Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen
A Vampire’s Story

This night was rather like many others. After a while, the nights blend into one long blur of hunting, feeding, and surviving.

But this night was also different. Today would have been my thirty-third birthday. I say would have been, because I can no longer count myself among those still living. Should I even consider today my birthday anymore? Or rather, should I instead count my deathdays, the years that have passed since I was Embraced and dragged forcibly into the world of the Kindred. It was my world now. I had tried to make the best of a bad situation, and I think that I have finally succeeded.

But even though I am now dead, I still cling to the rituals I held when I was alive. I had arrived at Washington Memorial Cemetery about an hour after the sun had set. This time, I carried two dozen roses, a pair of bouquets wrapped separately in clear cellophane; one dozen pink and a dozen red. The pink were for my grandmother, and the red for my mom. Greywolf and I had argued bitterly over this matter. He insisted that a Kindred should not follow a routine, as it made one too easy to track down. But I would not be deterred from my position, and at last he had relented, but insisted on driving me to the cemetery.

When we stopped, I looked at my mentor. “Can I go alone?” I ask. I felt I needed his blessing to do this small task. How odd, considering that two years ago, I answered to no one save myself, and I had no one.

“You may, but I will be watching you, Childe. It is the Prince’s request that you be watched at all times.”

Watched at all times. I’d happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now I had to be watched. There had been a robbery at a jewelry store while I was walking in, and I’d helped apprehend the suspect. The Prince was not happy, as it brought a bit too much attention. Luckily, I hadn’t broken the Masquerade in order to catch the guy, which was the only reason I was still alive.

Sticking to my old habits, I first go to where my grandmother is buried. Life had been unkind to her. Her husband and only child had been taken from her, and for a time, I had been too, because my father refused to allow her to see or even speak to me, her only grandchild. But after my father’s death, she had been my only living relative and a far better alternative to a foster home, so I had gone to live with her.

Aware that I was being watched, I kneel by the gravesite. It was very tidy this time, and judging by the look and smell of the surrounding grass, I could tell that it had been recently trimmed. The metal urn was empty, of course. After all, it had been a couple years since I had last visited, and the roses I had brought then were long dead. I hadn’t visited her last year. Not because the occasion had slipped my mind, but because I hadn’t been allowed to even leave the boundaries of the city. It was a sort of probation period set down by the Prince for the most recent addition to the Camarilla Court of Seattle. So today, I brought my gran a dozen roses to atone for my absence last year.

Again, I knew that I was being watched, so instead of speaking to the grave like I might normally do, I commune with her in silence, not even allowing my lips to move and betray my thoughts and emotions. I trace the letters on the headstone in silent contemplation. >>Hello again, Gran.<<>>I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit last year, but I wasn’t allowed to leave the city limits, not even to visit you.<<

I put the pink roses in the metal urn and continue the meditation. >>I wish I could say things are going okay this year, but they’re really not. You see, today isn’t really my birthday anymore. Though I still walk the earth, I am no longer alive, but rather one of the undead. It wasn’t something I wanted, but I guess you can’t always choose your own fate. I’ve had to do a lot of bad things, gran, but I hope you can forgive me, as it was what I had to do in order to simply survive.<< I wipe a tear from my eye. I look down and see watery red liquid on my hands. Ah yes, Greywolf had warned me about that before. Our kind cries tears of blood rather than water.

I get up. If I stayed any longer, I would start really crying. And the last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Greywolf. He would not tolerate such a show of weakness. I pause a moment and look up at the moon, focusing my eyes upward in order to stop the flow of tears before it became too overwhelming. The moon was only a small sliver of brightness tonight, but at least there were no clouds to obscure my view of it.
Though the path was not well lit, I had no trouble traveling toward the Rothchild family crypt. In addition to the ability to see in dim light that was a Kindred’s gift, I had long ago memorized the way to the crypt, and even though I hadn’t visited in two years, my memory still served me well as I found my way to the brick path.

In the dim light, I was not able to read the names printed on the bricks. Instead, I kept my eyes on the surrounding hills and landmarks, and kept a careful count of the number of steps I took along the path.

After traveling some distance, I finally can discern the ornate embellishments on my family crypt. I look around, and it seems to have gotten a bit darker. If Greywolf had followed me, which he probably had, I could no longer locate his position. But I knew he was still watching. He had to be. I look over my shoulder, and I see a headstone across the way. Suddenly, I am struck by a flash of memory. I am drawn back to a scene five years ago. Another birthday, another visit to the cemetery. I remember seeing a man in a black coat with cold, dead eyes that had been standing by that headstone. And like a bolt of lightning, I match the eyes to the man. It had been Greywolf watching me that day, five years ago. He had watched me talking to my dead parents, watched me place the card and the flowers. Was that the impetus for Malik’s investigation? Or was it the arrest of Raymond Bates, like Greywolf had claimed? I had to know the answer. And I might just know how to get it. I take out my cell phone and call Malik at Night Owl Investigations. I only hoped that he would be willing to take my call.

The phone rings several times. Finally, the answering machine picks up. It was a recording of Malik’s voice, doing a barely recognizable impression of Humphrey Bogart. “You’ve reached the office of Night Owl Investigations. Leave a message, and we’ll get back to ya.”

Don’t quit your night job. I think as I wait for the beep. I hear a low beep. I lower my voice, hoping that Greywolf wouldn’t hear. “Malik. This is Raven. I need to ask you something. Call me back when you can. Or talk to me at the next Conclave. Thanks.” I hang up.

Now back to what I was doing. I walk to the marble crypt that housed what used to be my mortal family, and where my own body, alive or dead, would never rest. I scan the bronze plaques of my ancestors again, and trace the letters on my mother’s plaque, but I feel no connection, no sorrow like I had so many times before. This will be the very last time I would visit my parents’ graves. There was no reason for me to return again. I place the red roses on the ground below my mother’s plaque. “Goodbye mother.” I whisper softly.

Time to deal with my father’s ghost one final time. I sit down in front of the plaque bearing my father’s name. “Good evening, father.” I offer quietly. I look around the cemetery, but it seemed that I was alone. Even so, I kept my tone low and quiet. “I came back to see you and mom, but I can’t stay too long.” I look around a second time. Out here, in this metropolis of the truly dead, I felt rather vulnerable. I take a business card from a pocket of my black leather jacket. “So, I guess you got what you were hoping for. I quit my job at the O.P.D.” I look at the card. In the shadows of the crypt, I couldn’t make out what it said, but that was all right. I already knew what was written on it. Legal Services of Seattle. A non-profit law firm in service to the community. Mara Ravenclaw, Attorney

“I had to change my plans.” I explained, trying to phrase my words carefully. You never really knew who might be watching. “I decided to join the private sector and open my own practice. It’s a non-profit law firm. I call it Legal Services of Seattle. I’m not planning on specializing in anything, but I plan to dedicate a large portion of my time to housing and tenant law. I now have a chance to help some of the people that you and your friends hurt. A way to somehow repay some of the blood money that created the Rothchild fortunes.” I take the card and find a small crack in the door of the crypt. “So this is goodbye. I will not return to this place again.” I feel it leave my hands and even though I cannot see it, I swear I can hear the card falling through the air. Was it my imagination? Or heightened Kindred senses at work?
I get up. I turn my back on my parent’s final resting place and start walking back up the path to the parking lot, back to Greywolf’s van. The Office of the Public Defender may have been my life’s work, but I intended to make Legal Services of Seattle my unlife’s work. Hopefully, in time, the firm would grow, striking fear into the heart of Seattle corporations and slumlords alike. And as a vampire, time was a luxury I did have…