Feeding the Tree pt 1

Feeding the Tree, part 1 a

Flint glanced about furtively, still shaking off the rat guise he had suddenly had to take when the two policemen patrolling the area chanced upon the freshly-bled corpse.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /

"That is the damnedest thing," one of the cops said.  He called the crime scene in to begin the forensics process.  The officers dashed back down the hill to their car to fetch that famous crime scene tape of theirs, or at least that is what Flint figured.  “What the hell do you make of it, Katie?  I’ve never seen anything that fucked up before in all my 23 years on the force.”

Grinning, Flint stepped out of the shadows and over his meal. He had been an older man, fascinated with Flint's odd good looks and callow disposition. The attraction had initially only dismayed the man, but when the ministrations grew more eager as they led up to the bloodletting, his confusion grew into anger. It was the lonely Hollywood hill for said older man! The cops, or anyone else for that matter, had never found a corpse so soon after Flint had dispensed with it.

Flint stood on his tip toes, which was a little difficult to do, considering his boots were a couple of sizes too large for him.  He peeped over the edge of the hill and watched the police scrambling about their car.  His grin grew wider.  There was just something about law enforcement that tickled him.  Maybe it was because being a Vampire, Flint knew he was eternally on the wrong side of it.  He never fought the law, especially after hearing that song and knowing who would win, but he had an insatiable curiosity about police and the things that they do, and had often found himself in more than one sticky situation because of that curiosity.  One of the cops looked back up the hill and Flint ducked out of his line of sight.  He figured he had better haul arse since his little hidey hole would soon be crawling with Los Angeles’ finest.

Ah, Los Angeles!  Flint felt a glow of hominess in his breast as he looked across his city twinkling in the night.  There had always been so much art and blood in those boundless lights.  He had missed it all so much.  Ever since his encounter with that abominable murderer of innocents, Flint had been on the run, if only at times peripherally.  Just as Cadmus Pariah hunted him, Flint also hunted Cadmus, his heart bent on bloody vengeance for the senseless murder of his dearest friend.  The only problem was, neither of them could sense the other to do any good.  Flint had always been able to tell when a fellow Darkling was in his vicinity, and Cadmus Pariah...well, the Pariah was the Plenipotentiary of the New Hive.  He sensed all Vampires everywhere, if they were at least three centuries old and older, or so Flint had heard.  Whereas Cadmus did not actively hunt Flint, opting to make a point of slaughter once the rogue Darkling was chanced upon, Flint sniffed out Cadmus Pariah's trail whenever possible.  He collected stories of the Plenipotentiary, rumours and old prophecies of the Augury, all fulfilled.  In spite of himself, Flint found Cadmus a compelling study.  He had certainly become Flint's passion, and that was saying a lot considering Flint's laissez-faire.

During his quest for tales and dreams, Flint had heard how Cadmus Pariah bathed in the Blood of his kith and kin.  And there were rumours darker still, hints and silent whispers spreading out like yersinia pestis, that Cadmus could sing lullabies to mortals and have them enslaved within a span of seconds.  The very few Vampires he found who had survived an encounter with Cadmus sat maimed beyond healing, or demented (or both), and they all had the same thing to say of him; that he was surely the demonic in the pristine flesh of an angel made manifest.  His eyes were boundless and spoke of a beauty so maddening, and of an eternity so thoroughly lost, the only thing left for the one trapped under such a gaze was surrender to desire and insanity, yet never be satiated by such a beholding.

Flint well-remembered those eyes, two black embers, immense and alien in their perfection.  Not human, nor Vampire either.  Then again, Cadmus had said as much about Flint’s own eyes, calling the phosphorescent Green Fairy sheen by their Latin name, tapeta lucida.  It was the same as an owl’s eyes, or cats’ eyes caught just right in the headlights of a car.  Gareth had mentioned them when Flint came to him frightened and confused with his new state of being.  It wasn’t an altogether unique trait, for the Romany who had befriended Gareth and shared their Vampire lore with him, knew all about how some Vampires’ eyes seemed to carry with them their own reflection.  It certainly wasn’t a common trait, rare enough to garner Cadmus Pariah’s attention.  From all Flint had so far learned, it took a great deal to capture any special consideration from Cadmus.  To the Pariah, they were all a macabre assembly-line of sustenance, no more.  The only exceptions to this, and only by necessity, were his mother long past Kelat, his Blood Nemesis Orphaeus Cygnus, and Faust the Confessor.  Technically, now, Faust had indeed fallen victim to Cadmus Pariah’s special attentions, but was mortated into something Cadmus was unable to touch.  And then there was Flint himself, who had miraculously resisted and overpowered Cadmus after learning of the Dark Child of Night’s involvement in the murder of Gareth Owen.

There were other rumours, too.  Some he had heard independently from the other, which made Flint think there may be some veracity to what was being told to him.  Flint had heard gossip of a thing some called the Singing Tree, but most called the Harming Tree.  Others referred to it as the Fourth Relic, or maybe the First Relic of the New Hive, a dark beacon, each flesh string tuned to play the dying shriek of every Vampire who had given his life to its evolution.  Indeed, all agreed that it was some sort of artifact, a homemade collection of gory souvenirs, meticulously perfected by Cadmus for some reason known only to him.  If there even were a reason.

But Flint had investigated this Harming Tree, and he had concluded that it was a very old artifact indeed, fashioned out of a piece of deadwood, with twisted and gnarled branches sprouting from it, curling like the tortured souls who had contributed to them.  Even though he had always affixed trophies to its resonating body, the act of collecting and offering them up to the Harming Tree took on a special significance after Cadmus was unleashed as a full Vampire, capable of emotion. 

Whenever a person, Vampire or human, elicited a new emotion from the recesses of Cadmus’ soul wounds, he would take a piece of that person, preserve it in some alchemical manner, and add it to the Harming Tree.  It was set as a reminder to the Pariah that a Philosophical Apex had finally transformed into an actual emotion.

From what Flint had heard, there were flesh tympanis on this atrocity.  When Cadmus Pariah hummed in a certain timbre or on a different frequency, the Tree would buzz in response, making an alien music fraught with the desecration of ages.  Flint was positive lurid drum skins weren’t the only thing to have graced this relic’s branches.  Of course, all of this was still nothing more than conjecture on anyone’s part, because the Harming Tree never left the dread sanctity of Cadmus’ altar.  Just as Orphaeus’ ginger scalp that Cadmus had hung to commemorate that moment of triumph so very long ago, its red curls cascading from a simple wooden pole, just touching the surface of the altar, so did the Harming Tree rest eternally at the centre of the Pariah’s sacred space.  It may well have replaced the chalice in its holiness, in Cadmus’ infinite and incomprehensible mind. 

It was a wonderment, this Harming Tree that rested somewhere in the ineluctable hills of England’s West Country, one of the most magickally vibrant places on the living Earth.  It was the consensus among most Vampires who considered themselves privy to some great mystery, that Cadmus’ primary home was veiled in amongst the standing stones that dotted that countryside.  Some even contended it was a castle, having gleaned this information from the Prince of Beasts, Orphaeus Cygnus himself.  The Tree was there, waiting for its next trophy.  Flint imagined that it craved the souvenirs of flesh just as Cadmus craved the Blood of his fellow Vampires. 

Cannibal, thought Flint.  Murderer!

Flint’s smile faded as he started down into Hollywood.  He needed some sort of diversion, maybe a movie, to get his mind off Cadmus Pariah and his Harming Tree.  His focus lingered too much on the artifact, because he could not help but think that if he laid hold of the Tree, he would have enough power to destroy Cadmus Pariah once and for all.  Flint heard the cavalry heading in to take care of the drained body he had left behind.  He sped up his gait and in a matter of moments, the thought of the legions of law enforcers was soon swept away.  Flint rarely concerned himself with any one thing for very long.  There was too much to enjoy.  But soon, his mind turned back to Cadmus.

He shoved his hands into the huge overcoat he was wearing, pulled out a cigarette and a ragged pack of matches.  Lighting the cigarette, he took a long draw from it and continued on to the edge of the city. 

A movie might be exactly what I need, Flint mused.  He remembered that there was an I-Max cinema near Hollywood and Vine, but he had heard that an even more spectacular place had been built somewhere on or near Wilshire Boulevard.  That is where he would go.  Flint hunched his shoulders and walked faster than any human could, blurring himself just enough not to be noticed by slack-jawed onlookers who couldn’t believe what they just saw.

He sped along, thinking about that glorious night when he would raze Cadmus’ terrible presence from the collective memory of the New Hive.  He did not care that Cadmus was the last true Tarma to dwell in this world.  He did not care that the Dark Child of Night thought that he had more knowledge and power under one painted nail than Flint had in his entire body.  Truth be told, Flint cared about very little and, even though he knew it may well be the death of him, he did not care about the dangers of trying to take out the killer of his blood brother.

Flint wondered if he had stirred any kind of emotion in Cadmus, enough for him to want to add the Waltham Phantom to the Tree.  What emotion would he represent?  Ire?  Curiosity?  Repulsion?  He may never know.  But one thing he did know was that Cadmus had travelled to Los Angeles.  Flint had heard it through the grapevine in the lush Vampire population of Reno, Nevada.  Whenever possible, Flint followed wherever Cadmus roamed in order to gather more stories and possibly glean more about the Harming Tree.  Now, three years on, here they were in Los Angeles again.  Full circle.

Flint was not looking for a confrontation.  Oh, no.  There was no way he could win in such a fight; rather, he was keen on locking onto Cadmus’ journeys and following him back to his country home.  His plan was to slip in with Cadmus, in rat form of course, locate the Harming Tree, then shove it through Cadmus’ dread heart.  A grand plan it was, too.  Flint would achieve this by any means necessary.  Avenging his friend for the woeful way in which he was slain was the least Flint could do.

Sadly, Flint didn’t hold out much hope of actually locating Cadmus in this gigantic city.  That psychic wall that muddied the senses between the two of them would only serve to make it all the more difficult.  Besides, he did not yet feel strong enough to take Cadmus on, especially this far away from the object of all Flint’s hopes and fears.  It would surely be the death of him.  All he could really do was tap into the grapevine here and see where it took him next.  For now, though, it was movie time!

Flint was treading a path down Wilshire Boulevard, the maddening soul of the entertainment business spreading out before him.  He really wasn’t taking much notice of anything except for some clue as to where the new I-Max cinema was. 

Corporation, corporation, corporation, Satan…no wait, another corporation.  Nothing to see here, Flint thought to himself.  This was usually his first reaction to just about everything unless he was hungry.  Move along.

Flint flicked the fire off his cigarette and placed the butt back in his pocket.  His coat was beginning to be a wearable ash tray.  Maybe it was time for a new one.  He was about to speed up his gait again, but a flash caught his eye.  It was almost like a supernova that was so far away it was barely imperceptible, but present enough to make itself known.  And there Flint saw him.  Cadmus Pariah.  He was standing at the doors of the Sony building, dressed down in jeans and a green tee shirt.  It was a bit shocking to see Cadmus without all those layers of black Flint had met him in.  That image had been so imprinted on the Phantom’s mind, he could scarcely wrap it around the hip and casual Cadmus he was looking at now.

Flint leapt into the shadows beyond the street lights and watched.  The Plenipotentiary was talking amicably with what was obviously one of those fat cat music biz executives.  The man handed Cadmus a small external hard drive and a CD, nodding enthusiastically.  They shook hands and parted ways.

Cadmus watched the man step down the sidewalk a ways before he was picked up by his driver.  Flint could plainly see the look of disdain on Cadmus’ porcelain face.  The Dark Child gazed down the architecture of his nose at his surroundings as though he were king of all he surveyed.  Flint shook his head disgustedly and made a small “pfff..” escape his lips.

That one tiny sound, barely heard by Flint himself, was enough for Cadmus to cast his gaze in Flint’s direction.  His vast eyes were wide, the pupils fully dilated, making them look blacker than normal.

“You,” was all he said, speaking softly.

But the menace in that one word reached Flint’s keen ears.  “Shit!” he spat and turned tail, for he knew death when he heard it.

It was too late, though.  Cadmus Pariah was across the street in an instant, wrapping his spidery fingers around Flint’s slim throat from behind.

“My odd little Absinthe,” Cadmus purred in Flint’s ear, resting his pale chin on the Vampire’s shoulder. 

He removed his grip from Flint’s throat and enveloped his arms around his thin frame, hugging Flint against him.  The Phantom shuddered from a mixture of horror and desire, then more horror at the desire he felt.  But instinct too him over, and Flint cast his head back, prepared for that rare ecstasy of Ambrosciata.  He hated himself at that moment, despised what he was, this base creature to which he had been reduced in the matter of seconds. 

Cadmus brushed his lips against Flint’s throat, then took his earlobe between his sharp teeth.  When he heard Flint gasp, Cadmus chuckled, compounding the humiliation that had only just begun.

Fighting with ever fiber of his being summoning Gareth’s kind face, Flint hissed, “Get off me, Cadmus Pariah.  Get…away…”

And Flint ducked away from Cadmus’ mighty embrace.  The break surprised Cadmus, who had half-forgotten how Flint had managed to challenge his psychic authority.  The break surprised Flint as well; he had figured Cadmus would have been prepared for any eventuality upon finding Flint again.

Cadmus spun on his heel to face Flint, and he smiled.  The curling of his gracious lips brought the angelic even more to his face.  Flint noticed that his eyes smiled this time, too.  For some reason, this was more terrifying than anything for, if Flint’s suspicions were right, Cadmus’ smile meant that more meat had been added to the Harming Tree.

“You are a swift wee titch, aren’t you, then?”

“Do not call me titch…”  Flint rankled at reacting to Cadmus’ taunt.  He was playing right into the Plenipotentiary’s hands.  Cadmus clicked his tongue in reproach.

“It is rude and…unwise to show your Plenipotentiary such disrespect.”

“I have no respect for you, Cadmus Pariah,” Flint retorted.  All the while, he was weighing his options, that is if he had any.  He was thoroughly unsure, but he still found himself moving a mere thread at a time, creating some space, any space, between him and Cadmus.  If he had any chance at all, it would be to create some sort of diversion, then run like all hell was snapping at his hamstrings.  And, honestly, as he glared at Cadmus Pariah, that was not far off the mark.

Flint’s intentions were thwarted when Cadmus put a geasa so strong on Flint, he knew there would be no way to break this one.  He was frozen in place, watching Cadmus inch ever so closer to him. 

When they were almost nose to nose, Cadmus trailed one fine finger along Flint’s jaw line.  It was more an act of ownership than affection.  Cadmus had not yet experienced affection yet, nor did he particularly want to.  Such emotions made him uneasy.  Those that humans and Vampires seemed to agree were negative emotions were the ones that Cadmus found much easier to incorporate into his personal myth.  Amusement, however, was a surprising exception.  Cadmus seemed to not get enough of that particular emotion.  Of course, what the Dark Child of Night found humourous never seemed to bring a smile to anyone else, not that it concerned Cadmus one bit.

Withdrawing his finger, Cadmus stared at Flint, studying him.  He had not changed over the past few years.  His dark blonde hair still flopped like a wet rag across his vulpine face.  His clothes ill-fitting, unseemly, and generally displeasing.  And his eyes, yes those eyes, he had not given them much thought since their last unpleasant encounter!  They still eclipsed with phosphorescent green at almost regular intervals.  Cadmus had to admit, he found Flint’s eyes stunning.  Large, expressive, and as thoroughly alien to this world as Cadmus’ own Tarmian ones.

“I see you’ve yet to clean up your act,” he said, his voice low.  “If you had a future, I would advise you on how to better present yourself as an upstanding citizen of the New Hive.”

“And I see you’ve continued your murderous rampage.”

Knitting his dusky brow, Cadmus pondered on this statement.  Was it a mere insult or what Flint thought may be an insult, or was it something more distinct?  Curiosity burned within his breast, so Cadmus placed his forehead against Flint’s and pushed with his mind, but only a little at first.  He did not want to kill Flint and spoil all the fun.  The night was still young and full of promise, and Cadmus was hungry.  With each barrier Flint threw up, Cadmus pushed harder and with more Will.  It was a struggle, but Cadmus Pariah always had his way.

In the weird miasma that was Flint’s disorderly thought process, Cadmus began to explore.  He probed all the recesses of Flint’s mind to quench his curiosity.  And there he found all the flatfoot work Flint had been up to over the years.  He saw in this primitive jumble of thoughts and memories, how Flint had twigged on to the Harming Tree, and this raised Cadmus’ simmering ire with this wee nonentity to high flames.

“The Harming Tree?” he said, his lips against Flint’s.  “Now, how did you come across that tidbit of information?  How on Earth did you, of all people, you surmise what my sacrament was, at least to some extent?  You may answer me, titch, or I shall delve again.  This time, I will not be so gentle, and I am a man of my word.  Despite my desire to draw this out, my patience with you is swiftly reaching its end.”

Flint sneered at Cadmus.  “You’ve caught me, Pariah.  Do and be done with me.”

What the fuck are you doing? Flint thought to himself.  Are you wanting to die before getting your chance to kill this bastard?

Cadmus Pariah drew his head away from Flint’s, lifted his obsidian eyes to the dark beyond the desecration of electricity.  At that moment, Flint thought the Plenipotentiary looked for all intents like one of the saints of yore, painted in fresco on the ceiling of some forgotten chapel.  There was no way to deny Cadmus’ beauty even when you had seen firsthand his ugly underneath.

“You see, my Absinthe-eyed friend, that would be altogether too easy, especially for you.”  Cadmus used all the Willpower he had at his disposal to not rip out Flint’s throat then and there.  “Nooo…  I think that you should get to see that which you have so thoroughly investigated.”

“There is no bloody way I’m getting on an aeroplane with you.”

“My love, we do not need an aeroplane.”

Cadmus embraced Flint and whisked him into what seemed like a different dimension.  There was no sense of movement, yet everything around them sped by at such an alarming rate, Flint began to scream from the terrifying absurdity.

“Scream your rodent head off, titch,” Cadmus whispered in his ear.  “It will be good practice for the festivities to come.”

Flint’s Blood froze, and he forgot about the insanity around him.  He had heard the legends of Faust the Confessor, and how he had lingered between life and death under the careful and cruel hands of Cadmus Pariah.  Flint usually did not concern himself with the trappings of mortality, because it did not touch him directly.  Now it was wrapped around in the form of the Dark Child of Night.  Flint was almost certain that he would die, and do so horribly.  He only hoped that the slaughter did not come in the forms of vivisection and evisceration. 

Onward they raged through this strange quantum world.  Then they almost instantly stopped in front of a modest house nestled in amongst verdant hills that seemed to shimmer as a sign that dawn was but moments away.

“Let us take shelter, Absinthe love, before the sun burns you to cinders.”

Cadmus’ voice was like fractured ice and Flint, in his paralysed state, could only despair.  How, why had he been so stupid as to get caught the very first time he had encountered Cadmus since their nightmarish meeting in the cinema?  Flint focused all his energy against the geasa, and felt it nudge just a tad.  Cadmus felt it too, and he pulled Flint closer to him, spiriting the Vampire into his home.  Once inside, Cadmus released Flint, who bolted for the door and began to jimmy with the knob, trying to escape.

“You daft little man,” Cadmus said flatly.  “Do you honestly think I would have let you go that easily?”

Flint turned and scowled at Cadmus, his eyes glinting an eerie green.  “I will find some way to kill you, Cadmus Pariah.  I will kill you in your own home, holding the Harming Tree over you as your unnatural life ekes out of you.”

Cadmus simply smiled at Flint, moved across the dark room, lighting a variety of green candles.  They barely illuminated the bleak interior of the front room.  There were no decorations in the dark place, no art, no television or plants, no furniture save for the plain wooden tables on which rested the numerous candles.  Candles also crowned the mantel of the fireplace, its cold ashes indicating that it had not been used in perhaps decades.

Walking back to Flint, Cadmus took his hand away from the door knob, cupping Flint’s fingers deftly in his own warm, dry hand.  Flint gazed warily at Cadmus, and Cadmus returned the stare, looking downward at the small Vampire.  He was an inch, maybe two shorter than Cadmus, and Cadmus was not a large man.  His slight wiry frame suited his height, making him perfectly graceful.  Flint, however, was draped in baggy clothes, an overcoat that reeked of stale tobacco, and shoes that were ridiculously large.  Lost somewhere in the mess of his wardrobe resided a man who matched Cadmus’ own body.

“Why do you hide inside these ragged clothes?”  Cadmus whispered, bringing Flint’s hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles softly and with deliberation.  “Why is that, Absinthe?  You really mustn’t meet my sacrament dressed thusly.”

The Compulsion dripping from Cadmus’ words caressed Flint’s soul, but he still fought the inevitability of Cadmus’ steely Will.  He turned his mind to Gareth, his brother in blood, and how Cadmus had viciously snuffed out his life as if he were nothing but an insect.  He pushed the Compulsion away as hard as he could and Cadmus retreated somewhat.  But he didn’t fully lose the hold he had on Flint.

“I am going to grace you with a privilege that no one, human or Vampire, has ever experienced, Absinthe my love,” Cadmus Pariah said, his voice like thick honey.  “Tonight, you will walk into my sacred space, my altar room.  And you shall feed my Tree, bathing it with your precious Blood as I pull your little life into my own eternal one.  Why am I doing this?  Two reasons…”

The Plenipotentiary placed his head behind Flint’s head, his fingers combing through his limp rabbit fur hair.

“The very fact that you know about my sacrament makes you a threat, a free agent who may eventually disturb my Great Work, the order of the New Hive and the purpose it now serves for me.  And…you have stirred within me, despite your looking for all intents like a homeless man, a spark of interest I have not yet experienced.”

Cadmus drew closer to Flint, placing his cool smooth cheek against Flint’s scruffy face.

“I believe it is a vague sense of lust…for you.  It is perplexing to me, and it fascinates me, this new emotion.  It is almost a raw, animal apex.  I am dismayed by this.  Why is this, Absinthe?  Tell me if you know.  Tell me before I devour you and dress the Tree with your abandoned flesh.”

“Stop calling me Absinthe,” Flint growled his sharp teeth catching the light of the muted candles as he drew away from Cadmus’ intimate touch.  “And I don’t know why you’ve surrendered to this particular emotion.  I do not care.  All I care about is your slaying my friend with no thought whatsoever.  You will die for the sins you’ve committed, Your Majesty.  Somehow, I will make you pay.  Rape me, abuse me, bleed me, but I will survive this…and I will strike you with your own Tree in a great and righteous fury.”

“Oh such venomous eloquence coming from the mouth of a vagabond titch!”  Cadmus exclaimed, smiling – truly smiling once again.  And then he laughed.  It was Blood-chilling that laugh, made all the more terrifying by the genuine mirth behind it. 

The Dark Child leaned forward to once again connect his cheek with Flint’s.  Flint could feel Cadmus’ long eyelashes brushing against the corner of his eye and, despite his fierce attempts to deny it, he could feel himself slipping into the warmth of Cadmus’ Compulsion and Glamour.  At least Cadmus was having to work for whatever end he desired.  Flint fought him every step of the way, the Vampires locked in a battle of Magick and Wills.  But Flint was no match for Cadmus in the end, despite the aberration of his ability to resist Cadmus at all.  He was younger than Cadmus and had had no training in the Dark Arts of the Apostate.  He was full-blood human, with not a drop of Tarmian blood running in his Terran-born veins.  Really, the only thing Flint had going in his favour at the moment, and he wasn’t even sure about this, thinking that Cadmus could be lying, was that he had somehow attracted the Abomination to him.  He did have a rather strong Glamour, but it depended on the individual, it was hardly a sure thing every time, like it was with Cadmus Pariah.  And he certainly was nowhere near as naturally attractive as Cadmus.  Flint had been told once long ago, by whom he could not remember, that he was an acquired taste.  Yes, those were the words; “acquired taste”…not something that came naturally for most everyone.  That wounded him then, but not nearly as much as it might have anyone else.  Actually looking back on it all, if Flint gave just a fraction of a damn about much of anything, he would have been desperately hurt by some of the things said and done to him in his life.  Well, it’s good I don’t give a flying fuck, he assured himself.  His ability not to care was like a cat’s purr: self soothing.  Cats would purr when scared or in pain.  Flint’s thoughts may well match the purr, just as his eyes shared the cat’s reflective weirdness.  You will get through this, Flint.  Cadmus has no idea how strong you really are, how unconcerned you are to be in this position.  He has no clue because he’s too self-centred and he underestimates you because you, Simon Flynt…you are super-cool.  You can handle this.  You can handle Cadmus.  You can handle anything.

The brush of those impossibly long dusky lashes succeeded in breaking Flint’s concentration, though, and Cadmus felt him falter, if only just a little.  Before Flint could fully raise his defences again, Cadmus swiftly moved his lips to Flint’s, kissing him with a slow deliberation.  Flint knew he did not have to do this.  Cadmus could simply pull him into his prayer room, or whatever it was, and vivisect him right there on the altar.  But Cadmus was taking the time to attempt a seduction.  Should Flint just play along?  Or was he kidding himself into thinking that he was playing along when he really was not?  Thinking about such mind-games made Flint’s head hurt.  He fairly sucked at all this Vampiric cloak and dagger shite, and his thoughts were muddying exponentially as the kiss drew out.  But he forced himself to turn his head away, raging against the Compulsion that held him enough to be able to break the kiss.

“Get away, Pariah,” Flint said.

“And if I do not, what shall you do then?”  There was no threat in the voice, but Cadmus did not need to exude threat.  His was a valid question and one that would perfectly put Flint in his place.  Cadmus could tell that Flint was already in a desperate inner battle, not only with himself, but also with what he thought Cadmus was up to.  Let him wonder, let him ache from the possibilities and all the horrors each one may bring.

Flint was mute, unable to even answer Cadmus’ question, even to himself.  He really had no options until Cadmus was certain of his superior hand in this cat and mouse game.  Was he really so trapped as this, that he had nothing in his bag of tricks?  The only thing he could think of doing was to make Cadmus think Flint was playing enthusiastically into his hands.  Cadmus was used to getting what he wanted in the Arts of Desire, Flint could tell.  Let him believe this was no different than the thousands of times he had done it before.

“I don’t know.  All I do know is…”  And Flint let it draw out for as long as he felt comfortable.  He locked eyes with Cadmus, hazel green on shimmering obsidian.  “All I do know is that I hate myself for…enjoying a kiss…so thoroughly enjoying a kiss with the man who murdered Gareth Owen.”

Cadmus crinkled his brow, scowling with a kind of confusion at Flint.

“Who?”

The one word question hit Flint like a ton of bricks.  He did not think that Cadmus could ever make him feel worse about the loss of Gareth and the circumstances around it.  But what is more hurtful:  that your friend and brother was murdered because of his association with you, or that he was so unimportant, he wasn’t even worth a lasting memory in the mind of the killer?

Flint worked his throat, trying not to lose his mind right there and then.  Don’t do it, man.  Cadmus isn’t worth that level of frustration and Gareth is worth you not going batshit and losing what may be your only chance to avenge him. 

Feeling the urge to scream subside, Flint answered in a voice so lacking in concern it surprised even him.  “The friend who became my first source of food after I was turned.”

Flint watched Cadmus lift his eyebrows high as he ducked his head in that odd fashion that served only to endear and insinuate himself further into people’s psyche.  “Aa-a-ahh, him.” 

Feeding the Tree, Part b

Cadmus truly had forgotten about that one. Once he had shared the story of Owen’s demise with Flint, the story no longer seemed important. The man certainly had not been, so Cadmus dismissed the entire matter from his immediate realm of memory and carried on with his dark life.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. This Simon Flynt, this Absinthe, he had three things to feed this day: Cadmus, his lust, and his sacramental Tree. What was left would feed the mould and vermin down below.

“Are your feelings still raw over my little bedtime story from our last time together then?”

“Only a little,” Flint lied. “When…when you are a Vampire, you have to choose wisdom in what battles to fight and what grudges to hold. An eternity of nothing but vengeance to keep you company is a waste of years that could be put to better use, to revelry or art. Anything but eternal hatred. That would just be…bleak.”

Cadmus studied Flint. Was the Waltham Phantom baiting him? Was he being passive-aggressive in his reply? He could see no ulterior motive to Flint’s words. Cadmus tried to believe it was coincidence, but too much synchronicity marred his life upon this Earth to allow him to believe in coincidence. What else could it be, though? He was wily and insightful enough to ferret out myths and whispers regarding my Harming Tree. And there are Vampire scribes around the world already committing to scroll electronics, the accounts of the marriage of the three Vampire Relics. All were more easily accessed than anything remotely having to do with the Tree. Surely Flint would have heard tales of Cadmus’ early life and how he had lived the first millennia as a child of pure Void, forged in pain, set to mete out vengeance, another’s tool of empty retribution.

“Do you mock me, Absinthe?” Cadmus asked, his voice dripping with an innocence that had not existed in well over two thousand years.

“No! No, Cadmus, I’m not mocking you!” Flint rushed to say, kicking himself for being so careless in his words. He had truly not meant anything by what he had said; it’s just that Flint had never had to take care in anything he said. He could not even be bothered to keep his Darkling nature under wraps in these modern times. It was up for debate in certain Vampiric circles if this were a sign of unconcern or just sheer laziness. Probably both.

Saying nothing more on the matter, Cadmus Pariah returned to the activities at hand. Levels of hunger gnawed at him now, but Cadmus’ path had always been one of control, and this day would be no different than any other in that respect. He took Flint’s hands in his and pulled him down the long hall from the dark front room. Flint allowed himself to be drawn along, a mixture of fear and attraction boiling in the back of this throat. He watched as Cadmus lost none of his grace as he walked backward in front of him. Cadmus’ eyes never strayed from Flint, and Flint could feel an elevation in Compulsion deep within his breast. He still fought it, but he realized that it was a losing battle.

Flint diverted his stare from Cadmus, to study the art on the walls of this hall. Tapestries of long-dead English nobility seemed to come alive as they passed, the wind from the Vampire’s motion making the heavy cloth ripple and writhe as though haunted. The paintings were of scenes from the times of the Middle Ages, comprising mainly of holy knights bearing the heraldry and sigils of the Templarians. There were also depictions of the Great Mortality, that dreadful time Flint’s parents had told him about. Shuddering, Flint turned his attention elsewhere. The walls were not just lined with these antiquated pieces; they were also broken at perfect intervals by heavy wooden doors.

“What…?” Flint began, then paused for fear of raising Cadmus’ ire, and losing his diaphanous hope to evacuate as soon as Vampirically possible. Cadmus raised his dark eyebrows in askance, his giant eyes communicating a curious menace.

“You have a question, Absinthe?”

“These doors… Where do they go? The house doesn’t seem to be large enough for this hall and these many rooms.”

“Ahhh… Well… As you probably have already heard in the webs of gossip that infests the New Hive, the house is not a house at all, but a very old small keep. I took this place many hundreds of years ago, and I cloaked it and set to cleansing the minds of the locals of their memory of it. And it became mine, and shall always be mine. The rooms about which you seem so curious, are no longer in use. The doors go nowhere now. But before I became full Vampire, I kept human livestock in those chambers, their empty shells nothing more than vessels to be milked of their blood until they withered and faded. And, after they were no longer of any use to me, I would carry their corpses, both living and dead, down into the lower tiers, where the dampness and stench of death invade the very pores of your skin and linger there upon you reeling mind. I promise you, my love, that you will see this place for yourself before too very long. And your silent screams shall fall upon the ears of hopelessness.”

Before Flint could try to make another break for it, Cadmus increased his Compulsion threefold, and allowed his natural Glamour to be revealed. He felt Flint’s hands relax and tremble in his own, and he studied the Vampire’s face. Flint was submerged in the idea of love, the possibilities of Ambrosciata and all the pleasure that it carried. There was no longer a hint of hesitation in Flint’s step now. He belonged to Cadmus.

Flint had felt the increase in Compulsion and saw Cadmus unveil his full beauty. It was a beauty that could easily kill from its intensity, but Cadmus felt it necessary to unleash much more of his abilities and attributes than normal, or a least that is what Flint surmised. The Phantom had forced himself to relax, to be completely pliant so that Cadmus would believe that he had utterly surrendered. He had no idea how he was resisting the pull Cadmus had on him, but Flint wasn’t one to examine the particulars of any situation, especially if things were even remotely going in his favour. Flint considered his not becoming a slave to Cadmus’ dread attentions a stroke of good luck in a less than rosy circumstance.

They had reached the end of the long hallway. There were two doors at the end of the hall. One narrow door made of very heavy dark wood, and showing no sign of a handle or knob anywhere, to the left of the hall, and one that looked to be teak in front of them. Just as the narrow door was smaller than conventional modern doors, so too was the teak one larger than the norm. It had an ornate handle which Cadmus opened with ease, never casting his gaze anywhere else but Flint’s phosphorescent eyes.

Behind Cadmus, light poured out of the room, illuminating the hall with a brilliance Flint did not expect. At first, he thought it was the burgeoning sun shining through windows inside the room, and he instinctively flinched.

“It is not the sun, Flint. This is the only room to have the electric amenity. It is for my computer. But I thought it prudent to produce some light for any passersby to see. A house always dark is an invitation to burglars and other unsavoury types. I do not enjoy killing people who might have been seen near my home, so I have these lamps as a way to avoid such an undesirable action. Come, come now.”

Flint followed Cadmus into the room. It was a bedroom. The large bed did not appear to have ever been slept in; then again, it could be that Cadmus had not been home in a very long time. Besides, Vampires did not truly need to sleep, so why have a bed at all? It was covered with a thick green comforter and two oversize pillows, in green pillow cases. The stone floor was covered with a variety of Persian rugs. Dotted around the room were lamps of various sizes and colours, all of them burning brightly. Talk about overkill, Flint thought, then felt a smile threaten to break through. Against the wall facing the foot of the bed there was a desk upon which sat a desktop computer. Beside it rested a laptop. Bookshelves lined the far wall, where there would have normally been a window or more than one. The shelves were stuffed to overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes. You could always learn a lot about a person by the books they read.

“May I look at your library, Cadmus?”

Cadmus gave a slight inclination of his head and moved over to the desk where he picked up the laptop, taking it to the bed. Not once did he ease off the Compulsion. He wanted to keep a good hold on the Waltham Phantom until the creature was nailed to wood like a large butterfly, set to Bleed for him and his sacrament. But before that could happen, Cadmus was compelled to purge this unhealthy fascination for the Vampire titch. It irked him no end that he found this silly man so attractive.

Flint stepped over to the shelves, Willing himself not to glance over his shoulder in trepidation. He began looking at the catalogue of books: Being and Nothingness by Sartre, A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter Miller Jr., Malleus Malificarum Malleus by Kramer and Sprenger, The Writings of Austin Osman Spare, The Rose-Croix: The Templars’ Secret Life by Fedan, Brave New World by Huxley, The Damnation Game by Barker, The Kybalion by Three Initiates, and so many more, ranging from large art books, various religious tomes, and books on the anatomies humans and animals. Flint could not wrap his head around it all, and his hope of better understanding Cadmus by the books he read, was replaced by even more confusion.

“You have quite a collection here,” Flint said, hoping to get Cadmus talking about books and buy himself some time.

“Mm,” Cadmus answered distractedly. Flint looked behind him and saw that Cadmus was immersed in the virtual reality of the Internet. He began easing back around the bed to the door. Surely one of the adjacent rooms they had passed might offer up sanctuary and even escape. But Cadmus looked up at the movement and shook his head. “Now, where do you think you are going, my titch?”

“Don’t –“

“Call me ‘titch.’ Yes, I know. But see, Flint, I do as I please, and it pleases me to call you ‘titch.’ Protest all you want. This will be your last day of resisting my Will.”

Cadmus opened his vast eyes to their full effect, drinking in all that Flint had been or would ever hope to be. In that one moment, suspended in sublimity on a thread of time, Flint was enraptured in Cadmus’ infinite eyes. He was completely lost in those eyes, black within black within the endlessness of all that is darker than black. He wanted to find repose in those eyes. He wanted those eyes to gaze upon him forever, two endless coals of seduction mingling with his own phosphorescent strangeness.

Cadmus pulled Flint down to the bed, straddled him, pinned him down. Closer and closer still, Cadmus drew his face closer to Flint’s until his lips touched his.

“You crave this lushness,” Cadmus said. “You wish to have my lips upon yours, to feel their Elfin fullness upon your own. The mere thought of it pleases you. Admit it, Absinthe. Own your desire for me, who am your Elven progenitor.

“I…”

“Speak, my young beauty. Say the words you have so long wished to utter. I know that you want me, in your dreams every day as you sleep hidden away from the mighty star sun. Speak it, my odd little man. Utter the truth with your words, if you can.”

Flint held his breath, closing his eyes with all his might against the wonderment of Cadmus’ endless gaze. Yes, he wanted him. Despite his preference for the female persuasion, Flint desired the impossible beauty of Cadmus Pariah. Desperately did he want him. Leaning up to touch his lips fully on Cadmus, Flint kissed him, and felt the purity of his desire.

But then Cadmus withdrew, propping his chin on his spider hands, his elbows resting comfortably on each side of Flint’s thin chest. Next came that unbearable smile again, the very expression of the damned brought full circle.

“Like so many of your tribe, you Darkbloods, your weakness is sexual; then again, it does serve my purposes so very often. The Blood of the Incubus, or Succubus, any kind, is charged with a particular level of sanctity. The Little Death wrapped so snugly within the Greater. Ah, but I must admit that, on a certain incomprehensible level, my desire for you reaches just beyond my need for Blood…or the hungers that lie within my sacred Tree. Your mess, the whole of you, it sings to me on some unexplained level. My hatred of you is tempered also with a kind of fascination, and a special brand of…confusion. That is something I have not yet felt: confusion. Why is it that such conflicting apices could reside in the same plane of comprehension?”

“I am not an apex, Cadmus.”

Cadmus blinked his infinite eyes with unconcern. “When you boil it down, young Absinthe, all anyone or anything is, is merely an apex masked in the fallacy that is emotion. Such is the reality of my Harming Tree. It bears for me the scars that realized apices may carry within their wily traps. You are nothing to me but an apex barely conceived within the nightmare of my reverie. You are a blip in the perfection that is my reality, something to be dispensed with and discarded, as soon as you are used up to my satisfaction. And what is so amusing by this, is that you are privy to all of it, yet you still willingly participate, because it is impossible to deny the undeniable. Especially when that which shall not be denied desires you above all others. At least for this day of days. Before you die, you may drink taste the flesh that, by family lineage alone, remade your own. Possess me in body, as I also possess you…in body, in Blood, in soul. This is me, as bared as perhaps I shall ever be, but only because I know that you will never see another luna to tell of it. Only by the branches of the Tree shall you be known for time immemorial. In the Tree, and in my undying memories of secret indulgences. Now, tell me, titch; do you have anything under those layers of thrift store bargains, or are you nothing but a ghost with revenant eyes?”

Flint felt the Compulsion envelope him again, and he was swept away from any threat that had been made to his person. He felt Cadmus’ lips brush his again. The kiss became deeper and he felt the Plenipotentiary’s hand find the skin buried beneath his shirts and jackets.

“My wisp of a Darkling…” Cadmus breathed into Flint’s ear. “My Absinthe-eyed snack.”

He took Flint’s earlobe in his mouth and bit just enough to break the skin. Sucking the Blood that grudgingly relinquished to his ministrations, Camus reached under Flint’s dusty, smoke-saturated overcoat, around to his back, and brought the Darkling up from the bed and closer against him. He entwined his legs around Flint’s waist and down to his legs, wrapping around him like a spider circling its web, trapping the hapless fly. And Flint found himself loving it, surrendering to the spider’s deadly attentions.

They kissed again, deeply this time, lingering in each other’s deliciousness, basking in the desirability of their dark union. Flint wrapped his arms around Cadmus’ neck, delighting in the lushness of his flesh, and losing himself to the impossibility of one soul being as irresistible as the Pariah was. He delighted in that he was engaged with the Prince of all Vampires, the Plenipotentiary himself, wrapped in the ecstasy of the flesh. Flint was no stranger to such indulgences, being one of the Darkbloods, but he wasn’t very experienced in the pleasures of the Blood. Vampires typically were not beating down his door to engage in Ambrosciata with him, so he was surprised by the idea that Cadmus Pariah wanted to exchange that holy elixir. Intellectually, he knew it was most likely a ruse but, emotionally…physically, he really did not care. Cadmus was the most beautiful of them all, and the most desirous. Flint was aroused by the mere thought of him.

Cadmus leaned into him and purred in his ear. “I am your grace and your forgiveness. I am your dreams and your desire. I am that which visits you in the deepest dark. I am the whisper in your mind and the madness that accompanies that song. I am the words upon your tongue and sweetness upon your lips. I am the Abomination you dare deny and the Sacrament for which you seek. I am that which you encircle and surround and that which embraces and devours you. I am all that and so much more, young Flint. So much I want to be for you, at least for this monumental day, here in the secrecy of sacred places.”

Flint was overcome by the eloquence of it all, and he took Cadmus’ lips fully into his own, savouring the ginger and papyrus that was his Darkling essence. Cadmus returned the kiss, glorifying in the knowledge that he had possessed one more Vampire, taken him from the night like a babe, promising him the love of ages and the wonderment of eternity. Flint had so easily been misled…then again, Cadmus did feel an undeniable attraction to him. Perhaps it was because he was a Darkling and inherently sexual; but, Cadmus had often taken the Succubi and the Incubi of Darkblood. It should not be an issue for him now. But it was. Flint sang to him in the silence of his existence, in the haunted echoes of his mind. He placed his face against Flint’s and breathed in deeply, taking in his opium and tobacco, actually luxuriating in it this time. Flint had cast a kind of spell on Cadmus, inexplicably making him want the younger Vampire for real and true. Cadmus rarely felt any kind of attraction, preferring rather to engage in its fallacy for the sake of feeding. But this time was different. This strange little Vampire who was actually smaller than he was had captured his attention, had aroused his curiosity and his own strange desire.

Cadmus looked at Flint and began to peel the layers of garments that masked his thin frame. He was as perfect as any human could be, which spoke volumes in Cadmus’ pristine world. Eventually he reached Flint’s slight chest and he leaned down to kiss the delicate clavicle. He was, in his own way, a very lovely specimen, despite his hobo appearance. At least the clothing was clean, save for the overwhelming scent of various kinds of tobacco. There was that musk, that undeniable musk that was so attractive. It was not the musk of the lotus, which belonged to Cadmus and his papyrus identity, but something a bit more animal, something that, in its own way, was quite irresistible. Cadmus inhaled the scent tumbling off Flint like waves. He found himself wrapped up in its glorious seduction, and he felt the stirrings of the Darkling’s sexual inclinations.

The Eternal Child of Night trailed down Flint’s frame, reaching his treasure trail before removing his two pair of slacks and his holey boxer shorts. How could someone let himself go like this? Yes, he was clean, but so immersed in disarray. Cadmus rose up and looked at Flint in his nakedness. He was thin, like Cadmus, but nicely shaped, moreso than the Plenipotentiary. His body, except for the treasure trail, was sparse of hair, which pleased Cadmus, who had adopted the hirsute nature of his human progenitors, both the Apostate and Thieyennen Vathyella. Flint was well-shaped, but not overly muscular, which was unattractive at best. He noticed the arousal in Flint’s member and smiled. It was admittedly extremely attractive to Cadmus, who preferred neither male nor female, but anyone who would provide for him the blessings of blood and an exquisite state of sublime suffering.

Flint was different. Flint aroused Cadmus. Flint made Cadmus wish to truly pleasure him to the ultimately brink of climax, so that the Blood would be sweet beyond reckoning. Flint made Cadmus wish a forbidden union in which he had only rarely engaged, even with Eve, his Garden of Blood. Flint became Cadmus’ weakness and his blessing, a kind of poetry that spoke of Cadmus’ human existence. He felt the lust of the human animal, and it was augmented by the holy existence of Elven awareness.

Cadmus moved downward to Flint’s exquisite erection and he found there a treasure beyond all that was, exhibiting a song rarely uttered by any Vamprie or mortal on this great green Earth. The nature of his human animal nature sang to him a song like no other in the Great Dark Song of Life.

Cadmus gazed up at Flint, admiring his arousal, and he moved onward to the gift of the body. He tasted of tobacco and Absinthe, a heady flavour, fraught with dreams and promise. He was well-shaped, exquisite for his physical size, like a poetry of flesh. Cadmus, despite his murderous inclinations, wished to utter that poetry to the worlds of both mortals and Vampires, to make a legend of wonderment within the realm of the Hive of the Darkblood, so fraught with that which brings love and pleasure. A part of Flint would be reserved within the echoes of Cadmus’ psychic self, and a part of his body would be commemorated upon the twisted branches of Cadmus’ Harming Tree.

But he would have to be careful, Cadmus would. His fascination with Flint, despite his spite for the way Flint lived and honestly Flint himself, should be kept well in check. Flint had powers like no other Vampire had, not even that reprehensible throwback, Faust. Despite his ability to take confession, despite his cheating of both death and the supposed Vampire curse, despite his eventual sainthood, not even Faust had been able to hold his own against Cadmus. But Flint was a different sort of creature. Flint had a reserve of Willpower that sometimes matched Cadmus’ own. Just for that indiscretion alone, Cadmus was compelled to destroy him. But the desire for dalliance wrapped around Cadmus like dragon’s wings, and he knew there was nothing for it, but to take his pleasure in Flint’s body, then take his pleasure in Flint’s last moments of pain.

Flint must pay for challenging Cadmus’ authority and for bringing the newfound emotion, confusion, to the fore. The dichotomy of reprehension and fascination that Flint inspired in Cadmus, gave rise to that confusion. It was intolerable. But even as Cadmus groused about abiding Flint to live this long, he was delighting in the taste of him and the low sound coming from deep within his chest. Confusion. Flint’s flesh would be sacrificed to the Tree in honour of confusion.

To his surprise, Cadmus had moved ever downward without even realising what he was doing. He was soon engaged in the deliciousness of Flint’s growing flesh. The confusion took on an almost physical presence, just as real and infuriating as anything in the sublimity of Cadmus’ current incarnation. What was worse, is he could not refrain from such attentions. It was natural and right, something Cadmus himself had never been. He could not conceive it.

Cadmus drew his tongue up the bottom of Flint’s shaft as Flint watched him, his phosphorescent eyes flashing ever faster with excitation, betraying his surrendering to the one soul he could say he truly despised. Flint felt his Blood coursing through him like the beat of ancient drums; it pounded through him like a hammer. Those full lips on him, those lips that had conjured both angels and demons, and everything between them…they were now conjuring such a religious delight in Flint, he hadn’t the words to describe it. Whatever he had done to deserve such attention from the Plenipotentiary, he longed to repeat it for eternity, or for however long they could survive the Walk of Night in a mortal world. And this distressed him, as he felt he was turning away from Gareth’s memory, and from the immortal vengeance he harboured for Cadmus Pariah. But…but…

In reflex to the pleasure, Flint suddenly placed his hand on Cadmus’ head as Cadmus studied ever millimeter of him. But, when he did so, Cadmus drew away.

“Do not touch me until I give you the permission to do so.”

Flint gulped, seeing the Cadmus he knew all too well, and remembering time back, far back, when he and Gareth had engaged in such pleasures…before he had been turned, a lifetime before Cadmus had taken Gareth as a trophy in the dark. Thoughts of Gareth drew Flint away from the brink and back into some semblance of reality. He almost jumped out of the slacks that were already down around his boots, as he moved from the bed to the stereo system next to it.

“We need music. Don’t you think we need some music? How about some tuneage?”

Flint pressed a button and music blared out of the speaker, soaking the Vampires with an almost unbearable level of noise.

“Coldplay?” Cadmus said, irritation in his voice. “Must we endure this inanity?”

“No, I really do much better with this if I have music…O Prince,” Flint added as an afterthought. He was suddenly quite aware again of where he was and what was going on. Cadmus intended to do what he wished with him, to him, regardless of his own wishes. And then Cadmus would murder him just as he had done Gareth.

Cadmus moved from the bed and placed his lips against Flint’s ear, purring, “I know where we can have music to fit our fleshly delights. And it will surround us just as the act of Ambrosciata, with secrets…and wondrous sin…and the mysteries of love.”

“Love?” Flint’s voice trembled, betraying a mixture of arousal and fear. “What do you know of love?”

Twining around Flint like a snake embracing an unwitting mouse. “There is much you do not know about me, my pretty young one,” Cadmus said, his empty soul pounding against his chest as much from the lie he told as it was from the truth of it. “Like any who tread the paths of life on this planet, I too can love.”

“We’ve hated each other from almost the moment we met. I know you think me unkempt and disdainful.”

“Perhaps I do,” Cadmus replied, and kissed Flint’s throat, pulled back to look him in those intriguing reflective eyes. “Perhaps I also find you fascinating and wickedly handsome, what with your rare eyes and rabbit fur hair.”

Cadmus pulled his fingers through Flint’s soft, limp hair. It was not entirely unpleasant. At least this time it looked like it had been washed. Reaching down, he took hold of Flint’s almost delicate hands and backed toward the door of the bedroom, leading him back into the hallway.

Flint felt like he had been drugged. Part of him knew that psychically, he most certainly had been, but the logical part of him screamed to take flight, no matter the price. There had to be some way out of this…but…Cadmus Pariah, in all his Elven beauty. He was not much taller than Flint, perhaps a hair over an inch. His frame matched Flint’s as well, with a natural muscularity but certainly nothing at all macho. Flint closed his eyes and shook his head, almost as quickly as a dog, trying to overcome the spell Cadmus had cast over him. He thought of Gareth, and his grisly end at Cadmus’ dread hand.

“Do not think on that which you cannot change,” he heard Cadmus say quietly. “Come, the day has begun, so we must seek shelter in the velvet darkness of my sanctuary.”

That wriggled into Flint’s mind and his eyes widened. Cadmus’ sanctuary? Wasn’t that where he kept his altar, his Harming Tree? Flint stumbled a little, losing his erection instantly. He was about to be fed to that infernal relic of the New Hive. Was there any way out of this?

Before Flint could gather his senses, Cadmus was once more on him, his arms wrapped around him warm and sweet…like a woman’s insistence. He melted into the embrace, not caring that this was how those who had come before him felt when Cadmus pulled them into his world. And that was the last thought he had before walking willingly into Cadmus’ dead black shrine.

“Candlelight for those who cannot see beyond their noses in this blessed dark,” said Cadmus, easing Flint to his altar before reaching over and lighting a candle.

Through the fog of his desire and fright, Flint tried to study the legendary altar of the Plenipotentiary. It was the only thing that could be seen by the dim light. There, at its side and just touching the altar, perched upon a staff was the scalp, its red hair just as shiny and vibrant as the day it was ripped from Orphaeus Cygnus’ head. The single candle was affixed near the fore of the altar’s surface by way of its own wax. Cadmus had no need to use it to illuminate this room. He knew it well, but could probably also see the vastness implied by the sentient dark. To the left of the candle there lay an obviously ancient bell with an inscription on it that used no lettering Flint had ever seen. The right side of the altar was ordained with a small scourge with what looked like claws at the end of each leather tendril. Beside it rested an unadorned blade. But in the center…well, the center is what concerned Flint the most.

There it sat, resonating with its own strange music, an alien undulation that inspired fear and fascination in equal measure. Its tortured limbs reached toward a heaven that would reject it for all time and all times thereafter, and on them were stretched centuries of flesh, trapped and aching.

Flint felt its throbbing before he heard the Harming Tree’s song. It wormed deep within his breast, fondling his heart with perverse intimacy, a melody that said, “Oh I know you, whose skin shall soon be mine. Already you bask in the inevitability of our union. You want to feel the branches wrap around you, I who am your Venus fly trap, you who are my immortal fly.”

And the thing was right. Flint desired to touch the Harming Tree as he much as he desired the dark attentions of Cadmus Pariah. It was as though he and the Tree were destined to unite in some way. But Flint knew that way was his own end and the Tree continuing in the resplendency of what had once been Flint’s life spark. And so Flint was at war with himself on many levels; he wanted to give himself over to the man who had slaughtered his friend and brother, he wanted to murder this man as retribution for all the atrocities he had visited upon the world, he wanted to harmonise with the very thing that would carry a dead momento of him upon its body for time immemorial, and he wanted to smash the dread relic across Cadmus’ altar until both lay in pieces at his feet.

And what frustrated him the most was that he was incapable of doing any of these things, not of pure free will. Truly was Flint a man at odds with ever fibre of his own being. And this was not like him; he was much more laid back than what this situation inspired in him. He felt himself stressing over the stress of being stressed by it all. This above all compelled Flint to just give in, let whatever was going to happen, happen already, so he could be shed of this useless worry. Flint forced himself to look away from the Harming Tree, directly into Cadmus’ black oily eyes. There he found desire, and death, and everything he could imagine in between.

And, for the first time in his memory, mortal or otherwise, Flint had to force himself not to care.

And he plunged into the mess of it all, the glory that seemed to be colliding with his final destiny. Cadmus, all ginger and papyrus, was enveloping him like a dissonant serenade, overpowering his own opium and tobacco with their thin scents, the essences of the Master Maker.

Placing his small hands behind Cadmus’ swanlike neck, he pulled the Abomination to him, his lips enveloping Cadmus’ own full ones. This time, Cadmus did not pull away, nor did he issue grave warnings about the liberties Flint may have taken with such action. Flint delighted in the softness of Cadmus’ lips, and wondered at their supple beauty, thinking on how ancient they were, how many throats they had latched onto in deadly viper fashion…how they had been stained by Gareth’s mortal blood, transubstantiated into the Vampiric Ambrosia.

But Flint did not care at this moment. All he cared about was pulling Cadmus’ verdant shirt from his slim body, and working down his slacks, so very casual compared to the Plenipotentiary's more common priestly raiment so often described by others, which was what Cadmus had been clad in when the two of them first met. Flint wanted him more this time than when they shared that tree branch in Los Angeles so many years ago. He desired the warm touch of this dangerous beast, to feel the length of him upon this stone floor, which would soon run crimson with his own life’s Blood.

Cadmus allowed Flint to remove his clothes. It was a natural thing for him to be in the altar room naked. The activities therein often demanded his skyclad state, so this was so much easier to have one so willing to service him in such a way rather than be averse to their own nakedness before their god made manifest on Earth. ‘Twas those who balked at the idea of being devoured by greatness, to have their intimate flesh ribboned across the sacred brances of the Harming Tree like a spider’s web, in awe of the horror as they eased into the dreadful epiphany that those simple parts would be mummified whilst the rest of them would dissolve into time, forever forgotten save for the occasional dark reverie toyed with by Cadmus, he who had eaten them and erased their presence from the annals of Vampire lore.

Flint was different. Cadmus felt himself desiring to be immersed in his strangeness before dispensing with him, taking a piece of him, and adding him to the his Sacrament. It would be a reminder of the confusion Flint inspired, and the rage that confusion nursed.

Feeding the Tree, part c

Feeding the Tree, part 2 of 2

Cadmus stilled himself as Flint returned to kissing him, feeling his slight form as it moved fully against him.  The sensation was wondrous, and Cadmus instinctively molded himself to Flint, moving, entwining the Phantom in a firm embrace so that the connection could not be broken.  Flint’s hands moved from behind his head and trailed down Cadmus’ spine, helping to lock the two enemies-turned-lovers together.  They fell to their knees upon the cold stone floor simultaneously, luxuriating in the heady beginnings of Ambrosciata.

Flint worked his way from Cadmus’ lush mouth to his porcelain throat, nestling his face there, breathing in his scent and holding it in his lungs until he was compelled to breathe again.  Cadmus followed suit, licking Flint’s throat, nibbling at the warm flesh.

In one swift move, Cadmus grasped Flint’s penis and fell back, pulling the young Vampire on top of him.  He tightened his grip on Flint’s erect member to the point of causing him pain, but enough to give pleasure as well.  He thought of the Blood of climax spilling into Flint’s penis, ready to be drunk with abandon.  Drinking from another Vampire’s most intimate region, the inner thigh, the clitoris, or the head of an impassioned penis was Cadmus’ favourite way to kill his prey.  They perished in a frenzy of Bloodletting, literally spilling their essence into Cadmus, helpless in their desire.

Flint straddled Cadmus rubbing himself against the Plenipotentiary’s growing penis.  He placed his hands on Cadmus’ delicate chest, letting his fingers trail through the ebony hair.  Even though he knew Cadmus was still Compelling, Flint also knew that he would have Willingly engaged with him.

“You are an angel,” he whispered, bending down and once again kissed Cadmus’ throat, letting his tongue linger on the aorta, sensing the heightened Blood flow and delighting in the thought of the exchange to come.

“I am the angel of death,” Cadmus buzzed in seduction, pulling Flint closer to him, reaching down to position himself against Flint’s orifice, readying himself for the pleasure of it all. 

Flint shivered against him, locking Cadmus’ hips between his knees.  Slowly, he eased down Cadmus’ shaft until the length of the Vampire prince regent was buried within him.  Cadmus gasped, arching his back as he leaned up, clinging to Flint’s thin form.  They cradled one another, not daring to move in that instance of profundity.  Flint’s member strained against their bellies, trapped between the two Vampires.  They brushed their fangs against one another’s throats again, each teasing the other with the inevitability of the Blood to surge forth.

But Cadmus had never allowed anyone to drink from him in the Ambrosial state.  He promised, he cajoled, but he always struck like a serpent just before the moment, taking his partner’s Blood, and leaving the spent corpse behind with the message, Sanguinam Mittat, “Let the Blood be sent forth.”  Despite his overwhelming desire, Cadmus was well aware of what he was to do.  He would drink of Flint until the ragamuffin Darkling lay dead before his altar, and then he would take what he wanted to feed his Tree.

Flint began to move up Cadmus’ erection, his tightness driving the Plenipotentiary to distraction.  His limp, dirty blonde hair moved in silken beauty, as he threw his head back.  Baring his teeth, Flint took a violent intake of breath.  Cadmus watched his adams apple vibrate, as Flint released a low growl so quietly, even Cadmus could barely hear it.  Putting the full weight of body on his knees, Flint continued to move slowly upward until only the tip of Cadmus’ penis remained inside him.  He could feel the bleeding wounds caused by the stone floor of Cadmus’ prayer room.  Placing his hands on Cadmus’ bony shoulder, he began sinking downward again, until he was locked firmly on Cadmus’ lap.  Once more, he remained stock still, save for taking Cadmus open lips between his own in a  kind of desperate kiss.

Cadmus was growing frustrated at the lack of movement which would bring him the blissful friction he wanted.  No no, Cadmus needed it.  Vexed, he pushed hard on Flint’s chest, shoving him backward until he lay on his back, still linked to Cadmus in a submissive frenzy.  He moved in and out of Flint with brutal abandon.  Flint was shocked and he cried out as Cadmus thrusted hard against him, burying himself deeply before he slipped out of him, pulling away from Flint.  He bent down and flattened his tongue against the underside of Flint’s penis.  With an achingly slow deliberation, Cadmus licked him and bit the tip just a little before moving up to lick Flint’s belly.  He stabbed his forked tongue into Flint’s navel, then began again to travel up Flint’s fragile, alabaster frame until he reached the young Vampire’s chest.  Cadmus trailed his tongue to Flint’s left nipple, viciously sucking it into his mouth.  Again, Flint cried out from the joy of it.  Cadmus then returned to Flint’s chest easing slowly upward.  He lingered on Flint’s throat, fighting the urge to tear into him and drink him to death.  No, Flint had to climax to make the Blood willingly pump into Cadmus’ mouth, staining his lips with Blood.  That was the most delicious moment.  Cadmus calmed himself, finding that sublime stillness to where he had always escaped when his former masters visited cruelties upon his Elven form.  His heart slowed, his eyelids closed lazily in a Zen-like state.  And placing his warm lips against Flint’s, he guided them both into an exquisite hypnosis, wherein they both floated, waiting for the next level of body bliss.

Reaching down between them, Cadmus grabbed hold of Flint, and began to slowly pull him, urging him a point of quiet abandon.  He could tell the effect it was having on Flint, who moaned against Cadmus’ mouth, tasting a hint of ginger and the heady scent of Blood.  Cadmus began to pull on him faster, locking his lips onto Flint’s in a kiss of possession. 

“Noooo,” Flint said as he pushed Cadmus away from his.

“Yes, pet…”  Cadmus purred, not using the cognomen of ‘pet’ in many years.

“I do not want to…yet,” Flint replied.

Cadmus stared into Flint’s eyes.  They were flashing into phosphorescence, swift and twinkling.  He knew what Flint meant and, despite himself, Cadmus was loath to finish their coupling.  But he wanted this young one so desperately, could feel the Blood coursing through Flint like tributaries giving worship to the ancient river from which they flowed.  Cadmus moved both hands to Flint’s throat, his thumbs pressing dangerously against the Phantoms Adam’s Apple.  He whispered into Flint’s ear.

“I can count on one hand the individuals I have allowed to breach my most sacred of places.  And those were so close to death, they had no inkling where they were, or what an honour I had bestowed upon them.  I do not know why, but you are a rare one indeed to find yourself whole before my altar.”

Still grasping Flint’s throat, Cadmus kissed him again, teasing Flint’s tongue with his own.  He heard the low growl of a pre-Ambrosial Vampire, and he knew the thing they wanted most pulsed just under their flesh.  Positioning himself between Flint’s legs, he pushed into him, growled himself with the intensity of their union.  Deaf to the throat hum that turned to moans, then cries, Cadmus pressed against Flint over and over, his thrusts more insistent than the previous.  Cadmus still had his hands around Flint’s neck, now cutting his breath to quiet his utterance.  Flint arched his neck again, closed his Absinthe eyes.

Just as Cadmus climaxed deep within him, Flint lunged forward, breaking free of Cadmus’ clutch upon his neck.  He did not bother to stop and see the surprise in the Plenipoteniary before he latched his mouth upon Cadmus’ throat.  Instinctively Cadmus followed lead and plunged his teeth into Flint.  The taste of Cadmus’ blood coursing into his mouth, combined with Cadmus’ own intrusion of his flesh, was enough to hurtle Flint into his own ecstasy.  He felt the warm wetness between them, and he wrapped his legs around Cadmus’ waist, his arms around his scapulae.

Never before had anyone drunk from Cadmus.  The shock that ran through him prevented his pulling away from Flint, so immersed he was in the bliss of it all.  He drank violently at Flint’s throat, feeling the pressure of climax offer up the Blood.  By the same token, Flint pulled his own enchanted Blood, out and down his bruised throat.  Nearing the end of the Ambrosciata, Flint pulled a hand from around Cadmus, and covered the Plenitpoteniary’s infinite eyes, and kissing Cadmus lightly one his lips, letting him taste his own Blood. Cadmus felt himself being lost, but he mustered the strength to jerk his head from Flint.  In the same quick motion, Cadmus grasped the blade off his altar and held it to his chin.  He sat up from the Phantom, pulling himself out of, and away from the young Vampire.

“You dare drink from me,” Cadmus growled. The passion waned, leaving only Cadmus once more.  He plunged the athame into Flint to its very hilt.  “No one has ever assumed such power.  Now stay where you are, titch.  I’ve a special agony for you before you die.”

Cadmus stood and moved behind his altar.  He picked up another blade hidden there, then he lifted up the Harming Tree, returning to Flint.  Flint writhed in agony, holding the blade’s handle, but unable to remove it from the soft flesh underneath his chin.  With the placement of the blade, he was also unable to scream. 

Cadmus straddled Flint’s slender frame and yanked out the knife.  Flint hemorrhaged from the wound, and he screamed into the darkness.

“When I add a piece of a Vampire to my Sacrament, that Vampire is most usually dead.  I reserve this anguish for the Vampires who have insulted my person.  Despite your strange beauty, Flint my love, you have truly earned such a wrath as feeding the Tree whilst conscious, aware of my ministrations.”

“No,” Flint rasped, dividing his flashing eyes between Cadmus and the Harming Tree, his own passion abandoning him.  “Get…away from me.”

“Even to the very end, you fight the inevitable.  I have taken my pleasure from you, at the expense of almost losing myself.  It is this, this confusion, and the many moments you have confused me, that compels me to give over your flesh to my Tree.”

Cadmus looked over Flint’s face, his limp blonde hair wet from the intimacies they had shared.  He reached down to his lower belly and dabbed his fingers in the issue.  Touching his wet fingers to Flint’s lips, Cadmus smiled sweetly, and it was a true smile.  It crinkled the corners of his eyes, and brightened his face beyond the impossibly angelic.

“What should I take from you, young Flint?  What piece of you should be sacrificed to my Harming Tree, before I end your little life?  What part of my lovely titch should grace my Sacrament?”

Lifting his chin, Cadmus raised his eyes to a heaven that would never tolerate him.  Lost in thought, he rocked back and forth like a shaman in prayer.  For what seemed like an eternity, Cadmus did this, and Flint felt himself growing once more against this abomination, despite his own agony and the Blood weakness that had taken him over.

“Oh, I know,” Cadmus suddenly said.  “I do need something to add more branches to the Tree.  Let us take a ligament from you, my love.  Then shall I always remember you, and your disrespect.”

Placing a geasa upon Flint before he could move a muscle, Cadmus scooted down his body until he sat astraddle Flint’s shins.  Without hesitation he sliced Flint’s inner left thigh open, cutting through the muscle to expose the bone and the ligament attaching it to Flint’s hip.  Flint screamed and bucked against the geasa cast upon him.  He could feel its hold loosen only slightly, but he was in too much pain to properly focus on breaking Cadmus’ psychic imprisonment of his flesh.

“Ligamentum pubofemorale,” Cadmus said, almost in reverence for the Latin he uttered.  “It connects the hip to the femur.  Very strong, very pliable in its own way.  Like catgut, it is.  It can bind most anything, considering it helps to bind your leg to your hip.  I could take it all, but I do not want to pull you apart in such an undignified manner.  I want you to die…mostly whole, your strange beauty preserved to grace my catacombs.”

Catacombs?  Flint thought, his reason trying to burst through the animal response to the pain he felt.  Catacombs!  What are in catacombs!?

A glimmer of hope spread like a distant fire in Flint’s breast, just as the agony increased a thousand-fold. 

Cadmus had his spidery fingers around the ligament he had exposed, his knife in his other hand.  “Just a thread, my titch.  A thread to bind my branches and make the Tree ever stronger.  A thread of torment to remind me of the confusion you have inspired within me.”

The Plenipotentiary began sawing into the tough flesh with a spurious concern.  Flint gritted his teeth, his fangs flashing in the candlelight.  The pain became sentient in its intensity, and all he could do was weep.  It was a poor reaction to Cadmus’ attentions.  It reminded him of the reviled Faust the Confessor, and it vexed him beyond reasoning.  Cadmus gripped the entire ligament with cruel fingers, his hand becoming slick with Flint’s Blood.

“Oh, now why are we crying, love?  When you were so immersed in the bliss of Ambrosciata just a few moments ago?  Did you think you could escape this because of your effect on my baser nature?  Did you honestly believe your careful diligence to pleasure me may help you soften my intentions?  Did you hope that there was ever any escape for you?  You were used, Flint.  And now shall you be dispensed with, just as all the others before you.”

Part of the ligament popped free, and Flint thought he could hear the misery of its release.  But he refused to scream, refused to vocalize any more of his pain.  It only heartened Cadmus, he knew.  Flint looked down at where Cadmus sat, seeing the Vampire slowly peel away at the ligament.  With great care, Cadmus took that piece of Flint he had cut away, and in divine delicacy, he spun it around one of the branches of the Harming Tree.  Despite his pain, despite anything at all, Flint still could not help but be lost in Cadmus’ eternal beauty.  Strangely, this is what helped Flint focus. 

With every mote of strength he could muster, Flint focused on the magickal hold Cadmus had on him.  And he raged against it, letting the fury and desperation of this moment of torment pour out of him.  To his surprise, and to the shock he saw in Cadmus’ face, Flint broke the geasa, and he sat up, pulled himself backward on his hands.  Fear gripped him, fear and desire.  And Flint knew these two emotions, particularly together, was what drove Cadmus into a kind of euphoria.

It did not matter right now…  Flint had to escape, but he knew there was no way to get to the door without Cadmus capturing and killing him.  In the peripheries of his vision, Flint saw movement to his left.  His eyes flickered infinitesimally to catch what exactly it was.  It was a mouse.

Feeding the Tree, part d

A mouse!  Where there were catacombs, there were always rodents ~ rats, mice, any kind.  In one fell swoop, Flint let the Anubis surround him, and he was wrapped up in his rat form.  In spite of the pain of his shredded ligament, he dashed in the direction of the mouse, literally on three legs.  When he reached the rodent, he saw there was more than one.  Three rats and two mice cowered in the corner of the altar room, closest to the door.  Flint instantly cloaked himself and became more of rat than he had ever before been.

Cadmus sprung to his feet, leaving the Harming Tree on the floor behind him, and he looked beyond the blackness that absorbed the candlelight.  His eyes rested upon the rodents, and he moved toward them with murderous intentions.  Two of the rats dashed alongside the wall of the temple, whilst the other rodents were frozen under Cadmus’ Egyptian gaze.  Cadmus inclined his periwinkle brow toward the filthy animals, and they burst open, their entrails splattered on the walls and stone floor.  Cadmus moved forward to study the remains, focusing particularly on the legs, looking for the desecration he had just visited on his lover and his enemy.

There were no such wounds on these scattered corpses.  Cadmus felt an anger rising like bile within him.  Flint had to have been one of the two rats that had sought escape from Cadmus’ attentions.  He spun and searched the sentient darkness of his altar room, looking everywhere for the filthy fugitives.  But he did not see them, either one.

In his fright and desperation to escape Cadmus’ attention, Flint had inexplicably cloaked the rat that had dashed with him to the other side of the temple.  He had no inkling how he was able to avoid Cadmus finding him, but that seemed to be the case, at least for now.

“Where did you go, little rat?”  Cadmus whispered into the night that was his temple.  He felt himself even more confused and not a little frustrated that he was unable to locate Flint.  “There is no escape, not from this sanctified place.  All means of escape are lost to you.”

How did the rats and mice make it in here then? Flint wondered to himself.  He watched his rat companion closely to see where it may go.  The rat remained frozen in place, though, too terrified to move.  And this made sense for, if the rat moved, it would lose the protection of Flint’s cloak and be lost to Cadmus’ murderous whim.  Flint huddled with his rat brother in utter stillness, watching Cadmus’ eternal eyes move slowly along the haunted angles of his temple.  Then, miraculously, the dread Abomination turned away, directing his attention back to the Harming Tree he had unceremoniously left on the floor behind him.  Stepping back to the Tree and kneeling before it, Cadmus deftly unwound the Bloody thread he had taken from Flint, and he licked Flint’s Blood off it, letting it trail along his teeth like gory floss.

“I know you are trapped somewhere within this sacred space,” Cadmus murmured, his voice a song.  “You shall not escape my attentions forever, and it is forever we both have.  I can wait for your revelation, my mendicant plaything.  And when you finally emerge from your plague-bearing form, I shall be here to tear you asunder, in vicious ecstasy.  Until that time, know this: your addition to my Harming Tree is the first living flesh to ever adorn its branches.  For eternity shall you be bound to my Sacrament and, therefore, to me.  In a kind of symmetry shall we revolve around this relic of the New Hive, you and I.  Let it be a reminder to us both of the pleasure we have shared, of your pain in which I have basked, and the promise of the agonies to come.”

Cadmus returned to his altar and wove the piece of Flint’s ligament around an outer limb of the Harming Tree, leaving a long piece of it to dangle in anticipation of the suffering branches to come, each one climbing ever upward to a heaven that did not exist…not in this place, not in the presence of Cadmus Pariah.  His back was turned to the two quaking rats when, suddenly, the rat cloaked with him began to creep along the edge of the wall.  Flint followed his rat brother, hobbling on three legs and strengthening the magick of invisibility with which he had suddenly been blessed.  And there he saw it; a wide crack where the wall and floor met, a breach within Cadmus’ impervious prayer room.  As they neared the means of their escape, Flint boggled at his fortune.  He knew exactly what he needed to do after breaking free of this desecration. 

Silently the rat and Flint squeezed through the crack, and into the great hall down which Cadmus had led Flint on the way to his emerald bedroom.  The air was not nearly as claustrophobic here, even though Flint had barely noticed that, as he wrapped himself around Cadmus.  Once the two rats were free, Flint’s guide high-tailed it down the hall and into the darkness.  Flint had a different idea, though.  If he ever had a chance of escaping Cadmus’ home, he would have to be ingenious and crafty about it.  Raising his nose to capture the aromas and odours of Cadmus’ veiled West Country castle, Flint sought out the mouldy passages of the catacombs the Plenipotentiary had mentioned. 

The smell of decay almost overwhelmed Flint, but he knew he had found the means of his eventual escape.  Following the scent, Flint scurried down the hall and into a kind of vestibule.  An arched wood and iron door loomed before him.  There was a large space between the floor and the door; so large in fact, Flint found no problem passing under it.  Down the precarious stairs he ran, fear finally overwhelming him as it transformed into panic.  The closer he got to the castle mazes, the worse it smelled.  He finally reached the end of the stair well and emerged into a nightmare of old flesh and half-remembered dirges laced with terror.  This was no simple underground fortress; no, this was a hellish tomb, partially immersed in stagnant water.  All around Flint lay bodies tossed willy-nilly into the water and on the slimy stone islands that dotted the seemingly unending charnel chambers.  Flint swallowed and tried to hold his breath to block out the stench, but he could only do that for so long.  Just as he had guessed, though, there were hundreds of rats swimming in the water, dividing the film that lay atop it, and there swelling numbers populated the stone islands.  They swarmed around the desiccated corpses and gnawed on bones long released from the bodies of those who had fallen victim to Cadmus’ charms. 

Flint hobbled forward, joining his rat brothers and sisters in the filth that rested beneath this accursed castle.  His leg was almost unbearable, but Flint knew it would heal quickly.  To his surprise, he could already feel the ligament and flesh knitting back to pristine form.  Why was he healing immediately like this?  And how was it he could so completely mask himself from Cadmus’ dread gaze?  Clambering up on a piece of wood floating by, Flint pondered this mystery.

And then it came to him, this sweet epiphany:  Flint had drunk Cadmus’ Blood.  Had Cadmus not said that no one had ever taken Blood from him?  Flint smiled inwardly, as it was impossible to smile in rat form.  He had so seduced Cadmus, that the Dark Child of Night had lowered his guard at the most important moment.  Cadmus had succumbed to true Ambrosciata, not the one-sided rhapsody from which he had always pulled his pleasure.  Tarmian Blood now combined with Flint’s own, Blood that brought with it all the magickal wonders only Cadmus had possessed until now.  It was as though Flint had eaten from the Tree of Knowledge just as he had sacrificed to the Harming Tree.  Certainly he was cursed, and had been for centuries; but this partaking of the forbidden fruit seemed to cement not only his accursed state, but also bestowed him a divine nature.  He knew the blessedness that Cadmus threw away like the empty corpses of Bled Vampires.  And he treasured it, as it was worthy of worship.

It also meant that his abilities were increased to an infinity Flint could barely perceive.  He had always been difficult for Cadmus to find, considering the peculiar wall that separated the two, but now his presence could remain from Cadmus’ senses indefinitely.  All he needed to do was escape this deathly hell into which he had spirited himself. 

For now, though, Flint could hide in the midst of his rat brothers, and Cadmus would never be the wiser.  He may have fed the Harming Tree, but it was a price he gladly paid for the passion he had shared with this angelic monster, and for the innumerable gifts afforded him by way of that union.  He had no doubt that his newfound abilities would someday allow him to avenge Gareth Owen, and give Flint and the entire New Hive the eternal peace denied them by the presence of the Pariah and his insatiability. 

Cadmus exited his temple, went to his bedroom, and wrapped himself in the priestly robes worthy of his stature.  He could not sense Flint anywhere, but he had no doubt the young Vampire was still trapped within the confines of his veiled castle.  Why he could not even touch a residual presence of Flint dismayed him.  There it was again, that confusion, the insecurity Flint brought to bear.  Walking delicately down the hall that had once had been the passageway to his Beautiful Pats, his bare feet placing themselves with an exactness bespeaking his perfection, Cadmus raised his face to the cool air that wafted through castle home.  All too briefly, he thought he smelled a hint of opium and tobacco, then it was gone.  Something led him to the stairs that ended at the expanse of the caverns of desecrated flesh.  Stepping forward into the twilight of his castle mazes, Cadmus let his eyes course over the population of filthy rodents that congregated in these cold tombs.  Something told him that Flint was amongst these animals, but he could not capture any hint of him here…or anywhere for that matter.  Cadmus’ confusion trickled into a simmering frustration.

He scowled at these plague-bearers, the host of the damned the Apostate had used against the people of Europa in the Dark Ages, hoping to cull the herds and further subjugate humanity to his dark devices.  Cadmus well-remembered those years of horror, as he had roamed among the mortals, seeking out the chalice and insinuating himself in the secrecy of the Templars and their unhallowed rituals.  Most of that age Cadmus thought on with satisfaction, but the rats had disgusted him then, and they disgusted them now.  They were a blight, albeit a necessary blight in such places like this godless tomb.

Flint was an unkempt and unnecessary nuisance.  Was it any wonder his Anubis totem was the rat?  Cadmus could barely comprehend the passion he had felt for Flint, nor could he conceive that it remained within him, a muted spark in the recesses of his spirit.  It was a weight upon his psyche, one Cadmus could not tolerate, but found impossible for him to ignore.

Curling his lip at the squalor before him, Cadmus spun on his naked heel and retreated back to his realm above.  He returned to the prayer room where he then knelt before his altar, absorbing the low hum of the Harming Tree as it accepted his gift of flesh.  He was confident that he would eventually capture and kill this irritation but, before he ended Flint’s life, he would once more partake in the pleasures of his flesh…and then luxuriate in the sonorous screams wrapping around him like a concerto of suffering.

This assurance, this black comfort, seemed to be inscribed in the fires of Cadmus’ spirit eternal.  The Child of Night lifted his angelic face, and closed his Elven eyes in a rapture only he could understand.  A hint of a smile graced his lips, and his Harming Tree vibrated in response to his unholy reverence.

(c)Tracy Angelina Evans
10 September, 2012
with thanks to Barry Andrews and his Harming Tree