Black Orchids and Wildflowers

by:

Armond

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Rating: R	Add Review	Added: 06/06/2007
Complete: yes
Synopsis:	A gloomy world lives, just past your peripheral vision. You might glimpse it when you turn your head quickly or perhaps see a flash of it in a mirror when you walk by. It is dark, this place of vampires, werewolves, and blood desire. Once Sam falls into the shadows, will he ever return?
Categories:	Body Swap
Keywords:

Black Orchids and Wildflowers
by Armond

1. Friday, 5:00 PM

Sam was all about helping people. But for Samuel Albert, Esq., this week of endless legal counseling needed to end. Friday had stretched into three forevers, crawling by like a turtle, appointment after appointment. Or was that sliding by like a snail? Tricky things, metaphors.

His last of the day, appointment, not metaphor, was Last Will and Testament drafting time with sweet Mrs. Beasley and her son Frank. Ninety years young, the saying goes, and she was all that - Mrs. Beasley was spry and so excited to be meeting with Sam that she'd even had her hair done. No, it wasn't blue.

Her memory was sharp, too sharp, maybe, Sam thought. At one point, she started reciting each Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Glenn Miller single 45 she owned, and which child, grandchild or great grandchild was to receive it. When Sam stopped her to suggest they only deal with real and personal property of significant value, she looked crushed. 'You'd thought I'd kicked a puppy.' Sam thought, half-scowling. 'Great, now I'm abusing little old ladies.'

At the end of that long hour, after Sam summarized what bits of property went where and to whom at her death, she turned to the empty red leather chair beside her and asked, 'You've been awfully quiet Harold, dear, tell the nice man if I got it right.' Sam knew 'Harold' to be her deceased husband, and was, apparently to her eyes, seated in the chair. Sam's heart sank; so much for her competency.

Resisting the urge to offer invisible Mr. Beasley some coffee, Sam stopped the meeting, and took Frank aside to tell him for a will to be valid, the testator must be of sound mind. 'Dammit,' Sam thought, 'I gotta fix this so she doesn't spend a pile of cash on doctors and competency hearings. So she's loopy; she's still this wonderful woman who's lived this amazing life. All she wants is peace of mind that she's taken care of her loved ones.'

When Mrs. Beasley, Frank, and presumably Harold finally shuffled out the door, Sam closed the window blinds, locking the front door to the office behind them. Then he flopped his six-foot frame onto the worn brown leather coach, not caring that he still wore his gray suit coat. He exhaled a long sigh.

"Signs of a bizarre week." Sam held up an index finger. "Late Monday, strange man, NBA power forward material, wearing a hooded cloak - a CLOAK for God's sake! - walks in my office and whips out some blinkie light device that must have been stolen from the set of Ghostbusters. It starts whirring and flashing like it was going to explode, and hooded guy says 'You have an 'astonishing aura.' He takes a business card from my stack at the reception desk and leaves. Astonishing aura... " Sam shook his head. It would have been funny, except the creepy manner of the guy scared the bejesus out of him.

"Two," He held up a middle finger, "local woman-of-mystery Philippa Chéron, calls Wednesday night to arrange an emergency dinner meeting at her country estate for dinner Friday."

All Sam knew of 'Mademoiselle Chéron' was she had taken over an impressive art dealer business from Valentin Loisel, when he had passed away suddenly several years ago. She ran the business from her huge wooded country estate somewhere to the west of the city. Sam fantasized she was a hot female Bruce Wayne, collecting Van Goghs by day and fighting crime from her bat cave by night.

Sam had wondered what legal advice a general practitioner could give an art dealer and so had asked Philippa.

"Une question métaphysique - all will be made clear on Friday, but it is imperative you attend," she had answered in a delicate French accent. A question métaphysique? Sam had no idea what that was, but it sounded sexy as hell.

Sam was a bit of an amateur art lover, and so accepted the invitation, if just for a chance to see her art collection. She'd been selling amazing Impressionist pieces lately, and if they were a sample of Chéron's collection, he wanted a private viewing. 'Who knows, maybe she'll even collect me?'

"Three," Sam said, holding up his ring finger, "new ghost client Harold Beasley. Wonder how I bill him?"

"Auras, ghosts and metaphysical art dealers ...oh," Sam held up his little finger, "Four, I'm talking to myself ...fabulous week."

Sam checked his watch; quarter past six. He was due at Philippa's mansion by 7:30. Because of Friday night traffic, he'd have to leave now, skipping his normal yoga time. Sam sighed - he had come to cherish this time over the years; his ritual at day's end.

"What to do, have pretzel time and be late, or hop in the car and be an on time grouchy person?" Sam had practiced yoga for years; it was part of his daily ritual.

"What would you do, Beasley?" Sam imagined the deceased Harold Beasley sitting next to him on the coach, eager to share his wisdom.

"Well, sir, didn't you make a promise to always take this time fer yer lonesome? Heh heh." For some reason, Sam imagined Harold talking like an old trail cook from a cowboy western.

"Guilty, Harold, I did make that promise ...so your vote is for a bit of calm and meditation first?"

"By crackee!" Sam smiled – he wasn't exactly sure what that meant. Probably the same thing as 'by gum' or 'by gar.'

"Hmm. That'll make me late, Harry, and it's the kind of thing that makes my friends give me nicknames like 'the Dalai Lama Barrister,' or 'Mother Theresa-at-Law.'"

Sam's lawyer friends thought him eccentric. They loved his easy way and wit; what they could never get their minds around was how he would choose a yoga class or volunteering at a homeless shelter, over schmoozing new clients.

"They'd be yer friends that look like they haven't slept in months and could flop over dead at the drop of a hat?"

Fellow law school pals Julie and Tom kept vampire hours prepping for trial. Which would have been okay, if it wasn't the fourth in a string of cases. His chum Eddie was an M & A lawyer that spent more time away than in town. Sam wondered why he even bothered having a condo here.

"Can't argue with you there, Harry."

"I think you know what to do, Sonny."

"Christ, Harry, you know me better than I know myself," he said, kicking off his wingtips and throwing his suit coat on the couch. He sat on the floor, folded his legs into half-lotus position, and closed his eyes.

Before he started, he briefly thought of his aura-seeking visitor at the beginning of the week and smiled.

"Hey, Harry, I know what ...why don't I banish Friday night traffic with the mystical power of my aura? That way I could still be on time."

"...keep an open mind ...don't be afraid to take chances."

"W-what?" Sam didn't remember projecting that last thought. He opened an eye and looked around his waiting room. No one.

"Five. Hearing voices. Weird week," he said, closing his eye again. Then he let out a deep grounding breath and sank into the moment.



2. Friday 7:45 PM

When you're dealing with the unknown, there is a moment of enigmatic sweetness when anything is possible. The lawyer in Sam guessed the mysterious dinner request would turn out to be mundane; someone in Philippa's household with a DUI arrest maybe, or perhaps Philippa had a confidential contract she wanted written or some such.

Until Sam knew, the dense oaks crowding his drive to the mansion became sinister, foreboding. Until he knew, the dreamer in him believed it could be anything – intrigue, betrayal, dark magic. Yeah, right.

Philippa's old Napoleonic manor stood by a still dark lake, surrounded by the thickest forest Sam had seen. A late September sun would have just set, had it not been drizzling. A fragrance of wet decaying leaves filled the air, and a northern breeze told of more rain to come.

Sam hesitated at the massive oak front door to the mansion, staring at the black wrought iron doorknocker. It was either a gargoyle or a demon; he couldn't decide which, pretty high on the scary meter though. Sam wondered if it helped keep away Jehovah's Witnesses. He banged it twice against the door.

The door opened, and a man stepped from the dark shadows of the arched door. A butler, tall, six foot six, maybe more, bald headed and dressed in a black waistcoat. When Sam looked into his eyes, he swore, for an instant, they were utterly black.

"Good evening, Monsieur Albert, you were expected precisely twenty minutes ago; time is of the essence this evening." His was a deep bass voice, and he pronounced Sam's name 'Al-bear.'

"Sorry, I guess my mystical aura failed to repel Friday night traffic." Sam said, hoping the man had a sense of humor.

"Ah, most unfortunate. Let us hope that failure is temporary," the man answered in a monotone. "If you will follow me, Mademoiselle Chéron has already risen. She wishes to meet you in the Drawing Room. May I take your umbrella?"

Sam shook and closed his black umbrella before handing it to him. "Thank you, um..."

"Barnaby, Monsieur."

Sam started to shiver. 'It's not that chilly,' he thought, 'what's happening?'

Barnaby noted his discomfort. "You are chilled, sir. Please come in so we may find something to warm you. This place has that effect on sensitives such as you."

'Sensitives such as me?' Sam let that drop, preoccupied with a bitter cold that had swallowed him – it felt like hypothermia. He knew he had to get his body energy circulating, and thought running through a sun salutation yoga series would have been great to do that.

'Except that Philippa Chéron's hallway maybe wasn't the place to bust out those moves,' he thought. 'Not sure it makes a good first impression – 'shake your hand in a minute, Philippa, dear, right after I amp my heat up with some ancient Hindu body movements.'

Sam did the next best thing; he closed his eyes, and visualized the movements, 'seeing' his body doing the forms in his mind's eye. Warmth flowed to his arms and legs.

"Ah, excellent, Monsieur, I see your powers have returned. Please follow me and fear not - you are assured safe passage here tonight."

'Powers returned? Safe passage? Odd things to say,' Sam thought, as he tried to work out what sort of code Barnaby was using.

An ocean of candles distracted Sam: soft yellow light flickered everywhere, from the enormous crystal chandelier hanging off the vaulted ceiling, sparkling from dozens of candles, to the countless wrought iron wall sconces that hung from the mansion corridors. A large pedestal stood in the center of the hallway, made of a dark wood, cypress or cherry or something, Sam guessed.

A floral scent, vaguely of cloves and cinnamon, caught Sam's attention and he found the source: a vase stood on the pedestal, filled with an enormous arrangement of orchids. There must have been, what, forty or fifty of them? Sam had never seen orchids that looked like this: velvet black, delicate, poignant and somehow ...foreboding? He asked Barnaby about them.

"They are black orchids, Monsieur. It has been said that true black orchids are myth, but as you can see, they are quite real."

Sam could see smaller crystal vases scattered about the mansion, on stands in the hallways. The flicker of yellow candlelight and the smell of black orchids.

Sam knew he should think something like 'how romantic' or how Gothic', but all that popped into his head was 'who changed the water in the vases? Who lit these candles? How did they get the high ones? How much did it save on the monthly energy bill?'

A half-smile spread across his face as he chided himself, 'Christ, am I really this boring? I've got to get a life!'

Barnaby led him into the Drawing Room, another vaulted room, with Gothic arches flowing into center columns.

A massive oil painting hung from the east wall, showing a cloaked noblewoman, dark-hair spilling from the hood. She stood before a gloomy forest, with black orchids blooming at her feet. The yellow full moon glowed above her. To the back and left of the woman, a group of skeletons danced in a circle. Eyes peered from the blackness between the trees.

The style seemed odd to Sam; it had the free graceful movement of the late Baroque Rococo, but the subject was morose, not the typical Rococo idyllic.

'Kinda hoped for Manet or Monet, not la danse macabre, Sam thought, as he walked by.

Ignoring the tempting red cushioned chairs and sofas that were sprinkled about, Sam headed straight to the fire that crackled in the large north side hearth.

"Would Monsieur care for something to drink while he waits? Wine perhaps?"

Sam loved wine, especially big bold Cabs. "A red, if you don't mind, um, Barnaby." Sam was a little nervous – he'd never had a butler wait on him.

"I exist to serve sir, nothing would please me more. Red is the favorite color at this humble résidence. I shall fetch one."

Sam heard Barnaby's footsteps as he vanished into a hallway, and turned in the direction of lighter approaching footstep echoes.

A woman walked into the room that, cliché aside, made Sam's jaw drop open. She wore black high-heeled pumps, a short black skirt, and a body hugging black suit coat – with apparently nothing on underneath it. The curls of her pitch-black hair were oiled and flowed down her back; her white skin glowed with an alabaster sheen.

More arresting was her presence, the power she projected. Easily six feet tall, she was broad shouldered, had toned legs, and moved with a feline grace.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Albert," she said, in a languid French accent. She held her hand to Sam. "Good to meet you, I am Philippa Chéron."

Sam wanted to say 'but of course you are,' but only managed to blurt: "Good to meet you too, uh ...um Ms. Chéron."

Sam took her hand, then didn't know what to do. On impulse, he kissed it. And instantly felt stupid for doing so.

She smiled at him again, and Sam gave his head a quick shake to stop his gaping.

She must have sensed something of what was going in Sam's head, or maybe she was used to the effect she had on men, because she laughed as she pulled her hand away.

"I'm flattered Samuel, you're sweet, but not my type. Perhaps if you were a different flavor, we could play."

Everyone has moments when they feel particularly dense; it was Sam's moment now. He rolled what she said around in his head for the longest moment. Dim light flickered at last in the dark cavern sitting on his neck.

"You mean you ...like women, not men?"

That was not what Philippa meant, but she chose not correct him, and he stammered on:

"None of my business ...I'm so sorry." 'God, can I sound more stupid?' he thought, feeling his face flush red hot in embarrassment. Luckily, Barnaby arrived then with his drink.

"Your wine, sir – ah, excellent, it neatly matches the color of your face." Philippa burst out laughing.

'Great! Just great.' Sam locked on to the wine glass and took a long draw.

"A bonny stratagem, Mr. Albert. You play the fool to break the ice. Bravo."

"Christ!" Sam nearly jumped. He hadn't heard him coming, this giant red-haired man who suddenly stood by his side.

"Conall Gadfaol, glad to meet you, lad. I'm a guest tonight too, although I hail from a bit further away," the man said, extending his hand.

Sam tried to give a firm handshake, but didn't know how to get leverage on such a massive paw. He smiled, though, at being called 'lad' and at the sight of someone who looked the exact stereotype of a Scottish highlander – bright red hair pulled to a ponytail behind his head, green eyes, freckled face. The man stood even taller than Barnaby, but was much broader across his chest. 'The only thing missing's the kilt,' Sam decided.

Sam had the uneasy feeling the evening was spinning out of control –who were these people? Why was he in this creepy place? He needed to marshal his thoughts. He briefly closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then exhaled, 'seeing' it sinking into the ground. He calmed.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Philippa and Barnaby trading glances. Sam reached in his suit pocket, then handed something to Philippa.

"As you know, I am a lawyer. My business card. You've asked for this emergency meeting. So, how can I help you, Ms. Chéron?"

"Merci," she said, surprised, but still taking it graciously and reading it. "Mr. Samuel Albert..." (she pronounced it 'Al-bear' too, just as Barnaby.) "Your card proclaims you to be a general practitioner. Do you have experience with customs or import export regulations?"

"A little, I do a little of everything. But look," he stared straight into her dark eyes, "I'm sensing you didn't call me here for legal advice, did you? Why don't you tell me why I'm here."

She touched Sam's arm. "Direct. I like that. And your mastery of energy ...impressive! Barnaby told me of how you generated heat by a thought, and I saw you calm your energies. It is my hope that Conall, you and I, can do some interesting business this evening. Business that even ...what was it? ...une practioner général ...has not seen. Let us take Samuel directly to Marji, hmm?"

"Yes, time is short," Barnaby said. "All must be done before the Seethe rises. There is much yet to prepare before the feast. The herd must be fed, bathed, and clothed."

Philippa nodded but Sam crossed his arms. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on."

"Please," she said, softly. She touched her hand to his neck, pressing it on his carotid artery, feeling the pulse of blood. When he looked questioningly into her eyes, a spark flashed between them "Please ...if you will follow me, Sam, I will solve this mystery."

Sam's control dissolved; molasses lethargy spread through his body and to his mind. Thinking became hard, and following her wherever she said seemed a capital idea.

"Yet is it not always so that with the passing of one mystery, ten thousand spring to take its place?" Philippa said, taking his hand. When she gave it a squeeze, the stupor reasserted, stronger than before and where she led, he followed like a lamb.



3. Friday 8:15 PM

Sam stood in a cavernous room that should have been the basement room of the mansion – they were below ground – but when they reached this level, he had seen stairs going deeper, to God knew what.

It was cold, too, probably because of the gray rock floors and walls. Torches lined the walls, giving dim smoky light. In the center of the room was black granite slab table. On it lay a petite young woman, face up, unconscious.

Sam would have called her beautiful, but the word was utterly inept at conveying what he saw. It didn't tell how striking she was, with wavy golden hair bunched around her head on the table, her full red lips slightly open, mouthing a silent "O" as she breathed.

"Beautiful" failed miserably in telling how Sam's blood started rising at the sight of her, dressed in a black spandex pants that showed every centimeter of her lean smooth legs. Or the effect of watching her well-endowed chest, constricted by a black spandex halter top, rise and fall with each soft breath.

No, 'beautiful' pretty much sucked as an effective adjective to describe Marji.

For a moment, Sam entertained the thought they were going to ask him to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Never mind the high nutso factor of being in this bizarre room that looked designed for human sacrifice. Or that he was here against his will. Nope, the only thought was in Sam's brain:

'Hmmm, I know CPR, so... '

"Monsieur, Marji is ...une voyant ..."

Philippa's voice drew Sam from his ogling.

"A what?"

"Pardonnez-moi," Philippa said. "I struggle with the English equivalent. 'Une voyant' is a French expression."

"I figured. Do you mean ...um ... a conduit ...like a ...clairvoyant?"

Philippa turned to Barnaby, her dark eyes twinkling. "Could it be that fortune favors our endeavor? Has he the power and the ability to understand la langue de l'amour?"

"I know some French, un petite peu. But let's not get distracted, here. What's wrong with her? Why is she lying here? Does she need a doctor? Do I need to call the police? You must give some answers."

"To the point. Ready? Conall and I are beings that possess unique qualities, one might even call us magic, though he and I are different. Many who possess my qualities, live in this place, and I am their leader. One named Dragos Bellec has challenged my leadership, challenged me to Rite of Duel, which will occur this very night. He may be stronger than I."

Phillipa walked next to the stone table where Marji lay; gently stroked her golden hair.

"Our little one, Marji, is a voyant. Her body possesses a capacity to connect to people on a psychic level. Marji is weak, though. If her ...essence ...were stronger, she could connect to Conall and me, and we could share our powers. With Conall's qualities combined to mine, I could prevail against Dragos. This is where you come in..."

Sometimes, when you listen to someone from another country speak, they will pronounce a word slightly different than you are used to, and it throws your mental processing out of sync. Example - someone from the UK might say 'Regarding the global warming controversy, do you support your government's position?' As an American, you are used to the word 'controversy' being pronounced CON- troversy. So, when they pronounce it con -TRA –versy, your brain locks for a moment while you work out the word they've just used, comparing it to the one you are familiar with. By then, you've missed the rest of the sentence and you have to ask them to repeat it.

That's kind of what happened to Sam when Philippa used words like 'Rite of Duel', 'magic' and 'psychic level'. Though the words coming from her mouth were spoken in English and pronounced clearly enough, Sam's mind momentarily froze as it tried to process meaning. His brain identified them as words, but was unfamiliar with them in sentences spoken seriously.

His brain locked ended with a singular conclusion: these people were bat-shit-crazy.

He pulled another business card and a pen from his suit coat pocket. He wrote something on the back of it.

"Client of mine, Norman Saddler," He handed Philippa the card. "Excellent psychiatrist. This is Norm's cell number: his rates are reasonable ... you should call him."

Sam turned to leave – he planned to sprint when he reached the stairs – "No need to show me out, I remember the way."

Two giant hands grabbed him. Sam tried to pull away, but was helpless in Conall's iron grip.

"Do na move lad, you'll only get yourself hurt." Conall said.

"I am sorry to have involved you in this matter against your will, Samuel Albert, and I understand you don't believe a word I've spoken. We have not the time available to convince you to believe us. Know this: I will remove your memory so you are not troubled, and you will be well paid," Philippa said, and turned to Barnaby.

"Proceed."

The stoic butler withdrew two necklaces from his waistcoat pocket. Each had a polished stone, one snow white, the other midnight black. He placed the white one around Sam's neck, and the other around Marji's.

"W-what are you doing?" Sam had given up trying break free of Conall's grip.

"Be at peace, monsieur," Barnaby answered. "I am going to siphon your energy to Marji. This will not cause permanent damage; your 'aura' should recharge in several days. It will feel like a massive hangover, as you would say."

Reaching again into his pocket, he took out a blood red stone that pulsed light. He touched it, first to the stone on Marji's necklace, then the other to Sam's.

Starbursts popped before his eyes, and a vertigo wrenched him, causing him to blackout. When he opened his eyes, everything was out of place. Sam was staring at the stone ceiling of the chamber.

A scream caught Sam's attention; a man yelling at the top of his lungs, in a Scandinavian sounding language.



4. Friday 8:41 PM

Barnaby could make no sense of it: Monsieur Albert was thrashing about uncontrollably in Conall's grip, and screaming - in Finnish. To prevent injury, Barnaby touched an index finger to the man's forehead. He slumped unconscious into Conall's arms. Barnaby readied to do the same with Mademoiselle Eneberg, but found her in a state of shock. She sat blinking, cupping a breast with a hand.

It was more disbelief than shock, for Sam was in Marji's body, and she -for she was a she now- could not process what her senses were telling her.

The sight sense triggered the confusion, for she saw her old body, the image she identified her 'ego self' with, across the room, limp in the arms of Conall. This was impossible, for she was here, not there.

Another sense –touch- added more bewilderment by sending data to her mind incompatible with a 'self' image of a mid-thirty male. She held something in her hand that could not be what it obviously was – a female breast. Yet her hand told her mind it was heavy, floppy, and undeniably...

"...Holy Jesus, this is real!"

'Hearing' jumped next into the mix to add to the chaos. Her mind told her mouth to speak, but the squeaky voice executing the command could not have come from a man, unless he'd been sucking helium.

"Is it ...you that occupies the body of Marji Eneberg, Mademoiselle ...Albert?" Of all his talents, Barnaby had been a butler the longest, nearly five hundred years. So even the sudden gender change of a guest would not make him misstep in properly addressing him/her.

Although Sam managed only a feeble 'yes' nod, her internal confusion vanished with a poof. Sometimes all it takes is one more piece of information to turn utter confusion into crystal clarity. Of course! She had no idea how it was possible, but it was the only explanation that reconciled facts to what her senses screamed: she was in Marji's body.

"This was most unexpected indeed!" Barnaby said, clasping his hands behind his back. He started to pace back and forth.

"You have a gift for understatement, man!" Conall said. "Now what just happened?"

"Oui, Barnaby, our plans are thrown into disarray. Explain! " Philippa said.

Sam grabbed a handful of golden wavy hair, held it up toward Philippa. "What in God's name have you done to me?" Her voice was shrill and loud; she was pissed.

Philippa reckoned she had enough problems on hand and did not need –whoever sat before her- exploding or imploding, while they sorted out this latest setback. Deciding to spellbind her into complacency, she grabbed Sam's face, and turned it so the petite woman stared into her eyes.

Philippa moved too quickly for Sam to react, and suddenly found herself locked into Philippa's dark magnetic eyes. Her anger drained, and the lethargy of the Drawing Room returned. She wanted to resist, but wasn't sure where to start. A presence invaded her mind, willing her to obey, to submit.

Sam's eyes dulled. She should obey, shouldn't she? It would be ...sooo ...easy to obey those eyes...

Angry clarity blazed back into Sam:

* GET- OUT - OF - MY - HEAD *

Philippa jerked her hands away as if shocked. "Incroyable! She speaks mind to mind, Barnaby!"

Barnaby had stopped pacing; he and Conall stared at Sam.

"I heard her in my mind also, Mistress."

"I canna believe it, but I heard her in my brain too."

The tall long-faced butler moved beside Philippa. He leaned over and peered into Sam's eyes. His eyes narrowed.

"This one – Sam - is far stronger than Marji was. She accesses our thoughts even now."

It was so - pictures were flashing in Sam's head; images she pulled from their minds. Point of view scenes from their past – in one, a deer is run to ground, its throat ripped apart in a spray of blood. In another, a glassy eyed woman pulled her flaxen hair from her neck and tilted her head. She shuddered as she was bitten, and Sam tasted metallic warmth - a memory of blood - on her tongue. Scores of others visual memories played as a film montage, the central motif being blood and death.

Her eyes grew wide as she reasoned it out. She knew, she'd seen it in their minds! Holy mother of God, Philippa and Barnaby were vampires, and Conall was a wolf. ...and she was food and prey to these creatures.

A million year of hardwired DNA survival instinct kicked in: Sam vaulted from the table and ran wildly toward the door. Her center of gravity was off, and she stumbled forward in a fall. Philippa, moving in a swift blur, caught the young woman before she hit the stone floor. She grabbed Sam's wrists and held them in one hand, high over Sam's head, so that the girl was helpless before her.

"Please ...let me go..."

Philippa smiled, placing her finger on Sam's carotid artery. She felt the blood rushing underneath and licked her lips. A shiver –of pleasure - ran through Sam's body, making her close her eyes from an instant.

When Sam opened them, she saw Philippa's mouth showed two sharp fangs protruding from red lips. She lowered them until they pressed against the soft nape of Sam's neck.

"God ... no...please..." Sam half whispered, half moaned; the touch of Philippa on her neck left her flush and ...damp.

"Keep your teeth to yourself, woman," the redheaded giant bellowed in a deep growling voice, still cradling Sam's old body in his arms. "Bein turned from lad to lass is enough to deal with; she doesn't need to be thinking she's someone's bait as well. Let's stick to our business and sort out why it's soured!"

Philippa's black eyes narrowed a moment as she stared first at Sam, then back at Conall. She was just having fun with Sam; something about her made Philippa want to play. Interesting. Conall was right, though, this was not the time.

"I do not plan to eat you at the moment, my pet, I was merely dispelling your lingering doubts about who we are," she said with a too-cheerful smile.

She dragged Sam back to the stone table and hoisted her on it as if the girl weighed nothing. "I truly intended no harm when I invited you here - we simply needed to borrow your aura power. Something has gone ...badly awry."

Philippa released Sam's wrists. Sam exhaled a long breath she'd been holding and rubbed her wrists. "Badly ...awry ...?"

Sam looked down again at two breasts that seemed grapefruit-sized to her. "I mean ... Jesus..."

Sam took a deep calming breath to try to gather her thoughts (yet again!)

"Hokay, fine, this is all impossible, but I'm in a woman's body, you drink blood and Conall's the Wolfman. Night is day and pigs can fly. Wheee! So, if you'll ...um ...have your vampire-sorcerer Jeeves there get those rock necklace thingies out again and whoosh me back in my body, I'll be on my way. Mum's the word, swear to God." She tried to put her hand on her heart then, but had difficulty deciding where it was under the extra padding of her chest.

Sam gave a quick 'I give up' shake of her head, and continued, "Attorney-client privilege covers this, I think ...not sure ...have to check the Canon of Ethics on the whole vampire-as-client issue..."

Philippa rolled her eyes and laughed, "Ma chérie! You are too drôle." On impulse, she stroked Sam's face again – Sam felt very good to touch, for some reason.

"N –no, I'm serious," Sam said softly. She gingerly moved Philippa's hand off her face. Its touch was having an odd – but not bad – effect, and Sam needed to concentrate. "Put me back in my body, please." Who'd of thought Sam would ever have to make that request?

"Mademoiselle Albert-" Barnaby said,

"I'm not a mademoiselle!"

"I beg to differ. At the moment, you are no monsieur." He clasped his hands behind his back again. "I wonder...if you would attempt something for me. Monsieur Gadfaol, would you stand next to Madmoiselle Chéron?"

The red giant gently laid Sam's old body on the stone floor and moved next to Sam and Philippa. "Fine, what did you have in mind?"

"To assist me in returning Sam to her body, I need to know the extent of her power in Marji's body."

Philippa raised an eyebrow. Barnaby's voice was flat as always, but she knew he had just lied.

"Uh, okay ...whatever helps undo this." Sam said, in an uncertain tone; she'd do anything to get this reversed, but how could she possibly help?

"Excellent. A moment ago, you unknowingly touched our minds. I want you to try to repeat this, and connect to Conall and Philippa."

"And this helps me get back to my body ...how?"

"I want to know if it is something you can do. Your ability in Marji's body to connect strongly to others could inhibit the retransfer. I may have to ask Conall and Philippa to leave the room when we ...switch you back."

'Yet another lie,' Philippa thought. 'What is Barnaby doing?'

"Okay ...so ...what do I do?" Sam said; again, she had no clue how one would go about such a thing.

"As a start, it would be appreciated if you would sit in a comfortable position and begin breathing deeply," Barnaby said.

"Like meditating?" Sam asked, happy to understand something at last. By habit, she crossed her legs into half-lotus; it was so easy with these short flexible legs. Feeling especially limber, she moved into full lotus, something she had never been able to do in her old body. She couldn't believe how tiny her feet were; she'd been a size twelve, and she guessed she was something like, what, a five? Weren't women's sizes different?

She shrugged, closed her eyes and started to breathe. It struck her this should be odd to do with people watching. She let the thought pass; it had to be the least odd thing about the whole day. Philippa started to ask Barnaby what he was trying to accomplish, but he held a finger to his lips. He observed Sam had slipped into a trance. After a few moments, he spoke in a gentle voice.

"Sam, what are you feeling?

"I ..." her lips barely moved "God ...I'm surrounded by ...gold ...golden shimmers...it's beautiful..."

Barnaby nodded; an excellent sign. "Bon, let the thought go, focus on your breath ...inhalation ...exhalation." When he saw she relaxed further, he spoke to Philippa and Conall in a whisper:

"Get ready. I'm going to have her connect to you and see if she can channel Conall's power."

To Sam, he said, "I want you to reach into the golden energy and ...see ...a stream of it rising up. Can you do that?"

After a moment, he saw Sam smile. "What do you see?"

"Oh wow," she said softly, "a golden fountain...."

"Bon ...stay relaxed ...keep breathing deeply ...see the fountain extending up and splitting into two, one to your right to touch Philippa, the other to touch Conall to your left....don't open your eyes, you know where they are..."

"'kay" she whispered dreamily; her breathing was the only sound they heard for some moments.

Then Philippa exclaimed "Oh!" Conall, "I feel her!" Each felt a touch of golden brightness.

When Barnaby was certain the connection was firm, he spoke gently to Sam.

"Follow the stream of gold that touches Conall, Sam, and tell me what to you feel."

He saw the blonde-headed woman shudder. "...the smell of trees ...dark loam ...running ...hunting prey... full moon...the ...wild..."

'Now the delicate part,' Barnaby thought. "Take ...the wild ...into you and let it flow into the stream that touches Philippa."

He saw Sam's eyebrow twitch, as she puzzled over this. "Don't think, do it!"

She released Conall's wildness into and through her; it flowed, like a river, to Philippa.

Power rushed into Philippa, filled her, Conall's werewolf strength adding to her own. Her senses bloomed. She felt first the beings before her, then the dozens that walked the hallways of her mansion, living and undead. Finally, she sensed others approaching from far away; her guests, her enemies, soon to arrive.

With Sam connected to her and with Conall's power, she found she could talk to them, mind to mind.

*Welcome, Master Dragos, may your visit be a memorable one.*

*I am certain it will be, Mistress Philippa,* came his reply.

She smiled; he could not shield his surprise that she could touch him, by thought, from a distance.

She broke the contact; she did not want to reveal too much, only to plant seeds of doubt.

Next, she spread her arms wide and ...floated into air. Levitation could only be performed by the strongest of the vampires; she reveled in the thrill of surging power. She wished she were outside so she could drift into the clouds and feel their wetness on her face.

Barnaby's voice called to her. "Phillipa, enough, the voyant grows weary."

Philippa reluctantly came back to ground. She looked at Sam; the girl was slumping forward.

"Let go, Sam." Barnaby said. "Let go and let the gold return to the deep part of you."

Conall and Philippa felt the contact break. They opened their eyes to see Barnaby gently laying Sam down on the table.

"Is the lass injured?" Conall ask, rubbing his bleary eyes and temples.

"Between a body exchange and connecting you and Philippa, I think she is a little spent. Physically she is fine; she needs some rest. Her powers are astonishing."

"All the same, I'll feel better when we get Sam and Marji back into their own bodies. Better nivvor begun than nivvor ended, I say."

Philippa stared at Conall; she'd known him for two and a half centuries and liked him dearly, but to this day she sometimes couldn't make heads or tails of the way he spoke. She shrugged and looked at Barnaby.

"Will Marji be able to do as Sam did, once we switch them back?"

Barnaby knew Philippa had guessed his mind. "No. What we saw was amazing, more so, when you consider Sam is untrained. Marji, even with borrowed power, could not come close to what Sam did."

Conall saw where this was going too. "No, no, no! You canna consider not switching um back. Tis unfair to the both of um!" He said, his voice descending to a growl.

"Monsieur Gadfaol, forgive me for being blunt, but you must understand. You have no idea the measures we've taken to put Philippa on equal footing with Dragos for the duel." Barnaby was pacing, making lengthy strides back and forth with his long skinny legs.

"First, we searched the world looking for a voyant, in the Amazon, New Zealand, other places, finally finding Mademoiselle Eneberg in Finland."

"I don't care if ya had to fly to the bloomin moon, it's not right to leave em switched."

"My apologies, but I have not finished. As you know, Mademoiselle Eneberg proved weak, so, after research, I determined we could strengthen her by using two opposite lapis lazuli -Pharaoh Stones- to draw energy from one with a highly charged aura. Philippa sold a large portion of her collection to pay for those stones and the Blood Stone to activate them."

Barnaby had stopped pacing and stood in front of Conall, the tall men looking eye to eye. Conall struggled to contain his rising frustration and hear Barnaby out. What they had done was wrong, and the wolf in him needed to maul someone for it; he just didn't know who it should be. At the moment, Barnaby was the prime candidate.

Barnaby continued. "So we searched again for one with a powerful aura. We found her in Mexico, an old Bruja, and arranged to bring her here so Mademoiselle Eneberg could borrow energy. She was to come a week ago. Word came to us hours before she was to fly that the Bruja had 'ascended into the higher realms.' In haste, I scoured the nearby city to find the human with the strongest aura. Voilà Samuel Albert."

"A lovely fable, with Pharaoh Stones and Finnish voyants and an old Bruja thrown in to boot; tis like a fairy tale of old. But it's one thing to pinch a bit o' energy, quite another to steal someone's body," Conall said. "I won't have it. It's wrong and ...daft, man! You donna even know why it happened!"

"Maybe Sam's essence was drawn to Marji's body because like was drawn to like, power to power. Who knows? It is irrelevant why it happened. You saw, you felt what Sam can do. Incroyable." Barnaby's voice rose infinitesimally above a monotone, which was to say, passionate, for him.

"By accident, we may have created one of the strongest voyants ever known. Fortune drops this powerful tool into our laps; we would be fools not to use Sam. You saw Philippa when she was filled with your power – she may be able to survive her duel with Dragos; surely you would agree that would be a good outcome."

Philippa held her hand up. "Monsieurs! Let us ...leave matters as they are until after the duel. Then we shall switch them. Conall, do not oppose me on this ...you owe me."

"Fine!" Conall glared at them. "I do owe you, I'll abide, but after this we're square. Mark my words, Philippa, naught but sorrow will come of this." Philippa had mixed feelings; she too was troubled they were not switching Sam and Marji back. Yet a part of her was not unhappy at all, because there was something about Sam in Marji's body...

Throughout their discussion, Philippa had absent-mindedly been stroking one of Sam's breasts. When Sam moaned softly in pleasure, Philippa leaned forward and kissed her on her still open lips. Sleepily, Sam kissed back.

Philippa gently put her index finger to Sam's full soft lips. She stroked them. "What a night of new experiences you have ahead of you ...rest, my pet, you'll need it."



5. Friday 10:40 PM

Sam woke to satin. Soft darkness surrounded her body; her mind wrapped in satiny black. She knew not where she was, or even at that moment, that she was a 'she'. A slide of her naked body on smooth fabric reminded her how much had changed.

"Jesus-"

"You invoke the son of the Christian God often, Samuel Albert. Are you a devout practitioner? That would complicate matters."

Her voice came from the darkness. A lamp switched on – Sam was in a four-poster bed, Philippa beside her. The rest of the room was cast in shadows. Sam propped up on her elbows, her wavy blonde hair spilling in front of her face. "I'd hoped it had all been a dream, or at least when I woke up the nightmare would be over and I'd be back in my body."

Sam noticed her nipples were hard from rubbing against the satin sheets. "...um, where are my clothes?"

Philippa's smile turned practically evil as her hand moved to pinch Sam's nipples.

"-ooo- ...stop ...it ..." Sam's eyes fluttered closed; Philippa's touch was electric, sooo nice.

"You don't sound like you want me to stop, little cat. Let's go exploring, hmm?"

Her hand slithered little by little down the black satin to between Sam's crotch. There, she made rubbed in a slow circular pattern. Sam let out a long soft pleasure moan.

"My kitten purrs, hmm? She likes to be petted..." Philippa said, grinning wickedly. Then she sighed. "Tant pis... if we didn't have obligations, what fun we would have."

The pleasure buzzing through Sam's body dissipated enough to allow her to speak. "Ob...obligations? What are you talking about, aren't you going to switch me back?"

"Apologies, little kitty-cat, but I cannot, I need you as my voyant at tonight's festivities. It is vampire politics; ceremonial, formal and to the final death. Très très compliqué."

Sam sprang up in the bed, oblivious to her nakedness. She grabbed Philippa's wrist. "You MUST change me back. To keep me like this is not fair ...it's evil ..."

Philippa slapped Sam's hand away. "Fairness? Good and evil? Human thoughts; what mean these to me?" Her dark eyes flashed. "Where was my justice the night my soon to be master, Valentin, turned me because my beauty 'pleased him'? Killing Mama and Papa and my little Julian before my eyes... "

She shook her head at the memory. "No, this was not 'fair', yet it happened anyway. We are fresh out of fairness, my pet. If you wish to possess your body again, you will do as I say for tonight. If I survive my duel with Dragos, then shall you be returned. If I do not, then you will discover a harder ...unfairness ...at his hands."

"Why should I believe a syllable you speak? All lies. Maybe I should help this Dragos instead. Maybe he could help me get my..."

It was so fast Sam didn't feel it happening: one moment she was in bed, the next she was gagging; Philippa held her high in the air with a hand at Sam's throat, her legs dangling.

"It amuses me to think what will happen to you if I die my pet - the fun they will have with a pretty little prostituée du sang. They drink from you as they fuck you, until you die. If properly done, the feeding can take days, and by the end you will beg them to fill your chatte, your pussy, even as they suck your last drop of life."

She tossed Sam back on the bed. Sam struggled for breath for a moment, rubbing her neck.

"So, will you help me, little kitty?" Philippa asked with honey sweetness.

"What choice do I have?" Sam croaked, still rubbing her neck. "Either this Dragos wins and he kills me, or you win, and ...kill me. Even if I could escape, I'd be stuck in this body. No matter what happens, I'm screwed, right?" She paused, looking down at her naked body.

"I suppose there's even a remote chance you'd keep your word... so ... yeah, I guess I have to." Sam said, and then looked directly into Philippa's eyes. "You know what's interesting? I have never hated anyone in my life. Ever. Until now."

Philippa stiffened. Normally, she found such words from a human laughable. Coming from Sam, it bothered her.

"Your eyes are open to my world at last, then – no fair or unfair, bad or good, just screw or be screwed. Your hate is my gift to you. Cherish it, for over the long march of years, even that fades, and you are left with nothing but time." Philippa rose. "I will send servants to help you bathe and dress for the dinner."

She saw there would be hand marks where she had gripped Sam's neck. "Oh, pooh; bad kitty! See what you have made me do? I must find a way to hide the bruises so your delicate beauty is not tarnished." She thought a moment. "Ah! I have just the accessory! I will bring it when I come to collect you. Until then, sweet thoughts."



6. Friday 11:30 PM

Sam sat, at a white marble-topped antique vanity, staring into the mirror. How odd, to be excited by the image in the mirror that was supposed to be her. Is this what narcissists felt all the time? Her mind swirled at what she saw - a golden blonde haired girl with bright blue eyes, wearing a black silk bell sleeve cocktail dress. At least that's how Philippa's human servants described it. Sam hadn't known what to call it other than a very (very) short thing. As it was cut in a low 'V' and as Philippa had ordered her to wear no bra or underwear, Sam was left with the feeling of little on at all.

Silver hoop earrings dangled from her ears, and silver bracelets locked onto her wrists. A trinity knot was woven on the face of each. The red-headed servant, Chloe, called them Celtic slave bracelets. Slave bracelets. Peachy.

Sam wore one more piece of jewelry, but this she discovered when she also learned how women piss. Then, she'd found a silver ring with a small pendant that hung from her ...clit...clitoris? or the part of the...vagina that covered the clit up? Jesus, she was stupid about female genitals; she wished she'd paid more attention to the vocabulary part of sex education. Who'd of figured she'd ever have to know a female body so intimately? What was she going to need next that she hadn't paid attention to, Algebra?

Carol, the blonde servant, practically swooned over the fact that Sam was to sit with 'Mistress' at the dinner tonight. "Why," Sam asked her, "why is that so good?"

"To serve in the Blood Herd is an honor, to serve the Mistress..." Carol sighed suddenly, before she continued, "she is a goddess."

'Herd? Goddess? Uh-oh', Sam thought, 'serious brainwash shit happening here.'

Sam turned back to Chloe. She was a beauty; standing around five three, maybe an inch taller than the body Sam was in. Bright green eyes, fresh face with just enough freckles to be so sexy. Her hair had the color and shine of copper, its natural curls falling far down her back. Ringlets fell across her face. Sam wondered why, or how someone who looked like that had come to this place. She asked Chloe.

"I want them to turn me. I hope if I serve long enough, Mistress will," The redhead answered.

"Turn you?" It dawned on Sam. Turn her into a vampire. "Why in God's name would you want that!?"

"To be unique. To live a life beyond the ordinary." Chloe answered, in a matter-of-fact voice. "I know this will sound vain or something, but I feel like I have a destiny waiting for me here."

'Holy crap! Surely there were other paths to fulfillment than being turned into a vampire,' Sam thought. She wished she could send these two directly to Norm Saddler. Norm was going to have to open up a psychiatric ER for vampire victims before this was all over.

"Why do you ask these odd questions, Marji?" Chloe said.

"Yes," Carol said, "you act so strangely tonight, and your English is suddenly better. What's up with you?"

Sam shrugged and mumbled something about how she didn't feel like herself. The conversation stopped then, as the young women left her to prepare themselves to be ...eaten as food, presumably.

Brainwashed slaves to vampires. Yet another reason to hate Philippa.

At that moment, she wondered where her old body was, and if it was safe. How was she going to get these wackos to switch her back? If she had a gun maybe? Or a tactical nuclear warhead? The thought was funny, but it was a valid question. She could pretend to be brave only so long: the truth was, she couldn't see her way out of this nightmare.

Her shoulders slumped forward, and her false bravado drained away. She had no idea how to function in this body, she was surrounded by creatures of darkness who would just as easily eat her as talk to her, and none of it made sense. She wanted to crawl back in bed and curl into a ball.

Everything was foreign and Sam needed familiar. Something to grab onto to tell her she was still the old Sam she'd always been.

Meditation should be the same in any body, right? So she pulled a satin pillow from the bed to the floor and sat on it in full lotus position. She started a breath meditation and soon, she bathed in the peace of a golden energy she felt earlier. If anything, the energy was stronger than before.

"Christ, that's amazing! What am I, some kind of energizer battery?"

It was so strong, she felt she could even make the energy physically appear. Slowly, she held up a palm that rested on a knee and imagined energy gathering there. Gold sparkles shimmered into a ball over her palm.

"God! How cool..."

She threw the energy ball against a wall where it exploded into bright glitters.

"Well how about that! Bet I'll be popular at parties."

A knock at her bedroom door.

Philippa's voice. "Kitten? Time for dinner and your debut."

Willing the energy back in, she stood and slipped black pumps on that she'd been stumbling around in earlier when she practiced walking. Strangely, she had no trouble in the high heels as she walked to the door.

"Um, the door is locked from the outside..." Sam had checked it; she probably wouldn't made a run for it if it had been unlocked; there was still the tiny detail of being in the wrong body.

The door clicked open and Philippa stood before her. Scanning from floor up, she saw her vampire mistress wore black high-heeled sling back shoes and a black satin strapless evening gown that accentuated her full breasts. Silver lace encircled her neck and upper arms, and a silver circlet rested her head. Her rich black hair fell in ringlets down her back. Last, she looked at Philippa's red red lips. Sam gulped.

Sensing desire, Philippa raised Sam's chin with a hand, leaned forward and planted a long, open-mouthed kiss. Sam's knees went weak; she might have fallen, had not Philippa's arm moved to catch her.

Sam would have been troubled at how easily Philippa had enspelled her had she been clear-headed. She was anything but; her pulse raced, her nipples hardened and she felt moistness in her crotch. She hated this woman, this thing, didn't she? So how could one kiss capture her so? A vampire trick?

Philippa pulled her lips away, smiling at Sam's closed eyes and rapid breathing. "Sam, I wanted to say I was sorry..."

"So say it." Sam said, said in a still breathy voice, but standing on her own.

Philippa chuckled. "Sam, I am sorry for how I treated you. I thrust you into a strange body and world, and I should have treated you with understanding."

"Nice words, more lies?"

Philippa thought a moment and shrugged. 'Connect to my mind as you did earlier. Look and see for yourself."

Look into her mind? Okay, fine. So how to do it? She closed her eyes and remembered what Barnaby had said. See a stream of energy, direct it to Philippa. She felt her mind touch Philippa's. This was getting easier.

As with Conall, Sam sensed Philippa's other-than-human energies, but hers were different: dark but warm, soft but strong, sensuous but deadly, cold intellect but with ...passion? Feelings that seemed contradictory, but as Sam absorbed them, she knew they were complimentary in Philippa. Sam was dazzled.

When she started to sort through Philippa's memories, seeing images of a peasant woman with dark hair and grey-bearded man (mother and father?), she heard Philippa's thought:

*those are private, my pet*

*sorry*

Sam withdrew. Somehow, she knew, Philippa was sincere in her apology. She learned more, something perhaps that Philippa had not wanted her to see, that Philippa was attracted to Sam.

"Okay, apology accepted." Sam gazed into Philippa's eyes, this time knowing what she felt was not a mind trick. She frowned; was it possible to desire and hate someone?

"Talk to me. Tell me why I should help you. Tell me you don't enslave and kill humans to feed. Tell me something to make me like you."

"Little kitten. How can you understand me? You are, what, thirty something? I am over three hundred years old. You are human, I am vampire. We have no common frame of reference."

"Try anyway. Give it your best shot."

She sighed. Samuel was so American. "I will try. Since I became ruler of this Seethe after overthrowing Valentin, I have forbidden any from feeding on humans who are unwilling donors. I have further forbidden my vampires from turning humans without my blessing."

"That's all you got? I'm supposed to sign up for your side for that? What about this business keeping of people in a 'herd' like livestock?"

"The act of giving blood to one of my kind is highly pleasurable ...a high ...sexual ...addictive. Most of my humans wish to serve in the Blood Herd, of their own free will. Those that don't, deserve to be there for other reasons. All are well treated and well paid for their time here. I rotate them regularly to avoid danger of depleting them."

"Sounds like a cross between a cattle ranch and a drug addicted brothel. Got nothin' else?"

Philippa's eyes flared. "I do not have to justify myself to you-"

Sam gingerly touched Philippa's hand. "I'm ...sorry, I'll stop being flip, it ...masks how scared shitless I am. I'm so lost, Philippa."

Philippa's anger dissolved into perplexity. She wanted to touch Sam, not from lust or blood lust, but to comfort her. She thought a moment.

"Ah! Here is something. Do you recall the concert hall fire in Atlanta last year?"

"Yeah, horrible; fire started, exit doors were blocked, sixty people burned to death-"

"But it was not a fire at all. Dragos trapped those people to let his Seethe feed on them. After the slaughter, they burned it to the ground to hide the evidence. The human authorities begin to suspect the existence of his Seethe. It was starting to become 'too hot' in Atlanta, so-"

"So he comes here to take over yours. And if you lose the duel, people here start dying."

"Oui. It is certain."

"He is an evil old vampire, I presume?"

"Evil, oui, older, non. Dragos is much younger than I, barely one hundred years old. He should not be so strong. Yet he has delivered final death to two master vampires. C'est un mystère. The High Council has taken notice of Monsieur Dragos and will be watching the outcome of this duel."

That was more vampire politics information than Sam needed. She stuck to the simple. "Okay. Preventing mass murder. Fighting evil. That works." "Bon. If this is concluded, we must go. We have the dinner and a duel to attend."

"Wait. I really like ... as a lawyer, I find I work harder when I like something about the person I'm helping. I don't have to love my clients, or anything, but I do try to find one human thing about them that ...uh , how do I say this? Could you tell me something that will make me want to help you?"

"I just did-"

"No ...I mean ...something about you, Phillipa Chéron."

Philippa cross her arms under her chest. "What is the expression I hear so often these days? You are high maintenance."

"Please? It ...it would help me..."

Sam's eyes were clear blue, innocent. Marji's never had looked so. What did Sam want of her?

Philippa started to twirl a ringlet of her shiny dark hair. A thought came to her.

"Galettes. I miss galettes."

"What? Galettes? Those are ...uh, buckwheat crepes from the Bretagne area of France, right?" Sam truly did have some French experience. "What do galettes have to do-"

"Mama and I used to wake in the dark of morning, before Papa started his chores. I helped her cook galettes. We would feed them to each other as we watched the sun rise from our kitchen window.

Philippa's voice grew soft. "I especially remember hugging Mama one time when the dew of the wildflowers in front of our farm cottage sparkled in the rose of dawn."

"I ...well couldn't you just have your cook make you some for breakfast?"

"Sam, Vampires don't eat food. And we cannot see the light of day, or we die..."

"Oh, I didn't know-"

Philippa's warm dark eyes stared beyond Sam, into memories she had buried when she was turned. She whispered, "I miss galettes ...and sunrises and wildflowers...and Mama..."

In that instant, Sam glimpsed Philippa's loneliness, centuries of it. So alone. She clasped Philippa tightly around her waist.

It startled Philippa. When she raised Sam's face, she saw her eyes were wet.

"Sam?"

"I'll help...I want to help you."

Philippa's heart warmed, something she'd not felt in... who was this human who touched her so? So sweet and alive. How had Sam drawn those feelings from her?

It frightened her; she pushed the feelings down down. She'd survived by burying her emotions when she was first turned; she could not afford this weakness. Philippa unclasped Sam's hug and stepped away.

"Pet, as delicious as you look, I need your mind focused. We have much to discuss. I am sure you have questions, and we haven't much time before the dinner."

Sam blinked away the wetness, and the questions started popping into her mind:

"Okay ...I understand why you need me to connect you to Conall in your duel, I guess, for the extra power...but why do you need me at the dinner...why am I dressed this way ...I'm not a woman and don't know how to act like one, so how am I going to pull this off...what will I do if..."

Philippa put a finger to Sam's mouth. "Ssshhh. Your job is simple, kitten, to be seen with me. I will explain as we walk to the dining hall. But first:

A metallic 'click' startled Sam. Philippa had locked a wide silver collar around Sam's neck. Next, she fastened a silver chain leash to an "O" ring that hung from collar's front.

Sam put her hand to the cold collar. "Why-"

Philippa started to walk down the hall, tugging on the chain to make Sam follow.

"Dragos' people must see you at dinner first, so that they will not be suspicious when you are with me at the duel. To them, you will appear to be my plaything, harmless."

"But I'm not a woman! I'll do something stupid –"

Philippa suddenly pushed Sam against a hallway wall, grinding against her body, kissing her hard. Philippa's touch was instant pleasure. Sam's head fuzzed.

"You feel like a woman to me. Will you play my pet, my pet?"

"mmm –hmmm"

"Excellent. I like the way you throw yourself into the part."

Philippa was amused at how quickly she could make craving and fire spread across Sam's soft face; it would be so fun to explore. Philippa sighed again, no time. She tugged on the leash and started walking. Sam stumbled in her heels as her head cleared.

They turned right at a hallway intersection and started walking down another candlelit hallway. Far ahead, Sam saw two men standing in front of a doorway. They had the look of guards.

"Silvain and Lejeune are mine, but play your part with them, too. Anyone could be a spy. Some quick ground rules..."

Philippa rattled off instructions as they walked the long hallway. Sam struggled to keep pace with the taller woman's stride.

"...keep your eyes down always; to all, you are a human pet. Do not speak unless someone speaks to you. You will sit on a cushion at my feet. I hope you used the toilet recently. Food. You will have food, but you only eat when I feed you hand to mouth."

Philippa stopped to stress a point. "Above all, show no one your power. They must not suspect you are anything except a pretty bauble."

They started walking again and soon neared the guards; tall, dark eyed, Sam somehow sensed they were non-human.

"So, I am truly to be your little slave," she whispered, mortified, but some part of her shivered with excitement.

"Yes, I expect it troubles you. I do not think of you so ...I know you saw that I ... that we..." Philippa stopped. "I do not know what is between us, and I cannot afford to..."

A coldness entered Philippa's voice "Yes. From here, you are my slave."

Sam nodded and lowered her eyes. She felt a sharp tug at her neck; she followed into the dining hall, and felt the stare of dozens and dozens of eyes on her. None of which were human.



6. Saturday 12:00 AM

Philippa led her into a long candle-lit hall. Red cushioned chairs lined the north and south walls, leaving the center space open. Sam wondered at the lack of dining table, with its place settings and glasses. The thought popped into her head that food at a vampire dinner might not be served on plates.

When she'd entered the hall she glimpsed people standing in groups; heard the murmur of many conversations. 'Just like any dinner party, with the small exception that I might be an appetizer.' She tried hard to recall what Barnaby had said earlier about safe passage. It made more sense now. She hoped it was still true.

As she was led through by each clump of people, conversation would stop and she felt eyes scanning her body, sensed hunger coming from them.

Since she kept her eyes down, she was not able see who was present, but by looking at trousers, legs and high heels, she saw the crowd was roughly half male, half female. 'Great! An undead mixer!' Sam wondered what the pick up lines would be - Bite you a drink? I've always been a sucker for a pretty face?

Her mind stomped down hard on these thoughts – she could not afford to have some goofy grin on her face.

Philippa stopped leading her, and she saw she stood before a platform with a dark wooded throne chair, and a second large chair beside it. Barnaby stood to one side. In front of the throne chair lay a long red cushion.

"We are here, lovely kitten." Philippa gave a tug on the leash pulling Sam toward onto the platform.

Sam connected to Philippa's mind. *How am I doing? I feel so dumb, like any minute, someone is going to yell 'look at the guy, everyone!*

Philippa stifled a laugh. *You are definitely not that, ma chérie. Here, let me prove it.*

Raising Sam's head, Philippa leaned forward and planted another long kiss on the petite blonde's lips. Sam worries melted; she returned the kiss with fire.

*Now out of my head, little kitty, but stay connected.*

Philippa lowered Sam onto the velvet floor cushion. Sam reclined in a feline position, her eyes half open. Philippa had trouble looking away from her; she was scrumptious spread before her. A quickening of blood, a pulse of desire... when had she felt like this? How many decades ago?"

"Mistress, Dragos's seneschal approaches." Barnaby said, with an edge of urgency in his tone.

Philippa pried her eyes from Sam and looked across the hall at the man who approached. Radu the pig. He oozed his way over to them. Philippa suppressed an urge to spit.

"Power games so soon? The guests aren't even seated. What is Dragos thinking?"

"Humiliation, of course. He sends his second as an opening gambit to show how weak your seneschal is," Barnaby answered in his flat drone. "It is fact that Radu is stronger. All will see you are forced to end whatever confrontation he contrives with me."

"It is as we predicted, then, he strikes quickly to display our weakness. Dragos means to lure our followers to his side ahead of the duel. A bloodless coup. Fait accompli."

She stopped speaking as Radu had arrived. The man was a toad in life, a fat pimp from the ghettos of 19th century Prague. Vampires had a reputation for improving the looks of those they 'turned'; giving the newly turned an appearance of physical beauty. Somehow, Radu had only become greasier in his turning; his eyes and hair a dirty oily black.

"Greetings, Mistress Philippa, and to you, Maître'de Barnaby." Radu laughed at his rhyme. He looked at Sam, put his index finger in his mouth, and drew it in and out several times, slowly.

"Mmm, such a delicacy... many kuronas I could have made from this golden beauty." He squinted his beady eyes and looked at Philippa. "Pray fulfill an old man's dream and say she is a donor tonight, Mistress."

"My pet is a rare flower indeed. Alas, I am selfish. She is for me alone."

"But if she wishes it? Gives herself to the Seethe and guests? Law of Donation binds even a Mistress."

Sam struggled to remain passive, her emotions balanced between anger and fear. Anger at being discussed like a piece of meat, and fear that this undead slug might touch her.

She felt a will press on her and her eyes were made to look into Radu's.

"Don't you want to, my lovely?" Radu asked in an oily smooth tone. "Walk to the center of the hall and declare to all you give yourself to the Seethe, in body and blood."

Sam's legs twitched to Radu's compulsion. Philippa sensed Sam's rising panic....and energy.

*Sam, wait, show nothing! Barnaby will help.*

Her legs were moving against her will, readying to stand. An image of what Radu planned formed in her mind, he willed her to be blood whore to Dragos people for the night. She would be passed from parasite to parasite, to be used however they wished. Radu was, literally, drooling.

*Philippa!* Sam was scared. Reflexively, she started to form a ball of energy in a hand behind her back to throw at him.

*No! Wait!*

The compulsion stopped; a barrier interposed between Sam and Radu. Invisible, but Sam sensed it. She sighed in relief.

Radu smirked. "Ah Barnaby! So imposing physically, so versed in our magic. So impotent as a vampire where it matters most. I've sometimes wondered if your prick mirrors your diminutive power."

Sam felt the barrier smashed by Radu's power; it started to dissolve slowly. She sensed Barnaby desperately laboring beside her to hold it. The thought occurred to her – could she strengthen it, enough to hold, but not enough to draw attention? If she controlled it... She drew on her bright energy; imagined it trickling to Barnaby's shield.

Radu's sneer disappeared; Barnaby's mind shield, pitiful a moment before, had become solid. Radu redoubled his concentration, but could do nothing to overcome it. After a prolonged period of grunting and wheezy breathing, Radu abandoned his assault.

Philippa smiled. "As I said, my pet is for me alone."

"You aided him! He could not have withstood me alone." Radu said, or more accurately, spewed, in reply.

"But I assisted not all. There was no need. Barnaby was more than adequate."

Then to the room, she said in a clear voice, "Truth!" They nodded, sensing, as vampires can, the truth among their kind.

She turned back to Radu. "Monsieur, I worry for you; you seem weak and perspire more profusely than usual. Please take advantage of our many seats and rest yourself."

Radu's face paled a shade, which is a feat for an already pale vampire. What had started as an interesting move to embarrass Philippa, ended with Radu sweating, groaning, and looking the fool. Snickers cascaded from the dinner guests. Nothing is worse in vampire society than publicly displaying weakness. He turned and fled, laughter building as he stumbled from the platform.

"Well done, Barnaby," Philippa said, and smiled, as she watched Radu's waddling retreat.

"In truth, I had not the power to stop the swine," Barnaby answered tonelessly. "The praise goes to your voyant."

*Sam? It was you? I told you-*

*I only added a little to Barnaby's shield; Pig Man never knew. I saw in his mind what he wanted to do to me* She shuddered. *Why did you have to dress me like a slut?*

Philippa was indignant. "You are NOT dressed as a slut. You are dressed suggestively, not cheaply. It is a Donna Ricco! Why the idea that..."

"Mistress," Barnaby interrupted, with the slightest raise in the volume of his voice, "the Blood Herd is ready to be delivered. And Monsieur Gadfaol has arrived."

"Do not deliver the herd too soon, Barnaby, have them brought in sometime after the hour, I should think. It would be rude to deprive our guests the time to admire the world's last and greatest of the Wolf clan of Scotland.



7. Saturday 12:30 AM

*You may look up, kitten, all eyes are on the entrance; they feel the wolf coming*

Sam raised her head and scanned the room for her first true look at this gathering of nightmare creatures, parasites of the human race, the damned.

The scene surprised her – some forty odd people seated in chairs along the sides of the hall, twenty to a side. Men in tuxedos, and women, evening gowns. One side of the room dressed in entirely in black, the other, white. Chatting laughing, laughing corpses.

'Black and white?' Sam thought, 'Honestly? It's so cliché.' She also noted she was on the black side. She hoped the color scheme was an away team / home team thing, and not a good/evil gauge. More striking was, well, how striking they looked: the men and women had the feel of elegant past, a Gatsby enchantment.

A word on vampires: people have a single-minded notion of them – human looking, feeds on blood, possesses supernatural powers, enslaves victims with its eyes, etcetera. Many do fit this concept.

Not all, though; an ocean of diversity exists among vampire kind. For instance, most blood feed, true, but some instead eat the life energy of the victim.

Many have a human appearance, yet some are mutated creatures.

Most die each morning, to reanimate at sunset, yet some, such as Philippa, merely sleep.

All possess a power of illusion, and so appear to humans as creatures of perfection and beauty.

Perhaps it was her new inner power, but the dinner scene troubled her, something about it was unreal. Sam closed her eyes, imagining her energy rising, cleansing her eyes of glamour.

When she opened them, the scene was changed. Most of the black dressed side of the room remained as beautiful and handsome as she had seen. But, holy crap, many of the white side weren't human looking at all, leathery faces, blood red eyes, clawed hands and long fangs jutting from their mouths – monsters.

She turned anxiously to look at Philippa...

...to see her radiant, sitting regally in her throne, her black satin dress hugging her lean body, silver circlet twinkling candle light, her black ringlets of hair locks, falling as shadows down her smooth white shoulders. And those lips, red lips...

Sam sighed in relief. At the soft sound, Philippa turned to see Sam gazing at her.

*I'm fond of you too, little cat, but look to the doorway, or you'll miss Conall's grand entrance.*

Then Barnaby's deep voice boomed:

"Madames and Monsieurs, presenting Conall Gadfaol of the Clan Gadfaol."

It takes something special to produce awe in undead creatures that have lived hundreds of years. Conall was it, wearing full highlander regalia: a kilt of the green and blue Gadfaol tartan, a black Prince Charles jacket, white tuxedo shirt and black bow tie, and a sporran at his waist.

More than that, Sam felt again Conall's dominance, his wild presence; he seemed even larger to Sam than he had earlier, if that was possible.

Philippa guessed Sam's thoughts:

*He is an old and powerful Alpha wolf, pet ...and the first night of the full moon is tonight. He becomes larger still when he is at his power's zenith.*

Striding through the room toward the platform, as the guests magically parted to clear a path for him, his power spread through the room in a wave, snuffing all conversation. Since vampire politics, society and life are, at their core, all about pomp and power, Conall's impact on the crowd was profound.

They all knew of him, who in the preternatural world had not heard of the last living werewolf of the mythic Wolf Clan of Scotland. Conall was known to have fought in wars on six continents, in eight different centuries, under leaders from William Wallace to Field Marshall Bernard Law Montgomery.

The whispering started: are they allied ... how will he help Philippa ...will he fight Dragos...

In the grand vampire game of showmanship, Philippa just upped the ante.

Conall bowed to Philippa, but muttered under his breath so only Sam could hear.

"Room full o' bloomin bloodsuckers. Stick close to me, lass, it looks like we are the only un-undead folks in the place."

Sam smiled. "Glad I'm on Team Conall."

Conall laughed, and Philippa motioned for him to take his seat next to her.

"Does he change into a wolf like in the movies?" Sam whispered to Philippa "What does he look like?"

"Bigger, fangier, furrier, and cuter."

"Cuter?" Conall snorted. "When I'm in me beastie form I weigh near thirty stone and eat most aught that moves on land. I'd hardly call me cute."

Aloud, "Will dinner be served soon, Mistress Philippa? I've worked up quite a hunger, my dear. I could eat a horse!"

Sam shuddered, realizing Conall might actually be able to do that.

After some moments, the conversation buzz of the room started again, and Sam took the relatively calm moment to ask Conall a question. Experimenting with her new power, she touched only his mind.

*Conall, why are you helping Philippa?*

*Ah! A tale that one. I've fancied many a bonny lass o'er my life, but there was one I loved above all others...*

Conall's thoughts trailed off, and when Sam twisted on her cushion to look up at him, he turned away. His pain spilled into her, not physical, but tearing grief, longing. The kind that makes your chest skip a breath.

*I'm sorry Conall, I didn't mean to stir up memories.*

Conall was silent, but images flowed from his mind to hers, like movie vignettes.

She saw, through his eyes, as he looked over a ship's railing across the choppy waters of the English Channel. A wooden ship, a schooner. Men, ragged from battle, huddled around him, and Sam sensed tension; they were fleeing something. A young man stood apart on the deck, who looked familiar to Sam – where had she seen pictures of him? My God! He was ...Bonny Prince Charles? Conall fought under him?

The scene changed, a rocky scrub and wildflower covered cliff overlooking the sea. It looked to Sam like the Northern coast of France. A woman with green eyes smiled, her curly copper-colored hair fluttering in the sea breeze. Sam felt the press of her lips on Conall's lips. Sam was stunned for an instant; the woman looked identical to Chloe.

Conall voice filled her mind:

*My Rosette...*

Sam turned to Conall again, who smiled sadly and his eyes glistened.

*Once, I had to live a spell in France, things being a mite touchy in Scotland. One night while I was away in some fool fight, Sam, a group o' Valentin's vampies found her and set to drink her and to turn her just to spite ol Conall the Wolf. Philippa was among em, a baby vampie herself, yet she fought her own to save my darling. She saved her from becoming a vamp, and I spent many a year with my darling Rosette. I miss her dearly...*

Sam cast a quick look at Philippa. *She did that?*

*Aye. I owe Philippa, lassie, I owe her much, an like a good Scotsman, I always pay me bills...*

*But I thought the Scots always tried to get out of-*

*You be thinking o' the Irish, lassie*

The entire mind-to-mind exchange had taken only a few seconds, but Sam had seen into the depth of Conall's heart. He carried wild joy there, yet so much sorrow and longing too. Through his ageless life, through the centuries, Conall had piled layer upon layer of these sorrowful memories. Of loved ones, dying in his arms. Sam decided that this part of immortality would, well, kind of sucked.

"Sam, lower your eyes!" Philippa whispered, "Dragos approaches."



7. Saturday 12:37 AM

"Ah Philippa, dear, good to see you," a melodious voice said. Sam heard a light smacking sound and assumed Dragos was kissing Philippa's hand. He also made a point of not addressing Conall. He had been badly upstaged and needed to take back the spotlight.

"I know this is against protocol, but I cannot bear to think of harm coming to your lovely face. Will you not reconsider my offer and cede authority of the Seethe to me?"

If she'd been asked, Sam would have said she was in no position to interpret the energy she felt from Dragos Bellec. Consider: she'd been switched into a woman's body, learned she was surrounded by human- eating creatures she'd thought were pure fiction, discovered she possessed magical abilities, and was paraded in front of a crowd of undead as a pet. Oh, and don't forget that every time Philippa touched her, her body was electrified with pleasure.

So, in the space of a few hours, she'd had all these bizarre, extraordinary, never-in-a-lifetime experiences. By any reasonable expectation, she should have been in sensory overload. Yet she had no difficulty reading the force Drago's radiated:

Evil, one hundred percent pure. Something foul stood before her. Sam had wanted to run for her life from Philippa and Conall earlier, now she had the frantic urge to run for her soul – to a church, temple, mosque, or any holy ground she could find. She started to shake.

"Is there something wrong with your lovely toy?"

*Sam, what is happening?*

*he is bad bad bad*

Philippa stroked Sam's soft hair. Sam's trembling lessened. "I think my pet is overwhelmed by your beauty, my dear Dragos. What human maid would not be?"

"She is a fresh treat. Radu mentioned she was only for you? How miserly, my dear Philippa." Drago put a hand on Sam's chin, raising it.

She saw him: a shining figure in white. White on white on white, white waistcoat, vest, shirt, and white silk tie. His broad angular face, platinum blond hair, and smooth white cheeks worked in concert to highlight blue-black eyes.

"I see why you would not share her with the rabble, but let us seal your concession of the Seethe by drinking her together." He said, still holding her face. His voice was baritone, songful.

Sam had read once that the name 'Lucifer' meant light-bearer. She'd wondered what he must have looked like before he was tossed from heaven. 'Betcha something like this.'

His laugh was honey. "She is smitten. What say you, Philippa?"

Sam was frightened, no, terrified, that Philippa would fall to his voice and shining eyes.

Philippa tasted Sam's fear. * Sam, give me credit! Dragos is barely a century old.*

"I regret I must decline your offer. I will retain rule of the Seethe." Philippa said, in a firm voice.

Dragos' brilliant white toothed grin did not lessen; he never for a moment thought she might accept. "Then, since you must die the final death tonight, may we at least share her blood together? Can not your lovely here be the instrument of a beautiful last memory?" Philippa leaned over and put her finger to Sam's mouth.

*suck it slowly like you would a - but of course you have never done that - suck it like it tastes delicious.*

*kay* Oddly, the first delicious thing Sam imagined was one of Philippa's breasts. She playfully bit the finger, then closed her eyes and sucked slowly. She let out a soft "mmmm"

"Je suis très désolé, but as you can see, she is hopelessly addicted to me. You shall be provided with another for your pleasure."

Drago's faced darkened, he could feel waves of passion pulsing from the girl to Philippa and was jealous. "Have you marked her? If not, I claim Right of Hospitality."

"She is marked indeed. Show him, my pet."

*Sam, do not think about my next instructions; do them without question.*

*kay*

*Good girl. Sit on your knees, slowly, and spread them wide apart.*

Sam sat up on the red cushion and drew her knees apart.

*Move your dress away so that he can see your vagina*

*My vag-*

*We do not have time for an anatomy lesson. Raise your dress and show him your pussy, NOW, Sam!*

*No, Philippa, I can't do this-*

*Then by Right of Hospitality, he can claim you to feed on, Sam, so unless you want that, please do it.*

Sam did her best to steady her hand as she pulled her dress up. She supposed she should be more uncomfortable with this, but as these parts were on loan and she had not gotten a good look at them, she found she stared down in as much curiosity as embarrassment.

*Sam! Quit ogling yourself! Clasp your arms behind your back, and look into his face. Act timid.*

Sam held her hands behind her back as if tied and looked up. She didn't need to act timid; the foulness she sensed in the bright creature before her scared her to death.

"This is where you've marked her? Hmm."

He reached down. Sam felt a tug on the silver ring.

"Your orchid pendant, Philippa, how sweet." Leaning close to Sam's ear, he whispered, "tonight, after I rip the heart from the chest of your mistress, I will tear this from you and lick the blood that flows. You will scream in delight." As he whispered, he pulled the ring until Sam yelped.

Philippa's hand shot out to grasp Dragos' wrist.

"Release!"

He let the ring go, smiling as he drew away. "My apologies. Your exquisite pet has raised my blood lust. I dearly hope I control myself when I feed on her substitute."

Philippa stood, her face darkened. "No. One. Must. Die."

He shrugged. "Perhaps you or your big red dog will help me maintain my control. Can you? Please try." He turned and walked back to his chair.

"He intends to kill his donor, and he's daring you to stop him in front of all." Conall said, near growling.

"It is certain. I should be able to, but intuition tells me he is hiding some power." Philippa said, looking at Dragos across the room. "Our little voyant senses something."

Sam spat on the floor.

Philippa ran her hand through Sam's hair to calm her. "Though I hate to show our full power early, we must be ready to connect if the need arises. Oh, and Sam, you can cover yourself."

Sam quickly did and then lay back on the cushion, flushing red.

"Do na worry, lass, it's nothing I haven't seen afore, and none so pretty." Conall said with a wink. "To be truthful with you, this Scotsman has nothing on 'neath his kilt either."

Sam laughed. At least that question was finally answered.



8. Saturday 1:00 AM

"Incroyable! Have another, pet."

"Don't want another –glubbb-" Philippa popped a grape from a silver tray of fruit into Sam's mouth, forcing her to chew and swallow. Philippa discovered to her wonder that if Sam was mind connected to her while Sam ate, Philippa tasted it also.

"Mmm, sooo good! How long it has been since I tasted food, kitten."

Conall was devouring a huge raw slab of beef; blood dripped down his red beard. "Do you want to connect to me, lassie? Maybe you can at least taste real food, even if Philippa only feeds you bird fare."

Sam started to answer when her attention wrenched to the center of the room. The main course of the dinner was served; the Blood Herd had arrived.

It was not because she was in a woman's body that her eyes glistened. Sam cried plenty when she was a he, and her heart would have pained in either body at what she saw:

Men, women, humans, thirty or so, driven to the center of the Dining Hall. They were young, lean, their bodies oiled; men dressed in white spandex shorts, and woman in similar tight shorts and white sports bras. They knelt in rows, with their hands behind their backs. Sam sensed their minds were dulled, pleasure buzzed. Chloe and Carol were among them, blissful smiles on their faces. Lambs.

As the guests, the white-clothed vampires moved first among the kneeling men and women, inspecting them.

* Philippa! This is wrong! *

*Not now, Sam, please.* Philippa reached for her face, but Sam moved to avoid her touch. She did not want to be calmed by whatever magic happened when Philippa caressed her.

Philippa tried to reason with her. *You say it is wrong. Fair enough, I was once human too, and when I learned of this reality, I thought it horrible. But Sam, we must eat.*

*They're livestock to you they're-*

*Would it make a difference if I said they want this? That it is purest pleasure? That they benefit?*

*How could being bitten and having your blood drained be a good thing?*

*Hush, Dragos speaks* "Philippa, as the visiting Master, by right I am first to feed, and I have chosen."

"Whom among these do you choose, Master Dragos?"

"These are drugged cows. None shall do."

Philippa furrowed her brow. He was up to something. And where was Radu?

"These donors are all there are. I suggest you reconsider."

"Blood sweetens when the victim's heart beats fast. I want a fresh frightened human; it is one of my guilty pleasures."

"It is this thinking that lost you the Atlanta Seethe. Your feeding excesses brought you to the attention of the human authorities."

"Your Mistress is weak," Dragos spoke to the black dressed vampires. "Since Valentin's death, you have lacked a strong leader. She even turns to dogs for help. In a moment, I will show you how real vampires feed, and your Mistress will be powerless to stop me."

"Philippa, he's not wait'n for the duel, he's making his play now." Conall said. "Barnaby, you best be ready'n your guards and get those humans out of the center of the room."

He moved his head to one side, then another, making popping sounds. Then he started stretching his arms and back.

Barnaby stepped forward. "It goes against all protocol-"

"Do it Barnaby!" Philippa said. "Sam stay close, be ready to connect us."

Radu entered the hall again, followed by several white dressed vampires that were dragging a struggling man. The man wore wing tip shoes, gray suit pants, white shirt and tie. He babbled excitedly in a Scandinavian sounding language.

"Ah! Here is a fresh one. See how terror grips him?" Dragos said. He smiled, showing his fangs. "Radu found him asleep below and knew his absence from the meal was an oversight. I choose this one."

*Philippa! Stop him! It's me! My body!*

"I forbid this, Dragos," Philippa said. "Guards!"

Black and white vampires faced off while bewildered humans stumbled to the side of the dining hall.

"Stop me if you can."

Dragos walked to where Radu and other white vampires held the struggling Marji. Without a word, Dragos tore into Marji's neck with his fangs. Marji screamed as his blood sprayed from his carotid artery.

Sam screamed too, she could feel the pain in her neck. "Philippa! Help him!"

Philippa pressed her will, her force, onto Dragos, pushing to make him release his bite.

Dragos did raise his head, to laugh. "Is that all you can do, Philippa? Pathetic." He bit Marji again. Marji had stopped screaming and his eyes were half closed as in pleasure. Bright red blood flowed freely down his chest. He was dying.

"Sam, connect me to Conall"

Sam's connection was instant, grasping Connall's wild strength, channeling it into Philippa. Philippa filled with his power and slammed it into Dragos. He stumbled backwards, releasing Marji.

"I said, cease, Dragos!"

Dragos howled in surprise and rage. His eyes glowed fire red and his white skin started to peel from his cheeks like strips of paper. Underneath, a scaly blackened skin showed.

"Ah! Of course. This explains his unusually strong power." Barnaby said. "Dragos is demon possessed."

"Demon? Merde! It is impossible!" Philippa said, her eyes widening at the implications.

"Technically it is possible." Barnaby said in a monotone. "You see, before one is turned, if-"

"Kill everyone! Kill them all!" Dragos screamed.

Everything became blurry movement to Sam, as vampire clashed with vampire. She heard a series of bone crunching sounds next to her. Her connection to Conall severed and she turned to see why. In his place stood a huge red and gray-haired wolf, nearly the size of a horse. Its jaws opened, showing massive and sharp white canines. Conall's gave a howl that echoed through the underground caverns of the mansion; he sprang to attack Dragos, going straight for the throat. A group of white vampires moved between Conall and his target.

Bad mistake.



9. Saturday 1:12 AM

An equal-time word on werewolves: no, it is not true that when a werewolf transforms from human to wolf, he becomes a raging mindless eating machine. Werewolves retain a high level of intelligence; they are cunning and calculating.

The eating machine part is right, though. They start killing and eating anything around them; their minds move from target to target, analyzing the most efficient way to strike a killing blow or bite, acting, moving to the next target. Once there were no more targets, then the eating begins.

Also, pop fiction seems to give a preternatural 'coolness' edge to vampires, with their nonhuman strength, powerful wills and hypnotic vision. In a down and dirty fight, against a killing machine that is all muscle, claws and teeth, hypnosis is not much of a defense.

Conall ripped through two vampires before they knew what was happening, swiping the head off one with one blow, and ripping the neck out of the other. Vampires three and four were dispatched just as quickly. Black vampire blood covered the floor.

Dragos and Philippa moved away from the growing carnage to lock into a contest of power. Philippa was a potent young vampiress, whose power, if given time would grow vastly and win her of a chair on the High Council. But she was no match for a demon-powered vampire.

Dragos cornered her and battered her shields. She poured all the energy she had into those shields and they held for the moment, but without Conall's power they would fall. Dragos intended to make good on his promise to rip her heart from her chest.

"Barnaby!" Sam yelled, "I can't channel Conall's power! He's using it all himself!"

Barnaby had been trying to get the Blood Herd safely out of the room, and was mostly successful; only Chloe and a few others were still trapped in the killing. He ran to the platform where Sam still stood and pulled a red stone from his waistcoat pocket, the pulsing crystal he'd used to active the Pharaoh Stones.

"Mademoiselle Albert, this stone holds power that the Mistress can use. Connect with it as you did with Conall."

Sam nodded her head and was starting to close her eyes, when Barnaby gently took one of her hands. For the first time in his long service, he addressed someone informally.

"Sam, my dear child, the bloodstone holds the essence of demon power. You will feel pain such as you've never experienced. I am sorry to make you do this, little one."

Sam smiled weakly, and, on impulse, gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. She closed her eyes and saw the golden stream reaching and touching the pulsing stone. Every cell in her body burned and she let out a long squeal of pain. She did not break the link; she opened and let it flow to Philippa.

Philippa screamed in power-rushed joy as it filled her. She whirled, using her strengthened shield as an invisible fist, pounding into Dragos. He fly backwards in the air, smashing hard against a wall.

The demon in Dragos felt the energy that hit him, knew it as kin to his own, only more powerful. He looked at Philippa, and saw an energy line flowing from Sam into her.

"Radu!" he croaked, "the girl, she gives the power, kill her!"

When the battle started, Radu removed himself to lurk in the shadows, having no stomach for a fight with the huge werewolf dealing final death to so many of the white vampires. Few of which remained.

The girl looked helpless enough; she had fallen to her knees and her body writhed in pain. Though Barnaby stood next to her, he was certain he could kill him. How to get there without being eaten by the wolf? Ah! A shield!

Radu grabbed a nearby human, a red-headed woman, and held her in front of him. She screamed.

The wolf heard the sound and analyzed an attack, tear the first one's neck, hack the body away, slash the head of the second. He acted one, two, three. Radu's head bounced across the floor.

The wolf glanced to confirm his results, when something registered in his head. The first one, laying on the ground and bleeding, something about her, a memory...

Across the room, Philippa pressed against Dragos, his demon twisting within in agony at the pain she inflicted.

*Sam, ask Barnaby how I kill the demon.*

Sam could barely whisper the question through her searing pain.

"A demon cannot be killed ...but the host can." Barnaby answered. "If that happens, the demon must return to its realm. Tell her she must remove his heart."

Through the pain haze Sam sent the message *The heart! The heart!*

With a yell, Philippa drove her hand into his chest, and pulled the heart out, blood dripping from it down her arm. She threw it down on the floor and backed away.

Dragos did not die, but attacked again, pushing Philippa back.

"The demon won't let Dragos die." Barnaby said, "he keeps the heart alive even though it is plucked from the body."

Sam let go of the red stone. She held her palm out, open.

"Sam, what are you doing? Without the power, he will kill Philippa."

A golden ball of energy formed in her palm, growing sun bright in the candle lit room.

The fighting stopped for an instant as Dragos, Philippa, and the other vampires shielded their eyes. It pained them to look on it.

Sam threw the energy ball across the room to where Dragos' beating heart lay; hitting it with an explosion of golden sparks. When the brightness receded, nothing remained but dust.

Dragos' body fell to the ground, still; the demon banished back to Hell.

"Heh. At least I don't throw like a girl."

Sam saw Philippa fall to her knees. Too tired to run or even walk, she pulled herself across the floor.

"Philippa, are you hurt? What's-"

"I am overspent, pet. I have used all my energy." Philippa's body started to shake. "I fear I shall not survive..."

"If you ...feed from me ...will you live?" Sam was too weary to feel fear at what she was proposing.

"I could not ask you-"

Sam tilted her neck and placed it before Philippa's mouth.

"Sam, do not do this," Philippa whispered, delirious. "I am too hungry; I can not control my feeding. I could kill you."

Sam thought about that for a second. Did it scare her? Did she care? Her old body lay bloody and still on the floor, vampire body parts and bloody bones strewn everywhere. Sam didn't want anyone else to die, especially not Philippa. She could help her...

Sam forced Philippa's mouth down to her neck. Philippa felt the blood flowing underneath the tiny layer of skin, so warm.

She bit, and Sam shuddered as an orgasmic pleasure ran through her body. She understood why humans offered themselves as food. 'Mmmm. If you gotta go, this is a hell of a good way to do it.'

Philippa drank long; she could not stop; her hunger was great and Sam tasted so good. When at last she was sated, and her conscious thought returned, she saw she held Sam in her arms, limp, lifeless.

"Sam ...Sam wake up!"

In panic, she looked for help, to see Conall carrying Chloe in his arms, blood covered and broken. His eyes were wet with grief.

"I hope you're happy, Philippa, for you've killed the lassie for sure, and I have murdered my darling Rosette. I warned you naught but sorrow would come of this!"



10. Five days later, Thursday 2:00 PM

She didn't die. Except for heavy blood loss, the doctors could find nothing wrong with her. No head injury, no brain trauma. Frankly, they had no idea why she lapsed into a coma.

The information they lacked was the coma was induced by a transplanted soul going through the mystical process of connecting to a new body.

Sam woke to the sound of crying.

"H-hello? Is... is something wrong?" Her voice was raspy.

"Marji?" Chloe asked. She was in the hospital bed next to Sam. Philippa pulled some strings so they could share a room.

Sam took inventory. She was still in the body of a woman, an IV hooked into her arm, and a urinary catheter was in her vagina. She gave a long sigh.

"Yeah, I guess that would be me."

"I, uh, know you're not really Marji ...Conall told me the whole story during one of his visits ...but I didn't know what name to call you."

"Pleased to meet you, Chloe, I'm Sam."

"Sam?" Chloe asked. She laughed, then felt bad for it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make fun of you. I just can't believe you used to be a ...I mean, you don't look much like a Sam."

"Chloe, it's okay." Sam said. "I figure you either laugh about this or break down crying."

"I've been doing that the whole time you've been unconscious."

"Unconscious? How long have I been out?"

Sam heard a rustling of covers, then feet on the floor. Chloe's red head and freckled face flashed into view. She pulled up a chair. "Five days. I wanted to talk with you so much, but you were gone, catatonic."

"Five days?" Wow. So it was ...Thursday? "Chloe, what's wrong? Why are you here? Are you okay?"

"I am one hundred percent A-okay. I had my throat ripped out by a werewolf, and my spine was crushed, but I'm completely recovered. I get released in a few hours."

"That's great, I mean -" Sam stopped when she saw Chloe biting her lip, trying to hold in another fit of tears. "Chloe?"

"What it means is, I'm a werewolf now. That's the only way I could live through those injuries, and heal so fast too. The doctors don't know any of this magic stuff, of course, and they keep calling me a medical miracle. But Conall told me... he said I would change into wolf form during the full moon, or anytime I wanted once I mastered my..."

Chloe couldn't hold the tears any longer. "I was so stupid to want this magical shit...I'm unique all right; I'm going to turn into a monster that rips flesh from animals and people to eat. Sam, what am I going to do?"

Sam sat up. She'd already taken the catheter out, and only had to maneuver around the IV. She took Chloe's hand and squeezed it.

"Chloe, hey, come on ...it's okay ..."

Chloe blinked through her tears. "This is funny, I ...I should be comforting you, not the other way around. I mean, you're the one trapped in the body of a woman and whose old body has been turned into a vamp."

Sam grew quiet. "My ...my body died, Chloe, I saw it." She shuddered at the memory of Dragos sucking the blood from her old body. Nobody should have to watch their own death.

"What do you mean, turned into a vampire?"

"Marji was barely alive, but to save him, Barnaby turned him." She wasn't sure how to read the look on Sam's face. "I'm sorry, Sam, it was the only way to-"

Sam let go of Chloe's hand. Blood started pounding in her head. She drew her knees up close to her body and hugged them. Gone. Everything. When it was happening, it had been an adrenaline charged adventure. With the adventure over, it was time to look at what she'd been left with; her old life was destroyed, her old body was a night creature. She started rocking back and forth.

Chloe scooched next to Sam on the bed and put her arms around her. She nuzzled her head against Sam's. Sam hugged Chloe, and it helped; it felt good. They were silent, simply holding each other.

As she thought about it, touching anyone in this body had felt good. "Why does ..."

Sam stopped, trying to figure out what she wanted to ask. She'd been on the brink of a major meltdown, and one touch from Chloe had brought her back. She remembered that any touch from Philippa had sent shivers down her spine.

"Chloe, um, don't freak out by what I'm about to say..."

"Just say it, Sam. After you learn you are going to turn into werewolf, there's not much that can freak you out."

"Oh, yeah, I bet..." Sam said, laughing. "Okay, when you touched me, it felt good."

"Well, I wanted to help-"

"No, I mean GOOD. Tingly. I..." Sam turned a little red, and continued in a soft voice. "Did you feel ...something?"

Chloe smiled. "Yes I did, I wanted to kiss you, and I'm not into girls." She held her hand up to stop Sam's next question. "...I do know why. Conall explained it to me."

"Sounds like you and the jolly red giant chatted quite a bit."

"Yeah, he's been here every day, falling all over himself to be nice. He feels so bad about attacking me. He's not here now cause he's opening up an old guest house on Philippa's property to live in. He wants to help me through the transition, and he wants me to move in during the next full moon."

Sam smiled. She'd only known Conall for a few hours, but she'd read his soul, and liked him a lot. She was happy he'd be around. "Sounds like he's sweet on you."

"You think so? I was getting that feeling too..."

Sam had only been joking. "Oh yeah? What makes you think that?"

"Okay," Chloe moved a little apart from Sam but held her hands and looked into her eyes. "Every so often, he accidentally slips and calls me 'Rosette,' and gets this weepy puppy-eyed look. "

"It's because you look so much like her." Sam said softly.

"Funny thing is, he seems so, familiar, you know? It's like we have this instant connection- hey! You know something about Rosette?"

"Only that she was the love of his eight century life."

"Oh." Chloe tried to process that. "She's dead then?"

"Some two hundred and fifty years ago, I think." Sam recalled Rosette's image, and compared it to Chloe. "You're pretty much her identical twin."

Chloe was silent for a moment, then sighed. "God, this can't get any weirder!"

She shook her head. "Anyway, we got sidetracked. Away from my creepy problems and back to your creepy problems. Conall said anyone you touched will be ... um, excited? or ...aroused, because what made Marji's body so good at connecting to people and the telepathy stuff was that she was a ... I mean, you're a ..."

"I'm a what?"

"You're a succubus, Sam. Conall says Marji was descended from an ancient Scandinavian line of them. The power was dormant in her, but the energy in your soul woke it up and-"

"A succubus? That's a female sex monster, or something, isn't it?" Sam had no idea what to say or think about this news, except that Chloe was wrong; it just got a whole lot weirder. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Chloe slowly shook her head 'no.' "Welcome to the magic club. We'll make a great team, you can go to bars and pick up men, and then I'll eat um."

"I'm supposed to have sex with men?" Sam whispered. "Chloe, I can't do that-"

"I kinda asked Conall about how the whole succubus thing worked," Chloe said, turning a shade redder than her hair. "It sounded so kinky..."

"Kinky? This is horrible!"

"Wait! It's not that bad. It doesn't have to be men. Conall said your, um, sexual effect, the pleasure you give and feel through your touch, is keyed off your attraction to someone, anyone you like, man or woman. The more you like them, the greater the pleasure you'll each feel."

"Seriously? Because every time Philippa and I touch, it's like lightening. What does that mean?"

Chloe rolled her green eyes. "You really are a guy in there, aren't you?"



11. Thursday 6:00 PM The doctors were as baffled by Sam's recovery as they were by her coma. Sam knew she frustrated them by her inability to give her medical history; the paper work was going to be a nightmare. They decided to release her tomorrow, after a last night of observation.

Conall checked Chloe out of the hospital around five. He gave Sam a big bear hug, (or wolf hug), when he came to their room and found her awake.

Since there was no local werewolf pack, Conall decided to gather what strays there were and form one. They would be based out of the guesthouse on Philippa's estate. He said he'd even make Sam an honorary member of the pack. He admitted having a mind reading voyant handy might make the pecking order fights that went along with a new pack a little easier to manage.

Sam told him she'd think about it. Her words were empty; her mind was so numb she couldn't think past the next five minutes. With Chloe and Conall leaving, she was depressed and lonely.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sam, don't worry. We are going to be spending a lot of time together." Chloe said, and gave her a long hug and a kiss.

"I've seen many an interesting twist in people's lives over the years," the big giant said before they left, "and believe it or not, yours is not the strangest, lassie."

That was something, though it boggled Sam's mind to think of changes stranger than hers.

She must have dozed off, because when Sam awoke, Philippa was sitting by her bed. The sun had set on the horizon.

Philippa wore a white silk blouse, a black pinstriped double-breasted pantsuit, and black pump shoes. Her black hair fell in wavy curls off her shoulders; her wet red lips slowly parted in a smile when she saw Sam was awake.

"Hello, kitten."

Sam scooted up her in bed, pulling her blonde hair behind her head. It was suddenly awkward; Sam ached to touch Philippa, but was angry, for all her loss.

"I'm ...glad you are well, Philippa Chéron."

Philippa arched a thin black eye-brow. "How formal we are, Samuel Albert. Only five nights since you were my pet, yet that is already a long time ago, it seems."

Sam shrugged. "I suppose switching me back to my old body is not an option?"

"You would be a vampire if we could, but Barnaby says it is not possible. Your new body and soul have merged too solidly."

Sam gave a weary shrug; her new inner power (or was it intuition?) had already told her this was true.

"How is Marji?"

"He has risen as a vampire. He is coping. He will soon leave for a Seethe in Scandinavia, where he will not have language and cultural barriers to deal with, as he adjusts to his change."

Philippa sat down in the chair next to Sam's bed, crossing her legs. "He and Barnaby went to your office and residence to put matters in order, to return phone calls, and to be seen, so that the world would not think you murdered. Did you know you have a ghost haunting your office?"

"Beasley! So Mrs. Beasley is competent! That's great news-" Sam's mouth stopped working. That part of her life was over, dead. She looked away from Philippa. When she spoke again, the formality had returned to her voice.

"Your duel was concluded successfully I hope? You will continue to make your followers feed only on the willing, yes? The utter destruction of my life was not totally in vain?"

"Yes, Dragos is gone and the threat to my Seethe is over. We lost few to final death, thanks to you and Conall. I will continue to enforce the feeding rule." She stood and moved close to Sam.

"Don't touch me! I'm a freak, thanks to you." She could barely spit the words out.

Philippa's voice was soft, musical. "Sam, do not speak so. We have shared minds; you made me drink of you even to your death. There are no barriers between us."

Philippa gently touched her hand on Sam's face. Sam stiffened a moment, trying to resist the desire that rose in her. With a half moan she took Philippa's hand, held it to her face, whispering "why ...why ...why"

"Who can explain such things? I can not, I who have lived for so many years..." Philippa's eyes, normally so dark, looked luminous. Yet I do know you are meant to be mine." "Are you ...proposing to me?" Sam kissed her hand, and smiled. "How would that work if we're the same sex ...but not the same species? Maybe we could go to Massachusetts, or-"

"Vampires do not marry, Sam."

"But you love me right? That's what we're talking about?"

"Vampires do not love. I do not love you, Sam" Philippa said, looking away.

It was hard, but Sam let go of Philippa's smooth white hand. "Then what are you saying? Cause I sure as hell want you, my body screams for you!"

"Yes, I see. It is because Marji was-"

"A succubus, yes, I've heard about this. God forbid you trap me in the body of a normal woman. No, you drop me into the body of a blonde mind-reading sex monster. You wouldn't believe what I caught the doctor thinking earlier."

"It was never my plan to switch you so, but-"

"It happened. Fine." Sam had been slumping; she straightened and tried to smooth her hospital gown. "I don't think the ...the desire ...I have for you is because of my new and weird magical powers. They only magnify what I ...what we ...feel."

"I'm not sure where you are going with-"

"Where I am going is this," Sam jumped from the bed and stood in front of Philippa. "Somehow, insane as it may be, despite everything that's happened, I care for you. I think you care for me, too."

Philippa stepped back from Sam. "I have told you, I do not feel that way for you."

"I've lost everything, and almost died to save you, and you feel nothing?"

"Not for you. Not for anyone. It is weakness. Do you hear me?" Philippa's voice hardened. "I cannot feel for anyone."

Sam tried to look into Philippa's dark eyes, but Philippa would not meet her gaze. On impulse, she mind-connected.

*I don't believe you.*

Philippa pushed Sam away and went to the window to stare at the deepening dark. "Then you are a fool."

*I've looked deep in you, seen memories of who you were, your family-*

Philippa was a blur of movement that Sam did not see; she grabbed Sam by her throat.

*Out of my mind*

She let go and Sam fell away. Frightened, Sam backed away from the dark woman, to a corner of the hospital room.

"You feel nothing? Nothing? " She looked down, fighting back tears, losing the battle.

"Okay..." Sam's voice was soft as she tried to see into the uncertain future. "Okay. This is not a bad body; young, healthy. I'll start over, as a woman ...how many people get to do that? I've no idea what that means, but half the planet seems to do all right, so I'll manage."

Looking back at Philippa, Sam still felt the urge to run to her. She sagged against the wall and hugged herself, as if to hold herself back.

"Go away. Never see me again. You owe me that."

Philippa's stomach churned. Why had Sam's words stirred old emotions, emotions she thought dead and gone. Why did the thought of never seeing Sam again cause her panic?

She stepped closer to Sam. "It is not so simple, kitten. Word of the demon's defeat has spread among my people. Such happens but rarely, and only by our most powerful masters. The secret is out that I used a voyant. The High Council wants to see you."

"I'll go far away. No one will find me-"

Philippa stepped closer to Sam. "Other masters will hunt you, to use you, to bind you to them."

"Bind me?"

"Humans are such temporary things. We find one that amuse us...like you ...but you are like a wildflower's bloom, your life is gone so quickly. Yet if we turn you, your fragile beauty will be also lost and you will become soulless like us. Like me."

Philippa stood in front of Sam, trapping her in the corner.

"So, over time, master vampires found a way to soul-bind humans." Philippa put her arms on either side of Sam's body.

"The ritual joins the life and soul of the human to the vampire; the human does not age, and lives as long its master."

Sam paled. To be bound so, to lose free will, the thought terrified her. "Such a thing can't happen ... God won't allow it..."

"I won't allow it," Philippa whispered. She pushed against Sam, licking her tongue where she had bitten her before, feeling the shiver of Sam's body. "They will not have you, for I will bind you to me."

"No!" Sam called on the golden energy that sparkled in her soul. She opened her palms to release the light. If it had destroyed Dragos' heart, it might hurt Philippa too. Did she want that?

No.

Instead, she pushed her sight deep into Philippa's psyche, the golden energy crashing through all the shields Philippa had built over the centuries. Side-stepping Philippa's consciousness, Sam mind-connected to the center of Philippa's being. What she only glimpsed the night of the duel, this time she saw in full.

Sam blinked, looking up at Philippa. "The woman in the picture... in your Drawing Room... the woman standing before the dark forest with black orchids at her feet."

A look of confusion crossed Philippa's face and she drew back slightly. She sensed Sam had just done something, and now she asked this strange non sequitur.

"It is the forest of Brocéliande, in Bretagne. Even today, parts of it are dangerous."

"It's you isn't it? You are the figure in the painting."

Philippa was silent, why was Sam asking this?

Sam continued, "when I first saw it, I thought the woman was meant to look intimidating. But now, I think, she is lonely..."

Philippa grabbed Sam hard, to point of pain. "You are wrong..."

Sam was limp in her arms; her eyes glistened with tears. Trembling, she whispered:

"So lonely. So alone. I can help you."

"Help me?" With a hard laugh, Philippa swept Sam into her arms. "You can not even help yourself."

"I love you, Philippa."

"Then you are weak." She turned Sam's head roughly to meet her dark gaze. "I will bind you to me, Samuel Albert. I will bend your will to mine; nothing can stop it."

Sam's trembling stopped. She wrapped her arms around Philippa, buried her head in Philippa's chest, and surrendered.



12. 51 weeks and one day later, 8:00 PM

She fought to remain statue still. The slightest tremble would bring swift pain. It had happened so many times before.

'i am nothing. head down. don't think. obey. i am nothing. obey or be punished. i am nothing.

She heard the hard clack of high heels pumps walking around her, eyes examining her. A woman's hand moved her head one way, then back the other.

Philippa regarded the kneeling blonde headed woman, dressed in tight fitting black leather bustier, tight black leather miniskirt, and leather thigh-high boots. A leash hooked to a leather collar, and a goateed man in a black Italian suit held the leash.

Beside the man stood the vampire Giraud, already dressed in his formal black for the dinner later tonight.

"She is pretty." Philippa said to him. "And you have trained her, Monsieur Erikson?"

"I have broken and trained the slave, yes, Ms. Chéron," Erikson said in a bored tone.

A sound at the Drawing Room doorway made them turn. A young woman stood framed, petite, but curvy, with long curly ringlets of golden hair. Her face was sun-kissed fresh, with soft makeup and lipstick.

She wore a turquoise sweetheart tee-shirt that showed shoulders and cleavage, and an ankle-length skirt of Mayan prints, splashed with reds, soft greens, purples, and blues. Peruvian turquoise earrings hung from her earlobes, gypsy bangles from her right wrist and on her feet were flat, burnt-gold Grecian sandals.

In the soft candlelight of the mansion, Sam glowed.

Philippa tried to pinpoint why. Was it physical fitness? She was most fit; rather than working out with the Blood Herd in the exercise room, Sam often ran in the forest with Conall, Chloe, and the other werewolves of Conall's new pack. They ran most every day, even during the full moon when the pack was in wolf form. Philippa grinned; Sam had become a woman who ran with the wolves.

Or did she glow because of the esoteric Tibetan exercises Barnaby taught her? He was been mortified to learn Sam's previous practice consisted solely of Rodney Yee Yoga DVDs. Under Barnaby's training, Sam's golden voyant power grew exponentially.

Was it due to her twice-weekly trips to the city to serve in the soup kitchen or other (and frequent) acts of charity? Or did she glow for a far simpler reason?

Sam walked to Philippa, with Erikson and Girard staring at her. Drooling would be a better describer.

"Maîtresse, bonsoir-"

"English, pet." Philippa said, smiling. More and more, they spoke and mind-connected in French, and Sam was starting to think in French.

She blinked, made the shift. "Pardon. Good evening, Mistress." She knelt before Philippa with lowered head. She was only this formal with guests, and at ceremonial vampire dinners and balls. It was a bit of a game between them.

Philippa bent over and kissed the top of her head. She craved her touch and wanted to run her hands through Sam's hair, but they had guests.

"You smell of forest and wolf, kitten," Philippa whispered.

*Forest only.* Sam connected to Philippa *The loup-garou could not catch me today. Do you like my outfit?*

*I am confused. Were you trying to achieve a gypsy peasant or Mayan princess look?*

*I...* Sam frowned. *You don't like it. I tried so hard to-*

*Kitten, it looks beautiful on you. It is just ...let us talk later about different choices you could have made. Less can be more. Now, stay connected to me.*

"Properly greet our guests, pet," Philippa said. *Sweep them,* she added in thought.

Philippa already knew exactly what she was going to do with Erikson. This was, however, a chance for Sam to practice social skills they'd been working on.

They traveled to Châteaux St. Jean De La Porte, in the Alps, next month; the High Council's first taste of Sam. Philippa wanted her to be presentable, and she wanted certain Council members to be ...jealous. Philippa observed as Sam went first to Erikson. "Good evening Monsieur," she said, curtsying. Dainty, graceful, natural. Bon, that had taken Sam a week of practice.

She watched amused as Erikson tried to figure out how to respond, eventually doing nothing. 'Americans!' At least Sam had kissed her hand when they met.

Next, Sam went to Girard. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Girard." She curtsied again.

Girard took her hand and kissed it. Sam blushed slightly. 'Magnifique! Born women could do no better,' Philippa thought with pride.

"Bonsoir, Minou," Gerard said in a rich vampire baritone. Minou was what the Seethe called Sam. It meant kitten or pussycat. Only the few who knew Sam's secret history used her real name, and then only in private.

Last, Sam knelt in front of the leather-clad woman. She gently stroked her face. "Welcome friend," she said in her soft voice. Philippa's throat grew tight – some things cannot be taught. That was pure Sam.

The young woman did not respond, but the tension drained from her. Smiling, Sam rose and walked back to Philippa. In a dance like move, she lowered to the ground at Philippa's feet. Sam's skirt splayed evenly around her, and her legs and feet pointed almost ballet fashion. She cast her head down and her curly hair lay draped over her face. Actually, a ballet teacher had taught the entire movement to Sam. Philippa knew it was over the top, but Sam performed it so well.

*Tell me.*

*Sarah Jameson. Twenty-two, unemployed journalist graduate, started dating shit head six months ago. He's taken control of her life; shredded her self esteem, physically and mentally abused her.*

*Him?*

*Conrad Erikson. Dickhead! Thirty-five, inherited wealth, think's he's player. Thinks he's going to be turned into a vampire, to rule the Seethe because of his superior dominance. Doesn't respect you, wants to fuck me, and, oh yes, has a Glock hidden behind his back, loaded with silver tipped bullets.*

*Did Girard know he was armed?*

*No. But Girard did tell him about vampires and the Seethe. He wanted money so he sold the secret to Erikson. Ten thousand dollars. Stupid! But he's only a baby vamp, right? Just fifty?*

*He did not know you scanned him?*

*Nope.*

*Then he is stupid and weak.*

*Hey! Credit please? I'm getting pretty good. For my exercises last night, I even moved a boulder with my mind.*

Phillipa patted Sam on the head. "Of course you are. Also remember, pet, modesty is a virtue for a young woman. I will conclude this; please let Barnaby know it is time to send the escorts"

Sam rose from the floor. *Done.*

Philippa smiled; Sam was indeed becoming powerful. Philippa walked close to Erikson.

"So, Monsieur. Where were we? Ah, yes. You wish to donate Mademoiselle Jameson to my Blood Herd in exchange for us ...turning you?"

"I never told you her na- ...how did you..." He shot a look to Girard.

"I said nothing. The Mistress simply knows these things." Erikson felt a slight breeze behind him and turned from Girard to see Philippa's pet taking something she'd been handed by Philippa to a nearby desk.

"Uh ...fine, then. Yes. That is what I want, the girl's life in exchange-."

"But she is not yours to give, Monsieur."

Erikson started to sweat in his expensive Italian suit; this was not going as expected. "I own her. She is my slave, just as that one," he pointed to Sam, "is yours."

Philippa's eyes grew pitch black. She showed her fangs. "I only see one slave in the room, a blood slave." She drew close to Erikson's neck. "You."

Erikson reached behind his back for his gun, and found nothing there. "Wait, stop..."

"Missing something? Your gun perhaps? For your information, Monsieur, silver hurts werewolves not vampires," Philippa whispered, her mouth close to Erikson's throat.

Erikson found it hard to think. "No! You can't. I'll be missed-"

"They always say that, and they never are. We have been doing this for some time, you know."

Philippa bit, and Erikson let out a gasp of pain and pleasure. He slowly went down onto his knees, Philippa following him down, drinking. His eyes dulled.

Philippa threw back her head, licking the blood from her lips. "You will obey, yes?"

"Yesss."

Whack! She slapped him more for effect than pain. If she'd wanted, she could have snapped his neck. "Yes what?"

His head throbbed. "Yes mistress."

Philippa drew up. "Stay. Do not move. If you utter a word, I shall rip your throat out."

He stayed.

Girard lowered himself on one knee in front of Philippa and exposed his neck as a sign of submission. Philippa was within her rights to kill him if she thought he plotted with Erikson.

"Mistress I did not know he had a weapon!"

"I know this, Girard, but revealing our Seethe to such as he? What were you thinking? And for ten thousand dollars?" Perhaps she should kill him, for his sheer stupidity. She shook her head; he was, as Sam said, a baby vampire. "Go below and wait in the coffin chambers. I will mete punishment later. Out of my sight."

Girard, fled the room with fear in his eyes just as Barnaby and several guards entered.

Sam moved to where Sarah knelt on the floor. She was trembling again. "He said all this was fake...kink...," she whispered, "but this is real, isn't it?"

"Sarah, it's okay, you're with friends." Sam hugged the woman. "Philippa?"

Philippa knelt beside Sarah and Sam.

"Please ...don't...take me like that..." Sarah whispered.

"But it won't be like that, love, not for you." She took the woman's wrist, stroking it gently before she bit.

"Ooo that feels ...wonderful." A half smile covered Sarah's face; she was entranced, lost in the pleasure buzz.

*Minou? Stable recommendations for him?*

*He should go to Nadine's, of course. She will show him what domination means.* Sam had spent time serving in each of the four Blood Herd stables. She figured she needed to know what humans of the herd experienced. Parts of her body still twinge in memory pain from her week with Nadine.

*For her ... Jean-Louis' stable,* Sam continued.

*What? We are not to let her go?* Philippa answered in mock surprise. She knew Sam had taken on yet another project.

*She has nothing; he has taken all from her. She's broken. Jean-Louis is so gentle and sensual. He will make her feel wanted, beautiful again. She can mend here, body and soul. And the money will help her too. Please, Philippa, she needs this.*

"Barnaby, this one is to go to Jean-Louis, and tell him to dress her as a spring maiden. Have her skin oiled and body covered with flowers." She looked then at Erikson.

"And take that ...thing ...to Nadine. Since he enjoys leather, make sure she clothes him so. Also, tell her he is to be on tonight's menu. The Seethe loves fresh blood."

Barnaby remained after the guards led the two entranced humans away. "Minou, I have arranged Mistress' private study as you specified."

Philippa raised a black eyebrow. "Kitty? What mischief are you planning in my study?"

Sam grabbed Philippa's hand but didn't answer her. "And the other things? Are they ready?"

"Nearly. I will bring them soon."

"Thanks a bunch, Barnaby." She started to pull Philippa to the door, but stopped. "Oh, Barnaby, Chloe will be here soon with some other stuff. Would you –"

"Most assuredly, I will direct her to you so that the 'stuff' may be delivered without delay."

Sam grinned. "C'mon Philippa," dragging her again.

"Little pussy, what have you planned? We have a formal dinner tonight, so we can not-"

"Oh, that's hours away," Sam said as they walked down the candle lit hallway.

"So you levitated a boulder, kitten? Impressive." Philippa said, as they turned a hallway corner. That power represented new possibilities. Perhaps they should hide it, since the Council already felt threatened.

"Well, more like a rock than a boulder, I ...hey! No shoptalk! Not today! Do you know what day it is?"

"Yes, Dies Veneris xxviii September MMVII."

"What?" Sam stopped pulling Philippa a moment to think about that. God, vampires were annoying sometimes. "No it's September 28."

"That is what I sa-"

"One year ago tonight? Remember what it was?"

"Yes, Dies Iovis-"

"Stop it. It's the one year anniversary of when we met. Jeez, and they say guys are not good with dates."

"Minou, you are most definitely not a-"

"I know, I know ...shush, we're here." Sam led Philippa into the study where Philippa kept her desk, books and personal papers.

A hunter green couch had been brought into the center of the room. A sixty-five inch flat screen TV was set up in front of the couch, and at the base of the TV were three large crystal vases filled with water, and a spray bottle.

"For our anniversary you bought me an enormous green couch and a television large enough to see up the noses of the actors? How thoughtful."

"Sit, and don't say another word." Sam pushed Philippa onto the couch and went to the TV to turn it on.

"Crap. It needs to be programmed or something. Do you know how to-"

Philippa arched an eyebrow.

"No, sorry. What was I thinking?" Sam knelt with her back to Philippa as she pushed buttons on the remote to turn on the DVD.

On a thought, Philippa pushed Sam's skirt away with the pointed tip of her black pump, revealing a turquoise silk thong, and a petite black orchid tattoo on a cheek. Philippa started rubbing Sam's crotch with the tip of her shoe. She worked it so the clit ring rubbed against Sam's clit.

"Minou, cute as they are on you, make sure you are not wearing panties at dinner tonight."

Sam didn't look back; she still struggled to decipher the workings of the remote, made that much harder by the sensations she was feeling.

"Underwear. It's underwear, not panties."

Philippa smiled. They'd had this debate many times. She kept rubbing. "Whatever you call them, make sure you lack them later, hmm, pet?"

"Um ...you know...this ...uh ...would be easier ...if ...ummm ...you wouldn't..." Sam stammered in a breathy voice. She blinked. "Wait! It works!"

Sam ungracefully ker-plopped onto to the couch next to Philippa. She clicked on the screen. After a moment, it showed black.

Philippa started to say something, but Sam put a finger to her lips. "Patience." Sam heard a noise at the study door; Chloe's curly red head peeped in.

"Don't move," Sam said to Philippa, and sprang to greet Chloe at the study door.

"L'avez-vous?" she whispered.

"Luv you, too, Sam."

Sam blinked. Dammit! Somewhere in her conversation with Philippa they'd switched to French and she hadn't realized it.

"Sorry. Do you have it?

Chloe handed Sam a sack full of wildflowers. "Here you go, girlfriend, pink asters, blue sage, and golden coreopsis."

"Wow! These are fantastic! I didn't think there'd be wildflowers blooming in the forest this late in September."

"You just have to know where to look, or smell. My sense of smell has increased a zillion times since I became a lycanthrop. Hope this works. Got to get ready for the dinner tonight."

"You'll be there too?" Sam's voice was excited; she and Chloe had become best friends over the past year, each leaning heavily on the other.

"Yeah, Conall said he didn't want to miss the look on your face when..."

"When what?"

"Oops! Can't say ...said too much already. After the dinner, Conall and I will have a one-year celebration of our own. Doggie style. Shame you couldn't mind connect to us sometime when we're doing that!" Chloe winked at her.

Sam's mouth opened, but she couldn't think of thing to say to that. Chloe took advantage of Sam's open lips, though, leaning into her for a long kiss. Sam responded with an "mmm," wrapping her arms and a leg around Chloe.

Sam had come to terms with the fact that being a succubus meant everyone's reaction to her was tactile, sensual and potentially sexual. Several Seethe members of both sexes had even become addicted to her. It had been an interesting year.

"Mmm, see you tonight," Chloe said, reluctantly breaking away. She blew Sam a kiss as she disappeared down the hallway.

'So, Philippa's got something planned for me at the dinner? Maybe she remembered after all.' Sam thought, smiling. It faded quickly: 'Whatever she's planned will happen in front of the Seethe? And no underwear? Oh. Crap.' When Sam returned to Philippa, the screen had turned from black to pre- dawn gray. There was enough light to see the film was a view out a window, into a dark meadow.

Sam filled the crystal vases with the wildflowers, then misted the flowers with the water bottle to give them a dewy look.

"This film has been absolutely riveting, pet."

"Stop it, Philippa, and just watch the-"

"Minou, here it is." Barnaby had arrived; he handed a covered silver tray to Sam.

"Thanks Barnaby, I really owe you-"

"Please, for the thousandth time, stop feeling guilty every time I serve you. It is my pleasure to do so, little one. Report all to me later, and good luck." Barnaby said, as he closed the study door. Sam wasn't sure, but did Barnaby just wink? Signs of the apocalypse.

Sam lifted the lid to the tray, to display a stack of golden brown buckwheat crepes, dusted with frosted sugar.

"Those are galettes!" Philippa said.

"Yes they are." Then Sam connected to Philippa's mind. *Now feed me some.*

Philippa laughed, and held a crepe to Sam's mouth. Sam and Philippa tasted them as Sam chewed.

"Ooo, that tastes ...wonderful, much like the crepes I had when I was young." Philippa said.

"Hope so, Barnaby said the recipe is from St. Malo, in Bretagne."

Philippa held the galette up again to give Sam another bite. "Too good!" she said, as she tasted it again through the mind connection.

She added in a wistful tone, "I grew up on a farm near there, near St. Malo."

"I know."

The television showed the view to be from a kitchen window in a stone cottage. Outside it, the sun was rising, its rosy light falling on a dew-covered meadow.

"Sam ...this place ...what I am looking at ...where is it?"

"I had this filmed at a cottage, just outside St Malo."

Galettes, wildflowers, sunrise. Philippa dark eyes met Sam's bright blues. She started trembling.

Sam gently guided Philippa's head so it rested on Sam's bosom. Sam held her, as a mother holds her child, gently rocking, stroking her silky black hair.

Philippa's throat tightened; her words were rushed. "I miss them, Sam, I miss Mama and Papa and my little brother. They are gone and I am left here forever. I miss life Sam, I miss..."

"They are not gone. They are here." Sam put her hand on Philippa's heart. "Let me show you."

Vampires cannot weep, but Sam could. She took Philippa's endless loneliness into her soul; letting the despair and loss roll through her. Her vision blurred with salty wetness, flowing down her face, falling into Philippa's eyes. Then Sam mind connected.

Philippa shuddered as the warmth entered her heart. She heard the playful laugh of a little boy, smelled her Papa's musty work shirt, felt her mother's gentle caress on her face.

Philippa gripped Sam's arms. "Minou ...Sam ...I love you. I love you so much."

*I know, love, I know*



13.

Later, Philippa would ask Sam if she regretted the changes that that night had brought her, one year ago.

Sam would say with a grin that, if asked, she might not have chosen to be switched into the body of a succubus woman and soul-bound to a vampire. But, she would add, she could not imagine life without Philippa, so she was glad she was not asked.

And then Philippa would say how funny it was that though she thought she had taken Sam's soul, as it turned out, Sam had found a way to save hers.

Sam would answer that she was all about helping people. Then she would smile mischievously, and pounce on Philippa, pushing her down into the couch. She would say she knew other ways to help as well.

After that, they would speak very little, for a very long time.