Cutting 32

Bloody Ballrooms

A limousine pulled up to the great oak entrance of the Ruadh manor. A bombshell of a woman stepped out of the opened vehicle, followed by a cherubic young man. A tall, thickly muscled man in a fashionable three-piece suit stood guard at the mansion door. He looked the new guests over.

"Invitations?"

"Darling, can't you tell we were invited?" the woman asked coyly.

"We can do this the hard way or the easy way. Invitations." He demanded, then as if remembering the clientele for this particular occasion, added "Please."

The pair glanced at each other, then the woman reached into a clutch and produced an antique piece of folded parchment.

"This is not an invitation", the man handed the paper back without looking.

The woman plead, "Just look, please. I'm sure you will agree that we are assuredly invited."

The bouncer hesitated, then unfolded the parchment. His eyes scanned the document, then rolled up and back into his head. As he slouched down, the woman snatched Merlin's Prophesies from his dead hands before he hit the floor, and shoved it back into the clutch. She turned back to Eros and tutted.

"Minions."

The foyer was littered with vamps and slaves, extending into the great room and areas unknown. None seemed to notice the new guests as they strode inside. Morgana's charm was working, hiding the godly auras that any otherworldly creatures would perceive. Aphrodite and Eros worked their way around the expanse of the manor, not searching as much as getting a lay of the place. They passed walls of rich wood panels, adorned with the heads of exotic fauna. The Lord must have been quite the hunter. It would suit him well in the new life he was about to be bestowed. They ascended the right side of a double staircase to a balcony overlooking the ballroom.

"If their holding a ceremony, they'll do it there", Eros pointed below them. "I've got the vantage here. You put yourself in the limelight as best you can. Make sure you're noticed, but not blown."

She grabbed her son's hand and squeezed in a parting gesture. Aphrodite made her way to the ballroom, her face easy with a smile. While she and Eros were immortal, it would not bode well for the blood of a god to be ingested by a vampire, or for a god to assume the curse of the damned from being bitten. Every eye in the room gazed at her as she took a position in the center, appreciative of her beauty but naïve to her identity. She looked up to the balcony to catch her son's attention. He nodded back to her in approval. She turned back and struck up as bland a conversation as she could muster with the nearest guest.

Eros pulled his sleeve back, hiding his actions from any prying eyes. A leather piece, more glove than gauntlet, affixed a small crossbow to his wrist. He reached into a pouch at his waist and drew out a miniature arrow, invisible to all but the god of love. So many had been struck by a bolt just like this, and they had brought about equal amounts of grief as they had happiness. Tonight, it would bring death, but this would not be the first time for his precious projectiles either. Unnoticed, he nocked the arrow with a sleight of hand, then pulled the sleeve back down to conceal it. He posted up against the balcony's blonde birch railing. Shortly thereafter, a posh middle-aged man stepped to the front of the ballroom and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present our Dark Prince Vlad Tepes and Lord Gregor Ruadh."

The first to enter was Gregor Ruadh, a stately man of about thirty-five years. Accomplished and in the prime of his life, he was perfect specimen for the turning. The other was tall and comely, commanding the attention of all who were present. The room applauded tastefully as the man bowed and the vampire Lord acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. Once again, the Master of Ceremonies stepped forward.

"Lord Ruadh, drink and be welcomed to the fold of the soulless."

Dracula looked out upon the crowd as he slit an opening across his neck and chest. As he did, he locked eyes with the goddess of beauty. She smiled at him as an invisible arrow from the balcony pierced his heart just below the cut he had lain out. He could not take his gaze off of her as the Scottish Lord licked at the wound. Gregor fell to his knees, overcome with power. Vlad's wound closed by magic, and the emcee yelled out, "Rise Lord Ruadh, and let the feast begin!"

All around, vampires embraced their pets, ecstatic in the orgy of exsanguination. Aphrodite sought out Eros at the edge of the balcony, but he was already gone. She turned her attention back to Vlad, who was making his way toward her through the throng. She gave another coquettish smile and walked away. He followed, seeking her among the masses. Catching glimpses of her disappearing behind guests and pillars. He stalked her across the ballroom and into the foyer. The doors of the manor were open and a voluptuous figure tempted him into the mists beyond. The Dark One gave no notice to the body slumped at the entrance as he crossed the threshold.

She disappeared into the fog, and he gave chase, directed by heavenly hums and laughs. The graveyard shone as the moon loomed large in the clearing. She stood next to a tall stone structure, beckoning with a finger and a smile. As he moved closer, a figure stepped out from behind the tomb and raised its arm. The glamour faded from them and he saw them for the deities they were. In an instant, Vlad changed into a bat, flying erratically away from the trap.

Harold called out, "We've only got one shot, make it count!"

Eros took a breath, waited for the creature to break direction, and let loose Ratoncito's magic arrow. It split the love dart in two, replacing its point in the chamber of the vampire's heart. The bat wobbled for a moment, then spiraled to the ground. It landed with a thud.

As the group approached, he was no longer a bat, but back to the human-like form of the great Count. The gods, the witch, and the fairy crowded around him. He lay still and rigid in a state of torpor. The tiny bolt stuck out of his chest. Death emerged from amongst them, awaiting the killing sunrise.

"Well done, Harold. Seems you're a fairy of his word."

Harold scrambled over to the vampire's head and dug into his pockets. He pulled out two napkins in one hand and held them over Vlad's mouth. The other hand hovered over the arrow.

"What are you doing?" Death asked.

"Renegotiating the terms, luv. See, I'm getting' paid time for ol' Vlad here. But I had to put away a whole clan what's already supposed to be dead. Way I figure, that's your muck up. So I'm chargin' a clean-up fee."

"There's no renegotiation!" she said. Her face would have flushed with anger, if it were possible.

"Then call the fuckin' union, luv. See, these bar towels here, they've got the blood of gods on 'em. You ever wonder what powers a creature like a vampire would have if they ingested the blood of a god? How long they would live?"

Eros protested, "Harold! The blood oath says..."

"The blood oath says I wouldn't let the Morrigan use 'em. Next time read the fine print. It says fuck you. This isn't just for me."

"Then what are your new terms?" Death asked, impatiently.

"I want what I originally asked for. A hundred years. But I want fifty for me and fifty for my friend, Raton."

Death smirked, "Is that all?"

Harold placed the chisel at Dracula's gum line and raised the hammer into the air. The vampire was immobile, but a consciousness and fear glimmered in his eyes. "One more thing. I don't just want his fangs. I want the whole fuckin' lot."