Chapter 1
He was damned.
Dying here alone, the slow decay every vampire feared.
Mortis' hand reached out forward to the stool in front of the couch he was currently draped on. His hands moved around on the cold glass surface before he finally was able to grab the thin paper envelope.
Envelope in hand, he pushed himself up and tore up the beautiful black rose seal among the paper. He removed the letter and dropped the envelope, letting it fall carelessly.
The candle on the stool flickered precariously, fighting a valiant battle against the darkness, keeping it just at bay.
The letter was short and direct.
A strongly worded query about Mortis' disregard for his duties. Some talk about punishment…
Then an instruction that he make his way back to report to the main House for new instructions.
Signed,
Head of the Blacke.
Mortis let the letter fall from his hands and he lay back down on the couch. He let himself drift into nothing, and time passed around his immobile form.
When he awoke, the room was pitch black. Even with his enhanced sight, he could not see anything.
He stumbled around blindly before he could find another candle.
He touched its wick, igniting a spark, and the room once again had a candle's soft glow.
When he turned his head, his eyes stopped on the envelopes scattered just in front of his door, clearly pushed through the cracks. More than a dozen, some stuck where someone had tried to roughly jam them in.
He had ignored that much work?
Despite some effort, he could not summon even the slightest bit of trepidation it deserved. All there was inside him was bone-deep weariness, dragging heavy like an anchor, pulling him down into the depths.
He grabbed a bottle of something from a counter and went back to the couch and sank down. The chair creaked noisily underneath his weight. He brought the bottle up, uncorked it, and took a huge swig. This drink was familiar blood with the most pure spirits.
It used to be his favourite, get him outside of his body, floating out of his mind. Now it was worse than water, tasteless and unsatisfying on his tongue. The glass slipped from his grip; the sound it made was muted, like it was miles away.
He laid back down. Everything was quiet. His mind was quiet, where once it had been relentless.
No, there was something. A yearning for that spark he could ignite so readily with the tips of his fingers… inside him.
He was too young for this… how many centuries had passed since he had been born?
He reached out for the open letter on the floor, already wet from the drink and read it again. It was essentially a summons to the main house. His mind dredged up memories of working under the House, as an enforcer in the city in which Mortis had been remade into his second life.
Maybe there he could be reborn again. Maybe in that place there could be no more silence in his head and the ache would be gone.
Then the end of it all wouldn't seem so appealing.
This thought was like a burst of strength. He stood up and walked to the door.
He was going back to work.
—--------------------
Up ahead was the sprawling mansion, a dark behemoth towering over him. There was something in him now, anticipation.
He walked till he was directly in front of a large gate, and finally there was another creature besides himself.
An anxious, bent vampire, wrinkled and old, a male who watched him approach wearily. The vampire pointed behind Mortis, his arm pale with the pallor of a weak undead and his index crooked with all the ugliness of an ogre.
"No entry, fool. Begone.”
The voice was scratchy and unpleasant. One should not keep such a thing as welcome, Mortis thought.
“I’ve been summoned, Ogre.” These were the first words he'd uttered in a while.
He reached into the folds of his clothes and brought out the now battered letter and thrust it forward.
The beast of an undead grabbed at the letter with too much force. He read the letter fast, and then shock bloomed, stretching the guard's wrinkled face.
"This summon was half a year ago!”
Mortis did not deign to reply.
"This… a black rose… that—”
The guard seemed to have fallen into an incoherent mess.
“Lead me to the lord now.” He would rather not prolong this unpleasantness.
“Follow me,” the guard said, like the words begrudged him.
Mortis did not care for his dramatics; he followed the guard through the small of the gate.
There was no visual acquiescence by the other guards, as they passed the threshold.
Finally, he was led into the room to see the head of house. The room was draped in scarlets and blacks, vast and expansive. Mortis walked forward.
“I've been expecting you, Mortis.”
The voice was unfamiliar, different from who he'd expected, definitely not Lord Draeven.
Mortis looked for who'd spoken. He spotted a figure by the window; there was not enough light around them. He could make out a vaguely feminine silhouette.
“I do not know you,” he replied.
There was a shrill laugh. “Of course you do not,” they replied. “You’ve been out of the network for so long, there were rumours you'd already been done in maybe desiccated in your chapel.”
They paused and then turned towards Mortis.
Mortis could see them more clearly.
The figure was androgynous, significantly shorter than Mortis, dressed in formal noble fashions.
"Looking at you now…” they paused. “I dare suspect that you did not know. Lord Draeven has been… disposed of. I have now taken over his responsibilities.”
Now Mortis was almost shocked.
A deposed head of house? It hadn't been done in a very long time. And to speak of it so casually...
Mortis considered the figure before him, small and slight. It had always been folly to judge an undead by their appearance.
Though Mortis turned over what he had just heard in his mind and found that he did not care much.
“I serve the House,” he made his true intentions clear.
“But the thing is, Mortis,” they moved closer into the light, “you haven't been doing that at all. None of your tasks have been completed in a while. According to the old laws, I should have you drained.”
Mortis looked straight at them.
"To feel pain is to be alive.”
Somehow he was speaking mostly to himself, but they nodded and smirked like they knew exactly what Mortis was saying, what he meant behind the words.
There was silence for a few minutes.
“I should have you killed, the last vestige of the previous administration, but you could be a useful weapon in my arsenal… grim reaper.”
Mortis let a slow smile take over his face.
This was an open threat veiled as mercy.
“Your will is my command.”
He acquiesced either way.
“I have an assignment for you. Do you accept it?”
“I do.” Mortis nodded.
After all, this was why he was here…to reignite himself.
"It’s simple. You deliver a message to a little pest, a strong, unforgettable reminder to pay what he owes.”
Mortis nodded. It sounded simple, though he doubted it really was.
"Complete your task and you will be inducted into the new order.”
They did not give any alternative. That was ominous.
"Details on the task, Lord?” Mortis decided to tack on the honorific, as was protocol.
They fluidly passed Mortis a piece of paper with black ink.
On it was the name, Lucienne Rose.
“That’s your target. You may go.”
Mortis bowed low.
When he arose, he did not miss the glint of satisfaction that passed their eyes.
“What is the Lord's name?”
“Complete your mission first, Mortis. Then you will know who I am and the new House of Blacke.”
—-----------------
It was the next night before Mortis was on the hunt.
Hunting his first prey in a long time. Lucienne Rose.
As he'd found, he was known as the Rose of the Capital.
"The most expensive whore that ever was,” the Ogre guard had replied when asked.
Mortis had not done too much research on his target. Past him would have known everything, as much as there was to know about a person the truth was that this assignment did not excite him much.
Mortis reached the most illustrious whorehouse in the Capital.
A stone building, seemingly inconspicuous amongst a row of buildings like itself. Mortis identified it by a single worn-out wooden plaque on top of its entrance. On it, crudely carved and painted with red paint: Indulgence.
The night was a busy one. People and carriages moved in a hurried pace all along the road beside it.
Throngs rushing into the entrance. Indulgence was where Lucienne Rose worked. At ten, he would be done entertaining, and at eleven p.m., he would leave.
He never accepted any clients on a Thursday night. Mortis had been able to find out that much about the target.
He reached inside a pocket for his small chain watch and saw it was 10:47 p.m then he peered inside Indulgence.
It was chaotic and full, no, he was not ready for that much now. He found a perch somewhere where he still had an unobstructed view of the entire entrance. He reached into his pockets and brought out a picture.
A picture he had used the last of his coins to buy, while the vendor looked at him like he was one of those. When the clock struck eleven, Lucienne walked outside the brothel, clearly in a hurry.
Mortis trailed him quietly, taking stock of his target. Lucienne was a slender human, much shorter than Mortis.
He appeared ordinary. What could he possibly owe the House of Blacke that they would send an enforcer of his rank to deliver a warning?
Mortis followed him all the way, and fortunately, Lucienne kept to dark corners and empty paths.
The human was not at all careful and seemed to have only his destination in mind. This made for a surprisingly easy target.
Mortis stepped into a dark alley where Lucienne had just made a turn.
“You should leave me,” Lucienne spoke, his back still turned to Mortis. His voice was shaky but still had enough confidence to make Mortis curious. Mortis knew not to underestimate anyone, even a human seemingly defenceless, cornered, and alone.
“Why should I?”
"I am marked by Lord Cazmir. You can’t touch me.”
How disappointing.
Mortis stepped forward toward Lucienne.
“Try again.”
He could hear the human’s heart racing as he stumbled back.
“I’m serious. I have Lord Kazmir’s protection. I—I—I have his ma—”
Mortis reached out his left hand and grabbed Lucienne by the neck. He pushed Lucienne to the wall to their left and squeezed until Lucienne was grabbing at his hands and choking.
"I don’t care about… what did you call him again?” Mortis asked.
Lucienne couldn’t answer, of course, but Mortis could see the shock in his eyes.
Did this man really think the protection of some lord should send Mortis running?
"Do you know who I am, Lucienne, why I’m here?”
He loosened his grip on Lucienne’s throat. Trying to breathe, Lucienne shook his head frantically. But Mortis could see he had some idea of the latter.
Mortis huffed.
He was close to Lucienne, whose mouth hung open, taking fast breaths. As his eyes widened, Mortis could feel his fear like it was a physical presence here.
Things like this used to get him going. He used to revel in these moments, try to drag it out. That was gone now.
"You owe the House of Blacke, and I’ve been sent to remind you. Pay what you owe.”
Even as he spoke, he was thinking of ways to hurt this human. His nails lengthened and their ends sharpened.
“P-please, not my face.”
Now that was the first time Mortis had heard that as a first plea. The human’s face was scrunched up in anticipation of pain, eyes closed.
An interesting little human. Pity Mortis would have to damage him.
He leaned in to whisper into Lucienne’s ear.
“Always pay your dues early.”
Then Mortis let his consciousness disappear and his body take over.
And when he was done, and the human was a broken, sobbing mess, he decided to court fate.
"Tell your lord it was Mortis, enforcer of the House of Blacke, who violated you.”
“H-he w...will have your head for t...this,” Lucienne called out.
Mortis laughed as he exited the alley.
