Chapter One

Beads of sweat dotted Nicole Erwin's skin when a tight grip closed around her arm and squeezed. Ow, ow, ow! she screamed. Relax, the nurse said, holding her arm firmly when she tried to pull away. Its only the elastic band. I havent started yet. Sorry, Nicole apologized. Its my first time donating blood, and Im a little scared. The nurses pinched face mellowed. Thats all right, hon. Try to focus on something else. She searched around the room, and pointed. Just look at your friend over there. Nicole followed the nurses finger to her best friend, (the genius who talked her into this nightmare) Mia Roundtree, two rows over. She gave a thumbs up when Mia looked over and mouthed, are you okay? Normally, a trip to a medical office didn't make Nicole jittery. She'd visited many in her life, no problem, but for some reason, the gloomy atmosphere in the bloodmobile gave her an unsettling feeling: stuttering fluorescent lights, buzzing like radio static overhead, illuminated the confined space with a green-white haze and sharp smelling antiseptic saturated the air with a pungent reek. And in a few short seconds, a total stranger was going to jab her with a pointed object. She turned her head back around and caught the nurse staring at her, eyes locked and drawn together. Straight away, Nicole knew she was looking at the star-shaped birthmark on her forehead and with a casual flick, brushed her bangs over it. The nurse dropped her gaze and adjusted the latex gloves on her hands, stirring tiny powder puffs when she snapped the bottoms against her wrists. Giving Nicole a reassuring smile, she opened a pre-packaged alcohol pad shed picked up from a metal tray attached to the cot. Droplets of sweat changed to full-on perspiration as Nicole watched her fumble the little square, causing a sudden sprout of goose bumps to break out. The nurse placed the ice-cold pad in the crook of her arm and each stroke seemed to drag endlessly as it tickled with soft, gentle flicks. Were halfway there, hon, the nurse said, throwing the pad on the tray. Just one little prick, and itll all be over. Who knows? Youll probably save someones life with your donation. She leaned over and whispered as if she were telling a secret, When youre through, you can have a cookie and a cup of juice. Yay, Nicole thought and glanced at Mia again, frowning when she saw her nibbling on a cookie and flirting with another victim on the cot beside her. Her first instinct was to go over, smack the cookie out of her hand, and punch her in the face, but desperate for money, she'd bitten the bullet and tagged along. Mia and Nicole had moved to New York City almost a year ago, right after graduating from Bradford University. Even though living in a huge metropolis such as New York was intimidating, the decision seemed like a good idea at the time, and since both had degrees in elementary education (and New York teemed with hundreds of prestigious schools), they were confident finding a job would be a breeze. As luck would have it, Harbor Way Orphanage, an institution with a high reputation and deep Catholic roots, was taking applications for part-time teachers. Neither Mia nor Nicole was religious, but they applied anyway, figuring full-time employment might be offered down the road. The pay was okay, but still, not enough to live on comfortably. So, when Mia approached her with a flier from The National Bloodmobile

promising one hundred dollars for a donation, she thought, what the heck. A loud rip sounded, and Nicole snapped her head down, shuddering when the nurse broke off two strips of medical tape from a large roll and placed them on the edge of the metal tray. With a dull plunk, she threw the roll down, reached inside a box in the upper corner, and pulled out a long, cellophane wrapped IV needle. She shook the plastic wrapper to loosen it and separated the adhesive seal with her thumbs. The tabs stuck to her fingers when she tried to peel them open. She scrunched her face in frustration, and then gave up and squeezed the wrapper tightly. A loud pop and a shrill squeak released when the package burst open. "Aha," the nurse said, triumphantly and wrapped her hand around Nicole's lower arm again. Hot vomit rose from Nicole's stomach and stuck in her throat when the nurse tapped a vein with two fingers and brought the needle toward her. Reminding herself of the pay off, she swallowed it back down, closed her eyes, and clutched the side of the cot. Okay, hon, here we go. A sharp pinch followed by a fiery burn sent a surge of adrenaline racing through Nicole's system. When she opened her eyes, a thin line of blood oozed out of her arm and into a long plastic tube attached to an IV bag hanging on a metal rod beside the cot. Suddenly, the room spun, and the nurse's face warped in ripples. Nicole held a shaking hand to her temple, but then moved it to her mouth when another wave of vomit lined the inside of her throat. See, that wasnt so bad, was it? the nurse said, removing the elastic band from her arm. Huh? Nicole slurred. The nurse turned Nicole's face toward her. Are you alriOh, dear, just relax, hon. She pulled the IV out of Nicole's arm and elevated her feet with a pillow. Ill be right back, she said and hurried away. Nicole settled deeper into the cot, and a loud voice boomed. Nicole, you baby! A muddled blur loomed over Nicole when she drearily opened her eyes. Mia? Is that you? She asked, and fixed a heavy-lidded gaze on the blur until Mia's scowling face came into focus. Mia clucked her tongue. Yeah, its me. What the hell is with you? Mia, Nicole whispered, waving her closer. Mia shook her head. Uh uh. Nicole waved harder. C'mere, I wanna tell you something. What? Say it! Nicole pulled Mia close and extended her middle finger, right in her face. When I wake upyou're soooo dead, she said, laughing at Mia's opened mouthed gape before darkness lulled her into peaceful serenity. **** A loud buzz roused Nicole from a deep sleep. She rolled over and mashed the snooze button on the alarm clock, flinching when a stab of pain shot through her arm. Quickly, she turned it over and examined it. The tattered remnants of a Band-Aid nestled in the crook, pinching together strands of hair in a painful ball. Sucking in a gulp of air, she ripped it free, releasing a line of white mist when she

exhaled. Absently, she rubbed the sore spot and watched the wisp float, and disappear. Great, she thought to herself. The radiator was out again. Irritated, she pushed out of the bed and ran toward the bathroom, stepping high when her feet touched the icy hardwood floor. It was cold enough to hang meat in her apartment, and she made a mental note to tell her landlord, again, to fix the radiator he promised to repair weeks ago. She'd lived in the apartment less than a year and had nothing but trouble with the place. There was an upside: it was spacious, dirt-cheap, and located in a nice area on Ocean Avenue, convenient to a market, newsstand, and a deli around the corner. The downside: her apartment was on the seventh floor, and the elevator rarely worked. Another problem: Harbor Way bordered Atlantic Avenue, close to Prospect Heights, and traveling almost an hour to work five days a week was torture. After a quick shower, Nicole shuffled to the kitchen in her thick robe and warm bunny slippers, smelling the air while the coffee maker brewed away. Grabbing a mug out of the cupboard, she poured a cup of coffee, and turned to fix her breakfast. She paused when she heard a noise outside in the hall, and walked to the door to peek through the peephole. Mr. MacDonald, her landlord, stood sideways in front of the apartment across from hers. Selma, her neighbor, must have a problem. MacDonald sucked in his gut, checked his breath in the palm of his hand, and rang the doorbell, beaming at Selma when it swung open. Nicole scowled. Men didnt act that way about her. Instinctively, she rubbed the birthmark on her forehead. That was part of her problem. A huge star shaped mark, spreading from her crown to her brow, embedded deep within the folds of her skin. She'd consulted with several doctors and plastic surgeons to remove it, but it was too far under the surface. Turning from the door, she grabbed her cup off the kitchen table and went back to the bathroom. She'd just finished dressing and was combing her hair when the doorbell rang. Nicole sauntered down the hall, picking up the pace when Mia's muffled voice yelled from behind the door. Hows it going, wimp? Mia teased when Nicole let her in. Nicole stuck out her tongue and turned to grab her purse off the kitchen table. Aw, dont be like that, Mia said, reaching in her tote. Look, I come bearing gifts. Nicole caught the bundle Mia threw at her and unfolded a blood red tee shirt. It read, I saved a life today at the National Bloodmobile, and inserted between today and at in permanent marker, Mia had scrawled and passed out in bold letters. Nicole threw the shirt on the table and flipped the bird. Mia laughed and pushed her toward the door. Just kidding. Come on, puss. Sister Francis Hell Cat will eat us for breakfast if we're late. Outside, Nicole bunched her coat tightly around her as she stood on the sidewalk, shuffling from one foot to the other in the blistering cold while Mia leaned over the edge to hail a cab. A taxi turned the corner at the end of the block and Mia stepped further out, waving frantically at the driver. A blast of wind whipped her long blonde hair into her eyes; she lowered her hand and swatted it away, and then cursed when the taxi rolled by without stopping. Nicole chuckled. Even when Mia was angry, she was a knockout. The two had met their first year at Bradford, and immediately hit it off, despite their

different backgrounds. Mia, a city girl from Chicago, came from a well-to-do, loving family with three brothers and two sisters. Nicole grew up on a small farm in Coalmont, Virginia, about forty-five miles south of Richmond-- the only child of Charles and Mary Erwin. Mary died shortly after Nicole's birth, and with no siblings or other female influences in her life, Nicole mostly spent time alone. Her father, Charles didn't complain about the lack of quality time. He was odd, always sullen, and didn't give the slightest inclination he cared for his daughter one way or the other. He kept no reminders of Mary in the house--no photos or a wedding album, no old clothes or family heirlooms, not a single imprint of her existence. But to Nicole, the absence of her mother's image only made her presence stronger, and the vision of a beautiful woman with auburn hair and kind gray eyes, like hers, was permanently etched in her mind. Over the years, Nicole's relationship with her father grew into nothing more than a co-existence; however, the negative experience yielded a positive outcome. More than anything in the world, Nicole wanted to become a mother and the desire grew incessantly as she matured. But unfortunately, when she was twelve, a car struck her while she was riding her bicycle, causing the handlebars to puncture her abdomen. At the hospital, a routine pelvic examination revealed severe scarring on her Fallopian tubes, eliminating the possibility of motherhood. In high school, she opened up socially by joining several academic groups and tutored other students after school and on weekends. She discovered she had a knack for teaching, and, after graduation, she applied for a scholarship to Bradford University, a small college located in Upstate New York, specializing in elementary education. Once accepted, she packed her bags and left Coalmont to start a new life, not speaking a word to her father since. Hey, wake up! Mia yelled and pulled her toward the cab. The morning commute was slow, more than usual, coming to ten minute standstills in some places, and when the cab finally pulled up to Harbor Way the two women scrambled inside. Reverend Mother Francis stood at the end of the hall, hands perched on hips, foot tapping and head shaking. Girls, she scolded, tucking the end of a salt and pepper ringlet behind her ear, How are we to teach our young the meaning of responsibility when their teachers show up late? Mia opened her mouth to say something, and Nicole elbowed her in the ribs. Were so sorry, Reverend Mother, Nicole answered, But cabs were scarce this morning. Mother Francis narrowed her deep blue eyes. Well, girls, there were no cabs in Jesus time, but he managed to show up and perform miracles. Yes, Reverend Mother, they said in unison. Mother Francis huffed and turned on her heel. See you at lunch, Mia said, and darted into her classroom. At her desk, Nicole plunked her tote on the floor and sighed heavily. She was in for a rough week. Miss Swisher, the full-time detention monitor (warden was more like it) caught the flu, and Mother Francis requested she take over the class until Friday. Nicole hated detention--no teaching was involved, just babysitting kids given an infraction by the Reverend Mother for some reason or another.

After roll call, Nicole gave the students their assignment and took out a magazine from the drawer, losing herself in the pages of her favorite movie stars lives for the rest of the morning. At lunch, she grabbed a salad and headed toward the table with the other teachers. Mia patted the seat next to her. I forgot to tell you, she said when Nicole scooted to the table. I have a date with the man I was talking to at the bloodmobile yesterday. Mia smiled, dreamily. His name is Richard, hes a lawyer, and he's taking me out tonight. Nicole responded with an exasperated sigh. What? Mia asked. Mia, you always meet the weirdest guys. Mia furrowed a brow. What do you mean? You know what I mean. No, I dont. Nicole stabbed at her plate. Okay, remember the man you met on the subway last year who said he worked in pharmaceuticals? Mia thought a minute and winced. Nicole nodded. Yeah. It turned out he was, in fact, a drug smuggler. Oh, yes, and the other time you went out with that guy who claimed he was an international antique dealer? Mia made a face this time. Now, what happened to him?" Nicole asked innocently and tapped her index finger against her chin. "Oh, now I remember, she snapped. "Busted for selling forged copies of Egyptian artifacts to the British Museum of Art. Mia threw her napkin on the table. So? Whats your point? Jesus, Nicole, at least I socialize for crying out loud. You havent had a date in a thousand years. Mias face softened when Nicole shot her a dirty look. Im sorry. That was harsh. But Im serious. Go out more, find a dude, get laid. Nicole shrugged. I know, but I dont have time. Mia laughed. Ha! I can call your apartment or show up any hour of the day, and youre there. Lets face it, girl, you need some spice in your salsa. Nicole stopped stabbing her salad and widened her eyes. She knew when she was being set up. She turned to Mia. "Okay, spill it. What? Mia asked, feigning stupidity. Nicole slowly shook her head. "Don't 'what' me!" Mia nervously picked at a potato chip on her plate. Okay, Richard has a friend, and I told him we'd double. Nicole jumped up and grabbed her tray, making a beeline for the trashcan at the end of the table. Mia quickly followed and planted herself on the other side of the trashcan, staring harshly at the top of Nicole's head while she scraped the remnants of her half-eaten salad in the bin. Listen, Nicole, this guys okay. He's a lawyer, too. Albert or Alex or something. He's real sweet. "Pffft!" Nicole sputtered and whipped her head up. "And you know this how?" Okay, I dont know the guy, Mia confessed, But Richard says hes really cool. Come on. What harm can it do? Nicole arched an eyebrow as if to say 'Do you really have to ask?'

Mia sighed. Fine, well go to a movie, out to eat and then straight home, promise. Nicole pursed her lips and plunked her tray on the dirty dish rack beside the trashcan. All right, she relented, turning back to Mia. This one time. Mia jumped up and down with excitement. But listen, Nicole said, pointing at her, If this guy is a freak and it turns out he's an escaped mental patient from a nut hospital, Im beating the crap out of you. Mia crossed her heart. Thanks, itll be great, she said, grinning from ear to ear. Dont count on it, Nicole thought and headed back to class. **** Gratefully, the rest of the day dragged slowly. The impending date hung over Nicole like a cloud of doom, and when the dismissal bell rang, she regretted going home. After class, she met Mia out front and they grabbed a cab. They rode in silence most of the way and when the cab screeched to a halt in front of Nicole's building, she quickly jumped out and headed for the door. Well meet you here around eight, Mia yelled at her back. Dont worry. Youll be fine. Nicole threw her hand up, acknowledging she heard her, and went inside. Twenty minutes later, after changing and relaxing on the couch with a cozy book, the phone rang, and immediately, Nicole knew who it was. Ill be ready, Mia, she said, into the receiver when she answered, and slammed it down. She plopped back down on the sofa, and picked up the book laying on the armrest. Before long and against her will, she was fast asleep. An hour and a half later, the phone rang again. Nicole threw the book across the room and scrambled for it. Hello? she said, still half asleep. I knew it! Mia yelled. Up and at 'em, Sunshine! Pronto! All right, all right. Sheesh! Mia grunted. Dont screw this up Nicole. Okay, smart alack, Ill... Fine, Mia interrupted. Ill see you in two hours! Nicole hung up and went to the bedroom closet, frowning when she scanned her wardrobe. Not knowing the first thing about this guy (not even his name) she didn't know what to wear. Two years had passed since her last date, and she was oblivious to todays fashions. An idea came to her and she snapped her fingers. She ran down the hall, opened her door and pounded on Selmas. Just a minute, came a muffled voice from behind the door. It flung open and Selma drew her eyes into slits, looking Nicole up and down as stepped in the threshold. Nicole smiled, faintly. Um, Im sorry, Selma. But, I, um, well. Selma crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned against the door jamb. What do you want? she asked, puffing out her bottom lip and blowing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. Nicole swallowed and spoke in a rush. Selma, my friend set me up on a blind date and I dont have anything to wear and youre the only person I know whos in style and I was wondering You want to borrow an outfit from me. Nicole nodded.

Selma squealed and flashed a set of perfectly capped teeth. Well, its about time. She dragged Nicole toward the bedroom. I was worried about you, honey. Worried about me? Nicole repeated, confused. Selma opened the closet and turned back to her. Yeah, I thought you were a lesbian. **** After checking her reflection in the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed for the umpteenth time, Nicole glanced at her watch. 8:10. Mia was late, as usual. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she adjusted the top of the sleeveless black dress Selma let her borrow. She was ready for this night to be over. The dress, although very stylish, hugged her body like a second skin, cutting off her air and making her itch. She teetered to the bathroom on the six-inch heels Selma insisted she wear and touched up her lip-gloss, then added another coat of mascara to her eye lashes. The doorbell rang and Nicole stumbled out of the bathroom down the hall, tripping on the phone cord halfway. Righting herself, she wobbled to the door and slowly opened it. Hello! Mia said, overzealous. The overenthusiastic greeting pinged Nicoles 'something's wrong' radar. She peeked over Mia's shoulder, losing her breath when a strapping, tall, dark-haired man smiled from behind her. Hello, he said, politely. H-hello, Nicole stuttered, squeezing Mias arm with delight. Mia looped her arm through his. Nicole, this is my date, Richard. Oh, Nicole said, not hiding the disappointment in her voice. And this, Mia said, reaching behind Richard and guiding a man around, Is your date, Alan. Nicole's stomach churned when Alan, an extremely short man, with dark, greasy hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and acne scars pitting his face, stepped into the light. Oh...my...God, Nicole thought as she briefly ran her eyes over him. The out-dated navy polyester suit he sported was too big, and to make up for the awkward fit, he rolled the sleeves of his jacket up, leaving a two-inch cuff on both sides of his wrists. Alan ran a hand through his hair and smiled, revealing a large gap in his front teeth. Nice to meet you, milady, he purred. Nicole swallowed the lump in her throat and extended a hand. Mia turned. Are you ready? she asked over her shoulder. Nicole grabbed her arm. Actually, I need something out of the bedroom. Mia? Come with me? Mia told the men to wait outside while Nicole half-ran, half-stumbled down the hall. Back in the bedroom, Mia immediately went on the defensive. I know. I had no idea he was a nerd, she said, holding her hands up in surrender when Nicole glared at her. Jesus H. Christ, Nicole whispered. This guys not a nerd. A nerd is someone categorized along with other nerds. A nerd has a place in society, hangs out and dates another nerd, then marries said nerd and has nerd babies, therefore completing the cycle of the nerd population. Im sorry, Mia said, out of the corner of her mouth. Hes Richards old college

roommate-- in town for a reunion or something. What should I say? Oh, um, excuse me geeky guy, but my friend will have a cow if she sees you, blah, blah, blah. Geez, lighten up, Nicole. Nicole crossed her arms in front of her chest. Lighten up! All right then. If hes not bad, you take him and Ill take Richard. Mia put her hands on her hips. Oh, no, no. I found Richard, and Im going out with him. Well, if it werent for me, you wouldnt have met, Nicole stated matter-of-factly. Yeah, and if you weren't such a wuss, you could find your own damn dates, Mia came back at her. Look, she said. Lets go to dinner, catch a flick and blow these guys off after, okay? Nicole's shoulders slumped in defeat. Mia sighed, wrapped an arm around Nicoles waist and squeezed, laughing softly as she guided her out of the bedroom and back down the hall. At the door, Nicole placed a hand on the knob, then pointed at Mia. Dinner, movie, home, she said, shaking her finger. Mia extended her pinky. Pinky swear, she promised and smiled. Nicole crossed herself and turned the knob. Okay, let's get this over with.

CHAPTER TWO Life is never boring being a vampire. That's what Kellan Donnolly thought as he looked out his fathers home office window, watching glimmering snowflakes twirl against a background of purplish-blue dusk. Moments like these weren't commonly associated with his kind: peaceful, calm, soothing. And although Kellan retained the appearance of youth and vitality, he felt a lot different now than when he was first reborn. Mistakes--yes, hed made many throughout his long life but with his father, Simons painstaking tutelage, Kellan learned to harness the gift and, over the centuries, accepted it with unreserved tolerance. There was one thing however which truly bothered him: He had no recollection of his mortal life prior to his transformation except the death of his mother, Catherine. Indirectly, she was the reason he was the daunting creature he is today. It was the year 1028 in Dublin, Ireland when twenty-five year old Kellan converted to a life of evil, after being sentenced to hang for killing the man who murdered Catherine. On the eve of his execution, Simon came to see him, claiming he was his father. He made no excuses for his twenty-five year absence; instead, he told a story. The story of Kellan's destiny. When offered an alternative to the gallows and the opportunity to live forever, well, Kellan could hardly refuse. Kellan turned away from the window, sat in his fathers high back executive chair, and propped his feet on the desk. He loved their monstrous French Baroque chateau, nestled in a secluded grotto in the Colorado Rockies. But out of all the elaborately decorated and exquisitely furnished three floors and fifty rooms, his favorite was his fathers office. He leaned back to enjoy the solitude, and rested his gaze on a full body portrait of Simon hanging over the fireplace. He was still as young as the day he posed for the painting, over three hundred years ago. At 6'4, Simon was an intimidating individual, with broad shoulders and long arms and legs. His meaty hands were thick, and on the right middle finger-- a huge ruby ring: a gift presented to him and eleven other vampires, known as the Elders, by their master, Ahava, as a symbol of their status. Although Kellan and Simon had the same dark coloring and resembled somewhat, Kellan was an inch taller, and his eyes were brown, not blue like his father's. But ultimately, it was his new fad 'emo', a title given to the sullen and emotional (hence the name) youth of the day which clearly separated the two. While Kellan embraced the new to the point of spiking his hair, coloring it bright blue or fire-engine red, wearing stretch bracelets on both wrists, placing leather straps necklaces around his neck and piercing his bottom lip with 'snakebites', Simon eschewed anything modern. Instead, he preferred a more stylish approach by keeping his hair cropped short and dressing in lavishly tailored three-piece suits. Kellan jerked his legs off the desk and sat up quickly when a floorboard creaked in the hall. Connor, their servant and Protector, stood in the door. Do you need anything? he asked, leaning against the jamb. No thanks, Kellan said, waving him off. Very good, Ill make my rounds then, he said and left. Kellan stood and tiptoed to the door, then gently closed it and secured the latch. He liked Connor, but he was bad about snitching to Simon if he thought he was up to

something. Connor, a man of great power in his former life, often forgot who served whom. Kellan yawned and stretched, and then shuffled to a large, oak bookshelf in the corner. He snapped his fingers, smiling when Simon's favorite book, A Night in the Life of a Vampire by Bret Dubois, flew off the shelf and landed in his hand. Out of all the vampire stories circulated throughout human existence, Dubois theory of their origin was the closest. Kellan rubbed the etched covering, remembering when Simon first bought it and the panic it had caused. Confirming the usual telltale abilities of vampires: reading minds, altering thoughts, immeasurable strength, the capability to fly, Dubois added another twist to the vampire repertoire, something a mere mortal couldn't conjure out of pure imagination. After reading it, Simon thought perhaps a real vampire conspired with Dubois, but a fortunate turn of events put his fears to rest. A year after the book was published, Dubois, for some unknown reason, committed suicide. If a real vampire had revealed the details of the inner workings of their society, the knowledge was buried with him. Kellan placed the book back on the shelf and went to a large glass box resting on a platform beside the bookcase. An ancient text, written over two thousand years ago, inscribed The Beginning, rested inside. The aged outer covering and leather binding was falling apart, but most importantly, were the copper pages it protected. Written in human blood, the pages documented the history of their kind and the events of their creation. The book also foretold a prophecy; one if went unfulfilled, would mean the destruction of the entire vampire race. Kellan had never read the book, but Simon had told him the story. The story of their creator, Ahava and his severance with Lucifer, the reason for his rebirth, and the child he was to father by the Daughter, a woman whose blood was imperative for their survival. The knob on the library door turned, followed by a loud thud knocking against it. What the...! Simon's voice said. Kellan clicked the latch before Simon could work it open, and stepped back. Why did you lock the door? Simon asked when he entered. Kellan pointed at the bookshelf. I was looking at the Book of Beginnings. Simon quickly went over and examined the case. I didnt touch it, Kellan said, rudely. A small grin spread on Simons face. I believe you, Kellan, he said and sat at the desk. Now, what were you really doing? Kellan laughed, nervously. Okay, Connor sneaked in while I watched the snow. He scared the hell out of me, Dad. Simon pulled a Cuban out of a cigar box and clipped the end. Yes, well, thats his job Kellan--to scare the hell out of people. How else is he supposed to protect us? he asked, raising an eyebrow. Kellan plopped down in a chair across from the desk. Yeah, I know, Dad, but his job is to scare humans, not me. Well, if you were, um, I dunno, propping your feet on my six-thousand dollar desk, you wouldnt be so jumpy now, would you? Simon smiled and lit the cigar. Damn, Connor ratted him out. Kellan shrugged. Did you sleep well? I did, thank you. You?

Yes. I woke up early to watch the snow. I love this time of year. Kellan looked toward the window and Simon leaned back, following his gaze to the falling flurry outside. Kellan went to the desk and sat on the edge. Are you hungry? Simon thought about it and nodded. A little. He stubbed the cigar and rose from the chair. Well, where do you want to go tonight? L.A., Chicago, New York? Kellan and Simon always hunted away from home; it was safer. Lets go for L.A. All right, L.A. it is, Simon said. He brushed a piece of lint off his sleeve, then held his hand in mid-air and looked at Kellan, disdainfully. Are you wearing that? Kellan groaned. Simon didn't understand Kellan's fascination with what he called a 'misguided sense of judgment' and the two argued about it on a regular basis. But to Kellan, being twenty-five forever had its advantages and he was going to live it up. Human females adored him, he read their thoughts when he mingled among them, and some thought he resembled the famous movie star, Bryce Deveraux. Not a bad comparison in Kellan's book. Yes, I am," Kellan said, giving him a defiant glare. Simon frowned. The idea is to blend in, not stand out and call attention. He pointed to the hoops in Kellans bottom lip. Why did you pierce your face? Kellan, youre so handsome. He shook his head. I don't understand you. You know, Kellan said, bending the upper half of his body toward Simon. I thought about getting a few tattoos. Simons face fell in horror. Maybe a full sleeve, or my entire back. I know, he said, snapping his fingers. A full body tat like the Yakuza or something. Kellan laughed when Simon pursed his lips and sat back down. Simon sat there for a moment; shoulders slumped, staring at the top of the desk in a daze, like something was bothering him. Whats wrong? Kellan asked. Simon smiled, faintly. Nothing. Kellan could read his fathers mind if he wanted, but out of respect, he asked again. Dad, what is it? Simon sighed. Kellan, The Elders and I are concerned with your apparent lack of interest in finding the Daughter. As you know, the time frame for the fulfillment of the prophecy draws near, and yet you havent searched for her for centuries. The Elders are concerned you're not living up to your obligation. Kellan grunted. How is that my fault? Dad, for centuries we struggled to survive and finding the Daughter had to wait. Humans used to fear us, and when their technology and lack of faith spread, well, protecting ourselves came first. Simon held up a hand. No one blames you, Kellan. I know youve tried. So do the other Elders, but, we felt you needed help. He sighed and shook his head. I didnt want to tell you like this but... Tell me what? Kellan asked. Kellan, for over twenty years, the Elders and I have used our connections with The National Blood Association to find the Daughter. In 1986, John Westfields Protector, Adrian Brenner, read an article in the Medical News Journal about a young scientist named Winston Defries, who successfully extracted proteins from human blood and

matched them to a genetic code. DNA, Kellan said. Simon nodded. John instructed Adrian to offer Winston employment with the Association under the guise of finding a cure for HIV. DNA extraction restored our hope in finding the Daughter, and John devised a scheme to ensure our success. He convinced Winston he was working on a highly secretive project. As you know, John collaborated with the French team of physicians in 1983 that discovered HIV, and told Winston he had a theorythat a small percentage of females carry a unique genetic trait-- a similar protein of HIV in its pure form, causing immunity. Once the protein is found and isolated in an uninfected female, a vaccine is then created, thus preventing the virus from mutating and causing AIDS. He provided Winston a bogus blood sample supposedly from an HIV infected individual to extract its DNA and compare to blood donations taken at our blood banks from uninfected donors for a potential match. John didnt lie, and told him it could be years before a match was found, and compensated him greatly in an effort to keep him on the project and not reveal his work. Winston thought he extracted the DNA of HIV, but in reality, it was the Daughters genetic code. John gave the other Elders and me, a copy and we hired technicians, like Winston, to perform the same test using samples from donations at our global blood banks. In 1990, our Bloodmobile program enabled us to collect donations in rural areas all over the country. The program was so successful we expanded it to our global outfits and tested millions of samples, but to no avail. The Elders are losing faith, and doing your part is crucial for when or if we find her. What do I need to do? Kellan asked. Accept your responsibilities, Simon said, firmly. If the others see youre making an effort, it'll restore their hope. Kellan sighed. Yeah, but what if the Daughter turns out to be an eighty-year old woman? He shuddered. Simon clucked his tongue. Kellan, don't be ridiculous. The prophecy clearly states the Daughter will be of child bearing age. We're only testing older females to keep the scheme going. Yeah, but here's a news flash, Dad. There's no guarantee the Daughter will walk in one of our blood banks and make a donation. Simon agreed. True. But what else can we do? We have to try, and I'm confident, one way or another, we'll find her. Kellan grunted. "Really? How? Simon winked. Faith, son. I have faith. Kellan grinned. Touch. All right, say we find her. What happens when she conceives? Simon leaned back in the chair and dropped his eyes. Dad? Simon opened his mouth and a knock on the door interrupted him. Yes, Connor, come in, he said. Connor poked his head in. Ive completed my rounds. Simon rose from the chair and pushed it under the desk. Thank you, Connor,

That'll be all. Very well, he said, then glanced at Kellan and stuck out his tongue before he closed the door. Kellan made a face and mouthed asshole. Well, son, are you ready? Simon asked, strumming his fingers on the back of the chair. I'm famished. Kellan wanted to finish their talk, but he knew all too well Simon's nervous tapping indicated the discussion was over. Yeah, Dad, he said in a low voice. Im ready. Simon went to the door and opened it. Well then, lets eat!

Chapter Three
Winston glanced at the clock above the lab door and let out a haggard sigh. It was after midnight and he was just about to call it a night when the National Bloodmobile truck pulled up with more samples. He hit the top of his desk angrily. Candy, his favorite prostitute, arranged a meeting with him, and now, it looked as if ol Winston was shit out of luck. Normally, he was out by sunset, but Adrian Brenner made a new rule to test all blood samples as soon as they came in. He cursed Adrian under his breath. He had no idea how difficult extracting and coding the samples were--sometimes fifty a night, but after many years with the NBA, Winston learned to zip his lip. It could be worse, at his age, finding a job in his particular field was suicide, and the perks as an NBA employee was top notch. His standard salary was $750,000 a year along with an apartment on Fifth Avenue (completely furnished, of course) a brand new car every two years and ten percent profit share in the company. Not to mention entire reign over the lab. The lab amassed an arsenal of micro tube racks, PCR plates, sealing mats, centrifuges, pipettes, FTA cards, electro gel and the latest and most up-to-date equipment for DNA processing. He'd even constructed a small office in back as a make shift bedroom for the nights he worked late and didnt feel like driving home. Although the NBA had treated him well, he still hadn't found a match for the HIV protein, and the monotonous routine of testing strangers blood with no success grew stagnant. He thought about quitting a few times, despite his cushy ride. But out of the blue, Adrian offered a bonus or sent him on a luxurious vacation (all expense paid) as if he knew he was ready to pull up and head out. Adrian, with his long, white hair, pale blue eyes and colorless skin, possessed an irresistible charm, having the uncanny ability to persuade Winston to stick it out. John Westfield, on the other hand, was a sort of enigma with an eerie flair. He didn't talk much( hardly at all to Winston) and his bright green eyes always flashed with amusement, like he was privy to a secret no one else knew. Winston also couldn't help but notice John's physical appearance hadn't changed in the slightest--not in the twenty years he'd known him. His dark hair was still as rich as they day they'd met and his olive skin showed no signs of wrinkles or blemishes-- nothing to indicate he aged at all. He reached for the phone, called Candy to cancel their date, and walked to the back dock to retrieve the cooler the Bloodmobile driver placed in the security hatch inside the door. Winston rolled the cart to his workstation and looked at the ID tag on the cooler, relieved there were only ten samples. After putting the samples in the fridge, he snapped on a pair of latex gloves and prepared. He removed a DNA prep tube, micro tube and pipette from their wrappers, laid them on the table, and went back to the fridge for the first sample. Logging the donor's name on two sticky labels, he stuck one on the blood packet and one on the prep tube, then carefully withdrew the blood with a hypodermic needle from the top of the bag, and inserted it the tube. A buffer containing cell lysis and protein-deleting agent was added, and the mixture spun at 6000xg for thirty seconds in a centrifuge. Next a wash buffer and desalting buffer went in, then mixed at 12000xg for thirty

seconds, and finally, the ethanol, the agent that extracted the DNA proteins. After letting it set at room temperature for fifteen minutes, Winston inserted the sample into the electro gel and placed it in the electro scanner to separate the markers and transform them into numbered codes. The sample scanned for thirty minutes, and when complete, the codes transferred electronically to the mainframe computer to analyze against thousands of HIV proteins in their databank for potential matches. At 5:37 am, when the last sequence was entered, Winston sat back and rubbed his eyes. There was no way he was driving back to the city. No point since Candy wasnt waiting, so he headed toward the cot in back. He'd only been asleep for what seemed a few minutes when a strange beeping sound roused him. At first, he thought he was at home in his own bed and slapped at the air by the cot to turn off the alarm clock. He leaned over further when he couldnt find it and toppled to the floor, landing with a thud. The impact woke him immediately. He stood up, rubbed his aching head and stumbled toward the noise, stopping at the door while he scanned the room. Everything looked normal--nothing was flashing or buzzing. Cocking his head, he listened again, realizing the noise came from the office. He ran to the desk, pushed the chair out of the way and looked at the computer monitor. DNA MATCH, flashed in bold red letters. He sat down and entered the clearance code to confirm the match, then jumped up to retrieve the clipboard from the workstation. A few seconds later, the computer displayed the identification number. Winston scanned the clipboard, running a finger down the page until he located the donor's name. Woo! he screamed and danced a little jig. I did it! He grabbed the phone to call Adrian, but put it back. Maybe he should wait. Adrian would insist on retesting the sample to be sure. Winston sighed and begrudgingly retested. Eight hours later, he verified the match again and called Adrian. Well hello, Winston, Adrian said flatly when he answered. Winston cleared his throat. Hello, Adrian. I have good news. Wonderful, he said in the same dull tone. Whats your good news, my boy? Winston took a deep breath. Ive found a match. There was a long silence, before Adrian asked, Are you sure? Winston frowned. Yes, quite sure. I ran the sample twice, and both tests came back positive. Well, another pregnant pause, That is good news. Ill tell John immediately. Hell want to hear this right away. Winston, youd better come to the corporate office and bring all the information with you. Of course, Adrian. Im on my way, he said and hung up. **** Adrian snapped his cell phone shut and turned to John. Winston's found a match, he said, crossing over and sitting in a chair in front of Johns desk. Hes on his way here now. John hoisted an eyebrow. Is he sure? He said he ran the test twice. Shall I call Simon? Adrian asked.

Not yet. Lets confirm it ourselves before involving him. John went to the window, looked down at the street, and laced his hands behind him. If Winston did succeed, we have to put a muzzle on him, he said. But how? Adrian smiled and leaned forward in the chair. I think I can help there. Ive worked with him closely for years, and I feel he trusts me and values my opinion. John turned. Go on. Ill simply tell him he deserves an extended vacation, a gift for all his hard work and dedication to the project. When he returns, the red carpet will be rolled out, and every reporter in the world will scramble to interview the brilliant scientist who discovered the HIV protein match in an uninfected donor. John arched his hands and put them to his mouth. Yes, thats all well and good, but will he buy it? He might, but if not, Adrian shrugged, well, perhaps you can persuade him. John smiled, catching his drift immediately. Adrian, he said, shaking his head. You know the mind control is only temporary. It worked to keep him from leaving us, but he can contact the media on his own once the spell wears off. Especially if he's out of our reach. Adrian nodded and gave him a benign smile. John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. All right, Adrian, let's confirm the match first and worry about Winston later. He leaned toward him. If Winston's claim is valid, it's important we keep our eyes open. No doubt when Lucifer sees the buzz of activity weve suddenly engaged in, it will most assuredlypeak his interest. The buzzer on the wall monitor went off. Adrian walked over and looked. Winstons here. John smoothed out his suit and reached for a cigarette case in the lapel pocket. Let him in, he said and lit a cigarette. When Adrian left, John went back to the window and looked out over the city, unaware of the sinister figure lurking in the alley across the street. * * * Arius, the demon scout, watched Winston Defries enter the lobby of the National Blood Associations corporate office. He turned his head slightly, feeling something slide down the side of his face and land on the ground with a dull thunk. He cast his eyes down. A decayed, shriveled ear lay beside his shoe. He picked it up, and threw it in a nearby trashcan. The human he took over a few days ago was decomposing--time to discard the putrid mass. The bad thing about inhabiting a human was-- it killed them instantly, only the demons presence kept them functional. Unfortunately, the new form rendered their powers useless until deterioration set in, and forced them to find another. Arius watched the building a few more minutes, then went behind a dumpster at the end of the alley. He placed his fingers in the center of his eyes and pushed in, jamming the eyeballs back into his skull, then pulled, ripping the foul smelling carcass away from his body hidden underneath. He kicked the shredded remains aside and stood up all the way. Thin arms and legs, covered in scaly green hide, lengthened as they stretched to their natural shape. Long talons pushed through rough skin, sprouting from his hands and feet; sharp ears protruded out of an elongated skull, and orange-red flamed eyes blinked to adjust to the

sunlight. Thin lips spread over small, jagged teeth in a cruel smile; bat-like wings sprung from a hunched back, kicking up clouds of dust when they unfurled. Arius shook his body and glanced at the building one more time before leaping into the sky to report his findings to Lucifer.