Lesbian Vampire Ch. 02 - That Which Haunts You

"That's why you can control them!" a voice exclaimed.

One of her students, a woman in her twenties sat across from Rhea, shocked at her own exclamation. Her tanned limbs seemed frozen and her sandy blonde hair was flat-iron straight. "Correct. And obviously, vampires hate witches for this very reason and from what I understand they were much more organized in the past. This led to generations of violence between them and us. Until another remarkable discovery- witches could use their blood like they use humans."

"I'm not drinking any vampire blood." piped a man seated next to the tan woman. Tall and lanky, he wore a knitted cap and loose flannel shirt. His eyes watched Rhea as he scratched his neatly trimmed beard. Rhea then recognized him and the tan woman as the two students waiting outside the library. The two Kivan had said came by for texts. She made a mental note to check in with them.

"There's no drinking, per se," Rhea said carefully. "With the right magick, vampire blood is highly potent, but it won't have any impact on you raw. Besides maybe gross you out." Rhea shuddered and continued, "but with the right magickal influence, and lots of laboratory procedures I've never quite been able to understand, you are left with a very potent tincture that has become a cornerstone of necromancy."

"The skincare products!" the tanned girl exclaimed. Rhea nodded knowingly. "We've used vampire blood in our work for almost a century now."

"Is it ethically donated?" the tanned girl asked-Rhea struggled to find her name. It sounded like something out of a book. Harper? Zoe? Rhea considered her words, "Well, I guess. Technically. The vampires trade their blood. Willingly. But don't worry-given my experience with vampires, the only way you're gonna get that blood is if they agree." The students laughed but shifted uncomfortably.

"Do witches hate vampires?" another student asked. Rhea looked over at the witch, a round-faced woman with long black hair who was meticulous if overly serious. ('Dorothy!' Rhea's mind supplied with ease). Rhea answered, "That's a good question. Human technology has changed the world a great deal. Hell, I was born in 1970 and I don't remember much before smartphones. Both witches and vampires have had to adapt quickly."

A silence fell over the room, which always happened when Rhea revealed her 51 chronological years. Witches weren't supposed to feel attachment to the slowing of age that came with devotion to magickal study. But Rhea found the bewildered faces of her students hilarious when they realized how little she had aged over the decades.

She continued, "Had I been born just a few years earlier, my white dad and my black mom could have gone to jail for being married. When I was initiated into necromancy, the internet was less than 10 years old and you had to go to the library to use it. The students nodded along. The lanky man with the beard, who's name she couldn't remember, glared with an intensity she could not place; he unsettled her. "Since then, I've been here and I live immersed in magick."

The tanned girl intoned thoughtlessly "You look really good." The bearded man's face snapped towards her with an unreadable expression. "Thank you," Rhea smiled and the class chuckled along, "I'm sure you know, magick slows aging. The more you dedicate yourself to study, the slower you age. Because all the residents here are devoted, age and time become a complicated thing."

She looked over to Dorothy and concluded, "all of this is a long way of saying magick has a ways of removing you from the linear time that all you share and technology has made that rift even bigger. Vampires and witches have come to a truce this last century."

"So vampires and necromancers...are kind of similar?" Dorothy asked. She's clever, thought Rhea, irritated at the apt comparison.

"I suppose," Rhea admitted. "But vampires are still enemies, even though our relations are less violent. For generations, necromancers were the only human beings who came close to rivaling them in power. Both our societies rely on secrecy to survive. Now millions of people have any information they want at their fingertips. Vampires depend on strength and cunning. But now you can buy a weapon online that can eliminate most vampires easily. There's camera phones, surveillance technology; the vampires had to adapt, they had no choice."

"I thought you couldn't see vampires in pictures?" Dorothy asked.

"You can't, which is great if the vampire needs to stay perfectly still. But if they want to interact with anyone who's image can be captured, the invisibility bit becomes moot. I mean, if there's footage of an invisible force throwing objects and biting humans by the neck, it's still going to draw attention." Dorothy gave a conciliatory nod of her head as she imagined Rhea's words.

Rhea continued "So, while things may have shifted between witches and vampires in your world, necromancers live by a contain and avoid policy. Contain their violence with magick and avoid them the rest of the time."

Dorothy looked at her skeptically, "that seems a little short sighted. Imagine if you guys could work together-"

Rhea interjected, "I suppose, possibly. But remember, for ages vampires tried to eliminate necromancy; not just the witches but the texts and the teachers of this sacred knowledge. Priceless texts filled with the wisdom of uninterrupted lines of magickal study, destroyed in an instant. Ancient witches, alive for generations and powerful beyond measure viciously attacked and left to bleed out." The eyes of her students were wide. "So please understand that, to necromancers, all vampires are suspect."

Dorothy furrowed her brow in consternation, "But they don't kill people now-" Rhea cut her off, "they are predators who feed on humans exclusively. And they may have agreed to not kill humans anymore but if you look at necromancer history, you'll find they have said a lot of things to get what they want." Dorothy exhaled and sat sullen.

"But rest assured, we want that vampire alive. The blood is no good if they are killed." Rhea continued as she looked out across her students. "Do any of you know why vampires don't have to kill their victims anymore?" Another student with a high ponytail and hoop earrings raised her hand and said "They have, like, a healing liquid that they pour-" she tilted her head and mimed tipping an invisible object in her hand over her exposed neck. "Exactly," Rhea responded. "Now, when they feed on humans, they carry a serum with healing properties. For the wound. So when they feed, their victim doesn't bleed out. And who do you think makes that serum?"

Some of the students' mouths dropped open in shock. "Even though vampires led a campaign of terror against us, we created a way for them to survive. And it all goes down at the full moon ritual." The students sat in rapt attention. Rhea smiled, "Every full moon, vampires and witches assemble. We collect their blood and, in exchange, provide them with more of the serum. They go on living, taking blood without death. And we return to the Center. Most of it is used for the skincare products. The rest is used for magickal purposes." The students looked among themselves.

Dorothy interjected, "So, the blood collected through the ritual?"

Rhea smiled, "Necromancer secrets. Dedicate yourself to a coven first." They actually did it through phlebotomy, but Rhea didn't want to share everything with visiting students. Not that it mattered too greatly; all students swore an oath that they would not reveal the details of what they learned on the island. It was infused with magick; it would cloud their minds if they tried and jolt their nerves, making it impossible to speak or write.

Besides, it had been awhile since class had run this smoothly.

The restored morale continued mercifully for the rest of class. The prospect of vampires always sparked a morbid intrigue in the students. It wasn't exactly the non-attachment to worldly things the traditions of necromancy demanded, but she would take wins as they came. They were currently practicing trance states that resulted in a visual hallucination of their deepest horrors. It left them exhausted, physically and emotionally.

"The foundation of all magick is to know yourself, first and foremost." Rhea intoned, as she walked among her students seated on their pillows deep under the trance state they had practiced for months. "Confront the parts of you that hold the burden of shame and terror. It's only then can you overcome the horror of death." Rhea heard a scream- Dorothy's tiny body was rolled into a ball on her side, long black hair draped across her face. She balled her fists and screamed again, this time not in fear but rage.

Rhea kneeled down next to her and Dorothy looked up. Her eyes were wild and her jaw shook. Rhea gently wiped her hair from her forehead, dotted with sweat. "Tell me," Rhea said as she looked deep into the other woman's eyes. Dorothy took deep, forceful breaths and managed, "I told him no. I looked up at him and I yelled 'no' with all the anger I've ever felt." She raked her fingers through her hair.

"I've never done that before," she said to Rhea, almost as an afterthought. Rhea smiled, "Excellent-study this feeling: rage. The only way to control it is to know it." Rhea pointed to the journal that sat beside the pillow. Dorothy nodded and with a trembling hand, she reached for it.

Rhea stood. "Push, witches. You can't master death and fear it. It will destroy you."

And on it went; Rhea watched her students sink into unknown terror as the slats of light from the western windows stretched outward and the sun sank toward the sea. At the end they staggered out like fauns, unsteady from the shock. "You've done great work, all of you," Rhea called out as she waved the tan woman and the bearded man over. Before Rhea could say anything, the tan girl said "we're sorry for bothering the librarian. Was it Kevin?" she asked.

"Kivan," Rhea corrected, "And yes, he let me know-"

"The library is off-limits to those outside the coven," the tan woman interjected. She shifted nervously, and the bearded man narrowed his eyes. Rhea raised a brow. Skeptically, the man said "I'll respect the rules. It just doesn't seem right. You sell this place as a center of knowledge and learning, but then don't even let us read the books." He crossed his arms. Rhea looked at him and said, "This is part of the learning. Those texts show the way to dangerous forces that can cause serious harm. Consider everything you have felt during our trancework; the rage, the pain, the terror. That's just stored within you. Now imagine confronting a being, with it's own will and motivations, who can make you feel pain beyond the limits of your consciousness." He looked at her skeptically.

"There's a reason we all train like we do, myself included. Necromancers must know their shadow, or it can be used against them." said Rhea.

"Whatever," the bearded man said and walked off. The tan woman, mouth agape looked between him and Rhea, then walked briskly after him. Rhea pushed her irritation aside. His behavior would gnaw at her if she let it, and she had enough to think about already. The sun would soon set and she wanted to rest. Tomorrow the moon was full.

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The rays of the moon beat down over the still sea. The witches sat, mostly silent, draped across chairs or perched on benches. Some gripped the rail and looked out at the Pacific Ocean. Jerry drove the catamaran he hired out; he couldn't chatter tonight, perched at the very top level with the steering wheel.

Rhea sat in the deckhouse. The day had gone mercifully fast and she was jittery as she rode with the other witches to the ritual. She looked out to Greta, who stood alone at the rail. Unusual, thought Rhea- the old woman always paced the vessel, drilling them on the protocol. Not that it was needed; the ritual had been the same since she was an initiate on the island.

Jerry scrambled down from his perch after pulling the catamaran into the port. "I don't know why these buyers always want to meet here, it doesn't seem safe," he said, as the ramp locked into place. This wasn't the tourist port he had ferried Rhea to a few days ago; this was an industrial port. Massive machinery stretched toward the sky and towered over shipping containers stacked atop each other. Aside from some errant light towers dotted throughout, it was dark. Rhea followed behind the witches who worked the large rolling containers that held the serum down the ramp.

"They have their reasons," Rhea volunteered and filed off the boat with the others.

They made their way out of the port and down a narrow pathway, between rows of squat buildings. Gravel crunched under the wheels of the containers and echoed against the walls. Their intended building was distinguished by the lights within and flanked by a line of expensive cars that stretched into the darkness.

"Are they already here?" Marcella squeaked, and was quickly shooshed. Only Greta talked when they met with vampires.

One of the witches who served as guard made his way to the front of the crowd. He was tall and wide as the door itself; his movements were deliberate and graceful. He banged on the heavy door; it opened. On the other side stood a vampire.

He was their guard who would wait alongside the one from the witches. His sinewy figure was backlit and he held the door aside as the witches pushed the containers up the ramp and into the building. He cut an imposing figure in the dark. The shadows deepened the hollows of his face under high cheekbones. He growled at Rhea as she passed by; a tendon flexed in his neck. Rhea rolled her eyes. Though his facade was terrifying, in reality he was mostly just an asshole. He seemed to suppress a smile at seeing the other guard.

One of the witches who collected the blood spread a rumor that the witch's guard asked to be trained in finger-sticks. Apparently both guards discovered that if a human who was high on marijuana shared a few drops of blood on a portion of loose rolling paper, the vampire could suck on it like candy and share the high.

Rhea wondered if she should try to investigate and put a stop to it, but what help it would that be? The ritual was long and tedious, and it was no use making enemies.

"Greta!" a loud voice called with affected enthusiasm. Kyle, clad in his signature neon colorblock suit, walked at a clipped pace towards Greta. "Excuse the sunglasses, sometimes you just need them for the look." He waggled his brows over the black lenses. He stood in front of her and held his hands out to the side. "If it isn't my favorite necromancer. How long's it been? A month?" He laughed at his own joke, an unsettling braying sound. "C'mon," he finished, "Bring it in," and pulled Greta into a hug. He pulled back and held her upper arms in his hands, "Let's get started."

"Although I appreciate your enthusiasm," Greta answered, "I'm afraid we have some business to discuss."

"Ah, the dead girl?" Kyle asked.

"Yes," Greta responded evenly.

Kyle took a few steps from Greta to stand between the cluster of vampires who milled about at the opposite end of the massive building and faced the crowd of witches. He connected the tips of his index fingers and pressed them into his lips then opened his arms, palms facing the sky. "I can't tell you how sorry I am to her about the loss of one of your own." He dropped his voice a few octaves to adopt a somber tone.

Rhea watched him from the crowd and twisted her mouth, willing herself silent through the irritation. The only witch who spoke during the rituals was Greta. Although the witches were greater in number, vampires could do damage more quickly and were easily agitated. She kept her eyes on Kyle but just below her skin, she felt a prickle of awareness, a desire to scan the handful of vampires. For a face with sharp lines and a crown of rosy curls.

"The witch," Greta responded, "was found exsanguinated, with two puncture holes in her neck." The vampires shifted behind Kyle. Patrick, the angry vampire that charged them in the club, postured restlessly. His sister stood next to him, this time in a fine leather jacket. It looked custom.

"Bitch," Rhea thought, and eyed it covetously. The vampire's eyes cut to Rhea's, and she smiled in recognition. Rhea cut her focus back to Kyle.

"Well, Greta, you must know, we had nothing to do with it." he said with a broad smile. Greta looked at him and asked, "What do you know?"

He pointed to the old woman and his voice began to edge with anger. "We have followed your rules for nearly a century," He drew his hand back and began listing on his fingers, "no killing when we feed, no killing witches." He paused and looked at Greta expectantly, "what more do you want from us."

"How did she die?" Greta asked.

"How the hell should I know!" Kyle snapped. Though average in height and build, Kyle moved with a frenetic energy. Jerking and twisting, Rhea couldn't tell if it was an affectation or madness itself.

In an instant he snapped back to calm and composed. "But we want to offer our help. To find the killer." he finished. Rhea tilted her head, confused at his words.

Greta looked at him in shock and after a few moments said, "That is...unusual. But that poor girl was lured to a terrible death..."

She was cut off when a voice from the cluster of vampires bellowed out, "This is a joke! A JOKE!" It sounded slurred and unhinged. Patrick staggered forward and his sister appeared to block him. He shook her off and said "Fuck off, Lucy."

Something surged within Rhea at learning her name.

Kyle turned and put his hands on his hips, "Hush, Patrick."

"This whole thing is an abomination." Patrick yelled louder.

"Oh, Jesus," Kyle said, and placed a hand on his forehead.

Seizing on the distraction Patrick lunged forward toward Greta with unholy speed. Instinct seized Rhea and she pointed at the vampire and screamed, "On your knees!" The vampire stumbled forward as his knees slammed into the floor like a magnet. His torso followed and he landed on his belly with a grunt.

"Fuckin' hell," Patrick screamed, still prone on the floor. "They made me blind!" He scratched at his face. She made a mental note to thank whatever witches hit him with blindness. And possibly some sort of itching spell. Kyle said to Lucy, "Deal with him, please." She ran over and knelt towards her brother.

Rhea looked at the vampires and saw their faces curl into disdain, ancient hatred of witch power. She yelled at Kyle and strode forward, "Did you plan this?" She settled beside Greta. Kyle held up his hands defensively, "No, just listen."

He turned back again towards Lucy and waived her over. She scowled and walked to him, her brother still yelling in rage on the floor. "Can you make them stop at least?" Lucy snapped and pointed towards her brother. Kyle looked at Rhea expectantly.

"It wears off gradually, but the worst should be over in a few moments." Rhea responded. Patrick hollered in rage. Lucy narrowed her eyes in irritation. Rhea crossed her arms, "Maybe if he didn't make a habit of charging witches across the room-"

"We've all been on edge," Kyle interrupted dismissively, "so I'll be direct: we need your help."

Rhea and Greta shared a glance. Rhea asked "What do you mean?"

She felt Kyle's eyes glaring at her behind his sunglasses. "A few days before the witch's body was found, a vampire was killed and we don't know how." Rhea heard the witches behind her murmur in bewilderment and the hair on Rhea's neck stood up. She asked, "That's impossible."

"That's what we thought!" responded Kyle, and followed with a forced laugh like a human man regaling his office buddies. He snapped back to severe and continued, "But he and a human he was with died at a party, just a few minutes apart. She was a drug dealer and he was her protection. The attendees I've tracked down said they were fine one moment and the next...sick."