Category Archives: Uncategorized

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Free

Who knew the legend was true?

Vampires actually sleep in coffins when they aren’t in fancy homes where curtains guarantee protection from the burning rays of the sun. Breathing isn’t necessary for the sense of smell to work but I do it anyway. It makes me feel alive.

This past week I’ve glimpsed the beauty of being truly still in the company of one’s soul mate.

This trip has been interesting and enlightening, but if I didn’t know it before, I’m positive now. The river plantation and New Orleans are our homes, these places certainly are not. As spectacular as it is, the mansion is no place for a newborn. Blood donated from slaves quenches thirst but does nothing to satisfy his true hunger.

My lover asked me to free him–long ago–on the first night he drank my blood.

The French Quarter beckons nightly, calling us home in her sultry voice.

Will we ever be free?

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Summit

Confident that security around the compound was impenetrable, the Prince and the Duke conducted an impromptu summit. Still dressed in their tuxedos, the men approached each other across the deserted dance floor, neither anxious to be the first to speak.

The Duke broke the standoff, offering mismatched glasses in one hand and a full bottle of rare, blood whiskey in the other.
“There’s been ugliness between us recently, but I thank you for stepping in to save my subject. I was much too far away to intervene. She would have been dead long before I broke through the crowd. I’m not sure any of us could have changed her either–she’s so accustomed to blood that she may have developed resistance.”

“Well, regardless of our past, there’s no way I would let the miserable little troll kill her,” the Prince answered. “without such a judgmental audience, I would have erased the entire problem.”

“There have been run-ins before.”

“I recall something about a girl fight and a broken arm. In any case, she won’t be a bother for a good, long while.”

“Banished to Europe, I assume?”

“Paris specifically.”

The Duke grimaced as he slammed his third whiskey. “Ah, Paris–my hell on earth. Don’t worry, I won’t be tempted to visit.”

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B

A sparkling jewel on the hill. Scores of windows, draped in velvet and gold, tiny portals to the magic within.  Glowing warmth, welcome and refuge to all.

The white fortress–that’s how it was, as I remember it.

This is how it is–the haunted ruin, as I see it.

Darkness and gloom stretch for miles. Acres of fields and garden overgrown. Mother Nature and the bayou, once again victorious.

I brush away dust and mud to reveal what remains of our grand foyer. A lonely tribute  to the the golden age of a Duke and his court.

Countless footsteps, the dizzying waltz, the bold brass band and the tragedy of fire and spilled blood. The old tiles wear history well–still defiant and gleaming after all these years.

Handcrafted in marble and gilded in gold. One simple letter.

                                              B 

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Still

The thunder beneath your feet? The sizzle up your spine?

Centuries-old legend scribed by authors, glorified by film makers, embellished in the endless imagination of dreamers–yet faced with proof–all ignore it.

The hiss in the alley, the growl ’round the corner?

Look deep in your liquor, stare hard at your lover, believe what keeps you sane but the answer is simple.

I’m here, I’m home. It was me.

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Invitation

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Honor for a fallen soldier, mourning for a beloved ancestor, or tribute to lost lover?

Tonight, a solitary bloom marked the site of a summit. Friends and allies, separated for far too long, reunited in candlelight and magic behind these ancient walls.

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Melange

From the top of the world to the lowest depths of hell.
Both families–each dynasties in their own right and polar opposites linked for eternity. Mismatched souls united by blood and tragedy, wielding power reserved for miraculous survivors.

For my human family, I kept my promise of honor and legacy. For my coven, I’ve led them back from the brink of extinction. Our new foundation has roots in every corner of the earth. Combined forces, supernatural and mortal building blocks. My humble insurance plan–strength in numbers, eyes and ears in all subcultures.

The Banitierres will never be ambushed again.

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Devils, Kings and Fools

I may have returned to New York City, but once the whistle blew I never looked back. Not even once.

Somewhere I still have it, that crumpled ticket with the faded black ink, passage booked to another world. My prayers and dreams gambled on big wheels–dirty, dusty, weary from the rails. I boarded an escape missile from the past and an escort to the future, armed only with what was on my back and in my heart.
Promised healers and saviors, I found travelers. Fools–genuine and fraudulent. Kings–noble and criminal. Some pure, others cursed to serve the devil–and the congregation in between.

On the day that was the last, forever there was darkness and all the sunlight past.

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Wicked Flair

I always believed life and love followed the shape of an hourglass. Wide open with possibility at birth, difficult and treacherous in the middle and abundant with joy and freedom at the end.
As odd as it has been, my journey resembled that formula–until it didn’t. My saga, mine and my family’s, is not so simple. Right when I thought we were safe, monsters beaten and enemies destroyed, our passage burst apart. Dozens of glass tunnels branched in every direction–so very similar to the twisted, gnarled roots of an old swamp tree that disappear into black water and emerge far away, in the most unexpected locations. Their hidden time mutates–evolves their texture, color and their true essence forever.
Our hourglass must have been hand blown by an devious artist. A genius with vision, creativity and more than a trace of wicked flair.

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The Match

I watch in awe as both monsters meet their match, the two rolling as one, an imperceptible tangle of mud and limbs.
Heat rises behind my skin as killer instinct floods my throat, triggered by the life and death battle waged in front of me. I crouch close to the edge of the swamp, looking–waiting for a chance to join the fight.
Come on–let me in!
The master finally grants me an opening–truly just a fraction of a second.
I glimpse the lighter coloring of the beast’s underbelly and lunge with all the power caged behind my burning, blue eyes.

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Ghosts and Legends

image NCM

I debated whether or not to attend–was the effort of braving the elements worth keeping the streak alive. I’ve had the ticket stashed in my armoire for a month. Bright sun would have been a convenient excuse but just my luck–gloom and fog have shrouded the city since dawn.

Technology can do some amazing things. Kids point in awe to banners of heroes in the Great Hall as they turn from brilliant color to the black and white images of years past. I saw Gehrig and Ruth with my own eyes. Back then the grass was just as green, the sky a more vivid blue than anyone remembers and a three-tiered ballpark truly felt like a cathedral.

The field across the street is a lovely tribute but my heart aches for the old stadium–not the 1970’s refurbished version, though that had it’s moments too. I’m thinking of the original Yankee Stadium built in 1923 on the site of an old goat pasture. If one looks closely–squints in the rain–the building is still there, veiled in layers of grey, lights twinkling, ground shaking with the roar of the crowd.

Those limestone walls screamed and fought back when they were torn apart. Their wails still echo, trapped between the rocks of the bluff and swirling currents of the river. Torture for those cursed to hear them for eternity but precious history for the handful that still survive.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Ghosts and Legends…all eyes on the prize.