MARRY THE NIGHT [wil]

[EVE DE LUCA]

Night had fallen over Boston, the sky above jet-black with stars intricately woven into the darkness, gleaming like diamonds. Eve strode down the sidewalk, sticking to the overlying shadows, and ardently evading passersby—the few people who chose to roam the city streets after midnight. She needed the fresh air outside provided; to be away from him and the others like him—like her. A week had passed since she had been changed and she had not allowed herself to even look at a drop of blood in spite of her thirst. Controlling her body's newly established needs was difficult; however, the thought of consuming blood sickened her, the smell both tempting and utterly repulsive. She hungered for it more and more each day, but even though she was now a vampire Eve still clung to her humanity; not wanting to resort to such animalistic behavior. The last time she had given in to her urges, she had killed her own father and the image of his lifeless body still plagued her thoughts day and night. She could not allow herself to commit another murder; to take the life of an innocent again. She hated what she had become; a monster—a killer. Nevertheless, she could not let go of this world. Times may be hard, yet she had to believe something good would come from her transformation.

She inhaled sharply as someone bypassed her, casually brushing up against the young woman. Pausing in mid-stride, Eve listened to the individual’s gradually receding footfalls, a part of her wanting to turn around and take a hold of him, sinking her fangs into his neck. She had sensed the blood pumping through his veins, every heartbeat taunting her, coaxing her to submit to her hunger. Glancing over her shoulder, she gazed at the man through wide blue eyes, imagining the brackish taste of his blood on her tongue. She took a step backward in his direction, her chest rising and falling with rapid, uneven breaths as the craving threatened to take over. However, a transitory vehicle drew her from her reverie, the thunderous echo of the stereo possibly saving her from making the same mistake twice. Shaken, Eve inwardly chastised herself, sprinting down the adjacent alleyway in order to put distance between her and the stranger she had just considered a potential meal. Leaning against the worn and washed-out brick wall of an abandoned building, she struggled to collect her bearings, wishing she had not ventured from her home into dangerous territory. It was not safe being around humans; there was no telling if or when she would throw in the towel and attack the next hapless mortal she encountered.

Blood was obviously essential to the vampire diet and she was physically suffering from the lack of nutrients she required to live. Still, feeding from humans was cruel, and she did not understand how her nest mates could do so without the least bit of hesitance. They did not kill often, but when they did, they were displayed not an ounce remorse. Their lack of guilt amazed her; after all, they had all been ordinary human beings prior to their change—how could they forget that so easily? She hoped that she would not eventually stoop to their level, preying on mankind with no restraint. The future terrified her, although somehow she found the courage to carry on. Eve was not entirely alone on this journey and she may hate him for what he did, but Charbonneau was all she had. It was difficult watching him play doctor and even more so when he was made Master of Surgery in her father’s stead. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to runaway and leave Boston and him far behind. Except, she could not; she would rather stay with him than be alone.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] It was incredibly rare for Wil to be in a town without Tish there, but a strange set of circumstances had come together to lead to him dropping his daughter off with Isabella for a week or so while he high-tailed it up to Boston to try to deal with the banshee that was causing trouble in Roslindale. He had gotten the impression while they were setting up the arrangement that Isabella was only lukewarm about the idea, though she'd been incredibly accommodating as always, but that Tish was particularly looking forward to some time with the older woman who was one of only a very, very few mother figures in his daughter's life. Isabella, Joan Muir out in New Mexico, though she was more of a grandmother type, one or two hunters he'd worked with. There just weren't many women he trusted to be in Tish's life, even though he knew that it wasn't necessarily a good thing. He suspected that Tish had some girl-type things she wanted to talk to Isabella about, and Wil wasn't too proud to admit that he just prayed that let him off the hook for trying to look up fact sheets about menarche on the internet any more. They'd muddled through that experience, but he and, he strongly suspected, Tish would be happier if they never again had to have a conversation which included the words 'menstrual flow'. So all in all he was perfectly content to leave the girl-talk down in Florida, even though it meant dealing with yet another damned fairy. Somewhat to Wil's dismay he was coming to be a bit of an expert in taking out fae creatures, if only because his unique nature allowed him to go toe to toe with the things, something most hunters couldn't manage. Not that other hunters knew that, Wil worked very hard from keeping his real nature from becoming public knowledge, but he'd taken out enough malicious fae creatures by now for him to get a bit of a rep. Enough so that he'd gotten a call about this banshee and had agreed to go up and take a look at it. Turned out that it wasn't just a banshee, it was a Black Annis. A real horror, the kind of creature that doesn't just prey on humans, but tortures them for the fun of it. He'd run down the blue bitch in a thicket in one of the parks and had ended up chasing her down into a coal cellar and having to beat her to death with an iron boiler door because he'd shattered his cold iron blade against her claws. But he'd gotten the job done, that was what mattered, and now he was just bumming around Boston for a couple of days until Isabella texted him that it was safe to come down and pick Tish up. He'd been hanging in one of the bars not far from Roslindale, listening for any rumblings of other trouble in town. The group of guys at the pool table were talking about a rash of disappearances and murders, and Wil went over and lost two bills to them over the course of an hour to pick up what they knew. Which ended up amounting to 'not much', but there were a few red flags in the conversation, enough that he was going to do a little research of his own to see if he could track this mysterious crime wave to a natural or unnatural source. So overall Wil was pretty pleased with life as he stepped out the side door of the bar and leaned against a wall in the alleyway for a smoke. Dressed in a shirt, jeans, and boots that were all just slightly too expensive for this neighborhood, but making up for it somewhat with his tattoos and young-looking face, he looked pretty much like a white collar kid slumming in a blue-collar bar, nothing to pay any real attention to, nobody who needed to be noticed. At least that's the impression he gave until a vampire came darting into the alleyway and stopped halfway down it, looking oddly...panicked. It was the fear on her face that stopped Wil from just finding something heavy and 'persuading' her to leave town. He still pulled out the silvered hunting knife that had been concealed against his thigh and could be drawn through a rip in the pocket of his expensive-looking jeans, but he did at least have the courtesy to flip it up so that the blade pressed against his forearm, mostly concealing it as he hopped up onto the closed lid of a dumpster (the trash bin had been between her and him, he figured it was the only reason she hadn't scented him already) and crouched down into a loose squat to bring himself to something like conversational distance. "This aint good hunting grounds," he said, friendly menace in his voice as he spoke without pulling the cigarette filter from between his teeth. "You're gonna want to find your meal somewhere else." He took a drag of the smoke and finally pulled it out of his mouth, blowing a plume of smoke downward to break against the hardened vinyl lid of the dumpster. "Very, very else."

[EVE DE LUCA]

On impulse, Eve recoiled, the sudden appearance of the man before her further frightening the young woman. Immobilized by fear, she froze, staring up at him in alarm and trepidation. Recalling the time she had been crept up upon and taken advantage of had left Eve incredibly wary of strangers—daunted by their unpredictability. She already had trouble making eye contact with those around her, even conversing with her family and friends, but subsequent to her initial attack and then being betrayed by somebody she had believed to be her ally made doing so even more difficult than before. Instinctively, her entire body tensed, the muscles growing taunt beneath her skin until they ached. She should have realized that venturing outside was an unwise decision considering what she was, and what she wanted to do; she did not belong here. The panic had monetarily overpowered her bloodlust, the only thought in her head to stay alive and protect herself if she had to. She wanted to run, although her feet would not comply. Taking an uneven step backward, Eve nearly stumbled over an empty garbage can, which fell to the alley floor, clanging loudly against the earth; the sound causing her to jump.

Swallowing the bile rising within her throat, she turned around, finally registering what he had said. "Hunting grounds?" she reiterated, her stomach churning as a fresh wave of shame washed over her. Did he know what she was? That seemed difficult to believe, though it was not impossible. Of course, humans had read about vampires from folklore and have seen them in media, the public romanticizing these blood-sucking creatures more so in this day and age. She was uncertain what else he could be referring to; she had never met someone who had questioned her hunting grounds before. Obviously, he was not another vampire, at least not one of theirs, since she had never laid eyes on him in the past. Was it possible he was a hunter, like Eden was? That was the only explanation she could come up with—unless he was just an over-confident or foolish mortal messing around. Either way, Eve would not let her guard down. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, and she was prepared to exchange blows if push came to shove. The lack of blood may have weakened her, yet she was still more powerful than a human was. However, she would rather that it did not come to that, fearful of losing her self-control like she had with Matthew. Scared of herself, Eve frowned, averting her gaze, wishing she were anywhere, but here.

"No, I'm not . . . it's not what you think," she muttered, wanting to run and hide, but in spite of the deep-seated impulse to flee, she stayed, trembling, and hoping he would not harm her—for her sake and his. She fretted that if she did make the slightest move, she would lunge forward, and attack without any reservations. The inability to restrain herself concerned her more than anything and Eve wondered on a daily basis if she would snap like she had with her father. It terrified her a good deal, and going out tonight had caused her anxiety to flare up considerably. Nevertheless, she had attempted to overcome her fears. Perhaps she was just acting unwisely instead of brave like she wanted to think; it would not be the first time she had done something foolish. Eve took another step away from him, trying to be subtle, but failing terribly at it. She had not interacted with an individual outside the nest in a little over a week, and she was definitely not enjoying it. Running a hand through her hair, she heaved a weary sigh. "I would never hunt here—anywhere," she stated, trying to convince herself more than him. "Never."

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil's eyes narrowed as he thought about that, tried to figure out what this chick's game was. "You a Banker, then? That shit never works, not in the long run. That bottled stuff's dead and it's the life you need." There was a lot of metaphysical similarity between a vampire and a shtriga, it was one of the reasons he tried not to get into a position where he had to hunt them. However, 'tried to' isn't 'never', and he'd gone up against vampires before. Often enough that he knew how to take one down, especially one as apparently young and weak as this chick. He kept that 'apparently' in mind, it never did to get overconfident, but the little thing with the stumbling and stammering at least bought her a bit of slack while he decided whether she was lying. He didn't put the knife away or anything, but he did take another drag of his cigarette as a sort of proof that he wasn't planning on being immediately hostile. "If you aint hunting, you oughta be with your nest. Especially if you lot are tryin' to Bank or go vegetarian." They tried it sometimes, vampires who wanted to retain their humanity. Find ways around it, bargain with their own base natures. Wil of all people sympathized. It was easy to be morally superior now, ten years out from the last one and a dozen years from the next. But a time was coming, nearer than anyone young would ever suspect, when he would travel to somewhere dangerous, some country scoured by war, and for months he would be a dark story in the night. He would creep in windows and sicken children, steal the breath of valorous young soldiers and the heartbeats of suffering widows. And if he was very, very lucky he would leave that war zone six months later without having killed anyone. Wil doubted very much that he would be that lucky. The thought kept his voice kind as he asked, "What are you out looking for, then? If you're not hunting blood?" Not that he'd necessarily help her find it, but it was worth asking a couple of questions before he started with the stabby-stabby. She might be one of the enfants perdu, creation of a nest that was destroyed or one of the other weird circumstances out there that led to monsters being out in the world with no notion of their own control. It was a slim chance, but he tried not to let himself forget that weird shit happened sometimes. After all, who'd believe a shtriga hunting down monsters and raising a human kid?

[EVE DE LUCA]

I don't know what you mean," she responded meekly, not grasping what he meant when he spoke of a banker and going vegetarian. Evidently he at least recognized her for what she was, her theory proved accurate when he mentioned hunting blood. This unsettled her further. It was possible he was a hunter, bearing in mind very few people truly knew vampires existed and were not merely creatures of lore. Now, she realized leaving the safety of her home had been a really bad idea; she would probably be considered blessed to bear witness to another sunrise at this rate. From what she had been told about hunters, they were basically exterminators that specialized in the supernatural, which included her—much to Eve’s chagrin. Vampires were not distinguished by a sweet disposition that was for sure, so she would not blame him if he wanted to behead her right here and now simply because of her species. Eden was her birth mother and she had wanted to take the life of her own daughter when Eve had confided to the elder woman; what would keep a complete stranger from doing the same? She was dangerous and she feared that she would lose all self-restraint at any given moment, submitting to the bloodlust. He would doubtlessly be doing the human race a favor if he killed her right where she stood, however she was selfish, still clinging to life, not wanting to concede defeat just yet. In all probability, there were a handful of people on this planet who would choose death before life—it was nature.

She should be with her nest, taking into account that she was new to the vampire lifestyle; she did not know a lot about them, solely the basics, or no less than what she decided to hear. Naturally, Jacob—being her sire and all—attempted to educate her when it came to their way of life, but oftentimes she did not want to pay attention to a word that left those lips of his. He had deceived her once and she was not apt to believe him a second time, least she make a complete fool of herself, plus it was the most logical course of action in her mind’s eye. As for those who were also a part of the nest, she tried not to interact with them unless she absolutely had to. She did not like judging others before she got the chance to be acquainted with them; however, they were nasty in every way, shape, and form. Eve doubted that each vampire roaming this earth was as ruthless and downright spiteful as the ones she knew. They loathed humans, viewed them as prey and nothing more. Certainly, they tried to be discreet when hunting, otherwise that would draw unwanted attention, and they definitely did not want any more hunters on their tail. On occasion, a recently turned vampire was unable to cope with the transformation and caused a ruckus, although generally they were left to their own devices. Nevertheless, now and again she did wish a hunter would come along and put an end to their wicked ways if it would save the life of countless innocents. Everyone had the right to live, but she did not approve of their habits.

Wetting her lips, she hesitantly peered up at him through wide blue eyes, wondering what he was currently thinking; would he let her leave without any complications or would she have to defend herself? Why was she still here? She should have fled the alleyway some time ago, but the panic coursing through her body made it nearly impossible for her to think properly, much less walk without tripping over her own two feet. There was also the likelihood of leading him to her nest; the suddenness of the thought and concern for the ones she hated thoroughly surprising her. Eve could not say one good thing about the vampires and she had agreed that they should be dealt with accordingly, yet the thought of guiding a hunter to her home upset her. Perhaps it was because she was now one of them, even if it had been against her will—they were all she had. She decided to wait and see what would come of this encounter, silently praying that she would not regret her decision later. "I needed some fresh air," she replied sincerely, preferring honesty to dishonesty nowadays; she understood what it felt like to be lied to—betrayed—and she wanted to stay far away from lying herself, even though the truth was nothing special to begin with. "To get away from it all for a bit. That’s all." Escaping from them—if only for an hour or two—was the closest she would most likely ever get to freedom. It was times like these that made her yearn for the things she had thought she had hated most; medical school, her father’s harsh words—hell, she just wanted him alive! She could not get around the fact that she would never see him again, that she had murdered him, and this whole mess was her fault to begin with. If only she had listened to Matthew when he had told her to stay away.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil shrugged off the Banker thing, concentrating on what seemed to him to be the important point. "So you're out here just wandering around, clearing your head, getting a little peace and quiet." He blinked twice, hit his smoke. "Yeah, you know what? Don't do that. It's a really shitty idea. I aint the only one in the city who can spot your kind on sight, and most of 'em won't bother chatting long enough to figure out that you're one of those tortured-soul sparkly-skin Volvo-driving kind of vampires." What? He had a tween daughter. There were certain things he just couldn't escape. Like Twilight, and Glee. He finished his smoke and flicked the butt back and away from both of them. The fact that it landed in a puddle of water and hissed itself out immediately was more good luck than coolness, but Wil was never afraid to look more competent than he was. "Go home to your nest. Feed, you look like hell. And hey, maybe try not to kill anybody if you can avoid it." He actually smiled at that, losing some of his menace. The heavy-bladed knife still held in one hand and pressed along his inner forearm kept him from looking entirely harmless, though. "I really hate chasing vampires, it seems so unfair, so do your best not to make any trouble?" And yet he had her scent now, and she had his. They would be a danger to one another forever, whether this girl realized it or not. If her nest ever did anything to catch his attention, he'd be able to track them through her. And if the nest ever decided that he was a threat, they could use her to find him, no matter where he went. The smartest thing he could do right now would be to go ahead and kill her, and honestly he considered it. She was just another vampire, and for every one of them who honestly tried not to kill people or ruin lives there were fifty who didn't give a damn. But he couldn't quite do it. He should, but he couldn't. He promised himself that he would allow the possibility of being an ethical monster, for himself and for others. For all he knew this stammering ingenue thing wasn't an act and she really was this little-girl-lost. He couldn't hear or smell any others around, she wasn't a trap. Or if she was, she was a far more subtle one than most vampire nests had the discipline to set up. He'd kill her later, if he had to. Even knowing that he was setting it up for a human or ten to die, almost certainly, but he had to believe in the possibility. Even if that made him a fool. Maybe especially if it made him a fool.

[EVE DE LUCA]

Eve regarded him in silence, mulling over what he had said. Was she to be confined to that insufferable prison for eternity, not allowed to escape from her nest mates every so often? She suddenly felt trapped, held captive within her own neighborhood, and there was not one thing she could do about it. The vampire's lips twitched and slowly curled into a wry smile as she noted the Twilight reference; honestly, it was the funniest thing she had heard in days. However, she did not care that she was being compared to a two-dimensional character from a series she had grown to despise; if only she could be granted a fairytale ending. Without a doubt, it was difficult adjusting to a new way of life so suddenly, which justified her occasional brooding demeanor in her mind. She attempted not to dwell on what she had become and who she had been on a daily basis, but truthfully, it was a lot to cope with. All she wanted to do was what she believed to be right; was that a crime? Presently, she had a lot on her plate and this man was the least of her worries. She needed to focus on her future, considering she did not want to stay here for the rest of forever that was for sure. At least she was attempting to work through her change, not succumbing to the thirst and drinking from humans as if they were meant to be served on a silver platter. Eve assumed it probably would have been easier to give in and follow orders, but she had more dignity than her nest mates did. She would not kill again. Hell, she did not even want to so much as look at another drop of blood. Eve hated it before and she hated it now, everything about it; it still made her nauseas. How could she even live off of something she was naturally repelled to in the first place? The whole thing was just a cruel, cruel joke.

One thing was for certain, she did not want to go home, she did not want to feed, although if being here was just going to cause problems she might as well turn around and do what he had instructed; minus the feeding of course. Though, she cringed slightly as he mentioned murder, the word triggering a walk down memory lane as she vividly recalled her father’s blood on her hands. Naturally, she did not want that to happen ever again—that was what she was trying to avoid. She still felt so much guilt after taking his life away from him—in such a brutal manner no less. Eve did not want to experience that pain all for a second time, especially when she still had not gotten over the fact he was actually dead and it was her fault; she doubted she would ever be able to forget nor forgive herself. Not only was he her parent, but he had a wife, a mother, a father, siblings even, and she had taken him from them in one of the worst ways imaginable. Causing pain merely added to the shame and Matthew's death was in all probability harder to deal with than her own change. To eternally live with the guilt was the worst punishment that Eve could imagine. He had raised her and although he did not always do what was best for her, his intentions had been nothing but good, and all she had given him was the end. She wished she could make up for everything, however there was nothing in the world she could do to in order to set things right—as they should be. All she could do was strive to be the best person she could be—that was it. There was no way to rectify murder, nothing at all.

In spite of this, she also felt slightly relieved that he did not plan to kill her—yet. Although, she wondered what would happen when she did leave. Could she really maintain the craving or would it be a matter of time before she surrendered to it once more, blindly attacking an innocent bystander. If she did not drink anytime soon she would weaken until she was too sick to continue living. She had desperately tried to believe something good would have come from this, but was she more dangerous alive? Anything could happen at any given moment, however presently she was a threat to everyone in this city and any one of them could be her next victim if she did not play her cards right. She swallowed, her throat unbearably dry, as she contemplated what she wanted to do and what she needed to do. Eve heaved a shaky sigh, silently questioning why he had not killed her, a vampire; it did not make much sense to her. Her own mother would have decapitated her without the least bit hesitance and a complete stranger had been kind enough not to; maybe they were both being reckless. "Thank you for not . . . killing me," she said slowly, "but, what if you’re making a mistake?" Her voice wavered slightly when she spoke, though she did not move, did not even bat an eyelash. She did not want to hear the truth—not even when she was the one who verbalized it—but she had too, no matter how awful it was. The need of the many outweighed the need of the one after all. “What if I kill someone else?” Eve had not meant to say it aloud, realizing a little too late as she clamped a hand to her mouth. This was not good.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] ...what if you're making a mistake?... That fast he was locked in memory, trapped in it. Storyville

[/color]. Not a classy place, or a safe one, but there had been so much life. The girls reeking of amber and pipe smoke and sex, the men with their hair brilliantined flat against their skulls and that hopeful, furtive look in their eyes. They'd laughed and courted and killed and lied and you could walk into a whorehouse and slip past the teenaged high yella girls sitting topless on threadbare velvet sofas to lean against the piano and smoke a Players and listen to Roosevelt Sykes tear up the air around him with that bad-man barrelhouse blues. Buy him a cigar and maybe he'd tell you lies about how he'd taught Satchmo how to do it right to 44.

He'd spent six years on Basin Street, working as an unlicensed doctor and sometime angelmaker, nobody in the district had any reason to suspect that far from being the med school dropout he claimed to be the young man going by the name Tom Creek was not only an immortal souleater but was actually only in New Orleans at all because he was slowly liquidating his shipping company holdings and wanted to move discreetly to sell off the small fleet of boats and much larger fleet of Mississippi barges he owned. Louisiana was a hell of a place to move around money at the beginning of the twentieth century and he'd done very well for himself there.

He'd left because of the girl. Christ, he could see her now, smell the dusty-sweet violet and rose dusting powder that she'd worn, hear the sugarcane slowness of her voice. Evangeline, she'd called herself, but that had almost certainly been a lie. She'd been--what, twenty-five? Twenty-eight? Old by the standards of the business, young to his eyes.

She hadn't been beautiful. His memory always wanted to make her lovely, but she wasn't. She'd had a heavy jaw and small eyes and a big round ass with a flat chest. Octoroon, they'd called it then. One-eighth black to seven-eighths white, but she'd never in her life walked through the front door of a restaurant outside of Storyville or gone a day without having to call some white man 'sir'.

Wil, who'd been Tom back then, had first fallen in love with her for her hair. Inky black when it was braided up, when she took it down in the privacy of his two-room flat on Basin Street it fell thick and waving past her knees and picked up flecks of red and brown and brassy green in the firelight. He'd bought her silk oil and boars-bristle brushes to keep it shining and smooth, and he could still remember the feel of it pooling across his thighs as she straddled him on her knees.

He'd told her lies about how he'd take her to France, where she'd be considered white. How they could live in Paris and owe no apologies to nobody. She hadn't believed him but had pretended she did because, he thought, in her own way she'd loved him too.

It was Evangeline who'd come to find him one night, brought him back to her crib to deal with a 'gentleman caller' who'd come over sick right in the middle of his tumble. Wil had run his hand across the man's brow, felt the sick coldness of his flesh, but more importantly he'd known the meaning of the john's milky blue eyes.

The ghoul was trying to stay out of sight. Stuck to the poorest boneyards in the city, where they didn't even bother to embalm the dead but just piled in heaps of dead nigras to one big hole, poured a little lime over the top and buried 'em deep. He lived in a cabin down in the swamps, picked the pockets of drunks for a little cash. He was just trying to live his life, but a man's still got needs and he'd save up for a trip to Storyville now and then.

I'm not going to kill you, Wil-who-was-Tom had said. Just don't hurt anybody.

And the ghoul had looked up at him, still doubled-over with the sickness from eating lime-tainted flesh and asked, What if you're making a mistake?

He didn't even remember what he'd answered. It had been so long. But he remembered the smell of Evangeline's crib two months later. Her guts had been ripped open, the tiny room stank like feces and blood and bile and the bastard had taken big messy bites out of her thighs and shoulders and small, soft mother's tits. Wil had cried like a little kid when he'd helped wash all that thick and clotted mess out of her hair so that they could bury her proper.

"Don't be a mistake," he said aloud, and Wil was too far gone in memory to realize how harsh his voice was, how still and dangerous his eyes had gone. He did such a good job most of the time of projecting the attitude of being some snot-nosed kid with more money than sense. But the truth of him was those eyes, that pitiless command, the steady grip of his hand around the hilt of a silvered knife. "Otherwise I'll come find you and I'll see to it you're not a mistake any more."
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