Lesbian Vampire Ch. 00-01

This the first of a multi-chapter fantasy story that contains explicit sex, but the build will be slow. Yes, I know vampire stories are way overdone but I didn't get my s**t together to start writing until recently, so here we are. The story is currently developing and I welcome constructive criticism, particularly on character development, clarity, sensitivity, and readability. (if you want to skip to the sexy parts, scroll towards to the end for a witch-vampire meet cute & sexy dream),

Prologue

As waves pound the bleached rock cliffs a young girl sails far above. Tucked safely in her bed she flies over inky black water, through the cold coastal air marked by the wafting scent of eucalyptus and live oak. She journeys over winding roads and mountains, over miles of cement and asphalt still radiating the heat of midday until she reaches the city. She flies over the crush of light and sound until she finds herself before a mirror.

She's a beautiful woman. Someone she has never met before. She watches herself carefully wind a long section of hair around the barrel of a hot roller then pull it away, leaving a bouncing chestnut curl that falls over her shoulder. She adjusts it with red tipped nails filed into a stiletto point.

Then there is black.

Again, she finds herself looking into a mirror. She is the same beautiful woman with chestnut curls, now before a white sink in a bathroom. She wears a snug black dress, it's sequin accent glitters in harsh light. She leans into the mirror, meticulously drawing red creme across the soft flesh of her lips. More women flank her left and her right, each before their own white sink. They are preoccupied with their own reflections. She turns and paces towards the door. The opaque glass glows with light, red then blue then purple. It pulses in rhythm with the sound of a heavy beat. She pulls the door open to a roar of sound and color. The massive room is packed. The rotten scent of dried alcohol reaches her nose. She pushes into the crowd, towards the curving staircase on the other side of the massive room.

She moves forward, determined, though her small body is pushed and blocked by scores of others writhing to the music. She's nearly reached it when she looks up and sees a shadowed figure standing at the very top. Her heart surges; she races forward but stumbles over a stair. When she looks up, the figure has disappeared. She flies up the stairs, as fast as her feet can carry her. Her lungs burn when she reaches the top--the figure is now down the hall. She feels confused but so, so happy. She runs toward the figure who recedes into the shadowed hallway. She walks down--it's dark and she can barely see the neat rows of hanging oil paintings and small tables that line the hallway. She stops before a door, just barely open, illuminated by a thin line of light. She pushes in.

The figure stands beside a bed, still shrouded in darkness. She rushes forward and the figure encircles her in his arms. He feels firm and she inhales the soft scent of cedar from his cologne. It feels familiar.

Then, again, there is black.

The girl is floating again, disembodied from the beautiful woman. This time, she floats above the beautiful woman with chestnut curls. The woman lies on the bed, still in her glittering dress. Her arm hangs off the side.

The girl sees the woman, still and pale. The woman's eyes are open and still like glass. The girl opens her mouth to scream, but she is only a ghost.

Marcella shot up to a seat, forehead dotted with perspiration. She shivered; she had kicked off her covers and now the cold sea air wafted into her room from the open window, shut tight before she crawled into bed last night. Uneasy, she reached for her phone on the side table; it wasn't too early. She would not sleep after a dream like that. She slid off the bed and walked towards the window to shut it tight.

She should probably tell Greta about this, when she gets up.

Ch. 1

The pergola over the pathway was wrapped in vines that nearly blocked out the sun. A few beams of light managed to break through and dotted the wet stone. Rhea carried a heavy armload of books to her chest and eyed the swollen beads of water that clung to the vine. She desperately did not want water on the books nor in her hair, which she had meticulously styled into dark, dense curls that flowed from her scalp in waves. It had been raining earlier, which wasn't unusual for a coastal town in winter, but if she was responsible for any water damage to his books, Kivan would not forget it.

Even if it was possible to replace the long forgotten titles, it was a small fortune to get things shipped to the island.

Rhea reached the stairs and headed up toward the library. She opened the door to a small reception area that led into a vast room packed with books; their only barrier was a built-in counter and Kivan, who stared at a decrepit text. His skin, dark as obsidian, shined in the light after the rain. He was both a highly skilled witch and a devotee of the skincare products that were a speciality of the Research Center, their active ingredients a closely guarded secret.

"I knew it was either you or a shetland pony running up those stairs," Kivan said without looking up.

Rhea scoffed. "I brought your books back," she said with faux-enthusiasm and plopped them on the counter. "Just about on time, too," Kivan retorted, "and, remember, they're not my books." He stood from his chair and moved to stand across Rhea at the counter. "They belong to the Center," Kivan said. Rhea struggled not to roll her eyes; she had learned it only encouraged Kivan and his lectures. He continued theatrically, "I'm merely responsible for preserving them, thus sustaining generations of knowledge of the art of necromancy and the education of unknown scores of witches in the future, just like you and me." He looked at her, dark brown eyes staring pointedly over his wire rimmed glasses.

Rhea nodded "I'm sorry I brought the books back late. I really am, Kivan. some of my students, the visiting witches," she clarified, "are really resisting necromancy rituals."

"Hmm," Kivan said as he opened the front cover of the book. Rhea continued, "It's nothing too bad; one wants to jump right into the sexy stuff-- powers of life and death, and all, without putting in the training up front."

Kivan looked at her, "That was all of us, I suppose. At some point." Rhea nodded. Kivan said "I think I have a text or two that may help. I'll find them and I'll forgive you for the late books." He paused for dramatic effect, "if you bring me a cup of coffee at 3 today. Exactly 3." He looked over his glasses again, "And call me by my full title: 'Mrs. Tina Turner.'"

Rhea laughed, "I can do that, Madame Turner." Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text, from Greta. And the garbled letters looked like they were trying to spell 'urgent.'

"Hmm," Rhea pondered, "Greta wants to see me in her office. And she's back to trying to text again, I guess." Rhea looked closer at the scrambled letters, "I think she tried to write ASAP." A series of text bubbles followed, each containing it's own alphabet scramble. Despite mastery over the secrets of life and death refined by the ages, Greta never really took to smartphones.

"What's going on?" asked Rhea as she tapped a message ("Coming!") into her phone.

"Hell if I know," Kivan said, engrossed in the returned books. "The full moon is in three days. She always gets itchy right before you guys go see vampires." He paused and whispered conspiratorially, "I think they make her hot." Rhea dropped her mouth open and laughed. Greta had been her teacher for many years now as was like a mother to her. And was well over 100 years old

She answered, "Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me. Can you imagine..."

"I don't want to," Kivan interjected, palms up in surrender. Kivan wore his preference for men like a bright flower in his lapel. Rhea was pleased to have the upper hand in the conversation, which was rare with Kivan.

"What," she asked, "you don't think old ladies like to get down?"

"Greta can run a gang bang on an old folks' cruise for all I care," Kivan retorted, "it's more the vampire part that weirds me out." Greta had been a key figure in negotiations with vampires, and probably knew their inner workings better than any witch alive. They were dangerous, she said. To be regarded as suspicious at every turn.

Greta, however, was an extremely skilled witch and respected by beings across the material world and the beyond. Which meant Greta did what she wanted.

To see her take a vampire lover would be strange, for sure; but maybe not shocking.

"She is full of surprises," Rhea said. The ancient woman had remained as vivacious and impossible all the years Rhea had known her. Her powers had grown immeasurably over the generations. And, as was consistent with the natural laws of magick, also slowed aging and restored health if wielded with dedication. Greta, despite having been born in the late 19th century, would easily be mistaken for a woman in her 50's.

"I mean, there must be some witches who have had affairs with vampires?" she pondered.

"Are you joking?" Kivan asked, shocked. Rhea cocked her head, "No?"

"Have you never heard of what goes on at a supernatural circuit party?" Kivan exclaimed.

Rhea's mouth again dropped open in shock. "WHAT?" she asked. Kivan struggled to stifle a laugh. "There's magick sex parties?" she asked, delighted if scandalized. "Well, I guess you learn something new everyday." Kivan offered.

Rhea leaned in, "So gay guys hook up with vampires?"

Kivan answered plainly, "Gay witches, gay vampires, and anyone else who got the access spell and knows how to work it." Eyes wide, Rhea's voice dropped to a whisper "Have you ever..." She stopped her question as Kivan raised his brow. He had been married for over a decade. He shared a home on the island with his husband, who was a witch but not a necromancer. Rhea had spoken to him a handful of times when she managed to pull herself away from work.

Besides, even if Kivan had hooked up with a vampire, he would never tell her.

"Well, Miss Rhea you seem pretty interested in what goes down at these parties. Maybe you should find one for the ladies?" Rhea laughed. "I wouldn't even know where to start. And if I managed to get into one, I would be a mess."

"How so?" Kivan asked.

Rhea looked at him. "Listen," she said, voice tinged with amusement and shame, "don't ask questions that will just make you sad." Rhea hadn't dated anyone serious in years now and, besides the occasional affair with another witch passing through the island, her love life had been pushed aside as she immersed herself in her work.

"What would it hurt you to get out more?" Kivan asked

"Fine. Don't ask questions that make me sad." Rhea said, defeated. Kivan shrugged.

"I have to get to Greta," Rhea said, "but I'll be back at three."

Kivan nodded and returned to the books. Rhea slipped out the door and down the stairs. From this part of the Research Center she could see the ocean and the small marina where visitors to the island arrived and left by boat. She inhaled the sea salted air. Tourists had flooded in since the rain had ceased. She hoped the weather would maintain its usual temperate nature over the next few days but they were in the off-season, which meant the island was subject to the indiscriminate rain and winds of the Pacific coast of California. Winter visitors gambled on a cold, queasy journey and arrived in droves for the island's sole resort or the handful of bed-and-breakfasts scattered across the tiny town.

The island was a much loved getaway for its devotees. She found she did not resent the tourists like some of her fellow witches. Visitors loved the island like she did. They came to dig their feet in the cold sand at night. They wanted to feel the white light of the moon all around them or to rediscover a quiet field of stars, long buried by the artificial light of human beings.

They also came for spa treatments, social media worthy beach lounging, and the remarkably effective skincare products sold only at the resort that were stuff of legends. And, of course, Rhea never had to work with them, unlike the vast majority of the coven or the visiting students it took on. But the tourists fueled the town and, in turn, the Research Center and their magickal study. She was grateful for the work her students did in their months on the island and did her best to teach them with all the skill she could before they returned back to their homes across the world and another batch of students would take their place.

She sighed. She had only spent a few months with the newest witches and already mourning their departure. She loved living and working at the Research Center. It was the one place Rhea had lived it the longest; she felt a part of something. It was strange; studying the transient mysteries of death had given her a reason to cling to life.

She arrived at Greta's office and could already sense a heaviness in the air. She rapped on the heavy green door and walked in. Her office was quiet save for the steady tick of an old pendulum clock. Greta sat at her desk, pen in hand. Across the desk sat Marcella, a 16 year old who had lived at the Center for nearly a year. "Rhea," said Greta, "please." She gestured to the chair beside Marcella.

Rhea sat. "Miss Rossi had a disturbing dream. Given what we've seen about her developing powers, I was inclined to take it seriously." Rhea turned to Marcella who looked back with a mixed expression of fear and wonder. "I had a dream, and it turns out it really happened," she said as she struggled to keep still in her chair. "So I dreamed a girl got killed. I mean, I thought it was a dream, a really scary one. So I went straight to Greta, like we all talked about? Remember? A few months ago, at the last summer bonfire. I had a crazy dream about a rat and riot on the beach and I thought it was about how my roommate was stealing my clothes, but it turned out a tourist had sex with his fiancee's best friend? They did it on the beach," she whispered, scandalized. "So the fiancee and the friend started to brawl and the friend's boyfriend jumped in and then the whole beach was fighting and the cops had to come in their cop boat? Remember?"

Rhea nodded. "Let's get back on track, dear" Greta said patiently, "we might be solving a murder."

"Right, right-- sorry," continued Marcella, "so anyway, Greta has been helping me with my dreams. She thinks I maybe can to control them one day." Marcalla beamed.

Greta encouraged, "Tonight Miss Rossi. Please."

Marcella took a breath, "So I dreamed about a girl who got killed at a party in the city last night. But it was the most real dream I've ever had. I was like, her. But also I was watching it happen. So I came to see Greta and she had me look on the internet and we saw her picture. Turns out a girl really did die and I saw it in my dream!" Marcella's voice elevated with an excited screech followed by a sudden snap to neutrality when struck by the gravity of the situation.

"Huh," Rhea said, "Cool. So who killed her?"

Marcella deflated, "I didn't see that part."

"We're just uncovering your abilities to astral project, dear. It's normal to struggle with details at first but you've done great work, Marcella." The teenager beamed. "So," Rhea asked, "what do you need me for?"

Greta cleared her throat, "The details of the death are disturbing. The deceased's cause of death is unknown. She has two fang-like puncture wounds on her neck and seems to have lost a lot of blood that wasn't at the scene of the crime. And she was a witch."

Rhea straightened in alarm. Greta continued, "She wasn't known to us, but you have taught other members of her coven when they have studied here. I've already been in contact with them."

"Do you think it's vampires?" Rheas asked. "Like she was accidentally killed in a feed?"

"It would appear that way," said Greta, "but, in my experience, vampires tend to avoid leaving a body to be found. It attracts too much attention. These days they tend to call more of their own to help rid them of the corpse and any witnesses."

"Right," said Rhea. "Well, let's talk to her spirit." Greta sighed, "That's what makes this so curious. No one can reach her. No witch here and none of their guides or their dead."

Rhea froze. "That's, I've..." She looked over to Marcella who looked on with fear. Rhea tried to explain as even as she could muster, "it's just I've never heard of something like this before. Doesn't mean we can't figure it out." Marcella nodded, solemn.

"And did we shall!" interjected Greta. "So, get to it."

Rhea nodded and reached into her bag to pull out a kerchief bundle. She unraveled the bundle to reveal a deck of cards. She whispered a prayer over them as she shuffled. The sounds of the world around her, Greta and Marcella and the old pendulum clock, fell away. Whispers began to fill her ears. She softened her eyes and allowed the rising washes of color slip over her, earthy brown into lavender, interlaid with wisps gold that glittered. She felt tingles in the back of her head and she felt someone standing behind her.

"Sweetwater," Rhea whispered. Her most devoted guide, always present whenever she whispered into the ether. "Tell me who killed this girl." Rhea felt the hand of Sweetwater reach out and gently touch her own, guiding the cut of the deck. Rhea turned the first card.

"The five of cups," Rhea said, "loss and mourning. She wasn't supposed to die."

Rhea moved to turn the next card when she felt something strange-- Sweetwater's presence receded, as if sucked back. The shift startled Rhea. She steadied herself and turned the next card.

"The three of cups, reversed." Rhea stared hard at the card, trying to discern Sweetwater's message. Something was wrong; her sight was cloudy and could barely feel Sweetwater. "Excess. She was a witch who left her coven. Something to do with excess. But I, I can't make it out." Rhea said, bewildered.

Greta closed her eyes. Rhea pulled the next card. "The seven of swords, betrayal." The colors of her link to the ether, to Sweetwater, had gone. They were replaced by inky black dotted by white stars and Sweetwater was now nothing but a spot in her mind. Rhea turned the last card.

"The High Priestess," she said, but did not bother to interpret as she shook off the haze of the trance.

"Sweetwater knew nothing." Rhea said then turned to Marcella to explain, "one of my guides." She continued back to Greta, "Sweetwater knew nothing. When I asked about the dead girl, there was just nothing." Greta looked at her grimly. "We've asked guides, ancestors, even the miscellaneous dead. And it's all the same. No one knows what happened to this poor witch."

"Fuck," Rhea said, then squirmed nervously, having realized her language.

Greta narrowed and continued, "As all my students and coven make note of, I'm quite old. The oldest on the island, in fact, at 127 years. And though I've not seen this myself, I've heard of at least a few similar instances."

Rhea shot up in interest, "Really?"

Greta continued, "I should clarify: I've heard of a handful of these instances across history. Someone dies and no one, living or dead, can say what happened to their spirit. But I will need to confer first with Kivan."

There was a soft knock at the door. Rhea turned as it opened with a creak and other witches in the coven began to file in.

"Welcome witches, both of this world and the beyond." Greta said and the witches echoed their own disparate welcomes. "I won't bother with ritual tonight. A witch was killed by a vampire, or by someone who wants it to look that way. I expect I don't need to explain to any of you why someone targeting witches and risking exposure of magick to the general population is of concern to all of us?"