Barbara Richards

Fiction Submission 07/30/18

NIGHTTIME FOR VAMPIRES

Alli sat on the porch of the rundown, clapboard house, made of bleached, graying wood, black
shingles shifted randomly around on the broken, sloped roof.

The field of yellow flowers stretched before her. Dark green trees on the horizon, shuffled and
waved in the summer breeze. The sky was a hard azure, a robin's egg shell of vibrating heat.
Fluffy, picturesque clouds floated without a care, yet high white formations gathered in the
distance, for the afternoon thunderstorm.

The screen door swung in the wind. This was the same house she, Aro and Nealy had met in as
teenagers. Far away, distant pick-up trucks rumbled down the dirt road, leaving curling swirls of
dust.

Alli continued to sit on the porch of the broken house, in a wooden rocking chair, brought out
from inside – made of wood almost as gray as that of the porch. It was now early afternoon. The
brilliant, electric-blue sky had been replaced by a cloudy hue, the color a soft, eggshell white.

The drizzle drummed on the black, old shingles of the roof, twisted and turned out of their
places. Thunder grumbled beyond her view. The trees looked black on the horizon. Lightning
flashed – Alli blinked her eyes and it was gone. The rain wind wafted the fresh smell of wet earth
across the land.

Æon stood in the middle of the field of yellow flowers, now looking off-white under the
dishwater-colored sky. She wore clothes like what Alli wore when she was in high school,
walking through this very same field, almost twenty years ago – a jean jacket over a green sweat
shirt, faded jeans, trainers.

She stood in the middle of the field, the Sky Avatar, and let the lightning illuminate her face.
Æon crossed through the field toward Alli, an angel in disguise, pushing her way through the tall
grass and the raindrops, sweet and cool. She smiled and waved. No doubt, Aro had encouraged
her to come here.

Alli watched her make her way up the ancient, rotting porch. Æon sat in the matching, rickety
rocking chair Alli had placed out for her. They listened to the gentle whistle of the breeze,
watched the thunderheads move in the distance, saw the setting sun break through the rainy
gloom.

Æon rocked the chair, in a homey sort of way. Alli was still, "So, you've come to tell me to open
my third eye, or something like that, right?"

Æon smiled again, and stopped rocking, "It's finally time for you to become what you were
always meant to be."
 ***

Rain poured down, almost slant-wise. The wind howled around the brick apartment buildings,
slick with water running off the train tracks. Lightning cut open the sky. Dan turned his collar up
against the cloudburst and soaked to the skin, slipped into The Gem.

The bar was packed for a Tuesday night. As the wizened barkeep liked to say, all the rats had
come in from the cold. Dan took a seat in the front and ordered one of the pale ales Al had on
tap, a cheap, fruity blend from Europe. The buzz of the conversation pressed in on him, everyone
in tight, leather coats and black T-shirts, wearing bicycle chains around their necks.

"Interesting choice," a man at his right elbow opined, in a dry tone. Dan ran his hand through his
damp, chestnut hair, and turned to look at the interlocutor, prepared to be annoyed. When his
eyes got to the man's face, however, he came to a full-stop, and then to his embarrassment, did a
double-take.

The man's most distinctive feature was his cat-like eyes – green, blue and flecked with amber.
His face was angular, almost chiseled out of stone. He had a tall forehead, but his face still
managed to have a gentleness about it, a playfulness. Mischief animated the crinkles at the
corners of his eyes, when he smiled, as he did now, with obvious bemusement.

His long, thin fingers toyed with the rim of a glass of whiskey, which he turned at odd intervals.
Those eyes were alive with the fires of harmless wickedness, genuine fun. He wore a cappuccino
shirt and a black jacket.

"I could say the same for you," Dan retorted, trying to look cool, only to succeed in appearing
daft.

The man, his natural hair color a dirty auburn, almost blond, shook his head, "So what's your
name?" His voice was deep and rich, like rivers in an aquifer.

"Dan," he responded, managing to pull his tongue off the roof of his mouth just in time.

The man shifted closer, his dark suit flowing into the gloom of the bar. His movements were
lithe but calculated. His eyes danced with delight and seemed to burn into Dan's soul, "Dan, eh?
May I buy you a drink Dan?"

Dan blinked, dumbstruck. "Sure," he got out, "And your name?"

"My name is Cai," he said, another slow grin spreading across his face. He signaled Al over and
placed a tenner on the table.

They went up to the rooftop of a nearby motel, the one where Cai was staying. A gentle whirring
rose from the boiler turbines, down below, deep in the bowels of the building. Sleeping pigeons
roosted under the water tower. The rain had stopped, and clouds floated by in the sky, reflected
by giant puddles.
Cai had retrieved his long, black overcoat, which swirled around his thin legs. He pulled out a
Camel cigarette and offered his lighter to Dan, who took it, and lit up.

The two men watched the retreating cumulus formation, illuminated by the veins of traffic
below. Steam floated from thousands of dark rooftops, with myriad HVAC units, vents and
tunnels.

Dan glanced at the Dracula-like creature in front of him. "You're from out-of-town?" he
muttered.

The lothario gave him a crafty, cryptic look, "You might say that."

There was a density to him – that aristocratic nose, that lofty, sweeping brow – that spoke to him,
that offered a weight, a depth. He felt himself drawn forward into this man's orbit, like falling
into the path of a black hole – or a runaway bullet train.

"Where did you say you were from?" Dan tried again.

"I didn't," the stranger guffawed.

"Excuse me?" Dan also laughed, but he was 100% serious. He really wanted to know.

"Originally, I am from London, but I came here from Seattle," Cai began.

"Misty Seattle. Hmm," Dan said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Yes; how well versed are you in the mystical arts?" the stranger gave him a significant look.

"The mystical what?" Dan asked, dumbfounded.

"The mystical. Arts." Cai said, punctuating each word with an action: he dropped the butt and
stepped on it – grinding it out – also taking one step closer to Dan, in the process. His massive,
intellectual weight was all directed at Dan. The tall man loomed in front of him, looking down
on him, his eyes narrowed in that oily, feline slant again.

Dan stepped back, confused, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cai stood still, as if his metaphysical weight were settling, like a dense ball of dark matter. He
sighed, as if confessing something to himself for the first time, "I am the Lightning Avatar. I
come from Atev. You're aware of parallel dimensions, right?"

Dan, a high-energy particle physicist, nodded. He was still baffled, but something Cai said, rang
true to him: a bell knell of recognition tolled inside his psyche, on the shores of his
consciousness. He didn't know why. It was a note, the clarion call, of destiny.

He decided he would address that later, and pushed on gamely, "So, what's your job?"
"Anesthesiologist," Cai smirked, with obvious relief. He seemed to be standing over Dan less,
and the angles of his body opened into a more welcoming posture. Cai’s mien took on the very
definition of ease. Dan allowed himself to come closer, into the circle of Cai’s cologne – into the
circle of energy that vibrated and emanated from him.

“You would be,” Dan murmured, surprised at how close he was to this man. The nail edge of a
crescent moon emerged from a cloud bank and towered over them both.

Dan exhaled into the darkness of the motel room. He sat, relaxed, reclining flat-out on the beige
sofa. The light of the crescent moon filtered through the blinds.

The cat-like figure of Cai stole through the apartment. Dan could just make out his outline in the
hallway. He could tell that Cai, was nervous, shooting him furtive glances in the gloom, thinking
that he couldn't see.

Cai stood in front of Dan, inviting him forward. Dan stood up and faced Cai. "I normally don't
kiss on the first date," Cai laughed. His innocence was endearing, in a counter-intuitive kind of
way.

Dan took his hands and pulled him closer. Cai put his long arms around Dan's neck. He could
feel the promise of Cai’s security in the strong hands on his shoulders. He wanted to understand
the mystery.

***

Alli was sitting at the house in the field, burnt out, twisted out, more than thirty years ago. The
moon floated overhead; the flowers tossed in the evening's gusts. A little lantern sat on the porch
between them. Page, the Thunder Avatar, sat in the adjacent rocking chair.

She was dressed like a young professional. Her tall, lanky frame was graced by a slate pants suit
and an obsidian blouse. Her raven hair flowed like silk and caught the deep blue of the sky, the
spinning, sparkling stars – like a kindly, modern Morgan le Fay. Clear water had nothing on her
almost translucent blue eyes, bright and burning in the dark.

"Aro didn't tell me you would be this humble, this small," Page began.

"Well, I am very short," Alli admitted, embarrassed.

"So, you went to Dartmouth," Page said, leaning forward, peering at her in the darkness.

"Well, you did go to Yale," Alli answered, heat rising in her cheeks, a substitute for a blush.

"Yes, I went to college around the same time as you," Page said in a soft voice, turning her drink
on the armrest of the chair.
"Your mother served as the Lightning Avatar, the diplomatic head of the Atevars. What was that
like?" Alli wondered, in awe.

Alli heard her smile, "It wasn't that immense, really. I thought about going to the State
Department, in this world, but I just became a lawyer."

"This is the first time anyone in my family has even heard of Atev, much less became any of the
Three Avatars," Alli confessed, spreading her hands wide – a placating gesture.

"Oh, don't worry," Page murmured, reaching across the divide – the gap between their wooden
chairs – her hair falling into her face, her right hand sporting a gold Yale ring, "You're not going
to be out of your depth. And I am sure your parents knew about how permeable this world is
with Atev."

Alli sighed, with Page's hand resting on hers, breathing in the Thunder Avatar's perfume – a
heady feeling. The woman was a snowy pale, accentuated by her bright, red lipstick. Alli, by
contrast, was folded into a warm, comfortable, pearl fisherman's sweater.

She glanced up and knew Page was looking into her eyes, in the night. She squeezed Alli's hand,
"I know it sounds trite, but whatever comes our way, we'll face it together."

Wind rustled through the grasses and crickets chirped in the underbrush. The odd firefly winked
in and out, working its way back to the main road. The two held hands, staring out into the void.

***

Dan sat on his couch, holding a snifter of whiskey, wearing a cobalt dress shirt. Cai came out of
the bedroom – now, really, their bedroom – holding his phone, “There are some people I want
you to meet.”

He looked up at the sound of Cai’s voice. Rain ran down the windows. The 6 o’clock news
played quietly on the TV.

Cai plopped down next to him, revealing a couple on the mobile screen. The one on the right was
clean-shaven, pale and dark-haired, with intense amber eyes, under a heavy brow – A Cancer by
the looks of it, Dan thought – and the other, on the left, had a beard, and a swarthy,
Mediterranean complexion. Both were smiling – the smooth one had on a smug, triumphant
look, the other, pleasantly bemused.

“Who are they?” Dan asked.

“The one with the piercing glare and the tie is Hod, Undersecretary to the Lightning Avatar. The
other one, with the open collar, is his husband, Sebastian. They’re both FBI agents, on this side.”

“Oh,” Dan said. He hadn’t really talked to Cai about the whole Lightning Avatar thing. He
hadn’t known there was more.
“And this,” Cai continued, “is Alli and Page.” Cai swiped left, and a second photo appeared, one
of two women, one with long black hair, wearing a gray pantsuit, and another bronze-skinned,
shorter female, in jeans and a dark green college sweatshirt.

“This is the Thunder Avatar, and the soon-to-be, new Sky Avatar,” Cai explained.

Dan blinked, “Who are these people?”

Cai returned his gaze, and without missing a beat, said, “This is the team.”

“The team?” Dan asked again, growing more bewildered.

“Yes, the new team,” Cai responded, “Our new team.”

“For what?” Dan wondered, “What do we do?”

“Well, we’ve got a heavy caseload,” Cai quipped.

“Cases?” Dan exclaimed, alarmed.

“Yes,” Cai soothed, “Are you in, or are you out?”

“Well, I’m in, but –” Dan began.

“Good, because we’re meeting Hod and Seb tomorrow, for dinner,” Cai slapped Dan’s thigh and
got up from the couch.

Dan looked around, flabbergasted, but he didn’t follow Cai back into the bedroom. He sank
back, into the cushions. He had no idea what he was going to wear tomorrow evening. The rain
clattered down, either unaware or unopposed to the idea.

Cai took Dan to a tailor, and the next evening they appeared at The Alley Cat - a premier
entertainment venue, featuring on its stage, every night, diverse acts, from contortionists and
disappearing magicians, to traveling troupes of escape artists.

Circular tables, covered with black tablecloths, were each lit with one red candle, in a circular
glass. A cigar bar, The Alley Cat was one of the few establishments Downtown where you could
still smoke indoors.

Through the haze, Dan glimpsed the two men from Cai's cell phone picture: the tan, bearded
Sebastian in a dark suit and a navy dress shirt, and the pale, smooth-faced Hod, in a suit and tie.

The clean-shaven FBI agent looked up at Dan and caught his eye. Dan felt a hook twist in his
stomach, despite himself. Behind the profound gaze, he sensed a hot-blooded man, compelled by
an all-consuming fire. The bearded man - although also broad-shouldered and endowed with an
immense soul - was the more relaxed one, of the two.
Dan stood by the window of Hod's study, watching the storm outside. After dinner, Cai and
Sebastian had stayed, to see the rest of the show. The fire cracked and popped in the hearth. Hod
sat on a huge, scarlet armchair, patterned with subtle, yellow flowers, in his magenta smoking
jacket, - with the black, velvet trim - the paragon of fine sensibility and sophistication.

"I wouldn't have taken you for such a dandy," Dan remarked, still looking out the window,
holding his familiar snifter of whiskey.

Hod also had a snifter on the table, at his side. In his delicate fingers, he held a cigar, Honduran
tobacco. As he took a drag, the butt burned crimson. "Do you know why you're here?" he said.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Dan answered, finally turning around. He was in a black blazer, no
tie, no socks, burnt sienna loafers. A Persian rug lay between them.

"Do you know why serial killers act the way they do?" Hod asked, taking a sip of whiskey.

Dan came closer, into the light of the flames. He could see a bleached skull and a golden Solar
System ellipse on Hod's desk, "Again, I haven't the foggiest clue."

He chewed slightly on the end of his cigar, even though he wasn't supposed to do that, "The first
step, is that serial killers - or unsubs, as we call them - won't, or can't, communicate with the
entity that's really bothering them."

"Like their mothers or 'the system,' right?" Dan guessed.

Hod nodded, "Their own lives are chaotic, confused, frustrating. They won't, or can't, establish
control, in what we consider to be 'normal' life."

"For whatever reason, they don't feel like they're getting their due," Dan added again.

A degree from Yale, lay behind glass, glittering in the darkness beyond, near the bookcase,
"People break up; people get rejected. These are things that happen to everyone - but to the
unsub, they are stressors. Why?"

Dan put out a hand and leaned on the mantelpiece, "The problem lies in the way the unsub
thinks..."

"Yes," Hod answered, looking at Dan directly for the first time, "Rob Ressler thought so, too."

"You know," Hod said, getting up and topping off his whiskey, "unsubs crave power and control;
they just wall it off into one area of their lives. This process of reasserting power and control,
though, eliminates the one witness to their great exhibit of dominance - the victim."

"The nature of their crime thus becomes serial!" Dan realized, slapping his hand on the mantel.
"Correct," Hod said, as he turned back around. Where his head had been, when he was seated in
the chair, was a photo on Hod's desk, of himself, Sebastian and a sandy-haired teenager.

"Your son?" Dan indicated the direction, with a slight movement of his head.

"Yes!" Hod raised his heavy eyebrows and looked behind him, picking up the frame, "Jon's
visiting his aunt this weekend." He smiled for the first time that evening.

Dan looked wistful, "It's a hard job, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Hod replied, solemn, setting the picture back down.

"Why did Cai bring me into this?" Dan wondered aloud.

Hod laughed, "That lothario with the curls, wearing coats redolent of Lord Dracula's cape? The
anti-avatars we'll be hunting, are like the unsubs I mentioned, if not worse..."

The blood in Dan's veins dried up. "Really?" he rasped.

"Of course," Hod spread his arms wide, glass in one hand, cigar in another, "You didn't think the
spirit world was some sort of heaven, did you?"

Rain beat a staccato on the windowpane. Dan set his snifter down on the mantel and looked at
his shoes on the 18th century rug. "He really pulled the rug out from under me, eh?" Dan said,
glancing up, with a painful, rueful grin.

"The earth is shaky beneath everyone's feet," Hod intoned, as he reclined in the armchair once
more.

***

It was another summer night, and Page and Alli sat in their respective rocking chairs, on the
porch of Alli's old house - her dilapidated hang-out spot, from her high school days, spent with
Nealy and Aro. The night sky stretched out before them, like a future full of promise.

Page jumped up, with a sudden enthusiasm, "Get up for a second, will you?"

Alli looked confused, "What? Why?"

"Just stand up. One moment!" Page laughed.

Alli got up. Page grasped her arms and turned Alli around, so that she was standing behind Alli,
"Close your eyes!"

"OK?" Alli grinned.

She felt a necklace being placed around her neck, and gasped, opening her eyes, "You shouldn't
have!"

Page had placed a diamond pendant, on a silver chain, around her neck, "See how it shines like
the stars, up in the sky? They're all there for you, Sky Avatar. Always remember that there are
still good things, out there, in this world."

They both looked up at the moon and the canopy of the heavens, from their little wooden porch,
floating in space and time.

***

Alli met Jeff on a bustling, hot, sticky night in New York, at the Blue Fin restaurant in Times
Square. She was eating a few bar peanuts before Jeff arrived. Jeff was a djinn, specifically an
afrit.

No one would have been able to tell, unless they were looking for the signs: the deep, ruddy
color of Jeff's tawny hair, the slight, maroon shade in his otherwise brown eyes. On closer
inspection, his fingernails tapered into sharper points, than normal, and his teeth, beyond the
front ones, seemed to be all canines.

Alli knew these details already and rose up to hug him, when he appeared, like a whirlwind
coming through the door, all swirling overcoat and long, dark blue scarf.

"You look just like Aro said you would," Alli exclaimed, "You look great!"

"So do you," Jeff, the afrit, answered humbly, "It's an honor to be able to meet the new Sky
Avatar."

Embarrassed, Alli waved the compliment off, "What are you having?"

They ordered a large set of California rolls to share, and a couple of glasses of Chablis.

"Where have you been recently?" Alli asked, before using the chopsticks to pop a sushi piece,
with avocado, into her mouth.

"I am staying in the Yale Club, not too far from here," Jeff mused, dipping his roll, in a minute
dish of soy sauce, "You are right: I do look windswept. I have been jumping all over the Near
East - Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey, Dubai, the Empty Quarter - what one might call 'the Bible
Lands.' Old World deserts.”

"Your passport must have a ton of stamps on it," Alli observed, as she dipped her roll in the
smidgeon dash of wasabi, on her plate.

"Yes, I am originally from Bristol," Jeff explained, "but I've bounced around for most of my life:
India, Tanzania, you name it."
"'Jeff' isn't your real name, is it?" Alli commiserated, in a lower voice.

"No," he confided, picking up a delicate sliver of sashimi, "The moment before a djinn is born,
The One whispers his or her true name into one ear."

"No one else can know that name, except trusted folks, because that name, can be used to bind
you, correct?" Alli whispered.

Jeff nodded, eating another roll. He chewed thoughtfully and then continued, "Humans don't
know their true name, which, to me, is rather dangerous. Someone could call you and you would
come hither, and you wouldn't even know that you were being called."

"It's quite odd, indeed," Alli agreed, "Aro says now that I know I am an Atevar, my true name
will come back to me."

"Yes, it will," Jeff seconded, "and when it does - I can't be too dramatic on this - guard it with
your life."

"Naming takes on a whole new importance, doesn't it?" Alli looked up.

"Djinn have half a dozen different names at any given time. For example, 'Jeff' is the name only
you will call me by, the moniker only you will know me by," Jeff further explicated, "This is not
a slight; it can happen even with long-running relationships. Did Aro tell you the real reason I am
moving around so much?"

"No," Alli shook her head.

"My 'Reginald' up and left, late last year. Just left," Jeff growled, "The engagement didn't matter
or anything."

"I'm sorry," Alli murmured, taken aback. She set her chopsticks down.

"Don't be, don't be," Jeff squeezed her shoulder, "'Reginald,' huh? Not 'Reggie,' just 'Reginald.’
Very stiff, isn't it? I should have known from the start." He smiled, despite himself.

Alli turned around, on her stool, facing him front-on, "I recently broke up with someone too,
someone who reminded me of an old flame, who was never coming back. I have grieved and
mourned on my own, tried to not let my new girlfriend, Page, see."

Jeff gave a rueful smirk, "We're not too different, you and me? Aren't you glad Aro introduced
us?"

They raised their glasses and clinked them. Beyond the crowded restaurant and the storefront
glass, taxi cabs whizzed by in the blue evening, throwing up jets of water, torn from puddles, left
by the afternoon rain.