Geneva Davis

Friday, October 13, 2000

The time was right. It was now. F�la had gone off in her search for my selection. He was richer than our last. His house�house? Hah! His mansion, nearly�four rambling floors�was on the edge of town, one of the reasons I'd picked him. Another being F�'s near-obsession for tall men with dark hair and glasses. (Something about her brother.) Not to mention that trailing him for a few days had rewarded me with the knowledge that he had a law firm of his own. With whom we, Daniels and Davis, were not partnered. He was going to go down�and he would decide whether in blazing, screaming glory or whimpering defeat.

With F�la off in search of the man, I would have to wait. So instead of sitting on my arse in my apartment, I decided to go for a stroll. The evening was warm, after all. I needn't even take a jacket to pretend that the cold effected me. I walked wherever fancy took me, going down this street and back up the next, rounding this corner and that upon a whim. I ended up back where I started, as I always did when I was wandering; back in front of 3659 West 12th Street. My dismal apartment building. I as on the third floor, the last door in one of the hallways. I liked it that way; I enjoyed my privacy. After all, I needed it. I didn't want the kine to learn about my odd habits. . .

I decided I might as well go on up to my "lair." It had only taken me half an hour for me to get the wanderlust out of my body this time. F� took more than half an hour with our vict�ah, involuntary volunteers. I would still have a while to wait. So inside and upstairs I went. My apartment building was anything but lavish, which was well for me; I could afford much better, but better apartment buildings always meant more space and nosier neighbors. Rich folk don't have anything to do but poke around in each others' business; I didn't want to have to deal with that, there would be more deaths than necessary when noses were stuffed where they did not belong.

I went up to my door, apartment 19, at the end of the hallway, and paused outside to test the air with my vampirically enhanced senses. I found that it hadn't been disturbed since I left earlier in the evening. Just as well; there would have been hell to pay if it had been disturbed. I opened the door to my apartment and went inside. It was time to wait, and I hadn't a clue as to what I should do to pass the time. After a moment of looking blankly at my starkly-furnished surroundings, I went forward and into the hall off my small living room. The first door would be the bathroom; I avoided that one. The second door, the laundry room; the third, my bedroom. This, I opened and slipped through.

I crossed the small expanse of empty room, to the stool in front of my vanity. I settled on this and sighed, propping against the edge of the desk-like cherrywood surface. I surveyed my room; a concoction of dark blues and purples, accented here and there with cherrywood surfaces and little white pillows. A room I was comfortable in; not too dark, not too light. The curtains over the windows shielded every bit of sunlight which could possibly get in; sufficient for my daytime Sleep. I looked to my bed, with its draperies surrounding it to further shield the light. Ah, the precautions my kind must make.

I swiveled on the stool, to face the mirror propped on the vanity. Contrary to popular belief, I did cast a reflection, and now I studied it critically. Waves of black-brown hair to the shoulder, highlighted with a medium brown; those locks could be longer, straighter. Grey eyes with a circle of dark mottled color around the outer edge of the iris; they could be larger, the lashes longer. Thin nose; too thin, too long, blunt. The only thing I was proud of was my mouth: a rosebud thing, which could smile just as easily as snarl. I had an olive-toned complexion; there weren't too many flaws in my skin, but if you looked closely . . as I always did. . .

Looking at myself always made me frustrated. But try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to change my form with my Discipline of Vicissitude. I shaped others without a care of consequences, but I had to live with myself. Aye, I could change back, but that required more energy. Why bother? I was comfortable with my current state, I just wished there were some differences. For instance, I was tiny; and by saying "tiny," I was not exaggerating. I stood no more than four feet and five inches, at the most, and weighed a whopping eighty-five pounds. However, I was proud of my ability to seem larger than I was, with an intimidating presence.

As I watched myself so critically in the mirror, there came a knocking on my door, followed by the creak of it opening, and F�la's voice rang out, calling my name and her triumph at seeking the newest victim. She was always triumphant after capturing one of our men. I went out of my room and sought the living room again. She told me of his struggles, and then winked at me. Now came my fun; now my fetish for destruction could come to the surface. I linked arms with F� and we went out to my dusty old Ford Escort. Climbing in, we were off, heading for the edge of town and for fun.

As we came up to the young man's rambling home, I could not take my eyes off it. I have to admit, I nearly ran off the road in my excitement. I got to desecrate this, a pet home of some architect! Lord Almighty, I was nearly bubbling. F�la had to remind me that we had to be sneaky and all that jazz, or I would have run laughing up the front step instead of going around back and waiting for F� to get past the elaborate alarm system. When she gave me the thumbs-up sign, I nearly fainted. The only thing that was between my fulfillment and myself was a simple oaken door�or not so simple, carved as it was with animals and such.

F� made me drive her back to her studio in town where our current victim was deliriously lodged, which was near agonizing for me. I will admit I sped on the way back to his home. Slipping past the deactivated alarm, I wandered the many halls, taking in the sights of little rich boy's obviously beloved home. If he lived through F�'s administrations, which I highly doubted, he would die at the sight of his home when he got back. I made short work of all the small valuables, packing them into my trunk and the back seat. He must have had a woman staying with him; poor dear would miss her jewels quite a bit, wouldn't she? I was merely glad I didn't have to deal with any of the hired help; I might have frenzied in my excitement, had I had to.

Now came the best part of it all. I went to the jugs I'd taken out of my trunk beforehand, taking one in each hand. Starting in the top floor, I stabbed a hole in the first with my penknife, and drizzled liberally the gasoline which I'd filled them with over the rooms until that drained. I did the same over and over again, until all the jugs were gone and all the rooms had at least a little gasoline in them. My heart raced with adrenaline as I poured the last bit of gasoline down the front steps. I stood at the bottom step, taking one last look at the immaculate white monster of a home in front of me. I took out my matches and my cigarettes.

I snagged a cigarette from the pack and stuffed the rest back into the pocket of my flannel overshirt. Striking the match, I lit the cigarette and, inhaling deeply, trembling, tossed the match toward the drizzled gasoline upon the steps. With the distinct sound of air displaced by fire, flames whooshed up the steps and followed the line of gasoline through the open door. I fear I let out a whoop as I saw the carpet start on fire. Thank God for large yards to keep neighbors at a distance, and large trees and shrubbery to keep them from seeing me easily. I climbed into the Escort and got the hell out of there.

I dropped my car off a few blocks away, in the not-so-rich part of town that an Escort would be out of place there. I walked back, blending with the near-hysterical crowd which had already gathered in front of the home. Already, tongues of flame were licking at the upper floor's windows. I moaned in ecstasy and, I admit, had to hold onto one of the kine as I gazed at the chaos I'd created. I believe the kine thought I was bemoaning the terrible fate of this cherished home, for he held me and mumbled hollow assurances. I heard the wail of sirens in the distance; my heart sped up. I melted back into the crowd and left.

To my car I went, and homeward was I bound. Just as I was walking through the door, my phone rang shrilly. I'm afraid I was a little breathless from my experience when I answered the phone; it was the police chief and he was asking the FBI's�my�assistance in this, the newest development in the arson case. My nostrils still held the smell of smoke, and I was sure I stank of the stuff. I agreed and explained I'd just gotten back from camping and I would have to take a shower before coming in to check it out. Although I already knew the address by heart, I asked for it anyway, simply to mislead the stupid kine. After he gave it to me, he bade me a curt good night and hung up.

As I showered, I pictured in my mind's eye the speed with which the flames would eat the house from the inside out. I imagined the way the roof would cave in, the floors would collapse, and then the walls would give out. I shivered with a certain madness. When I got back to the home, dark hair still wet from my shower, it had already collapsed into itself, and the firemen had gotten the fire out. Immediately, I saw it was a total loss. My heart lept for joy. I searched out the police chief and reported in. He told me that this matched with the last nine fires which had gone unexplained. Then, grimly, he spoke of the owners of those other homes, all of whom were now pushing daisies in random cemetaries 'round the area.

I had to work to keep from grinning sadistically as I recalled with relish the way those homes had burned. I told the police chief that when the ashes had stopped smouldering, I would allow my team�three men who I'd ghouled and were therefore most favorable to me in helping me escape notice�to investigate the fire, as they had the last ones. I almost laughed in the police chief's face; oh, how I longed to, to laugh at them all. But I restrained myself. I left him as he began talking to the firemen and the rest of his police force, the fools.

For a while, I wandered the crowd with a little notebook and took statements here and there, writing down anything that someone said that might have been interesting. Most of the time I simply doodled as the kine babbled. A flaming house with four floors dominated my doodles. Occasionally, I found myself staring intensely at the mound of debris that used to be a home with an odd kind of disappointment. It certainly hadn't lasted long; it never did. A couple hours at the most.

I tried to keep myself diffident. Aloof. I was an FBI agent; I couldn't get passionately involved like a lowly police officer often did. I was detached. This was difficult for me to pull off, but I did so with flare and finesse. None save perhaps aura readers and F�la could have known just how intensely I was feeling about the whole thing. This was by far the largest house we had burnt down; this rich bitch must have been richer than he portrayed himself to be. However, we'd done our customary investigating, and hadn't found that he was super rich. His home and his income didn't add up; an inherited home? But this I did not pay attention to; my God, I had burnt down this magnificent four-story building, and now I was helping the police find the arsonist. Ah, life�or unlife�was full of ironies.

I paused when everyone seemed to be slowly dispersing. I wondered, how would they respond if I told them their pet lawyer-FBI agent was the cause of all this? And that when the man's body was found, that their pet lawyer-doctor, F�la Daniels, was the murderer�the torturer? I must have been smiling, and not very nicely, for people parted quickly before me as I made my way to the police chief again. I felt like Moses parting the seas; I felt powerful; I felt satiated. I was soaked in the destruction I'd caused. This was another high; I was addicted to the feeling of power that burning down someone's beloved home gave me.

I told the police chief that I'd done everything I could do at the time, and that I would go home and think about the connections. I would report to the police station the next day to give them my newest hypothesis. And after that I would send my three men to the house and they would look at the things and take out all signs that I'd been there before the police knew that I might have forgotten in my ecstatic haste. However, at the moment, I needed to get out of there again, or I'd burst with my barely restrained excitement. I would hunt again; crack fiends were abundant in the city these days, in no small part my fault. I excused myself and climbed back in my dusty old Escort.

I drove to the harder, harsher part of town and parked my Escort in a ramp. A moment's pause to test the air, and I went out in search of a worthy�or rather, unworthy�kine for my nightly ritual. Arsonist I might be, but I tended to pick out the worst of the worst addicts to feed from. Thank God I kept the supply of crack cocaine up, or I wouldn't be able to stave my own craving. Aye, a hypocrite I might be, but the undead have a harder time at breaking bad habits than do mortals. I had spent nearly half a century trying to break my habit; then I just gave up trying and fed only off the crack addicts I could find lying around. Just as I was assessing my own habit, I saw another with the familiar aroma, the familiar look in his eye. He was looming over a young woman with a snarl on his face. He would do perfectly.

I strode up to him, stood straight at my four feet and five inches, and tapped him on the shoulderblade sharply�sharp enough to make him cringe from the sudden stab of pain from my fingertip. A nasty smile curled his lips when he looked over his shoulder and saw me, and the slime must have decided that my tiny form would probably be more fun to rape than that of the woman who I'd interrupted him with, for he turned to face me now. The woman shot a look of fear at me and mouthed that she'd call the police. I shook my head minutely, raising a brow slightly at the woman, and jerked my head aside. She took the silent cue and turned, sprinting off with a speed which surprised me; kine's adrenaline tended to surprise me.

I turned my attention back to the man, who now loomed over me, a good foot and a half taller than I. He licked his lips and closed half-glazed eyes. I could see his filthy erection through the crotch of his pants. I set my calculating gaze on him as he opened his eyes again, his hands twitching at his sides as he suppressed the urge to either grab me, or play with himself; I didn't know which. Oh yes, this would be most fun. . . He lunged, and I caught him by the neck with one hand. A nasty smile of my own curled my lips as his eyes bugged out in surprise. I whispered, "Come with me into this alley. . . Would that I could talk to you in private, filthy kine. . ." My tongue swept over my teeth, which I bared in a sharp-toothed smile, my eyes cruel as I towed him to the alley. Most fun, indeed. . .

Statistics
Height: 4'5".
Weight: 85lbs.
Eyes: Grey, wears contacts.
Hair: Black-brown, medium-brown highlights.
Measurements: 29-21-30in.
Clan: Tzimisce.
Generation: 9th; 100yrs (Embraced at 25yrs).
Nature: Deviant; Demeanor: Autocrat; Concept: Arsonist.
Flaws: short (4'5"); bad sight; permanent wound; phobia (autophobia, fear of being alone); addiction (crack); prey exclusion (crackheads); amnesia; eerie presence.
Merits: ambidextrous (right dominant); catlike balance; blush of health; common sense; concentration; time sense; eidetic memory; iron will; natural leader; medium.
Cannot remember any of the twenty five years of life before the Embrace.

I had two tattoos: One, a Celestial Dragon in a myriad of blues, rested on my lower stomach, a couple inches below my navel; the other was a purple Ankh about three inches long, with a small black skull in the center of the loop, over my right hip. I prefered dark colors, though it was not unusual to see me in bright colors as well; pastels were another love. Leather, silk and lace were predominant in my wardrobe, be they in dresses, skirts, slacks, shirts, or suits. I tended to wear flat-soled shoes, mostly because the ease of movement they afford; however, I didn't immediately pass up all high-heeled shoes. I usually carried with me a small purse on a pearl chain. In this were sunglasses, money, mace, a small handgun, and a butterfly knife. My car was a 1993 Ford Escort with automatic transmission, in a deep plum color with aqua painted "splashes" on both front doors and behind the back fenders to mimick water spraying up.