Neophyte

by T. D. McMichael

  It was an autumnal evening. The horse and buggies were interspersed with carriage-shaped automobiles. Lennox took in his surroundings. I was quickly treated to a surprising succession of very rapid murders. He particularly liked the attentions of women––late-teens, early-twenties. He killed a number of those.

  It was always his practice to let them see just exactly who they were kissing, before he took them unawares.

  It happened so long ago, the part of my brain which should have recoiled made excuses for Lennox instead.

  I appreciated for the first time that Lennox was a vampire. He was young and in Paris. And a killer.

  Clutching Rimbaud’s poems, or somebody else’s, he would utter into the susceptible ears of his victims his own verse. The girls, besotted after two seconds, never wavered in their devotion to him, not even when he drank the rose honey of their blood, or stared into the very mask of their adulation. The light of their eyes was like two false beacons––begging him to crash upon the tumult of their shores.

  He took from them their very lives, as well as their blood. And always, always their money. His existence, for all of its finery, was rather mean.

  I also noticed that he tried on various personas. As if he was entranced by them all, but not certain which he should adopt, the rake, the genius, the Don Juan.

  He would whisper his words so sweetly to them...

  Lennox was the man of danger, of allure, he could promise his victims one night––but one night only... And what a night!

  It got so that Asher and I couldn’t look away. I rooted for Lennox. I hated him. And I was attracted to him. But this Lennox was not my Lennox. I knew that now. It was somebody else.

  I knew that he had done these things, yes, but that he was no more responsible for them––I’m talking about the present-day Lennox––than I would have been, if the tables were turned, and Lennox had been judging my faults, my past.

  The truth was, Lennox was a vampire, and I was confronted with the overwhelming facts of that. Of him. Lennox’s faults were laid bare to me.

  The city was in a panic––various people thought a madman was on the loose.

  We heard him come, eventually. The footsteps. When Lennox killed. When he raced away––with his prize, or without it. When he stalked some particular lovely young woman whom it was his dearest ambition to annihilate in some petty, tortuous––but always sexy––manner. At these times it was like there was another observer there with us.

  And so it was, one night, that he, whoever he was, finally made himself known.

  Lennox had murdered again. This time the daughter of a glover; she had lovely auburn hair and skin that set one’s envy meter on high. She was a rag doll, now, in the street. The gloves Lennox had purchased were fetched from his pockets. He paused as if to memorize her body. The way her hair spread out in the pool of blood, etc.

  He bit them sometimes on a place at their groin; and as they moaned, the heat spread from their wound. It was their breathing quickening which let them know they were dead. That they were dying.

  Lennox savored them only briefly. It was his pleasure to do this as many times a night as he possibly could, so long as the game itself was played to its excruciating end. With the glover’s daughter, it had been, he had been charming her for weeks. Lennox groaned uncontrollably, savoring her splayed, lifeless body there. Her essence had all but flowed out.

  He turned, because someone was clapping.

  Marek was standing there. He had been watching Lennox from a giant sycamore tree. Suddenly, he stepped into the light coming from a streetlamp.

  He continued clapping. Marek’s hands mocked Lennox, whose face hardened. “Who are you?” demanded Lennox.

  It was something, hearing Lennox speak. He didn’t usually. Usually he just thralled.

  “Someone like you. A vampire,” said Marek.

  “You lie,” hissed Lennox.

  “I stalk the night, killing, devouring. With an appetite almost as insatiable as your own, my young friend. Or should I say my young fiend?”

  Lennox lunged at Marek, who sidestepped him quite easily.

  “I suspect this is your first run-in with someone like me––except for whoever sired you,” said Marek.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lennox, who nevertheless continued to crouch, and eye Marek, hoping for some kind of opening, through which he could attack.

  “So I will give you a piece of advice,” said Marek. “Come at me again, and I will give you a permanent reminder of who I am. I am older than you. Perhaps you do not realize this now, but meeting me tonight has probably saved your life. If you call this living.” He nudged the corpse with his boot tip. “My name is Marek, by the way.”

  Lennox did not know how to respond. It had been too long since he had faced anyone equal to him or better. “Lennoxlove,” he said.

  Marek nodded. And then smiled. “I can teach you how to become more powerful, if that is what you wish,” he said. “But first you must learn the rules.” He took in the sight of the girl on the ground again. “You must curb such appetites, my friend, if you are to fit in with the Lenoir. They run this place, you see. No, do not try to run. They will wish to see you. Neither shall you hide. With my help you can live in the open. But I will want something in return.”

  “What?” said Lennox.

  “Later perhaps. Come with me now,” said Marek. “And remember. The eyes of your masters are not upon you all of the time.” He smiled, and his fangs, large and impressive, glinted in the light.

  I couldn’t leave; I didn’t want to miss this.

  Asher and I stayed there the rest of the night.

  Wherever Lennox was now––he was thinking about his past––with a vengeance.

  Marek led him through the streets at night. Paris was another world. It was different than I had ever seen it, more real. But so old. This must’ve been just after Lennox had been sired. Somehow I had always thought he was American. What was he doing on the continent?

  Marek asked him.

  “Looking for somebody,” said Lennox. He was becoming more personable; he seemed to take it for granted that he could not just kill Marek, and had stopped trying.

  For his part, Marek eyed his young friend quite enjoyably from askance; he clapped his hand on Lennox’s shoulder.

  “I see. You are looking for your father,” he said. “Am I right?”

  “I wish––I mean, I have desired overlong,” said Lennox, “to know the secrets of my past, of who I am, and where I come from. Why am I here? What is the purpose of this existence, and of us?”

  “You are a vampire with questions,” said Marek, “which is not unusual at all. But take it from me. On some things, where I am taking you, you must keep mum. They will wish to read your mind.”

  “It is a power?” asked Lennox, suddenly fearful.

  “Aye.”

  “But how do I close it so that they do not see?” he said.

  “You cannot. Not yet. They have seen you coming for some time now. The Dioscuri are with them; powerful soothsayers who among other things keep tabs on who and what we vampires are. Someone saw you coming, my young friend. That is why I was sent. They seem to think you have potential. Let us hope they are right. Otherwise,” said Marek, drawing a finger gently across his throat, “they will try and kill you permanently. I will teach you what you must do.”

  They walked through the early-morning streets philosophizing about the Immortal Life. And their place within it.

  “Perhaps one day you will meet your sire. I certainly am not him,” said Marek.

  “Oh?” said Lennox, who nodded, encouraging Marek to continue. He was beginning to perceive of him as a mentor.

  “Take these practitioners, these Dioscuri––they only give one the heebie-jeebies; your real sire will cause a different reaction; you will feel him. It is a him?”

  Lennox shrugged.

  “I only say because you are quite good-looking, my
friend. Maybe you were made and then forgotten about, once she had taken her fill, so to speak.” Marek tossed his head back, laughing, and looked at the look on Lennox’s face.

  “A strange figure, that is all that I remember,” said Lennox, “murdered me... and left me for dead...”

  “But you are not dead,” said Marek.

  “Aren’t I? I kill. I feed. I am a beast. That is all,” said Lennox.

  “I kill. I feed. I am a beast,” said Marek. “But I am certainly not dead. On the contrary, I bring death. And perhaps you will too, to the one who made you. In the meantime, live. And that is an order. These Lenoir are shrewd. They will walk you into death, in traps made out of words. You must be nimble, and, above all, follow your instincts. That is all we vampires have, is it not?”

  “I have heard that there are other––things. Other monsters––out there,” said Lennox.

  “Oh, great heavens, there are, yes, lots of things, and of such mortal import. It is harder to stay alive as a vampire than as a mortal. Everything wants to kill you, and some of them can. But you needn’t worry at present about all of that,” said Marek.

  “No?”

  “I will help you. Come on...”

  The scene changed. Asher explained. He is skipping ahead, Lennoxlove. Remembering... One thing leads into another... You understand....

  I watched as Marek and Lennox were led into a great hall. It was like Meadpalace except better, more grand. Vampires were leading Marek and Lennox. Lennox stuck close to Marek. It was obvious he had not met one vampire before, let alone all of them.

  On a dais, at the front, was a gigantic golden throne, upon which sat a vampire more aged than any I had ever seen. Wisdom was on his brow. He had a fine raven-colored head of hair, and his steel-colored eyes merited fear and wonder; they looked through Lennox, who seemed nervous.

  Lennox and Marek continued up the chamber to the Great Seat, while their vampire guards went to places around various pillars. Only the Vampire King sat. The others stood, and watched, prepared to obey their master’s directives, to attack, if that was what he wished. He however greeted Marek like an old friend.

  “Your Majesty,” said Marek, bowing.

  “And who is this with you?” said the Vampire King.

  “If you will, Your Highness, this is that young ruffian making the great to-do in the city, sending half the people into early graves. He says his name is Lennox, Master, Lennoxlove.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Your Highness,” said Marek.

  “And what do you say, Lennoxlove?” said the Vampire King, whose name I didn’t know yet.

  “I am a vampire... I kill, hunt, feed; not in that order. I was made for death,” said Lennox.

  “Vale. Enough. Here are the rules...”

  “Begging Your Majesty, but I have never sworn loyalty to you, or the Lenoir. I will make my own rules,” said Lennox. “By your leave or without it.”

  “A saucy young hothead. I do not give it. And you shall not take my leave. Not in that manner.”

  The hall boomed with laughter.

  “Send for Maria,” said the king; “I must take her council. And for the Dioscurus I saw wandering the halls. Although, if you ask me... We should destroy all such creatures.”

  Maria was brought in. She was ageless. The same looking. Although her eyes, if possible, were even more cunning. Less wise. But always cunning.

  “Majesty?” she said

  “Read this hothead,” said the king.

  “Yes Majesty.”

  Maria blinked––and then opened her eyes wide. Lennox tried to draw away, but it was too late.

  “Oooh, I don’t like him,” she said. “If I were you, Majesty, I would kill him at once; at once, at once. He has quite a chip on his shoulder. Angry about everything. Although what it is specifically that bothers him... You, boy, what vexes you? Speak up!”

  “Yes, speak!” said the king, enjoying himself.

  “Nothing, if not this Life,” said Lennox. “The very odor of Paris is a vexation that I cannot abide.”

  “And the Dioscuri?” said the king. “Do they vex you?”

  As he spoke mist rolled in I realized was aether. The vampires gasped.

  It traveled cloaked in fog. I couldn’t see it; only feel it.

  The Dioscurus.

  It moved through the assembly, giving the vampires it passed the heebie-jeebies, as Marek termed it, the sensation which threatened to overwhelm them. Suddenly it hissed. “You are being watched, Highness,” It said.

  The king stirred in his seat, uncomfortably.

  “Indeed?”

  “This one wants to start a war,” hissed the Dioscurus; I could only assume it meant Lennox.

  Lennox turned from the aether-form, drawing away; it was almost like the Dioscurus was the dark aether.

  “He hides from us; we fear he hides from you too,” It said, returning its attention to the king, who squirmed.

  Maria looked like she was going to be sick. She turned and ran from the hall. The other vampires clutched their throats.

  Whatever it was doing, it was like the Dioscurus was sending out a wave of silent enmity. Only the King, and Marek, could withstand it; Lennox clutched his head. The others were suffering... pain...

  “Banish this monster at once!” said the king.

  The Dioscurus directed its attention to the king himself.

  “He will start a war. A war, Highness. It will happen all over again.”

  “That is ended. Be gone from my sight! And stop attacking my people! Otherwise you won’t live to see anything!”

  * * *

  Asher and I were standing there panting. It was not long before we were returned to the Gathering. And our bodies.

  Chapter 21 – In the Dark

  I was neglecting the lesson, my mind full of what Asher and I had seen the previous night. He warned me about sharing what I had seen. “Scrying is illegal,” he said. “I could get into trouble. So could you.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “I promise. I want to see more.”

  Lux said, “Halsey? Are you still with us here? Hello? Halsey Rookmaaker?”

  “Sorry,” I said, coming out of it, looking around. I heard Vittoria making a tisking sound.

  “I was saying about sharing magical discoveries that secrecy fosters an attitude of them versus us, which can be fatal when it comes to the stability of the Houses,” said Lux.

  “Absolutely. We must present a united front. Yes sir,” I said.

  “But something tells me you weren’t paying attention,” he said.

  I had sand in my toes. “Sorry Professor, it’s just...”

  “What is it, Halsey?”

  “I was just wondering if you could tell us––I mean, the thing is, what exactly do you know, Professor, about––the Dioscuri?” I said.

  Lux’s eyebrows went up.

  “It’s just Gaven––he’s the Head of the Sons and Daughters of Romulus––and he said, well he seemed to think, rather, that they, the Dioscuri, mattered, and I was just wondering...”

  “...What they are?” said Lux.

  I nodded. The other Initiates looked around at each other. Shaharizan had her hand up.

  “Shaharizan?” said Lux.

  “Well, I was at the Ball, too, and I couldn’t help overhearing something about them also. It’s a strange name. And I kind of never forgot it,” she said.

  “Yeah,” said someone else.

  “And now that I think about it,” I said. But I shut up. “Never mind.” I had just remembered that my landlady had spoken about them, the Dioscuri. They are here with us, she had said, or something.

  Lia looked at me. “Are you all right, Halsey?” she whispered to me.

  “Later,” I whispered back. She nodded.

  “Very well. Dioscuri––that is plural,” said Lux, “are these––”

  “Things,” I said.

  He nodded. “Have any of you ever seen one?”
<
br />   They shook their heads no. We all did.

  “Good,” said Lux. “They are vile creatures, Dioscuri, which is why they keep themselves hidden. You only meet a Dioscurus sometimes. And then, only when you have no choice. They are Seers, and it is amazing how many Wiccans and other Supernaturals put stock in their put-ons. We’re so interested in prophecy and mumbo-jumbo. But that is like saying sharks make wonderful soup. They are foremost sharks. The same for the Dioscuri. Wizards and vampires keep them around for their visions, but the Dioscuri have minds of their own. Yes, Halsey?”

  “Is there a connection between the Dioscuri and the dark aether?” I asked.

  It looked for a moment as if I had gone too far. Lux looked at me as if sizing me up.

  Rather than asking me to explain myself, he said, “That is a theory I have been working on, as well, yes.”

  Vittoria looked between us.

  “But how did she...?” she said.

  “It’s a pity my House has only one opening, Miss Rookmaaker,” said Lux. “You would make a fine addition to House Ravenseal.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to be in Ravenseal,” I said.

  “No?”

  “No. You guys can have Vittoria. No offense,” I said to Vittoria. “Is it true that they’ve predicted the coming of a second war?” I said to Lux, before she could respond.

  “I don’t know who told you that,” said Lux, “but yes.” The other Initiates, Lia among them, looked at me, as if wondering where I got my information. “She knows things before they happen,” they said. “Maybe she is her. The One.”

  “The Dioscuri are incorporeal; it means they’re not real,” said Lux. “But we certainly feel them.”

  “If they’re not real then why do they matter?” said Badgley.

  “That is an important question. A Dioscurus cannot be touched. Not being flesh, the only reality is the malice of its mind. They truly are things, the Dioscuri. As for their bodies, some of us––” And he inclined his head to me “––believe they are manifestations of something else. I can only assume that’s what your Magus Codex said? The dark aether perhaps?”