Darkest Vancouver – Places #6

The University Endowment Lands are, technically, literally and spiritually a foreign land from Darkest Vancouver.

From mapio.net

The Endowment Lands are larger, geographically and by population, than many towns in Canada. The actual university and surrounding residences (student and private) are pushed up against the west along the ocean, with a massive forest between them and Vancouver.

The Endowment Lands are not Vancouver. The Vancouver City Police do not service the Endowment Lands, which instead have their own RCMP detachment. People who live here do not vote for Vancouver’s mayor, and are governed by a combination of the regional district, the university and the province.

Then there’s UBC, a massive university with a student and staff population that puts it in the largest 100 cities in Canada. The students never stay for more than a few years, of course, and many commute in from outside the Endowment Lands every day, so at night the campus gets a lot more lonely (not necessarily quieter, though).

from UBC.ca

The Endowment Lands are huge, isolated, and home to people from across the world. The university is its own, not so little, community that is very different from the rest of Darkest Vancouver. And distressingly easy to get lost in.

What Can You Do Here?

UBC is home to the world’s largest cyclotron. There is some SERIOUS technomage business going on in here!

Do you know how many lycanthropes roam the Endowment Lands? No, no you do not. Not even THEY know. How many, or what kind for that matter. Maybe don’t wander in the woods alone.

And those woods are big. Sure, you can walk your way out once buses stop running for the night. But if you’re being chased? There’s no way you’re making it to Vancouver on foot. Makes it a good hunting ground for someone familiar with the area…

Let’s not forget Wreck Beach, Vancouver’s nude (well, clothing-optional, but if you’re not opting “no” why walk all the way down that long trail?) beach. It gets pretty cold outside of summer, and the water’s cold even then. But it’s a good place to meet someone you want to make sure isn’t carrying anything hidden. Of course, that doesn’t stop an Immortal from bringing her sword, but it does stop her from bringing any armour.

The campus has fairly large and insular communities of pretty much every supernatural type (except car wizards, who wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out there but do love to race the long entrance roads). Werewolves roam the forest, and technomages the campus. There are a surprising number of Immortals tucked away in forgotten professorships, and a disturbing number of demons with tenure. Angels haunt the campus, especially along Frat Row, and the Fey-Touched have their own community home in the Museum of Anthropology. Vampires stalk the residences at night looking for naive youths away from home for the first time and vulnerable, and in turn are stalked by hunters who have formed a vigilante group ‘policing’ the campus. Sorcerers are found throughout faculty lists for certain departments (including the School of Business for some reason unknown to anyone else), and ghosts – well, there are ghosts of suicidal (or murdered) students, victims of lab experiments, long-dead First Nations warriors and their families, lost hikers, residents who simply passed away peacefully in their beds and then woke up surprised, you name it.

No matter who you are, you can find your community here.

That also means that your enemies can find their community here too.

And you’re all stuck out here.

Ezekial Blake

Please, have a seat.

No, don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. You haven’t done anything wrong. Not at all. But there are some things we need to discuss. I’ve heard about the questions you’ve been asking. No, really, please do not worry. I repeat, you aren’t in trouble, and no one’s upset. But you deserve answers.

First, yes, I am an actual professor here, although I don’t currently teach any classes. That’s how I can call myself Professor Ezekial Blake. Heh, yes, I have found the Holy Grail of professorship, tenure without teaching! Although I do teach. Upper-level advanced classes, one on one sort of thing. I’d like you to consider a course with me, in fact.

But first, as I promised, answers.

Would you like a drink? Feel free; I’m going to have one, after all.

So. I don’t know how you found a photograph from the Great Vancouver Fire in such good condition, but yes, that is me. Not my ancestor, hmm, how many ‘greats’ would it take to put a grandfather back in 1886? Math has never been my strong suit.

(By H.T. Devine)

Yes, it is me. I am immortal. Or rather, I am an Immortal. For reasons unknown to me, if there are any reasons behind it, I belong to a peculiar subset of humanity that cannot, except in very exceptional circumstances, die.

Really.

No, for real.

Sigh. All right, allow me to demonstrate. Let me just get positioned right – ah, there we go. Mind the plastic sheeting.

Ouch.

Oh, calm down! You’re not the one who drove a knife through your own eyeball into the brain.

Yes, it’s a real knife. Satisfied?

Now would you like that drink? I thought so.

I first discovered my condition, for want of a better word, in 1862. I had just come up with the first wave of prospectors out of California to Vancouver, or rather what would become Vancouver. I had traveled from my home in New England to California to strike it rich, without any luck whatsoever, and so thought I’d try my hand up north.

I was here for all of about a week before I was attacked by a bear and killed. Except, of course, obviously, I didn’t die. And it wasn’t a real bear, mind you. She was a were-bear – yes, those are real, I’ll explain that later, if you keep interrupting I’ll lose my place and never finish – who was determined to keep these invaders out of her family’s lands.

I awoke a few hours later, completely healed, although my clothes were a bloody ruin. I changed into my other set of clothes, took my knife, and, I am ashamed to say, went to hunt her.

Oh, this knife. There we go. It’s all part of this Immortal thing, it’s bound to me somehow, and I can summon and dismiss it at will. It’s a rather large knife by today’s standards, I suppose, but it has proven effective.

To continue. I did find her, and we fought for hours, neither able to gain the upper hand. My transformation left me with the strength and skill to duel with a bear, which I didn’t even think about until well afterwards. In any event, neither of us won, we both simply collapsed.

As we lay there exhausted, we got to talking. In English, of course, her grasp of my language was impressive and far superior to my non-existent knowledge of her tongue. I couldn’t even pronounce her name, sad to say; I took to calling her Sara. Yes, looking back, it was hideously colonial of me, but in my meagre defence, I did always like the name Sara.

To slightly shorten a too-lengthy story by skipping over irrelevant and prurient details, Sara and I became lovers, and soon husband and wife. At the time it was not seen as very odd to take a Native wife, and Sara’s inner fire so impressed the other settlers that they were simply jealous of me. And with very good reason!

Oh, Sara.

Sorry. I still miss her. Anyway.

Well, gold didn’t pan out, if you’ll pardon the pun, but we did find gold in the trees. Logging took off, and with my particular ability I was most successful at it. When you can’t die, you can cut some corners at logging. I should have died any number of times, but I was by far the fastest logger, and no one could figure out my secret.

I helped to influence the placement of the end of the Canadian Pacific Railway in Gastown. I thought having it closer to Sara’s peoples’ lands might bring them some prosperity. Well, hindsight is 20/20, they say, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last big mistake I’d make.

Two years later, in 1886, once the first train arrived from the East, Vancouver was officially incorporated as a city, and Gastown became the name of a neighbourhood in that city.

And two months after that, the entire city burned down. I had discovered some strange sort of elf – a Fey-touched, I now know they prefer to be called – that was feeding on the life force of the city’s residents. I confronted him, and in the ensuing melee somehow a fire started, and spread much too quickly. I did manage to finish off the villain, but by then the entire city (such as it was) was ablaze.

We set up tents afterward, and held a city council. That’s your photograph. And yes, that’s me, and yes, I haven’t aged a day. Physically.

Life continued rather uneventfully for the next several years, although I gradually became concerned as Sara grew older and I did not.

In 1907 a mob – they called themselves a ‘league,’ the Asiatic Exclusion League – rampaged through the city. My time with Sara had exposed me to the plight of the members of our city who were not white, and so I took to the front line against them. There were thousands of whites, railing against other races while acting so barbarically themselves; it took me years to gain enough distance to appreciate the irony.

I spent the next few years stalking the leaders of the movement. Those I could frighten away I allowed to flee, while those who refused I simply killed and disposed of the bodies. It was a dark time.

And it was all for nought. I thought the league defeated, and Sara and I became involved in the labour movement. We picketed, and helped to organize the general strike of 1918. In the meantime, the League rebuilt itself, and gained enough political influence in 1923 to pressure the government to essentially end all Chinese immigration to Canada.

I thought that I detected some hidden hand behind this new league, and investigated. I discovered that a vampire – yes, they’re real as well – was using the league both to pursue political power and to protect herself. She had used some sort of incantation to make herself to the sun and such other dangers to vampires, but there remained a way to kill her. That method was known only to scholars of traditional Chinese herbalism, and thanks to her no such people would be arriving in Canada any time soon.

We fought, she and I. Sara was by now too frail to fight; I had to sneak out in the middle of the night to keep her from following. I left a note of explanation: I would take the vampire queen as my personal prisoner back to China and there seek the means to end her.

On my travel I ran into another Immortal, a man named Lin Qiangri. He told me about his time following a Chinese revolutionary who claimed to be the son of God and the brother of Christ. I was fascinated.

It took me several months to find a sage with the correct knowledge, and another month to gather the necessary ingredients. I duelled with the spirits of ancient warlords and cast down demigods. Finally, though, it was over, the queen was perma-killed, and I went back to Vancouver.

And, of course, Sara had passed away while I was overseas. My last words to her, I thank God, were “I love you.” But she died alone.

I retreated into myself for a time. I used the information Lin had given me to win a seat for myself at the Anglican Theological College, which you should know eventually became the Vancouver School of Theology here. It was comfortable, and I appreciated the chance to consider ideas of goodness and grace at an academic distance. I played the part of a religious man, and found comfort in the rituals.

It was through the school that I first learned of some kind of spirit moving through the city, killing at will. The murders weren’t connected by the mortal police, though, because each was committed by a different person, and in many cases they caught the ‘criminal.’ Each one claimed to have no memory of the crime. Some were found lying and imprisoned, others were found insane and locked up in an institution. But the more I looked into the matter, the more I grew to believe their claims of innocence, and to see what was happening.

With the help of other professors and students here, we went through centuries of documents, and discovered the truth. We were facing a demon, not the normal sort – yes, they’re real, and no, they’re not actually all that bad for the most part, I’ll introduce you around – but a body thief.

This creature could pass from mortal to mortal at a touch, and hide in someone’s soul until it chose to take control, pushing the person’s will aside and taking over the body completely. Once its job was done, it could retreat back inside and look for an opportunity to move on to a new victim. Worse, if it chose, it could sever the soul’s connection to its own body, and make that body its own forever until it decided to simply jump to another victim, consigning the soul to existence as a ghost.

I finally found the thief, and we fought on the Lions Gate Bridge. I was covered scalp to sole, with no exposed flesh but for my eyes, to keep it from jumping into me. I had no choice but to kill the host body. After my final stab, though, before I could grab the body to bring back for the banishment ritual, it pitched itself off the bridge into the water.

It’s bound to that body, whatever its state, until another human touches it. I don’t know where the body has gone, I hope to the bottom of the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but I deeply fear it has or will wash up somewhere and the killing will begin again. I watch for it.

So that brings me back to you.

I belong to a House of Immortals, the Corvus. We seek knowledge. I have set up my own network, out of this school, of likeminded people with the right aptitudes. Together we make sure that this city stays free from this and similar evil.

I sense in you an energy, a potential. I don’t know what you’ll be, but I know you’ll be so much more than average. You will be a force to be reckoned with. Join me and use that force for good.

Excellent! I’m so happy you decided, and so quickly!

No, no need to worry about what would happen if you refused.

Anyway! Please take a look at this photo. See her? Yes, that’s Faith Eternal. Yes, even I have heard of her.

Now please take a look at this. And this. I know, those are artistic representations, not photographs, cameras didn’t exist back then. But the resemblance is striking, don’t you think?

I believe that there may be a group of Immortals, probably of House Orphis – I’ll explain later – who have some centuries-long plan. I mean, what are the odds of the same woman appearing at those particularly significant moments in time? There is something going on, I think, and I’d like you to learn what you can about her. Try to get close to her. You’re young and attractive, use that, I have no idea if it will work but it’s worth a try.

Welcome to the Club. Hope you survive the experience.

 

Game Summary:

Year of Rebirth: 1862

House: Corvus – I’ve got my House’s back, and they’ve got mine. But I’ve set up my own secret organization, just in case.

Personal Tragedy: I was not there for my wife’s death; my quest took me away from her, and now all that’s left to me is my quest.

Badass Rep: defeated ancient ghosts and outwitted demons pretending to be local gods; discovered and hopefully defeated the body thief.

Inner Deal: I know that I don’t deserve this immortality. I know so many more deserving souls. I have failed so often. I must try to be worthy, although I know I won’t be.

Historical Influence: helped make Vancouver what it is today.

Unyielding Yearning: to finally rest, which means finishing my duty to Sara by protecting her lands and the people on them.

Throne of Comfort: my office at the School of Theology at UBC, surrounded by mystic items and tomes of secrets, and my comfy chair, teapot and radio. It’s protected by its anonymity; who would suspect this place?

Darkest Vancouver – Places #5

On the very southern edge of Darkest Vancouver is Kent Street. It is quite literally on the other side of the tracks from the rest of Vancouver. Whether it’s the ‘wrong’ side of the tracks depends on where you’re standing.

North of Kent Street at its western end, the tracks run between Kent and the rest of Vancouver, while south is the arm of the Fraser River separating Vancouver from Richmond and the airport. Further east, the tracks switch places with the road, but the neighbourhood stays about the same until you get close to Burnaby.

Between Kent Street and the river is industrial, old-school hard-times working industrial. Mixed in with the wholesalers, body shops and warehouses, though, are places too odd to afford more upscale digs that are settling in comfortably here – an antique store, a builder of scale models, a cafe. At night, a few of the autobody shops turn into speakeasies with crews of regulars who don’t take kindly to slumming posers.

The tracks still run, and there are huge piles of raw material – wood chips, minerals – right beside the river. Once you go far enough east, you run into homes, older houses and newer townhouses. The people who live here tend to be practical and tolerant to a fault, making homes in a working neighbourhood that most of their fellow city-dwellers wouldn’t even consider acceptable.

This is where the real outsiders live. The weres who aren’t so cool, especially the water weres like the were-seals, who appreciate the river right there. The car wizards, the real ones who just don’t give a fuck, who frequent the best mechanics in the city down here. Hunters who are so monomaniacally focused on their specific targets that they’re comfortable hanging around others touched by Apeiron, who keep their ridiculous weapon caches hidden in the trainyards. Immortals who are tired of dealing with the rest of the city, who have found the perfect weird little store to run to interact with people in a very specific context precisely to their liking. The technomage biker gang whose clubhouse is a very well-kept ‘abandoned’ warehouse.

And they all get along, and fight for each other. Because this is THEIR place, damn it.

What Can You Do Here?

Old Hrytzck has his metal shop here. If your blade is broken, he can fix it, and usually for the cost of a favour that isn’t even that onerous. Who’s trying to drive him away, and what are you going to do about it?

Those giant heaps of industrial minerals and sawdust are just begging for a duel up the slopes, lighting crashing down and throwing shrapnel or starting fires!

Just hang out in an after-hours bar run out of an industrial warehouse, and meet the people that make even Darkest Vancouver’s supernatural community uncomfortable. You might meet someone you used to know.

 

Kallisto

My name’s Kallisto. It’s Greek. Old Greek. So am I. How old? You have no idea.

I’m not exactly sure when I was born. I’ve got it narrowed down to ancient Greece, in the late 5th century BCE. But the year? I don’t know. The day? I don’t know that either.

My father was important – a general, then a politician. He had connections, and money. So he owned land. And people.

My mother was one of his slaves, and she was beautiful. And I took after her. It took me centuries to figure out where she came from, and to this day I have no idea how a Japanese woman wound up a slave in ancient Greece. But she was. And except for my nose, I look exactly like she did.

My father thinks she seduced him. Why? She must have known she wouldn’t get her freedom that way. Other slaves told me that he treated her well, and I think she mistook that contemptuous offhand affection for real caring, maybe even love. And like I said, she was beautiful.

After I was born, my dad soured on her. I was a constant and obvious reminder of his shame, that he’d been reduced to screwing his house slave. Mom aged quickly after that, working in cruel conditions, and died before I was eight.

I don’t know why Dad waited until Mom had died, but before her body was even in the ground he sent me away, gifting me to the local temple of Aphrodite.

My first training was in dance. I danced with veils, or nothing, while parading or in a great banquet hall or in a private room. I was taught how to dance to please Aphrodite and how to please the men who came to the temple. When I was older, I was taught – different methods to please the worshippers who came to the temple.

To talk about it now, it sounds horrifying. Back then, though, I was happy to be somewhere where they were happy to have me. I was just happy not to be under my father’s violent care. I had a fair degree of freedom at the temple, and I had friends.

And I had Irene. She was older than me, and was my instructor for some arts, and she was intoxicatingly graceful. We were inseperable.

When I was fifteen Dad came round to visit and saw I was happy. I guess he was still angry at Mom, since the next thing I knew he had bought me from the temple and sold me to some minor prince in the Achaemenid Empire (that’s called Persia nowadays, or at least nowadays that place way back when is called Persia; place names get challenging when you outlast nations).

Things went bad quick. The prince bought me for one reason, obviously, but he was so repulsive even with my training I just couldn’t stand him. I fought him off successfully. So he stabbed me through the gut and disemboweled me.

And I survived. I healed before his eyes and stood back up. I was more surprised than he was.

He screamed, but before he could stab me again his bodyguard came in. And he instantly recognized that I was just like him, an Immortal.

Cyrus convinced the prince not to keep stabbing me and instead to let Cyrus train me. The prince could see the obvious appeal of having TWO unkillable bodyguards and agreed instantly.

I spent the next decade or so training. Cyrus appreciated the flexibility and agility my dancing training had given me, so decided to teach me to use (I have no idea how he himself learned) the urumi, the Indian whip sword. I got pretty good, eventually, although it definitely helped that I didn’t have to worry about accidently slicing myself up – it happened, constantly, but I got better fast. When I wasn’t using it, I could just wrap it around my waist like a belt. Sure, I could just send it somewhere, somehow, and bring it back instantly, but I did appreciate the comfort of the weight of it physically on me.

I stopped several assassins, and looked great doing it, so my reputation got to King Darius, and the prince couldn’t say no. So, I became the king’s elite protector.

And I used that connection. I talked to the king when we were alone, about my old home, about their softness, and their insults against the great Persian Empire.

I led an army into Greece, into my father’s city of Eretria, in the First Persian Invasion. Crazed with the need for revenge, I ran directly to my father’s estate. I toyed with him, chasing him, cornering him, flicking at him with the urumi, so many small painful cuts, until finally I sliced his throat. Then I turned to go.

And I felt a sudden presence behind me, and before I could turn I was knocked out by a crushing blow to the back of my head.

My father had just become Immortal.

I woke up in chains. My father stood in front of me, with Irene tied to a stone altar, and a strange man standing beside her. Dad said the stranger was a demon named Gamigin. Gamigin then tore Irene’s heart out with his bare hands.

I screamed. Then I saw Irene sit up. But not Irene, her spirit. Her ghost. I was relieved. They couldn’t hurt her any more.

I was wrong. Gamigin grabbed her ghost, just as if she were still solid, and somehow crammed her into a small jar. He handed the jar to my dad, bowed to me, and walked out.

Dad jammed a knife into the side of the jar. It passed through without breaking or apparently even cutting into the jar, and out the other side. The jar was still in one piece. I could hear a faint shriek of pain from Irene inside.

I spent the next ten years as my father’s assassin. I snuck and infiltrated, or seduced, or simply attacked. I killed dozens, all innocent I’m sure, just so that he wouldn’t hurt Irene. I was given moments with her, just minutes with weeks in between, but I treasured and lived for those minutes, and thought it worth it.

Then the Second Persian Invasion came crashing down on Eretria.

My father sent me out to fight to protect his estate only. I did, until Cyrus came. We fought, and I defeated him, but before I perma-killed him Cyrus called on me to stop. I don’t know why I listened, when I hadn’t really thought since I woke up in that dungeon a decade ago, but I did. And Cyrus told me he could help.

The two of us found my dad. We started attacking together, but Cyrus took the front, and I found an opportunity to sneak past my father. I grabbed Irene’s jar. Cyrus got my father down, but before he could behead him Greek reinforcements arrived, and we had to run.

I spent the next two hundred years carrying the jar across the world, until I found a sorcerer able to undo the spell binding Irene’s soul inside the jar. We set her free. She went to a better place. I never heard her laugh again. I still miss her.

I ran into Cyrus again, and he told me to become involved in Immortal society. He introduced me to some acquaintances, and I joined House Felis.

I spent literally hundreds of years living for pleasure, mine and others, trying to make up for the pain I’d caused and trying to convince myself that it was worth living.

Eventually, I wound up in Spain, in Barcelona. Just in time for the Spanish Civil War.

I joined the International Brigades. It was amazing. People from all over the world, joined together to defeat the fascists and establish a communist utopia. I had finally, at long last, found something I could believe in and fight for.

So of course we lost, and lost hard. Barcelona fell to the Falangist forces in 1939. I fought until I ran out of bullets, standing in the rubble, letting the fascists shoot me and witness that their guns did nothing to me, and then charging with my urumi. Until finally I fell from simple exhaustion. I felt them bayonet me repeatedly, until they were satisfied I was dead, and then Franco’s army walked past into the city.

I couldn’t get up for a day. I traveled into Europe, fighting the Axis wherever I could. I encountered an Immortal by the name of Ciaran Morgan, who fought the British unit I was traveling with.

Our duel lasted most of a day. I think I had an edge in speed, but he was stronger. And I simply could not match his pure rage. I don’t know what demons drove him, but his sheer ferocity finally overwhelmed me. He didn’t perma-kill me, for his own reasons. I saw him only once after, in Berlin close to the end of the war, but this time he was fighting against the Nazis. I didn’t interfere.

It was in Berlin that I saw him again. My father. He saw me, too, and we charged simultaneously to attack each other. And I defeated him. He was skilled with his sword, but I was more skilled with my urumi. He had some magic tricks, but I battled past these distractions, and had him down. But an Allied bombing run gave him the chance he needed to escape.

Determined to end him, I followed his trail across Europe, and then across the Atlantic, to North America. I finally lost his trail somewhere in the Canadian prairies. I kept traveling west, aimless, until I came to Vancouver.

I set down roots here. I found a home, where I could relax and enjoy myself, returning to the life I had known before the Civil War. More, I found a Home, a small house in a small neighbourhood called Burkeville right beside the airport. I was drawn to that building, and discovered a pool of energy under the floor, a pool that led to a land of ghosts. I go there often, resting in the presence of friends and thinking of Irene.

I still try to make people smile, and make myself smile. If you can do that, then the world hasn’t beaten us yet, right? And when I need to, I’ll fight. And if I see Gamigin, I will kill him. And when I find my father, I will make him experience the pain he has caused me, and only once I’m satisfied he knows my hurt, then I’ll utterly and finally destroy him.

Whew. Enough of that. I need a drink. Join me?

 

 

Summary: my take on the quintessential 90s character – the lesbian stripper ninja!

Year of Rebirth: 479 BCE

House: Felis – they have my back, and I have theirs.

Personal Tragedy: tormented by her father and haunted by the evils he forced her to commit.

Badass Rep: trained by Cyrus, conquered Eretria, and has assassinated countless victims. Deadly even if she lets you see her coming.

Inner Deal: has seen the worst of the world and been used by everyone, so trusts no one but wants to believe the world could be better; the way to make the world better is to make people’s lives better one at a time, but it can get discouraging.

Historical Influence: conquered Eretria millennia ago, almost saved Barcelona.

Unyielding Yearning: to finally (eventually) perma-kill her father.

Throne of Comfort: a ghost world hidden, but not otherwise protected, beneath the floor of her house.

Connor Lin

My name is Connor Lin. This is my story.

I was born in 1840. My parents named me Lin Qiangri, “Strong Sun.” I was happy as a child. My father was a successful merchant, and he delighted in spoiling my mother and me. We lived in Yuezhou, at Dongting Lake, a place of legendary beauty.

That changed when I was twelve, and the Taiping arrived. The army was led by a man claiming to be the younger brother of Jesus Christ, preaching that he would drive the Manchu rulers from China. My parents became believers, and so we joined the Taiping Rebellion.

I was enlisted, and learned to fight. I was (well, I still am) large, and I proved skillful with the ghost head sword, an intimidating and powerful weapon. I loved my parents, and believed them, and so I believed in Hong Xiuquan, God’s Chinese son. I fought against the armies of the Qing, and the foreigners from the West. I do not know how many I slaughtered; at the time I did not care to count. I concentrated only and killing as many enemies of my lord as I could.

I was in Nanjing when it fell in 1864. The Heavenly Kingdom had begun to fall apart well before, but we still believed and we still fought. I still fought, to the end. I believed.

Hong Xiuquan died weeks before the city fell. I believed that he would return once we had defeated the Qing and defended the city. I fought to the end. To my death.

The Qing army destroyed the gate with explosives. Stones fell throughout the city, killing hundreds. I ran to the fallen wall. I fought for hours, until my sword was dull and all around me was blood. And then I fell.

They shot me. I had been told that I would be protected by God, that bullets would not touch me, and until that day that had been true. That day, though, the bullets did hit, and hit hard.

I struggled back to my feet, pushing myself up with my sword, and advanced. The first soldiers saw me and panicked, but the soldiers behind them did not. A second round of gunfire knocked me down again.

I got back to my knees, but by then the Qing soldiers were on me, beating and stabbing. I fell.

I died.

And I returned to life two days later.

I awoke to find myself fully healed, without cuts or bruises. And I knew, somehow, instinctively, that I was immortal. And Hong Xiuquan, the son of God, was still dead.

The first thing I thought to do was to reach for my sword, still lying beside me on the street where my corpse had lain for two days. As soon as I grabbed it, I felt a flare of energy burn through me to the sword, and the rings on the sword chimed. This ghost head sword was mine, I knew, and would never dull while I drew breath.

I found my parents’ corpses after three days. I did not fight any further. There was no point. Hong Xiuquan was dead, proving that he was wrong. A liar, a madman, simply mistaken, it did not matter. He was not God’s Chinese son, and he would not defeat the Qing Emperor. I had risen from the dead, and was immortal, but I knew my father and he was not God. I had fought and killed without purpose.

I had no choice. I left China, my homeland, forever. I traveled to the coast and boarded a ship for Gold Mountain. With a flick of my wrist, my ghost head sword appeared in my hand, and I cut off my queue; without that long tail of hair, mandated by the Qing as the style of the Manchu who ruled, I would be executed in China. No matter. There was nothing for me there.

I arrived in Vancouver. I worked on the railway, and saw the Last Spike driven. I washed clothes for pennies without complaint. And I fought to protect my people.

And the circle of my people grew. There were so many who were treated with the same contempt as the Chinese. I found common cause with the poor, the outcast, the discriminated, and I have vowed to protect them. They have my sword. I need nothing in return. This fight is all I need.

I met others who were like me, Immortal. I learned of the Houses that we gather ourselves into. I refused to join. I had belonged to something once, and I lost my family and my faith as a result. I would stand on my own, and fight for my own reasons.

And I fell in love. She was beautiful, and true, and she loved me. And she was mortal, and she died, and I continued.

I kept this, her jade necklace. I have worn it and never removed it, always feeling its cool presence above my heart. I have taken it in my hand, and thought of her, and felt peace that once, briefly, our love created a personal heaven on Earth.

Recently, though, I have seen a young woman. Her name is Shawna Macadam. She is a member of a local First Nation. She is beautiful. She burns with an inner power like that of an Immortal, but she is not Immortal. She drives like a wizard, and I am in awe of her. And in her eyes I see the soul of Zheng Yue, and when I am near her the jade above my heart warms. I must tell her: she is my true love, reborn. I just need to find the words.

I am not the most skilled warrior, I admit that readily. My training did not extend that far. But I know you know of me. I know that you know I will not stop. And I will fight for what is right. And I will do whatever it takes to win. I do not fear pain. I have no reason to fear death. But those I protect do. And I will not let them suffer. You know this. Do not cross me.

I have my cause. I do not want or need another. I will not follow you. I will not join your House. Stop asking.

I tell you this, so that you understand. I am broken, inside, and even Zheng Yue’s love did not and Shawna’s love could not cure this hollowness. I only feel truly at peace when I am at war, when my ghost head sword is red with the blood of the unrighteous. When at rest, I know I should be not be, I know that I should be fighting to protect those who cannot protect themselves, those who need me and my sword. And when my bones break and my blood spills, the pain tells me that I am doing right, and only then am I satisfied with myself.

Now, knowing this, will you stand aside? We each have our sword. We can each die the Final Death, here, tonight, by the other’s hand. But I do not fear the Final Death.

And I do not care what this child’s ancestor may have done to you so long ago, and I do not believe that this child cannot choose a different path and retain his innocence. I will not let you harm this child.

Now you know me, such as few ever have. You know why I stand here, and you know I will not move.

Stand aside.

Or step forward.

 

 

Game summary:

Year of Rebirth: 1864

House: Bufo – someone of House Orphis has taken to trying to recruit me again, for some reason I can’t fathom.

Personal Tragedy: could not save parents and became disillusioned on the same day; lost his one true love to the ravages of time.

Badass Rep: the determinator – will suck up any amount of punishment to avenge wrongs done to the downtrodden.

Inner Deal: disillusioned, directionless, and alone, Connor only finds peace when fighting; he does not like himself.

Historical Influence: fought in the Taiping Rebellion, protected labourers building the Canadian Pacific Railway.

Unyielding Yearning: true acceptance from Zheng Yue / Shawna Macadam earned by doing good.

Throne of Comfort: a prized relic, Zheng Yue’s jade necklace acquired from her withered hands as she was lowered into the ground.

Darkest Vancouver – Places #4

The Bloedel Conservatory is located in the centre of Darkest Vancouver, and sits at the top of Little Mountain, the highest point in the city. It is the heart of the city.

Photo by Sporkist/Taz

Filled with plants from deserts and jungles, free-flying birds and tropical fish, it is full of life. It has three distinct environments inside so someone’s going to be comfortable someplace, and someone’s going to uncomfortable someplace.

Photo by Steverelei

Its structure, a triodetic dome, can withstand windstorms and earthquakes, so it’s a good place to seek sanctuary if you can get there.

And it’s right beside a statue called Knife Edge Two-Piece 1962-65, inspired by the shape of a bone fragment, which isn’t ominous at all.

What Can You Do Here?

POLITICS. So much politics. It’s the neutral zone for the city, so you can wander from the desert to the jungle, making meaningful comments to your Immortal foe as a tropical bird perches on your shoulder.

Who enforces the truce? It’s a living beating heart that provides sanctuary from the world, so of course it’s the Angels. And of course they’re smug and oppressive about it.

And since the park is built over an old rock quarry, of course there’s an underground mirror, run by Demons. Fewer rules, and a lot weirder birds.

And you could SWEAR that the Knife Edge statue is a few inches closer to the conservatory than it was last week. Maybe someone should keep track of that.

Darkest Vancouver – Places #3

Vancouver is a pretty expensive place to live – the average price for a house is over one million dollars. Vancouver is also home to the poorest neighbourhood in the country. And right in the middle is the No. 5 Orange.

Photo, without permission, from vancouverobserver.com

The No. 5, as it’s called, is a strip club with good food and clean bathrooms that just happens to sit directly across the road from Darkest Vancouver’s main criminal courthouse (called 222 Main, after its street address).

Photo, again without permission, from yvrshoots.com

For a strip joint in a rough and desperate neighbourhood, it’s comfortable and clean inside, which means someone’s invested in taking care of the place. And since this is Darkest Vancouver, that can’t be good.

What Can You Do Here?

Choto matte. Do you have an invitation cardoh? But with MORE VAMPIRES AND WAY MORE KATANAS.

Of course there’s a back room. But which particular group of supernatural power players you’ll find depends on which day of the week it is.

No. 5 is right across from 222 Main, which is right across from the city jail. There are underground passages from the jail to the courthouse to transport prisoners. Makes sense. But why are there underground passages from the courthouse to the strip club?

Speaking of underground tunnels, why are there so many tunnels running around downtown Darkest Vancouver? And they’re not all controlled by the same groups. Are you ready for an UNDERGROUND TURF WAR?!

Darkest Vancouver – Places #2

Stanley Park is for tourists. You want to really run wild? Try Burns Bog, the largest peat bog in the whole Northern Hemisphere!

Photo by Pierre Leclerc, used without any permission whatsoever, from burnsbogfoundation.org

Granted, it’s not in Darkest Vancouver proper, but in Greater Darkest Vancouver – Delta, to be specific, south of Vancouver. The bog is between Ladner, a quieter bedroom community, and North Delta, a growing young suburb. It’s not a long drive, even without a car wizard, and a shorter flight.

It covers about 40 kilometres, or 15 square miles, so there’s a lot of room to move. And because access is tightly regulated, there’s a lot of room to move freely, without nosy witnesses.

Photo by underbar dk, also no permission

Oh, and because peat is rich in methane, it catches on fire. A lot. And fires can burn for months underground.

What Can You Do Here?

You can hunt. Or, if you’ve pissed off someone who’s into hunting The World’s Deadliest Game, you can be dragged out here and hunted. It’s not fun trying to run through the muck and mire – unless you’re built for running there, of course. And, to top it off, it’s pretty flat out here – you’re easy to spot. The closest traveled road out is a few kilometres southwest, at the landfill. Better start running.

They say that there’s an Immortal buried in there somewhere, chained up and weighted down, unable to move and unable to die. They say he knows a LOT about that group you’ve tangled with recently. But they also say he must be crazy by now. And there’s so much bog to search.

Of course the rare plant you need for that concoction is in there. Somewhere. Maybe in the middle of that mystic circle made out of flames that don’t go out. Or maybe it’s square in the centre of the territory claimed by the small but scary pack of werebears.

Or, just come out here. Use your connections, or mind tricks, or plain old money for bribes, to get in. Take a walk, and remember the old days, in the old country, before the big cities and the cars and the pollution, back when you were still in love, and soliloquize about it.

Darkest Vancouver – Places #1

You haven’t lived until you’ve (tried to) duel inside the Sam Kee Building, the narrowest building in the world!

Less than five feet on the ground floor, and only six feet on the second floor including the window bays extending over the sidewalk, there’s no room to swing a katana.

The building, the skinniest in the world, is over a hundred years old and was built to spite the neighbours. When city rezoning left Sam Kee with a sliver of land, he was not going to sell it cheap. Instead, he built this!

What Can You Do Here?

Well, it’s narrow as hell. Just getting past someone is an accomplishment. Swinging a sword is impossible, but even just punching/clawing isn’t easy. Worst place for a duel, or best place? Depends on who’s style is more hindered! Might even the odds for you.

And SOMEONE is going out a second-floor window. Guaranteed. That’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when.’ And the answer to that is immediately.

Or, alternatively, once the next-door building is torn down for development that never happens, that five-foot-wide roof will let you swing your katana nice and wide, but forget about dodging, or backing up too far. If you’re the better duellist, this is the place for you.

There are tunnels under most of Chinatown, including one leading to this place. The expressed reason for the tunnels is to help people escape from opium dens when the police raided back in the day. If that’s the case, though, why are the tunnels (a) still there, (b) in such good condition, and (c) only accessible by a small elite group who have the keys to the high-security ultra-tech locks on the secret access points? And who’s paying for all that?

The building’s steel-framed, and we all know how good steel is for conducting certain magical energies. The design is perfect as a focus for some pretty powerful spell-casting. And when you add in that the building was created from a grudge? Those won’t be shiny happy spells.

So go on, get in there. You only live forever!

Stark Night

Beloved,
I have to adore the earth:

The wind must have heard
your voice once.
It echoes and sings like you.

From “Love Song,” by Henry Dumas

***

He nearly breaks my undead hand.

The bouncer is definitely a were, and one of the big ones. Bear, maybe? Anyway, he takes my hand to shake, and holds on, and squeezes. When I don’t react, his grip gets harder, and after two seconds, if I were just a mortal my hand would be nothing but a squishy bag of bone chips. But I just meet his thousand-yard stare with one of my one, and don’t show pain. And, satisfied, he lets go and waves me in.

I don’t feel much anymore. I guess that’s a good thing, not feeling.

I should have expected it, or a similar test. No one gets in to Club Chthonic free and easy. You prove your way in to the darkest club in Vancouver.

And when I say ‘darkest’ I don’t mean ‘hardest to identify whether you’re actually dancing anywhere near the person you were trying to dance close to.’ When I say ‘darkest,’ I mean ‘least likely to actually emerge from alive.’

Yeah. It’s like that. Lucky for me I’m already dead then.

My name’s Wolfgang Stark. I’m a vampire. I’m here to kill an Immortal.
That’s what they call themselves – ‘Immortals.’ But word choice matters, and they chose wrong. Maybe they don’t age like the rest of us. Well, not me, anymore, but others do – normal people. And maybe they don’t get sick, and maybe they heal from mortal wounds faster than I used to heal from papercuts. No, scratch that, no maybe about it. They don’t age, they don’t get sick, they don’t die in stupid accidents because someone wasn’t paying attention with the ladder. They might live forever.

But they’re not immortal. They’re not gods. They can die. And I’m going to prove it. Tonight.

Emily Barrowcourt, the Ice Ninja, is going to die tonight.

***

I’ve been around for a couple hundred years. Sometimes it feels longer.
It’s been long enough to make an enemy or two.

***

My mother died when I was just an infant. I don’t think I ever saw her face. I hope that’s true, because I can’t picture it, and if it’s not true then that says something about me.

I know that she was the daughter of a wealthy German merchant family, wealthy enough to catch the eye of a minor noble family that needed an infusion of wealth, back when real power was just starting to move from blood to gold. Love didn’t enter into it, even less than it does now, but both families got what they were looking for.

My father was a diplomat, sent to Europe by the kingdom of Maravi. I’ve looked it up; it’s capital was in what’s now Malawi. That’s in south-east Africa, by the way.

You can probably guess where this is going.

My father was sent on a trade mission to try to form a relationship with a European power to offset Portugal’s influence in the region. He got stuck trying to chat up the graf married to the woman who would become my mother. The graf, I was told, wasn’t thrilled about playing host to some savage, but was trying to impress whoever was higher up the political food chain and so was on his best behaviour, and had a number of receptions at his property.

My father told me that, when he first saw my mother, he saw the beauty of her soul, and he was lost. Obviously, she felt the same, if not at first then shortly. It’s hard enough to cross the colour line today; then, it must have been almost impossible. My parents were special enough to see the worth of each other to cross that line. That’s where I come from.

Father kept finding reasons to drop in on the graf, and managed to do so when the graf was busy with other matters. Mother was perfectly happy to host while her husband was busy. Father told me they were subtle, but no one in the house imagined that their relationship was even possible, and so they got away with the occasional minor PDA without raising suspicion.

Then my mother got pregnant.

I gather the hope had been to play me as the graf’s kid whether I was or not. But biology will have its day, and I was born even darker than my father.

Mother knew instantly she had no chance of hiding my parentage, and her infidelity. The graf hadn’t been in the room during the birth, and while those present were still wondering what to do, my mother grabbed me, threw on a coat, and ran into the night.

She didn’t make it to my father.

The graf caught up to her on the road and cut her down.

My mother heard his horse before she could see it. And before the graf could see her. She knew what was coming. Desperate, she hid me in the crook of a tree’s roots, with a cloth soaked in milk to suck on to keep me quiet. And then she went back on to the road, for the graf to find. To find her alone.

When the graf was done with her, he assumed I was dead or dying; he didn’t see any need to hunt around for me to complete his vengeance. By the time I started crying, he was gone.

That’s how my father found me, when he received word of an incident on the road and came out searching for my mother.

My father’s mission kept him in Germany for several more years, and much of that time he had to interact with the graf. They both knew everything, but neither could show their rage for the other. They had to play nice. In public.

The graf sent hired goons after my father constantly. My father was already slightly skilled at combat, but he got better fast. Necessity is a hell of a teacher, and he was fighting to save me. He had no illusion what would happen to me without him around. He was careful. With some of his attackers he could claim self-defence, if there were enough independent witnesses honest enough to state that the thugs came at him first. Other times he had to be careful to leave them alive and not even too seriously wounded. And sometimes he had to hide the bodies.

Meanwhile, Father was doing everything he could to destroy the graf. While he didn’t have that much practical power, he was the charming representative of a foreign power, and was able to gather up enough influence. By the time Father was ready to leave Koln, the graf was friendless and destitute. My father made sure he was informed when, a few years later, the graf died on the streets.

How is this relevant right here right now? Emily Barrowcourt, as she calls herself now? She’s my half-sister, born two years before me to my mother and the graf.

***

I met Shiro about thirty years ago.

For a couple of decades after getting drained, I went all-in with the Damned Child Of The Night thing. I kept a harem of entranced mortals, and forced myself to think of them as lesser beings just there for my amusement. First it was effort to think like that, then it was boring, then it got actively disturbing.

So I went all-in the other way. I went looking for love, and found it. And I figured that, since I was going to live forever, but only at night and only by drinking blood, she should share that with me. And she was willing to. So I drained her. Then we started having trouble, and then she started enjoying her current state a little too much for my tastes, and five months later she was gone.

I learned from that, and found someone else, someone better, someone I could trust. Eliza. She knew what I was, and loved me anyway, and wanted to stay mortal. We had a long and wonderful life together. I’ve never been that happy, thinking back, and never will be again.

Because we were together to the end, when she lay in bed, so thin and fragile, and I sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand and looked in her eyes, and I was still as strong as the day we met, and I saw the light in her eyes go out, and I felt a piece of my heart go with that light.

Eliza never said anything, ever, but towards the end, as her vision went and her hearing went, when just walking a few feet was such a struggle that sometimes she simply couldn’t, she must have looked at me, still young, with envy and a little hatred. She must have. I know she must have, because I felt it for her anyway, hating myself for still existing.

After Eliza, I just couldn’t put anyone through that again. I still needed someone, but I just drifted from lover to lover, never together more than a year or so, flitting between glancing connections that only barely held me together.

And then, about thirty years ago, I met Shiro, and everything changed again.

The best way I can describe it is like this: when I saw Shiro, I finally knew what my parents felt when they first saw each other.

When Shiro smiled, everyone could see the benevolence in his soul. He was so perfect at everything, handsome, smart, utterly charming, that the rest of us normal fallible people should just want to punch him in the neck. But he just genuinely liked everyone so much that there was no way not to like him back.

And no way not to love him.

And he was an Immortal.

I didn’t know that when we met, or even in the first year. I was careful to keep secret that I was a vampire; I wanted to stay with him as long as I could, and I thought that if he knew he’d either push me away or want to join in. But he knew; he knew within minutes. He was observent, and smart, and had lived enough centuries to have encountered his fair share of undead bloodsuckers. And he was willing to give me the time and trust to work out for myself what to do.

So, after a year of nightly dates and finding increasingly tenuous excuses to avoid getting together in daylight, I finally told him. And then he told me.

I know I just said I was never happier than when I was with Eliza, and I still hold to that, because losing Eliza left me just that little bit numb, so that nothing and no one could get that far. But Shiro filled me with as much happiness as I could possibly experience. And we were going to be together Forever, capital ‘F.’ Forever.

I know. Stupid, right?

***

Some people who hear about Immortals, or Vampires for that matter, assume that every major event in human history (and most minor events too, for that matter) is the direct result of some eternal occult conspiracy, that everything that happened was planned and instigated and controlled by some small cabal of immortal beings directing the fate of humanity for their own inscrutable benefit. If that’s the case, then I’m out of the loop with the rest of you, and Shiro was too.

It’s a silly idea anyway, thinking about it. Running the world is too much work. And running the world in secret? Do you have any idea how many people you’d have to corrupt/discredit/kill to keep it quiet? In the Wikileaks era? Good luck. No, normal humans did this to ourselves. Yourselves.

***

We had been living in Vancouver for over five years, and were getting into all of the Vancouver lifestyle – complaining about house prices, complaining about the rain, complaining about the traffic, not actually going skiing, actually going to Seattle, the usual. I had some savings and was coasting, while Shiro had a life coaching consultancy something (there were a couple more buzzwords in there that I never remembered more than three seconds after I heard them) that was just to give him an opportunity to meet more people, since we didn’t need the money at all.

We had a nice condo downtown, one bedroom and den up on the twelfth floor, with a nice view of some neighbouring highrises. Small, but enough. Shiro turned the den into a practice room (I want to say “dojo,” but he never called it that) for practicing his fencing. He taught me a bit, but I more enjoyed just watching him. Sure, he looked good shirtless and sweaty, but the real beauty was in watching him move, with grace and with such confidence. It was like watching a poem, with each action a word, so carefully chosen and placed, and flowing into each other like the water of the smoothest clearest brook.

I was in the living room, TV on in the background, leaning over the back of the sofa watching him. Shiro finished his routine, placed his katana back on the wall, and grabbed a towel. I turned my attention at least partly back to the news.

“Huh, the Canucks made it to game 7,” I said, more just for something to say than any real interest. I don’t care how long I live here, the only real sport is football (PROPER football, mind you).

Shiro walked over and bent down, kissed the top of my head. “We should go.”

“Never get tickets now.”

Shiro flopped over the back onto the sofa and waved somewhat in the TV’s direction. “It says they’re going to arrange for public viewing areas, and it’s downtown so it’s right nearby.” He punched me in the arm; I barely felt it. “You’ve got no excuse.”

I shook my head. “It’s gonna go bad, I’m telling you now.”

“Killjoy. Come on, it’ll be fun to be out!” Shiro grinned, and I lost.

I sighed. “Fine. But I get to say I told you so later.”

***

I don’t know why, but Vancouver has a much higher than normal population of weirdness. Immortals, vampires, weres, ghosts – you name it, Vancouver has it, and more of it. We stay hidden, not by any great conspiracy but just by being careful. Mortals don’t want to see us, anyway, it shakes anyone’s concept of the universe, so we don’t even have to try to hard. Mortals will explain us away all on their own.

But I think that having so many of us here, in one place, at this concentration, does something to the city, to the people living here. I believe that, even staying underwater like we do, we still make ripples and waves on the surface. These people can’t help but know that there’s something out there, something not quite right, and it affects them. Maybe contact, even unknowing contact, with the immortal makes them question the value of the mortal. We know the value of the mortal, precisely because we’ve lost it; maybe to those who’ve never known the other, knowing at some level that you’re surrounded by those who will live forever makes you wonder what’s the point of trying for only sixty or seventy years.

I think that, instead of any secret conspiracy of moster overlords, might explain why Vancouver gets so, well, dark sometimes. And in a lot of different ways. I mean, Vancouver even rioted when Guns N’ Roses didn’t play, and in 2002, not 1989!

I should have seen it coming.

***

We had no warning.

Shiro and I were watching one of the huge screens downtown. It was daylight, but I’ve got my methods; it’s not necessarily fun, but I can function well enough. People around us had been drinking, and the mood wasn’t good. I don’t watch enough hockey, or care enough, to know if Vancouver was playing well or not, but I could see that they were losing, and losing hard.

The game was over by less than a minute when the first bottle smashed into the screen. More bottles were thrown, and people started to shout “Riot!” Some people started to panic, and the crowd was off.

The news said that, although over 100 people were injured, no one was killed. That was wrong.

I grabbed Shiro’s arm and started pulling him back home. He pulled back, saying “We should help!”

I shook my head. “Help how?” I waved at the mob, dozens of people now flipping and burning police cars. “We can’t just beat everybody down, we’re not superheroes! And it’s not even dark yet, I’m useless!”

Shiro pulled out of my grip. “You’re not, and I’m not, and I’m not giving up.” He took two steps and grabbed the back collar of a guy getting ready to football kick the head of another guy on the ground. Shiro yanked back, pulling the guy off-balance and backwards far enough that they were face to face. Shiro let go, then grabbed the front of the guy’s shirt with his other arm and lifted the guy’s feet off the ground. “Don’t. Now leave.” Shiro let go, and the guy dropped to his feet and instantly bolted.

He turned back to look at me. “See?” he said, smiling.

And then a sword slammed into the side of his head, slashing deep, sending an eye flying onto the road.

***

Immortals and vampires, we generally don’t set things up, not on a big scale. Still no conspiracy, right? We manipulate people for our own advantage or pleasure, but we don’t arrange for wars just to kill an enemy, and we don’t create epic disasters just for amusement. But we have been around long enough that we can often see where things are going, and quickly enough to take advantage of an opportunity. Like, say, a riot.

***

Shiro immediately pulled his head away and jumped to the side, away from the sword.

I saw my sister.

“Greta!”

She flicked her blade, blood and gore spattering the street beside her. “It’s Emily now, dear brother.”

I took a step toward her before realizing, foolishly, we’d left our weapons at home. “Stop it! He’s not involved!”

She smiled, harsh. “I’ve seen the two of you. He’s involved.”

“Don’t do this! You don’t understand -”

“I understand perfectly! I know exactly what he is, and what this will cost you!” Her eyes burned into mine. “I know exactly how this will hurt you.”

She started to turn back towards Shiro, and his kick caught her exactly in the neck. I heard the crack, over all the noise of the riot, and saw her fall.

Shiro turned from the body back to me. “Wolf, who is this?”

“Don’t turn -”

Too late. The blade sprouted from the centre of Shiro’s chest, pinning him for a moment, before it slid back. Shiro looked down, more in surprise than anything else for a moment. Immortals recover faster than possible, but the type of injury still matters. Broken neck? That means a severed spinal cord. A few strands patch back together and you’ve got movement, at least a bit, and that can be enough. Heart cut in two? No blood moving, with all that entails, and it’ll take a minute to heal from that.

While Shiro was still looking down, Emily swung again, and Shiro’s head fell at his feet.

I screamed, pure and incoherent grief. Emily smiled more broadly in innocent satisfaction. Shiro’s body folded in on itself and vanished in a slight billow of dust that the wind carried into and lost within the smoke of burning cars. A streetlight exploded, electricity arcing, blasting where Shiro had been and where Emily was now. She just stood there for a moment, motionless, until the electricity cut out. Then she turned back to me.

I stood motionless as Emily walked towards me. I waited for her to strike. She knew what I was. She had a silver stake ready. I saw it in her hand and welcomed it.

She stepped right up to me and gently rested the stake on my chest, over my heart, my shattered heart. Emily leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Not yet. You can live with this for a time.”

Then she took a step back, and was gone.

***

I step into the club and look around. It’s night, and dark, and I’ve fed in preparation, so my senses are at their peak. I’m seeing better than anyone, hearing better than anyone, catching scents better than anyone not a were. I’m going to spot Emily Barrowcourt before she spots me.

And there she is, by the bar, talking to someone I don’t recognize or care about. I shrug and tug on the sleeve of my trenchcoat, and feel all my preparations are exactly where they should be.

I cross the dancefloor towards her.

I’m almost all the way across, maybe ten feet from her, when she looks up and spots me. She instantly straightens and her hand goes to her sword that’s suddenly at her side. She steps toward me, frowning.

The crowd sees this and parts, opening between the two of us. Club Chthonic is used to this sort of thing, and the crowd enjoys the occasional floor show. I step back further into the dance floor, which is now clear, a perfect empty arena for a fight.

“Wolfgang, what are you doing? I was going to let you experience the pain of your loss for longer than – what, only five years? That’s nothing. Go on, run along. Don’t worry, I’ll find you when I’m ready to end your suffering.”

I speak quietly to keep from shouting. “You didn’t need to do that. Not to him. He didn’t deserve it.”

Emily steps into the ring and begins to circle. “You loved him. He deserved it, and more.”

I reach under my coat and pull out my weapons: a short sword in my right hand, a dagger in my left. I lose control. “You killed Shiro!” I scream at her.

“You killed my father!” she shouts back, the rage in her eyes twisting her face.

“He killed my mother!”

“You! You killed MY mother!” Here it is, we’re both finally getting it out. “MY mother! I remember her, you don’t. You killed her, you and your father. If you hadn’t been born, she’d have lived!”

I circle away from her, careful to stay out of reach of a sudden lunge. “Your father killed her, Emily. Greta. She died to save me from your murderous father.”

“She died for nothing!” Emily lunges now, stabbing at me. I bat her sword aside with mine, barely, and take two hurried steps back. She doesn’t pursue, just smiles.

“I’m not sorry for what happened to your father, truthfully,” I say. “But I am sorry that you got hurt.”

“‘Hurt!'” she sneers. “You know nothing about what it was like!” She’s closer now. “The cold, the hunger, the look in my father’s eyes while he tried to comfort me when I cried at night in the alleys!”

“You!” She swings, fast, and I don’t parry enough. Her sword slashes across my right arm. “Don’t!” A low slash, and a cut across my left leg now. “Know!” I scramble back to avoid a stab through the abdomen. “Anything!”

She swings overhead, wild, but strong and fast and I only manage to parry because I’m faster than any human could hope to be, just for that instant.

We each draw back and observe each other. Emily is smiling. I’ve been training since that night, and I’m barely managing to survive. She knows my skill, and knows she can best me, easily.

I flip my knife around, so that the blade is pointing back along my forearm, the butt of the handle facing forward, in an icepick grip. Emily’s smile gets wider. She knows I’m not skilled enough to make a go of this, that I’m not that good a knife fighter. She’s got my number. She knows that this is desperation.

She smiles, a genuine smile. For the first time in my life, I see what my sister looks like when she’s happy. And she’s lovely.

Doesn’t matter. She’s going to die.

She slashes again, twice, not really trying to hit, just close the distance. I parry both, barely.

Then I scream and jump straight towards her.

She’s startled, just for a split second, but it’s enough. Muscle memory takes over, and her sword takes me right through the heart.

Just as I planned.

This would kill any mortal, instantly. This stroke would even disable another Immortal long enough for a following stroke that would prove fatal even to such an opponent. It’s a very effective move against almost any opponent, and Emily is very good at it.

But I’m not mortal. I’m not even an Immortal. I’m a vampire.

And I haven’t used my heart since the night of the riot.

I drop my sword from my right hand and grab her arm, holding her close. At the same time, I stab towards her face with the butt of my knife.

And I trigger the shotgun blast in the handle.

It was expensive to commission. It’s only got one shot, and then it’s wrecked even as a knife. There’s no range, so you need to be close, close enough to stab. It’s only got one advantage going for it.

Surprise.

The blast takes her full in the face. Her blood splashes over me. Her hands go to the mess of skin and the ruins of eyes, screaming in pain, fear, I can’t tell. I don’t care. I drop the knife and reach around to my back.

I pull out Shiro’s katana and take it in both hands. I plant my feet and swing. The blade slides neatly through Emily’s neck, and flings blood into the crowd.

Emily drops to her knees, hard, and falls face down onto the floor. There’s a soft puff, and her body disappears.

Now I pull her sword out of my chest and drop it on the pile of empty clothes.

***

I’m on the roof of the condo where I lived with Shiro.

I moved out after he died. I had to. I kept up the payments, even eventually paid it off so I owned it clear. I don’t know why.

I face east.

Whoever Emily was with started towards me after our duel, but when he saw my face he just let me go. I left the club, and came here. I took the elevator up, then the maintenance stairs, and broke the lock, and here I am.

Facing east. Waiting for the sun.

“You finally came back.”

I spin. Shiro’s sitting on one of the concrete blocks, smiling at me.

“Shiro!” I run to hug him. My arms pass through him.

“Sorry,” he says, still smiling but looking down, embarrassed.

“Oh my god. Shiro. I’m sorry.” I start to cry. “You’ve been waiting here -”

“Hey, Wolf, don’t, please. It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

I kneel in front of him, look him in the eye. We’re silent a moment. “So, um, how are you?” I finally ask.

He laughs, genuine and loud and delighted, and shrugs.

“I know,” I say, “stupid question.”

“No, it’s fair. I’m doing okay.” A chuckle. “All things considered.”

“I -” I stop, breathe deep, continue. “I missed you.”

“I missed you.”

“I love you. I never stopped.”

“I love you too. Always. That’s why I’m here.”

“What?”

Shiro’s serious now. “You have to let me go. I don’t want to see you this way. I want you to be happy. We’ll be together eventually, but you have too much love to bury. Share it with someone.” He smiles, but I see a tear. “Make someone as happy as you made me. And be happy.”

We just sit in silence, I don’t know how long, just that it’s long enough and too too short. I look down, but I feel a soft breeze guide my face up until I’m looking in Shiro’s eyes again. And I say “Okay. For you.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Can I see you again?”

Shiro shakes his head.

“Is it really you? Not just my imagination?”

Shiro’s almost gone now. “Yes. But it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s what you need to hear. And it’s true.”

And he’s gone.

I look up and see the sun’s light pouring over the horizon. I could take the stairs, I suppose. But no.

I run to the western side of the roof and without stopping spread my arms wide and launch myself over the edge.

It’s early; I can see that there’s no one down there. I am going to feel this. And then I’m going to get up. And I’m going to carry on.

I smile all the way down.