A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Boston, vampire fortress, seven days after the battle at Black Harbor.

“... recommend that those so-called werewolves be either kept in reserves where their tendencies would not lead to bodily harm, or that they be culled entirely out of mercy. Only the Lord may bring an end to their suffering, but only we can ascertain that they do not contaminate us.

“The last segment of this report concerns creatures called ‘vampires’. For reasons that will soon turn apparent, reliable information of vampires has proven extremely difficult to acquire. In fact, the committee would have relegated them to the domain of speculation, were it not for the compelling similarities in the testimonies we collected on the elusive creatures. Witnesses, mage and mundane alike, all agree on several elements.

“First, vampires look and sound like humans, and most agree that they possess an uncanny charisma that allows them to infiltrate every strata of society. They spread their influence over their domain until every other supernatural group either leaves or falls under their spheres of influence. Mages, in particular, have mentioned ‘night-held towns’ as hostile cities where uninvited visitors disappear after dark.

“This leads us to the notion of night. It is a universally accepted fact that vampires dislike the rays of the sun, and that they may not even survive them. Vampires cannot enter a home without being invited — please note that it does not extend to public works — cannot be present on sacred ground, and fear fire with a passion.

“Those weaknesses do little to offset their incredible strengths. Depending on whom you ask, vampires move faster than the eye can see and easily display impossible feats of strength. One retired mercenary in particular, while deep in his drinks, admitted that he had seen a male specimen slaughter a whole squad of soldiers in the time it had taken him to raise his rifle. Others spoke of bodies savaged as if by grizzlies. Although fear and exaggeration may have inflated their reputation, vampires seem capable of amazing feats of physical prowess.

“Despite their blatant weaknesses and arguably low numbers, we recommend that vampires become the main focus of our group. Indeed, the lack of reliable information would indicate that they are the most dangerous, cohesive group. They may have already infiltrated the highest levels of the government. If we wish to safeguard the sanctity of our nation, it is imperative to uproot the most insidious supernatural elements before we can address the larger problems of mages, whose removal from society will require effort on a much larger scale…”

I place the report on my desk and look across the room at Sephare. The petite vampire daintily puts her cup down, taking her time in an affected fashion that sets my teeth on edge.

“HSSSSS!”

Sephare opens her hand in a gesture of appeasement.

I half expected that. By helping to gather such a large army, I have become a problematic element within the Accords. The contrast between my official position as a minor actor and the influence I wield fills others with distrust. It does not matter that it was a one off, with most factions agreeing to follow me out of necessity and as reward for past favors. Our kind likes clearly marked hierarchies, at least until the next major power play. Sephare is subtly suggesting that I allowed myself to be ‘put down’. Roll on my back and offer my throats to pacify the rest. Clearly, she does not understand how Devourers think. I only bend if I have already lost.

She sighs.

We stand up and leave Sephare’s busy office. Mortals rush past us as we cross the velvety corridors of the fortress’ brand new wing, used exclusively for matters of governance. We walk out into the summer night and across a garden of roses, gathering a lot of attention as we go. The number of mortal attendants has increased dramatically in the past few years.

I greet Wilhelm the butler as we enter the main building and we are let out into Constantine’s office by his silent bodyguards without issue. The Speaker invites us to sit with a gesture as he hurries to finish a message. When he is done, he takes the time to clear the space before him. I recognize this ritual as the premise of a long speech. It means that he will dedicate his entire mind to the exchange.

I thought we already had one?

Taxes!

Arggggg.

I think about it for a good minute.

Constantine turns contemplative. Of course, it did not occur to him. He merely inspected a list of tasks to be done and matched a job description to each, not even considering how those could be abused and twisted. He is still enamored with systems, and dismissive of the people seeking to exploit them.

Sephare smiles with indulgence.

This must be the first time that I see true surprise on Constantine’s hawkish face. Even his aura flickers.

Accords Council room, fifteen minutes later.

I fully expected my peers being about on edge over the whole affair, and I was warned beforehand anyway. I have no issue confronting them.

I wave a hand to invite someone relatively neutral, the Warden of Maryland, to speak.

The Warden nods to show assent and backs out. The next to speak is Vadim of the Vanheim, who alone can ride a Nightmare through their native dimension.

How would I know? Do they expect me to ride out every day and discuss their business over tea and crumpets?

Vadim raises an amused brow, but does not press the matter. He and I are of a mind on my subjects, simply by being outsiders with very little link to our clans. The next person is the replacement for Yann, Warden of Virginia, the same whom Constantine slew in this very room. He is a recent lord by the name of Benoit, who clearly opposes the faction I belong to. His strict demeanor has irked a few of us, but there is no denying his administrative skills. He is as good as the Speaker and considerably smoother. He bears the manners of a private, dark-eyed tutor elevated to raise a prince and who has been insufferable ever since.

I wait in silence, until Benoit loses patience.

I see no point in engaging in a pointless exchange of barbs with one who may be more proficient at this art than I am. By being curt, I show dismissal more than weakness. All those present know that the way I handle my ‘constituents’ does not concern them. If they want to intervene, they will have to force a motion through the council and break the tradition of letting Wardens handle their own affairs. It will not happen any time soon.

Naminata unexpectedly comes to my help with a question on the state of the wounded soldiers taken to the White Cabal city of Avalon. Since they fought by my side, I made sure that they were treated fairly and healed by my allies. I even let them keep their expensive weapons. It always feels surreal when she acts so seriously.

In the end, Benoit suggests that I be removed from managing the relationship with the White Cabal on account of ‘gross negligence’, but the proposal finds little traction, even among my rivals. For once, Benoit made a mistake. The arrangement with the White Cabal is with me personally, not with the current Warden of Illinois. As such, it is considered a private matter and is none of their business. The session soon turns to the future and its difficulties.

I mask my reaction. I thought that too.

We look on, surprised. Adam usually advocates for less involvement with mortal affairs.

It makes a surprising amount of sense. We are already relatively protected from witch hunts by virtue of inborn paranoia. As long as we can keep to the shadows, we should be able to weather the coming troubles. It is the mages who will suffer the most, for they are fragmented and alone.

The moment the disguise falls, so will we.

But we have no choice. It is too late to hide in remote caves and faraway villages

***

Over the next few days, I finish compiling the reports from my allies on the battle at Black Harbor.

We had casualties of over one thousand five hundred. A third of those are fatalities. The werewolves lost a dozen members and were almost all wounded. Eight vampires were destroyed in the entire battle, including three masters. The fighters on foot had more casualties, even with the help of the Knight Squad. The White Cabal did not communicate their losses.

Despite our success, the cost in life will create a precedent. I have also used political capital accumulated over decades to gather such a force, and now we are even. It will take some time before I can gather such a force again. At the same time, the different groups have come to see me as a rallying figure, and it can only help my prospects.

Newspapers have milked our ‘great victory’ for all its worth. The extermination of the Hive is presented as a much-needed triumph, and convinced many who were on the fence about supernaturals in general. It will do little to sway the rest. If we want a bit more tranquility, we will have to be more direct.

***

Washington, a week later. Perspective of John Fueller.

Mr. Fueller had held many jobs in the past, but the one he was most famous for was bounty hunting. He had started with horse thieves and found out that he was really good at it. After that, he had gone after more dangerous targets, like highwaymen.

Then came the exotic.

Mr Fueller was not a liar. He had told things as they had happened, nothing less, nothing more. Some people had always believed that he was exaggerating. After the monsters came out, they had reflected and realized that he was uniquely qualified for a certain task. Just like that, Mr. Fueller had gone to Washington.

Now Mr. Fueller was Agent Fueller, and he was the first of his kind.

The door to the newly made secret office opened after the third key turn into its lock. Fueller crossed the tiled floor of the lobby and greeted the guard, a dour man sitting all night long behind steel bars, loaded shotgun in hand. It was a small measure considering what they faced, but better some protection than none at all.

His steps led him up a flight of wooden stairs. The office was a grim and impersonal affair, as befit a task without glory and without end, for Fueller harbored no illusions. Even if one day, mankind got rid of its enemies, he would not be there to see it. And then it would probably turn on itself.

The agent came across a half-open door leading to their administrative office. Perlman was here, still, despite the hour.

“Sir?” the young man asked with a hint of German accent.

“It is quite late. You should head home.”

The young secretary blinked, then seemed to remember something.

“Ah, yes, before I forget, your new recruits have gathered for a meeting.”

“Here?” Fueller asked with surprise, “now?”

The man frowned.

“Yes, it surprised me as well.”

Fueller grumbled and went a floor up, to the dining room converted into an improvised meeting space. His agents were competent men drawn from the ranks of the military, lone wolves who worked better by themselves most of the time, but knew the importance of teamwork when taking down dangerous foes. Loners to find their mark, team players to take it down.

Soldiers, to do what must be done.

Fueller stopped outside to listen in, and worried. There was only silence.

He opened the door slowly, carefully, and saw agent Russel staring vacantly at the ceiling. The man’s warm brown eyes met his, and Fueller went in, hand on his service weapon.

At the head of the table, where he would normally sit, was a woman drinking coffee. Wafts of an excellent blend traveled to him. She put her cup down with a click.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“Please, join us,” she replied with a light voice, the one of a socialite politely inviting someone in.

Fueller did not hesitate. He took out his revolver and froze when a monstrous weight settled on his right shoulder. His revolver fell with a clatter, drifting across the varnished floor. It was the only noise to be heard.

“I insist…” the woman finished.

Fueller’s gaze traveled up, from the massive mitt clamped on him to the mountain of a man to whom it belonged. The giant considered him with a complete lack of care and gave him a gentle push forward.

Fueller was forcefully awakened to a moment of great lucidity. Suddenly, his heart thundered in his chest and his lungs inflated like sails. This was it, a defining moment. He calculated his chance if he were to flee, or to struggle. He was a confident man and did not usually deceive himself.

His chances were not good.

With as much calm as he could muster, Fueller walked to the other end of the table, opposite the woman. The man behind her still stood at the entrance.

He had this strongman, reliable right-hand feel. The woman was different. She looked quite young and pretty in a provincial heiress sort of way, but there was something mature about her demeanor that bothered him. It took only a few moments to realize what it was. She was not moving. Like a statue, her poise and immobility were both perfect. Perfectly cold.

Inhuman.

“Oh, no…”

“Do you know why we are talking, Mr. Fueller? Why your agents still live, unharmed?” The woman asked, inspecting black nails.

“You call that unharmed?” He spat.

“I do. They will return to normal as if nothing had happened once I release them,” the woman asserted.

“I… You want something from us. To threaten us.”

“In a way.”

Her alabaster finger circled the edge of the cup. There was a dull sound, like the aftermath of a bell ringing.

“I believe that you are inevitable. Mankind has discovered the darkest recesses of the world, and you long to expunge its inhabitants. I do not begrudge you this desire. It is in our nature as well.”

“You are a vampire.”

She did not reply.

“You are the first of many. Even if I kill every last one of you tonight and hang your defiled bodies before the smoking remains of your lair, another two groups like yours will pop up in secret. They will have less competent members, but will take more precautions. It is a game of escalation that we are unwilling to play.”

Fueller felt it then, a glimmer of hope.

“You are scared of us.”

“No, Mr. Fueller, we are not scared of you. There are simply more dangerous things than us hiding in the folds of history, and they require all our efforts.”

“What sort of things?” he asked.

She met his gaze for the first time.

“Pray that you never find out. Now, for my proposal. The world is filled with enough parasites and nefarious idiots for you to have your hands full until the turn of the century and beyond. We will assist you in this endeavor by providing you with leads to genuine targets. In return, you will keep your attention away from us.”

“And if we do not?”

She smirked.

“You will receive a warning. Then, you will be shown that the darkness is an ancient battleground, and that you are very new and inexperienced players. I do believe that I already provided an… adequate demonstration. If not, my friend here will gladly provide another.”

The giant man placed his hand over the head of the closest agent. The view made Fueller think of an egg in the hand of a cook. He swallowed with some difficulty.

“No need. You have made your point. I understand.”

“Do you? Well, I will be sure to send you some valuable reports then, and perhaps visit on occasion. Goodbye.”

The woman finished her cup and stood up. She disappeared.

The man disappeared as well. The other agents were staring at him, awake and alert.

“Everything fine there, boss? Are you ready to start the meeting?”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” he babbled.

The agent forced a smile, but it never reached his eyes. Sheer, animalistic terror seized his heart.

But Fueller had survived worse. He schooled his expression and made a short summary of recent happenings. The others could feel that something had spooked him, he knew, but he needed time. They all needed time. And a solution.

He had one.

After they were done, Fueller retreated back to his office and picked up a discarded file, one that he had dismissed as too troublesome. The letters were hastily written as if by someone in a hurry.

‘On Gabrielites’ it said.

***

I spend the next month working tirelessly to stabilize my territory. All our efforts have only delayed the inevitable. Already, legislations are voted in states to handle the supernatural population. The most popular is the Hawk law, proposed by a representative from Tennessee. Mages are to be corralled and placed in special areas ‘for the good of all’. The measure is advertised as a wartime necessity. We are forced to relax our control over newspapers or risk delegitimizing them in the eye of the public. Across the country, lynching and trials abound. Burning at the stake comes back in fashion.

The trend hits our allies the hardest. All of the werewolves who can have moved north or to my territory, so that only the insane and the dangerous are left behind. For the mages, however, the situation is infinitely more complex. Most of them just try to live a normal life. Worse, many who have the ability to cast are not formed and their abilities come out as quirks. As such, some unlucky people with uncanny skills are soon singled out, even if those skills are the result of mundane talents. The country is tearing itself apart.

Chaos also spreads across the Old World.

In the wake of our revelation, the belief in magic has traveled across Europe, leading to significant internal conflicts. Different cultures take different approaches to the resurgence of the supernatural, but the most common remains to create ghettos of casters, at best. We bear witness to a planet-wide witch hunt.

By comparison, we are much less hit due to our hermetic nature. All established vampires possess a buffer of mortals between the world and us, and we have experience working from the shadows. On my land, the noisiest troublemakers find themselves victims of accidents and kidnappings.

All is not bleak. Mage groups ally with each other to weather the coming storm, causing an explosion in the numbers of Red and White Cabal recruits. Lobbies form to oppose local laws, backed by powerful financial interests. Ours, obviously. ‘Illinois Guns of Liberty’ exploits the mayhem to expand drastically.

And then, in July, things change.

High in spirit but poor in supplies, Lee decides to take the war north, hoping to achieve a decisive victory and turn the Confederate states into an independent nation. He leads his men across the Shenandoah valley and meets Grant’s army at Gettysburg in a cataclysmic, three-day battle. Lee’s attack is relentless while Grant plays on the defensive, biding his time.

On the third day, Lee makes a fatal mistake. He orders fifteen thousand men to charge the Union’s center. They are slaughtered. As he scrambles to shore up his defenses, Grant smells blood in the water. Eighty thousand federals now face fifty thousand exhausted rebels. Grant’s counter attack is immediate and merciless. Backed by the most powerful artillery battery ever gathered in the conflict, his troops charge west, cutting the army of northern Virginia in two. A daring cavalry assault under a certain general Sheridan (no relation) routs the northern half of the army.

Lee decides to withdraw his battered forces but recent rains have swollen the Potomac river and he is trapped, beset on all sides by furious attacks.

On July the fourth, after a four hours artillery bombardment, Lee surrenders to Grant. His army is shattered and only debris of divisions manage to escape.

On the same day, the strategic town of Vicksburg falls into Union hands. In a day, the Confederacy received two death blows.

The surge of patriotism that follows those much-advertised victories bolster northern morale while the defeat consternates the south. Lee, the genius of Chancellorsville, offered his enemy the road to Richmond on a silver platter.

A few weeks later, the Confederate army of Tennessee is also defeated.

Despite those efforts, the war does not end and Grant orders an all-out assault with all Union armies pushing deep into the south. One of his generals, Sherman, cuts a scorching path to Savannah in only a few weeks. In November, the war is over.

In the wake of the end of the conflict, the Accords vampires change their focus. The fever of victory has lessened the burden on magical communities for a moment, giving everyone time to consolidate. The next battlefield will be political. In the meanwhile, we scramble to seize southern assets and I enter an extremely profitable business relationship with Adam of the Roland, a necessary measure. Indeed, with the war over, the demand for guns drops spectacularly, and so does my income. By helping southern lords to take and rebuild their industry, I somewhat offset the lost revenue.

Things are as calm as they will get, and I contact Jimena immediately. She will escort me through Europe and to the knights’ stronghold. It is time for me to attend their training.