By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero

Note to Readers: I first wrote this vampire tale in the middle 80’s when there seemed to be a renaissance in the vampire lore. Although a great fan of many of the stories that were in the market at the time, I noticed that there seemed to be very little lesbian representation within the genre. This story was my way of attempting to bring lesbians into the gothic horror myth, however, life must have taken over and I never finished writing this little tale. As the years passed, I quickly forgot about it until one recent weekend when I happened upon it again. After reading through the pages, I quickly realized that I had a complete story, sans the final chapter. I can’t remember why I never finished it but I decided that since it was almost complete, I should go ahead and rework it. So I took it out and, forgive the phrase, "revamped" it for the year 2004. What you are about to read is the first chapter of an entirely revised version of an original story I wrote back in the 80’s. Since reworking this little tale, I have signed a contract with Limitless Dare 2 Dream Publishing ( http://www.limitlessd2d.net/ ) and look forward to turning the entire tale over to them as soon it is completely edited.

Sexually explicit material: This is a vampire tale, so I guarantee that in future chapters, there will be explicit lesbian scenes, some might even border s/m, and others will dive into s/m with full force, excuse the pun ;-) As with all of my stories, I only include it when necessary for the characters or plot. If any of this is upsetting to you, please don’t send me hate mail, because I have warned you.

Let me know what you think of this little vampire tale, and if you’d be interested in reading more: CrystalMichallet@aol.com

I. Madame Tuscany

A blanket of darkness fell over the downtown high-rise buildings. In the center of this sprawling metropolis stood historical homes. While some lay in ruins and disrepair, others were well maintained, their neatly manicured lawns a stark contrast to the dilapidated abodes that speckled the cityscape. The scattering of Victorian houses that were occupied became suddenly aglow with light. High above in the heavens, a myriad of stars twinkled in a steady cadence. As night covered the city, a luminous glow emanated from the yellow street lamps.

San Madrone, California was not unlike many growing cities. By day the sun-loving mortals moved in a haphazard manner, their numbers clogging the already congested byways and main streets. With seemingly little care for those around them, they each attended to their own affairs. Yet when the sun vanished from the sky and the darkness of night bathed the city in a dark sea of gloom, another form of life emerged. While the living tucked themselves safely away behind their locked doors, the children of the night awoke to claim the darkness as their own.

Few humans knew about the mystic world of darkness. Those who did kept the secret safely guarded from outsiders. Like diligent centurions guarding their leaders, the few chosen maintained their silence. With their silence and devotion they protected their masters’ existences. By their loyalty, they earned a wealth of benefits. Those who turned on their masters quickly learned the price for their betrayal because every servant knew that the clan of the Night People was vast in numbers and sparing with forgiveness.

Throughout the city, the well-rehearsed routine of waking began. From the depths of their crypts, the children of the night awoke from their deep slumber. As the moon hung in the sky and the songs of the crickets ascended through the crisp cool air, the clan of the night arose from their safe entombments. Like a patient newly awoken from a deep coma, they moved in slow, stiff movements.

In a well-maintained Victorian mansion deep in the heart of the city lived the clan matriarch. With wizened features and leathery flesh, Madame Tuscany was the last in the house to awaken from her sleep. While the rest of her kin moved about the house, she lay unmoving in the safe confinement of her encasement; her head nestled securely on the soft silk pillow. Around her fragile looking body was the elegant structure lined with velvety luxurious fabric. Below her was the thick, goose down feather bedding.

Slowly, slowly her mind soared through the dreams of the aged. She saw the image of her childhood. So young and innocent, so pure of heart as she danced in the sun before the sound of her mother’s voice called her. There was no time for play right now, her mother had said. No, among the Tenochcas there was no time to play, especially not today.

While the old woman dreamed, she tried to remember her real name, the name at her birth. But try as she might, this part of her life seemed to all but vanish. And why wouldn’t it? Although she did not know it at the time, it was to be the last time that she would ever see her family. The smiling faces of her little brothers and sisters, the voice of her mother as she sang a melodic song while grinding the maize in the lava stone mocahete would never again be seen nor heard because the invaders had arrived. Like savage animals, they raided her father’s Chinampas; the wet garden marshes were no obstacles to the creatures that they rode. Once they took what they wanted, they burned the remaining maize, leaving nothing for the village to live on.

In her sleep, the aged matriarch winced at the images of that time from long ago. The smell of the burning village, the sound of women and children weeping could never be wiped from her memory. She would never forget the sight of her people as they were herded like animals into one area. While the gods from the sea gloated, the macehualles, the common people, were forced to give all that they had — including their children. In the manner of a tlacatecuhtli, a chief of man, the ruler of the invaders, Cortez, divided the people and distributed them to his men. Long before she was ready for marriage, she had been given to a man who would rob her of everything - Her family, her happiness, her maidenhead, and later, her mortal life. After having everything taken from her, how then could she be expected to remember her first name?

Despite the trauma, there were certain memories that she did not forget. Although she was born into a common class, she always remembered that she was a descendent of the Tenochcas, a long line of proud people. While they did not seek war, neither were they afraid to fight, and this is how she had survived. Through the years of toiling for the man who would be her husband, she kept her memories alive. As time progressed, she lived through his beatings. Through the many labors of birthing his children, she never forgot who she was or where she came from. Not even when she began to suffer with age did she allow him to break her spirit, and cruel as he was, he cursed her with the only thing he had left — he gave her immortal life. Despite her new existence, she retained her inner peace and waited for the right time to seek her revenge.

Madame Tuscany. This was not the name of her birth but a title that he had given her. She had discovered many years later that it was not even his. Like the pompous man that he was, he donned the surname of the city of his birth — a city that had run him out for the many transgressions he had committed against the citizens. So it had become his surname and then eventually hers.

As far as anyone knew, she was the oldest night person residing on the west coast. If she had been taken at a younger age the title might not have been a burden to her, but like an evil trickster her husband, her initiator, took her mortality when her body was well beyond its prime. Although she thought that her tormentor would finally allow her to pass into the twilight of her years and end his abuse, he had not. So horrid was he that he had planned to mistreat and abuse her for the rest of eternity.

She could not remember the exact year when his life as a mortal ended. All she knew was that in between his beatings and curses, he would ride away for many days at a time. Sometime after their ninth child was born, he returned late one night a changed man. His warm flesh was now cold to the touch and his olive complexion gave way to the ashen color of the dead. The retched man would no longer walk in the sun and would sleep the day away. Had she known better, she would have realized that he had been cursed, and she would have taken her children as far away as she could.

At the memory of his final demise, the corners of her lips curved into a slight smile. Even after being initiated into the darkness, he would give her no peace. Just as he did in life, he continued the beatings through their immortality. It took many years and the passing of a few generations, before she could take it no more. After the final beating, she waited until he left their home. Once alone, she crept down to his coffin and with a small, hand-held drill, she bore holes in the top and side wood panels. Although they were large enough to be seen, she knew that when he returned after a night of drunken debauchery, he would not notice the change. All that remained was for her to wait for his return. When he retreated to his private chamber, she made her move. She was so stealthy that he never woke from his sleep. Before the dawning of the early morning sun, she removed all of the curtains that abated the searing rays. If she had any doubts about her plan, they all vanished as she lay down to sleep the day away. The sudden sounds of his screaming pain roused the mortal house servants to his side. But by then, it was too late. Nothing would bring him back from the smoldering ashes that were left. After her husband met with his unfortunate demise all servants were given the opportunity to leave. While some left to find their own ways in the world, many had remained to care for the aged matriarch and earned a new found respect.

Yes, Madame Tuscany had reason to smile on that day, not only had she liberated herself from her tormentor, but she became a wealthy widow who was now free to move wherever she wished. This is how she ended up in San Madrone. She and a few of her mortal offspring moved here with their servants when the land was still open and free. Preferring to remain in the shadows, she kept to her own affairs as her progeny continued to live around her. While the generations may have passed, for the elder lady, nothing mattered except the care and protection of her family, both the living and the un-dead.

As she lay safely entombed in the cocoon of sleep, her dreams took her down a strange path. Like visions of the future and the past, the images of her clan swirled past her. She recognized her children’s familiar faces. With a slight smile the elder watched their predictable actions as they dealt with the mortal world. Just as she felt a dark foreboding shadow, she saw the image of a Gypsy soothsayer entering her visions. Although Madame Tuscany knew that the mysterious dark haired woman was not to be feared, she could not help the shiver that crossed her spine. Nowhere in her past had she ever known doom to not follow in the wake of this Gypsy woman. The matriarch feared that this enigmatic woman could hold a power over their clan’s future.

Fearful, she pushed the Gypsy woman’s image from her mind and turned her concentration to the visions of her immortal children. The sleeping elder inwardly smiled when she saw her cherished granddaughter. Like a wayward nymph, the child seduced her prey then devoured them, only to take her insatiable needs back to her two lovers. Madame Tuscany also saw the images of her other children of the night. She watched the rebellious women riding through town on their noisy motorcycles. Hoping to send fear into the hearts of mortals, they toyed with their prey before devouring the source of life.

Through the diverse personalities of her children, there were two who were not like the others. Anecita and Briannon were as different as night and day, yet they were alike in so many ways. Neither one held a desire to hunt, nor did they take pride in the kill. In Madame Tuscany’s opinion they were too sensitive for this way of life. It was their compassion that would help them cope with the awesome responsibility of holding the clan together. The grande dame knew that of all her children, she could depend on her two pseudo-daughters to unite the family as one.

Deep within her dream state, the matriarch watched the two women move through their separate lives. Despite their repulsion for the kill, they had each lived long lives. Where one sated her hunger with a willing lover, the other took only those who brought pain to mortals.

Through the vast images of her children, she saw loyal mortals weaving in and out of their lives. As she watched them protect the children of the night, she was inwardly pleased at their devotion. Madame Tuscany knew that, were it not for these humans, the Night People would not have survived through the turbulent eras of the world.

Before the dreams could progress, the vivid image of the Gypsy Queen returned to her consciousness. As the nightmare suddenly gripped her heart, the dark, mysterious woman beckoned to her, calling her to come near. Filled with fear, the elderly woman inhaled deeply as she tried in vain to pull free from the nightmarish scenes, but failed miserably. Within this premonition, the clear vision gripped her sleeping dreams. Crystal clear, it repeated over and over in a never-ending image. In this vision of the future, she saw the clear night sky overhead. Below the blanket of darkness were the dense trees that surrounded a forest glade. In the center of the clearing her daughters stood in a perfect circle. She could not see their individual faces, but felt their spirits close at hand. They stood in solemn silence gathering for one last time as they mourned a death.

Madame Tuscany never saw herself in the dream, however she knew her end was near. Although the aged matriarch held no malice toward the strange newcomer, she felt frightened at her presence. Within the dream she felt the ominous power emanating from the Gypsy woman and like an omen, her sister of the night attempted to convey an unspoken message. If all she had experienced was the dream, Madame Tuscany might have dismissed the prevailing sense of doom, but the presence of the stranger, the sound of her laughter, the soft and foreboding voice calling out to the old woman heightened her fears.

The Gypsy’s face swirled past her like a stalker in the night. The exotic woman’s long dark hair covered her white peasant blouse. In the far off distance, the jingle jangle of the mysterious woman’s jewelry rang softly as her long wavy hair swirled in the darkness to the rhythm of her dancing. Each time the strange woman smiled at the matriarch, her sharp, pointed canine teeth glinted in the moonlight. The vision she shared was chaotic, yet very vivid in details. When the dream finally ended, Madame Tuscany knew that her beloved daughter, Briannon, would leave the family in search of an unobtainable soul and this single act would lead to the family’s demise.

Without Briannon’s presence how will the clan remain intact? The thought echoed through her dream.

As she moved from a dreaming state to wakefulness, she felt the years of her existence creeping through her body. Yes, she was far too old to be living this life. But try as she might, the courage to end it was not within her. So rather than dwell too much on her eternal life, she focused on her family and turned her attention to the children of the night. As her eyes opened from sleep, she saw the diffused light of her crypt seeping past the lid as it began to recede. The slight sound of hinges squeaking echoed in the room, and in a slow, almost methodical manner the clan matriarch rose with the stiffness of age from her polished mahogany coffin.

Ordinarily, the aches and pains of a mortal body would have disappeared upon initiation, but the symptoms of her advancing age were so severe that they followed her into her new existence. Although some of the night children told her the pains were merely phantoms in her mind, to her, they felt real. The sharp ache in her bones and the sound of her knees popping with each move she made were as genuine as the two razor incisors that remained after her husband’s initiation. No, nothing could convince her that the pain of age she felt was anything but real.

By her side she felt the gentle touch of her servant, Magdalena. Glancing at the young woman, Madame Tuscany smiled as she accepted the mortal’s help. Magdalena’s family had been in her service for many generations. While some moved on to their own lives, this young woman chose to remain. Her loyalty and faithfulness were attributes that the matriarch would never forget.

With tenderness, the lithe servant helped her into a robe. Feeble hands too gnarled with age tried to tie the garment closed and fumbled with the cord. With an ever-patient smile, Magdalena gently brushed the old woman’s hands away, and then easily tied the cord into a loose knot. At such an easy feat, the older woman smiled her thanks as she gently patted her servant’s shoulder.

"Such a sweet girl for taking such good care of me," her voice, deep with age, spoke softly.

"It is my pleasure, Madame. After all, you take care of all of us," the young mortal replied as she held her elbow out.

The girl’s words brought a smile to the aged matriarch. Lightly resting her palm on the servant’s arm, she allowed the young woman to guide her through the labyrinth under her home. With each step they took, the elder woman found herself thinking over the young woman’s words. Yes, she had cared for all her children. At first she cared for both mortals, and the undead. But as her mortal offspring matured and moved away, her attention remained on the children who were the dwellers of the night. Like a mother recollecting pleasant memories, she smiled slightly as she replayed the images of her immortal clan.

The Night Clan residing near her was not composed of her biological children. Instead, they were all orphans, abandoned by their own kin and drawn to her for her wisdom and kindness. In their dynasty, they had all found the commonality of their immortal lives binding. Although only a few of her initiates had stayed on with her, she felt a kindred spirit to the other children. She could not have explained why they had claimed her as their matriarch and only knew that each member of the night clan had bestowed upon her this title. It was an honor she had eagerly accepted. Like any group, they had felt the need for a leader. As the eldest, she had become their queen.

At the thought, she remembered the vivid dream of another queen. While a part of the aged woman felt a need to meditate upon the dream in hopes of finding answers to the myriad of questions, she was afraid of what she would discover. Yet if her dream was a prophecy, she could prepare for the clan’s future. Although Madame Tuscany did not seek out the end of her own existence, she vowed to be ready should it come to her door.

Shaking away these thoughts, the older woman continued to walk slowly next to her human servant. The sound of their footfalls echoed off the cement walls. They walked softly on the marble tiles that had been brought from her deceased husband’s village in Italy. Along the wall hung ornate gold candles with crystal sconces. Despite the appearance, she was unaccustomed to wealth. The old woman never had a desire for the trinkets and coins of status. To her, the wealth and jewels she inherited were as evil as the darkness that lived within her dead husband’s heart. Madame Tuscany acquired her affluence from her deceased husband. From as far back as she could remember her husband’s soul harbored cruelty. Through beatings and torture, he forced his servants to milk the land of its riches for his own betterment.

With a wry grin, the old woman remembered the sight of her husband’s burned corpse. Although her servants knew what she had done, none had spoken of the incident again. Instead, they cleared away his ashes and discarded the coffin that was once his protection from the sun.

When she felt her domestic stop next to her, she took a moment to glance up at the staircase leading to her home. Filled with patience, Magdalena smiled as she obediently waited for her mistress. As a resolve filled her being, Madame Tuscany nodded as she began the long climb up the steps.

I’m too old for this way of life, she thought as she felt her bones creaking in exertion. I survive only by the goodness of those around me and there never seems to be a time when I was not dependent upon others. With this thought, she audibly sighed as she made her way up the steps.

Once at the top of the stairs, a male attendant handed her a smooth wooden cane. She glanced at the young handsome man and smiled. Fernando was the first mortal that she had ever hired since Mr. Tuscany’s death. Although she did not know who had initiated him, she did know that it was shortly after he began working for her that he was brought into the immortal clan. The old lady may not have admitted it at the time, but nowadays she freely confessed how grateful she was that such a beautiful man was now preserved for eternity. Tall, handsome and forever young, he held the youthfulness that she could only crave.

As she took the cane in hand, Madame Tuscany sighed with relief, and then began to move into the lighted mansion. Fatigued by the exertion of climbing the stairs, her aged frame leaned heavily against the cane. When she noticed the house staff busily preparing for the oncoming night, the noblewoman, once peasant, stood still and watched as the mortals worked alongside the servants of the night.

It had been this way from as far back as she could remember. Her husband had initiated a few loyal servants to tend to their every need. While maintaining these immortals, their living servants continued to procreate. Now after the many centuries, she had in her service both children of the night and the mortals’ descendants.

At the gentle nudge against her arm, she suddenly remembered her goal. With an absentminded nod and a slight smile, she hobbled toward the single person lift. While she rode up in the small caged elevator, her young mortal attendant walked briskly up the spiraling staircase.

As the caged doors opened, Magdalena stood waiting in silence. Accepting her assistance, the elderly woman moved with wooden steps down the long corridor. Her body, bent with age, proceeded slowly down the long hallway. As she passed by a large wooden door, her acute hearing picked up the sounds of her precocious granddaughter. Smiling slightly, she shook her head as the child’s pleasure rang through the air. Like rutting cats, Aurore’s shrill cries seemed to echo through the mansion. As if she alone held stock in pleasure, the young woman’s squeals drowned out the moans of her other lovers.

Aurore was not a close kin to the matriarch, but they were distantly related through the girl’s father. As the years went by and her children married, the grande dame of the family found it difficult to follow the line of her offsprings. Despite this, she held a pride for all of her descendents, regardless the distance in linage from her. For Aurore, she held a special fondness.

As the sounds of her grandchild’s pleasure escaped from the closed door, the dowager smiled slightly as she continued down the hallway. In a conscious move, the elder woman ignored the sounds from Aurore’s suite, entered her own private quarters and immediately moved to the adjunct room containing the bathing facilities. As expected, a warm bath awaited her. The scent of sweet smelling oil emanated through the room as the steam rose from the water. In satisfaction, she smiled as she made her way toward the bath. With the help of her servant, Madame Tuscany disrobed and entered the warm liquid.

While the soothing warmth of the water surrounded her, she reflected on her relationship with her grandchild. She could not deny that the child was her pride and joy. Although not close in generations, the girl resided close to her heart. Madame Tuscany had always been careful who she initiated. Ordinarily she preferred to bring over only strangers who would eventually leave. The elder woman was well aware of the discord that could result from an initiate striving for independence. Rather than having conflict within the family, she opted not to bring blood relatives into her realm of darkness. Aurore had been the only exception….

After she brought the girl over, the matriarch immediately regretted her actions. She mourned Aurore’s inability to procreate mortal offspring of her own, as Madame Tuscany had done. Yet the wizened woman understood that she had saved Aurore from an inevitable death. She took the girl when the child was only sixteen years old. At the time, she felt that her granddaughter was too young to initiate, yet she knew that the child would not live to see her seventeenth birthday. The elder woman contemplated asking a servant to initiate her granddaughter into their world, yet the thought of someone else touching the girl in this way was too much for her to bear. In the end it was her own love for the child that persuaded her to listen to the beckoning words of Aurore’s mother.

Like an event constantly replaying itself in her mind, the old woman remembered the pleas and tears from Aurore’s mother. She could almost hear the cries ringing through the darkness of the home. With a grimace of distaste, Madame Tuscany closed her eyes to the vivid images flooding her memories.

Aurore had never been a sickly child. As a little girl she was always running and playing in the mansion’s gardens. However, on her fifteenth birthday, the illness began. By the age of sixteen the teen was confined to her bed to await her inevitable death. Even today, in this modern era, the cancer that ran rampant through her did not have a cure. Using compassion rather than logic, Madame Tuscany went to her sick offspring. She used her own supernatural gifts and eased the child into an endless life of darkness.

Unlike her own condition, her granddaughter was reborn into a healthy, vibrant body. It was the transition from life, to death, to life again that had driven the cancer from the young girl. True, the child did wake to the familiar hunger, but it was nothing that could not be handled. As expected, Aurore quickly learned to sate her needs with the taste of human blood.

While submerged in the steaming water, the old woman’s memories took her back to the throes of the girl’s first blood hunger. Still dressed in her night garment, the slender adolescent moaned uncontrollably as she trashed in the bed. The girl’s complexion was as pale as the white moon that hung in the dark night sky.

"Abuela…Grandmother…" Her moans beseeched the older woman.

"Yes child, soon," was all she said as she gently brushed her gnarled fingers through the girl’s silky brown hair.

"Grandmother?" The voice of Aurore’s mother was filled with fear as she gazed worriedly at her only child. Next to the portly woman stood the figure of her docile husband. Even though he was related to the grande dame by birth, the old woman could not help the disgust she felt towards him at times. Unlike the men of past, this offspring was weak in spirit. To look at his refined clothing, his light skin and tender features, no one would ever know that he was a descendent of the Tenochcas, a proud group of people from the heart of ancient Mexico. But the old woman had to admit that over the years, with the intermarriage with outsiders, her line of Mestizo could hardly be seen. Instead, what dominated her offspring was the fairer group of the people from Europe.

As the memories of her granddaughter’s first day in darkness returned, the older woman remembered the disgust she held toward the two mortals. With little thought to their discomfort, Madame Tuscany had risen wordlessly from her grandchild’s bed. She remembered the initiation from the previous night and lightly touched the tender puncture wounds on her own neck. When she gazed down at her grandchild, she noticed the identical marks deep in the young girl’s soft flesh.

"Grandma!" Aurore cried out in pain as she held her arms toward the old woman.

Madame Tuscany had done all that she could do. She had given the child all that her body was capable of giving. The girl would now have to learn what it meant to live in the darkness of the night. With little ado, Fernando, her immortal servant, opened the door and entered the room. Dressed in his black servant’s uniform, he was the most handsome creature that the old woman had ever seen. So striking was he that she wanted to preserve it forever. Almost reading her thoughts, the tall, magnificent man smirked slightly as he tipped his head in greeting. In polite silence, his deathly pale form stood silent as he held the door open for another man. Wrapped in only a robe, the young man glanced nervously at Aurore’s father, then toward her.

When Aurore’s father noticed the indigent man, he blanched, and then turned toward the older woman.

"Grandmother, what’s happening to my daughter?" the pain in his voice was evident.

Without sparing him a word, she turned and nodded toward the servant. The tall, dark haired man smiled as he stepped aside and waved the newcomer in. The sparkle in Fernando’s eyes showed his own excitement for what was about to happen.

With an understanding nod, the elderly woman took a moment to glance over the young mortal’s form. Smiling slightly, she moved toward him slowly as she gazed at his freshly washed appearance. When she noticed his dark wavy hair, she reached out and ran her thin fingers through its length. At the smell of his mortal scent, the old woman felt her heartbeat increase. Confused, the newcomer looked at each one as his heart raced out of control. While she gazed at him, her eyes focused on the steady rhythm of his beating heart in the vein on his neck. Each time the flesh pulsed the matriarch felt her smile growing as she anticipated tasting this man’s warm, fresh blood. Before she could delve further, she pulled away and gave Fernando, a rewarding nod. No, there was no one who will guess that this man was once a part of the hobo village on the outskirts of town, she thought as she turned and moved toward her grandchild.

"He is prepared as instructed, Madame," was all her servant said.

"Yes, I see," her aged voice came out husky as she tried to control her own excitement. "Very good, Fernando." She whispered as she turned once more to the man.

"Grandmother, why?" Aurore’s frightened father asked. Ignoring him, she stood before her grandchild and looked at the newcomer. She forced his eyes to remain on hers as her mind instinctively reached out to the young mortal’s thoughts. She listened to his fears and confusion.

"I-I…don’t understand," the newcomer whispered.

With an evil smile, Madame Tuscany knelt beside her granddaughter.

"You are here for my grandchild," she explained to the man.

Filled with curiosity, he moved slowly toward the young girl. He noticed her disheveled state and frowned at the muffled moaning sounds that came from her. When his gaze returned to Madame Tuscany, his brow arched into a question, and then he gazed back at Fernando.

"B-But he told me that you wanted me to…" the man’s words dropped off when he noticed Aurore’s mother in the room. When he turned back to the old woman, a blush crossed his cheeks.

"Grandmother, please, not this!" the voice was that of Aurore’s mother.

Irritated by the constant interruptions of her mortal offspring, she turned in anger toward them.

"There is no choice anymore! This is what you have asked for. If you cannot accept what must follow, then leave, both of you!" she ordered. "Leave forever more and let us be!" she hissed.

They saw the burning hatred in their matriarch’s eyes as her pupils dilated into a dazzling shade of red. Before she could turn her wrath on them, they moved hastily toward the door. When the room held only four forms, she turned her attention to the bed.

"She is my granddaughter," she explained to the young man. "You will be gentle and take care not to harm her," she instructed as she gazed down at her beloved offspring.

Fully aware of his function, the young man glanced down at Aurore. He saw her damp sweat covered form. He noticed the thin fabric of her nightgown over her taut nipples and firm abdomen. With a nervous gulp, he gazed longingly at the sparse brown triangle of hair between Aurore’s slender legs. Even as the bulge was growing under his robe, a rueful smile fell upon his lips as he moved toward the sick girl. At the sight of perspiration on his upper lip, Madame Tuscany smiled as she began to stroke her granddaughter’s soft, cold forehead.

"Grandma? Vieja?" Aurore’s confused and fearful plea came out in a meek voice.

"Calm yourself, child, all will be well now," she assured her granddaughter as she turned and waved the mortal nearer.

"Damn, lady! Do you intend to watch?" the young homeless man cursed when he noticed her closeness.

In silence, she turned a stony glare to the stranger and watched as fear entered his eyes. As she smelled the scent of his mortality wafting in the air, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she felt a movement near, she opened her eyes and held his gaze. Unable to do little else, he nodded slowly as he dropped his robe to the floor.

Like a voyeur, the old woman stood back from the bed and watched. She felt Fernando nearby, heard him gasp in excitement as they watched the scene unfold. While her male servant was looking at the newcomer with lust, she closed her eyes and reached out through the tendrils of her mind toward the girl. At the sensations of fear from the initiate, she gently soothed her through their mind with soft words of encouragement.

Soon, child, soon you shall be sated, Madame Tuscany promised as she watched the mortal man moving over her granddaughter.

Quiet child. Feel the needs within, feel the drive that keeps you alive, her mind softly whispered.

Accepting her grandmother’s tutelage, the child visibly relaxed as she instinctively rubbed herself against the young mortal man. Through their shared bond, Madame Tuscany felt her granddaughter’s hunger well into desire. She was aware of the young girl’s virginal needs and watched with mild fascination as Aurore rubbed sensuously against the man.

The girl seemed to know what movements spurred the stranger’s arousal because in no time at all he was preparing to mount her. When the man forced himself into Aurore, the old woman felt the child’s pain slowly turn to pleasure. With eyes closed, she concentrated on the seductiveness of the scene. The musky scent of sex wafted through the room. As the fresh scent of arousal filled the air, she became aware of Aurore’s deep, guttural moans as she strived to meet her needs. Beside her, Fernando held the old woman’s arm tightly as if to keep her from falling. When she glanced up at him and saw the look in his eyes, the saliva that dripped from his canine teeth, and the sweat building across his forehead, she wondered whom he was attempting to steady, her, or himself.

With an understanding smile, she turned away from the tall form of her immortal servant. At the scene of the two rutting beings, she closed her eyes and felt the new powers emerging from her grandchild. When the man screamed in pain, the old woman inhaled deeply. Next to her, Fernando released a slight moan that caused the woman to open her eyes. Filled with a mother’s pride, she watched as her grandchild moved in for the kill. As she felt the mortal man’s sexual pleasure mounting, Aurore latched on to his neck and began to drink of his liquid life. The pleasure of the union brought a groan from the newcomer as he released his seed into the immortal girl’s body. The new child of the night easily twisted her lover’s form until she lay over his dying body, her teeth never losing their grip of his neck. As the fresh scent of blood filled the air, Madame Tuscany stood proudly by as she gazed at her granddaughter’s hunched form.

No longer clothed, the girl’s lithe body lay sprawled over the still form. Even as the man’s lifeblood dripped onto the clean white sheets, the old woman admired her granddaughter’s golden brown hair. Like a gentle wave of water, it cascaded over Aurore’s delicate features. Each movement from the girl caused her soft, smooth flesh to ripple in a slow quiver. As the grande dame gazed lovingly at the gently arching shape of Aurore’s back, she noted her granddaughter’s soft, smooth skin and fleshy buttocks, and could not help but wonder what her own life would have been like had she been brought over at such a tender age.

Without further thought, Madame Tuscany felt herself moving to the child. As her eyes feasted over the youthful form, her wrinkled hand reached out and gently caressed the velvety soft skin. At her touch, Aurore glanced up at her with a smile. Unaware of her own actions, the old woman moved down toward her granddaughter. In a slow, casual move, she pressed her lips against Aurore’s blood-drenched mouth. As the exquisite taste of mortal blood registered in her senses, she lapped out and licked the tangy sweetness from the child’s pliant, willing lips. At the sensations of her own desires, Madame Tuscany mentally and physically pulled herself away from her grandchild. Thankfully Fernando had been close at hand and without ado, took over where the matriarch left off.

With superior discipline, the grande dame began to school herself for the lessons she would need to teach her granddaughter. Before she could gather her thoughts, she heard the door blast open. Aurore’s father rushed into the room, followed closely by the smaller form of his wife.

"What in Gods name?" Aurore’s father cried as he stared at his daughter.

"Oh my…!" the shorter, portly woman covered her mouth in disgust when she glanced at the bloody scene on the bed.

Huddled on the bed was the slight form of their child with the mortal man who was barely alive, and Fernando, who was now bare-chested. Deep in throes of the hunger, both immortals sat hunched over the barely alive body. With little care for those around them, they greedily drank the red liquid life of the man. At the sight of the enormous amount of spilled blood, Madame Tuscany licked her lips in thirst as she turned toward her mortal offspring.

"God has nothing to do with your daughter’s existence!" Madame Tuscany’s deep, gravely voice seemed to shake the wooden floorboards as she felt her anger raging out of control.

"What did you think would happen to your daughter if I brought her into my world?" the old woman hissed as she slowly moved toward Aurore’s parents. "Did you not think a price would have to be paid for saving her life? Did you not think that this would be the result of your pleas?" the old woman’s hiss reverberated through the room.

"No!" the father screamed as he turned and ran from the room in fear and disgust.

At the sight of his retreating form, the clan matriarch turned to the woman.

With a tear-streaked face, Aurore’s mother shook her head as she fell to her knees. Begging for forgiveness, she crawled toward the grande dame as she held her hands before her. The mortal woman’s cries shrieked through the mansion. In distaste, Madame Tuscany closed her eyes against the childish spectacle. With slow, deliberate steps, she moved away from the woman who had married her offspring.

"Please, grandmother, make her stop! Take it back!" Aurore’s mother pleaded as her eyes darted to the scene of her child in the throes of a feeding frenzy.

Shocked by the request, the elder stopped and turned toward the mortal woman. "You would rather I take it back?" she asked in amazement.

"Yes! I beg of you, grandmother, don’t let her be like…like this! I’d rather she was dead than alive if this is what she has become!" Aurore’s mother cried, as she remained huddled on the floor in tears.

At the sight of the whimpering woman, Madame Tuscany gazed down at her in disgust. Although she had always known how mortals viewed her kind, she hoped that the isolation of her close-knit kin was enough to keep such bigotries at bay. Now seeing the true revulsion that this woman held, the matriarch could only recoil. With little else to say, she turned her back on the whimpering form and walked toward her grandchild. Each step she took seemed to fortify her spirit until all that was left was the strength of her existence.

"You have begged that I save your daughter’s life. Your only flesh and blood is alive and will continue to live throughout eternity because of my gift! She is your daughter, your child. If you do not see this, then perhaps you never deserved a daughter such as her!" the old woman’s voice grew deep with anger. Shocked by the matriarch’s words, Aurore’s mother suddenly gazed with fear at the foreboding woman.

When she knew she had the mortal woman’s full attention, Madame Tuscany took a step toward her, "If you cannot find it in your heart to accept your child as she is now, then leave!" The leader screamed at her daughter-in-law, "Leave her now in my care for she is now, and will always be, my child of the night!" The craggy old woman allowed an uncontrollable laugh to escape her control as a surge of power rose from the core of her being.

Madame Tuscany felt the madness engulf her senses and became aware of the smallest changes within the room. As if she were the one drinking the blood, she tasted the bitter sweetness against her lips and smelled the fresh scent of the kill wafting through the air. She noticed the crimson colors spilling onto the crisp face of her granddaughter. The cries of passion that rang from her immortal children were suddenly a part of her. Turning to the scene, she watched as Fernando mated with her newly born daughter of the night. In between occasionally drinking what little life was left in the mortal man, the two bodies merged as one immortal soul. Aurore, resembling a newborn babe, had blood splattered on her face as she continued to drink the mortal’s blood. With groans of pleasure, the girl’s hips pushed back into the servant as she sated both the needs of her body, and her thirst for blood.

Afraid of the change within her daughter, Aurore’s birth mother rose from the floor and ran from the sight of the girl’s first feeding frenzy. With a mad laugh, Madame Tuscany turned to her new child. She watched with glee as the girl greedily drank the man’s final drops of blood. On cue, the shrill cries of the girl and man echoed in the room as they each reached the summit of their pleasure. While each one panted out of breath, the old woman moved toward her beloved immortal child. As the blood dripped down her lips, the girl looked up and cast her grandmother an angelic smile.

Her male servant rose protectively from the girl’s newly initiated body, gathered his clothing, and then stood beside the bed. His eyes fell casually over Aurore then turned toward the hallway. Requesting her orders, Fernando tilted his head in a silent question as he awaited his mistress’ commands. The old woman smiled up at his disheveled form. His neatly combed hair was now in disarray and his pale white body glistened with the perspiration of sex. The dowager merely patted his shoulder as she turned her attention to her grandchild.

"Yes, my daughter, you have drunk to your heart’s content," the old woman smiled kindly as she sat upon the bed. "Always know, my beloved child, my hija, that there will always be more for you," she cooed as she gently ran her fingers through the girl’s soft hair.

With a solemn smile, she looked at the open door as the girl moved into her embrace. "You will never see your parents again," sadness tinged the old woman’s words, but was quickly filled with hope, "but it does not matter for I am now your mother. I am the one who will care for you." Her voice was soft yet filled with assurance as she gave a brief nod to her male servant.

With a solemn nod, he finished tucking his shirt into his pants before his pale form turned and left them alone. Ignoring all around her, the old woman returned her attention to her beloved child. Her thin, angular fingers gently stroked the girl’s locks.

"Soon you will learn to hunt. You will feel the instincts rising in your being and you will find the way, as others before you, to live in the darkness of the night…" Her somber words seemed to rise from the mansion and filter through the cool night air….

True to her prediction, Aurore had become skilled in the hunt. She quickly learned the lessons of her grandmother. Through instinct, she used her own seductive powers to lure her prey, then greedily devoured and shared them with her grandmother and lovers.

At a sudden noise nearby, Madame Tuscany’s attention was brought back from her world of memories. In obedient silence, Magdalena held a silver cup before her. At the reminder of her own thirst, the old woman gave a weak smile and nodded as she took the cup from the woman. She gazed at the red liquid blood and inhaled its tangy scent. Filled with a hunger, she closed her eyes as she eagerly drank the fresh blood.

The clan matriarch readily admitted her failings. She knew that she was too old to hunt mortals for her needs. Yet she did not have the confidence to secure a permanent lover who could sate her thirst. Nor did she think such an arrangement was suitable for someone of her stature. Instead, the grande dame survived through the generosity of others.

"Grandmother, you’re awake?" the soft voice of her granddaughter interrupted her solitary thoughts. Looking up from her goblet, she noticed the girl’s pale form. Like a nymph who had crawled out from under a morning flower, the girl’s radiant smile overshadowed her deathly pale flesh. As if just awakened, Aurore stood motionless in the doorframe. Absently, she pulled her short, beige silk robe tighter around her body. With a critical eye, the elderly woman noted her granddaughter’s disheveled appearance. With the scent of sex still hanging over the young woman’s body, Madame Tuscany grunted as she continued to drink the blood.

"Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’d sleep the night away," the older woman affectionately groused as Magdalena poured more blood from a silver kettle into her cup. As the old woman sat submerged in the water, she felt another attendant’s soft hands against her back. Leaning forward slightly, she allowed the servant to wash her back.

"I know you’d never sleep the night away," Aurore smiled as she moved to kneel by the tub. "I just thought that maybe you’d sleep a bit longer…just to rest, not exert yourself," she explained as she gently brushed a strand of loose gray hair away from her grandmother’s eyes.

"Harumphhh, are you trying to say that I’m old?" the matriarch donned an air of indignation.

"Now, who would think that, Vieja?" the girl used the term of endearment as her fingers entered the warm water, then splashed a bit of water on the old woman’s face.

"Why!" the elder tried to look angry, but her smiling lips betrayed her. "Hija, I do little enough as it is," Madame Tuscany sighed as she took the second cup and slowly drank its liquid. "When I’m not losing myself in memories, I’m prattling on about nonsense. Sometimes I feel so useless! I can’t hunt for myself, I can’t even rise from my sleep without help," she shook her head in defeat as she gazed into the cup. "Sometimes I think it would be better for me to walk into the morning sun!" fatigue etched her words.

"Abuela!" her granddaughter gasped, as fear covered her features. "Please don’t say such a thing!" Aurore cried out. "What would happen to all of us if you were no longer here? What would I do without you?" the girl asked as she took one of her grandmother’s wrinkled hands in hers. "Whom would I go to when I need to air my troubles? Who’d be there for me if not you?"

"You would survive, child. When I am gone, the world will continue to spin, the mortals will continue to procreate, and our kind will always flourish," the old woman stated matter-of-factly.

Aurore’s frown grew larger as she leaned against the tub. Her eyes were downcast while her fingers were playing in the steaming bath water. In an attempt to bring levity to the situation, the elder woman reached out and lightly brushed her fingertips over her grandchild’s soft, cold cheek.

"Mark my words, life will continue when I am gone. As for you, you will always have Shannon and Tamara to turn to. They’ll both be here for you. You’d survive, child," Madame Tuscany sighed as she handed the empty cup to her waiting attendant. When Magdalena moved to refill the cup again, the grande dame waved her actions away. Nodding acceptance, the servant retreated from the bathing room with the kettle and cup.

The young immortal reached over and took the loofah sponge from the second attendant. With a charming smile, the young girl shooed away the servant. Once alone, the brown-haired girl leaned forward to her grandmother and finished bathing the old woman’s body. "Shannon and Tamara love me, grandmother, but they are not you. I need you…I-I can’t bear the thought of losing you," her young voice cracked with pain even as her hand continued to wipe the sponge over the matriarch’s wrinkly flesh.

At her granddaughter’s words, Madame Tuscany gazed into the girl’s hazel eyes and noticed the sincerity within them. She heard the child’s rampant thoughts surge in her mind. With a gentle smile, the gray-haired woman gently squeezed Aurore’s hand. "Don’t worry, child, I don’t intend to go anywhere soon," the older woman sighed as she rose from the now lukewarm water.

With the help of her granddaughter, Madame Tuscany made her way from the tub. In a casual manner she kept her thin, bony arm draped over Aurore’s shoulder and waited patiently as the girl dried her off with a large towel. Once dried, the girl helped her wrap the towel around her frail body, and then guided her from the anteroom. Upon entering the outer room, she noticed freshly ironed clothes draped over a chair.

"I see you’ve been awake for a few hours," Madame Tuscany wryly smiled then winked at the girl as she glanced over the rumpled robe and her disheveled appearance. Oblivious to the private conversation, Magdalena held her mistress’ clothing for her. Without hesitation, Aurore took the garment from the mortal and began to help her grandmother dress.

At the mention of her disheveled state, her granddaughter shyly lowered her eyes. "I can’t help it, Abuela," the young woman chose to use the language of their ancestors. "I sometimes think that I can’t get enough sex!" Her voice was low, yet even, "When I’m asleep, I dream about sex. When I’m awake, I can’t wait to get it. And when I’m having sex, I never want it to stop! Do you think I am ill, grandmother?"

"Poor Tamara!" Madame Tuscany tsked as she pulled the tailor made men’s trousers over her bony legs, before pulling a white cotton v-neck shirt on.

"Not only Tamara, but Shannon as well!" Aurore exclaimed, then took the starched white shirt and helped her grandmother into it. As the old woman tucked the bottom into her pants, the girl began to fasten the buttons on her shirt.

"It’s not funny, Grandmother! Yesterday I couldn’t even wait for Shannon to wake from his sleep. I had to have him right there in his coffin!" she shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh poor Shannon, being wakened from the dead only to be used in such a way!" the older woman mocked in an even tone, the twinkle in her eyes conveying her amusement with her granddaughter.

At the serious tone of her words, Aurore stared at her. When she saw the old woman’s upturned lips, she recognized the humor of her grandmother’s comment. If she could have blushed, she would have. But all she could do was smile as she shook her head.

"Really, grandmother! Sometimes I think you just don’t understand!" she exclaimed as she fastened the suspenders to the old woman’s pants.

"I don’t understand?" Madame Tuscany’s shocked tone echoed her granddaughter’s words. "What don’t I understand, hija?" she asked as she arched a questioning brow at the child. "I initiated you when you were sixteen. I took you during a time when the hormones in your body were changing and raging out of control. It’s normal for a sixteen year old to want to hump anything and everything in sight! Now what, granddaughter, don’t you think I understand?" she asked the young woman as she tried to fasten the black tie around her own neck.

At the old woman’s feeble attempts, Aurore positioned herself behind her grandmother. In a practiced manner she wrapped her arms around the old woman’s thin shoulders and folded the cloth until it resembled a bow tie. With satisfaction, she smiled at their pale reflections in the full-length mirror.

"I concede to your greater wisdom, grandmother," Aurore’s jesting tone rose through the air.

"A very wise decision, child," Madame Tuscany stated as she lightly touched her bow tie. As if to inspect her granddaughter’s handiwork, her arthritic fingers brushed over the soft fabric. In a manner of satisfaction, the old woman nodded, and then winked at her grandchild.

The girl continued to smile at the old woman. Her fingers began to brush through the short, graying hair before she returned her gaze back to their reflections. As a thought entered her mind, Aurore gazed intently into the mirror at their pale reflections. "Grandmother, why do the mortals say that we have no reflections? How can anyone believe such a preposterous notion?" she asked.

The old woman considered the child’s question. Demonstrating her patience, the matriarch turned her attention to her granddaughter. Deep in concentration, a slight frown crossed her lips before a sigh escaped her control. "We are similar to mortals in many ways, yet we are also very different from them. We are able to accomplish many deeds that mortals cannot achieve but the one thing we can do, which matters the most, is to give the gift of everlasting life," she began to explain an air of authority.

"The mortals do not understand us," she continued. "They fear what they do not understand. They hate what they fear. It is far easier to hate us when they see no similarities between us. If we have no reflections then it stands to reason that we have no souls. If we have no souls then it is all right for them to hate and persecute us," she explained to her grandchild, before continuing. "It is easier to tell lies about us than to accept the truth. They fill their children’s heads with nonsense in hopes that their offspring will never want to become like us. And if one does join us, they did not choose it willingly, no, we seduced them!" Madame Tuscany’s tone of voice was deep with mockery.

"But not all mortals hate us. Not all mortals believe the lie," Aurore interjected as she helped the old woman into a tailor-made suit.

"There is truth to what you say," the grande dame acknowledged as she remembered the numerous mortals she had encountered. Both servants and friends, they had all acted to protect her from harm. "Yes, you are correct, hija, not all mortals fear and hate us. Some are our greatest protectors. Without our loyal servants, we might not have survived the darkest hours," Madame Tuscany said as she pulled her dark coat over her shoulders.

"But fear is the core of hatred and has always been at the root of all misinformation. It is fear which caused some mortals to refuse to see that we are not very different from them and that we too have a purpose on this earth. They may not be comfortable with our function in life, but we are needed otherwise why would we have been created?" the older woman asked a rhetorical question.

"A form of population control?" the girl giggled. Just as she used to do when she was only a toddler, the precocious child tilted her head. The strands of her long brown hair fell over her face concealing her expression. Then, to show her playfulness, she glanced up at the older woman, the twinkle in her eyes enhancing the slight smile she tried to conceal from her grandmother.

At her granddaughter’s mischievousness, Madame Tuscany openly smiled. "Perhaps you are right," she acknowledged as she nodded acceptance of the young woman’s words.

The dowager gazed into the girl’s eyes. Although she could not see the Tenochca blood in the girl, when she looked closely, she could see the long lineage of where her family had gone. She could see the Spanish within the girl’s slender build, and the British side showed through in her light green eyes. Yet her slender nose and delicate lips were remnants from the girl’s French birth mother, and if she admitted it to herself, the high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes resembled her own Mestizo ancestry. The only features directly inherited from the initiation were her milk white complexion and Canines.

As the memories from that day so long ago returned, the old matriarch lightly touched her granddaughter’s soft cheek as a sense of melancholy fell over her spirit. The old woman felt the weight of her actions rest heavily upon her soul. Almost regretfully, she gazed intently into the young woman’s innocent eyes.

"Do you ever…?" the aged woman began to ask, but was afraid of the reply.

"Grandmother…Abuela," Aurore’s voice grew solemn as she gazed at her grandmother. "I’ve never once regretted being initiated. Not once!" she pulled the frail body close into a gentle hug as she whispered in the old woman’s ear.

The feel of her grandchild’s love soothed her heart. Reaching around the lithe woman, the elder held the girl close. Accepting her granddaughter’s words, the frail, old woman nodded as a sigh escaped her control. Despite the words of assurance, she felt the guilt of her actions deeply. "Sometimes…" the old woman found it hard to voice her doubts.

"Abuela, what would I have done without your help?" Aurore asked in a hushed tone as she held the woman at arm’s length.

"Maybe survive to see the morning sun again? Perhaps marry and have children?" Madame Tuscany’s voice grew solemn.

Not accepting the woman’s words, Aurore forced her grandmother to look at her. With gentle fingers, she turned the old woman’s face toward her. As her gaze attempted to convey her thoughts, she noticed the grandmother’s misty eyes. "Grandmother, my Abuela, do you think I really would have survived without you? And if I did, would I truly desire children?" sincerity laced the girl’s voice. Hoping to convince the old woman, she smiled as she continued, "At that time would society have allowed me to keep my children knowing my desires?"

Madame Tuscany gazed down at her own withered hands as she contemplated her grandchild’s question. She noticed the brown age spots below her pale white complexion. The leathery texture of her flesh merely covered her aged bones. In an absent manner she lightly touched the single emerald ring on her marriage finger.

Aurore was initiated in the early 1920s. After her many years of existence, the years seemed like a blur to Madame Tuscany. However, she remembered enough about that era to know that her granddaughter’s life would have been filled with an endless misery. Even if a miracle had happened to spare her life, and if the girl had been strong enough to fight against the social expectations of that time and refused to marry, she would have been branded an outcast. There was a name for women who loved numerous men, and there was a place for women who loved women. At that time, the world was harsh toward those who showed their love differently.

Upon reflection, Madame Tuscany knew that Aurore would not have survived the deadly illness. Death had been a few hours away. The only option, if she wanted to save her grandchild, was to initiate her before the cancer ate her completely. Despite her own conviction, the matriarch could not help but feel that sixteen was too young of an age to die — yet it seemed too young to become an immortal. When she contemplated further, the old woman had to admit that her beloved offspring was not meant to bear children. Even if she had survived the cancer she would have been unhappy married to a single mortal man, reduced to nothing more than a Brood mare.

With a nod the clan matriarch accepted her granddaughter’s words. Although riddled with doubt, she had to admit that initiating the girl had been the correct solution to her dilemma. Even though Aurore lost her mortal life, an eternal life in darkness was better than death, the elder woman reasoned.

Yes, it was true that once initiated, Aurore had lost everything. She forfeited the life she once had in the sun and was forced to stand by as her mortal friends aged and died before her eyes. There was no one who could understand this pain more than the old woman. When days dragged to weeks and then to years, each year brought the death of a loved one while she continued to live an eternal life. At one time, she felt there was no greater pain than outliving your children. Now she had to concede that there was no greater pain than to relive their deaths over and over again, which is what it was each time one of her mortal offspring died and left their mortal life. Yes, I could have initiated them all, but then, is that what her life was about? Was not life meant to be lived to the fullest? she often wondered. And how could her granddaughter not have the same thoughts. But despite this, the girl echoed nothing but gratitude for what she did. The child was grateful to be alive, even if her life could only be lived in the darkness of the night.

Remembering all that her grandchild lost, Madame Tuscany frowned as she thought over the lack of strength and conviction within Aurore’s mother. If the ignorant woman turned away from her only daughter, how could she be expected to stand by her child against the social pressures of the world? the withered old woman wondered.

Reading her thoughts, Aurore gently took her grandmother’s chin and forced the older woman to look into her hazel eyes. "Grandmother, my Abuela, I have no regrets," Aurore stated firmly as she moved closer to her grandmother. "It doesn’t matter that my parents left me," she assured. "They begged you to take me with you, and when you did, they blamed you for taking me away from them. My mother simply could not accept what it was that I had become. And my father…." The girl hesitated for only a moment, and then continued in a firm voice, "My father never knew what he wanted. I think they both would have preferred that I died rather than live like this." The disappointment and sorrow laced her words.

With a shrug of her shoulders, the young, slender woman smiled as she moved to lean against the bureau. Unconcerned with the events of the past, she sighed as she turned her gaze toward the darkened windows. After a moment of thought, she shook her head negatively as she turned toward her grandmother.

"It doesn’t matter how they felt, does it? All that matters is that I’m alive and I have you. You always say that family is who you choose family to be and not blood ties, don’t you?" the young woman’s innocent voice asked.

Madame Tuscany felt the weight of her heart lift. With a pleased smile she reached out and lightly touched her granddaughter’s soft cheek. She inwardly marveled at the girl’s resiliency and cleverness. Like a treasured gift, she longed to keep the child close.

"Yes, family is who you choose it to be," she echoed Aurore’s statement as she brushed her fingertips against the girl’s ice-cold skin. Her grandchild lightly took her hand, and kissed the back of it, and then looked at her with a confident smile.

"You are more my mother than my mother ever was," Aurore whispered. "When I was mortal you always accepted me as I was. You never judged me, and no matter what mishaps I was involved in, you accepted me without question. In life, you loved me unconditionally, and since becoming immortal, you never cast a harsh word toward me. You truly love me unconditionally and for that I will always cherish you," the girl’s words brought a trace of a tear to the old woman’s eyes.

In a manner of brushing away the sentimentality, Madame Tuscany waved away her granddaughter’s word. As a way of wiping away the evidence, she quickly brushed her finger over her moist eyes. With a proud smile, she glanced at the girl.

"Foolish child, you’ll always be the heart of my heart. Nothing you do can make me turn away from you," Madame Tuscany assured her granddaughter as she began to make her way from the room.

With a slight smile, Aurore moved alongside the old woman and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. As they slowly made their way down the hall, they listened to the sounds of the girl’s lovers. As the moans of pleasure filled the house, Madame Tuscany’s thoughts fell to their guests.

Shannon happened upon their home shortly after Aurore’s initiation. The only thing she knew of the young man was that he was a wandering explorer of the night. He seemed to be in search of a place he could call home. Exactly when he had been initiated, she did not know, nor did she ask. All she was certain of was that he was kind, polite and good to her granddaughter.

Tamara was an immortal woman with a long past. She first began visiting them when Madame Tuscany’s husband was alive. Although Mr. Tuscany privately spoke ill of the African woman’s independence and lack of a man, he admired Tamara’s ability to trade goods. Despite her husband’s open hostility toward the beautiful woman, the matriarch saw the air of royalty within the African woman. Although she had no proof, she sensed that the woman was once an heir to a dynasty. But this they never spoke openly. Despite suspecting the cause of the cruel man’s death, the ebony woman never cast judgment upon the elder and had ever since remained a loyal friend.

The African woman knew Aurore when the child was a babe. She watched the girl mature into a young woman and through the years a bond formed between the two that seemed unbreakable. As if love truly conquered the distance of time, they grew closer with each passing day. When Aurore fell ill, Tamara came from across the world to be by her side. Later, after Aurore’s initiation, it was only natural that the two become lovers. Like Shannon, Tamara was easily persuaded to stay and share Aurore’s love.

As a soft groan came from behind a closed door, the old woman cocked a brow as she glanced at her granddaughter. "Perhaps you should return to your bed lest your section of the sheets become too cold?" Madame Tuscany teased her grandchild as they stood in front of the closed double doors of the girl’s room.

In a characteristic manner, Aurore pushed back a long strand of light brown hair away from her hazel eyes. Able to see through the thick wood, the young woman gazed at the closed doors. The robe she wore hung slightly open and the pale white skin of her bosom was exposed.

As she listened to her granddaughter’s thoughts, the old woman felt the girl’s insatiable needs. She knew the child’s wanton desires, yet felt her granddaughter wavering between wanting to sate her lusts, and spending time by her grandmother’s side. In an attempt to ease her decision, the old woman lightly patted the young woman’s hands.

"Go, be with your lovers," she whispered to the young girl, "I have business to attend to. Perhaps later, if time allows, we will spend some time together," Madame Tuscany said as she waved the girl toward her room.

At the easy dismissal, Aurore smiled as she nodded assent. "We shall meet later, Abuela?" her girlish voice asked.

"Of course child, we have all of eternity," the old woman assured as she tenderly touched her granddaughter’s silky soft hair.

"All of eternity…that’s a very long time," Aurore’s voice was silky soft. Her eyes lowered to the hardwood floors, as she grew contemplative.

"Indeed, it is a very long time," Madame Tuscany agreed.

From behind the closed doors the sound of orgasmic bodies filtered in the air. Calling their attention, the sounds suddenly grew silent. In anticipation, the young woman smiled as she glanced back at the aged woman.

"Go," the grande dame nodded toward the closed doors. "Go before they begin again without you." She smiled and then winked at her granddaughter as she waved the girl away.

Aurore assented with a smile as she moved toward the close doors.

"Grandmother?"

"Yes, child?"

"I do cherish you, more than life itself," Aurore affirmed.

At her declaration, Madame Tuscany felt filled with warmth. "And I you, my precious baby," she whispered as she lightly touched her granddaughter’s cheek. In dismissal she waved the girl away as she turned and walked the remaining way down the hall.

"Schedule me in your appointment book tonight, Grandmother," she heard the young woman’s soft voice call out.

"Of course child, of course," the matriarch mumbled as she moved toward the lift. With each step she felt the stiffness in her legs slowly subside. As the sound of her granddaughter’s door closed behind her, she entered the elevator and rode it to the first floor. When she stepped from the cage she acknowledged the servants’ greetings with a nod. As their reigning queen, they gave her the respect due her title. In quiet modesty she accepted their accolades as she made her way toward her office.

Once inside, she sat behind the oak desk and glanced at her daily newspaper. As her eyes scanned the pages she gazed at the advertisement for the circus. She suddenly remembered the mysterious soothsayer’s image within her dreams. Like a sign beckoning for her attention, the gypsy fortuneteller’s whisper called out to her. Its hushed hiss seemed to float in the air and hang in anticipation.

Although she was not prepared to accept her premonition, Madame Tuscany knew her time was near its end. She felt her heart skip a beat as the vivid images returned to her waking consciousness. As the dream enhanced her sense of doom, she gasped as she set the paper down. The old woman knew, deep within her soul, that the future of the clan was in jeopardy.

In an attempt to focus her thoughts, the clan matriarch shook her head. When her breathing was brought under control, she returned her attention to the advertisement for the circus. Her eyes scanned the images and rested on the picture of the Gypsy fortuneteller. The mysterious woman’s eyes seemed to be watching only her. With a sigh, the old woman shook her head as she pulled her attention back to the advertisement and noted the times and dates of the circus schedule.

The aged dowager had no wish to know the truth of her dreams yet she understood that confirmation was needed. If her end were truly near she would prepare the family for her demise. A successor would have to be named. Someone had to be responsible for keeping the clan united throughout eternity.

With this in mind she sighed as she leaned back in her chair. Madame Tuscany believed she knew who their next leader would be. If the fates willed, the message she sent forth in her dreams would be heard and responded to.

As the fatigue filled her being, Madame Tuscany sighed as she leaned forward and touched the intercom button on her desk. "Jeffrey," she called to her mortal admin, "clear my calendar for tonight and let me know when Briannon arrives." She instructed the young mortal man through the intercom.

"Lady Briannon is not scheduled in your appointments today, Madame," Jeffrey’s efficient voice stated.

"Yes, I know, however, she will arrive later. When she does, please call me," she tiredly stated.

"As you wish, Madame," came the clear, crisp voice.

Filled with acceptance of her fate the grande dame leaned back in her chair. She had lived many centuries. At an age when she should have been left alone to die, she had been forced to see and experience more than a soul should ever endure. Inwardly she was ready to end her journey through the darkness. With this in mind, she would make the final preparations needed before the vestige of death visited her for a second time.

part 2

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