The Game of Blood and Passion
In which the former god seeks aid from some (very) old friends. Yet will they remember him?
Peine, once a minor deity and now a mere human male, seeks the entity which caused him to break the rules. Meet him here.
Every year on the Saturday preceding All Hallows’ Eve (if it falls not on that day), the vampires of the world and their kin gather for their local Endless Night Ball, an affair of music, dance, lust, and fellowship. It also is a time for those of the otherworld to meet, exchange information, and plan the continued peaceful coexistence with the human population. Speaking of humans, many attend the nearest Ball; friends, lovers, the daring who offer an arm for a brief feeding, and those open-minded enough to support the existence of non-human beings of good will.
My kind always got on well with vampires; we relied on each other in the exercise of our powers. While very, very few of the Children of the Night attacked and killed or turned a human (punishable, if caught, by immolation), many humans (as alluded to earlier) were strongly attracted to vampires and willingly offered a medically safe sample of their blood. Many considered that as an alternative to what a vampire friend referred to as “that retail stuff:” the cloned blood, the TrueBlood, and other forms of vampiric nutrition that negated the need for murder. Consequently, while vampires have a seductive capacity all their own, from time to time they called upon us for a little nudge in the proper direction. We of course are always glad to oblige.
After my punishment was executed, I was effectively dropped into a small city in the state of California; in the nearby state capital of Sacramento, an annual Ball took place which I only attended once before, many years ago, while still an Eros. I lost contact with those with whom I attended, even before my crime was discovered; I could only hope that even one of them might be found this time. I had no real fear of anyone knowing of my “demotion;” the Mother does not broadcast such things to those without a need to know.
That, of course, depends on who actually needs to know…
As I approached the entrance, I could already hear the soft sounds of restrained revelry, the quiet celebratory style that customarily permeated the early hours of a soiree such as the Ball. I had every reason to turn around and return home: relegated to an unknown quantity; unrecognized due to the long, long interval since my last appearance; the palpable doubts that certainly existed among the others of whether I had any right to attend… and the dearth of friends among the crowd.
Yet the local Bloodclans owed us — owed me — several favors. The likelihood of recompense, however, might be diminished due to my loss of immortality. Irony, I thought to myself, will take some getting used to.
The music… the low lighting… the subtle admixture of incense and a hundred perfumes. All of it reminded me of the one and only past instance of my presence at the Ball. The small groups here and there, at the bars, seated in the alcoves, mingling through the gathering in the primordial yet modern dance of friendly banter and hidden lust. The memories flooded in, and I feared I would blink back tears in a venue full of strangers.
Do they already know what befell me? Are they aware of my punishment, my sentence?
The answer came shortly after I crossed the threshold and entered the ballroom.
She looked familiar, yet was a stranger to me. Gods, they all did, mostly because of social media — -that engine of acquaintance-without-meeting, of unrequited Everything, and one with steel-trap memory like mine would think he knew them all. The woman with the slightest hint of a smile had black hair, the tresses curled just so, her face lightly freckled. Her Edwardian attire of purple and black caught my eye, despite the promise I made to myself not to “engage.”
Surely, she is eyeing another, just behind me, male or female it does not matter. I am not the one. Not anymore…
“Good evening, sir,” she purred. Yes, “purred.”
Her movements (unsurprisingly) were quite feline, measured and meticulous, daring and deliberate. “And welcome. May I say your choice of clothing is exquisite.” I was momentarily stunned; The Mother’s edict was such that I was certain my ingress would go completely unnoticed, which oddly brought comfort of a sort.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” I replied. I was no longer several things, yet I was still a gentleman. I was allowed to keep that. I took her hand and kissed it, with a slight bow. “It has been some time since last I visited this event.” My hands immediately went behind my back; it was becoming a reflex by now.
She is merely being polite. Kindness and manners have always been a fixture here, thankfully.
With a parting nod I began to walk toward the nearest bar. She shadowed my every step and it soon became clear she did not exactly want me to arrive at the bar just yet. An empty alcove was our destination, and my curiosity was definitely piqued. This was not supposed to happen (why would it when so much was taken from me?), and I forced myself to hide the encroaching incredulity about to display itself.
“You have fangs, don’t you, dear?” she whispered. That was the last thing I expected to hear from her or from anyone else. For less than the infancy of a second, I was caught unawares by her inquiry, yet in an even faster interval…
Suddenly I was not myself — -I was in that Elsewhere that one falls into which defies explanation. I seized her shoulders and opened my mouth just enough to let the sharpness of my canines peek from my parted lips, and lightly grazed them against the scented softness of the base of her neck. Running my lips from that place to her mouth, allowing but a tiny space between her lips and mine, I darted the tip of tongue across her trembling lower lip. Her gasps were soft and barely audible, as if her larynx would not dare express whatever was within it. Without warning I heard Mother’s soft, yet firmly admonishing voice from that terrible day…
“You may not taste the fire, ever again. The pleasures thereof are banned from you. Whether you return to what was before is my decision alone. You have already risked much. Do not imperil yourself further, child…”
What just happened? I’m not a vampire! Fangs?
I backed away slowly. “Indeed, I did,” was all I could muster. I was back to where we resided before her unexpected question.
Her eyes are pleading — no, demanding. I can already tell this woman does not “plead” for anything or anyone.
“Forgive me, my lady,” I said, bowing again. I may not taste the fire…ever…again…
“Apology accepted, Monsieur Peine,” she said, “and we shall meet again soon enough, before the sun rises, to discuss your… plight.”
Now how could she possibly know my name? I’d never seen her before. Did I… was I blacked out when —
MOTHER GODDESS! SHE KNOWS! But how? HOW???