Relief, as the sun slipped again beyond the edge of the world. Eve let her wisp of awareness fly from her casket. The sweetness of the dark, the cold, and the damp comforted. Without the constraints of form, she wandered the catacombs, darting, tasting the bloody lovemaking in the rooms Lucan of the council called his own; she rose slightly from that slippery gore fest, (the temptation to stay and bear witness was strong), and sought Aemaelia. Her minion was not in her chamber, nor holding audience. Eve wanted to observe Aemaelia’s actions while she played, and when she found the slip of a vampire in the main Serpent ballroom, she was not disappointed.

Dru, gallery owner and master of vampire-human relations had brought a gift.

Aemaelia kept the main lights of the enormous ballroom dimmed, creating shadows of the corners in the room; lovely Tiffany glass sconces threw beads of electric light across the paneled walls, filling the larger area with colored light and detracting from Aemaelia’s severe pallor. Many of Dru’s creations lined the walls and a few larger sculptures graced the huge marble floor; creating a mazelike quality, that Aemaelia could capitalize upon should the mood strike her.

The sculpture Dru presented to her now was orb like. Black and smooth, Dru had chiseled the marble surface delicately to honor the main feature of the Vampire: blood teeth. The piece was huge, easily 6 feet in diameter, yet Aemaelia rolled it this way and that, finding the angle and position that spoke to her. At last, she turned to the sculptor.

“I am grateful, Dru, as always.” She spoke slowly, knowing her girlish voice carried more weight if used with precision. Eve might have smiled were she corporeally able. No subtlety was lost in Aemaelia’s manner. She was ever aware of her presentation.

“It is my honor to serve, my Lady.” In spite of his height and brutish physique, he nearly trembled in her presence.

“Yes, Dru, it is.” She smiled coyly and he forgot to breathe for a moment. “Anansi speaks so highly of you. Yet she does not share your blood or your bed.” It was not a question, nor an accusation. Dru flushed, the nearness of the precious red fluid to his skin agitated Eve, though it had been more than a century since she had tasted it.

“You are tolerated in this society for your loyalty,” she began, stepping away from the orb and facing him directly, the demure, pubescent peeking up into the face of the human artiste. “You have proven yourself over time, and many here are fond not only of your work, but your company.” As she spoke, she stepped closer, and Eve saw that her minion had draped her body in purple velvet, her bosom pressed high into the dress, giving femininity to a form that had trembled on the edge of womanhood before the birth of a nation. Twisted and braided, her long straight, honey-colored hair gave a sense of sophistication without the impression of a child playing dress-up. “Not just Anansi, but many on the council frequent the gallery. Andreas Regali for instance, argued for your life and your humanity. Yet you resist the call to become that which you so venerate. To what end, Dru?”

He hesitated. Looking down at the vampiric girl, he seemed to search himself for the words he had plucked so easily to convince first Anansi, then the council.

“Surely you have your reasons,” Aemaelia suddenly stepped away from her intense scrutiny, and laughed high and sweet.

Eve found Aemaelia’s hummingbird behavior; swooping, dipping into the man’s psyche, tasting his confusion, then rapidly flitting from emotion to emotion, highly enjoyable. Her brief mortality had honed her desire for control and whetted the knife of her cruelty. The shade drifted between human and immortal absorbing the intense pleasure that Aemaelia took in Dru’s discomfort; and listening to the flutter within his chest.

Dru seemed to come into his wits abruptly and intelligence crept back into his slack face. Anansi held her vampiric influence fiercely in check when she interacted with him; this raw exposure terrified him.

“If I may, Mistress,” he began. “I hope I have not offended you, or the council. Your interest strikes me as sudden.” Eve felt a wisp of thought that escaped; he was thinking of the Interloper; Eve saw the angel in her mortal form in his mind. Elated, the shade sipped the image from his recollection; she would impart her description to Aemaelia in due time.

The childlike vampiress stepped close to Dru in a fluid move that caused him to recoil. She stood on tiptoe in his face again—her wide brown eyes bored into him, the irises rimmed with blood, responding to her fury; they were full of bright animalistic power and sinister knowledge in such a smooth and youthful face.

“I take great interest in all aspects of this little community, Dru!” she snarled. “You agreed to my suzerainty. You owe me your very breath. Do not fall into complacency, lulled into doubting your sheepdom, little lamb.” Fully extended, her blood teeth gnashed together, biting off every word, and she no longer resembled a coquettish teen. Foam flecked her lips, sprayed Dru’s shirt, and grayish face. She seemed to throb with power, and Eve’s consciousness hovered, a nearly palpable shroud at her shoulder. Aemaelia felt the shadow of her benefactor and pressed on:

“Our kind exists in shadow; secrecy and servitude are the penultimate rule. If Anansi wishes to continue this arrangement, she may face closer scrutiny as well.”

As ferociously as it began, the tirade ended. She was coy and smiling sweetly again. “Anansi is as much my subject as any here, Human. If I ask for your head, she is obliged to deliver it.”

She smoothly turned on her heel to contemplate the orb again and dismissed him with a flick of her tiny hand.

“Get out, little lamb.”

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