To My Father, With Love

High above the wave-soaked shores of Mercy, the dead communed with the living.

"The task is easy – I have found mention of a ritual that will bring me back to life, but I can't find the writing that clearly outlines the ceremony. I do not wish to go to Scirocco and his mystics, and that is why I have asked you two here. There is a book that I find mentioned time and time again in relation to this ritual, and it is said to contain the exact details I have been unable to procure as of yet. I need that book, and I need you to find it, Satine."

Ghost Widow paced back and forth soundlessly, the other three women in the room watched her movements with bated breath. The Prime Fortunata looked uneasy at her mistress's agitation and had begun to shift back and forth from foot to foot as she stood at attention. Ariel, once the hero Aestas, hovered in her own ghostly manner a few feet above the floor, her grin concealed by the mask she had worn into death. Slumped in a chair was Satine, her face carefully set to a neutral mask, though her own amusement was as abounding as Ariel's. Her blue eyes were pointedly searching out the Fortunata's beneath the full helm that marked the rank and seeming ineptitude of the person beneath it. The woman was supposed to be a psychic, the very best of the best, but Satine could read her mind as easily as a book – a thought both heartening and disconcerting to the dhampir. This is what Mistress Widow wanted her to be, Prime Fortunata, the very best of the best…Finally, she could take it no longer.

"Mademoiselle Fortunata," Satine began, "Eef 'ou are questioning 'hy your mistress 'ould entrust moi with zhese task and not yourself, 'hy do 'ou not ask 'er? Surely someone of your talents 'ould be mush better suited, non, to 'hatever she 'as in mind, for your abilities are so mush – how did 'ou put eet? – superior to my own." Satine sunk back into her chair, grateful for the shadows that were concealing the mocking grin spreading across her lips. Ghost Widow stopped mid stride, glancing first at the Fortunate with a flicker of death in her eyes, and then at Satine, half in awe, half in mirth. Again and again, Satine proved both her power and value as an ally.

Ghost Widow glanced at the red-head again, one ghostly eyebrow arched in amusement as the moonlight spilled into the room, revealing the smirk Satine was having such a hard time hiding. "And for this, and your silence regarding the matter, I'm willing to do something for you in return, something much greater than my teachings and personal favor."

Ariel looked between the two and nodded a bit, for Mistress Widow had already told her the plan – it was strange that Recluse's hand maiden entrusted the former hero with so much of her private confidences, but Ariel supposed that came from the rampant similarities the two possessed, including the extreme fondness they both shared for Satine. Their ties had bound them together a great deal these past weeks, and Ariel would be sorry to have to leave Ghost Widow's side. But promises needed to be kept.

Ghost Widow stopped pacing and appeared to look as nonchalant as a ghost was able. "I will have the guard removed from Ariel's hospital for a few hours – and have the security cams recording on no tape, as it were."

Satine twitched a bit, resisting the urge to spring up and fall at Ghost Widow's feet, proclaiming she'd do whatever it took if her mistress would do that for her. Groveling was something Recluse enjoyed greatly, but not his hand maiden, and so she sat motionless, appearing to be pondering the terms over. Just as she was about to answer, she caught a thought floating in the air, and began to search the minds of everyone within ten miles for the same sentiment. The Fortunata shifted uneasily again under the mental strain of Satine's badgering, but her training had never prepared her for someone as powerful as this. She managed not to scream as the dhampir tore her mind open easily, extracting rather damning information. Satine simply smiled again and leaned forward, the feral nature of that smile not lost on anyone in the room.

"Madame, 'here can I find zheese book?"

"The Circle of Thorns have long prided themselves on having the complete collection – which is a rather blatant and ballsy lie. I'd start there, if I were you." Ghost Widow smiled graciously even though she had felt the ferocity of Satine's probing – though it had never directed itself at her, Ghost Widow still felt mildly uncomfortable. And if it had been, she mused, I doubt even I could have resisted her for long.

Satine nodded and rose to leave, the Fortunata making to leave before her, partly in effort to run for Recluse and confess before she was murdered by this terrible woman. He had to know Ghost Widow's ambitions, and the price she was willing to pay for these ambitions…

She was half way down the stairs, knowing Satine was still at the top, conversing quietly about the Thorns with Ghost Widow. She resisted the urge to flat out run – to do so would be shameful indeed, and betray her even more than she had already betrayed herself. She glanced over her shoulder to seek out her perceived executioner, still plowing down the stairs…Satine turned and gave her a striking, alluring smile…

The Fortunata began to fall to her knees, clutching at her head as her mind was cleaved apart sadistically…Before she hit the ground, she was dead. Satine tsked under her breath, turning back to Ghost Widow with a grin. "Madame, 'ou really should find more…loyal…attendants." More of Ghost Widow's lesser fortunatas appeared at the foot of the stairs, wordlessly removing the body of their leader and bowing their heads in respect to the three at the top of the stairs.

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The Circle of Thorns were a rather arrogant group and had never hid themselves very well from prying eyes. Satine had spent most of the day moving from altar site to encampment, slaughtering them without hesitation if they were of no value to her. Her only thought was for that book, and only those who had some dim recollection of it lived past her first culling.

She stood deep beneath the Thorny Isle, in the very presence of the Thorn Tree she had once come to for power. Its vines danced their deadly samba all around her, but none wished to penetrate past her psychic shields – to do so would mean instant death for them. The tree and vines, unlike the mages and such that worshipped there, were not dumb enough to piss off this woman unduly.

In her grasp she held a man in black robes, green bolts of power shooting from his eyes. Her hand was wrapped around his throat, and even for as short as she was, she had him held several inches above the ground. His hands clawed at her grip as he sputtered and choked for air, desperation and fear tumbling off him as plain as the stench of death he and his comrades carried with them.

Satine smiled at him so sweetly that it would have melted him into gentlemanly compliance if not for her rather violent death grip on him. She pushed up her sunglasses with her free hand, gazing deep into him, her stunning blue eyes, usually the bright shade of a clear summer's day, haphazardly streaked with twinges of the deepest midnight blue. Her beauty is only enhanced by her savagery, he vaguely ruminated as his mind threatened to collide with the unconscious bliss her hand around his throat was bringing so close.

Abruptly she dropped him, resisting the urge to laugh as he fell in a crumpled, undignified heap before the Thorn Tree.

"Monsieur, I tire of zheese game! I know 'ou know where eet ees, and zhat ees all I want to know…Please, monsieur, be reasonable…" Satine gave him a sad, almost pouting look, and he scowled…but even her womanly charms were not lost on the Death Mage.

"It…it…" He still struggled for breath as he spoke. "The book…stolen…Dedrick…in Paris…"

Satine did not let her face slide into emotion as she absorbed this, though it deeply troubled her. Instead she smiled beneficently at him, crouching down and laying a kiss on his forehead. "Merci monsieur!" She said exuberantly before spinning on heel and brushing past the vines towards the cave entrance. She soothed both tree and vines with quiet, psychically driven affection, and began to whisper softly to their collective consciousness.

Look at the man before you my sweets, how he cowers before you…Remember how he and others like him have exploited you for centuries, taking your power without permission and without recompense…He is yours now…To do with whatever you wish…

The mage's screams were like a delicate symphony to Satine as she walked out, climaxing abruptly as the tree tore him apart with a wet, snapping twist. For a moment she let the experience wash over her, and it pushed the foreboding of Dedrick and Paris to the back of her mind. She simply reveled in the violence with as much audacity and intensity as her father's blood would permit.

As soon as she reached the surface, a plan had formed in her mind. A few quick phone calls and she was on the next flight to France. She had a couple of hours to burn before her flight, and so she flew off to tie up the few lose ends of her life.

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Even being what could only be termed a native, the nighttime Parisian skyline never failed to completely snatch Satine's breath away. She stood on the rooftop overlooking the building where she had spent most of her early life in desolation and anguish; St. Marguerite's Home for Orphans was not a agreeable place to spend the time of day, much less your first eighteen years.

The crisp wind whipped the crimson locks from her face and let them dance along the night air, mingling them with the tears that had swiftly begun to run down her cheeks. The fair moon peeked from behind her cloudy perch, and for a single instant Satine was brilliantly lit up like a pallid moon nymph. The man who had been watching her from the shadowy recesses across the way felt his breath catch and pants become uncomfortably tight at the sight of her standing there, as if she had been formed from the very breath and splendor of the night.

She bowed her head after a moment but never quite managed to release the cry of sorrow that was secreted away in both her throat and heart. He took the opportunity to push himself away from the wall he had been leaning against and slip behind her.

Satine raised her head once again to the night, the flow of tears having ceased, as she felt large, strong hands on her shoulders. She did not stiffen, for she could read his aura as easily as she could see the moon – he meant her no harm. Soft lips brushed her cheek as the hands pulled her back against a firm, muscled chest – and for the first time in a long time, she let herself slip into the arms of comfort.

For a long time, neither spoke – she watched the moon and night sky, and he watched her.

Again his lips grazed her cheek, and she turned slightly in his arms, enough to gaze up at him. Oh, how he changed since she had left him behind and been taken into her first dancing house at eighteen – wrinkles worked upon his forehead, mouth, and the corners of his eyes, and his hair, once so elegantly black and thick, had begun to recede and fade to a weathered grey. But still the spark lit his liquid black eyes, as bright as when she had been a girl. He spoke first, his French as fluid and sensuous as his eyes.

"I always knew you were different, Satine. Twenty years later, you haven't aged a day past your seventeenth birthday."

Her eyes broke from his face and gazed out once again on the skyline, pointedly ignoring the orphanage below. Her French was not as smooth as his and had the slightest trace of foreign accent as she spoke. "Pierre…I'm…"

He cut her off, squeezing her gently as he spoke, "I've known of your kind for a long time, Satine, and I know what you are. Do not let it trouble you overmuch, my love."

She nodded and turned her head aside as his fingers gently stroked her neck, tracing the scar Valen had given her seemingly ages ago. "I should have come back a long time ago, Pierre… I never meant to…"

"Shh. We each live in different worlds, you and I, and though you've always had my heart and soul, I knew I could never join you in yours – only to aid in your journey. I hope I did enough to make it a happier time for you." Pierre buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent like a cocaine addict inhales his powder – and he knew from that moment on that he would never be able to have another woman without thinking of Satine, remembering her perfume as it permeated the chill Parisian air all around him…

Satine felt his hips brush against her back side, and felt the surge of desire that was running rampant through his system. She broke the silence between them as she pulled away to stand at the edge of the building. "I'm looking for a man, a man of the underworld. His name is Dedrick."

Pierre did not step forward after her, as much as he wanted to, needed to. "He basically owns the Parisian underworld, Satine – I hope you are looking for him on friendly terms, for you're a fool if you aren't. He is powerful beyond knowing, it's told, and the only other creature to threaten his empire has been dead this past half year."

"Where can I find him, Pierre?"

"Satine…"

"Where can I find Dedrick?"

"Southeastern part of the city. He has a home there – if you are what you are, you won't be able to miss it…But Satine, please, don't do something foolish…"

"I'll be fine, Pierre. I've taken care of myself this past twenty-odd years – I'm sure I can handle Dedrick." She spun on heel, brushing past the man that had been so important to her for so many years, the very rock she had leaned on while they had both been imprisoned within St. Marguerite's walls. She stopped a few feet behind him, and turned to look at him one last time. She owed him that.

"She's a lucky woman, Pierre, whoever that holds you in her arms at night."

He chuckled softly to himself before responding. "So is he…so is he."

Satine nodded and continued to the opposite edge of the roof, whispering to the wind as she leapt gracefully to the street below. Goodbye, my friend.

Pierre watched as Satine once again left with his heart – and in the many hours left before dawn, he would weep over the loss of the only woman to ever touch his soul.

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Impressively audacious was one way to describe how Dedrick surrounded himself – hookers strolled the street, meaty men stared menacingly at everyone who passed by. Here the black market thrived, and everything was for sale – blood, relics, flesh. Dedrick was a vampire who prided himself on his dark empire run on the night streets of Paris – and empire that the waking world refused to acknowledge and continued to find completely unfathomable. Death danced on the air here, as much an aphrodisiac as the Chinese herbs men and women took to heighten the experience.

But what was sex but a small death?

Here, in the brightly colored lace and leather world, Satine could find herself at ease. She had gone from her rooftop to her hotel room and dressed carefully for the occasion. She had bound back in a traditional Chinese bun, fastening it securely with iron chopsticks – weapons in a pinch, she mused. She left her face unpainted, letting natural beauty sing forth as opposed to the prostitutes overzealous use of color, and had left her body as equally unadorned. Her clothing was smooth and dark, hugging her curves while allowing her freedom of movement. Her finishing touches included the long, dark leather coat she had taken from Dream when Nazael had died and the pair of sunglasses that had been with her since she had joined the Web. She had smiled at her reflection as she had pulled on her leather gloves, a smile as wild and ostentatious as she felt. Tonight, she was the child of the night, given breath and life by the moon and the dark spirits of hell. Tonight, she was a vampire.

Her gait was purposeful as she walked down the lane towards the grandiose house at the top of the hill, and none had dared get in her way; many of the inhabitants of Dedrick's underworld were not human, and could sense her aura as plain as day. It also didn't hurt that for the first time in her life, Satine felt no need to hide what she was, instead letting it sing out from her in bright waves that had sent many a strong vampire scurrying for shelter.

Dhampir were vampire killers – and this red head walking calmly up one of the most vampiric infested streets in Europe was one of the most powerful that had ever walked the Earth.

Satine positively beamed as the two door guards fled at the very sight of her. The heavy oak door pushed open easily, and she slipped inside to one of the most opulent entrance halls she had ever been in – not even her former Master's could compare. Music floated on the air, a soft waltz – it seemed Dedrick and his vampire clan were having themselves a party.

"I've never been one much for parties – more for party crashing." Satine softly mused to the walls before moving forward towards the grand ballroom.

The doors fell open at her slightest touch, and a flurry of color and sensation penetrated her consciousness. It seemed every woman there was in a different color of splendor, bedecked as only the very old and dead could afford – jewels encrusted on jewels. The men were polished to a tee in the tuxes, and for a moment, one could almost believe that this was an ordinary ball, with ordinary rich snobs – except for the collective consciousness spinning around in psychic echoes about the room.

The crowd parted easily. The music died down.

Dedrick von Nacht was one of the oldest of his line, and by far the most respected. And here he sat at the front of the hall on his raised dais like a king, overseeing the little people as they danced and wined and dined at his expense. His strange blue eyes watched Satine closely as she moved forward amongst her vampiric brethren without so much as a glance for them until she stood impassively before him, no menacing signs in her posture or face. Dedrick laughed softly at her, standing there, dark amongst the brilliance of the ball, the stain among the light. How odd that the human in the room commanded the place that the vampire was supposed to hold.

She did not speak as he jumped down off his throne and came to examine her. For some time he circled her before deftly reaching out and pulling the pins from her hair and tossing them aside, letting it cascade down her back and shoulders like a bloodied waterfall. He grinned again, and spoke to her in soft, almost loving tones.

"Why have you come here, half-breed?"

"To recover a book that is said to be in your possession."

"Ah."

"If you give it to me, I'll be on my way quietly."

"That I very much doubt, Satine."

"I was hoping you'd say that, father."

The room hissed in a collective gasp. Dedrick had a human child? But why?

Dedrick simply shook his head in amusement as he regarded her. "Father by raping your mother only, Satine."

"It is your blood that makes me what I am, Dedrick. I guess I should thank you for that? But I find myself oddly wanting to rip your throat out instead."

"Tsk, tsk. You could try, my dearest daughter."

"You could try and stop me, you mean."

"Ah!" Dedrick clapped his hands together, and several large, bulky men came forth from the shadowy parts of the room, encircling Satine. She grinned.

"Go right ahead; but I warn you, I was always stronger than that fool Mathieu."

"So much stronger that you had to breed me to kill him for you?"

And at this, she attacked. The men were armed with centuries of experience, not to mention swords and bats, but these did not matter to Satine. The hive mind was weak against a single target attack, and the dhampir had no problem using this advantage over her brethren. One by one, the men fell under her fists and mind, till they were nothing more than bloody pulps of tissue on the floor. The other guests had long since fled the room, and now only Satine and Dedrick stood conscious in the large room.

"You are truly powerful my child. I applaud you."

"The book, Dedrick. Or do you want matching bruises?"

The old vampire pulled the sword from beside his chair and pointed it directly at Satine. Again, she smiled with abandon as she reached down gracefully and picked up one of the fallen bodyguards own blades. That smile chilled something in Dedrick's confidence, chilled it right to the bone – the smile was as wild as a tiger, and had nothing left to lose. His jovial countenance faded and he fell back into a stance of readiness.

"The sword of your line isn't going to save you the same fate your henchmen met, Dedrick. Only that book will."

"We'll just see about that, Satine…" And with that he lunged at her, but was surprised at the force with which she held him back.

For hours it seemed they dueled, neither willing to give the other ground. Metal upon metal rang out like the sweet peal of church bells, and body upon body heaved against each other with supernatural strength. Each bled a little bit, but only one was tiring.

Another frenzied entanglement of blade and body, and Dedrick fell to the floor, blade spinning uselessly across the pristine marble. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the killing strike…instead he was roughly hauled to his feet, Satine holding him close, almost intimate in her embrace of him.

"Did you know what I suffered at Mathieu's hands, father? Did you know what I did to him?"

"No. I only knew he was dead."

Satine dipped her head down to Dedrick's neck and her lips grazed across the thin and fragile skin of his neck. "Now you will, father of mine…He offered me everything to save his skin, but will you?"

And she sunk her fangs, already heavy and waiting in her mouth, into his neck. She began to suckle very slowly at him, rolling the hot blood across her tongue before swallowing deeply. He screamed and wailed, but nothing he could do could dissuade her from his neck. Once scarlet hair faded to a perfect midnight black as she drank…Once a human woman…Once a vampire fledgling…Now something infinitely more than both…

She let Dedrick drop at her feet – though she had spent many minutes at his throat, she had actually absorbed very little of his blood into her system; instead she had drawn on his essence, on his power to open and feed her previously dormant power. He gasped and moaned in the pain of his loss, but she barely heard him, so rapt up she was in the sensations that flowed through her body. She floated more than walked over to the forgotten sword, picking it up delicately before sheathing it and buckling it across her abdomen so that it lay against her back.

Dedrick raised himself up enough to watch a large book come flying through the mansion and into his daughter's waiting hand. Unconsciousness hit his mind like a ton of bricks, and his last vision was of Satine standing there, black hair tossed wildly in the wind as she looked over her shoulder at him…and winked.