department, you and Ms. Ravenclaw have been here the longest.” He replies. “I want to start seeing a bit more longevity in the attorneys here, so I’m hoping that you can recognize similar qualities in the prospective candidates. It’s time to put the revolving door to an end.”
For once, Renee and I were speechless. In all the time I’d been here, both as an intern and as an attorney, I had never heard my boss utter those words. But then again, before Marquis’ arrival, they’d all been short-timers. I guess I’d better start learning to like my boss. And fast. I take the stack of papers and start to get up, hoping that the meeting was now over. “Thank you Sir, we’ll get to work right away.”
“You have two weeks to present the suitable candidates.” Marquis replies. “And do not let the interviews interfere with your court schedules.”
I inwardly shake my head. There would be lots of long workdays ahead of us. Such a pity that we weren’t hourly employees, because there’d be lots of OT paid out just in time for Christmas shopping. Of course, I didn’t have anyone to shop for besides my co-workers and boss. All my family was dead. “Of course, Sir.” I reply. I start to make for the door, carrying the papers. Thankfully, Marquis doesn’t stop me. Renee is quick to follow, and we start walking back to our cubicles.
Knowing that we were still in range of the boss, I slow my pace so I can catch up with Renee and whisper in a low tone. “Boy, aren’t we lucky? We get to pick the next batch.”
“I guess.” Renee replies. She looked miserable. I can’t say I blamed her.
Again I touched her on the shoulder. It was the most physical contact I’d had with any one person in a single day for several years. “Look, I know how hard it is to lose your mother.” We had reached my desk, so I set the papers on top of my inbox. You need to be at the cemetery soon. Why don’t you let me screen the candidates?”
Renee dabs again at her eyes with the tissue. “Thanks, Mara.” She replies.
I look to the vase of pink roses on my desk. They were my annual tribute to my mother and grandmother. Just then, I had a flash of inspiration. I reach for the vase. I could buy another dozen for my own ancestors later. “Here. Take these to your mother.”
Renee smiles and shakes her head. “Thanks, Mara, but flowers are not a traditional gift for a Chinese funeral. But I’d really like it if you came with me. My mother always thought highly of you.”
I did like her mother. Renee had invited me to a few of their family celebrations because she knew that I didn’t have any family. Her mother had always been nothing but kind to me, and I was always treated as an honored guest, if not as a daughter. I look down at my attire. I was wearing a navy suit with a white blouse, and flat shoes in anticipation of my evening trek to the graveyard. I suppose it was suitably dark enough to wear for a funeral. And the funeral was in the same cemetery, just a different section.
“Sure. I can do that.” I reply. “I suppose the applications can wait until I get home.” I instantly regret making that statement as soon as it leaves my mouth. “Separate cars?”
Renee nods. “I have to get back to my parent’s house actually. As eldest daughter, I’m required to be part of the funeral procession. It’s traditional.”
“Um, are there any traditions I need to be aware of?” I ask. Now I’m really starting to regret agreeing to go. But then again, I was going to the cemetery anyway. I put the applications in my briefcase and start to get ready to leave. I take the roses with me.
“Oh, you don’t have to bring those.” Renee says. “They look better on your desk.”
I smile sadly, and now feel forced to give Renee a glimpse into my private life. “I was going to deliver these to my mother and grandmother tonight.”
Renee looks at me, and the light suddenly goes on as she makes the mental connection. She smiles sadly. “So I’ll see you there. About 7:00.”
“Seven it is.” I reply. A strange feeling of déjà vu comes over me. I could swear that I’d told her that before. But then, we often met up after work for drinks and war stories.
Changes in Attitudes
My desk phone was ringing. I sigh, and pick it up. What else could go wrong on a Monday? Well, at least the day was almost over. “Mara Ravenclaw.”
“Ms. Ravenclaw.” I recognized the voice in an instant. It was my latest boss, Jack Marquis. We called him “De Sade” behind his back, but Sir to his face. And unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be planning on packing it in any time soon. “Do you have a moment? I need to speak with you.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.” I reply and hang up. Crap. This was all I needed on my birthday. The third anniversary of my twenty-ninth birthday, to be exact. I look at the papers piled on my desk, the vase of pink roses that sat nearby. Well, my case reviews will have to wait until after I’ve had a chance to speak to his majesty. I negotiate the maze of cubicles and stride into Marquis’ office right behind Renee Choi. Huh? What the heck? Why has he called both of us into his office?
I look at Renee, who is wearing head to toe black today. Black suit, black blouse, black hose, black heels, and even black earrings. She was going to a funeral at Washington Memorial Cemetery this afternoon. Sadly, her mother had died in a car accident two days ago. The guy had hit her and then taken off, leaving her to die at the scene. The cops had caught up to him eventually, and booked him on charges of vehicular manslaughter and driving under the influence. Renee looks back at me. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and the black mascara that had run down her cheeks now marred her normally flawless makeup job. That prick De Sade had refused to give Renee the time off, saying that we were too busy because we were short-handed.
I offer a small smile and gesture to the door to Marquis’ office. “Ladies first.” I offer. Even though I was female, I didn’t consider myself a lady. Renee walks in and I follow.
Behind the oak desk, Marquis was on the phone. He looks up a moment, and covers the receiver. “Close the door and sit down.” He orders. Uh oh. There were few things worse than closed-door meetings with the boss. I again glance at Renee as I close the door. Renee sits down. She takes a wadded up tissue from her pocket and dabs at her eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer her what comfort I could.
I glare at Marquis. He was making us wait to throw us off balance. I study the deep lines in his forehead, and his short cropped salt and pepper hair. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. He was trying to do his job, just like I was trying to do mine. However, denying Renee bereavement leave was a shitty thing to do. We could have done without her for three days.
Finally, Marquis gets off the phone, and looks at us. “Choi. Ravenclaw. Thanks for coming.” His gratitude seemed as phony as a three-dollar bill, but I tried to hide my utter contempt. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have caught on. “I have good news and bad news for you.” He tells us. “The good news, Choi, is that Diego Garcia Rivera, the guy that hit your mother, isn’t going to need the services of the OPD. He’s hired his own counsel.” That had been a sore point for the last few days. If the guy couldn’t afford counsel, we were required to represent him, but on the other hand, since the victim’s daughter worked here, it was also a clear conflict of interest. I then wait for the bad news that was soon to follow. “The bad news is that Jeff Fisher quit this morning.”
Ah crap. That explained why I hadn’t seen him today. This made three attorneys we’d lost in a single month. That had to be some sort of record for this office. “How soon can we get replacements?” I ask. Our caseloads had been steadily increasing, and while the latest resignation was no surprise, it meant we now would have to handle even more work than before.
“The application notice was posted two weeks ago. The deadline to apply was today.” He replies. I try to hide my utter disgust. If today is the deadline, that meant we probably wouldn’t get any new help for at least a month, considering the long drawn-out process of applying and interviewing candidates. “I also put up a notice at the Gonzaga, Seattle University, Lewis and Clark and University of Washington campuses looking for paid legal Interns.”
Lewis and Clark. That law school was far to the south of us in Portland, and Gonzaga was in Spokane. If they were putting up notices there, they were indeed getting very desperate for help. I guess King County was finally trying to make an effort at granting defendants their Constitutional right to due process. I nod and try to change the subject. “What is the status of Fisher’s cases? Are there any that are due in court in the next week? Have the continuances been filed?”
Marquis picks up a stack of papers that had to be at least six inches thick. “Fortunately, Mr. Fisher had a knack for picking the easiest cases, and he managed to complete the majority of them. The remaining cases are the ones he inherited from Magruder and Vance. I’m assigning them to Harris and Nguyen.”
I stare at him in shock. He wasn’t giving us any cases??? That couldn’t be good at all. Marquis then sets the pile of papers in front of us. I can see by looking at them that they are standard King County Application for Employment forms. “These are all the applications we’ve received. I want you two to go through this pile, select some suitable candidates, and make arrangements with HR to schedule the first round of interviews, which the two of you will conduct. Select the best 6 of the interviewees, and refer them to HR, who will then arrange the second round of interviews, which I will conduct.
Renee is the first to speak. “Why us, Sir?” I had to wonder the same thing, actually. Usually, the person in Marquis’ job made all the hiring decisions.
“Ms. Choi, of all the attorneys currently in the department, you and Ms. Ravenclaw have been here the longest.” He replies. “I want to start seeing a bit more longevity in the attorneys here, so I’m hoping that you can recognize similar qualities in the prospective candidates. It’s time to put the revolving door to an end.”
For once, Renee and I were speechless. In all the time I’d been here, both as an intern and as an attorney, I had never heard my boss utter those words. But then again, before Marquis’ arrival, they’d all been short-timers. I guess I’d better start learning to like my boss. And fast. I take the stack of papers and start to get up, hoping that the meeting was now over. “Thank you Sir, we’ll get to work right away.”
“You have two weeks to present the suitable candidates.” Marquis replies. “And do not let the interviews interfere with your court schedules.”
I inwardly shake my head. There would be lots of long workdays ahead of us. Such a pity that we weren’t hourly employees, because there’d be lots of OT paid out just in time for Christmas shopping. Of course, I didn’t have anyone to shop for besides my co-workers and boss. All my family was dead. “Of course, Sir.” I reply. I start to make for the door, carrying the papers. Thankfully, Marquis doesn’t stop me. Renee is quick to follow, and we start walking back to our cubicles.
Knowing that we were still in range of the boss, I slow my pace so I can catch up with Renee and whisper in a low tone. “Boy, aren’t we lucky? We get to pick the next batch.”
“I guess.” Renee replies. She looked miserable. I can’t say I blamed her.
Again I touched her on the shoulder. It was the most physical contact I’d had with any one person in a single day for several years. “Look, I know how hard it is to lose your mother.” We had reached my desk, so I set the papers on top of my inbox. You need to be at the cemetery soon. Why don’t you let me screen the candidates?”
Renee dabs again at her eyes with the tissue. “Thanks, Mara.” She replies.
I look to the vase of pink roses on my desk. They were my annual tribute to my mother and grandmother. Just then, I had a flash of inspiration. I reach for the vase. I could buy another dozen for my own ancestors later. “Here. Take these to your mother.”
Renee smiles and shakes her head. “Thanks, Mara, but flowers are not a traditional gift for a Chinese funeral. But I’d really like it if you came with me. My mother always thought highly of you.”
I did like her mother. Renee had invited me to a few of their family celebrations because she knew that I didn’t have any family. Her mother had always been nothing but kind to me, and I was always treated as an honored guest, if not as a daughter. I look down at my attire. I was wearing a navy suit with a white blouse, and flat shoes in anticipation of my evening trek to the graveyard. I suppose it was suitably dark enough to wear for a funeral. And the funeral was in the same cemetery, just a different section.
“Sure. I can do that.” I reply. “I suppose the applications can wait until I get home.” I instantly regret making that statement as soon as it leaves my mouth. “Separate cars?”
Renee nods. “I have to get back to my parent’s house actually. As eldest daughter, I’m required to be part of the funeral procession. It’s traditional.”
“Um, are there any traditions I need to be aware of?” I ask. Now I’m really starting to regret agreeing to go. But then again, I was going to the cemetery anyway. I put the applications in my briefcase and start to get ready to leave. I take the roses with me.
“Oh, you don’t have to bring those.” Renee says. “They look better on your desk.”
I smile sadly, and now feel forced to give Renee a glimpse into my private life. “I was going to deliver these to my mother and grandmother tonight.”
Renee looks at me, and the light suddenly goes on as she makes the mental connection. She smiles sadly. “So I’ll see you there. About 7:00.”
“Seven it is.” I reply. A strange feeling of déjà vu comes over me. I could swear that I’d told her that before. But then, we often met up after work for drinks and war stories.
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