September 1813
ssage to Isaac of the Rosenthal.
tis is well.
Marquette, IL.
A.
December 1813
Milady,
After reviewing your project, you will be pleased to learn that the board has approved your loan, with a one-year grace period before interest is collected.
You will find the signed agreent, as well as a reminder of our terms and conditions in separate docunts.
We wish you all the best in your endeavour.
Best regards,
Andrew Mills, Manager for the Rosenthal Consortium, branch of Savannah.
December 21st 1831, Marquette, Illinois.
Below my bedroom’s largest window, I placed a mahogany desk. The delicate furniture is an expensive and wasteful affair I gifted myself last sumr as a well-deserved treat for my birthday. Its surface has not been clear since then, always cluttered with ssages, invoices, and orders I must countersign. Tonight, the right-hand pile will remain untouched. Tonight, I dedicate my ti to contemplation.
I lined the walls with so of my best paintings. The Eye, my favourite rendition of the Herald, a portrait of Dalton, another one of Loth. Those are the personal paintings while the rabble downstairs contents themselves with my landscapes and other portraits.
There is even a single piece of poetry under a protective glass case, a Sonnet in alexandrines written by a passing artist singing the glory of my rear. That one made laugh.
The four-poster bed with a goose feather mattress, I seldom use, just like the vanity with its attached mirror. They serve to keep appearances in case sobody manages to break in.
The two wardrobes are packed. I do have a reputation to uphold, one that requires a flawless appearance. Right now, I am wearing a blue winter gown with an ermine collar as I stare over the city.
Two winters in a row now, the entire state has been covered in thick snow. Travel is almost impossible, and I expect that when it thaws, we will have to recover the corpses of the unwary and the unfortunate. The fluffy white mantle hangs over everything and even the dark soot of burnt coal has yet to mar its pristine beauty. For a few more hours, the alabaster cloth will mask the truth of what this city is: a rotten shithole. White powder to hide away the decrepitude like heavy makeup on an old whore.
I appreciate the mont while it lasts.
Then sobody knocks on the door.
I sigh deeply and resist the urge to crumple the fragile letter in my hand, the one telling of father’s death three years ago to this day.
I take one last look outside and enjoy the scent of jasmine and burning log, the crisp air inside before it is polluted.
“Co in.”
Margaret’s vixen face appears as I knew it would. She searches the dim room with her pitch-black eyes.
“Margaret.”
“Mistress…”
“Did I not leave specific instructions that I should not be disturbed?”
“Yes, but…”
She swallows nervously.
“You also said to fetch you if the Alvaro were to co again. They… They are here. Three brothers. Hm. Michael and George and Gabriel. Those.”
Two archangels and one king. Pretentious.
“Very well. I will go.”
“And mistress? Hm. You might want to check Patrick. I think… I think he’s been drinking.”
I wait a few seconds before answering.
“You may go.”
She closes the door and scurries away, to prepare her promotion, no doubt. Margaret is my best cattle, and I believe she may have been Lancaster vampire material. That, or she is just a cunning, backstabbing harridan. I cannot decide which.
This is, in essence, what cattle are. After three bites they lose most of their autonomy and only exist to serve us. The fires of ambition and inspiration in their soul is smothered. Their entire existence is reduced to nial tasks and spying on each other to improve their standing.
I turned her into this because the twit poisoned my wine. I did Patrick because he tried to swindle . They remain the most proactive of those I took in, and I placed them in charge of the dozen I keep around at all tis. Sadly, their blood is just as insipid as their personalities.
I wish I could have a Vassal but unsurprisingly, it takes a deep connection between vampire and mortal to form such a bond. The deepest connections I ford since my arrival consisted of my hand in soone’s rib cage and I do not see it changing any ti soon. I suspect that Masters can have several, though I rember Baudouin ntioning that only one can beco the Servant and thus escape old age for a life of servitude.
I step out of my room and in the corridor to the view of Margaret’s quickly retreating back. The alley is decorated by my paintings and actual plaster, with doors on both sides leading to storage closets and the staff’s personal quarters. I follow it to the end then down the set of stairs.
The Dream is four stories high with three wings around an inner court. It is the largest building in a hundred miles in any direction, not that the South of Illinois abounds with those. I am about to reach the third floor when I co across a nervous Patrick climbing up. He sees and stops. Under the stench of stale sweat, sex and unwashed bodies, I detect the subtle hint of expensive liquor.
“Patrick.”
The weaselly man freezes in his tracks, not even daring to move.
“Mistress?”
“Turn around.”
If the man gets anymore scared, I fear he may soil his pants. Human excrent is not sothing I wish to add to the already fragrant bouquet I submit myself to.
“Choose.”
“Mistress? I…”
I slap him. He manages to cushion his head with an arm before it impacts the wall. Blood drips down his crooked nose.
“Choose.”
“A finger.”
He shakily extends his hand. I grab the index and snap it. Ignoring his scream of pain, I drag him by his broken digit until he kneels before .
“I can tolerate mistakes but not deception. One more incident and you will join Russel and the others, and I would hate to ask John to dig a grave in this weather. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You will give the key to the pantry and cave to Margaret.”
“… Yes, Mistress.”
After one last twist, I leave the whimpering failure behind. Such a waste of my ti.
Two more landings and I am on the ground floor. Normally, the noise coming from the saloon eclipses even the moans and giggles of the upper floors. Tonight, it is unusually quiet. Even the piano stopped playing.
John is waiting at the bottom with an iron poker and a big goofy smile. He cleans the drool from his cleft lip and bows.
“Miss Lethe.”
“Good evening John, I see you rember. Thank you.”
The man nods frantically with a delicate blush.
John is an interesting find. He is without a doubt the tallest and strongest man in town by a wide margin. He is also one of the ugliest n I ever had the misfortune of ever eting.
I wish I could say he is the stupidest. He is not, but he is close.
“I rember. September seventh eighteen thirty-one. If they co back, bam!”
What John is explaining in his own words is my previous banishnt of the Alvaro brothers from the Dream on threat of death, by strenuous application of the aforentioned implent. John’s mory is simply uncanny. His ability to process information, not so much.
With the poker held by my side, I enter the main room and calmly walk towards the bar where the trio is drinking, their back to the oaken strip. Gabriel, the eldest, is pointing an old pistol at the crowd while the two others nurse glasses and glance around nervously. The custors and girls alike stare at them and I can see quite a few predatory smirks. Those are not the delicate gentlen and ladies of the East coast, but godless frontier folk and they are always eager for a free bloody show.
When Gabriel spots , he swings the pistol in my direction, and I catch a glimpse of the pan. Truly, it is a miracle that the entire Alvaro bloodline is not extinguished yet by the result of their sheer incompetence. A mistake that nature made and that I shall redy myself.
“Well well well, and who graces my establishnt tonight?”
“You bitch, we go where we want. You don’t get to order us around, you know who we are?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I rember telling you to leave and never return, or else. Isn’t that right Gabriel?”
“You don’t get to tell us that. We’re the Alvaro. You gots to respect us. You’re just a nasty slut, who cares what you want. Ain’t that right?”
I have almost reached them yet. I could Charm them into begging. I could make them leave with their tails between their legs, but I will not. I made a public promise, one I fully intend to fulfil. Their fate was sealed the mont they stepped into my domain without my leave. I do have a reputation to uphold after all, and the fancy clothes are only a part of it.
“I said, if you co back here, I will break your skulls with an iron poker.”
I am close now, just barely out of arm’s reach.
“I don’t see no iron poker, you whore.”
I slightly extend my right arm until the entire room sees the implent. A collective intake of breath and a few expressions of admiration welco the barbaric statent.
Gabriel panics, he lifts his pistol and pulls the trigger. The flint erupts in a rain of sparks as the people behind yell in dismay.
Nothing happens. That inbred cretin forgot to close the pan. His powder is on the ground sowhere.
My strike catches him in the temple with a resounding crack. There is a trick to applying strength in public as a vampire. I only need to move at human speed and let the weapon’s weight do the job for .
A two-handed swing takes care of George on the right, and a downward strike cracks Michael’s head as he kneels by his sibling’s side.
For a beautiful mont, the room is filled and yet perfectly silent, then the mob lets loose. Cheers, jeers and laughter bloom at my back as I drop the poker without a care. I approach my barman under tumultuous applause. He is cleaning glass as if nothing of note had occurred.
“Oscar.”
The man is a black freeman, an oddity around here. Light from the candles shines on his bald head. He raises sad brown eyes to and nods in appreciation.
“I’m sorry for giving them booze miss Lethe, they threatened with that gun.”
“Did you give them the cheapest swill?”
“Of course.”
“Good man.”
He returns to work and I approach the main entrance just as my n step in to get rid of the corpses. I smile pleasantly at the revellers complinting .
“Ice-cold miss!”
“You sure showed them!”
“Did not even flinch…”
A man with a black beard and a brutish face is waiting right outside.
“Horrigan.”
“Boss?”
“Those three must have cut a way through the snow to co to town. Take three teams and go to the Alvaro estate. Kill all the adults, take the kids, and burn the house down.”
“Even old Mary Alvaro?”
“Especially her. Now go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I turn around. Horrigan is a brute and also the leader of my private army. There are around twenty of them at any ti, a costly investnt but one I can afford. The unruly pack will loot the place but they will also do as I ordered.
I step back inside and use a side passage to return to my room unhindered. I et a few couples on my way up. The n remove their hats and my girls curtsey, as I instructed. This should soothe , yet it does not. The calm is gone.
Well, I might as well do so paperwork.
“This concludes the eting. Anyone else has anything to add?”
Horrigan is already trying to escape and frowns as Kitty, the one in charge of the girls, raises a hand. He is not a fan of work, especially the kind that requires a brain.
“Preparations for the Christmas party would go better if your, ah, personal staff helped us shovel snow.”
Margaret fixes her. If looks could kill…
“Very well, the n only.”
Kitty dips her head and soon my assistants file out.
There is Horrigan for security, Kitty for the girls, Oscar for the entertainnt side and old Martha for food and cleaning. Margaret is present as well, though their role is separate.
When I settled here, I realized that there were very few positions of authority for won that did not start with ‘wife of’, so I beca a mada.
I run a brothel.
If my father had learnt of it, he would have died of embarrassnt. As for , I don’t really care that much. It is a ans to an end, an excellent ans besides. And the end is near. I just need two more years.
My establishnt, the Dream, was built with funds I borrowed from the Consortium. That debt is now repaid several tis over. Indeed, I am in the business of pleasure and illusion, and business is booming. Mine is the only place of entertainnt in the surrounding three counties, the only destination where one can forget about their miserable existence, their back-breaking labour or their nagging wife. This is the grandest building in all of Marquette, larger and more lavish than both the mine’s office and town hall together. For a week’s pay, workers and farmhands can co and drink rotgut in fancy glasses of fake crystal, served from ornate bottles by beautiful won who pretend to care. With only a handful of coins, they will find comfort in arms slling of cheap perfu and wake up the next day just as miserable but with their mood, their purse, and their testicles lighter. Their aspirations are fulfilled, if only for an evening.
All of their aspirations.
The Dream is well provisioned. They want shy brunettes? I have them. Prissy blondes? Got them too. They want plump girls dressed in farm clothes they bend over to fulfil a cousin fantasy? They can. Refined ladies pretending to slum it to get their freak on? I got them as well, with quality acting delivered by the daughters of expert conn. I got red-heads, I got auburn, I even got grey. Fat and slim, tall and small, luscious or boyish, I have them all. They want a black woman? No problem. A native? A Chinese? Right this way sir. They want food served? I have all the ribs they will ever need. I have beer, whiskey, gin and wine. I have music and dancers. I have gas and jokes and all they will ever need to live the dream, to feel successful, to feel that they matter. And when dawn cos and the shining rays of the sun show the cracks in the wall painting and the imperfection on the bar’s varnish, their money is already on its way to my office.
Leading this small empire is not an easy task though. This is a company. We sell services and the logistics alone is already a nightmare. The amount of food required to satisfy almost three hundred people on busy nights is truly staggering, and this is without even considering cleaning. Before starting this, I had no idea how much effort is required to wash a hundred and fifty sheets, and well, let’s just say that if a r-woman lives downstream, she’s pregnant. Growing and managing the massive structure has been a formative experience and I have a newfound respect for Isaac.
Tonight is a town council night. As the owner and sole proprietor of the Dream, I count as one of the city’s top dogs, which I guess makes the alpha bitch. The big wheels gather once per week to discuss their domain’s ongoing affairs and align to solve them. This goes from funding public works to handling disgruntled employees or undesirables, an initiative made necessary by the frontier’s unequal rule of law. Until tonight, that is.
I leave Horrigan and John in the town hall’s entrance. A woman alone is a tempting target for those who do not know better, therefore I bring them along to intimidate people. And it works. I ordered John to smile and remain silent when people talk to him. The resulting facial expression is an abominable rictus that does not reach his eyes. As long as he doesn’t utter a word, he appears dangerous instead of just plain stupid. I left no instructions to Horrigan, he only needs to be himself.
The council room is a stuffy fumoir with heavy leather couches. The walls are yellowed by years of cigar smoke and the centre is occupied by a coffee table cluttered with alcohol bottles, often emptied and changed. Inebriation makes my colleagues more anable, most of the ti. I highly suspect this will not apply to the newcor.
“Ah, here you are hehe! Miss Lethe, et our new judge, the honourable Mr Richard Sullivan. Splendid, hehe, yes, now, order will finally co to our beloved city, hehe, isn’t that right Mr Sullivan?”
The mayor is a short and plump man with a sweet disposition. Under his affable air lies a shrewd businessman, one with probity, according to local standards. His striped suit flares around the middle making him bottom heavy. By contrast, the newcor is dressed in black with a top hat, gloves and an entirely black suit with a white shirt. He is tall, with white hair and an abundant white beard, and painfully thin. Two pale blue eyes peer down an aquiline nose. His tone is glacial.
“Yes. Quite.”
A silver cross hangs on his tie. Not from the Brotherhood thankfully, or our collaboration would have been brief indeed.
Thankfully, I know how to handle his kind without leaving a corpse.
I curtsey respectfully and offer my hand in greeting.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, judge Sullivan.”
And here is the thing, scorning would not only be unbecoming of a gentleman in public, it would also insult the mayor, his host.
After a slight hesitation, Sullivan relents and holds my hand. He bows slightly in a gesture that is calculated to convey disdain.
“I have heard much about you and your… Establishnt, Ms Lethe.”
“Only good things, I hope?” I add, ever the pleasant host.
“It is a den of sin!”
“You an, prostitution?”
“So, you do not deny it?”
“No.”
My calm statent takes him by surprise, and I use the distraction to push him further.
“We live on the frontier, judge Sullivan. Those are hardy and persistent folks, but they have base instincts. I rely offer them a safe and clean place to relax and… ply their trade.”
“You attempt to present adultery as sothing inevitable!”
“Ah, but we both know that if your constituents were all respectable citizens, your task would be significantly easier would it not? I understand that you would see the Dream as a tool of chaos and evil, but you could not be further from the truth. When I ca here, these won were living in poorly lit and filthy barns while the n were drinking dangerous concoctions made by smugglers and criminals. The squalor of their living conditions was appalling and every year, many would die to disease and exposure. The Dream brought civilization, such as it is, to those poor people. We provide a safe environnt for them to… Channel their impulses. As a man of law, I believe that you can appreciate our contribution to peace and order in this town.”
“Certainly, their ti would be better spent attending church rather than a house of ill repute!”
“I am afraid that this would be the purview of pastor van Tassel. Ah, here he is.”
An older gentleman in a dark ensemble joins us at the table, soon followed by a dour bald man who manages the city’s coal mine for so Chicago firm.
“Mrs Lethe is right I’m afraid. I fight an uphill battle to save the souls of those lost lambs. At the very least, her financial contribution to the church helped us repair it last winter so my efforts could continue.”
Of course, I would fund the local church. I do need the priest off my back, not to ntion that he likes curvy won and roleplay. Interestingly, so does his wife.
“An undisciplined rabble is what they are!” harrumphs the mayor, “it takes all of Ms Lethe and pastor’s van Tassel’s efforts to keep them in line. Why just yesterday an entire farm was burnt to the ground as part of a criminal’s quarrel, no doubt!”
Ahem.
“You have your task cut out for you, judge Sullivan. You can, of course, count on all our help.” He continues.
“Hmpf!”
The righteous man is not convinced by their argunts in my favour, but he is llowed and that will be enough for a first contact. As in most things political, I will take my ti, erode determinations and enmities by making them too costly to maintain. In truth, immortality grants a unique mindset to appreciate long-term goals. So many decisions are motivated by biological imperatives to find fortune, a good party, or to leave a legacy to one’s children within a few years. I do not disdain mortals for it, quite the contrary. So many great deeds are carried out through the motivation a limited lifespan offers. Short-sightedness is only an unfortunate and unavoidable side effect of this condition, and with no vampires around, insults slide off like water. Betrayals are nothing but amusing distractions I need to repay in a particularly inventive and cruel manner. Finally, if the offenders decide it wiser to leave town, they never reach the next one. tis and I make sure of it.
A slow stream of notables joins us until all are present or excused. I remain the only woman present to the general indifference of all. It appears mortals can get used to anything, with ti.
Judge Sullivan introduces himself and what he stands for through a concise speech ntioning “God” far too many tis for my taste, and “Justice” too few. Our discussions then lead to the town’s Christmas celebrations. Van Tassel and I ntion our respective preparations, and the eting is soon adjourned.
I never truly appreciated cold before. I feel it in my bones but it is no longer uncomfortable, nor distressing. Instead of shivers and lethargy, I enjoy the crisp air and silence only broken by feet trudging through snow. Then we reach the Dream and I am hit by a sensory wall.
Bright lights, loud music, the overwhelming stench of sweat, stale sex and unwashed bodies. Spilled booze mingles with cheap tobacco in a concerted effort to saturate my mind. I imdiately turn to a side door to escape the main room before one of our patrons gathers enough courage to accost .
“Miss Ari?”
“Yes John.”
“Your head hurts?”
How can he be so perceptive yet so dumb? A most peculiar man.
“No, the music is just too loud.”
The towering giant nods wisely, or his version of wise anyway. Horrigan sneers but remains quiet.
Once, I ordered John to execute a man who had shot one of our girls. The simpleton placed his hands around his victim’s skull and crushed it like an overripe lon. Since that fateful mont, not a man has seen it wise to test or bully my self-proclaid bodyguard.
“I will retire to my room. You two enjoy your evening.”
I close the door behind . Finally, blessed quiet, and the light scent of cleanliness and jasmine. And woodsmoke. And…
Roses.
There is an envelope on my bed. NEST COMPROMISED. FIND THE INTRUDER AND KILL IT. KILL IT NOW!
“MARGARET!”
Feet scurry outside, only to stop at the door. I bang it open and take her by her devious, lying throat.
“Who ca here!? Who?”
“No… Please!”
“HSSSSS!”
“No one! No one I swear!”
A small gathering of cattle is now watching us.
“Who ca in here?”
“No one Mistress.”
They all shake their heads. They look scared, terrified even, but I detect no signs of duplicity. No shifty eyes, no one trying to avoid attention. They are all looking around trying to catch another lying, eager to curry my favor. I even forbid them from entering and as far as I know, cattle cannot, and will not disobey a direct order.
“Very well. Wait here.”
I go back in and look around the room. The windows are sealed, and cannot be opened from the outside. I inspect all four of them without finding any sign of tampering. There are no magical auras either.
Not even from the envelope.
“Margaret. Find anyone who ca to this floor while I was away and bring them to .”
“Very well, Mistress.”
The letter slls of roses. I open it and read its content, a single piece of paper covered in a flowery script I do not recognize.
“Dear princess,
Your problem is more than skin deep.
With love,
An admirer.”
What in the na of the Watcher?!
“Miss?”
“Yes Margaret.”
“They are here, and I heard so terrible news!”
“Do tell.”
“Old man Roger has been assassinated!”
Old man Roger does not matter. His assassination does. I do not tolerate any bloodletting on my territory unless I am the instigator, and so I decide to head out imdiately. Interrogation will have to wait.
I leave the house with John in tow. The murder occurred near the Northern entrance to the town on a large square surrounded by warehouses where convoys unload their wares. The Southern entrance is mostly used to load coal and is easily recognizable by its spoil pile, an artificial dark valley devoid of plant life where the mine dumps its rejects.
When we arrive, we find a small gathering even at this late hour. They part to let us through and I find that I am late to the party. The doors to one of the warehouses are wide open, the interior lit and in it, I find n surrounding what I assu is Roger’s corpse.
“Ms. Lethe, would you mind explaining what on earth do you think you’re doing here? This is no place for a woman.”
“Judge Sullivan.”
The man is surrounded by four n in heavy cloth and identical leather coats with Marshal stars, quite likely n he nad himself. None of them are locals which tells a lot about judge Sullivan’s trust in local law enforcent and his willingness to be part of our community.
“I wanted to know if the dreadful rumors I heard about old Roger have any truth to them. He did so work for us after all. His well-being concerns .”
The man scoffs lightly but he questions my sincerity and not my motive, and that is all I care about. As for I know the rumors to be true. The scent of carrion and blood is heavy on the air.
“See for yourself.”
The n step back.
On the ground, lies old Roger or to be precise, what is left of him. He has been savaged with full pieces of at and most of the innards missing while the skin of his face has been peeled off and removed. Only his signature hat, his pipe and a missing right eye ascertain his identity. I have seldom seen such cadavers outside of animal attacks and this is simply impossible here.
“You do not seem shocked.”
I raise my eyes to et the judge’s inquisitive brown eyes.
“I have seen worse, in animal attacks.”
“Did you now? And do you believe this to be an animal attack?”
Ah, ti to decide. Do I gracefully dodge the question, or do I make myself look competent? This is a defining mont, one that will shape our future relationship for the next two years.
What do I want?
I want him to consider as an off-man. I have seen it before. Many of the more religious n see won as incapable of holding a business or dealing with violence. When confronted with , those beliefs conflict with observable facts and when it happens, they simply discard as an anomaly. I beco an “off-man”, soone who was conceived without dangling parts by so divine clerical error. Competence it is.
“Not at all, sir.”
“Explain.”
“A mauled man is always surrounded by a pool of blood, here the ground is mostly dry so he was not killed here. No beast large enough to inflict this type of wound would move the body, not to ntion they would never reach this far into the city, nor open a gate.”
“What if an animal killed him and dropped the body here.”
“Unlikely, there are no blood trails. And sothing is clearly missing.”
He blinks. I hear his heartbeat accelerate in excitent.
“What is?”
Is he not tired of testing ?
“Bite marks. Roger’s corpse has been cut apart by claws or a claw like instrunt but there are no teeth marks. Look at the chest, the pieces of flesh here and there have been clearly carved out but not bitten. It cannot possibly be the work of a beast.”
The marshals all bend down to get a better look, a few looking a bit green around the gills. Sullivan’s eyes widen and I realize my mistakes.
They had not noticed yet.
I hope I did not present myself as too competent.
The judge takes a step forward, only for John to cross his arms at my side. I classify John crossing his arms as a spectator sport. When he does it, many n realize that waists are not that thick. They stare in wonder and their eyes drift up to a face even a mother would not love, which explains why he was abandoned as a kid.
Then John smiles.
Sullivan wisely decides to take a step back from the man who might very well be Illinois’ second highest altitude after Charles Mound and asks his question from afar.
“How does a woman know all of that?”
Because my eight hundred years old Dvergur friend taught how to recognize monsters from their victims.
“Because I grew up in a farm, judge Sullivan. I saw dead sheep and dead horses and it was nothing quite like that.”
Technically correct.
“So he was killed sowhere else. It cannot be far since he was still alive three hours ago.”
No way. Too rotted.
“He was?”
“Yes, he and other drivers…” Sullivan stops abruptly and with a blush of embarrassnt, realizes he is giving precious information to a civilian, and worse! One who wears petticoats.
“Thank you for your assistance Ms. Lethe. Now I will ask you to clear the scene.”
I nod and gracefully make my exit, my bodyguard in tow.
“Soone killed Mr. Roger. Mr. Roger gave treacle twice and tobacco four tis.”
It is a rare thing for John to speak first. The death must trouble him a lot.
“Who killed Mr. Roger, Ms. Ari?”
“A monster.”
One who can mask his aura.
“Are you going to kill it?”
“Of course.”
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