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9.45 pm Eight hours until sunrise.

We left the restaurant like a flock of ducklings after their mother.  

“I have a great many businesses to run, but I also need to teach you lot. Hurry along.” Mr Giovanni said as he exited the back of the Piazza and entered the suburban streets of Leichhardt. The streets were alive with a smattering of people heading home after their meals or late-night shopping.  We merge into the flock of unsuspecting humans.  I was surprised to suddenly realise the difference between us and them.  How slow they walked and thought, the delicious smell that seemed to surround every single one of them.

“I have several businesses in Leichhardt,” Mr Giovanni said, “I also have offices in the Coroner’s building, a little hobby of mine, but it comes in handy.  I can make things…disappear.” 

“For a favour?” I asked. 

Mr Giovani smiled, “And now you are learning.” 

I always was a good student when given a chance.

We walked along Parramatta Road in silence. I, for one, was tallying up my losses.  Following the old man through the Sydney suburbs and four-hundred and fifty dollars in cash wasn’t what I had dug my grave for.  I guess that’s what you get when you believe people who say you’re unique or special.  Luna was quiet again.  The death of her…host?… didn’t seem to phase her, regardless of how often Mr Giovanni goaded her with the ‘murder’.  Even Stallion was nonplused by the dead body. That could have been the dope running through his system.  Not for the first time, I wondered who my sire had saddled me with.  Then I remembered a friend once telling me.

“You’re not a good person, but that’s because you’ve never had a chance to be better than what you are.”

I wondered if that was the same for Luna and Stallion, though I doubted this new chance in life was an opportunity for a clean slate. 

Across the street,  music flooded onto the footpath from behind the closed doors of the Crowbar.  Mr Giovanni went inside, and suddenly I was accosted by the smell of hundreds of humans in a small space.  What ventilation swept past me and out the door, filling my senses with…life!  Across the long, thin room, a band played some original tune I didn’t recognise. Leaving my companions behind, I wove through the chairs and tables to the side of the stage.  With a shiny American silver dollar, I reflected the stage light into the lead man’s eyes, hoping to gain his attention.  I did the trick.  As soon as the song was over, he bent down.

“Yeah, what?”

“I was hoping you’d play an old favourite. Throw your arms around me?” I asked politely, disregarding the cool stare.  He looked across the audience to someone at the back, standing next to Mr Giovanni.  The middle-aged man turned and said something to Mr Giovanni, who nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, alright,” said the lead man and turned to the rest of the band, cueing them up for the impromptu request. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed at ‘daddy’ making my request happen. Still, when the first few chords played through the sound system, I gladly wove back through the crowd to my companions.

“I will come to you at night time,

I will raise you from your sleep.

I will kiss you in four places, 

As I go running along your street.

I will squeeze the life out of you,

You will make me laugh and make me cry.

We will never forget it

You will make me call your name, and I’ll shout it to the blue summer sky”

Luna and Stallion looked at me blankly.  Mr Giovanni smiled like a cat who had worked out where the mice lived.

“It seems as if our companion has a gift for music,” He almost purred.  I accepted the compliment and led us through a door marked ‘Staff Only’ and up narrow steps.  

“What was that song?” Luna asked as we entered through a second door and into a comfortable office.

“Throw your arm around me?” I was surprised, “It’s a classic.  Whole crowds sing along to that song.”

Below, the band continued to play the song well, but the audience was politely silent.

“Never heard of it, “ Stallion said, “But I don’t know anything about music.”

“How old are you?” Luna now prompted, and I was suddenly made aware of the disparagement of our ages.  I knew I looked younger than my years, but I couldn’t hide I was now in my thirties, and they were in their early twenties, at best. 

“Well, technically, I’m the same age as you.  We were reborn on the same night.”

“Yeah, but how old were you before?” This was Stallion.  There was no point in tripping around the facts now.  Neither of them would give up until they knew the truth.

“Thirty-two,” I tried to sound nonchalant.

They laughed. 

“I think you will find that Rain here has lived a life before being embraced,” Mr Giovanni came to my rescue and ushered us all into seats around a heavy walnut desk. I took my seat with a sigh of relief.

“I intend to introduce you to Prince Sarrasine in not too many nights, and there are a few things you need to know.  Our Prince runs his domain with a light hand.  As vampire societies go, ours is very liberal…free, but our Prince does expect a neonate to be presented and recite our traditions handed down from Caine himself.”

I sat up. Though he had said many things tonight, for me, he’d finally got to the meat of our lessons. The traditions and laws of a society say something to what people believe is important. Often culture is expressed in it traditions and laws.

“Caine made the traditions himself?” I asked.  It comforting that something from the founder of our race still existed.

“They were his first edict to his childe.” Mr Giovanni answered and started quoting the first tradition, “Thou shall not reveal thy true nature to those not of the Blood. Doing such shall renounce thy claims of Blood.“

Simple enough.  It didn’t take a scholar to work out what ‘… renounce thy claims of Blood…” meant.  Mr Giovanni had been evident that the life given would be quickly taken away. He did, however, go on to explain.

“This is what we call the Masquerade, and it is our highest tradition.  The Prince will call a bloodhunt on anyone who threatens our way of life by breaking the Masquerade.”  

The second was equally simple: “Thy domain is thine own concern. All others owe thee respect while in it. None may challenge thy word while in thy domain.  In other words, be polite.” Mr Giovanni said, direct the comment at Stallion.

“I’m always polite.”

“This is my domain, and what I say goes.”
“Except if the Prince says otherwise,” I said, goading the old man just a little.

“The Prince and I…have an arrangement,” He qualified.

Yeah, the Prince says, “Take on the burden of teaching new vampires, “ and Mr Giovanni asks, “How many would you like to take on?”  Note,  I didn’t say that.

It was the third tradition that made me think.

“Thou shall only Sire another with the permission of thine Elder. If thou createst another without thine Elder’s leave, both thou and thy Progeny shall be slain.”

“So, if we’re here, then our sires, wherever they are, had permission to make us,” I sat back in my chair, “The Prince knows our sires and, for reasons of his own, has offered Mr Giovanni a favour to take on their role.” 

“Yes, my little Toreador, you show your true colours tonight, “ Mr Giovanni gave that cat-like grin.  I felt uncomfortably exposed. At the same time, the name of my bloodline made me feel like I belonged. 

“Toreador?  Is that what I am?”

“I believe so.”

Wasn’t the Prince meant to be a Toreador?  I kept that thought to myself.

The fourth tradition was something Night Rider had mentioned to Mr Giovanni on the beach. 

“Those thou create are thine own children. Until thy Progeny shall be Released, thou shall command them in all things. Their sins are thine to endure.”  We were his problem, and anything we did reflected directly on him until we were considered adults.  Great.

The fifth tradition was more of the polite type.

“When thou comest to a foreign city, thou shall present thyself to the one who ruleth there. Without the word of acceptance, thou art nothing.” 

I wondered why there was such an emphasis on politeness.  Was it the predatory nature of the vampire that meant they needed reminding?

The sixth, on the surface, seemed a given.

“Thou art forbidden to destroy another of thy kind. The right of destruction belongeth only to thine Elder. Only the Eldest among thee shall call the Blood Hunt.”

“There’s been a lot of talk of elders.  Are they the eldest or just the most powerful?” I asked, not sure if it was a title or a description.

“Yes, “ Mr Giovanni replied, that spark of life again in his usually dead brown eyes.  At least I was amusing him.

“What, like aboriginal elders?” Stallion asked, “Like the Aunties and Uncles?”

“What? No!” Mr Giovanni seemed shocked. It’s nice to see something could besides eating a steak.

‘Our Prince, in his wisdom, is lax on the traditions except for the first.  On the third and sixth, he is very lax.”

The third was the making of new vampires, which meant us.  The sixth…

“So he’s okay with the murder of a fellow vampire?”

“Amongst us, it is called diablerie.  Don’t get caught in the act, and you’ll be fine.”

“So a particularly clever and vicious vampire can move their way through the ranks.”

“Yes, but very few feel the need, and the Prince is still in power.”

It worked for them. Undoubtedly, the best thing for me to do once out of my probation under Mr Giovanni would be to find a group I could trust amongst the Toreadors and quietly live my life.  I was starting to believe if I got on the wrong side of either of my companions, they would have no qualms about diablerising me.

“Next, I need to introduce you to my ghouls.  We need to go through your past lives with a fine-toothed comb and see if there is anything or anyone that could be used to hurt you.”

“Vampire, werewolves, ghouls and ghosties,” Stallion joked.  I was in no mood for joking.  I’d spent a life covering my tracks to protect those I left behind.  Without knowing it, my puzzle box once more found my hand.

 Mr Giovanni stood, and we moved to a second room where two men worked.  Bruce, who seemed an ordinary adult Australian male and Giuseppe.  Introduced as a relative from the old country, Giuseppi looked like he belonged amongst the royal families of Europe.  The Bourbons sprung to mind.  There seemed to be little resemblance between the neat and presentable Mr Giovanni and the unfortunate Giuseppi. It made me wonder how old Mr Giovanni was if this was the fruit of the current family tree.  Luna was thinking the same as me as she mouthed the phrase, Generational inbreeding.

“Good evening, Uncle,” Giuseppe slurred through oversized lips.

“Mr Giovanni,” Bruce stood, nodding politely to us and his employer.

“Everyone, these are my boys.   Bruce here is a real treasure, a great and creative thinker. They’re going to disentangle you from your old lives.”

Mr Giovanni’s gaze fell on me, particularly my hand, where the puzzle box flipped open and closed. I made it disappear, leaned against the wall and looked back innocently. He continued to stare as if assessing something. Eventually, he turned away as Luna stepped up to be first.

“Luna, tell us about your life.  Your family and friends?” Mr Giovanni said, sitting down as Bruce and Giovanni took notes. 

“What, eighteen years of hell?”  She replied with absolute contempt.  I knew Luna and Stalion’s stories were not rosy and bright, but the anger surprised me.

“Start with friends?  Roommates?”

“Alicia Stevenson?” She shrugged.

“Are you fond of her?”
“Does she really care for me? A note would do, saying I’ve gone to another uni.”

“And family?” 

“Good luck finding them.  Mum’s dead. Dad I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“Have any men…disappointed you in the past?”  

“Disappointed.  The whole human race seems pretty disappointing.”  She hadn’t understood his meaning.  Stallion and I looked at each other and blurted out simultaneously. 

“Sometimes I want to…” Stallion said.

“Just the once, and I was drunk.  I apologised, and she said she was fine with it…”

Luna laughed.

“Oh, Brad Petersen, and he started crying.”

Guiseppe wrote down both names with some relish.  I’m sure I saw saliva drip from his oversized lip. His eyes had a creepy glint, like a child at the thought of torturing a small pet.

“Eat in or take away?” Bruce asked quietly to Mr Giovanni.  

“There doesn’t seem to be anything remarkable there.  Keep a note on them if you don’t mind.”  

Bruce made his own notes quietly and efficiently.  

I held back, still working on my story, when Stallion stepped up.

“Friends, yeah, Ray Frought.  A good mate, through thick and thin.” Stallion supplied, and I watched the drool drop onto Guiseppe’s notepad.  I must have made a face as I saw Mr Giovanni look from me to Guiseppe.

“Control yourself, nephew,” He said gently, and the young man wiped his mouth and grinned.

“Sorry, uncle.”

“How about housemates? Family?”

“Augh yeah,   Steve Chue, Peggy Pillok, April O’Joel, Phil Awat-Jert, Aaron Porst, Mike or Mick ‘Cruise’ McGry, Chase Krilla and Boofhead, of course, the best dog in the world.  Yeah, good mates.”

“At your house, do you grow your own?” 

“Oh nah, we’re strictly consumers.”

“Criminal activities?”
“Sure, I’ve been locked up. Theft…Assault…” 

“Sir, do you want a bonfire party for this one?” Bruce asked seriously, but a subtext insinuated a more permanent fiery solution.  It was clear that Stallion didn’t understand.

“A party?  Augh, yeah!.”

“Definitely eat in, I think, Bruce.” Mr Giovanni said, and Stallion’s friend’s fate were sealed.

I looked at Luna.  She’d understood the subtext of the conversation as well as I had but didn’t seem concerned about a soon-to-be housefire somewhere in Sydney’s outer southwest, all inhabitants found dead at the scene.  

“Er, Stallion, “ I interrupted, “These mates of yours.  You’ve been through a lot with them?”

“Yeah, well, we’re family, right.  My real family…they burnt their bridges with me long ago.  But those guys. We keep the postcode safe, know what I mean?”

I didn’t.  I looked it up on my phone later. Stallion was a member of a gang that held territory.  People had been injured and died over what became known as the Postcode wars.  In some ways, life for Stallion hadn’t changed.

“And they care about you, don’t they?”
“Well, they take care of the dog for a mate.”  Come on, Stallion, work with me.

“But they keep you sane, right?”

“What?  Like my mental wellbeing?” Eureka! “Yeah, they are that.”

I looked at Mr Giovanni, who looked to Bruce. 

“Acquire, Bruce.”

“Take away it is, Mr Giovanni.”

Now, it was my turn.  I’d thought and devised a slapdashed tale that, even if they didn’t buy it all, would make it hard to follow.

“Nothing really to say, gentlemen. I’m an orphan, grew up in the US in group homes.  I picked up my trade at a local magic shop. The owner, Mr Solomon, was the only father I knew.  He’d be long dead now.  I did a bit of nightclub work for the mafia kingpin called Louis Astra at the Last Shot.  When things got too hot, I left, taking my severance pay.  They didn’t like that much, so I left the US and ended up here in Sydney.”

That cold, calculating stare of Mr Giovanni’s.  My heart would have been in my throat if it was still beating.  

“No family.”

“All dead.” That doesn’t get any easier to say.  One of the few truths in the whole sorry tale.

“How about friends here in Sydney.”

“I’ve not been here long.  I have a squat in Surry Hill.  A beautiful old building, great bones.” Also true.  The building, that is, not the being here long.

“A building with bones?” Stallion said, bemused.

“She’s six storeys of open-plan potential.  Do you want the address, Mr Giovanni?”  I hoped the old girl was not destined for a ‘bonfire party’, but better her than…well…

Mr Giovanni nodded.  At least for the time being, I’d gotten away with it. 

“Okay, go tie up those loose ends.”

“It sounds like we’re born for this life,” I said happily, buoyed at the acceptance of my tale.  

Luna scoffed.

“I speak only for myself.”

“It sounds like you’re speaking.” She retorted.  

 Touche.

As the boys left, I was reminded that Mr Giovanni had mentioned they were ghouls but hadn’t explained what that meant.  

“They are mortal.  Human beings that once a month I give a taste of blood. The blood binds them to me, makes them a little stronger, a little better at their job.”

The reference of a bound servant to a vampire jogged something in my memory.

“Renfield,” I said almost to myself, but Mr Giovanni reacted as if he’d been personally insulted.

“Vlad Dracul!  That stronzo zingaro…the biggest walking Masquerade violator.  If it weren’t for him, the human race would never know that vampires existed!

That most humans thought Dracula and vampires were fictional didn’t seem relevant to him. I let the subject drop.

Mr Giovanni now stood and unbuttoned his tailored suit jacket.

“Now, I think getting a second opinion on you three would be worthwhile.  Malkavians can be…nutty, but as fortune tellers, they are unsurpassed.”

The puzzlebox reappeared.  In a world where vampires are real, what would a fortune teller dredge up to tell everyone?

“I’m going to take you to see an acquaintance, Bobby Lisner.  He lives in an old sewer under The Rocks.  He says it’s better for his webs, whatever that means. I’ll be just a moment.”

Mr Giovanni left us neonates alone to chat for a moment before returning in less respectable attire. A polo shirt with signs of stains (guess and you’d be correct what sort), generic trousers, and the most striking of all, wellingtons. 

I sighed.  These were my one good set of dress shoes. If I knew I was going to be made a vampire, I would not have worn my good working clothes.

We all followed Mr Giovanni to the car and back into the City under the shadow of the harbour bridge.  Though gentrified in recent years, there are still pockets of ancient decrepitude around the oldest part of Sydney. Mr Giovanni parked outside a large open sewer pipe, the sort that travel kilometres throughout the suburbs.  Though no longer used for sewage, the pipe trickled with the sound of run-off from the previous night’s downpour.

“Consider this your lucky night, “ Mr Giovanni said rapping politely on the wrought iron grill gate over the pipe, “Its not every day you’ll get to meet a true Dianician Hamlet.”  He waited a moment giving me time to roll up my pant legs. My concern about meeting the seer grew. A person who knew so much about the future, they knew that whatever they did to change it was futile? 

Eventually, when nothing came from his polite knock, Mr Giovanni swung open the iron grill.

“Oi!” He shouted and disappeared into the blackness.  Stallion’s eyes flashed red, and he followed Mr Giovanni into the tunnel.  I pulled out my phone, turned on the flashlight, and entered the pipe before realising the dark wasn’t as impenetrable as I had thought.  I could see, though faintly, in the total absence of light.  I noted that new little skill alongside seeing auras, saved my phone battery and followed the group.

Out of the gloom, a figure approached. Thin-faced with long, straggling blond hair and piercing green eyes, the figure and its clothing showed signs of blood stains or something worse. The eyes swept over the group from under heavily furrowed brows.

“Yeah?” It said, its eyes drifting on and off Mr Giovanni if unsure it should hold his gaze.

“Bobby, I have some new fledglings for you to look at,” Mr Giovanni was all grace and smiles for the figure.  Here was someone it was worthwhile doing favours for.  I kept that in mind.

“For the usual fee?” Bobby replied, turning around and walking further down the pipe.

“What this time, Bobby?”
“Flies. Flies for my web, of course.”

Bobby stopped and turned to the group in a part of the pipe that looked like any other.

“Who first?  Whose hand do I lick and gain the sight?”

Stallion shrugged, and I gestured for Luna to go first.

“Oh, fine if I have to,” She said, her palm glowing in the darkness.  Gingerly, like it was precious, Bobby took her palm in his right hand.  With his left, he cut a line down its length with a sharpened nail, and he lapped up the blood.  As his eyes rolled back, he gave his pronouncement.

Child of fire.

Half known but not seen.

The age may no longer be dark, but you’ve not darkened yet.

Scholarly.

Brujah of modern, but not of old.

Interesting. It did seem to speak of Luna’s anger and her silence.  I took heart from the point about her having “…not darkened yet…”  and wondered what difference between Brujah of the past and the modern sort.   

Seeing how it went, Stallion quickly stepped up to have his turn.  Bobby did the same, cutting Stallion’s palm before licking the welled blood in the folds.  This time, he dropped the hand as his eyes rolled up and gave Stallion his fortune.

You are what you eat.

The steak is still in your stomach.

Wolves are often pack animals

But you’ve been left in the winter.

You may think your eyes glow red,

But none have yet to see it.

A gangrel you neither city or country.

A lonely lot you are.

“A terrible addiction, I can taste it in your palm,” He added, his voice slipping to a less portentous rhythm.  I don’t know what Stallion thought of his fortune, but it gave me no comfort.  I’d already started to believe myself linked to these people.  If Stallion was left out in the cold, what did that mean for the rest of us?

I felt the crystal edges of those eyes on me. I stepped up, offering my hand.  

“Ah, two for one.  Two of a kind,” Bobby said as he slit open my hand and licked off the blood.  This time Bobby’s vision lifted my hand as he let it go.

Such a pretty thing a rose by itself.

A rose that smells pretty though its plumage is dulled.

A rare thing is a rose that heals instead of piercing.

A rose that wants a garden is common,

Flowers are best alone.

The alone motif again, but this time, instead of the negative connotation of Stallion’s fortune, it described a single flower standing alone as a feature.  Maybe I needed to rethink my future role in the community.  Not a weed hiding in the garden, but a flower standing alone?  I clutched the pendant around my neck, hidden under my shirt. Maybe it was time it was seen. 

“Thank you, Bobby,” I said genuinely, taking back my hand, “Words of wisdom.”

Bobby smiles for the first time during the whole transaction.  A watery, weak thing that disappears quickly, but a smile nonetheless.

“The gift of the flower,” He looks back at Luna, who was wrapping up her wounded hand.

“The Brujah will do wonderful things.” He gestured to Stallion.

“Keep your hoof hidden.  It’s not good on the eyes.  There’s a path for you, but it’s yours to take.  And change your hat, it’s not going to be in style for long.”  He finally turned back to Mr Giovanni.

“There’s a party happening now, or soon…it’s hard to tell. Devils are going to come dancing.”

Mr Giovanni’s stoney face closed down on whatever that meant. 

“Now go. My web needs a rest.  Flies, don’t forget the flies.”

The group started moving off.  I licked my hand and marvelled as the cut healed over.

“Bobby?” I asked, “Can I come back and see you again?”

That watery smile hidden behind the stringy blonde hair.

“You and your three tongues are always welcome.”

“Hey, can you do that healing thing on me?” Stallion asked as Bobby disappeared into the darkness, “But do you need to lick my hand.”

I smiled at him and spat instead, moving the saliva around with my fingers until this cut disappeared.

“Urgh, thanks, I think.” He wiped his healed hand against his shorts.

Ah, making friends and influencing people, that’s me.

11.50 pm 6 hours until sunrise.

Notable NPCs

Bobby Lisner: Malkavian seer who lives in an old Sewer pipe in The Rocks.

Bruce: Ghoul of Mr Giovanni

Garcia: Sire.  Unknown location.

Giuseppe Giovanni: Ghoul of Mr Giovanni.  Some sort of relative of Mr Giovanni.

Night Rider: Red-haired vampire?  Works for the Prince.

Prince Sarrasine (Sar-ras-seen): Toreador Ruler of Sydney*

Glossary of terms:

Anarchists: a faction of Vampires.  Caused issues in Los Angeles recently, killed the Prince.

Antediluvian: from before the time of the biblical flood.  The third generation that were the progenitors of the thirteen clans of vampires.

Blood hunt:  A process to destroy a vampire who has broken a tradition.  Specifically mentioned in the sixth.

Canaanites: Those descended from Cain, the first murderer and vampire.

Camarilla:  a faction of Vampires closest to the Princes.  Believe in hierarchy and order.

Clan or Bloodline:  From one the 13 antediluvians.  

Favour:  How Vampires pay for things they want or need doing. 

Ghouls: Servants of a vampire who have been fed vitae.  They are loyal, stronger, more resilient and sometimes show other powers gained from the blood. They must receive the blood at least once  a month  or they return to being human. Can be addictive.  

Kin: Vampires, a name among themselves

Kine: Humans

Sabbat: a faction of Vampires that believe that the progenitors of the clans will one day awake and eat all their young.

Masquerade : The rule that keeps vampire society safe.  Hiding ones nature from the world.

Traditions: Six laws that vampires live by.

*Sarrasine, a novella by Balzac.  Sarrasine is a sculptor who is infatuated with an Opera Singer, Zambinella. She thinks herself cursed and deflects his advances.  At a performance, Zambinella is revealed to Sarrasine to be a castrato.  In a rage, Sarrasine attacks the singer, only to be cut down and killed by their bodyguard.

7.00pm  11 hours until sunrise.

The sun had disappeared over the horizon only fifteen minutes before, but Dominic Giovanni was already in his Jeep, smoothly cruising through the eastern suburbs.  Only one person would have Dominic out so early on such a task.  But when the Prince offers you a favour, you do not say no.  At a small harbourside park, Dominic stopped, walking down a set of rustic steps to the tiny beach.  There, a figure he’d rather not have seen, waiting at the high tide line.  At his feet, three shallow graves.

*****************************************************

I was first aware of the sand trickling down my neck into my shirt, the feeling of grit in my eyes and mouth. For a moment, I lay there and tried to remember.  Garcia, his offer…the beach and shovel. Right. It wasn’t what I had expected, but I was sure the sand saved my life.  I listened momentarily, hearing the movements of others around me, voices above.  It seemed it was time to move.  Without another thought, I started digging out of the grave I’d dug for myself.

The sounds of movement beside me in the sand became louder. I wasn’t alone in being born this night.  That was something of a comfort. I broke through and was embraced by the night. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and  I breathed in the air. Suddenly, I realised I hadn’t breathed since waking in the sand.  I glanced across the water to the bridge’s familiar arch, even in the night’s darkness. I orientated myself, Eastern suburbs….Rose bay?..No, Vaucluse. 

 I became aware of the two men watching as three of us climbed out of the sand.  The first man’s predatory look reminded me of the gangs that enjoyed hunting the Homeless, and I quickly got to my feet.  No need to make it easy for him.  The other was far more urbane.  He was well dressed, his polished shoes deflecting in the moist rain-soaked grains of sand, and his Mediterranean appearance was similar but not Garcia.  He looked like he’d walked out of Sunday mass for a stroll along this beach.  I was happy to assume he was in charge, but where was Garcia?

“Good evening,” said the well-dressed gentleman, “Welcome to your new life.”

“Good evening, sir,” I said automatically, “My name is T-” No, not that anymore…I need a new name for a new life, “…Rain.”

“Ah, I think that one likes you, Dominic,” Said the roughneck, his orange hair burning the moon above his head.  

He turned his predatory eye onto the group, “This ‘er is Mr Giovanni. The Prince has made a deal with him to be your daddy from now on.  If you want to live past tonight, you must do what he says.”

I didn’t appreciate the threat and was concerned that Garcia was nowhere to be seen.  Prince? Deals?  What had I awoken into?

“Mr Giovanni, Dominic,” I now walked towards the gentleman, unsure of his rank, only knowing he was now more important than me, “which do you prefer?”

“I think Mr Giovanni for now,” He replied cooly.

“I was expecting a gentleman…goes by the name Garcia.  Do you know of him?”

“I’ve known a great many Garcia’s in my time.” He replied finally, turning away as if the conversation was finished.  

“F–kin’ hell, what did I do last night?” Said a voice behind me, and I turned to see a well-built man in his thirties in a branded t-shirt and tattoos.  His fingers, where not inked, were covered in more branded silver and gold jewellery.  Though he initially looked like someone who may have been out for an evening jog, the bling and branding spoke more about someone who had dressed for a drunken night on the town.  

“I was just wondering the same thing,” said a woman’s voice beyond him, “what arsehole did I pick up to end up here?”

I watched as they climbed out of their sandy graves, the man pulling out a prewrapped joint from a bumbag.  

“You are what the Sabbat call Shovelheads.  Childe left to fend for themselves,” Mr Giovanni said with a sour expression, “be thankful the Prince thinks better. “
“‘Er’, you must be thirsty,” The redhead said, pulling from his long coat four bags that contained 500mls of liquid.  Even with my new eyes, the liquid looked black in the darkness.  He tossed three to us ‘shovelheads’ and gave the fourth to Mr Giovanni.  Catching my bag, I was instantly aware it was a blood pouch, directly from a blood bank or hospital. This was definitely not what I was expecting.

“Like this children,” Mr Giovanni said condescendingly as he drew his pinky finger across the plastic of the pouch, breaking the seam. He then withdrew from his coat pocket a shot glass and poured himself a drink. I felt ill-prepared.    Now that it was in front of me, I could feel the thirst burning in the back of my throat. I had no sharp implement to pierce the bag, and no glass in which to decant the fluid.

“Mr Giovanni, could you cut this open for me, this once?” I asked, placing him between me and the redhead.

The red-head laughed harshly, and I knew I’d done something foolish.  Mr Giovanni sighed.

“That one is so cute, Dominic,” The redhead continued to chortle, “look to your own mouth, shovelhead.”

I moved my tongue around my mouth, instantly finding needle-like canines.

“Oh, right,” Feeling an idiot, I removed myself and pierced the bag with my new teeth. For the first time, expectations were exceeded by the reality of my situation.  I drained the bag before my thirst was sated, and I looked greedily at the other two, who looked at their bags as if unsure what to do with them.  

The young woman glanced at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“What sort of cult have I stumbled into here?” She asked, looking around at all of us.

“Yeah, what the f–k do you want me to do with this f–kin’ thing?” The westie, by his experienced use of the universal descriptive, looked from his joint to the bag.

“You’re one of them,” The redhead said to the man, stalking across the sand, taking the blood bag. “You can’t feed like the rest of us.  What was ya usual drug of choice?”

Talking about his drug habit so openly, the man seemed to get a little offended, “only  a little pot, I swear.” 

“Hmmm, mm, “ the redhead replied and replaced it with an energy-drink-sized vial of a similar liquid. “Get that in ya.”

Seeing us both drink, the woman squeezed the bag and bit into the plastic.  Like the two of us, once she started, she drained the bag dry.

“Hi, I’m Rain,” I offered her my hand, and she eventually took it.

“Luna.  I’m Luna.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Luna,” I looked to the man who was now swaying on the spot, “how about you?”

“Me? I’m Stallion,” The man replied, licking his lips. He was stoned in a way his joint had failed to do, ”on account of me doing so well with the fillies.”

“Right, Stallion.” I rolled my eyes.  Like every drunk bachelor’s group I’d ever performed for.

“You also get the Kevin Rudd package.” He said and handed each of us a wad of notes and a credit card.  Even with a quick flick, I knew it was more money than I’d had in my possession in a long time.

“Yeah, well, by the fourth tradition, they’re now yours,” The redhead said with a wave as he walked towards the stairs off the beach.

“Yes, thank you, Night Rider, for your service,” Mr Giovanni replied without looking away from Luna.  

“Hey, Night Rider, could I have your number?  Maybe you can hit up a guy sometime?”

The redhead turned and momentarily contemplated Stallion, ”Sure, 0466 518 2987.”

Eleven numbers.  I noted it anyway.  Stallion rummaged in a bumbag and found a phone.  Blerily, he entered the number.  

“Yeah, thanks, mate.”

“And now it is time for us to leave,” Mr Giovanni said, following Night Rider up the stairs.

“Mr Giovanni, “ I called back to our new mentor…master? “Please, I’d like a few answers.  Where is Garcia?   Why don’t these two know what they are?”

“There is much to learn and very little night in which to learn it all, “Mr Giovanni didn’t even glance back, “come on Childe.”

We climbed the stairs to street level as a group, where a black Jeep was waiting.  Stallion whistled as he walked around the car, admiring it from all angles.  I went to the passenger door until I saw Luna had the same idea.  I opened the door for her.

“Thank you, “  she said, looking at me first the first time.  She was petite, shorter than even me, but behind her eyes, there was a strength of will as hard and cold as stone. 

 “We have to look out for each other, we’re kin now.”  I said as Mr Giovanni glanced across the car as he fastened his seatbelt.  There was something, but he let it slide and settled himself behind the wheel.

“Nice ride, Mr G,” Stallion jumped into the back, stretching out his lanky body until he took up the whole seat.  I clambered through to the rear, sitting at the opposite window to Stallion, keeping everyone in sight. Now that we were all in one place, I could see the faintly-coloured auras that each emitted.  Luna and Mr Giovanni’s seemed similar, maybe hers was a little darker close to her body.  Stallion’s aura glowed faintly but seemed larger and take up more space in the car.  Much like Stallion himself.  He went to pull another joint from his bumbag.

“Mr G, do you mind if I light up?”

“If you value your unlife, you will not.”

“Righto.”  Stallion put it away with a sigh.

I noted Luna watching me.  In my left hand, my puzzlebox flipped open and closed.  I didn’t remember taking it out.  I flipped it once, locking the mechanism, putting it away, and pulling out a set of cards.

“Stallion, I wonder if you’d indulge me by picking a card.”

7.45 pm 11 hours until sunrise.

The trip across town was short for that time of night.  As the city lights flew by outside the Jeep, I amused my new associates with card tricks.  When the Jeep pulled up, it was 7.45 pm and we were in the Inner Western suburbs, Marion Street Leichhardt.  

Without a word, Mr Giovanni led us through an open Italian-inspired esplanade.  The golden light from the alfresco dining lit the buildings above in a warm glow.  I’d busked here once, but tourists are more generous than locals, and I returned to the harbour and the tourist traps before long.  Mr Giovanni marched towards a restaurant, straight in the doors and gestured for us to continue through to a private room at the back. 

“I do not wish to be disturbed.  Is that understood?” I heard him say to the maitre d’ as another wad of notes was handed over.

“We understand, Mr Giovanni.”

The private room was elegantly lit with a solid wood table set for twelve.  A server stood in one corner, silent and ready to offer assistance.  Stallion sat heavily, throwing his expensive branded runners onto the white tablecloth.  Luna took a seat opposite, and I took the one beside her.  Where Stallion had been loud, Luna had kept to herself and had shared little more than her name. I was about to start unravelling the Luna knot when Mr Giovanni addressed the group.

“Your old lives as you knew it are over.  You are now part of the realm of the supernatural. A realm of ghosts, werewolves and vampires. You are very fortunate to find yourself the latter.”

“There are few rules, and then only when people are watching.  Respect your elders, don’t cause trouble, or at least don’t get caught.  Respect another kin in their domain. Here, in Leichhardt is mine.  If you enter a new city, always introduce yourself to the Prince, it’s only polite.  Most importantly, do not reveal your nature to anyone.  We call this keeping up the Masquerade.”

“Right now, you are childe, newly created vampires, and I have been made responsible for you. When you have learned all I have to teach, you will become neonates and take your place in vampire society.  Right now, you are part of my coterie, my immediate family.”  

“You have much to learn, but first,” Mr Giovanni gestured to the wait staff in the corner, “are you able to serve us tonight?”

“Yes sir, any meal preferences?  Dietary requirements?”

“Oh yes,” Mr Giovanni turned to Stallion, “your meal can be…seasoned with your particular herb if you prefer.”
“Augh, yeah, like hash cookies but rich?” Stallion was already pulling two joints from his bum bag.

The wait staff took the joints and disappeared through the door. Not long later, a line of four individuals were brought in.  Expecting to be alone, I stood ready for action.  The line circled the room, one for each of us, Stallion, Mr Giovanni, Luna and myself.  Each was stood beside us as in the case of Mr Giovanni and myself or in the laps of Stallion and Luna.  Each looked …not asleep like they were hypnotised.

“Whadawa want with him then?” Protested Stallion at the young, handsome man swayed in his lap, “Whadaya think I am? A poofta?”

“I expect you to feed,” Mr Giovanni said, pulling out a bracelet that he placed carefully over his person’s wrist.  Into a hole on the bracelet went a straw that Mr Giovanni then sucked.  

“Why can’t I have a pretty girl like he’s got?” Stallion pointed at the young woman beside me, and I instantly became defensive.

Mr Giovanni stopped feeding himself and turned his full attention on Stallion. 

“Feed,” He said in a voice that broached no arguments.  There was more to the command, though. As soon as the syllable left his lips, Stallion forgot all his arguments and bit into the man’s neck. 

I looked at my…meal?  No, my donor.  I was thirsty.  I needed what they had.  I took her hand and guided her into my seat to see her better.  She were lovely.  Young, beautiful with a sad far away look.

“Hi, um…I want to give you a little kiss.  Would that be okay?” I asked gently, cupping her jaw.  I could actually feel the blood rushing through her veins.  

Their sad expression disappeared and a small smile, just as far away, appeared.

“Oh yes, I like kisses.” Consent of sorts.  It had to be good enough for now.  I lowered my head to kiss her throat.

Something inside knew instinctively what to do.  Suddenly I was aware of a rush of life, the beat of their heart in my mouth, their essence flowing into me.  

Feed, yes. Your need is greater than theirs.  You are rare and need sustaining, take it all.  What does it matter, their life for yours.   A voice, not my own, spoke clearly in my mind.  Surprised,  I quickly broke free.

“What the hell was that?” I exclaimed and looked across the woman back at Mr Giovanni.

“The voice?  Yes, it’s to be expected. Now, do this,” Mr Giovanni took the limp wrist of his person and licked the wound his feeding had made. It didn’t seem to do anything. 

I looked down at the young girl next to see a seeping wound surrounded by bruised tissue.  Guilty for hurting her and confused by Mr Giovanni’s directions, I did as I was told and was surprised when the blood ceased flowing and the wound healed, disappearing into smooth flesh once more.  I looked up in awe at Mr Giovanni and, for the first time, saw the spark of life in his dark eyes. 

Luna now drank.  She drank deeply, growing in strength, standing to overpower her person as if to drain them of every last mouthful. 

“Luna?  Luna!” I tried pulling her away, but she was too strong. It soon didn’t matter as the body of the now lifeless person slumped onto the table in front of us. 

“We call it the Beast, it is your predatory nature and will keep you alive.  But I must warn you, the Beast can not be allowed to rule you.  You can frenzy, and if the Beast takes you over, you will be put down,” He said, mumbling a final phrase into his hand, “…if you are, then you’ll turn into something worse.”

“Ah, Mr Giovanni…” I left my young woman swooning in my chair as I came around the table.

“This poofta stuff is all well and good, but when are we gonna have some real food.” Stallion bellowed the young man he’d just feasted on gently led away by wait staff.

Now I was sure I saw a smirk of some sort of mischief in Mr Giovanni’s eyes.

“What would you like, Stallion? A steak?”

“Yeah, the local pub does a ripper on a Tuesday night,”

“Bistecca mediamente cotta, per favore. Oh, E un secchio.”

Mr Giovanni ordered, and a full plate of grilled steak and vegetables was laid before Stallion.  Beside him was placed a bucket.

“Buon appetito.”

Stallion dug into the steak as if he hadn’t already drunk half a person.  He relished the juices running from the meat and devoured even the vegetables.  Mr Giovanni stood and stared, his mouth hanging open in utter surprise.

“Wot?” Stallion asked through a mouthful of food, his eyes flashing red like a creature in headlights, “Haven’t you seen a man eat before?”

“No, not for a very long time,” Mr Giovanni admitted, “as a general rule, we can not eat food in the normal sense.”

The meat smelt good, and I could see it had been cooked to perfection.  It had been years since I’d had a steak, surely a mouthful…

“Stallion, would you mind if I had a try?”

“Sure, free steak for all!” He cut off a piece

“I wouldn’t advise it.” Was all Mr Giovanni said, and I plucked the juicy piece of meat off Stallion’s fork and put it in my mouth.

The result was violent and instant.  Like taking poison, the body reacted in the only way it knew how to and brought everything up.  I made it to the bucket in time as the blood I had drunk from the young woman and the blood bag came back up.  I was left drained and sickly, wiping my bloodied mouth with the pristine white napkin.

“The Beast is also the source of all our powers.  Curiously, we’ve seen Stallion has the power to eat and Rain here has the ability to heal wounds.  I suspect the lovely Luna, “ she made a face, “…is like me, gaining potency, enormous physical strength.”

“Your clan or bloodline determines what powers you are likely to manifest.  For example, I believe Stallion is Gangrel, and Luna is Brujah.  I’m afraid I’ve yet to determine what clan Rain springs from, but I’m sure time will tell.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that pronouncement.  Even I could see the powers manifesting in the others.  What bloodline had Garcia given me that it could not be discerned?

Mr Giovanni spoke about the Antediluvians, those of the 3rd generation from whom all the bloodlines sprung. Luna showed she had an education when she translated the word ‘antedeluvian’ to the ones before the flood.  

“Yes.  Another name for us is the Cannanites, the children of Cain.”
“As in the bible.  Cain and Able and the flood?” I blurted out.  I never realised that all those years of Sundays sitting through Catholic mass would be useful. 

He said we were of the 13th generation and those whom some prophesy labelled as The Last.  That I didn’t like.  What was the point of living forever if you were the very last of your species?

“It’s an old myth, nothing to worry about,” Mr Giovanni assured me.

“So you don’t believe this prophecy?” I asked, almost convinced.

“You wanna meet some Myans,” Stallion raised his head out of his drugged stupor, “they were all about the end of days and that.”

 He told us about having a safe refuge as in torpor, we were helpless.  He told us not to venture west of the Blue Mountains as survival for our kind was harsh.  He told us to steer clear of bikie gangs as often they are infiltrated by werewolves. He told us that Sydney was a free state, not under the same faction pressures as other places. 

“There are three major factions, the Sabbat, I mentioned them on the beach. The Camarilla, who believe in the Prince and the Masquerade in that order.  And then there are a newer faction, the Anarchists.  In Los Angeles, they killed their Prince. Though the human world thinks Los Angeles is fine, the fact is Los Angeles is in chaos and ruin.”

He told us we would be presented to the Prince himself, and my head spun.

“The Prince, oh Mr Giovanni I can’t….I don’t have another suit and this…” I looked at my Salvation Army store bargain.  After a few months of almost constant wear and twenty-four hours in the sand, it was hardly fit for the public and certainly not acceptable for an appearance at court.

“I will see that you are appropriately attired for the event, I assure you.”  He glanced at Stallion in his shorts and t-shirt.

“Wot?  Again!”

9.45pm  Eight hours until sunrise.

Notable NPCs

Garcia: Sire.  Unknown location.

Night Rider: Red-haired vampire?  Works for the Prince.

Prince Sarassen: Prince of Sydney and our patron (owe Mr Giovanni a favour to look after us).

Glossary of terms:

Anarchists: a faction of Vampires.  Caused issues in Los Angeles recently, killed the Prince.

Antediluvian: from before the time of the biblical flood.  The third generation that were the progenitors of the thirteen clans of vampires.

Canaanites: Those descended from Cain, the first murderer and vampire.

Camarilla:  a faction of Vampires closest to the Princes.  Believe in hierarchy and order.

Clan or Bloodline:  From one the 13 antediluvians.  

Favour:  How Vampires pay for things they want or need doing.  

Kin: Vampires, a name among themselves.

Kine: Humans.

Sabbat: a faction of Vampires that believe that the progenitors of the clans will one day awake and eat all their young.

Masquerade: The rule that keeps vampire society safe.  Hiding ones nature from the world.

It was quiet after the battle for Ni’Challan’s space station.  Somewhere, on the skin of the habitable zones robots, welded, glued and replaced sections blasted by Doctor Strangelove’s forces. Still, others polished away scorch marks and cleared up damaged exhibits inside the structure.  In the control centre, the gravity was correctly orientated, and the broken perspex replaced.  Inside the secured room, Algernon, Peggy, Bruce and Rain rested.  The only sounds were the grumbles and complaints from Ni’Challan as he saw the extent of the damage done to his sanctuary and collection.

Rain was still mulling over Algernon’s revelation that he’d never been a child and never experienced growing up.  Even his assumed 15 years was more time than he currently remembered and all at the hands of the elusive Doctor Strangelove.  Though Rain was missing a large portion of his early life, he remembered fondly all the people who had seen him through from age seven to his mid-teens.  Glancing over at the console he recalled the little old man who, one Christmas, had given him…everything.  A far cry from the taciturn stranger alone with his space-bound collection.  

Could I have built him up to be something more than he was?  Rain thought.  It was possible.  It was amazing what the human mind did with memories that it thought were important.  They acquired a magic quality, the etherealness of better times.  The further back the memory went the more stardust the memory seemed to collect.  

“Can I help you?” Ni’Challan said in a tone that stated the complete opposite. Rain realised he’d been staring, lost in his thoughts.  He stood and joined Ni’Challan at the console as he continued his work.

“I just want to be of assistance, sir.” Rain replied, falling into the same formal patterns of speech he always did when conversing with Ni’Challan.

“And yet you refuse my invitation to join my Found Gentlemen,” Ni’Challan said nonchalantly enough, but there was a tone of reprove and a disappointment.  Rain had assured the Ni’Challan that under normal circumstances he would have been happy to take the position, and Ni’challan had accepted the refusal graciously at the time.  But, rejection is still a rejection, and time tarnishes negative memories as it exalts positive ones.

“Mr Cudo, why are you here?”

“Because we knew you needed help.”

“And you’ve given it, and I appreciate your efforts even though it is by your mismanagement that aid was required.  What I want to know is, why are you still here?”

Rain looked over to the party, still resting from the battle.  It would have been easy to blame their lingering on the hard-fought fight.  Bruce himself was not doing well after the blood rush had faded.  It would be simple to say that was their reason for lingering. It would be the truth, most of the truth, but not all of it. 

“I…sir, when I received your card I thought only of Bruce and his father.  Even then, though flattered, I knew I had no place among your Found Gentlemen,” Rain paused a moment, weighing his words, ”Then I discovered you were Mr Samuels, the man who gave me my life’s vocation, a reason to keep on living.”

Ni’Challan made a derisive sound, “You overestimate my actions. I gave you a trinket on the off chance I could recruit you at a later date.  And to that, you have made yourself very clear.”

“You may have never intended it, but in your actions, you gave me the greatest gift; hope,” Rain could see Ni’Challan squirm under Rain’s sentimentality.  But this was the moment he’d wanted to say since discovering that Mr Samuels still lived, “Sir, I can’t be a Found Gentleman, but I’d like to be a friend if that’s at all possible.”

Ni’Challan’s brow’s furrowed, and his hands faltered on the console.

“Friends?” He asked, glancing sideways through his thick eyebrows at Rain, “What is it that you think we have in common?”

“Virtually nothing,” Rain admitted candidly, “A moment twenty years ago, we’re both alive and living this incredible life amidst the Strange, that we collect…”

“Collect?” Ni’Challan interrupted.  It surprised Rain what Ni’Challan knew of him.  His entire history was an open book to Ni’Challan, whereas it was a vague and confusing nightmare for Rain.  Ni’Challan knew that Rain was a wanderer with only what he could carry in his pockets and his backpack to his name, but knew nothing about what he found important.

Rain nodded, but didn’t answer the question directly, “Tell me, sir, why do you collect your…pieces?”  Ni’Challan picked up on Rain’s ambivalence to his collection and frowned, “They are valuable…artifacts, “He added the appropriate amount of reverence, “Important to Earth and every recursion they’ve spawned.”

“A bit of broken boat? “ Referring to a piece, the Titanic, “A motorcycle from a fictional world?” Algernon’s beloved Akira bike sprung to mind.

“They are tangible and irrefutable links to their moments in time.  One thousand five hundred died on the Titanic. Millions died in Tokyo 1988 and many hundreds of thousands in 2019.  And you too, are a link to your own tragedy, though you do not remember it. What was that number again?”

“Eight thousand, three hundred and seventy-two,” Rain supplied breathlessly.  It always had that effect.

“Exactly, you are a living link to all those who were lost.  You are an important remnant of that history.”
“History, his story, her story, their stories…” Rain toyed with the words, “You find your worth in the.. .preservation of those stories?”

“I do,” Ni’Challan said proudly, “I preserve the truth.”

“You are given purpose.  You find comfort in your small part in those stories?” Rain added, moving through his argument.  Ni’Challan looked at Rain suspiciously as if he suspected some con.

“I suppose.”

“Then we are more alike than you realise.  You connect and collect the stories of people through their artefacts. I do it through my interactions with the people themselves,” Rain gestured to his group and back Ni’Challan himself, “It is our own small piece of immortality.”

Ni’Challan huffed derisively again and went back to his console, the work of fixing his space station and collection.

“Rain, are you ready to go?” Peggy called as she and Algernon formed a circle with the unconscious boy and the distracted Bruce.  So busy with Ni’Challan, Rain had not noticed the group getting ready to leave.  

Without a thought, the black puzzle box appeared in his hand.  It had ceased to be a comfort to him, though its role in preserving and shaping his life was undeniable.  But, if it could soften the heart of an avaricious old man, it was a gift worth the giving. Placing the puzzle box down on the console, Rain moved away to join his party.

“What this?”  Ni’Challan picked it up, puzzling through its many movements without opening it, “But I gave this to you.”

“Yes sir, “ Rain looked back at the box, his one and only companion from that first meeting to this moment, “It’s meant a great deal to me over the years, but I don’t need it now.”

“Oh?” Ni’Challan looked genuinely confused by the revelation, “But it’s yours.”

“It reminded me of hope and magic.  I don’t need it now. I have both in here.”  He tapped his chest and his head. He went to turn away again, sure this time the box would be taken and returned to Ni’Challan’s collection.

“But…it’s just a box.  There is nothing significant about it.” Ni’Challan pondered, more to himself.  He held the box up as if examining it closely for something he may have missed.

“Oh, I disagree.  It was magical then, and it’s magical now.” Rain smiled for the first time in that conversation, “Let me show you.” 

Facing Ni’Challan, he moved his hands in front and behind the proffered box in a smooth, practised pattern.  One moment in Ni’Challan’s line of sight, the next hidden for a fraction of a second.  Suddenly the box disappeared without Rain seeming to touch it.  For the next few minutes, Rain made the box appear and disappear in various locations including Ni’Challan’s pocket, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on the old man’s.  

At first, the Ni’Challan observed Rain’s hands carefully looking for the deceptions, the misdirections and the covers that sleight of hand artists used to convince their audience that illusion is real. Slowly though, as Rain moved the Strange through his routine, the tricks became wilder and more impossible even for an experienced eye.  Rain spun and manipulated the puzzle box until Ni’Challan chuckled in surprise and from that moment, the gentle old man twenty Christmases ago was there in the room.

“See, not such a simple box.” Rain finished, placing the box into Ni’Challan’s age-worn hand. 

“No, only for you.” Ni’Challan held it out to Rain, “Your clever box would never do those things for me.  You’ve taught it that.”  

When Rain didn’t take the box back, Ni’Challan reached out, cupped Rain’s hand in his own and placed the box on the flat of his palm.  The moment was so like the one when he first received his gift from Mr Samuels that Rain knew he had remembered true.  He hadn’t imagined more than there was, the moment shared then as now.

• 

“There, back where it belongs,” Ni’Challan said with finality, “Now go, your friends are waiting.”

Rain nodded, not trusting his voice in the moment. As he turned to go once more, he heard Ni’challan.

“I suppose you’ll be back, won’t you?” 

“As soon as I can,” And Rain smiled, a flush of emotion for this silly old man and his trinkets washing over him, “Farewell…Ni’Challan.”

“Yes, yes.  Leave me to clean up your mess.” Ni’Challan grouched, but now it seemed more tempered.  A crusty facade.  Scratch the surface, and you’d see the rust was no more than surface deep.

Rain joined the others in the circle as Peggy started the translation.  He had come to the station a mess of grief, fear and doubt. His grief was still present, a raw thing that often took him by surprise, there was a sense that life continued, and it could be worth living.  It was another rock in Rain’s shaky foundations, an absolute truth to base a life.  

The translation blotted out everything, and he was only aware of the Strange,  his part in the mechanics of travel, and being happy.

“Nyarlathotep . . . the crawling chaos . . . I am the last . . . I will tell the audient void. . . .
I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard.”

H.P.Lovecraft, Nyarlathotep 1920.

As shown in Peggy’s studies, Nyarlathotep has been busy on Earth for a very long time. It has many names and forms, but the one it is best known for on Earth are Nyarlathotep, The Crawling Chaos, The Black Pharaoh or the Black Man. On at least one instance Nyarlathotep has assumed the role of The Devil, complete with cloven hooves.

From my chat with the jeweller, Nyarlathotep often assume the form of a human man, tall, thin and joyless. They are the servant of the Outer gods, but I couldn’t find out who these Outer gods were. I wonder if they are not the nameless thing that Algernon can not speak of?? Or possibly the ellusive Nakarand? (though the similarity in name between Nyarlathotep and Nakarand is not lost on me). They make real the will of these Outer gods and is the Outer gods’ messenger.

It seems Nyarlathotep’s agenda is not just destruction of the human race, but he delights in insanity and chaos. I feel I know this fellow from old. It seems they are also very clever, deceptive and manipulative, something they have more in common with us than their Outer god brethern.

One of their practices is to gather followers to do their bidding. We’ve certainly seen that with the Lang. Are the Spiral Dust and Bywindine other ways Nyarlathotep has brought people to them?? They have also been known to use the words and practices of science to draw people to them. Whatever works, right?

He seems to have the power to make people fall asleep and into nightmares. There, I guess, it has absolute control to do with people as they will.

They’re not the only one.