PROGENY, PART TWENTY

KATSUYAMA

Draegonne looked past me, walking slowly towards his boy Friday.  He reached his hand up, fingers on the kid's cheek.  "It's me, Stefan.  You have nothing to fear."

The boy's eyes welled with tears, and he lowered the Molotov.    Draegonne opened his arms and the kid embraced him, weeping.  Closing his arms around the boy, Draegonne looked over at me.  "You came all this way to save me."

I narrowed my eyes.  The spectre I had seen hovering behind him was gone, but I still felt it, coiled invisibly around Damien.  "Too bad I was too late."

Draegonne closed his eyes and kissed the boy on his forehead before releasing him.  His eyes went to the cowering girl.  She was backed into the corner, eyes wide and empty.  Her mouth worked but no sounds came out, her entire body shivering.  Damien waved his hand at the Shades in the kitchen, and they faded like smoke.  He smiled at the girl.  "Lee Harper," he said, his voice low and soothing.  "Sleep and forget."

The girl's eyes rolled back into her skull, eyelids fluttering and closing.  She slid down the wall to the floor, suddenly in a deep slumber.  Terrific.  He's commanding ghosts now and his hypnosis is on fucking steroids.

"It's not what you think, Kit."  He still had his back to me, looking down on the girl.  

"It isn't?  I was there at the Night Palace.  You haven't been the same since."

He turned and put his arm around the boy, stroking his hair.  "I would think you of all people would understand what has happened to me, Bastet."

With that last word, he looked straight at me.  I felt my mouth go dry.  "How long have you known?"

"Since I first met you, and tasted your blood."  He replied.  "Though at the time I didn't have access to the knowledge I have now.  I knew you were not entirely human, but only now is your nature clear to me."

I bristled.  "Oh yeah?  And where does this 'knowledge' suddenly come..."  The words died on my lips.

I felt him, his mind sliding smoothly into my own, sifting through my memories.  It was like getting fucked, and not in a good way.  I opened my mouth to protest, but Draegonne found what he was looking for, activating the memory.  It exploded in my brain in full colour and stereo surround sound.  I saw the nursery, the half-Asian infant sleeping in his crib.  It was a hot summer night, and I could feel the heat on my skin...the baby's skin.  My mother had left the window open, to let in the night air.  That was all the invitation it needed.

The cat was little more than a black shadow on the windowsill, except for the glow in its green eyes.  It slid easily through the opening, landing softly on the floor.  It purred soothingly as it padded across the carpet.  With a single, graceful leap it landed inside the crib, inches from the baby.  Ears pressed back against its skull, tail lashing behind it, it placed its paws on the baby's chest, and brought its snout right to the infant's lips.  Its tongue darted out, licking the baby's face.  The child stirred and opened its mouth.

And the cat...it began to dissolve, fading into a swirling black smoke.  As I watched the vapour formed a funnel, and the child sucked it all into its lungs.  The small body shuddered, tiny limbs thrashing.  Then seconds later it fell still, calmly opening its eyes...

I shook my head to clear it, gritting my teeth.  I glared at Damien.  "You ever fuck around in my head again and I will end you, you son of a bitch."

He nodded.  "Fair enough, Kit.  Fair enough."  Damien let go of his Familiar and stepped towards me.  "But I am going to need you with me Kit.  You, with your fused souls, understand better than anyone in the world what has happened to me.  I need you to guide me through this."

I narrowed my eyes, trembling slightly, and mostly because I was pissed off.  The rest was fear.  "How much of you is him?"  When I asked the question, I wasn't sure if I was addressing the Harrow part or the Draegonne part.

"I don't know for certain, and that's partially why I need you. I need you to make sure Harrow doesn't overshadow Damien."

I looked over at Stefan.  No good deed goes unpunished.  I stuck my nose in to help out the kid, and now I was a hostage to whatever chess match the vampires were playing.  This is not the way I rolled.  But I thought of the Nikolea in Geneva, and the red-haired twink I got killed.  I was in this game for real.

"What's the plan?"

Draegonne smiled slightly, and I couldn't make out if he was relieved or just gloating that I was bending to his will.  "Thank you, Kit."  He paused a moment, glancing around the hall.  "We return to Europe now."

I nodded.  "The Night Palace, I suppose?"

He shook his head.  "No, bitch."

Three emotions went through my head at light-speed; surprised, offended, and fucking ticked off.  "Fine, bastard."

Damiend stared at me, and then suddenly let out a laugh.  "No, Kit, no."  He grinned at me.  "Bitche.  A small town in the Lorraine region of France.  Le Pays de Bitche in French or Bitscherland in German.  It's just across the border, less than one hundred kilometres from the Night Palace."

"Why?  What's there?"

"Home," he replied softly, and there was a wistful nostalgia in his voice that I was pretty sure came from Harrow.  "Château Harrotte.  The Night Palace was the home of the House Draegonne.  The chateau is where I...where Harrow resided the last three centuries he was in Europe.  It belonged originally to his Sire."

I scowled a bit at this new twist.  "Why there?"

"Pragmatism.  The Night Palace is still in Dragon territory.  But as per the terms of a truce between the Order of the Dragon and the French Carolingian bloodline, the Lorraine is a sort of demilitarised zone.  It's less likely they will launch an assault against me there, attacking not only a Raven but also breaking their Carolingian truce.  It will be safer until we consolidate our position."

So okay now...everything he says is 'we.'  Is he speaking for Harrow and himself, or like, 'we' as in 'you, Stefan, and me?'

Draegonne smiled slowly.  "Besides, Harrow has hidden something there.  Something we need to reclaim."

"And something tells me you aren't inclined to share what that is."

He put both his hands on my shoulders.  "Patience, Kit Kat.  Put your faith in me.  Trust me.  The game is about to change."

PROGENY, PART NINETEEN

KATSUYAMA

It was time to go in after them.

The kid--Stefan, his name was--scrabbled over the wall first and then helped the girl over it.  From my vantage point I was high enough to see over it, and a minute later watched the two of them make a beeline for the front entrance.  I cursed under my breath.  They couldn't seriously be that stupid, could they?  But then he kind of redeemed himself in my eyes, changing his mind at the base of the steps and signalling for her to follow him around the side of the house.  Maybe he was thinking they could find a window, or a back door.  Either way they disappeared from sight, and scowling, I went after them.

I raced down the wooded hill towards the edge of the road, looking both ways as I emerged from the tree line.  Between the road and the wall was a narrow ditch, no more than a meter wide, and the wall itself was less than three meters tall.  I didn't think it would present much of a problem.  Taking a running start I leapt, springing from the yellow line in the middle of the road and landing on the top of the wall, crouching there.

Yeah, I know.  I've got some mad skills you haven't seen yet.

I scanned the yard and then slipped down into it without a sound, heading after them.  Whoever was doing Harrow's landscaping, I decided, needed to be fired in a big way.  The front yard was a high tangle of dead, yellowed grass and black briars, and the few trees scattered around hadn't put forth any leaves in a decade.  The soil itself was a wet, sucking mud that stank...well, I preferred not to think about what it stank like.  Let's just say I had some vivid ideas about what was buried beneath my feet.

The worst thing though, was the whispering.

I am not quite as tuned into the world of the Dead as the vamps are, but I know a Shade when I feel one.  The air around me hummed with them, a tangle of weeping and screams and pleas.  It's an unmistakable sound, really, something that hovers right on the lowest edge of your hearing range, making the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck prick straight up.  The last time I heard it this bad was Chelmno (fun fact; the Third Reich had been crawling with vampires).  Harrow had to be a motherfucking butcher.

I glanced uneasily around me, and up at the black windows of the house.  I had a clear image in my head of a ring of shuffling ghosts around me, inches away but invisible to my eyes.  It was almost enough to make my balls of steel crawl right back up into my body.  Swallowing, I forced myself to move on ahead.

I really didn't want to be there.  Harrow scared the shit out of me.

See, here's the thing about vamps; the young ones?  Not so bad really.  I mean most of them are basically idiots.  You can spot them coming a mile away.  Give "Eugene Blatz" or "Mary Sue Smitty" a pair of fangs and suddenly they are calling themselves "Lord Venger Nocturnus" and "Countess Carmilla deVille" or some bullshit like that.  They strut around in black leather pouting in goth clubs, looking around for Blood Dolls to bite.  Because they haven't let go of their humanity yet they call their Clans "their Family," refer to their Sires as "Mummy" or "Daddy," and their fellow Get as "brother" and "sister."  It's some pretty sad Emo shit, really.  If they weren't out to drink your blood you could feel sorry for them.  

But the Old Ones?  They are a whole other fucking story.

These guys are the real deal.  They're not going to walk up and ask to bite you, they're just going to take what they want and most of the time you will never know what hit you.  If they leave you alive.  The Old Ones don't walk around trying to look like vampires--they're not seeking attention.  They are well-groomed predators who slide smooth as silk through crowds of their prey, charming and deadly.  Or, on the other side of the spectrum, there are the ones that just completely slide into madness and monstrosity.  They don't bother seducing, they just come out of nowhere and leave drained husks behind.  

And looking around this place, I was pretty sure which category Harrow fit in to.  Come nightfall I didn't want to be within twenty kilometres of that hell hole.

So I ignored the army of ghosts whispering in my ear, pretended I couldn't feel the thin, wispy chill of them reaching out for my skin, and concentrated on catching up with the kid.

It was easier than I thought.

The place had a back porch of sorts, and I say "of sorts" because the wood was mostly rotted away.  The kid was on his knees at the back door, and to my surprise he had lock picking tools and was working on getting in.  I guess he had some mad skills I hadn't seen yet.

The girl had her back to me, but the kid spotted me right away.  And you know, the kid didn't even stop what he was doing.  His eyes widened a fraction in involuntary surprise, but a split second later he was back at his task, concentrating.  There was no "Kit! What are you doing here" or "Thank God, Kit!  You came all the way from fucking Europe to save our sorry asses!"  Nothing.  Instead, he waited for the lock to click, before nodding in my direction.

"Kit."

The girl, on the other hand, whirled around and nearly screamed.  I started to spring forward but the kid beat me to it.  In a blink he had his hand covering her mouth, lips pressed to her ear.  "It's alright.  He's on our side."

She nodded, seeming to relax.  "Kit Katsuyama," he said.  "Lee Harper."

I raised an eyebrow.  "Like the To Kill a Mockingbird chick in reverse."

The girl flushed and nodded.  "Yeah.  Dad was a fan."

My eyes went to Stefan's face.  "You don't seem surprised to see me."

He shrugged.  "My Master is easy to love."

My mouth opened, and I was about to say something exceptionally witty and deeply scathing...but I thought better of it.  We were still in Harrow's backyard.  Banter could wait.

Instead, I narrowed my eyes.  "Please tell me you've got some sort of plan."

The kid grew stiff, glaring defiantly at me.  "He has taken my Master.  I am going to kill Harrow and get him back."

I sighed.  "Wow.  What a relief.  For a minute there I was afraid you were going off half-cocked or something."

The kid frowned at my sarcasm, and opened the tote bag he had slung over his shoulder.  He had whipped up some Molotov cocktails.  "We will go in there, find my Master, and get him out while Harrow sleeps.  Then I will burn the house down around the monster."

I frowned.  "What if he wakes up?"

The kid shook his head.  "He will not.  My Master's generation is much higher than Harrow's.  His blood is stronger.  He can resist the Daysleep better."

"How do you know?"

"My Mistress told me."

"Your what?"  I was genuinely puzzled at this.  Unless Damien had done an amazing job of fooling me, I was pretty damn sure he had the wrong equipment for the title of "Mistress."

"We do not have time for this, Katsuyama.  Either help us or stay out of my way."

This last bit got my temper up.  The fucking kid had no idea what he was doing, and he was going to get himself killed.  Seriously, who did he think he was?  

But then I saw his eyes.

The kid was fighting back tears, as terrified as he had ever been...but not for himself.  For Damien.  He knew it was a suicide mission, but he didn't care.  He was going to get his Master out no matter what the cost was.  I had joked about him being a puppy before, but realised now I was wrong.  He was a guard dog, and something about his determination made me bite my tongue.  "Ok boss," I nodded.  "I've got your back."

The relief behind his eyes was gratitude enough.

I took up the rear--hey, I heard that, mind out of the gutter!--and followed the pair in.  I still didn't know the girl's story, and from the way she was shaking like a leaf it was clear she had never done anything like this before.  Where did the kid find her?  But the backstory had to wait.  We we inside.

I thought Lee Harper was going to scream again.

We were in the kitchen...or what passed for it.  There was an old Victorian ice box in the corner, and a wood-burning cook stove.  It stank, really stank...reeking of filth and rot and roadkill.  Even I gagged a little.  There were rat droppings everywhere, and the black and white tile floor was smeared and spattered with brown streaks and spots.  It was obviously dried blood...we could still see bloody handprints, even a face print from someone whose throat must have been torn open while Harrow held him (her?) pinned to the floor.  The girl's eyes bulged.  She was close to freaking.

"I don't know," I said, my voice shaky.  I swallowed and continued, stronger.  "With a coat of paint and some floor polish, Damien could turn this place into a charming bed and breakfast."

The girl stared at me, baffled, but the kid knew right away what I was trying to do.  To my surprise, he nodded at the ancient kitchen appliances.  "Yes.  My Master will make a fortune.  Pretentious Americans love antiques."

We moved on.

The dining room was, well, let's just say Harrow hadn't entertained in a long while.  We moved through it quickly, opening a pair of double doors into a dark hall.  A staircase swept upwards, and another door, leading towards the cellar, plunged down.

The dining room at Harrow House

I looked at the kid.  "Which way?  It looked to me like this place had three stories, plus an attic.  Are you thinking up or down?"

Stefan looked back at me, frowning.  "Umm...down, I think.  This is a a wooden house.  If there was a fire, Harrow would not want to be sleeping on top of the blaze.  That is a mistake only the young ones would make."

I nodded.  It made perfect sense to me.  Of course, that meant going into the cellar.  The idea didn't thrill me.

The kid went first.  He was prepared, pulling a flashlight out of the bag.  The girl stopped in he doorway, shaking her head.  "No.  No, I can't do this."

The boy looked at her, hard.  "We agreed, Lee Harper.  We made a deal.  You assist me and I will make sure my Master knows you helped him.  He will be grateful.  But if you don't..."

I watched him, guessing a little bit of what had gone before.  You manipulative little bastard.  I kind of liked him.

She swallowed, nodding.  "I know, I know...but I just can't..."

The boy nodded, and then quick as a flash had a knife pressed against her throat.  "I should kill you right now, Lee Harper, to ensure you do not run off and tell others about my Master..."

Okay kid, that's a little too far.  I started to move towards him, but stopped when he spoke again.

"...but you have aided us, so I will release you."

Lee swallowed, shaking badly.

"But you will give your car keys to me.  I have need of your vehicle."

Mental note; teach the kid to stop talking like a bad movie villain.

She agreed, turning over her keys before giving me a wild-eyed look and racing for the back door.  The kid slid them into his pocket and nodded at me.  "We should hurry.  There are only a few hours of daylight left."

"I couldn't agree mo..."

The scream sounded impossibly loud in the narrow hall, like a steam train blasting its whistle in a tunnel.  My hands actually went to cover my ears.  The kid looked at me, then turned away from the basement in the direction the girl went.  he was chasing after the scream.  Everything was happening so fast.  I started to go after him, but standing there at the top of the cellar stairs my psychic whiskers twinged.  I froze, staring down into the inky blackness, until I was was positive my nerves were not playing tricks on me.

Something was coming up the stairs.

"Kit!"  The kid shouted.  "Kit!"

Fuck, I thought blackly, slamming the cellar door closed and turning towards the hall.  This pretty much smells like a trap.

The girl was in the kitchen doorway, and the kid was right behind her.  I came up behind them.  It's not often that I have the height advantage, but in this case I was tall enough to see over both their heads.

Kind of wish that wasn't the case.

The way out was blocked.  Between us and the door was a line of extras from The Walking Dead.  I knew what they were right away, even though, like I said, I never actually saw them before.  They were Shades, the restless dead greedy vamps leave behind.  But this...this was different.  They were aware of us.  They saw us.  Somehow, Harrow was controlling them.

"Have you ever seen one that could do this before?"  I hissed in the Kid's ear.  Eyes wide, he shook his head.

There were three of them...what looked to me like a father in a plaid sports coat and matching trousers, all very 70s.  His wife stood beside him, and a young son.  They were all bled white, their eyes like black glass marbles, lips twitching over badly stained teeth.  I had a flash in my mind of a Pinto station wagon driving by this place sometime around forty years ago.  Poor bastard probably took a wrong turn.  Harrow fell on the car out of the sky, draining the father instantly before dragging the screaming mother and son off to his larder.

How sweet that they were all together now.

To our left something moved.  There on the floor, where just the hand and face prints had been before, was a young man, peeling himself up.  His head was on backwards, twisted all around.  

The girl screamed again, but the kid had the presence of mind to rummage through his bag.  He tugged out one of his Molotovs and a lighter, raising his voice.  "Harrow!  Call them off!  Call them off or I burn this place down!  There are still hours left before the sun goes!"   

He flicked the lighter and held the flame inches from the makeshift fuse.  The Dead, meanwhile, just kept coming.

"I will do it Harrow!  I will do it!"

"I know you will, Stefan..."

This time, I was the one who shrieked.  I kind of hate admitting that.  I whirled around and jumped back against the wall.  The cellar door was open, and the figure I had seen climbing the steps was there in the shadows of the hall.  He looked past me at Stefan, smiling.

"...but I would appreciate it if you didn't.  You have nothing to fear."

The boy let out a strangled gasp, bursting into tears of joy.  "Master!  Master!"

Damien Draegonne stood in the cellar doorway, a faint smile on his pale face.  At the sight of him, Stefan started to lower the cocktail.   But I threw up my hand, warning him.  "No!  Wait, Stefan. Don't."

Stefan stared at me.

But my eyes were on Damien...sort of.  See, I was also looking behind him.  There was a shadow there, a tall, spindly thing, barely visible, with clawed hands and a face like a skull.  I didn't normally see Shades, not really...but I have been to the Lands of the Dead before.  I picked up a few tricks in my travels there.  I wasn't sure what I was seeing, but my instincts told me it was Harrow.  He seemed bound to Damien somehow...they seemed horribly connected.

"Don't put that down Stefan.  I'm not sure it's really him."    

PROGENY, PART EIGHTEEN

KATSUYAMA

I'll say this much for Damien's pet twink; the kid's got balls.

I watched the car pull up and park right beside the front gate of Harrow House from my position about a hundred meters away.  I was pretty well concealed by the trees.  The old Victorian dump was surrounded by wooded hillsides, and I had been careful to hide my rented motorcycle beside the road a ways back, sticking to the woods as I approached the place on foot.  I had a pair of binoculars, and had been slowly circling the house, watching it for signs of life and looking for ways in.  After about two hours of careful reconnaissance I had a few ideas, and was in the middle of deciding which one to go with when I heard the car engine.  It was daylight, so if these were Harrow's minions it meant they weren't vamps.  I risked creeping closer to get a good look at them.

The girl I didn't know; she was cute in a slightly emo slightly androgynous kind of way.  The boy she was with I knew immediately.  Three things flashed through my head.  One; if the kid was here that meant Damien was here, and honestly I had kind of been hoping he wasn't.  If he was, that meant he was probably Harrow's prisoner, or worse.  Two; the kid had cojones but wasn't big with the brains.  Just moments after the car was parked he was out and scurrying over the wall.  I frowned at this.  The kid was probably just planning on storming the front door of the Ancient-Scary-Fucking-Vampire's Stronghold.  Not smart.  And Third; I wondered which one of them I was going to end up shagging before this was over...the kid or the girl.  I took a second look at them through the binoculars.  Maybe the correct answer was "both."

I just had to make sure they didn't get themselves killed first.

Them being here complicated things.  I was best on my own, and there were things about myself I wanted to keep hidden.  I had mentally prepared myself for Damien to discover them--hell, he was halfway there already after sampling my blood--but exposing myself in front of his pet and a stranger hadn't been part of the plan.  I shrugged it off.  Sun Tzu pointed out it was better to rely on contingencies than plans, and I was already pretty good at making things up as I went along.

I'd just have to play this by ear.


DAMIEN

Harrow said nothing for several moments, his unblinking eyes silvery in the dark.  I realised he was waiting for me to speak.  The problem was, I had no idea what to say.

I knew we were playing a game of chess, he and I.  Harrow had just blindsided me with an unexpected move and I was off guard.  I needed time to figure out a response, and the clock was ticking.  Stepping away from the wall, I circled the laboratory, keeping my distance from him, my eyes roaming the shelves of rotting, leather-bound books and tables of twisted glass vessels and tubes.  The word "alembic" popped in my head, and the oven in the corner looked like an "athanor."  But really, all I knew about alchemy came from what I had read in Jung.  The actual function of all this equipment was beyond me.  

Then, my eyes caught large sheets of yellowed paper nailed to the walls.  In thin, spidery handwriting, hundreds of names were scrawled, connected by lines.  It looked like some sort of web.  Stopping to stare, I realised what I was looking at.  My own name was down near the bottom.  So was my mother's, my aunt's, and my cousin's.

"You've been breeding us," I whispered.

Yes. 

If I was reading this right, and I was certain that I was, then my father and mother were actually second cousins...something I had never known.  As my eyes ran over the other names, it became clear that half the town was interrelated, all bred from the branch of the family Harrow managed to save in the 18th century.  Those yearly scholarships he had handed out, such as the one I won?  All of the winners were in fact part of his family, year after year.    The Old Man was more than the town's Patron...he was it's Patriarch.  He'd been arranging marriages, giving donations, managing charities for two hundred years.

I had to keep the Family alive, Damien Draegonne.  I had to prepare for the day when one of them would become Progeny again, and the House Draegonne would rise once more.

I turned back towards him, slowly.  "Why is this so important to you?"

The thing across the room chortled again, a sound like a prolonged death rattle.  You cannot bring yourself to believe a creature such as myself has paternal instincts, can you.

"I am having a pretty hard time with that, yes."

Then, if it is easier, tell yourself it is all because I refuse to be beaten.  He stood taller, and I saw a glimpse in his bearing of the nobleman he had been so long ago.  The Dragons butchered my Get and massacred my living Family.  They drove me into Exile and deprived me of the ability to create more of my kind.  They thought they had exterminated the House of Draegonne forever.  But I....HAVE....WON!!!

The last three words exploded so loudly that the stone walls of the catacombs trembled, and dust fell from the ceilings.  I stood frozen, seeing for the first time a flicker of humanity in his face.  Pride.  Vengeance.  Ambition.  Jubilance.  He had been carefully planning his moves and stratagems for centuries, and now it was all so close to paying off.  

There will be a new House Draegonne, a House beneath the protective aegis of the Ravens, a House my enemies cannot ever touch.  A House I will make so strong they will NEVER tear down its walls again.

"Unless I refuse," I said softly.

He froze, staring at me, and I felt a strong stab of fear again.  He took a few gliding steps towards me, his long fingers clenching and unclenching.  Why would you deny your own blood?

So this was it.  The Endgame.  I forced myself to hold my ground.  "Because this is all about your ambitions, your revenge, your victory.  I didn't ask to be fed your Blood, Harrow.  I didn't ask to be bred like some racehorse.  And the Blood in my veins is now Athena's, not yours.  I gave my allegiance to her."

I didn't know what to expect, whether he would fall on me and rip me to shreds, wall me up alive, or just add me to his collection of staked vampires.  I will not lie and say I didn't care, but there is a certain kind of resigned clarity that comes with knowing you are so overmatched you don't stand a chance of fighting back.  The last move was his.

And slowly, a smile twisted his lips.  That is why you will accept my offer, Damien Draegonne.  In the end, you will do it for yourself and for her.

PROGENY, PART SEVENTEEN

Harrow House.  Click to enlarge

I stood in the entranceway, held back as if by some invisible force.  It was not, as folklore would have it, that I needed an invitation.  I was held outside by my own fear.

There is something terrifying about the Shades, something that rises from our close relation to them.  They, like us, are the products of Lachiel's Curse; humans suspended somewhere between the Quick and the Dead.  I suppose we feel about them as the living feel about us...they are an abomination that should not be.  But as empty as we may be--corpses animated only by the stolen blood of the living--they are so much more so, devoid of memory and substance, devoid of feeling and awareness.  They are like the outgrown husks of insects or the shed skin of snakes...something left behind.  And yet, horribly, they continue to move.

The foyer was thick with them.  The room itself was simple; decorated only with a tall statue and an antique telephone on a stand, but the real decoration was these restless dead.  In one corner a young mother sat huddled on the floor, cradling a dead infant in her arms.  Her mouth moved but made no sound, and yet somehow I could still hear the baby's screams faintly in the air.  Near the statue, a naked boy watched me through empty eyes, a child no more than fourteen.  He never moved a muscle, but black, fetid blood ran continually down his bare chest from a tear in his throat, trickling over his genitals and between his legs before pooling on the floor.  I jerked my eyes away from him only to spy a school girl in the corner, her neck snapped and twisted around so that her head hung limp and sideways.  The horror of them all came over me like a wave.  If I had recently Fed, I might have vomited blood.

Harrow paused and turned back at me.  When he saw my reaction to them, amusement flickered in his rat's eyes.  Not all of us have the luxury of Familiars to Feed upon, Master Draegonne.  Some of us still need to hunt.

I stared hard back at him.  "But to bring all these people back here? And kill them in your own home?" A kind of cold fury twisted in my guts.  Children.  Infants.  Young mothers.  Harrow didn't take only what he needed, he raped innocence with impunity.

Such righteous indignation, from a creature that creeps into motel rooms to suck the blood of sleepers.  He gave a dry, wheezing sound that might have been a laugh.  Ignore them, Damien Draegonne.  Hypocrisy does not suit you.

I opened my mouth to protest, and then snapped it shut, letting the heavy double doors fall closed behind me.  Turning my eyes away from them, struggling to ignore the sounds or the icy shivers of their touch on my skin, I followed him deeper into the house.

Harrow House was exactly as I had always imagined it.  Stained paper peeled from the walls, antique furniture was eaten away by mould.  There were dark spatters across the walls and furnishings that could only be blood.  There was no electricity.  There was no heat.  I could hear the rats burrowing through the walls.  It made me pity Harrow's victims all the more.  This was a horrible place to be condemned to.

Harrow did not sit, but gestured at the rotted furniture for me to do so.  From behind the sofa, a pair of badly faded Shades--two elementary school children in uniforms--giggled and stared at me.

I remained on my feet.  "I am here.  Now, what do you want from me? What is all of this about?"

He glided silently to the corner of the room, half-vanishing into the shadows there.  Only the skull-like face was visible, staring back out of the dark.  I told you what I wished when we corresponded, prior to your Change.  I asked only that if the Progeny should accept you, you return to me at Harrow House.

"I remember," I said quietly, my voice cold.  "You claimed the others had robbed you of the ability to create any Get of your own, and that you were 'lonely.'"  I sneered slightly at the last word.

And is that so difficult for you to believe, Young Master?

I straightened up at this, squaring my shoulders.  "I have trouble believing that you have been poisoning me with your blood since I was an infant, or that you have left me a fortune, simply because you are lonely."

So says one who has the luxury of belonging, Harrow replied icily.  You could at will return to the comfort of your Clan Hall, with its Familiar servants, any moment you wished.  I have no such recourse.  I am alone.

"Maybe then you shouldn't have tried to kill the founder of your own bloodline."

He seemed to ignore me, speaking softly, his voice like gas escaping a corpse.  You may pass freely among the Quick, Feeding as you like, a little at a time.  Yet I...I am fortunate if I can lure a runaway or capture a straggler once in a month.  Do you know what it is like, to fight the Hunger for weeks at a time?  You with your full belly.  And yet you sit in judgement upon me for feasting when I can.  You speak of things you do not understand, Young Master.

"What the fuck am I doing here!"  I shouted, growing bolder.

Harrow did not speak, but he raised his clawed hands into the air, eyes blazing.  Tendrils of darker shadow seemed to exude from his body, spreading rapidly across the walls, ceiling, and floor of the room.  The room seemed to grow blacker, until only his face hung in the void.  I wanted to jump back, but something held me in place.  I didn't have the courage to look at what it was.

Keep a civil tongue when you speak to me, Child.  You are in my House.

I nodded, feeling those inky black coils circling me, tightening.  I imagined him crushing all of my bones with just a command.  "Alright!  Alright.  I'm...sorry."

That's better, he crooned, releasing me.  The room seemed to brighten again.

"But Harrow, what do you want from me?"

That is the wrong question, Damien Draegonne.  Ask rather what I want for you.

He glided silently across the room, and the doors at the end of it opened for him.  With a long, hooked finger he indicated I should follow.  To my relief, he was leaving the house, heading back out into the night.  I rushed after him, glad to be free of the place, but my relief was short-lived as he moved across the yard towards the broad steps leading up the cemetery hill.  Come, Master Draegonne.  Come home.

Reluctant, I climbed the steps after him, and only when we reached the top, and the iron gates there, did I realise I knew this place.  It was the place I dreamed of back in the Clan Hall, the place from which Harrow first whispered to me.  You have been to the Night Palace and seen something of where you came from.  Now, I will show you the rest.

He swept open the gates, and moved down the overgrown path among the toppled and broken stones.  

Tell me, Damien Draegonne, when the Dragons filled your head with their accusations against me, did they tell you of the vengeance they took?

I shivered, and not because of the chill.  Glancing around I saw the names on the ruined tombstones.  All of them had been 'Draegonnes.'  I had grown up here, but it had never once occurred to me to look for the graves of my grandparents, or ancestors.  They weren't in the town cemetery with the other families...Harrow had collected them all here.  "They told me they killed all of the Progeny you sired."

Oh yes, oh yes.  But that was not enough for them.  Because I only selected new Get from among my human descendants, they hunted them all down, butchering innocent women and children to ensure a Draegonne was never made Progeny again.  He turned and waved his arms at the stones.  This branch I managed to save by spiriting them to the New World.  Your branch.

I stared at the stones around me.  "But your Get were all abominations.  Slaves.  Hollowed out for you to possess.  My ancestors were better off dead."

The creature laughed again, a sick, hissing sound.  Not so, Damien Draegonne.  Not so.  He moved towards what I thought was a mausoleum, and turned out instead to be a staircase plunging down into tunnels beneath the graves.  Without a word he descended, and I followed him, now out of curiosity as much as anything else.

The Catacombs.  Click to enlarge

The catacombs were, by far, worse than the house.  Not only did Shades shuffle blindly through them, begging and weeping, but rotting corpses littered the floors, all in various states of decay.  There were some mummified bodies he had impaled on high pikes, like those woodcuts you saw of Vlad Tepes.  In horror, I noticed their dry, dusty eyes still twitched in their skulls.  These were vampires, vampires he had staked through the heart and displayed like trophies.

I was in life what might have been called a natural philosopher, or much later, an alchemist.  Harrow continued, moving past these desiccated Progeny towards what looked like a primitive laboratory.  I continued these studies in Un-Death, ever experimenting on the Blood which animates us, trying to unravel its mysteries.

He turned to look at me.  You know, of course, of the Others?  There are the Progeny of Lachiel that take blood, and there are the Soulstealers, who measure their rank and power by how many spirits they enthral?

I nodded.

Part of my Work was to take the Blood of captured Soulstealers and mingle it with our own, to combine the strains of vampirism.  He stared hard at me, the rictus twitching across his face what passed as a smile for him.  You yourself have experienced the results.

I shook my head.  "I don't follow."

You think I have Fed you my Blood since you were in your crib?  No, Young Master.  I Fed your mother my Blood when you were in her womb.  I Fed her my Blood when she was in her mother's, and I did the same to your father and both their ancestors going back generations.  Athena may have made you Progeny by giving her Blood to you, but my Blood is in ever fibre of your being.

He lifted a glass vessel filled with something thick, and blackish red.

My Blood, in which I have combined properties of two species.  And you see the results.  When you Feed, Damien Draegonne, have you not noticed how you share in your prey's deepest memories as well?  Feel what they feel?  Merge with them?  That is my Blood in you, allowing you to sap part of their soul.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a bony hand to silence me.  My Progeny and I all shared this gift, we shared, you might say, a common soul.  Yes, I could see what they saw and felt what they felt, and yes, I could speak and act through them if I wished, but they were not slaves.  They were bound to me in new and intense ways.  But the Dragons...they were very religious in those days, you understand, and later, when they fought for Christendom against the Turk...they saw my work as Witchcraft.  This is the real reason they stamped out my House, sent me into Exile, and killed all my Progeny, both the Quick and the Un-Dead.

"But you killed your Sire, and your Sire's Sire.  You tried to kill the founding Patriarch of your bloodline."

Yes, oh yes.  I am guilty of that, of trying to reshape the Dragons with the new powers I had discovered.  And I failed.  And this, Damien Draegonne...is why I need you.

I waited for him to continue, watching warily as he circled the long wooden laboratory table towards me.

I need you to resurrect House Draegonne for me.

I backed away from him, anger rising in me.  "I don't know how much of what you are saying is true, Harrow, but I will not betray my bloodline or my clan.  I will not betray my Sire."

He laughed again.  Tell me, Damien Draegonne, do you think Athena is stupid?  Do you think she knew nothing of me?  Do you think she didn't know exactly who you were when I sent you to her?

I backed even further away, right into the stone wall.  His words sank into my brain, buried like seeds in soil.  It was highly unlikely--no, impossible--that Athena didn't know these things.  But why Embrace me then?

He seemed to read my mind.  Don't you see, Damien Draegonne?  is it not clear?  You are a Draegonne...but this time you are a Raven and not a Dragon.  You are under their protection, and Athena's.  The Dragons dare not start a Blood War to exterminate the resurrected House Draegonne.    

  

"But why...why would Athena allow this?"

Because there is a new War coming, Young Master.  The Outcasts are rising and growing bolder.  There are rumours of Slayers and Lycanthropes rising against the Clans.  By accepting you into her House, Young Damien, Athena of the Tenebrati gains all of my secrets.  She absorbs the strength of my House into her own.  I have a thousand years of secrets, of forbidden powers and black mysteries.  And through you, they become hers and her Clan's.  She does it for the same reason you sought the Progeny; survival.

I couldn't think straight, my mind reeling.  Was any of this true?  I had no way of knowing, and still, I didn't know exactly what I was being asked.  I swallowed hard.  "What are you asking me to do?"

I am asking you to do what I did, Young Master Draegonne.  I am asking you to drain me.  To absorb my soul into your own.

  

PROGENY, PART SIXTEEN

DAMIEN

Marion Draegonne sat up straight in bed, staring blankly at the wall ahead of her as if no one else was in the room.  She didn't look like a woman who had just been startled awake by a pair of intruders in her motel room.  Instead, she looked like someone on a massive dose of Thorazine.  Her eyes were open but glassy, her face locked in a dull, moronic smile.  A slight trickle of spittle ran from the corner of her mouth down her chin.  With her grey hair sticking up wiry from her head, she looked vaguely like one of those troll dolls popular when I was a kid.

It had been three years since I last saw her.  She looked like she had aged a hundred.

I turned my eyes to him.

Had I been Quick, had the lump of dead flesh in my chest still been capable of it, my heart would have been pounding.  But it had been too long since I Fed.  The thin stream of living blood in my veins was half-depleted, and I was half dead.  My body was cold and numb, and the terror I felt remained confined to my head.  I neither extended my claws nor my fangs, watching mutely as he emerged from the corner of the room.  

There was no way he could pass for human.  Not any longer.    I thought immediately of that urban legend, the Slender Man.  He seemed to unfold from the darkness in the corner of the room like a spider, all limbs. The centuries had stretched him, like an image imprinted on Silly Putty, until everything about him was wrong.  His arms and legs, his spindly white fingers, even his thin tapering ears seemed elongated.  He had to be at least seven feet tall, but the way he stooped over lowered him to six and a half.  There was no hair on his skull, not even eyelashes, and the flesh had gone a diseased grey.  Worst of all, his two inch-long fangs extended over his lower lip like a rat.  I doubted he ever bothered to sheath them any more.

"Harrow," I whispered.

Simon Harrow.  Click to enlarge.

I have been waiting such a long time for you, young Master Draegonne.

I glanced over at my mother, considering my options.  Could I move fast enough to get her from the room?  I didn't think so.  Harrow was at least a thousand years old, and I had no idea what powers were his to command.  Despite his decayed appearance, he very likely had terrible strength and tremendous speed.  I would never make the door.

Oh come now, Master Draegonne.  The night is young and we have so much to discuss, you and I.  You mustn't dream of leaving the party so soon.

I turned an stared hard at him.  "What have you done to her?"

It was a valid question.  I knew the numbing, hypnotic effect we could induce in the living, and I knew some Progeny could even exert enough force to issue commands...but this?  When I reached out to touch her thoughts there was nothing there.  It was as if she barely existed.  

Marion is going to wait here, Master Draegonne, while you enjoy the hospitality of Harrow House.

I frowned.  "And if I refuse?  With her in the room you have leverage.  You must know I will attempt to flee as soon as she isn't in immediate danger."

The thing's face twitched.  He might have been trying to smile.  How charming that you think my influence extends to but a single room.  He turned towards her.  Marion, attend.

Her head jerked towards him like a dog straining for the voice of its master.

Your son and I shall be leaving.  You will remain here.  Tomorrow night, if you do not hear from me, you will go into the bath and open your wrists with a razor.  Understood?

My mother nodded mutely.

Now, Young Master, let us be off.  Your mother will remain intact so long as you refrain from any unpleasantness.

I thought of Stefan in our room, and wondered if I could signal him.  But really...what was the point?  What could he possibly do?  The fact is I had come all this way to confront the Dragon.  There was no point in delaying my fate.  Nodding, I followed him from the room.

Follow.

Stepping out into the dark, his body twitched, bones snapping and reforming.  His fingers extended out several yards, veined flesh stretched between them.  With a sound like canvas snapping in a strong wind, Harrow took to the air, his arms now massive, bat-like wings.  All I could do was race after him like a hound, following below as he beat his way across the night sky.  

Of course, I really didn't need to chase him.  I knew the way.

It had been a cold Sunday afternoon, the air wet with drizzle and fog, when I climbed the wall surrounding the house and snuck across the weed-choked yard.  I was ten, and it was a dare.  I went around the side to one of the windows, but could barely see anything as I pressed my face against the filthy glass.  Suddenly, something moved just inches from my face, and I let out a shriek.  It had been a rat, I think, scurrying across the inside of the window.  Still, I turned and ran as fast as my legs could carry me.

And here I was again.

Harrow House loomed before me, and to my Un-Dead eyes it was far worse than I was capable of seeing it alive.  It was the same grey, rotting heap, but now I understood fully why everyone whispered it was haunted.  Living, when you pass by the gates you feel a chill in the air, the whisper of breath on the back of your neck.  Maybe you imagine a moan or hiss in your ear.  But Un-Dead, half between this world and the next, you see everything.

As I have explained before, gentle reader, when the Progeny take a life, draining our prey to death, some of our Curse passes into them.  They do not, as legends say, rise as vampires themselves.  Instead, their bodies die and rot naturally, but their spirit, their Shade, remains earthbound, rooted to the spot where it died.  These blind, empty things can remained trapped for years, or decades, slowly fading until only a vague image remains, or the echo of their voices.  Harrow House...the yard, the windows...was filled with Shades, and the air hummed with their pleading cries, their terrified screams, their dying.  They were everywhere.

And Harrow landed in the middle of the yard, surrounded by them, like a king reigning over the dead.  They shrieked, and grovelled, and cringed.  Horror filled me.  How was this possible?  Shades were never aware of others.  How is it they saw him?

Come, Master Draegonne.  Surely you are not afraid of the Dead.

But I was.  I was terrified.  Harrow seemed to bend or break all the Laws of my condition.

Summoning my courage I passed the gate, and followed him into Harrow House.

Harrow House.  Click to enlarge.