Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/, page 94

Wrecked day...

At 3:40 am the fire alarm went off in my building and would not stop. I got up, pulled on a pair of pants and shoes, grabbed my phone and went downstairs, thinking it would be a short-lived situation like had happened so many times at the building I used to live in. I'm up on the 9th floor, so took the stairs down...and by the 6th floor there was smoke, and it got thicker. And nastier.

Fortunately, I'm still in the habit of wearing a blue face mask, due to Covid, so that mitigated a lot of the smoke...and the mask wound up more of a dirty grey by the time I got out of the building. Fire trucks were roaring up. News Crews. With lots of old people milling about in their nightclothes. It was very Fellini-esque.

Initially, we were told we'd be back in our apartments in an hour or two, because the fire was put out, quickly. Some dipshit had set the dumpsters beside the ventilation system ablaze, and that was easily handled. Only now everything had to be checked to make sure it was okay and not affected by the acrid smoke. So we were bussed to a community center, where the AC was set to freezing, and given a light breakfast then sandwiches for lunch.

Since all I took was my phone, I got a jacket from my car and a charger cord for it then got on the bus. They didn't want anyone to drive over. But there was no place to charge my phone at the center, so I finally walked back to the building and got my car and used that to charge it up. Then after lunch, when we still didn't have word about when we could get back into our units, I figured I was going to be spending the night in a hotel so popped over to Target to get some clothes and such for tomorrow and went to the office to do a full charge on my phone. But then I got the all clear. Took more than 12 hours to handle.

What all this leads to is, no writing done. I didn't bring my laptop or backpack so had nothing to work with, and the chatter was so loud at the community center, I couldn't concentrate. So tomorrow is the return to normal. I hope. And from now on my backpack will rest near the door with things in it, for emergencies.

Hard to focus...

All day has been firecrackering crap, and once night was set it got even crazier. One asshole decided to shoot some off directly in front of my building, where they exploded next to my window. Freaked the hell out of me, the first time, because I was at the kitchen sink. I yelled down at him and I think others went outside to ask him to go elsewhere, which he finally did. That or he ran out.
All along the horizon I can see bursts of bright colors, like dandelions, or streaks of white and red shooting skyward. I tried to record it but what came out was really soft in focus. Oh, well, iPhones ain't all that great in the darkness.
I did manage to get through to the point where Léon becomes a Blood Angel vampire and does his first kill, a Viking marauder. He's visited by one of the Oiym, who lets him know the rules...and things are already starting to get complicated for him.
But the one thing that's really going for him is, Blood Angels are not bound by the same rules as regular vampires, giving him a great deal of power. There aren't many of them, and they're interconnected by a psychic sense so that if one is in trouble the rest know, so I'll need to be delicate about presenting this.
I also managed to read more of Did Ye Know Mammy Died, for APoS before the insanity with the firecrackers started. It's not a bad book and gives me some insights into the Derry character, but it really takes place much later than Brendan's story, so his references to stores and some slang have to be met with care.
After this, I'm rereading Bernadette Devlin's biography and then Eamonn McCann's tract about the Troubles, that was printed in 1973. I'm finding a number of the books I have are more centered on Belfast than Derry, and those two towns have something of a disdain for each other. Like sibling rivalry.
Tried to make something new with a single packet blueberry muffin mix -- putting crumbled brown sugar atop it as it baked. Not a good idea. Tasted all right, but a real mess and somewhat chewy...

Plan of action...

Okay, after some thought and a bit of head-pounding, I've worked out what I'm doing with Léonidès. First off, it's going to be a series. Seven books, each 80-100 pages long...maybe 120, when you include title page and the other stuff. Series title will be The Blood Angel, and the sub-headings as follows:

1. Léonidès

2. 17th Century

3. Napolelon in Moscow

4. 1871

5. WW2

6. New Orleans

7. Modern Day

Book #1 will explore his life at the end of the 11th Century, that his sister was turned 5 years earlier, that he becomes sexually involved with a group of vampire monks before he is turned, and what sets his bloodline apart from regular vampires.

I have the spine basically worked out, and a lot of writing done on the first book and 1871 and WW2 as well as part of Modern Day. New Orleans is written in screenplay format so needs to be reworked. A lot of it deals with the changes in the world and how he and Gabrielle, his sister, work around the growing interconnected aspects of Western civilization. At first they're like gypsies, traveling to where there is war and disruption because that's where the best feeding is, but are finally having to adjust to the growing control being exerted by various governments.

By the end, they're at the point where they each have so much money they're like demi-gods so don't have to worry about such mundane things as immigration and customs and the legal system. The only difference is, Léon has a code of honor he and his crew keep while Gabrielle does not.

I've also learned the Blood Angels descended from the Egyptian gods of 5000 years ago, and the oldest of them are The Oiym, which loosely translated to First Ones in Coptic. I've already introduced Nethys, one of the Oiym, and instead of calling their servants familiars that's referred to as slaving them. I know the connotations of that word but this is deliberate...though I may convince myself to look for a word like that in Coptic or Czech.

I'm aiming to publish #1 in August, in paperback and ebook. Then one every 2 months after, till the following August. Should be fun.

Only question is, will he wind up like Leonidas did at Thermopylae? (FWIW, the sketch is Jean-Louis David's preliminary workup of his famous painting.)

Recalibrating

I've reached the point in the story where I need a list of characters and who they are. I don't have a huge number, yet, but it's starting to build. I also need locations. Especially since I started work on the modern-day section of the story, where Gabrielle asks Leon for help and it leads to a massive confrontation.
While doing this, I calculated how much I've done, so far, and I'm at a total of 256 pages and 55,362 words. That's going to shift a lot once I get the story and characters down and do my conforming edit. Make sure everything fits and no contradictions. But that's a lot in just a month. I could have done my own NaNoWriMo competition.
I'm still working on the specifics of how the Blood Angels work. How often do they feed? Does sex add to their nourishment? Or is it just a torture toy for Gabrielle and a method of connection for Leon? When did they start? I've introduced one old Blood Angel, Nethys, who keeps Leon from committing the unforgivable sin amongst vampires -- killing another. But she also suggests they have a way of having vampires killed so...gotta figure that in, as well.
I doubt I'm even 20% done with this story, but I'm going to push it. If I can get it together by the end of August, I can upload it to Ingram for free. Save me $49. But I'll need a kick-ass cover. I'm also still thinking of issuing it in 7 volumes, then maybe do a box set, later, instead of the full book. I don't know. 
I read an interesting twitter thread about the anti-Semitic origins of Bram Stoker's version of Dracula and don't want to imitate that, at all. I was close to making Dmitriy Jewish but it just won't do. In fact, I added a bit where Gabrielle is a bit anti-Semitic, which Leon doesn't understand since they never even met someone Jewish before they were turned and not until centuries later.
Jeez...it's just getting more and more complicated.

Along for the ride...

One of the things I sometimes like about writing is the surprises brought to me by the characters. Lèonidés is being told by Lèon in first person, so sometimes he references actions he's taken long after they happen as a way to illuminate his next step. Like he's telling the story in a parlor or around a campfire. So I'm three chapters into the WW2 section of the book when he lets me know he's transporting munitions from Gabrielle's factory in Sweden to a group of Polish Jews who are preparing for the invasion.
Which hasn't happened, yet, nor has the Warsaw ghetto been established, but these few resisters can see what's going on in Germany, see how many German Jews barely recognized their danger, have seen how the US and UK aren't receptive to Jewish refugees, and even know Dublin's not keen on the idea. Hell, at this time, Ireland didn't even want the Irish who'd left in the diaspora back unless they could add to the economy instead of take from it. But some Jewish academics were welcome to the universities, like Erwin Schrödinger, who was personally invited by Eamonn de Valera to set up the Institute for Advanced Studies, in Dublin.
That Lèon's buddy, Geoffrey, can see the location of the resister camp is close to where there will be troops of Russian and possibly German soldiers marching past, which would make for happy hunting grounds for them, is never mentioned, of course. And since Leon has a DC-3 with Swiss registry and all of his crew have Swiss passports, it works out well for their meals. And their business.
It only makes sense that vampires who live for centuries would build up massive wealth to live on...or un-live, if you prefer. But something else that's coming out is Lèon's feeling of isolation, even with his crew. He's a Blood Angel, making him superior to them all, and he's refused access to Dmitriy, another of his kind and with whom he could be happy. Even though Dmitriy's a leech. So it seems this story is leading towards him gaining some kind of relationship or something. Not sure, yet. 
Won't be till this draft is done.

Can demons be angels?

There's a moment in the WW2 section of Lèonidés where Lèon helps a group of 4 dozen Polish officers and soldiers escape. He does it by grabbing and speaking with a young Captain, who understands English. Tells him his crew is about to attack, and that there is a trail which passes by the fortress he and his crew are inhabiting, at the moment, that will lead them to an encampment of Polish resistors. His one admonition is no one of them is to enter the fortress. No matter what.
Then Lèon and his lads take 10 of the Russians captive, after killing the rest, and carry them up to the fortress. Inside, the prisoners are bound as they curse and howl in fear and anger. The Polish Captain is passing the fortress when he hears them, hesitates and is about to bring some of his fellow officers inside to investigate. Leon realizes and appears behind him, in full view of the other officers. In English, he warns the man not to.
The man's a serious Catholic and asks if Lèon's a demon. But being cagey, his answer is, "What's the opposite of a demon?" Then, when the Captain believes he's an angel from heaven, Lèon uses God to send him on. Enjoying how he never bothered to mention he's actually a Blood Angel. Hardly one of the heavenly hosts.
I have a feeling this young officer is going to reappear, later. That's the hint it seems to be giving me, though in what capacity, I don't know. The next section takes place more than 65 years later, in New Orleans. Maybe I'll make him an Archbishop or even the pope. Who knows?
It's grown even darker, this section. A lot darker. But it fits the times and the narrative. Lèon and his pack are ravening beasts, albeit within more acceptable parameters. I think the New Orleans section will be told from Gabrielle's perspective, possibly through him. But she puts no limitations on her court when it comes to feeding. She revels in the terror and pain of innocents...like any good vampire.
But some of that could change...

Can you mitigate darkness?

What I wrote for Léonidès, today, really counts as mass murder by him and his crew. Granted, it's in the middle of a war, which by definition is legalized slaughter, and he targets Russian soldiers who have brutalized the local population. He also helps a group of Polish officers escape with the understanding they get to the UK and regroup to fight from there.
But then he and his seven associates take a group of Russian soldiers prisoner, keep some to take back to their chalet in Lugano, then rape and feed on the rest. One at a time. Done in a way that increases the terror of the men about to die. It's unsettling to me...yet is mitigated somewhat by the fact that they've also helped people. Am I being wishy-washy here?
I went back over what I posted, yesterday, and found some inconsistencies to correct, which flowed into what happens next...which is, basically, more bodies in the pool. With winter closing in, those bodies probably won't be found till the spring thaw, if then, and no one will even think to check to see if they still have blood in them. So Léon and his crew are safe. Not sure where this section is going, but I'm not pulling back on the reins, just yet.
This may help me with an issue I've been having in A Place of Safety. I'm torn between having none of Brendan's immediate friends die, in book 1, and having one killed by a British soldier, by accident. It seems too easy and on-point for that to happen, which is why I've been resisting it. But I'm starting to see that the best way to illuminate brutality is to have it happen. 
Wee Eammon, a kid who's sickly and has a panicky mother, has developed asthma and has an inhaler. If he's trying to get home in the middle of the daily riot, in Derry, has an attack and pulls out his inhaler...a soldier could freak, think it's a gun and fire. Problem is, if I do put it in, where would that be? After Bloody Sunday, when things spiral out of control? Before? Or should I wait till Brendan's in Houston? Point of placement is just as important as the act.
So still a lot to consider...but I'm now leaning towards doing it.

Shifting to WW2 in Poland

November 1939, taking up where 1871 left off.

---------

The battle was done. Stalin's forces had routed the Poles, and thousands of soldiers and officers were in the process of being carted off, probably to slaughter. Geoffrey was rather smug about having predicted it...but also irritated at the waste. 

"Something I do not miss about being human," he said, a vicious smirk on his face, "is the willingness to slaughter each other for no good reason. Destroy entire civilizations just to prove who's got a bigger dick, and Russians are the worst, for they mix arrogance in with their cruelty." Then he cast me a wary look. "I hope you do not mind my saying this." 

He knew how fond I still was of Dmitriy and wanted to remain on my good side, for he was growing hungry and I had yet to give any of my crew the right to feed, yet. Naturally, the last thing a vampire wants is to be deprived of his meal. 

So I let him know, "Dmitriy is no longer Russian. Lenin was bad enough, after the Tsar, but he refuses to be of the same race of people as Stalin." 

"Can you blame him?" 

"No. Gabrielle claims he's a fool. That he lowers himself to the same level as a human butcher with that attitude, but I see his point. And in truth, he had long ago cast aside his Cossack identity." 

"I didn't know the Russians were a race." 

"They think they are, just like the Germans think of themselves. When those two collide, every vampire in the world will feast well, for years." 

We were on the parapet of an ancient fortress in Poland, atop a hill, watching a final group of the officers under guard, far below, in preparation to be marched to the Russian frontier. Its walls were old and crumbling, thanks to the incessant shelling that had taken place around it, but this would serve as a good base for the needs of my group as we gathered our version of livestock for later use. 

I had refused to let us feed, just yet. I wanted to make sure we could distinguish between the very brutal victors and the vanquished, seeing as how both sides' uniforms were so dirty they appeared closely aligned. There was also the issue of good communication on the German side; taking one of their men might be noticed, while the Russians seemed far more backwards in both equipment and capability. I was close to limiting our hunt to them, tonight. 

Of course, despite all their vaunted treaties and claims and promises, neither England nor France had done the minimum necessary to honor them. Though to be honest, neither was really prepared to actually help Poland ward off the sudden, sharp attack from both Germany and Russia. Which was ridiculous. After years of marching to war, and after Czechoslovakia and Austria, them claiming shock at what happened could only be seen as laughable or self-delusion. 

Now Germany could focus on conquering them as Russia set her eyes on Finland. I was happy at neither possibility, for that put the range of our hunting too close to Lugano to be comfortable. And Mussolini was hauling Italy into the morass, as well, so there was that. Nothing wrong with Italian food, but when it's just around the corner you have to be careful about how often you dine. 

Fortunately, Nellis had noticed a strong sense of cold in the air, suggesting this would be a vicious winter, so the weather might be on our side. Soldiers fighting in the cold and muck are far easier to take, and their vanishing more readily explained. We'll probably find him once the snow is gone.Identification taken. Buried without a thought. No question as to manner of death. The one truly conflicting thing about war was how no one really gave a damn about the soldier.

I shifted to another side of the parapet to watch the group far below build a fire...for the Russian guards; not the Polish captives. I smiled. The casual brutality of both Russia's forces and Germany's fit my requirement too perfectly. 

Then Geoff asked in a halting voice, "Leon, may I ask...?" But he trailed off into wary silence. 

I looked at him, waiting. 

He took in a deep breath and finally continued, "Why does Gabrielle not release Dmitriy to you? We could use him to translate what they are saying. Make preparations around their plans." 

I chuckled. "And understand their curses against us?" I asked. This would not be our first hunt amongst those who considered themselves Cossacks of the finest order.

Geoff was the only one of my crew with knowledge of how my negotiations with her had gone. That my agreement with her had been Franz for Dmitriy, which would have satisfied us all since Franz enjoyed being in her bed and Dmitriy would have been more than happy in mine. That she had reneged on the deal was only a surprise to him. 

He also knew she was now based in a chalet north of Stockholm, so her feeding grounds would be Germanic, which Franz could help her with, while Dmitriy would be of no value. But she was also a Blood Angel, and with a capricious nature from long before she was turned, coupled with a streak of cruelty I had seen even as a boy ten years her junior. But Geoff did not know of that. He only saw an arrangement that made no sense, in any way, shape or form. 

"Spite," I finally answered him. "Not merely against me, but also Dmitriy for not becoming her mate. She enjoys watching Franz toy with him, now that the little bastard's completely in her bed." 

Geoff jolted. "You know this?" 

I nodded. "It's her way to remind me she has him and I don't. I never did, really. Franz would lie with me only because I could hurt him if he did not. Now he has Gabrielle as his bed partner. And she will not allow Dmitry access to him. Which suits Franz; he never did appreciate the attentions of men." 

"Men?" Geoff's wicked smirk was back. Only he was allowed to cut into my petty little lies to myself. 

"All right, me," I snapped. "I thought he had at least become amenable to both sexes. How wrong I was." 

"I wonder." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well...I've been in contact with a couple of Gabrielle's retinue," he said, very carefully. He knew I would keep this between us, alone, but to have him gossiping about my sister and her choice of companion was dangerous territory. "Apparently, he does enjoy feeding on men who look like you. Not consistently, since you are of rare beauty..." 

Spoken without a hint of mockery. 

I still chuckled and said, "Oh, stop." 

He continued with, "But often enough to be noticeable. He's been seen stalking them and...well...while feeding...assaulting them." 

I said nothing. Geoff's ability to gather information never ceased to amaze me, especially since was correct. Dmitriy had told me know in one of his notes. He would send them by pigeon, probably set to fly at dawn, after her court had slipped into slumber. 

She disdains me for my attraction to men, he had written, as if my nature is my fault. Lets that bastard Prussian parade around me in nothing but a towel loose about his hips. Says nothing about him raping men with your appearance. She cares only that he joins her bed and no other female's. But what is most galling is, even when he does test her with other women, she allows it. Are you certain you do not want him back? 

I could imagine Dmitriy's frustration. Franz was remarkably beautiful, in body and face. But I had mistaken his tenderness with his horse for decency in his soul. Never would I make that mistake, again. 

I sighed and looked down the hillside. Trees covered the land but there were areas where they were cut away. Blown away, by artillery. Burned away by the ensuing fires. Fortunately, it had rained heavily, the day before and through the night, so all fires were extinguished. Unfortunately, now trails of thick mud cut through the ground and a pond to my right had filled to overflowing with dark, dirty water. 

Made darker and dirtier by a dozen bodies floating in it, face-down. All Russian. All naked. All male. Only a couple of them there the night before. Their pale, bloated skin hid the fact there was no longer any blood in their veins. 

Many of them were younger. Were healthy and excited about being at war and intent on enjoying all of life's pleasures all at once. For who knew what tomorrow might bring? 

Which brought a smirk to my face. None of them had thought tomorrow would never appear, for they were invincible. But my crew had proven them wrong. 

Completely wrong.  

Pressing ahead

The best way to get around a situation you don't like in your writing is to do something else in it. So...I started work on a section of Léonidès that takes place at the beginning of World War II. Wound up setting it in Poland and the Russians are the bad guys who wind up being fed upon by Léon and his crew. I remembered about the Katyn massacre committed by Russia, in 1940. By some estimates, they killed and buried nearly 22,000 Polish officers and educators, then denied it until after the Soviet Union dissolved. All in the face of irrefutable evidence.
Russia has a history of doing this to other countries. Ukraine went through the Holodomor famine , which killed up to 5,000,000 people and was deliberately brought about by Stalin. It included Georgia and Kazakhstan.
Adding in their willingness to bomb hospitals and apartment buildings not just in Ukraine but Chechnya and Syria and Georgia, just this century, they make the perfect bad guys for Léon and his crew to feed upon. This image is of Konstantyn Kaminyin, a Russian model. I was using him as the idea for Franz, but this works better.
Thinking about it, there were other occasions where food was used as a political tool -- like the Irish Potato Famine of 1845-49. There actually was no famine; food was still being exported from the country. But London did little to counter the growing catastrophe, figuring it was a good way to weaken the Irish and disperse them, since they were breeding so fast. And it worked. 1,000,000 died and another million fled the country.
Of course, a lot of my attitude, right now, is colored by Russia's current terrorism in Ukraine...and the West's minimal response to it. Slow-walking arms and sanctions, just like in the late 30s, as Hitler kept marching on. Germany actually asked the US not to declare Russia a terrorist state because it would disrupt the gas supplies to them. Money above morality, in the world. Always has been that way.
Léonidès is becoming a political work as well as a criticism of humanity. A high-level vampire is proving to be more morally inclined than just about any human being he meets. Now this is keeping in mind Léon's sister, Gabrielle, is more typical a Blood Angel, doing as she damn well pleases, like she's royalty, so I can see where the story is leading, now. I think. A direct confrontation between her and him over who will rule the new federation of vampires. Or something like that; I don't know, yet.

I don't know if I like this...

It's 1871 and Leonides is in Hong Kong, en route back to France with a captive, Ian (who used to be named Clerik). But things go awry and Ian is kidnapped. Leon's tracking him:

--------

I caught his scent near the municipal building...and the scent of vampires, next to him. That raised both anger and panic in me. My mark was on him, that of a Blood Angel, and if they had any sort of awareness they would know not to feed on him. 

I followed it up to Queen's Road, into an area of tumbling little shacks trailing smoke into the sky past thick foliage. In the middle of it all was a finer house, two-levels, surrounded by masonry walls topped with tiles, overgrown garden showing it was much abandoned. I stormed up the steps and through the doors to find... 

An empty foyer. Cleared of furniture but not filth. Walls moldy and dark. Rats scurrying about. 

And grunts of pain from Ian. 

I was up the stairs in a flash, and there I found him. strung up to the ceiling by a thick rope by his wrists, his legs spread apart and bound to a pole, his underwear torn half off one hip to reveal him. And around him were three young men, all naked. None pretty but not ugly. Just plain. Thick. Stupid. Almost boyish. Ian was an elegant bear in comparison to them. 

And all three were slaved, not vampires.

Then I saw him, sitting off to one side his monk's robe now a cloak opened wide to reveal his taut, naked body and erection. 

Prior Pious. 

And the triumphant expression on his face confirmed my suspicion -- he had taken Ian to draw me to him. 

"Leon, I di' no' leave..." was all Ian could say before one of the slaves whipped a gag around his mouth and bound it tight. Perhaps he thought I'd be stupid enough to jump over to stop him, since one of the others was groping Ian in very invasive ways while the other was close by with a broken lance pointed at me. 

A broken lance of wood, sharp and deadly.

Pious was only smiling. "Leonides," he said, speaking in our old Norman dialect. "I had heard you were coming this way, and hoped you would return." 

I barely paid him any attention. Ian was not the least bit wet. No scent of the harbor's water on him. He was telling me the truth. He had not tried to escape me. He had been taken from the Angelique, as bait. Probably by these three little worms. They would have needed no approval to unlock my door to enter my chambers. Nor to remove the chain from Ian's leg. Nor to bring him out so Pious could ferry him here. 

"Where is the guard on my ship?" I asked. 

"In the harbor," said Pious. "He was quite tasty." 

I cannot begin to tell you how angry that made me. This was a violation of protocol, of my standing, and Pious would have known that, yet he did it, anyway. The son of a bitch...

Ian tried to speak but I silenced him with a wave of my hand. 

My voice grow cold as I said, also in our Norman dialect, "This is a very big mistake on your part, Pious." 

"Is it?" He rose and wandered over to Ian, his robe almost trailing behind him, his erection leading the way. Whatever fondness I'd once had for his physical appearance, he now struck me as vile and depraved. "You know, for years," he continued, "or decades...no, centuries I have been trying to find a way to get your attention..." 

"And you do it by taking what is mine?" 

"But he's not yours." He caressed Ian's chest, toying with his nipples as he said, "He is pretty. A bit more swarthy than I prefer, and he has what counts." He slipped his hand down to grab Ian's genitals, making him squirm in horror. It was all I could do to keep from jumping Pious and tearing him apart. "But he's not yours," he said. "Not yet. He's not slaved, nor has he been turned, so he's still fair game." 

"Protocol says otherwise." 

"Protocol is the reason I'm here," he snapped at me. 

"What do you want?" I snapped back. 

"You know, the First Ones were willing to tolerate my preferences, so long as I kept it confined to the monastery, with my monks to play with and serfs to feed upon. But you took that away from me." 

"You did that, yourself, when you turned me. In direct violation of..." 

"I did not mean for you to be turned!" 

"It doesn't matter. I was, thanks to your actions. Accept responsibility for yourself." 

"But it's not fair." 

"Oh, now you sound petulant, like a child." 

"I'm weary! I want back in our world." 

"Talk to The First Ones." 

"I've tried. They won't listen. But they might listen to you." 

I actually laughed. "You threaten my property and then ask me to help you?" 

"As I said, I just wanted to get your attention." He slipped behind Ian, letting his hands curl around to his front. His nails grew and his fangs lengthened. The terror in Ian's face was infuriating...and wildly erotic. Then Pious stupidly continued with, "And now I have it. You know, if I turn him, he becomes mine." 

"Don't you even try." 

"You cannot stop me. Protocol forbids we kill each other, and you may not harm those I have slaved." 

"You have broken protocol." 

"But I am weak; you are not." 

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Pious." 

He chuckled and started to bite into Ian's neck, but I slammed between the two of them, kicking Pious to my left while pulling Ian to my right. The lad with the spear jabbed it at me but I slapped him, sending him across the room. The other two tried to jump me but in a flash I was on the ceiling, holding Ian and glaring down at them all in full vampire mode. 

And then I saw the blood on Ian's neck.

Pious had cut him, with his teeth. 

As had been done to me.

He would turn, now. There was no other path. And he was not a Blood Angel, so he would belong to that bastard, not to me. 

I lost all control. In fury, I sank my own teeth into Ian's neck and drank from him...drained him before he could turn. Heard him screaming and felt him fighting me but I did not stop. Just drank and drank as he grew more and more still...then finally limp in my arms.

I had killed him. 

I killed him. 

Deep within I knew it had been necessary. He would have been Pious' and he was not enough removed from his nature to trust he would not become a feral feeding beast. But it was kill him or unleash him on the world...and that I could not bear.

But still, the insane anger that exploded through me...screaming pain and a near madness...it would have been felt by any vampire within a hundred miles. And in fact, several appeared within moments to put themselves between me and Pious. It was only they who kept be from sending myself into banishment from the community, for I was ready to slaughter not only that bastard but his slaves, protocol be damned.

Eogard was with them, and his hands were upon me as he growled, "Let go, sir. Let go."

I fought it and fought it but the fury boiled within...until...

Amongst the group I sensed another Blood Angel.

An Elder One.

Female.

She replaced Eogard in my sight, her clothing a brilliant combination of silk and gauge in a thousand colors. Tall. Strong. Beautiful in the extreme. Egyptian. 

She stopped me with a single hand to my chest, whispering, "Leonides, he is not yours to do with." 

I sensed her name was Nethys, and the strength in her was greater than my own. Far, far greater. As were the peace and control. They drifted into me.

I finally grew aware enough to realize I was still holding Ian's lovely body. Cradled like a lover. Pale in death. Lips slightly parted. Eyes half-closed. My wound to his throat bold and vicious and cursing me with what I had done. 

"Take no blame for yourself," she said. "This was brought about by another." 

I looked at her, knowing but not understanding.

"Stay strong, Leonides. Not only for your sake, but others who depend on you. Leave Pious to us." 

Somehow I managed to say, "But I want him dead...and vampire may not kill vampire." 

"This is true," she replied with a gentle smile. "But we know those who can. Take your friend. Know you protected him as best you could. Did right by him. Bury him." 

"Here?" In this hideous land of corruption and filth? My beautiful Ian lying here, for eternity? 

"Make ashes of his body. Spread them in the fields. Watch this world grow beautiful around him." 

"Come along, sir." It was Eogard talking. He put a hand on my back. 

I still held Ian's body, and did not want to move for fear I would not wake to find it all a dream. Yet I let him lead me to the stairs and down into the night

Ian was cremated. His ashes put into a beautiful urn of white porcelain and gold, and we sailed for home. Then I did as Nethys suggested, whispering a gentle layer of them over Nellis' hectare of iris. And when they bloomed, that summer, I watched butterflies and bees and birds dance amongst them. 

And never once did I weep.