My arrival to Morte’ as an observer was as it always is, pulsating rhythms synchronized to elaborate light shows, for the time being, Porno for Pyro’s “Tahitian Moon” blasted it’s eloquence through the club, however the later the hour here, the darker and more dangerous the music becomes.

I silently slip into the hidden corridor leading to the balcony which overlooks the club and its patrons. The elusive balcony is usually where Madliene holds court, and at this moment in time she had not yet made her grand entrance as I emerged. I strode to the railed edge of the balcony overlooking the human patrons already inhabiting the club, some catching a glimpse of me, excitement overcoming them, I back away slowly. If invited to treat with the Queen atop the balcony, beware. There is a reason no human returns from the balcony. I do my absolute damnedest to avoid the patrons at Morte’.

One of the last remaining old warehouses off highway 90 by the Mississippi River. Morte’, itself, on the outside looks of nothing special. A large warehouse with a single door, the only working street lamp on the block flickers in the distance for the slightest hint of light. The sidewalk underfoot lay cracked with weeds growing between, no sign. If you weren’t hinted to the fact that it was there you would never know. Before actual entry to the club there is a sound proof membrane surrounding the interior, Once past the membrane you are met with the picture of blasphemous decadence.
Onyx floors stretch throughout encased by black and red damask plastered the walls above baroque wood paneled wainscoting, plush couches and chairs scattered around giant day beds covered in luxurious silk pillows outline a dance floor. Long and heavy black-out curtains from ceiling to floor, creating a beautiful pattern among the damask.

Gargantuan antique chandeliers rained over head and small stand only tables lined the exterior wall up to a birth on either side of the bar; a sight in its self to behold. Six, 6 foot multi-lit, multi-colored glass shelves housing any being’s preferred poison flank a granite slab on top of paneled wood. From the balcony is unseen as it lies directly under, at the bottom of a grand wrought iron staircase. The music has changed to Massive Attack’s “Angel” but there is no DJ or band visible, a laptop with a continual playlist as DJ, everything, including the lights fully controllable behind the bar.

The vampire community is well aware of Morte’ since Madliene is the authority in this area, but for humans it’s an invitation only establishment. A human must arrive with a vampire or have the name of a well known amongst the community to gain entry to the club. Hosts may share with other vampires at the human’s consent. If the consenting human so inclines, he or she may add themselves to the list of regular meals served at the club. Each night the same monotonous behavior, humans serving themselves up for vampire consumption; in hope, some sort of sick sadistic hope of being brought into our world, morbid hope to be sexually intimate with one of us. Or, sadly, a hope to die. Curious hope? Curiosity is a dangerous thing and human curiosity is that of a cat’s.

From high on my perch I could see Estella and Sophia, children of The Queen, running the bar at Morte’ and serving drinks; both women created by Madliene at the most desperate and detrimental part of their lives.

Madliene made Estella after finding her bleeding to death from a vampire attack. From New Orleans, Estella Lancaster Benoit had been the fiancée of a landowner, aged 21 years before her life was snatched from and returned to her. The daughter of a prominent plantation owner named Benoit, Estella was the picture of southern elegance, always dressed in the finest gowns and attending any and all social events. Not long after the Mexican-American war ended and her beloved returned home wounded, unlike so many others who didn’t return at all, she was dressing for his homecoming dinner. An event in the making since the boy departed. Times were still hard and in the south, very few families had the means to throw a party but the Beauregard’s adored their son and spared no saved expense when he came home from battle. Estella and the Captain (at the time, he would become a General) were to be wed as soon as his shoulder and thigh wounds healed. Unfortunately Estella didn’t make an appearance at dinner or anywhere else for that matter. Attacked inside her room and dragged out to the grounds she was fed upon by a vampire named Creighton and left for dead under a conglomerate of Magnolia trees. Madliene being omni-present felt Estella’s pain and saved the young beauty adorned with magnificent strawberry blonde hair and eyes radiantly green like moss in the forest.

Since that day she has been in debt to our Queen, forever to serve for the gracious gift bestowed upon her by her Majesty. Tonight she was dressed in her Morte’ best; pouring herself into a pair of skin tight black leather pants, my eyes flowed down her thighs to a pair of black shiny platform spiked heels before making it back up to the matching pink corset, which crushed her breasts to her chest, adorned with black lace up the torso and across her shoulders where the straps painstakingly held her in place. Estella is a bountiful creature and tonight her strawberry blonde hair curled perfectly around her uplifted breasts. She turned from the current table monopolizing her attention to peer up the balcony at me and smiled. Her beautiful gleaming K-9 teeth present as she did so.
Her Captain, who died a General, married of course. A prominent woman from a Sugar Cane family, they had 3 children. He lost her during the childbirth of the third. He re-married some years later to another daughter of a sugar cane planter, they had no children. She died four years later.

Estella speaks of her time with great fervor, truly a southern belle turned bitter by her circumstances. She is accepting of the facts these days however when you hear her speak of it, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. Her whole life planned out, gone in an instant. I don’t know if she keeps tabs on the remaining descendants of her Captain or that of her own family; but it wouldn’t surprise me.

Although I stood in deep thought I felt her presence as she graced the corridor, not to mention her heel clipping the step as she bent down to enter.
“See anything you like Cian? Can I offer you someone?” she said in jest. Estella knew of my feeding habits. I decided to make her think none the less.
“Eh, you’re working.” I said without changing my gaze at the crowd. I could feel her green eyes bore into what lack of a soul I had.

Estella and I have always had a pretty good relationship. She can talk to me and I can listen. When she and I do talk we don’t discuss me or my past. There have only been a few times she was the listener and from the way her face twisted while I spoke, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to listen to my past ever again; I am content listening to hers. She hasn’t the sexual desire for me that I have for her and in all honesty I don’t quite understand my fascination, but I have it and its present when I am in her company.

Unfortunately for me, she currently beds another female vampire, Angelique, sister to Sophia; Biological sisters to be precise. Angelique, the first to be taken by Madliene, then more recently Sophia; the sisters are not my biggest fans. Angelique resents the relationship I have with Estella and Sophia is just doing what her big sister thinks she should, I respect her loyalty.

Angelique is rarely at work due to her dissatisfaction with her position in Madliene’s court. The Queen, however is not concerned with Angelique as long as Sophia is present and accounted for. In turn Sophia holds a little of her own resentment toward her sister as Sophia has not long resided in the Queen’s court and Angelique has been in service for much longer. The sisters had very similar facial features; both have dark curly brown almost black hair and dark brown eyes. Angelique is paler than her sister and is always dressed in black; which only regards her as paler. Sophia likes to dress in the latest fashions and has an olive complexion. They are both bountifully proportioned with Sophia being slightly healthier than her gaunt sister. I can’t comprehend, nor attempt to understand the attraction Estella has to Angelique but it must be sincere.
Angelique as of late is missing, gone rogue. No one knows, Estella is visibly worried on a regular basis, yet she is counter controlled by Madliene to be the vision of eroticism, but many male patrons of Morte’ make the mistake of grabbing her and they learn very quickly to not do it again. The humans she is always cautious with, giving them a “slap on the wrist”. The vampires, who are old enough to know better, against them, she was allowed to defend her honor as she saw fit. Madliene sees everything as a sort of entertainment; everything has humor or an ironic fervor about it. Even if it involves her own children.

Madliene, The Queen of all Vampires made her grand entrance. The intense lyrics of Nine Inch Nails, “Heresy” ceases to play as the most dangerously beautiful woman in existence and the claimed, oldest of our kind; graces the club with her omnipotence. She is as shrewd in her business as she is about her children and she has millions of both, spending the vast amount of her time in New Orleans. It is said that the only vampire myth that is true from the old country is the “Death to the original vampire means death to all made vampires.” And she is speculated to be the One. If this is true I don’t know and we probably never know as she is indestructible, impenetrable, and harboring more than mere vampire powers, her ties to the Voudo underworld are also of infamy.
The Queen is a tall slender woman, almost gaunt but she is always dressed very well, for her money is no object. She has the complexion of a china doll, her hair is a wavy jet black, her eyes are black, almond shaped unless provoked or hungry; they begin to burn bright hazel with prominent green barbs, becoming wider and larger. No one knows her decent or country of origin, but it is speculated that she is of French ancestry. She has been virtually everywhere and known literally everyone.

Madliene glides across the floor, the train of her ornately beaded sheath gown following behind, everyone including the humans bow in her presence. Flanked by her minions Romeo and Damien, why she surrounded herself with humans who couldn’t protect her wasn’t beyond me.

She was making a statement, implying that she is so powerful she needs not immortals to protect her, but if need be they are not far. Sophia and Estella on alert nearby to spring into action should the situation call for it. After gracing the dance floor with her presence she and her minions made their way to the grand staircase, she floated effortlessly to the top while Romeo and Damien climbed each step behind her. Once at the top and in view of the patrons below she waved her hand and the atmosphere regained its previous debauchery.
Tonight the atmosphere was calm and neither Estella nor Sophia seemed to exude any sort of tension. I remained at my perch, observing and stalking, watching and spying…listening until the kiss of just before dawn, I made my exit through the corridor, while on the short walk to my haven, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of urge to wander into the Quarter, but time was limited and the following night I was at the whim of no one.

I only take one night a week to rest myself, not that I need to, being a vampire. The downtime is appreciated when I can get it. I had newspapers from weeks and weeks piled up around my haven and as I gathered them to take out I saw a familiarly striking face. Even in black and gray print she was beautiful.

The heavenly creature I had stumbled upon in the French Quarter was staring back at me from my newspaper, the headline reading, “Husband of Beauregard Heiress Missing.” Further down the article a picture of Griffin Benoit a healthy thirty-something father, with what looked to be sandy-blonde hair, light eyes and a kind smile.