Cradled in a wide distinguished curve, the entirety of Adamstown was nestled in the nook of the Rose River, effectively making it a land-bound peninsula. At some point it was decided that the town should become organised and become a city, much like a boy becomes a man, or like other men decide that a boy should become a man.
During its initial rush of prosperity, great hopes were held for the city’s future place, perhaps to secede as the state capital, and as was proper a commanding new centre was created, with a great open boulevard that ran east to west until it hit its cobbled feet. Here began what became known as the columned-section of town, with all the buildings of importance, City Hall, the State Building, a concert hall and law courts. Along with Centennial Avenue, this effectively divided the city into uptown and downtown Adamstown.
Like many cities, its various areas and suburbs were distinguished through unforeseen and hasty growth periods, an uncontrolled influx of population and the dominant cultural paradigm of profiteering. Its architecture ranged from times of plenty to times of war and the more traditional means-to-an-end buildings.
Amongst the old town section, a block away from the central avenue, was a building of three sides, which to the outside world was known as The Grace Hotel, but for those on the inside, it was home.
Much to Elena’s chagrin, returning to the The Grace did feel like coming home. She had been gone a decade or two but the place had hardly changed.
The ground floor was still the demure foyer of the hotel which, to continue with the illusion, occasionally contained actual guests, and not just visiting family. She smiled at the desk clerk, the young looking auburn boy who was sweet enough, if only she could remember his name.
Elena, I am waiting.
She hurried on, his voice a memory behind her ear. Dorian was the Elder, one of the senior Elders in the country, who had lived for half a millennium at least. She reflected on how different each of the Elders were, some thriving as they aged, others losing their will. Dorian was one who thrived, flamboyantly and elegantly, and he had powers like no other she knew of.
The first rank of elevators went only so far as the tenth floor, one had to go beyond the heavy curtains to the hidden and guarded elevator which went up to the brood levels and down to their underground playground. Xavier of course remembered her and welcomed her warmly.
“Elena, you look magnifique.”
“Thank you Xavier. How have you been?”
“Oh, very well mademoiselle, very well. Interesting times, and with you returning, interesting times indeed.”
Their conversation ended with a ping, and Elena alighted on the eleventh floor, doors opening to the regular soiree that was the brood. The finest of immortals and their risen offspring. Toothless crawlers through to prepubescent vampire boys and girls whose wayward mothers had passed on the gift out of some fading taste for sentimentality. All were here, gathered under the wisdom of the great Dorian.
Elena.
In the full length mirrors by the entrance she admired her form—the impeccable seductress, her slim hourglass shape, bound in a delicate lace corset, a patterned mesh shadow on her moonlight skin like a forest canopy on a bright night. Dorian always liked his women to dress up.
Elena passed down the halls, through the plush main parlour where those newest to the brood sat idling. The longer one lived the more solitary one became, each finding pursuits to fill the passing of time. So it seemed to her anyway, who knew how other people thought. She had separated from the nightly gala not long after being sired, the pleasure games and incestuous intrigues always seemed rather dull.
She saw Clarissa rising to interrupt her before she could make it across to the second elevator. She was in a red bosomy gown, with a band of sheer silk that went over her midriff and across her lower back, all her best features veiled and exposed. Abruptly she froze and as though listening turned and went back to her seat. The Elder must have warned her to let Elena pass, untroubled.
Elena drew some satisfaction from this, no matter the reason for the Elder’s call, it was always pleasant to see Clarissa so cowed. They had never been friendly, Clarissa longed to have Dorian’s ear as she did. But for all her beauty and scheming she had made little progress towards the Elder’s harem. Elena herself had not joined his select group of females either, though he had made it abundantly clear that she was welcome at any time. She herself had no desire to do so and although Dorian was perfectly capable of compelling her to be his bedfellow, he liked his women to choose. She loved him for that.
The elevator rose thirteen floors to the roost, the doors sliding open without a chime.
There were two courtyards, one at the prow of the building pointing east, the other a longer walkway at the rear over the garden and facing the heart of the city. One side for dawn, the other for dusk.
Three pillars made the corners of the Elder’s aerie, rising up to a separate level blocked on all sides by dark tinted walls of glass. The ceiling was unpolished black from which Dorian’s private retreat was suspended. A floating chamber, his bedroom and boudoir, to which none but himself could ascend without his aid or a grappling hook. Elena had never seen the inside.
Under this centrepiece, a walkway was formed between the two courtyards by the north and south walls. The north side distinguished by the elevator well in its centre and an entire history of art pieces broken up with discretely recessed lamps. The south wall was similarly dressed but hosted an elegant scattering of luxury furnishings, chairs, mirrors and plush rugs.
There was a modern refined royalty, spacious, and excellent for parties. At night when the spatter of lit windows in the surrounding skyscrapers reflected over the mirrors and polished surfaces, quite a magical patterning was enlivened in the darkness. For now, the setting sun burnt a smoggy orange and the architectural lines were etched into hard shadows.
Elena, he compelled her towards him, where he sat in the dusk courtyard, watching the golden line on the horizon burn itself out.
Tonight as she strode towards his presence, she could see that he wasn’t alone. The harem were with him, who she called Feline, Supine and Lupine. The cat, Cassandra, a schwarz-haired luscious vamp, relaxed on one end of the chaise longue, red haired Petra sipping at a flute of champagne, and Claudia the wolf, who had been with the Elder the longest, standing arms-looped with Dorian. All the women had potent stares that Elena couldn’t match for long.
Pleasantries were wasted between the women, no advantage could be won by currying each other’s favour. They were the Elder’s unblinking servants, completely sublimated to his will, by their own choice of course. Deciding to take the side of caution, Elena bowed to the group and then more deeply to his reverence, the Elder Dorian.
He was the oldest vampire ever known but looked only nineteen, with the primal vigour of an endless youth. He moved to her, light as a snake, dressed in the finest darks topped with a pale face in a mane of black. “Elena.” She took the offered hand, his rich voice deep inside her head.
“You have been gone from us far too long.”
“I have.”
“You have…?”
“I have been traveling.”
“Excellent.” He seemed disinterested in the small talk but he had a penchant for politeness which he often used to intimidate his guests and throw them off balance. But now he got to the crux of the matter, “I have been thinking about your brother.” The Elder squeezed her hand and drew her towards the balustrade. “I have been looking out from here, wondering where he’s crawled off to.”
“I don’t know my Lord, I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“I know. I know when you’ve seen him my child.”
He lay her palm down to the balustrade, pressing so she could feel the carved marble beneath. Figures in flight, entwined in the wind and each other. “But how do you find each other? I think you know.” He licked his lips, fondling her hand and guiding it to stroke the figures beneath. “You always defied me on the point of your brother. Just this one thing you refuse me, but I think it is time this indulgence be dealt with.”
“Not just this one thing my Lord.”
“Indeed’ the Elder sneered, withdrawing his hold on her.
“You will contact your brother. You will bring him to meet me, for it has been so long since we spoke, that we must have a lot of catching up to do. To talk about old things and new.”
“I don’t know how. He’s always found me.”
“Alex needs my help darling. I told you he wasn’t ready to join us, and now he risks us all with his actions. You must find him Elena.”
Call to him. Push your mind out, find him in the darkness of your head and whisper his name.
“Alex.” She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop herself and she whispered his name like a prayer.
“Very good.”
And so suddenly he lost interest in her, sending her away. “Continue your attempts and when he comes, bring him to me.”
“Did it work?” She asked fearfully.
“Well how would I know?” he giggled.
Feeling belittled she took the elevators straight to the lobby once again passing as quickly as possible through the brood lounge, hoping a walk in the night would soothe her.
Why had he been like that, she wondered. Dorian had always been a bit petulant, but never so distant and dismissive. Was this his new tactic, to see how she took his cold shoulder and would perhaps realise she wanted more from him. You never could tell with Dorian, at one moment flip, the next steely and vicious.
During its initial rush of prosperity, great hopes were held for the city’s future place, perhaps to secede as the state capital, and as was proper a commanding new centre was created, with a great open boulevard that ran east to west until it hit its cobbled feet. Here began what became known as the columned-section of town, with all the buildings of importance, City Hall, the State Building, a concert hall and law courts. Along with Centennial Avenue, this effectively divided the city into uptown and downtown Adamstown.
Like many cities, its various areas and suburbs were distinguished through unforeseen and hasty growth periods, an uncontrolled influx of population and the dominant cultural paradigm of profiteering. Its architecture ranged from times of plenty to times of war and the more traditional means-to-an-end buildings.
Amongst the old town section, a block away from the central avenue, was a building of three sides, which to the outside world was known as The Grace Hotel, but for those on the inside, it was home.
Much to Elena’s chagrin, returning to the The Grace did feel like coming home. She had been gone a decade or two but the place had hardly changed.
The ground floor was still the demure foyer of the hotel which, to continue with the illusion, occasionally contained actual guests, and not just visiting family. She smiled at the desk clerk, the young looking auburn boy who was sweet enough, if only she could remember his name.
Elena, I am waiting.
She hurried on, his voice a memory behind her ear. Dorian was the Elder, one of the senior Elders in the country, who had lived for half a millennium at least. She reflected on how different each of the Elders were, some thriving as they aged, others losing their will. Dorian was one who thrived, flamboyantly and elegantly, and he had powers like no other she knew of.
The first rank of elevators went only so far as the tenth floor, one had to go beyond the heavy curtains to the hidden and guarded elevator which went up to the brood levels and down to their underground playground. Xavier of course remembered her and welcomed her warmly.
“Elena, you look magnifique.”
“Thank you Xavier. How have you been?”
“Oh, very well mademoiselle, very well. Interesting times, and with you returning, interesting times indeed.”
Their conversation ended with a ping, and Elena alighted on the eleventh floor, doors opening to the regular soiree that was the brood. The finest of immortals and their risen offspring. Toothless crawlers through to prepubescent vampire boys and girls whose wayward mothers had passed on the gift out of some fading taste for sentimentality. All were here, gathered under the wisdom of the great Dorian.
Elena.
In the full length mirrors by the entrance she admired her form—the impeccable seductress, her slim hourglass shape, bound in a delicate lace corset, a patterned mesh shadow on her moonlight skin like a forest canopy on a bright night. Dorian always liked his women to dress up.
Elena passed down the halls, through the plush main parlour where those newest to the brood sat idling. The longer one lived the more solitary one became, each finding pursuits to fill the passing of time. So it seemed to her anyway, who knew how other people thought. She had separated from the nightly gala not long after being sired, the pleasure games and incestuous intrigues always seemed rather dull.
She saw Clarissa rising to interrupt her before she could make it across to the second elevator. She was in a red bosomy gown, with a band of sheer silk that went over her midriff and across her lower back, all her best features veiled and exposed. Abruptly she froze and as though listening turned and went back to her seat. The Elder must have warned her to let Elena pass, untroubled.
Elena drew some satisfaction from this, no matter the reason for the Elder’s call, it was always pleasant to see Clarissa so cowed. They had never been friendly, Clarissa longed to have Dorian’s ear as she did. But for all her beauty and scheming she had made little progress towards the Elder’s harem. Elena herself had not joined his select group of females either, though he had made it abundantly clear that she was welcome at any time. She herself had no desire to do so and although Dorian was perfectly capable of compelling her to be his bedfellow, he liked his women to choose. She loved him for that.
The elevator rose thirteen floors to the roost, the doors sliding open without a chime.
There were two courtyards, one at the prow of the building pointing east, the other a longer walkway at the rear over the garden and facing the heart of the city. One side for dawn, the other for dusk.
Three pillars made the corners of the Elder’s aerie, rising up to a separate level blocked on all sides by dark tinted walls of glass. The ceiling was unpolished black from which Dorian’s private retreat was suspended. A floating chamber, his bedroom and boudoir, to which none but himself could ascend without his aid or a grappling hook. Elena had never seen the inside.
Under this centrepiece, a walkway was formed between the two courtyards by the north and south walls. The north side distinguished by the elevator well in its centre and an entire history of art pieces broken up with discretely recessed lamps. The south wall was similarly dressed but hosted an elegant scattering of luxury furnishings, chairs, mirrors and plush rugs.
There was a modern refined royalty, spacious, and excellent for parties. At night when the spatter of lit windows in the surrounding skyscrapers reflected over the mirrors and polished surfaces, quite a magical patterning was enlivened in the darkness. For now, the setting sun burnt a smoggy orange and the architectural lines were etched into hard shadows.
Elena, he compelled her towards him, where he sat in the dusk courtyard, watching the golden line on the horizon burn itself out.
Tonight as she strode towards his presence, she could see that he wasn’t alone. The harem were with him, who she called Feline, Supine and Lupine. The cat, Cassandra, a schwarz-haired luscious vamp, relaxed on one end of the chaise longue, red haired Petra sipping at a flute of champagne, and Claudia the wolf, who had been with the Elder the longest, standing arms-looped with Dorian. All the women had potent stares that Elena couldn’t match for long.
Pleasantries were wasted between the women, no advantage could be won by currying each other’s favour. They were the Elder’s unblinking servants, completely sublimated to his will, by their own choice of course. Deciding to take the side of caution, Elena bowed to the group and then more deeply to his reverence, the Elder Dorian.
He was the oldest vampire ever known but looked only nineteen, with the primal vigour of an endless youth. He moved to her, light as a snake, dressed in the finest darks topped with a pale face in a mane of black. “Elena.” She took the offered hand, his rich voice deep inside her head.
“You have been gone from us far too long.”
“I have.”
“You have…?”
“I have been traveling.”
“Excellent.” He seemed disinterested in the small talk but he had a penchant for politeness which he often used to intimidate his guests and throw them off balance. But now he got to the crux of the matter, “I have been thinking about your brother.” The Elder squeezed her hand and drew her towards the balustrade. “I have been looking out from here, wondering where he’s crawled off to.”
“I don’t know my Lord, I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“I know. I know when you’ve seen him my child.”
He lay her palm down to the balustrade, pressing so she could feel the carved marble beneath. Figures in flight, entwined in the wind and each other. “But how do you find each other? I think you know.” He licked his lips, fondling her hand and guiding it to stroke the figures beneath. “You always defied me on the point of your brother. Just this one thing you refuse me, but I think it is time this indulgence be dealt with.”
“Not just this one thing my Lord.”
“Indeed’ the Elder sneered, withdrawing his hold on her.
“You will contact your brother. You will bring him to meet me, for it has been so long since we spoke, that we must have a lot of catching up to do. To talk about old things and new.”
“I don’t know how. He’s always found me.”
“Alex needs my help darling. I told you he wasn’t ready to join us, and now he risks us all with his actions. You must find him Elena.”
Call to him. Push your mind out, find him in the darkness of your head and whisper his name.
“Alex.” She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop herself and she whispered his name like a prayer.
“Very good.”
And so suddenly he lost interest in her, sending her away. “Continue your attempts and when he comes, bring him to me.”
“Did it work?” She asked fearfully.
“Well how would I know?” he giggled.
Feeling belittled she took the elevators straight to the lobby once again passing as quickly as possible through the brood lounge, hoping a walk in the night would soothe her.
Why had he been like that, she wondered. Dorian had always been a bit petulant, but never so distant and dismissive. Was this his new tactic, to see how she took his cold shoulder and would perhaps realise she wanted more from him. You never could tell with Dorian, at one moment flip, the next steely and vicious.
Quicklinks The Quiet Darkness by David Henley - First Entry | Latest Entry
Comments