Disclaimer: Children, what are you doing in here? Get out of here! It features angst, vampires, werewolves, and lots of blood. Lots. Oh, and I don’t claim to own Jim Ellison or Blair Sandburg, or any of the other recognizable characters; I’m just borrowing them for a little storytelling. They are all owned by UPN and Pet Fly Productions, and they can have them back when I’m done. I do however, own all other named characters, and those who are desperate to know how the vampires got in here are respectfully pointed toward the multitude of vampire fiction and games available to you in the real world. Other major influences include: the black and white version of ‘Nosferatu,’ and J. O’Barr’s ‘The Crow.’ I promise not to do any permanent damage to the people I don’t own, but everyone else is fair game. I do, however, promise to abuse my overactive sexual imagination. Enjoy. Many thanks to Angela; see what feedback gets you?
Send comments to author by clicking on link above. Kill Blair, will you? I’ll show you, you heartless bastards. No one gets to Jim Ellison but Blair, do you hear me? No Aussie chica, no big black guy (even if he is kinda cute), NO ONE! Hmph. Blair, on the other hand, is the office Christmas party toy. Everyone should get a shot at Blair. Or is that of Blair? Whatever.
In darkness passed...
“Please, Mrs.--”
“Ms., Ms. Naomi Sandburg, if you please.”
The lawyer smiled politely. “Ms. Sandburg, we just want what’s best for the baby.”
“No,” she snarled. “You want my son to grow up to be a monster like everyone else in the family. Well, Richard’s dead, and I’m free of him, and my baby is staying with me.”
“There’s no way you can offer him anything like the life-”
“Murders in the street? Learning to treat people like cattle? Capitalism at it’s worst, buying and selling humans?”
“I think you’re overreacting just a little, Ms. Sandburg. Don’t you think?”
Naomi stood up and looked the evil little man right in the eyes. “I think for myself, and I know there’s no power on earth that could make me hand my baby over to you, or anyone in that family. This interview is over.” She stormed out.
An old man in a wheelchair rolled in from the back room. The lawyer stood, and bowed politely.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I tried my best, but --”
“It’s of no minute, Jackson. I didn’t think she’d listen to reason.” The old man went to the window, and watched Naomi Sandburg jump into a brightly colored van, filled with pungent smoke. Over the wailing of some Indian guru, the faint cries of a baby could be heard. “But he’ll be all right, even with her. And she...well, she will learn that vengeance can be a long time coming - without losing any of its power.”
The lawyer joined his master at the window, and they watched the van roar away.
“She’ll be sorry of it,” whispered the old man. “She’ll regret ever laying eyes on my boy.”
In brightness sang...
“I hate New Orleans,” growled Jim.
“Oh, it's not so bad.” Blair looked around. “Sure, the temperature is almost the same as the humidity, but you can't beat the ambiance.”
“Sure I could. With a stick.”
Blair laughed. “I was here once, you know. When I was growing up. I met some people I thought I might be related to, but Naomi pulled out so fast I never really got to know them.”
“That's nice. Thank God this conference is only for three days. Any longer and I'd go postal down here.”
“Rouvine, I think the name was. Cousin Judah and Uncle Willem. I wonder if they still live out here,” mused Blair idly.
“Blair, are we on the same planet?”
Blair grinned at Jim, who was suffering not from the heat, but from the suit and tie he was forced to wear, since he was one of the keynote speakers at the upcoming law enforcement conference being hosted by the City of New Orleans. “No, Jim, I don't think we are. Oh, look, here comes the press.”
Jim groaned, and Blair faded back to let the news hounds have a crack at Jim.
The Rouvines. The Pike's Crossing Rouvines, if Blair was remembering correctly. He wondered idly if Pike's Crossing was anywhere near the bed and breakfast where they were staying. Blair wandered away from the front of the hotel and the conference, in which he had absolutely no interest. He walked down the wide cobblestone street, taking in the antique lampposts and the beautiful houses of the area.
“Well, if it isn't one of those damned Rouvines.” Blair whirled around to face the speaker. He turned out to be a tall, dark skinned young man, and the leader of a group of three other well-muscled youths who did not look like tolerance was on their daily menu.
“I don't know what-” Blair started to say, but he abruptly stopped talking when the leader pulled a wooden stake out from underneath his jacket. “Bye,” said Blair quickly, and turned to run back to the hotel.
“Cut him off!” snarled the leader. “Don't let him get away!”
Blair ran as fast as he could, but the rambling old avenues of downtown New Orleans betrayed him, and he was soon lost. His pursuers were still hard on his heels, and showed no signs of tiring. For one of the few times since he had met and fallen in love with Jim, Blair feared for his life. He was going to be caught in an ugly back alley, far from home, and Jim had no idea where he was. Blair started to panic, which made it hard to breathe, and he started to lose speed.
Someone grabbed him from behind and threw him down. All the air was forced out of Blair as he hit the ground, and he had no time to react as hands flipped him over. Blair saw naked hatred on the unrecognizably contorted face over him, and a wooden stake in the upraised hand. Blair struggled to catch his breath, to scream, but he didn’t have enough time before the hand came down and everything went black.
Jim frowned. His presentation on criminal methods had gone over so well, he’d been forced to stay late to talk even more after the conference was over. He didn’t really mind, but it was getting late, and Blair still hadn’t come back. Jim walked out of the hotel, and looked around. There was no sign of Blair. Suddenly, Jim caught a flash of bouncing brown curls disappearing into the hotel café. “Blair!” he called out, slightly irritated. Blair must have walked right past him, and he hadn’t even noticed. Blair didn’t turn, so Jim ran up to him. “Blair.”
The man turned, his dark eyes sparkling. “Can I help you?” he drawled, in a rich Southern accent.
Jim took a step back. The face, the hair, the height, and the build were all deceptively similar - but the eyes - those weren’t his lover’s eyes. And that certainly wasn’t his voice. “I’m sorry, I mistook you for someone else.”
The man laughed, reminding Jim of Blair on his darker days. “‘Sokay, happens a lot around here. Which Rouvine were you looking for? I didn’t know we had any Blairs in the family.”
“Sandburg,” said Jim. “His name is Blair Sandburg. He mentioned some Rouvines earlier, said he might be related.” Jim listened. The heartbeat was different, the scent all wrong. How could he ever have mistaken this person for Blair?
“He must be related,” said the stranger easily, “if he looks anything like me. I’m Black County Rouvine, ain’t nobody else looks like us.”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t really know, and I’ve gotta find him. We have to go all the way across town to get back to our rooms.”
The stranger straightened. “He didn’t wander out here, did he? This here is Cutler territory, and those bastards wouldn’t stop to ask if he was really family.”
“What is this, a feud? Get real, this is the Nineties.”
A cruel smile twisted the stranger’s face, and sent a shiver down Jim’s spine. “Naw, this is New Orleans. And the Rouvines and the Cutlers...don’t get along. Let me grab Cy, and we’ll help you look.”
“That’s alright, I’ll be fine.”
“Nonsense, he’s family.” No amount of argument could convince the stranger and his even stranger companion not to follow Jim outside. “This here is Cy Chase, my best friend in all the world.” Cy simply grunted at Jim’s polite hello. He was a big beefy guy, the kind of Southerner Jim expected to be involved in something so archaic as a feud.
“Well,” said Jim somewhat uncertainly, “let’s go, then.”
In moonlight danced...
Mihail looked at the still from of the unknown cousin as he skillfully poled the barge down the river. It was blind luck that he’d shown up in that alley, but he hadn’t been fast enough to keep the young man from getting a taste of the oak. Not knowing what else to do, he had decided to take the small body home. Father would know what to do.
He hoped Jude wouldn’t be angry with him for letting one of the family get hurt. Mihail looked over at the other bundles. He’d brought a good catch. Surely that would count for something.
“Hey! Mihi! What’ve you caught?” Jude called out as Mihail approached the dock.
Mihail waited until he the barge was tied off and Jude had jumped aboard before answering. “I caught some Cutlers,” he said, waving in the direction of the four mangled but still breathing bodies, “they were doing some hurting to a cousin I ain’t seen here before.”
Jude looked down and the unmoving body, the wooden stake resting gently in his chest. “I know him, I know I do. Father’ll fix him up right.” He turned to Mihail. “And you, love, are you hurt?”
Mihail shrugged. “They never saw me.” Jude pulled him close, for a deep, tonsil-knocking kiss. “I hope I didn’t hurt them too bad.”
The moonlight, reflected in the water, danced again in Jude’s dark brown eyes. “‘salright if you didn’t. I will.”
Mihail smiled, and bounced at Jude’s heels like an eager puppy as they picked up the bodies from the boat and brought them inside.
“Father!” Jude called out. “We got someone hurt down here.”
The old man in his wheelchair appeared at the head of the stairs. “Who is it?”
Jude shrugged, and held the stiff body out for inspection. Upon seeing the riotous mass of dark curls, the old man sat us straighter.
“Bring him up here,” he commanded. “Quickly!”
Jude jumped, letting his supernatural strength carry him straight up to perch on the railing in front of the man who had made him the way he was. Jude stepped down to stand next to Father, and let him get a better look at the young man he was carrying.
“Set him down.” Jude obeyed, and the old man smiled down at the body before him. “My wayward bairn has returned to me.” He looked up at his eldest. “Take him into the bedroom. Did you bring food? He’ll be hungry.”
“Mihail brought home some Cutlers.”
The old man smiled. “Well and good, that. Mihail, bring them up. It’s time you met your cousin, Blair.”
“Blair! I remember, that woman took him away.”
The old man nodded. “That’s right, Jude. His father was one of the last boys I brought over from the old country.” He wheeled himself carefully into the bedroom, where Jude had laid Blair’s body, with his rich dark curls spilling over the white satin pillow, making a beautiful sight on the large dark bed. All the windows in this room were covered with thick velvet hangings, and a low fire burned in the fireplace.
“What happened to his father?” asked Mihail curiously. He tied one of the bodies to the foot of the bed.
“He fell in with that woman, and that woman fell in with some of those people who just have to clean up the world. He was killed, and she walked away with the child I had worked so hard to bring into the world.” The old man looked proudly down at Blair. “And now, he has come home.”
“So he’s a pure breed then?” said Jude eagerly. “Are you going to bring him across?”
“Yes, I am.” The old man gestured, and Jude reached down and pulled out the stake. Mihail took it from him, and tossed it into the fire. Blair gasped, and blood started to pump out of the wound. The old man leaned over, and Blair got one look at the glistening ivory fangs before they sank into his chest.
It didn’t hurt. Instead, Blair found himself arching into the bite, screaming in ecstasy as some foreign substance dripped into his veins, racing through his body. Every nerve in his body was sending a message of absolute pleasure to his brain. Finally the old man pulled away and the sensation started to fade. Blair shuddered as his body cooled down, only to be overwhelmed by a powerful, driving thirst.
He heard a whimper of terror, from somewhere near his feet. Blair sat up and stared. Someone was tied to the canopy of the bed he lay in. The prisoner was covered in blood and gore, and Blair could barely make out where the eyes were. Blair crawled down to the foot of the bed, to get a better look. The prisoner twisted, and tried to pull away from Blair, but was too securely bound.
“I’m not going to hurt you, shhhh,” whispered Blair. He reached out, and gently patted the captive on the cheek. His fingers came away covered in blood. Blair looked at his fingers curiously. He was so thirsty. He licked his fingers experimentally, and heard a satisfied sigh from somewhere behind him.
That tasted good. Blair reached out to take more, and prisoner began to scream. “No, shh, don’t,” said Blair soothingly, and covered the screaming mouth with his own. His tongue darted out, drinking in the blood from the prisoner’s battered lips. The screams faded to a chant, just the prisoner saying “no no no no no no no” while Blair licked the blood from his face. Blair moved his head down, following the rich taste of blood and his own thirst.
Blair found an open wound, bleeding freely, on the prisoner’s neck. He sipped it, like fine wine, and the woman beneath him shrieked in equal parts terror and pleasure.
“That’s it, child,” whispered a dry voice behind him. “Drink.”
Blair latched onto the wound with all the power his thirst could give him, and let the blood flow into him.
In darkness bled...
Jim was astonished to see Cy sniff the air, as if catching a scent. Curious, Jim sniffed the air as well. Blood. Without looking at each other, Cy and Jim both started off in the same direction, following the scent.
Ainsley Rouvine, the other Blair, followed them casually, after smiling at Jim’s retreating form. “Are you sure you’re not family?”
Jim shook his head, too distracted to answer verbally. That was Blair’s blood. He turned for a second, oblivious to his own behavior, comparing Blair’s scent to Ainsley’s. They were more similar than he had originally thought. He went back to following Blair’s trail.
It led to an alley that looked more like an abbatoir. The walls were covered in blood, still sticky and wet. Jim stared in shock. Some of that blood was Blair’s, but not much. No weapons had been fired either. That left an attack by a wild animal, or possibly someone ripping apart humans with their bare hands. Jim was starting to feel a little unnerved.
“Cutlers?” asked Ainsley of Cy. He was transfixed by the grisly sight before him, but not shocked or surprised.
“And someone else,” Cy growled. His voice was so low, Jim could feel the walls rumble. “That little one, who left all his strength in his tail. I reckon I should know the name, but I can’t ‘member it.”
“Michael? Mihail,” suggested Ainsley.
“That’s the one,” rumbled Cy.
“Well, then, we better get to the house. Father Willem will know what all is going on.” Ainsley turned to Jim. “C’mon, then, you can meet the family here.”
“Wait,” he grunted.
Jim lifted his head. Gun oil. “More Cutlers?” Jim guessed. He could smell two, no- three people, armed. They were coming up on the alley, fast.
Cy nodded. “You two go on ahead. I’ll catch you up later.”
Ainsley frowned, but Cy nodded him on. “This way.” Ainsley took Jim’s hand and started pulling him away.
“I’m a cop!” Jim protested. “I think I should be the one to handle this.”
“Sun’s setting, and your friend may be hurt bad. Leave this to Cy, and don’t get yourself dirty.” said Ainsley. “You coming?”
The thought of Blair in trouble convinced Jim to let himself be dragged away. Besides, there was something else going on here, and Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
They raced through the darkening streets of downtown New Orleans, back to the stately hotel where everything had started. There was a slight chill settling over the night, making the humidity in the air condense into a light fog. Along with the full moon that hung like a cursed pearl in the sky, Jim could tell this was going to be one of those nights that would have been better spent in bed. Preferably, in bed with Blair. And most of all, in bed, with Blair, at home in Cascade, not running through the streets of an unfamiliar and all-too-welcoming city in the middle of the night holding hands with a total stranger who only looked like his lover.
“Where are we going?” asked Jim. His voice echoed strangely in his ears, distorted by the fog.
Ainsley squeezed his hand reassuringly. “We’re going to the car, and then we’ll drive out to the house. Cy will take one of the barges and meet us there.” There was a hint in his voice that he was worried about Cy, but he kept moving. “It’s over here, somewhere.”
“What kind of car is it?” Jim could see the outlines of three different cars parked on the street in front of the hotel.
Ainsley moved closer to Jim, as if holding his hand suddenly wasn’t enough. “It’s a red pickup truck.”
Jim found it easily. Now he was the one pulling Ainsley. “Are you all right?” Jim could hear him shake his head, his curls sweeping along his shoulders with an almost-Blair quality.
“I’m just thirsty, is all. I’ll be all right.”
Jim could barely hear him. The wind had picked up, adding to the ghostly distortion of the fog. They almost walked right into the truck, and Ainsley passed Jim the keys. Jim opened the door on the driver’s side, and passed Ainsley through so that he didn’t have to let go of the other man. Then Jim climbed in and started the car. “Which way?”
The younger man had slumped on the chair. “North - out of the city. Towards Lake Pontchartrain,” he whispered.
“Are you okay, Ainsley?” Jim reached out to touch the young man’s forehead. He was cold.
Ainsley struggled up and pulled a bottle of what looked like fruit or tomato juice from the glove compartment. He struggled with the cap until Jim opened it for him, and then Ainsley took a sip. It smelled like some kind of vegetable juice, something thick and vitamin rich. “I’m sorry, I get that way.” Ainsley took another swig. “We’d better get going.”
“Right.”
Jim tried not to think about what else it smelled like and started driving. Ainsley was quiet, only speaking to give directions. They drove out of the city of New Orleans, towards the swamp where the fog got even thicker. Jim had to use all of his senses just to keep the truck on the road.
“Do you see lights? The driveway should be around here,” said Ainsley finally. Jim could just make out old fashioned torches and a grapevine arch marking a loose gravel driveway. Jim turned into it. Ainsley relaxed when he heard the gravel crunching under the wheels of the truck. “I think you may be family after all,” he said softly.
Jim didn’t want to think about what that might mean. All he wanted now was to get Blair and go home.
In sunlight rose...
Jim pulled the truck into the driveway, alongside another car, and walked around to help Ainsley get out. The house was only a shadow in the pale mist, but the front door was open, and Jim could hear music and voices pouring out into the ethereal night. The rich strains of violin music danced above the echo of a piano and the deeper whisper of a cello. Jim and Ainsley used the music as an anchor to find their way. They walked up the stairs, to find the porch full of people.
Jim hadn’t even heard any heartbeats as they approached. There were about twenty people gathered in front of the house, drinking red wine and beer in unlabeled amber bottles. Inside, Jim could see a trio of young children, the source of the music filling the night. And sitting on a porch swing next to a tall man with a strong jaw and startlingly blue eyes was Blair. The real one, bright-eyed and bandaged.
“Jim!” he cried out, and jumped off the swing, not caring that such a reckless action would throw his companion off balance. Or it should have, but the man on the swing recovered from Blair’s exuberant departure by jumping off himself. Blair came running up and threw himself into his lover’s arms. “I knew you’d find me.”
Jim hugged Blair tightly, quickly checking him for wounds. Some minor cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. “Are you okay?”
The man from the swing walked up them, and Jim noticed an older man in a wheelchair coming over to join them as well. “Why, Ainsley, whatever are you doing down here?”
Ainsley shrugged. He was a still a little shaky. “Cy wanted to come to some boat show or something. Do you have anything to eat? I don’t feel so good.”
“Come inside, we’ll take care of you, little cousin.” The man led Ainsley inside, leaving Jim alone with Blair and the old man.
“Jim,” said Blair excitedly, “this is my uncle, Willem Rouvine. He raised my father, Richard.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Jim carefully. The old man looked about a hundred years old, wrinkled and dry. He had eyes filled with wisdom; blue, like Blair’s, that were starting to grow dim with age.
“So it is, young man. You would be the Jim that Blair was waiting for.” His accent was richly Southern, and seemed too deep to be coming out of that wizened old body.
“I met Ainsley, thinking he was Blair,” said Jim, hoping for an explanation.
“Of course you would. Richard and David were twins, you see. I raised the boys along with my own, Zachary and Marcus, and my girls, Lillah, Rose, and Siannah.”
“Oh,” said Jim. “Big family.”
The old man gestured towards the house. “There was plenty of room here for them all, and then some. The boy who just went in, that’s my grandson, Jude. Ainsley is David’s boy, and the musicians inside, they’re Siannah’s babies.”
“I have cousins!” said Blair brightly.
“That’s great,” Jim smiled. He knew how much Blair had missed having a family when growing up. “It’s too bad Naomi couldn’t get over whatever made her split up with Richard.”
Willem sighed. “That woman just never understood what we were about. Richard died just before little Blair was born, and she took off with him. I tracked her down once, but she made it clear that she wanted to be left alone. For the sake of peace, I respected her wishes.” The old man reached up and took Blair’s hand, covering it with his own. “But I always held out hope that Blair would find his way back to his family.”
Blair bounced happily, and gave his uncle’s hand a little squeeze. “This is just so cool! Jim, come inside and meet everybody, you’ll really like them.”
“Yes, go on,” smiled the old man, and let go of Blair’s hand.
Blair grabbed Jim, and danced around him. “There’s a family album! With Naomi’s wedding pictures, and pictures of my father!” Jim smiled, and followed Blair inside.
Blair introduced Jim to everyone in the house, from Willem’s maids to Roni, Jackie, and Lisa, the musicians. Blair was in his element, talking nonstop, holding comfortably onto Jim. They found Ainsley outside the kitchen, sitting on a carved stone bench with a huge wolfhound resting at his feet.
“You’re looking better,” Jim grinned.
Ainsley smiled. “I feel better.” He scratched the dog behind the ears, and it growled appreciatively and moved closer.
“Did Cy show up?”
“Oh, yeah, he’s around here somewhere,” said Ainsley. “Thanks for your help, Jim. And this must be your Blair.” Ainsley would have stood, but the dog that was resting on him wasn’t inclined to move.
Blair leaned over, and shook Ainsley’s outstretched hand. “Yep, and he’s my Jim.”
“Welcome to the family.”
Blair smiled widely. “I love hearing that,” he confessed so softly only Jim could hear him. “Willem invited us to stay here for the rest of the conference.”
“That sounds good,” said Jim. It was only three days, and then they could go back home, to Cascade. “Of course,” muttered Jim, “we’ll have to go back to that stupid officer exchange program.”
“I forgot all about that,” confessed Blair. “I wonder who we’ll get?”
Blair hugged his uncle. “I almost don’t want to leave.”
“No, no, child,” smiled Willem. “Go with my blessing, and return when you can.”
“Blair, we’re gonna miss our flight!” called Jim.
Blair grinned down and his uncle. “I better go. I’ll call as soon as I get home.” Blair raced for his gate, curls bouncing, and pounced on Jim. “Wait for me, you big meanie.”
Jim laughed, and half-carried Blair onto the plane.
From their vantage point, Willem and Jude watched the plane depart in silence.
“Will he be all right?” asked Jude.
“Certainly. Until he dies again. And I’ll know when that happens.”
Jude nodded his head slowly. “I’ve always wanted to see the mountains,” he offered.
Willem smiled to himself. “Blair, he’s going turn out nice. And that woman will finally pay.”
The Second Hour