Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "party"

Along with the wardrobe for three, Estella made arrangements for food to be delivered to Babet and her children regularly. Estella had also suggested Babet keep her daughter from attending school and Babet said she would consider it. As I walk back toward my haven I am providential, resplendent, and fulfilled by tonight’s events, the touch of her hand and the sound of her voice; riding beside her in her aroma filled car.
Her tear stained face and brilliant green eyes, the silky canvas that is her back….so oblivious as I leisurely stroll down the long corridor of warehouses on Calliope. I am in complete disregard for anything to bring me down from this illustrious high. So much so, I am utterly astonished when I see Estella propped against my haven door. I pull the cell from my pocket and check the time, fifty two minutes to sun up.
“Estella.” I say, moving her aside to insert my key. Her snarky demeanor is slightly bewildering.

“You still want to ransack Madliene’s library?” A devilish smile crosses her lips.Revelations of Cian

I remove my key.

We arrive at Morte’ to an orgy in full swing, H.I.M. (His Infernal Majesty)’s cover of Chris Isaac’s “Wicked Game” blaring through the club; we stride through, passing the naked bodies of vampire and human alike, arms, legs, heads all intertwined like multicolored spider’s legs tangled together. The diversity of partners was apparent, female and female, male and male, and male and female. A group of five had a vast audience; a female vampire listlessly licked the menstruation from a human girl.

I shudder to think of the preferences of some vampires, I saw further that the female vamp herself was being sexually satisfied from the human male behind her. An androgen male vampire fed off of an already occupied human male as another human male orally pleasured another male vampire. Estella was un-fazed by all of this as was I but being as I don’t see it every night I am slightly less immune than she.

I maintain composure and continued to walk past as my concentration on the task at hand was interrupted when a young girl who was having her breasts feasted upon by two aged immortals, grabbed my arm. I looked down at her, her face and emotions revealing the ecstasy she currently felt. I began to pull away as her grasp of me became weak; I knew she was at her end and her lifeless hand fell to the floor.
I turned my gaze to the two males who had extinguished her; they abandoned the girl and in no time Romeo and Damien came to drag the girl’s body from the floor. I took all this in but didn’t over think it, while strolling to the back of the club with Estella, where the haven doors lie. We took the spiral stone staircase down to the depths of Morte’, a musty dark place.

The basement, to the right, had been renovated to include gated stone cells for unwelcome vampires and to the left a long dark corridor leading to the wine cellar, beyond the wine cellar, our library.

Morte’s Library; houses the tomes of our kind written over the centuries, some authors’ vampire, and some human. We reach the bottom of the stone staircase to the wine cellar, racks upon racks of wine from early years made by monks to the more recent Merlots, Zinfandels, and Chablis; all cataloged and inventoried on a very regular basis. Our Queen is nothing if not organized.

Through the rows of wine bottles that created a corridor, Estella leads me to what looked like a carved wooden wall, she tapped a succession of beats to gain entry to the library, and as soon as the door slides open the smell of fresh sage and musk fill my senses. An octagonal room at least fifty feet in height encased in thick carved wood, floor to ceiling bookshelves not an inch of space; should the Queen wish to add to the room she would have to break into the floor above, if there was one.

In the center of the room a pair of crimson Victorian couches sat either side of a teak coffee table, there is little light in the room; sporadic lamps sit dimly around the room. Unlike the wine cellar the library is not cataloged because entry is only granted to those close to the Queen. Public Vampire Library; it is not.

Estella and I pulled various references, books, scrolls, and a couple of stone tablets. Pouring over the coffee table Estella and I spent the remainder of the evening reading and during that time I became curious as to how Babet had accepted the revelation that Estella was her descendant in more ways than one.
“I was listening but not intently, how did she take it?” I asked as Estella unrolled an old Roman scroll.

“Who,” she replied looking up at me, my face indicating her absentmindedness. “Oh, well of course she was shocked at first, at the revelation, then horrified at my situation, but finally she was just thankful to know she had some family around no matter the situation.” Estella trailed off to look more closely at the scroll and then grinning, she said, “After you left, Scarlet got up from the couch and carried Henri into the bedroom with Babet, I sat and talked to them for a bit, she thought it was cool.”

“Kids.” I said jokingly and we shared a smile. But I couldn’t help recall the girl’s eyes penetrate me.

“She was very curious about you though. She kept saying that she knew you, or had seen you before. I can’t remember.”

“Scarlet?!?” I am floored.

“Babet.”

“And you said?”

“I told her, you just have one of those faces. I also mentioned the protection detail.”

“I just hope what we are doing is more help than hurt.” My tone became harsh.
“Yeah, really….Cian, look at this.”

Estella excitedly held up a Roman scroll, two feet long. The parchment was brittle around the edges as she carefully rolled the rod down. In Latin the scroll described in great detail a series of attacks on the people of the collegiums by allegedly inhuman creatures. Slaves disappearing from prominent homes, children and adult bodies found, all been drained of blood.

Continuous occurrences in the collegiums caused mass panic and hysteria, resulting in a little under half the population temporarily relocating. Weeks went by and then one day no bodies were found under suspicious circumstances and life returned to normal, for Rome. I asked Estella to pull more of the scrolls prior to the date of this scroll, including vampire registration during that time period.
Estella glanced over to me and taped the screen on her cell phone.

Dawn was fast approaching and I had yet to gain permitted to stay within the havens of Morte’. Estella and I reserved the scrolls to examine the following evening and made our way back through the wine cellar and up the stone staircase. The club lights were up and the silence of Morte’ was an interesting feeling indeed.
“It appears as though it’s my place to offer you hospitality, but before I do I want you to be aware that…I know.” Her eyes intent on me.

“You know what?” I feign interest and she grabs my arm. I stare at it and then look up at her.

“Cut the shit Cian, I went back pretty fucking far and….EVERY NIGHT!!!!” Her exasperation is emotionally palpable. “I knew you had an interest, but I think it’s bordering on obsession at this point.”

I am visibly inadequate in my speechlessness after Estella’s scolding but she is quick to forgive considering our time together. Her tense emotion begins to fade to sympathy. I take this for what it’s worth.

“There is something more about her, Estella. I feel captivated when in close proximity to her; I think about her, I dream of her in day-stasis. Her scent is the most….” I trail off as Estella’s emotional radiation is beginning to become unbearable again. She straightens herself up quick.

Estella said she would speak with Madliene and that of course, it wasn’t a problem for me to spend the day in the havens. We made a couple of awkward jokes regarding my staying in her haven cell but ultimately I was granted my own stone cell with minimal antique furnishings, a full sized bed and side table held a single lamp.

A small roll top desk sat across from the bed, a tiny chair pushed underneath. Along the far wall, a tall thin tapestry depicting a floral border around two children holding hands. I dropped my gear by the desk and dropped myself onto the bed. Laying in stasis I still felt the cool breeze from the exterior corridor, the musty dank odor blowing over my body occasionally while I “slept”.

Once the sun went down I would be ecstatic to return to the library in the pit belly of Morte’. I hated being away from my haven, my smell, my domain. As I lay, surrounded by unfamiliarity and lacking the ability to have control over myself, I think of my inadvertent offense against Estella, speaking truthfully of Babet’s effects over me. If I couldn’t confide in Estella, who knew me and knew this wasn’t like me, who could I then?

I begin to feel a bit put off as she asked why I had been there every night, which I felt was an exaggeration, but might not have been. She wanted to know, and I am in the right frame of mind to say that from this point on honesty between Estella and I would have to become priority number one, were we to protect this…her family.

I also listlessly fantasize a breakthrough discovery in the library, putting all of this to rest. Who in history had, at any time controlled the creatures? Who still had one in existence now? Alistair, Flannaghan, but they would travel together if in fact they were still together. Madliene’s children? There were so many, I would have to search the globe for them ALL. The Queen had only provided a short list and of those on that list only two or three remain. My thoughts raced over and over and again, until her face flashed in my mind.

Babet, her black cherry hair cascading over her shoulders, curled around the outside of her breasts the way it does. Her innocent green eyes that stared into me last night, tears falling from them. The few images of her stored in my memory were flashing wickedly through me and I felt like I was going to explode the images spinning, whirling too fast to decipher.

Finally I was blessed with the kiss of dusk, my body released from its petrified state and I leapt from the antique bed, grabbed my jacket and headed out the door of the stone cell to locate Estella. I was on the other side of the haven floor when I encountered Romeo. He glanced up at me and then back down to his feet as we got closer to each other in the hall. As our strides met, I grabbed his arm, jerking him back to face me. He glanced down at my hand grasping his arm and then to face me.

“Romeo,” I said questioningly suspicious, “Where can I find Estella?”

“She’s probably getting ready for work.” And he attempted to jerk his arm from me, failing miserably. She had said she would continue to research with me in the library tonight.

I absentmindedly released his arm and he quickly stepped out of my reach before bolting down the hall shouting back to me, “Last door on the right!”
As if I wasn’t aware of the location of her chamber, he knew better.

I made my way down the hall toward Estella’s chamber door. Standing in front of the ornate carved wooden slab, representing Estella, held by large iron rivets to the stone wall debating whether to knock when I heard her muffled voice through the door.



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The ride is quiet; Molly’s loft is in a building two away from my haven warehouse. I am so close I could walk home and drink a blood bag before anyone noticed my absence. We take the modernized elevator up to the third floor where Molly calls home. The hallway is white and sterile, original brick columns are spaced between unit doors. There is carpet underfoot and restoration lamps for lighting. We reach the door to the home of Molly DuBois and I had to admit meeting her provoked a slight thrill in me. I honestly respected her as an artist.

Babet doesn’t knock, she enters and I put my hand on the door above her head to assist, she smiles at me while putting Henri on the floor inside the door. It automatically closes once we are beyond it, modernization.

It is apparent there are no people in the apartment the further we walk down the bamboo hall. Molly has a “clean-line” decorating style. The hall opens up to a sleek modern kitchen, so much so that there is no discerning where the refrigerator, dishwasher or any other major appliance is, the counter is a long thin white granite block. Beyond the kitchen is a modest living space and industrial staircase leading down. Two red block couches face each other, in between a butcher block coffee table sits with various photography magazines and a single silver bowl littering it.

I am distracted from the tour when Babet ascends the staircase, “Okay, Henri is laying in Molly’s bed watching television. He played so hard at the park today, he won’t last long.” She giggles and I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard that glorious sound tonight.
“And Scarlet?” I ask.

“Already engrossed in her cell phone, texting Monica no doubt.” She shrugs and now that the children are settled I have an idea I hope she will agree to.
“Everyone is already upstairs I’m sure, are you ready for this?” She says and I gingerly take her hand before she can get far.

“Look,” I stare deep into her, but not so deep I am controlling her, “We aren’t far from my haven. You have been gracious enough to allow us into your world. Would you like to see a little into mine?”

Her eyes are soft and alluring, she smiles, “Yeah. Yes.”
We are in my warehouse and up the elevator before I realize it, considering my captivation of Babet. I lift the gate and she passed through into the vast space.

“Wow”, her voice echoes. “How long have you lived here?”

I flip the light that illuminates the small space over my box. I watch her carefully as she glides around my haven; her heels slowly click through, “The answer to your question; since they deemed these old warehouses uninhabitable. But I suppose they will eventually take it from me, the city that is.”

“What will you do then?” She is genuinely concerned.

I smile, “I will move on.”

“To where?”

“Honestly I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I can’t contain my bliss at the distressful emotions radiating from her. She seems to feel as though I am going to evaporate before her eyes. “Hey,” I saunter over to her; she is standing between the windows and the old couch. I put my hands on either side of her shoulders, “I’ll be okay; I’ve been okay for a long time.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “How long is that again?” She smiles at me big and bright.

“Nice try.” I mirror her expression. We stand face to face, eye to eye, my smile fades and I lean into her, taking her face between my hands. They’re so large they almost cover both sides of her magnificent face. She is receptive and I feel a rush go through her, the flesh beneath my hands burns. She wants this, she wants me. I smile inwardly as I place my lips upon hers.

Her lips…Christ, these lips are soft, supple hot rose petals forming around mine like puzzle pieces. She parts them and I feel her pyretic tongue graze the inside of my upper lip, my teeth immediately run out. I pull and turn away from her, I begin to feel a wave of embarrassment befall her and I hastily diminish this in her, “I’m sorry,” I say taking full responsibility, “that was…” but she cuts me off.

“Lovely.” She says using her thumb to wipe the moisture from her bottom lip, almost savoring it as that bonny lip gets caught between her teeth, raking what remains into her mouth. This gesture is almost enough to send me back over the edge and of course, the monster is right there waiting. She doesn’t take her eyes off mine, “We should probably get back over to Molly’s.”

I simply nod.

The rooftop of Molly’s building is adorned with twinkling lights and suspended blown up renderings of Molly’s photos. On the right side of the rooftop courtyard she is displaying the positivity of our fair city; I am drawn to the New Orleans cityscape at twilight, sunrise and midnight; when the lights of the metropolis are most prominent. These are followed by shots of break-dancers in Jackson Square and the artists surrounding it. But we don’t get the opportunity to take it all in before Babet’s friends Frankie and Molly spot her, and eventually, me.

“Babe! You’re finally here!” Molly is clearly already in the spirit of the night, “Is this Cian?” Her speech is slightly slurred but it’s clear she has her bearings. She hugs Babet who laughs as she embraces her friend.

“Yes. Molly DuBois this is Cian.” I glance at the photographer before bowing.
Molly is obviously confused, “Just, Cian?”

“Aye.”

“Good enough for me,” She turns away from us, “Frankie come meet Cian!” She shouts over the alternative rock music. Before she turns back to us I have the split second to examine Molly DuBois. She is wearing a simple black sheath dress, that hits her minimal curves appropriately, and she has matched it with a cropped shrug jacket. Her long legs are extended by her crimson red stilettos. She is holding a flute of champagne out away from her body using it to coax Frankie over. She turns back to us and I see she has changed her hair color from the last time I saw her at Babet’s presentation. It’s no longer a light blonde color; it is platinum and has a hue of pink, making her look like a fairy when the overhead lights hit it.

She has the tresses pulled back into a chignon knot and Babet takes notice, “Molly, I love your hair! When did you have Frank do that?”

“Last week, it’s was really pink at first, she calmed it down.” She pats the back of it with her champagne hand, “you like?”

“I really do!” Babet’s emotions are all over the place. She is happy to be here, but nervous and apprehensive. She’s hiding it like a champ.

Frankie finally makes her way over; she is eyeing me speculatively as she hugs Babet, “Hey Babe.”

“Hey Frank.” The two friends embrace and Molly’s friend Wade approaches with a camera.

“Get together girls.” The three women do as they are told and all three smile brightly and beautifully at the hipster gentleman who seems not to change his attire for anything. He kisses Molly before jaunting off to another group of people.

I turn my attentions back to the three graces, I felt it before I see it but Frankie is still eyeing me and I am beginning to feel humorously uncomfortable. Babet notices and comes to my rescue, “Frankie Weller, this, is Cian.” She puts her hand out for me to take, but I keep my hands neatly behind my back and bow to her.

She lowers her hand, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“I concur.” I say while examining Frankie, who is wearing an orange pencil skirt and white cap sleeved shirt, white ruffles flow down the front creating a v-neck. Her baby blue peep toe platforms also increase her height. Her dark blonde hair has been lightened and is pulled into a low side pony tail draping over her shoulder.

Molly engages Babet and Frankie in conversation and I take a moment to scan the outdoor room, various groups of people; artist types, business types, alternative lifestyle types are all in attendance. They lazily make their way around the space, from one dynamic photo to the next. I finished taking in the right side that shows the beauty of New Orleans.

My gaze shifts over to the left side, where the raw and squalor of New Orleans is present. There are two photos side by side, both post Katrina. A little African American girl is kneeling on the side of the road by the dead body of her grandmother who had succumbed to the death in the aftermath. The other; is an aerial shot of the lower ninth district two days after the storm. I read Molly was one of the first locals to lend a hand. So much so, she hired a helicopter to fly stranded residents out; all the while photographically documenting the chaos. I am pulled from my inner thoughts by three words I have already heard today.

“He’s gay.”

“Shame.” Molly disappointingly says.

Now Frankie and Molly are eyeing me, I cut my eyes at Babet, there is no humor in them. She sees this and mouths, “I’m sorry.” Again.

Molly seemed unaffected but Frankie isn’t letting me get away that easy, “He’s not gay. Honey, I’m a hairdresser, I know gay. He ain’t gay.” I am floored but I don’t let it upset the evening. Tonight is for Babet. A rare gift for her to enjoy a night free of the worry or frustration of being locked inside every night and she seems more alive tonight than I have ever seen her. It’s a glorious sight, more intoxicating than our little yet monumental kiss in my warehouse. I want to see her this way, always.

The evening draws on and by midnight there are more people on the rooftop than there is space. Babet is not far from me all night, but I respectively give her the personal space she needs to mingle through the crowd without the dark giant demon flanking her. I feel it is apparent Babet is ready to leave, her emotions taking a down turn and I make my way over to her but I am stopped by Frankie. Her little hand barely grabs my arm to stop my stride, but quickly releases it when there is something off about the temperature of my skin.

She looks down at my arm and then up at me, her tone is coarse, “Look, she’s been through enough. I don’t know what you are trying to pull, but she is very important to us.” Frankie’s blue eyes are locked on mine and her tiny mouth is pressed into a hard line.

http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...