| The Dark Rules The cold night air added
to her giddiness as Damienne left the bar. She had been
to a few clubs this evening and left several drunks
sleeping in alleys or corners behind. Hunger satisfied,
she smiled as the classic Harley roared to life.
Heading for the more open roads, she let the rumble of
the bike lull her mind, letting it drift through memories
and dreams. As her thoughts wandered she lost some of the
nagging worry that had hounded her since she left the
Church. As her eyes scanned the road and buildings around
her, Damienne felt like a queen of the night. She basked
in the power in her hands and in her blood until she felt
it break out in a laugh that was drowned out by the motor
beneath her.
After a few miles something unpleasant began to tug at
the back of her mind. Nervously checking her mirrors
after a few turns, Damienne swore. The truck had been
following her after all. Well, better to deal with it on
her own terms she thought as she headed towards her home
turf.
The dark green pickup truck looked black except when
it passed under the occasional street lights. Dee turned
a few more corners, finally coming within a couple of
blocks of her home. Her route had taken her past many of
the neighborhood's alleys and she was ready when a pair
of Harleys joined the truck. She swore again, knowing she
would probably have to move now. She chose one of the
alleys not inhabited by a dog and readied herself. The
bike was parked at the edge of a carport and her .38 was
in her hand by the time the truck blocked the end of the
alley. She fired off two shots before the occupants had
time to get out. She smiled as a shadow slumped over
beyond a hole in the driver's side of the windshield. One
down, three to go. Her eyes sought out the truck's
passenger in the darkness which protected her in shelter
of the carport but left him nearly helpless as he stood
almost in silhouette to her. She fired another round,
carving a gruesome tunnel in the top of his head where it
had been framed by the window of the truck door he had
tried to hide behind. She returned the pistol to her coat
pocket as the two bikes pulled into the other end of the
alley.
Still as a lioness in the tall grass she waited while
the two riders parked their bikes and began to walk up
the alley. Not until they were about 20 feet away from
their rides did she move. Now she released the force of
her blood and whipped past them, putting herself behind
them, knife in hand. One of them was doubled over,
clutching a gushing wound in his side by the time she
stopped. The other held a gun in a shaking hand. When his
eyes finally caught up with her she had his hand in an
iron grip and his eyes locked, lost, in hers. She grinned
slowly, teeth bared, as the crunching sounds rose from
under her fingers. The gun fell to the ground with a dull
clack from his now useless hand. The taste of his fear
tainted his blood as she sunk her fangs into his neck.
Wrapped in the thrill of blood, she turned her
attention to the still-living man on the ground. He was
inching towards the gun his partner had dropped. A groan
escaped his lips as her boot heel landed on his hand and
ground it into the gravel paving the alley. She leaned
down to look into his face. She recognized him from one
of the slimier places she had been visiting in the last
week.
"Thought it would be easy to steal the little
woman's bike huh?" She let the malice drip from her
voice and took pleasure in the fear on the man's face.
She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him up to his
feet. She made no effort to be gentle as she closed her
jaws on his throat.
She dropped him there in the dirty gravel when she was
finished with him. Now she knew she must be quick, before
anyone came to investigate the shots. Not that the police
would hurry to this part of town, but they would arrive
eventually. She picked up the gun that the man no longer
needed. Wiping it down quickly, she placed her own .38
into his hand. Let him take the blame for the ones in the
truck. She wished she could keep the bikes, but there
wasn't time. There was enough of this one's blood on the
ground to appease the cops and coroner. They didn't care
much about dead bikers anyway. She searched them all,
taking what cash she found, as well as the gun they had
brought. Not a bad haul from this pack of thieves.
That only left the bloodless one. She quickly pushed
his ride into the carport, then hefted him onto her bike.
She pulled his arms over her shoulders and twisted a
bandana around his wrists to keep him in place. Just had
to get him out of her hood was all she needed. She aimed
the bike toward an industrial area a couple of miles away
and dumped the body down a gully already covered with
brush and other trash.
She thought about the best route home to avoid any
investigation. Too bad the sun would be up soon she
thought. She headed directly back, but by a different
route, one she hoped would take her home from the
opposite direction of the thieves' alley. When she was
still about 3 blocks from her apartment she shut the loud
motor off and started pushing. Keeping to the friendly
shadows, she felt relieved as she finally pushed the bike
into the small shed serving as her garage. She could see
the ghostly blue flickers in the distance that told her
the cops had found those who had lost in this night's
dark game. She was glad she knew the rules.
SMT 97
Changing Times
The pearl paint reflected the moonlight back into
Damienne's eyes as she carefully waxed the fenders and
gas tank of her motorcycle. The pale light overlaid her
green eyes, giving them an animal glow. Her face was
calm, unknowing of the effect as she worked and thought.
Her wounds from the spar with Tad were gone, but she
knew she had been foolish to have put herself in the
position to get hurt in the first place. The shake of her
head was nearly imperceptible as she mentally kicked
herself. No one knew this Tad, and no one had known she
had been with him. He was a much better fighter than she
was and could easily have finished her. She considered
that for a moment and was a little disturbed that being
killed wasn't really what was bothering her. No, that
wasn't it at all.
She let her mind drift back to her past. For a few
moments she was back at Berkeley, grooving with her
friends. Her face was beautiful when she smiled at the
memory. No one was there to see it though. She ran the
names of those old friends through her head in a silent
litany. Most of them were dead, or old now. No one was
left who would remember her. No one missed her. If Tad
had killed her it wouldn't have mattered to anyone.
She cursed the masquerade and this life of running.
She looked at her carefully oiled saddlebags and the
toolpouch on her handlebars. Ready to fly at a moment's
notice. It was the only safety she knew. Make no friends
to tie you down, to be used against you. Yes, that was
logic. Safer for them, safer for her. It hadn't bothered
her much at first. The excitement of the road had
occupied her mind, and there had been her sire, her one
true friend. After his death, she had drifted, not
wanting to feel anything anymore. Then, when the grief
had dulled, there were still so many roads calling her.
It had been enough. She wondered what had changed.
As she kicked the bike to growling life, she thought
maybe some changes were good.
SMT 1997
Costume Hunting
Damienne guided her Harley Springer casually through
the streets of Dallas. The low rumble of the engine
combined with the lazy pace added to the impression of
some great cat prowling its turf. She smiled in the chill
night breeze as Halloween displays in store windows
reached out, trying to grab the attention of shoppers
like monsters after victims. She ran her tongue over the
tips of her canines. She'd need food soon. She shook her
head at the silly cardboard images. Halloween was when
nightmares ruled and monsters played. And she wondered
what a monster would want to be on that day.
She turned another corner following the random path of
her thoughts. Distantly, she realized she was heading in
the general direction of the Church. Her Malk friends
were sure to have something up their collective sleeves
for Halloween. It could be fun to humor them and it
certainly didn't hurt her clan's current image with them
if she enjoyed their company sometimes. But Dee had her
own way of doing things, and she wanted something of
nightmares in it. She stopped for a light and looked over
into the green face and yellow eyes of a cardboard
vampire haunting a small storefront. In a sudden fit of
desperate rage she bent down and picked up a small chunk
of chipped concrete from the road, then threw it at the
ridiculous image in the darkened window. She sped off in
satisfaction when the shattered glass dropped the
decoration out of sight.
Mulling over the possibilities, she considered her own
nightmares. She pulled out the memories like a stack of
Mali's police photos, trying to view them with a detached
calm she never felt upon awakening from them. In her mind
she smelled whiskey-soaked breath and felt scratchy
whiskers from under a sloppy drunk. By the time she met
her sire, she had been terrified of her husband. But
Brujah blood had burned the fear into a rage she had
wielded against him like a weapon. It was a human's
nightmare, hers no longer. Her thoughts wandered down
forest roads she had traveled in this unlife. Distant
howling had awakened her in terror on many of those
nights. Luckily, she had never seen werewolves in action.
Her only knowledge of them came from hushed stories
shared in havens during her travels. She hoped she never
got closer than a nightmare to the vampires' greatest
enemies. In the distance she heard a siren and turned the
motorcycle in that direction. As she got closer to the
sound, she smelled the smoke. Looking up and out she saw
the billowing clouds of it riding the wind. A few more
blocks and the flames came into view. Her hands twitched
on the brakes but she forced herself to go on. A little
closer, just where she could see the fire ripping through
the life of a family as it consumed their home, she
pulled into the mouth of an alley and watched. She felt
their helplessness as all they loved was devoured before
their eyes. She blinked and forced herself to remain calm
when she thought she saw a figure walking in the flames.
She didn't realize she was trembling until she felt the
hardness of the handlebars biting into her hands where
they clenched themselves against an agony that had never
completely healed. A sound snapped her out of the
hypnotic grip of dancing flames and scorching memories.
It took a moment before she realized it was her own sobs
she heard.
Quickly she kicked the Harley to life and roared away.
The wind would blow out the flames in her mind if she
could only ride fast enough, far enough. Her cheeks were
stiff as the tears dried on them. The beautiful deadly
dance of fire called her to come back, whispered promises
of warmth and love. She gritted her teeth and reached for
the rage. It was all she had left of him, since the fire
had taken the rest away.
By the time she reached the Church, the wind had given
her its cool gift of calm. On Halloween she would embrace
her nightmare. She would be the dancing hungry fire.
SMT 1997
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