Zoralee's Travels

[Zoralee]

Ashland, Nebraska


Zoralee sighed as she sat on the bench in Wiggenhorn Park. Breathing was entirely unnecessary, strictly speaking, but she had never broken the habit and the sigh of frustration suited her mood. A cool autumn breeze was blowing across the still waters of the pool, bringing the stinging scent of chlorine to her preternatural nostrils. Maybe breathing wasn't always the best idea. But then again, the acrid air also suited her, a odorous sign of her inward turmoil.

The Omaha Sheriff's ghouls had dropped her off a couple of hours ago in Ashland, a few miles south-west of the city on Route 6. It had only been a week since she'd been kicked out of Des Moine and already she had been ejected again. "F***ing Ventrue," she spat, unable to silence her anger. Always her blood was too thin, her years too short. Too weak to fend for herself, too isolated to ask for help, she was at the mercy of those in power. And thus far, mercy had been in short supply.

Zora walked Ashland, nearly end to end. She didn't even have enough money for bus fare and there weren't enough people out right now to beg from. She'd passed by Cherio's Coffee Shop on Silver Street and paused to look at the people inside. Chatting, Laughing, Eating, Hugging. Things she hadn't done in a while; things she would never do again. The thin Korea-American vampire, stranger in the land of Nebraska, shuddered as another gust of cold air filled her tattered coat. She held her stomach as hunger pulled inward at her. I need to feed, she thought as she turned away from the sated townsfolk. It's been too long for safety. She headed towards the outskirts of town. A map in the local gas station had shown a state park to the east. She'd head in that direction.

Walking along a gravel alley, houses dark on either side her, Zoralee felt like this little stroll was a metaphor for her entire existence since she fled Detroit. A lonely road, dotted with places she was not welcome and could not stay. Cleveland, Cincinatti, Gary, Chicago, Milwaukee. She had passed through all of these, never staying more than a couple of months. The first couple of times, she had sought out the people in power, asking permission to stay, even if only on the margins of society. Always she had been denied. Too many of her kind already, too little to offer those in charge, too little space, no tolerance for "her kind." Always a ready excuse.

A mile from the city limits, she sat by the side of the road. It was a quiet spot. Her eyes, enhanced by the cursed blood in her veins, could make out the tree line of the distant park. The few scattered houses out here only showed a smattering of light. A bit of barking could be heard now and again. This'll do, she decided. Looking upward at the night sky, noting each diamond glittering in the firmament, she howled as she had learned to, a call to all the mongrels that had no home, no hope. Just like Zoralee.

Madison, Wisconsin hadn't been so bad. She'd been there nearly a year before the welcome mat was yanked out from under her, although it had been really her choice to move on. By the time she'd reached the capital of America's Dairy Land, she'd given up on introducing herself and asking for permission. In Chicago, she had gone so far as to feign ignorance of the English language, speaking only Korean to those who questioned her. But the Prince's ability to read minds took her by surprise, and her ruse was too-quickly discovered. On the road again ...

After ten minutes or so of waiting, Zora's call was finally heeded. A midsize shaggy dog, covered in bloated ticks trotted up. It favored its right leg and there were scabs on it's ears and face. Probably lost a fight, she figured, as she tried to ignore the metaphor of the parasites. Zora calmly stroked the unlucky beast, calming it, assuring it. And finally feeding from it. She cradled it gently in her arms as it lost the strength to stand. Her only comforts in killing the poor mutt were that it was probably better for the dog this way, and that the Kiss was an ecstasy all too itself, as she had found out herself one acursed day.

Her hunger less urgent than before, she allowed herself a bit of nostalgia- thinking of her halcyon days in the Wisconsin capital. The prince, a woman this time, let her stay, even though she hadn't properly announced herself. As long as Zora kept to herself, she was allowed to stay. The price was running errands for the Prince. A delivery here, a message there. Usually it was nothing major, not that Zora could tell. She was even tipped occasionally. Madison is an open city in the daylight, and that acceptance bled into the lords of the night as well. Zoralee's weak blood was ignored, for the most part, although she certainly was not included in vampiric society. But the peace of the isthmus city had a price. Gang activity and vagrant levels were kept in check by rather harsh means. The Prince asked Zora to "remove" a few of the drug dealers from the UW campus. It would have meant a permanent place for the way worn transient, but how could she call Madison home if it meant killing its people. How could call anywhere home if the price was murder. She fled that night, following her meandering road westward.

Another brisk wind brought chills to her reverie. Winter was coming, and the nights of the prairie were its herald. As she pulled her coat closer around her to keep in what little warmth her meal had provided, a low growl startled her. It seemed that another dog had heeded her call and she had been too wrapped up in her memories of conditional acceptance to notice its approach. I've got to start paying better attention if I'm going to survive long on the road. At least it wasn't a werewolf that snuck up on me. "Hello, boy. Come here. Do you want a scratch behind the ears?" Zora smiled her honest smile, the one that would help her find sanctuary in the church later tonight. But the dog just growled again. It seemed agitated and ... raw. But Zora had learned the trick of gaining an animal's trust, even one as feral as this. Slowly, with the aid of a Korean lullaby her mother used to sing, Zoralee approached the black, filthy beast. She never got its tail to wag, but at least it stopped growling. And it did seem to enjoy the kind touches she gave it. It succumbed to the Kiss, just like its predecessor. Zora was so hungry, she couldn't help herself. And who knew when she'd get a chance to feed again.

Zora tried not to savor the hot blood, repulsed by her own behavior. But it was strong and satisfying and wild. Whatever fervor flowed through the beast seemed to infuse Zoralee as well. Angst, anger, manic urges ... they all grew stronger as she drank. By the time her victim was drained dry, Zoralee couldn't help but to howl the moon- in anger, in anguish, in rage. She looked down on the canine corpses before her and the urge to destroy was irrepressible. She took them by the legs and slammed them over and over again into the road, into the rocks, into the ditch. By the time she recovered her composure, she was left with little more than hamburger protruding from bloody, broken limbs.

She didn't understand what had come over her and fled, running until she was back in the dark alleys of Ashland, Nebraska once again. Panting, she tried to understand why she had gone so ballistic. This had never happened to her before. She needed to get control of herself. Tomorrow night, she needed to walk to Waverly and then on to Lincoln. The railroad tracks should give her enough isolation to avoid the occasional midnight travelers on the road. Perhaps Lincoln would be more welcoming than Omaha.

She concentrated on keeping her cool as she made her way to the rectory of the local Catholic church. Her honest face and kind words bought her a night in the basement, and even a few new articles of clothing. She spent nearly an hour pulling ticks from herself, but still, the anger she felt didn't seem to diminish. Even knitting offered no relief.

The next sunset brought the prospects of new travel and maybe friendlier faces. But that rage clung to Zoralee like a plague and it took the power of her Vitae to keep it in check. Later she would come to understand that it was rabies that had become the screaming monkey on her back, and she would learn ways to keep its mania in check. But the disease would claw at her every night upon waking, and it became one more burden that the exiled former social worker would have to bear each night of her unending unlife.


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[Zoralee]

On Assignment-

If anyone is interested in a particular aspect of Zoralee's vampiric life/history, let me know and I'll try to come up with a story to illuminate that little part of her past.

[EthanStarr]

Zoralee mentioned to Stefan Darwin that she is/was a social worker. I'm interested in how that turned out for her. Obviously not well, considering the situation she eventually wound up in, but I'm curious: did something go wrong? Other than the Embrace?

Contained within Zoralee's command of social work might be a theme running in Ethan's line of PR: its awfully difficult to continue a career that involves mortals, especially trying to help them, persuade them, connect with and understand them when you are distanced from them by the vampiric curse.

[Zoralee]

Oy! My embrace and associated events. That's a complicated tale you've requested. I'll need a bit of time to work on that.

[Zoralee]

I'm working on Zoralee's embrace background, but it is turning into a long tale. I'll try and post it in chapters so no one goes screaming in terror from a single giant post.

[Zoralee]

Michael Carmichael, known to the vampires of Detroit as Gribbitz, sat looking in the direction of the random pile without really seeing it. But he knew what was there. Pipes, tanks, tubes, circuits, and wires lay in a mystifying heap. The pieces had been there since Gribbitz moved in three years ago and they had become his obsession ever since.

"My borfin. My poor, shlumped borfin," was all he said, whispering it over and over as he rocked gently, staring into space. He had tried every night for months to assemble the detritis into a meaningful machine, according to the orders he had received. Every night he failed.

"You must find Mr. Bix," he heard. "Mr. Bix can unshlump your borfin."

"But where do I find Mr. Bix?" asked Gribbitz loud and clear, his expression like stone.

"Mr. Bix will be reading the story about Mr. Bix. Aimless, wandering serendipity will guide you."

"Wander?" asked Gribbitz, but there was only silence in reply. "Wander. Aimless. Serendipity," he repeated, a light slowly rising in his eyes. Gribbitz stood and absently dusted at the grime on his clothes. "It's time to find Mr. Bix," he declared and then strolled, whistling, into the damp night air of the Motor City.

*****

3 nights later, Joo-eun Cheong stood up from her desk at the social services office to shake hands with Rosita Chavez. "Bueno!" she cried, as she walked around to give the small Mexican woman a hug. "When do you start?" Rosita had been accepted into the business program at the community college with a full scholarship from the Hispanic Development League. It was a long way from how Joo-eun first encountered her - battered, homeless, and unemployed; fleeing an abusive husband while still nursing her infant daughter. But in the intervening five years, Joo-eun had helped her to make so much progress. Her (now ex-)husband went to the state pen, where he was later killed by a rival prison gang. Rosita got a bridge to replace the teeth he'd knocked out. The Korean social worker, putting her high school Spanish to use, helped her client set up a small apartment, find a job, get her GED, and sign up her daughter, Carolina, for kindergarden.

"I'm so proud of you, Rosita," said Joo-eun. "But I think you'll still qualify for food stamps, even with a full ride. Why don't you see Marilyn to get the paperwork. I want to go say hi to Carolina."

"Si, gracias."

Joo-eun found the girl swinging her legs on one of the chairs in the lobby, looking at a batter copy of Dr. Seuss.

"Hola, Carolina. Como estas?"

Carolina smiled. "Hi, Ms. Cheong."

Joo-eun smiled as she sat down next to the mestizo toothpick of a girl. "Your mom told me the good news. You should be very proud of her." Carolina just nodded and smiled, and turned the page. "Do you want me to read this to you while she fills out some paperwork?"

"Sure."

Joo-eun sat down an took the book. "Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? by Dr. Seuss." Joo-eun read with all the vigor of a devoted aunt (which she was, just not to Carolina). The girl became thrilled with the story.

Neither noticed a strange, gaunt man looking over their shoulders from outside the glass windows. Even had they looked, the would have seen only themselves reflected. But Gribbitz saw. And Gribbitz marked the reader of the book.

*****

Joo-eun said goodbye to the security guard and headed out to retrieve her Kia from the parking lot. Foreign cars didn't go over too well in Detroit, but she liked the gas mileage; and at 10:30 at night, she really didn't care much anyway. She wanted to get home and finish the sweater for her sister Kim's birthday party tomorrow night. Eastern Michigan wasn't cold enough to need a sweater yet, but if Joo-eun waited until Christmas, Kim would have been complaining about the cold for a month. Besides, if she finished soon enough tonight, she'd have the energy to get up before dawn and watch the sun rise over the Windsor skyline.

"Mr. Bix?" she barely heard as she walked, but it was quiet and she paid it no mind.

Joo-eun began to whistle as she walked, a tune from The Magic Flute that she'd heard on the radio earlier tonight.

"Mr. Bix?" It was a bit louder this time. A bit closer. But she didn't even know a Mr. Bix.

Joo-eun got out her keys a few paces from the car and remotely unlocked the doors.

"Mr. Bix?" It was very insistent this time, and seemed directed at her. Stopping, she turned to ask "Are you talking to me?" but before she could get out a sound, something cold and hard struck her in the back of the head. All became darkness and white noise.

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[Zoralee]

Joo-eun Cheong awoke slowly, painfully. Her head throbbed. Her mouth tasted like moth balls. Her eyes began to focus by degrees: first just smudges of light in the darkness, then motion, then colors ans shapes. After noting that her glasses were (still?) on, she also realized that she was handcuffed to the chair she was in.

She became aware that there was a man in front of her, pacing and muttering to himself. Most of it was unintelligible, but she was able to make out "fixed soon" more than once. As she raised her head to try to figure out where she was, the man stopped mid-stride and turned his head to look at her. "You're awake," he stated, as if saying "It's breezy today." Then a maniacal gleam overcame his eyes, barely kept in check. "Can you fix it?" he queried, his eagerness propelling his face to within inches of her own.

Joo-eun looked very confused. "Can I fix what?" She was trying very hard to stay level headed in a very bizarre situation.

"My borfin, Mr. Bix," said the man, pointing to a pile of parts. "Can you unshlump it?"

Joo-eun, whose name meant 'silver pearl,' looked at the heap of randomly assorted bits. They were clean, but they were horribly disorganized. Also, they seemed to have no common purpose. She considered her situation a moment, chafing against the cuffs. "I can try. Do you have directions?" If working with a pile of spare parts could buy her a chance at freedom, she was all for it.

The man just stared at her for a bit, eyes goggling. "Directions?" he asked. "Directions?!" he shouted. "Do you think I'd need you here if I had DIRECTIONS?"

Joo-eun winced at the outburst, hit in the face by bloody spittle sprayed by her gaunt captor. Her rational mind could only think, I hope he doesn't give me any blood-borne diseases from that.

She opened her eyes again to find that another transformation had altered his face. He seemed to be listening and occasionally repeating things that Joo-eun could not hear.
"Hmm? Yes ... of course ... sight ... clever. Yes, ha ha ... sturdy ... what? Oh, purity ... hmm. Yes, the winters. Yes." Mr. Pale, as she had come to think of him, paced intermittently as he mumbled.

Nothing she heard made sense. At least not to her. But who could understand a schizophrenic, like she assumed him to be?

Suddenly, his face stern, the Mr. Pale turned to Joo-eun again. "I must work. Sleep now," he said. And Ms. Cheong, the social worker, slept.

*****

Gribbitz had been scouring Detroit until dawn, calling in favors to get the ingredients he sought. His instructions were clear, the list short. But some things were hard to come by. A Gangrel willing to part with blood was tough, and had to be forcibly parted from it. A Tremere willing to spare vitae was next to impossible. Bargains had to be made for that. And rituals performed, delaying Gribbitz even further. The distilled water only required an all-night grocery store. The anti-freeze was from Wal-mart. But a suitable meal. That had been a conundrum gnawing at Gribbitz for hours. But inspiration had struck the lunatic, and the victim he had taken lay unconscious along a wall in his haven.

He rose at sunset the following night. He could hear Mr. Bix mumbling. Gribbitz nose told him, unmistakably, that she had wet herself. But her sleep held.

On the floor, lying in another pool of urine, lay the meal that Mr. Bix would soon devour. A wide-eyed scream was muffled by duct tape. But Gribbitz had no time to pity a dinner. Let PETA whine about animal rights. He had a ritual to perform.

He laid the ingredients before him. He placed a large bowl and a kitchen knife on the table as well. Then Gribbitz repeated his list, as if the words held magic. To him, they did. As he named the items, he poured them into the bowl.

"Blood of the Master, so she has sight to work by." He slit his wrist with the knife and bled it generously into the bowl. "Blood of the Warlock, so she may be clever enough." Tremere blood mixed with his own. "Blood of the Wanderer, so she may have the sturdy will to succeed." Gangrel vitae joined the others. "Liquid as pure as her purpose." Distilled water diluted the mixture. "And a bit of help enduring winter's biting cold." Sickly yellow anti-freeze polluted the concoction.

Stirring with the knife, Gribbitz couldn't contain the gleam in his eye. Turning to the small Korean woman bound before him, the lunatic bared his fangs and stalked over, ignoring the frantic breathing and panicked stare of his intended childe's first meal.

He drained her quickly and without ceremony, not even noticing her nipples harden from the ecstasy of the Kiss. But her blood was hot and strong and it fueled him. Ramming a hose down her throat as the last breath escaped her, he funneled the putrid mix of blood, water, and lethal chemicals down into her stomach. Immediately her eyes opened and her stomach tried to vomit back the poisonous mix. But Gribbitz yanked out the hose and held her lips shut. Her fresh blood fueled his supernatural strength. Her retching only forced a few trickles out her nose.

It was far too little, too late. The damage was done. The Embrace was complete.

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[Zoralee]

Joo-eun?s mind swam through horrid nightmares of pain and imprisonment. Her subconscious seemed to understand her plight and propelled her to try and wake over and over. But the force of Mr. Pale?s command held her mind captive as surely as the handcuffs held her body captive.

As her mortal mind fought for consciousness a final time that night, she could hear Mr. Pale?s voice, a chanting that accompanied her dream of being sacrificed in some bizarre Satanic ritual. Then came the most incredible sensual sensation she?d ever felt. Her dream immediately turned to mental blasts of orgasms as she felt pricks in her neck and the draining of body?s warmth. Even as she could feel her life slipping away, her body and mind begged for more of the sensation. If oblivion awaited, what a way to go!

But before the light could embrace her, before she could know the solace of unity with the infinite, she felt a cold, bitter liquid forced into her stomach. Somehow it revived her and gave her strength, even as it churned her guts like acid. All her instincts said to wretch, and she did, but her mouth was forced closed and all she got was a mouthful of horrible brew that intensified the urge to vomit. The force of the continuing reverse peristalsis propelled some of the foul mixture into her sinuses, oozing out her nose, but it was not enough to prevent the terrible transformation that it would exact on her. Sometime later, she would look fondly on her dreams of ritual sacrifice as a better end than the one she was existing in.

The Embrace in Joo-eun moved from body-wracking heaves to paralyzing muscle spasms. Diluted and polluted, the vampiric vitae worked its horrible magic on her body, transforming her organs and muscles, preserving them as receptacles for the blood that would sustain her in the decades to come. The process was relatively quick, but painful, and Joo-eun screamed and thrashed and strained against the handcuffs, blindly trying to escape from the agony that her entire body had become. Unknown to Ms. Cheong, Mr. Pale was watching this with great anticipation, and even a small bit of nostalgia.

As the mixture of vitae, water, and antifreeze transformed her body and damned her soul, Joo-eun could feel a hunger in her like none she had ever known before. Not for alcohol, not for food, not for drugs, but for blood. Even as her mind reeled against the horror of the idea, the emerging beast within her demanded the only thing that would satisfy it: fresh, hot blood. With her eyes closed in the agony of the changes her body was enduring, she did not see what was placed against her mouth. She only knew that it was warm and vital and there was blood within it. Joo-eun felt fangs (fangs!) emerge from where her canines had once been. She felt herself bite down into the soft skin and begin to suck. The feeling of the blood flowing into her was nearly as ecstatic as the sensation of it being drained from her. The beast within her roared in triumph as the glut of blood sated it, if only for a little while. The taste was so sweet, the flavor so invigorating, Joo-eun drank until there was nothing left, her eyes rolled back in her head in sheer joy. The lifeless body was pulled away from her new vampiric appetite looking as ghostly white as Italian marble.

It was only when the rage of the beast was quelled and Joo-eun?s hunger was sated that she gained enough self-possession to open her eyes. It was then that she learned the terrible price of the unlife that Mr. Pale had thrust upon her. It was then that she looked into the cold dead eyes of Rosita Chavez as Mr. Pale dropped her onto the floor before Joo-eun, the puncture marks still in her neck.

?Welcome to eternity, Mr. Bix,? said Mr. Pale, a lunatic grin splitting his face.

*****

Mr. Bix stopped wailing after a while. Gribbitz was beginning to wonder if he?d need to get out the duct tape again.

?What have you done to me?? she asked, breathless through the sobs she had fallen into. She shuddered, but if it was from crying or the continuing transformation of her body, Gribbitz could not have said.

He looked at her with great curiosity. ?I have fed you, Mr. Bix,? he stated matter-of-factly.

?Why do you keep calling me that? I?m not even a man. My name is Joo-eun, Joo-eun Cheong.? She seized upon the easiest distraction to avoid dealing with the reality (reality?!) of what she had just done.

?But still, you are Mr. Bix. This was told to me. And now I have given you the sight, the senses that will allow you to unshlump my borfin.? Gribbitz smile happily as he pointed to the components of his poor machine.

?Borfin? Mr. Bix? I know those names. They?re from ? Dr. Seuss!?

?The Prophet Geisel, yes. It was he who taught me that I am lucky to be who I am; he who said I would go places. And I have.?

Joo-eun could control herself no longer. Kidnapped and imprisoned was one thing, but this ? The pain in her limbs, the guilt of her ? feeding, the utter absurdity of the entire situation had become unbearable. Her eyes, blazing with rage, bore into Gribbitz?s. ?You think I?m a Dr. Seuss character? Are you fucking insane?!? But her fury was banished by the bruising slap that spun her head to the side. The sting on her flesh throbbed.

?Watch your tongue, Childe. You will treat me with respect. I made you. It is within my power to unmake you.? Gribbitz stared at her profile for a minute to let his words sink in. He regarded the red shape of his hand on her cheek with interest. The he removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the hand cuffs. Mr. Bix was sobbing again. This was becoming tiresome.

As he removed the restraints, he said quietly and not without cruelty, ?Don?t try to leave. I know what you've done. I know what you are.? Gribbitz chuckled. ?Even better than you know yourself.?

Mr. Bix (Joo-eun no longer) held her face in her hands. She gained a bit of composure and asked again, ?What have you done to me? And don?t tell me that feeding crap. You know what I mean.?

Gribbitz noted that her blood-rimmed eyes were steeled with a stubborn will. She?ll need it, he mused before answering. With a touch of kindness, like a fond teacher, he explained. ?I have made you into a vampire, Mr. Bix, my Childe. I, too, am a vampire, your Sire. I am Gribbitz, and for the time being you are little better than my property.? It was just a fact, like the time or the price of milk.

*****

Joo-eun?s mind reeled at what he was saying. But she could not deny it, however impossible it was. She could feel her sharp fangs with her tongue. She had killed one her clients, one of her friends, by drinking her blood. All of it. Rosita?s dead body still lay on the floor, mouth taped shut to silence screams that could not save her.

Check

[Zoralee]

Denver - An Ill-fated Attempt

"Are you ready, Tommy?" Zoralee asked, looking Tommy in the eye as they sat alone in the dim ambient light.

"You're sure it doesn't hurt?" he asked, apprehension lacing the question.

"No, it feels really good, actually." Zoralee was swept up by a painfully pleasurable memory of her own twisted creation.

"Ok, then. I'm ready." He blinked his one good eye. He smiled unsteadily. "Should I lay down?"

The alien roar of cars rose overhead on the bridge. The Denver summer had been pretty good to both of them. The blankets they rested on were clean and their spot was dry, despite the driving rain that was harrying the drivers above.

"We don't have to do this, you know. You can just stay like you are. You won't age, I guess." She had been undead too few years to know for certain.

"But you see so much that I can't. I want to appreciate music like you do and see murals in the colors you describe."

"But-" she tried to voice her concerns over his youthful enthusiasm.

"And you can talk to animals! I mean, that's incredible. How beautiful is that?"

"I know, but-"

"And you know I've always had a soft spot for cats. Like that calico we've seen down by the movie theater a couple a times. I've always got some treats for her. Imagine what it would be like for me to actually hear a thank you." Tommy wasn't letting her get a word in edgewise.

"But, Tommy, I-"

"And I want to be with you always." He smiled with an energy she seldom saw, but often envied.

"I know," she whispered, resignation coloring her words.

"I love you, Zoralee."

"I love you, too, Tommy." And with nothing left to say and Tommy's sparkling chestnut eye luring her heart, she began the Kiss. The Kiss that would lead to the Embrace.

*****

Zoralee had met Tommy Holstein at a homeless shelter in Topeka, Kansas run by Our Lady of Lords Catholic Church. She liked to attend mass when she could. And it was easier to confess her sins directly to God than to other people. Over and over and over - the same sins.

She still hadn't forgiven herself for Rosita's death. Or for that man she had put in the hospital in Peoria.

Sure he was trying to rape her, but the damage she did ... Sometimes she wondered if he would ever learn to walk again. Occasionally she felt guilty for fighting back at all. What could he have done to her, really? Hadn't she already been violated beyond the realm of nightmares? Wasn't she immune from the ravages of disease and the burdens of an unwanted pregnancy? Couldn't she heal herself completely in a matter of hours instead of weeks or months or years?

But it was still her body, and Zoralee strongly, willfully felt that she had been victimized enough already. Too much.

Tommy had come into the shelter on a Wednesday evening when he had hit rock bottom. His wife had left with their daughter. She just couldn't stand his heroin addiction anymore. He'd already lost his job and all his friends. And the landlord kicked him out because the rent was already two months overdue. He had only the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet.

Zoralee woke to the sound of distant thunder. The storm front had gone through right before sunset, and now it was just a steady rain falling. It had been a good few weeks. No trouble from the Kindred authorities and the people she saw on the street had been generous with their pocket change. She didn't really need to eat anymore, but it helped her to feel better and she often shared meals with other homeless people. Now, any food was comfort food.

Deciding to count her blessings, she shuffled into the sanctuary of the church and began to pray, thanking God for his benevolence. As she whispered her prayers, a quiet sobbing behind her caught her ears. Turning, she saw a disheveled man crying quietly in the farthest pew. His clothes were wet and dirty. It looked like he hadn't shaved in three or four days. And his left eye was heavily bandaged. Zoralee's preternatural vision could pick out deep purple bruises and maroon scabs in the cocoa mulatto skin of his cheek and forehead.

Ever the social worker, she said her Amen and walked over to him, sliding into the same pew, but staying several feet away. She said nothing, knowing that silence could prompt many a story.

"I've got nothing left. They're all gone. I've got nothing." The man sniffled. Zora passed over a hankie, but said nothing.

"It's this fucking junk," he continued, turning his arm to show her the track marks. "It's like the only thing that matters anymore. And it's killing me. Killing my soul, ya know?" He sobbed and sniffled a bit more. "I gotta kick it. I gotta kick it."

"You came to the right place," she finally said. Quietly. Compassionately. "They've got drug counselors here and they've got a good detox place down the street."

The man just shrugged.

"I could go with you, if you want. I'm not busy. Why don't we go see Father Jack. Just talk for a bit. Ok?"

The man looked in her eyes. There was no pity. No guile. Just honest concern. He nodded and stood. "I'm Tommy, by the way."

"Zoralee. Nice to meet you, Tommy."

She took his arm and led him into the shelter, to Father Jack's office. From there, perhaps nourished by the heavy Kansas rain, Tommy's life began to grow up again.

*****

Zoralee slowly drained Tommy, savoring the blood in his veins. She wanted the ecstasy to last as long as possible for both of them.

She reached down between his legs to feel the tumescence brought on by the Kiss. She had savored that delicacy before, enjoying an activity of mortal life made new again by her new lover's tender touch.

*****

Tommy spent a month in drug rehab, sweating, screaming and vomiting his way through withdrawal. Zoralee visited him every night after feeding. She would spend hours in his room. Her time was spent rocking, singing, knitting, and assuring him everything would be all right. The staff allowed her presence because Tommy demanded it and it seemed to help calm his worst episodes. Of course, they checked her for heroin every time she came, and every time they let her through.

Finally, Tommy was declared clean and sober and released to his own recognizance. Little did the doctor's know that much of his newfound strength was supernatural in origin. Zoralee couldn't stand to watch Tommy not eating, his trays of food spattered across the walls in the throes of anguish. By the time she learned that it was normal, she'd already cleaned corn and potatos from his room for five straight nights. She had 'fed' him for five nights, as well. His eye, however, was beyond help before she met him. It was a souvenier from a dealer that Tommy owed money to.

Surprisingly, Tommy wanted to tag along when Zora announced she was leaving town a few days later. She had never learned about blood bonds from her sire, so she thought his devotion merely a return of her kindness. But she didn't object. The road had become lonely and the allowances for her presence in Topeka had expired.

Zora told Tommy about what she truly was their first night together. She didn't want him dragging her into the light to get help if he thought she was dead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she chided herself as dawn approached. "You should have thought of this before, you idiot." But she had been overcome by his beautiful eye with the flecks of emerald and the eager smile on his boyish lips.

Tommy took the news well, happily agreeing to be her daytime guardian. For the first time in years, Zoralee felt safe as she fell into unconsciousness.

As the miles wore on and the nights passed, Zoralee came to love Tommy. He accepted her for who she was. He took care of her and even used his vitae-spawned strength to defend her when a pair of crack addicts tried to rob them in Wyoming.

That was also where Zoralee learned of the blood bond from a fellow traveling Caitiff. She felt guilty for "tricking" Tommy, but she cared for him, so the sour feeling soon passed like the asphalt and train tracks they walked along.

They spent a happy summer in Denver. Tommy had taught her the tricks of panhandling. Between the two of them, they were able to eat well and even spend some leisure time together, something Zoralee had sorely missed. Movies, miniature golf, even walks in the park were carefree moments the nomadic vampiress wouldn't have traded for anything.

Tommy had inquired for weeks about becoming a real vampire himself. Finally, Zoralee had given in. The thought of losing him to some cheap, mortal cause was too much for her to bear.

*****

As the last of the blood was released from Tommy?s body, Zoralee licked closed the puncture marks and cut a small hole in her wrist with Tommy's pocket knife. Just yesterday he'd been whittling her a pair of knitting needles. Today it was covered in blood.

She held the incision over his mouth and bled into her lover, giving him half of what her body contained. It would be more than enough to bring him into the world of darkness she knew. He would be the light in her eternal night.

But his body remained quiet and motionless. Minutes passed. An hour passed. Zoralee grew nervous. She cast back her mind, trying to recall anything from the foggy memories of her own Embrace. How long did it take? How soon would he wake?

Zoralee waited for hours before she moved. She waited until dawn until she finally accepted that Tommy was dead. He was really dead and not going to wake up, no matter how much blood she put into him. There were three dead dogs by the railroad tracks below them to testify to her efforts. Zoralee had killed the man she loved. She spent the day next to him, wrapping his cold arm around her before closing her eyes to the sunrise.

The next night was a blur of mental and emotional catatonia. She stumbled around Denver, visiting all the places they used to go. She didn't know what else to do. When she reached the back of the movie theatre, she sat on the grassy rise past the asphalt and began a slow weep of bloody tears.

She barely noticed when the calico cat approached, cautious about her, but still accustomed to her presence. She absently fished a few treats from her pocket. After wiping a few streaks of crimson from her face, she held out her hand for the homeless cat. Deep in the fog of her misery, she appreciated the chance to help another of the misbegotten, but it was something only dimly felt. The cat, meanwhile, finished the treat and licked Zoralee's hands clean. It even went so far as to lick her face. "Nice kitty, nice kitty," mumbles Zora absently as she half-heartedly pets the feline, occasional tears still staining her "Colorado 10k" tee shirt.

Zoralee returned to the bridge in the purple haze before dawn. She slept another day in the arms of her dead lover, oblivious to the intruder sharing their blanket.

*****

She woke hungry and broken. She hadn't fed for herself last night and broken hearts don't heal in a day. It was five minutes into another round of sobbing that Zoralee realized she wasn't alone.

"Hey there, kitty. Where did you come from?" Zoralee wiped her tears, momentarily taken out of her fugue by the curiosity the cat inspired. "You've come a long way for more treats, sweetie. I think I've only got a couple left. Tommy was going to-" But a fresh wave of grief threw her down and she started crying again. "Oh, Tommy. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it." And then words were beyond her, insufficient to communicate the cavern that had opened within her. The cat sat and purred and lapped up the crimson streaks on Zoralee's cheeks.

Zoralee buried Tommy that night in the soft clay where they made their bed. She borrowed a shovel from a toolshed nearby and returned it when she was done, no one the wiser. She had already killed in Denver. There was no need to add the insult of thievery to the injury of murder.

The cat stayed with her the whole night, excepting a brief time while Zora was digging. But the cat returned with blood on its whiskers and returned to its new hobby of watching her as she patted the soil over Tommy's body.

Zoralee had taken to calling the cat Sunny because of the orange starburst pattern on her chest. As she dug, she chatted with her unlikely companion, telling the tale of the lover she was burying. "You know Sunny," she asked, hefting another shovel-full of reddish dirt, "I wonder if talking to you means I've finally lost it. Maybe I'm as crazy as my Sire. I should be, you know. I should be." She chuckled a moment, pausing in her work. "Or maybe this is the only way to stay sane." And she confessed her sins to the cat- thefts, deaths. Sunny took in the atrocities without pity or judgment. She just stared from her perch, blinking her green eyes, yawning, and cleaning stray mouse hairs from her claws.

"I'll be leaving town tomorrow, kitty. You'll have to find a new person to mooch Whiskas from, eh?"

*****

At dusk the next night, Zoralee took handfuls of stones from the railroad grade to make a cross on Tommy's grave. She rolled up the blankets they slept on and tied them to her pack. As she finished securing her knitting, her calico companion sidled up. Sunny stood at the foot of the grave and meowed.

"You think we should say something? Ok." Zora looked from the cat to the mound of earth and tried to keep from crying again.

"Heavenly Father, please take into your arms the soul of Tommy Holstein. He was a sinner, but he knew it. It cost him everything he had, but he found the courage to change and take Jesus as his Savior. His life after being reborn was filled with smiles and kindness and virtue. He died in hope of everlasting love. Please be sure that he is welcomed to it."

Her conscience and her sadness were no match for her willpower and the tears flowed again. This time, they gushed forth and Zora collapsed to the ground saying "I'm sorry, Tommy. I'm sorry," over and over through her sobs. Sunny jumped down to comfort her with soft purrs and to kiss away her tears.

After half an hour that seemed like an eternity in hell, she stood and wiped away the last of her streaks marring her composure. "Goodbye, Tommy. I love you. But Denver has too many painful memories now." She blew a kiss to the grave she had filled. "Bye, Sunny. Good luck in Denver." She smooched the Calico's head and walked down to the railroad tracks, heading southward- to New Mexico, maybe.

But like all cats, Sunny didn't take hints very well. After Zora was only a few paces out from under the bridge, the vagrant animal fell in behind her new master. Lost in thought, the vampire didn't even realize she was being followed for an hour. After chiding herself for being so careless, she asked, "Why are you following me, honey? I don't have any more treats." Sunny just looked back and licked her lips.

It was then that Zoralee noticed the dark stains around the cat's mouth. Only then did she realize the meaning of the calico's sudden devotion. Resolving to look on the bright side, Zora walked back to the cat and picked her up. "So, Sunny, we're going to be traveling buddies, huh?" She looked her kitty in the eye and held her close as she petted her. "Just promise me you'll never ask me to make you a vampire, ok?" Zoralee chuckled at her own dark humor. Sometimes a joke, no matter how morbid, was all that could keep a person from cracking up.

"Well, let's get going then. Maybe things will be better in Taos. You ever been there?" Sunny hopped down and walked along with Zoralee under the starry skies of the mile high city, out of Denver and onto the highways of darkness.

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