by Nathan Gibbard

 

How I love the dawn!  Watching the rays of light as they creep across the sky, converting the black darkness of night into subtle shadows of purple, blue, magenta, red, and, on rarer occasions, gold.  Many times, like today, I sit on top of the highest skyscrapper I can find and watch it all unfold before me; this amazing show by nature, that dwarfs anything humans could create within their mortal shells.  The rays of dawn reach out to engulf me in her embrace, and as the warmth and light touch me, the shadows disappear and I am left alone with the light within myself.  The sun, with its life-giving light, surrounds me and I am at peace.  But I know this will not last; the shadows of darkness will come again, and not even the light from.

I wasn't always this way; there was a time, not so long ago, that I liked the night.  I enjoyed the coolness, the stillness, the pale glow of the moon, the thrill of expectation wondering what might be out there in the darkness.  Now I know what's out there, and so the night holds little fascination anymore.  No, it wasn't too long ago at all that I liked the night, only a lifetime.

--- excerpt from Jacob's journal, November 24th, 2000

    ******

Lost in the twilight of the dying day, Jacob stood silent watch over the encroaching darkness.  He gazed out a window across the mighty Mississippi, his eyes probed the ever-growing shadows.  Life was still -- not a movement, not a voice, not even the sound of a car.  In an ancient region of New Orleans, in the historic French Quarter, no life stirred.  Even the birds were silent.

What could cause such desolation, such barrenness?  The buildings of the French Quarter still stood, witnesses to the march of time, but now their windows looked out to deserted streets.  Yet as night came closer, the lone angel knew the streets would awaken, and that death would soon stalk the city.

It was a death he was beginning to know well.  It came as a legion of humanity, at least of human form and face.  But this legion was not human.  In their heart beat nothing at all.  Instead, they prowled the night, fearful of the purity of day, searching for those weaker than themselves whose hot blood could satiate their own lust for a time.  They strolled out in the open, mixing with their prey, their victims oblivious to the death that awaited them in a dark alley, or with a stranger alone in a room.  They were the devil's lapdogs, bringing death where they went, or worse.  They were vampires; very real, very deadly, vampires.  And here in New Orleans, as the rest of the world slumbered, oblivious to the threat, they solidified their hold in the French Quarter.

By day New Orleans screamed, and chaos reigned, as humans fled the city or stockaded themselves into their homes and businesses.  A thin blue line of police officers held against the despair and curtailed ill-advised excursions into the French Quarter.  At night the city was silent as loved ones held tightly to each other, hoping to see another day, as the undying vermin roamed the streets.  The French Quarter was theirs for the moment, within it they did not even hide within the shadows, but rather drank blood openly in the streets and in the squares.

The lone figure looked down at his glowing hand and smiled.

Six days ago the vampires might have frolicked in the street with their kin, but six days of their own nightly terror had dimmed their appetite for show.  The walked the streets quickly, huddled together in groups for safety.  A nightmare of light, a fearful foe from their kind's collective memory, now hunted them from the sky and disturbed their slumber.  But still they were strong; greater than their human prey, and more numerous than their foe.  In the middle of it all, they were guided by a raven-haired beauty whose cunning outshone her looks.  Her name, as she told it, was Vamp.

As the image of her formed in his mind, Jacob turned from the window and wandered away from the view.  He sighed deeply, trying to will the image of her from his mind.  Her beautiful, deadly image.  Like the razor's edge of a finely polished sword, her beauty hid her nature.  But like the sword, could one so cold ever be truly beautiful?  He stopped, bewildered at the imagery of the sword in his mind.  He had known such blades, perfectly crafted, a joy to behold and to touch, but to his knowledge the human he was never touched a real sword.  The memory was not his, and yet somehow it was.  The image had insinuated itself into his consciousness as well as any image of his four years of university.

Jacob shook his head, trying to understand what was happening to him.  What he needed was a drink.  Moving towards the small bar in the hotel room he was staying at, he opened the cabinet and peered in.  He imagined himself guzzling a miniature bottle of Scotch or gin, and was more satisfying with the mental picture than the action itself.  The last thing he needed was a dull edge to his senses and reflexes.  His undead prey were unforgiving, and so he had to be.  Besides, he remembered as he prepared himself a glass of ice water, he had never really liked the taste of alcohol.

He sipped his water as he stared out at the gloom of twilight.  He sank into a chair and forced himself to recall memories of the last six days.  Six days of destruction, terror and violence; it was not a pleasant task, but he felt it a necessity.  The memories might contain insight into his enemy.  If he could gain some insight into their methods, their minds, then he would
gain an edge.  While the vampires were numerous, that edge of knowledge would lead to their ultimate defeat.  He struggled to relax and release his mind into the past.

******

It had been six days ago that he had arrived in New Orleans after visiting some friends in Northern Louisiana.  He had been oblivious to the terror that had swept the city.  Indeed, as he later discovered, no news reports of any kind about the situation in New Orleans had been printed or broadcast outside the city.  Even within the city information was scarce, but the stories of death and a darkness walking the streets were not.  Enough similarities in the stories helped to pinpoint their geographical source, and the fact that the police had cordoned off the entire French Quarter to human traffic also helped.

The stories held a few peculiar elements in common.  First and foremost, there was the rumor that many of the dead bodies had somehow been drained of their blood.  There had even been some talk that it was connected to the cult killings in Detroit.  The second point was that many of the victims that survived the initial attack suddenly disappeared from hospitals the next night.  Moreover, many of those "survivors" were later seen and even implicated in further bloody crimes.  The third and final note was that all the attacks occurred at night.  According to some of the police officers who held the daily line against human traffic into the French Quarter, the situation had gotten worse by the day.  The night before Jacob had arrived, the authorities had given up any illusion of being able to control the growing number of dead bodies found nightly surrounding the French Quarter, and had issued an general state of emergency.  None of this was known to the outside world.

Jacob had waited for the night.  As it fell, he stalked the city skies, anxious to confirm his suspicions of vampire activity.  He was disappointed, but not at his assumption.  Within minutes of the sun disappearing beyond the horizon, Jacob caught sight of two human forms with decidedly unhuman heat signatures.  He quickly dove down onto the two forms and dispatched them into the netherworld.  As the night waned onward, Jacob continued his aerial patrol.  After ten vampires, he had stopped counting, and still they wandered the streets, openly feeding.  It was this audacious attitude that had worried Jacob.

Flying higher, he had sought greater numbers of undead; not to hunt them, but to find where their strength was.  He found it by the Voodoo Temple and Voodoo Museum in the French Quarter.

It was a macabre scene.  As vampires headed in for the day, the streets were full of blood and discarded corpses.  He suppressed the urge to strike out at them then and there.  While on an
individual basis, Jacob knew he could easily deal with them, but there was no way of knowing how many of their kin were lurking within the buildings that lined the street.  Though it took great will, he had flown away from the sight, returning to his hunt of easier prey.  He would deal with greater numbers the next night.

Walking the streets the next day, watching the terror and fatigue etched in the faces of those he passed, Jacob felt his anger grow.  From those faces Jacob had developed a plan.  The vampires lived on fear, it made them bold and gave them the night.  But not even vampires were immune to fear.  They had made the humans afraid, many people had already fled the city, now it was the vampires' turn to know terror.

In hindsight, it had been surprisingly easy to create that terror.  Humans had countless minor fears that seeped in from day to day and then were forgotten or repressed, but vampires reveled in their unchanging immortality.   It was this that produced a horrible fear for them -- the simple fear of oblivion.  After having "survived" death, all that was left was either nothingness or a hot alternative.

After making several phone calls, Jacob had realized his plan would require aid.  He sought out Delroy Sheister.

He had only recently met the man and was a little uncertain about him.  Delroy had claimed to own a PR firm that was interested in marketing Jacob to the public as some kind of guardian.  Jacob had not been thrilled with the idea, and had told him as much.  Still, Delroy had been persistent, and so Jacob had allowed Delroy the opportunity to show him what a PR firm could offer.  It wasn't money or fame that had hooked Jacob, but rather the promise of knowledge.  At the end of their first tempestuous encounter, Delroy had offered Jacob his card and a cryptic message: "How well do you know Genesis 6."  As Jacob seemed to possess a near photographic memory of the Bible, he knew Genesis 6 fairly well.

But Jacob had decided to see just how much Delroy wanted him as a client.  And if Delroy really wanted to represent him, he would have to prove it.  Jacob had phoned the number he was given, a hotel on the outskirts of the city.  When Delroy answered, Jacob's response had been curt.

"This is Jacob -- the guy with the wings.  You want me as a client, prove it.  I'm going to need your help with what's happening here in New Orleans.  Meet me at the Southend blood clinic in Baton Rouge in an hour and a half."

"What?"  Delroy had stammered, probably a little confused at being suddenly thrust into a rather strange conversation.  "Why?  Why go to Baton Rou--  Aren't there clinics here?"

"Already tried.  They're either empty, or not answering the phones."  Jacob had already been irritated at his own lack of progress in obtaining blood.  He winced at the memory, and had unfairly taken out his irritation on Delroy.  "We don't have time for this.  If you help me see what's happening in New Orleans through to the end, then I'll be your client.  You can start
by meeting me in Baton Rouge.  If your not there, don't bother trying to contact me again."

Somewhat to his own surprise, he had found Delroy's old, blue Cadillac waiting for him outside the clinic in Baton Rouge.  As he approached the car, Delroy came out of the blood clinic, a look of disappointment on his face.

"No good," Delroy had replied to Jacob's unspoken question.  "It makes sense, but they say they can only transfer blood to or through official health agencies."

"What about other blood clinics in the city?  We can go to them," Jacob had suggested.

Delroy sighed in response.  "I've been on my cell phone all morning, they all give basically the same response."  He smiled before continuing.  "I guess I really do want your business after all."

There had been more to the conversation, but it was lost deep in Jacob's memory: arguments about what to do next, what the blood was for, tales of vampires, and outright disbelief turning to cautious skepticism.  He did, however, remember its end.

"We don't have time for all this!" he had finally exclaimed.

"I know, but what else can we do?" was Delroy's own weary response.

Jacob had confirmed the idea again in his own mind before he spoke.  "They won't give us blood, so we'll have to take it."

"Excuse me!" Delroy had exclaimed, before continuing in a lower voice.  "You're talking about stealing from a blood bank!  The stealing part aside, which is a pretty big deal considering prison and big southern guys named Butch and Bubba, we're talking about a blood bank for crying out loud!"  Delroy had continued to ramble on, but Jacob's mind had been set.

Jacob finally had interrupted Delroy's ramblings, his grey, steely eyes commanding silence. "You said you wanted to make me into some kind of guardian figure.  What's the use of guarding that which is dead?  New Orleans is in chaos and dying fast.  I will stop the bleeding and bring the people back in safety, but I need your help.  Give me your courage, and I will find you hope."

"Yeah, like that's supposed to hel--" Delroy stopped, his expression changing. "That's good.  I think I could use that, fits right in with the whole image we should cultivate.  Excuse me a minute while I write that down, don't want to lose good material.  Don't worry, I'm scarred as hell, but I will help you see this thing through.  Just remember your ends of the bargain."

There had been something about his voice, the way he spoke, that seemed to betray a courage and depth of bravery far greater than what he had lead Jacob to believe.  Jacob nodded at the memory.  There was steel in that man, he just carefully hid it from the world.

It hadn't been that hard to break in unnoticed to the blood clinic.  It was only blood after all, little need for security.  Two hours later, back in New Orleans, Jacob had removed the ice chests from Delroy's car, and had begun to prepare a gift package for the vampires that came out to play that night.

He had mixed large quantities of rat poison into the blood and then carefully resealed the packages.  He then arranged the packages carefully in a wicker basket with a note attached.  It read simply: "Here's some blood for you, just please leave us alone."  In hindsight, he wondered if the note hadn't been a touch too dramatic.  He left the gift basket out in the open in Jackson
Square, near the centre of the French Quarter, a few hours before dusk.  Then he waited.

As the vampires came out for the night, many were drawn to the odd offering.  Some arguments had broken out between the vampires, Jacob assumed it was over the wisdom of drinking the strange blood.  Still, a few of the vampires had taken the bait and drank deeply.  Jacob waited; he didn't expect the poison to kill the vampires, just cause them some severe pain.  He had not been disappointed.

A short time later cries echoed around the Square as vampires clutched their at their stomachs in agony.  Drawn by the noise, some of their kin found their way to the Square.  They were familiar with the sounds of screaming, just probably not familiar with it coming from their own kind.  On the other hand, Jacob now reflected, perhaps they were drawn to the sound of
screaming and fear of any kind.

Whatever the case, Jacob had soon added fuel to their voices.  Streaking from the sky, he had erupted in a flash of light, hurling bolts of destruction, his winged form glowing.  Panic had swept through the crowd of vampires.  They fled in all directions attempting to preserve themselves for another night.  In their desperate flight they completely abandoned their writhing,
poison-strickened companions.  It had been all too easy for Jacob to dispatch of the weakened vampires.  It was ironic, Jacob noted, as he poured over the memories; those who so callously took life, cringed and begged for their own.  They were not as strong as they thought themselves.

Throughout the night Jacob had continued his campaign of terror.  He slammed into groups of the undead, huddled together, then disappeared into the night.  He hunted those who found themselves alone or in pairs, striking them without warning.  Instead of killing them swiftly, he played with his prey, offering up their unholy screams of agony to the night.  But shortly before dawn, Jacob had taken flight and had felt the first pangs of despair that would later give birth to
firm resolve.  Though he had destroyed thirty-one of the vile creatures, it seemed hardly to put a dent in the numbers that still walked the French Quarter.

As the sun had broke over the horizon, another thought had begun to bother Jacob: how guilty, in their transformation into vampires, were the souls he had condemned to oblivion that night?  He had struck at those who appeared to be in their prime, but had caught glimpses of the ancient and the young in the ranks of the undead.  The vampires had struck out indiscriminately, and their ranks bore the mark.  Could Jacob pass judgement on the fate of a five year old?  Could he condemn her soul for an act of creation she had no part in?  Was he condemning her soul, or had it already broken free from the confines of her young body?

Questions such as these had sent Jacob to the earth, to walk the streets, and it was there that he came across the weakened body of a young man.  Two puncture wounds in his neck, and deathly pale, he had struggled for breath.  Images of the young woman from Detroit he had allowed to live had flashed in his mind then, as they did now, three day later.  He suspected that put in that situation, he would never be able to kill in cold blood, even if he could justify it as euthanasia.  He had instead carefully picked up the young man, comforting him, and flew to the nearest hospital.

When he arrived, it had been eerily silent.  He was later to discover that most of the patients had already been transferred out, or were in the process of being moved.  Only the most recent and acute cases, and those who had no families to demand a transfer, were left.  As he called for assistance, there were looks of awe on the few faces he saw.  He had forgotten about his
appearance.  On a whim, and hoping to play on the subconscious memories of angels the vampires might have had, Jacob had chosen to wear the costume he had bought in Detroit so many days ago.  The result, glowing radiantly in the hallway, was a figure in simple sandals and white clothing, brown leather arm guards circling his forearms, and the wings of angel on his back.

In a city reeling from death, in walked an angel.

A doctor soon arrived, one of only a handful in the city he was later to discover, and took the young man from Jacob.  She checked his neck and quickly ordered a complete blood transfusion.  As rumours of an otherworldly visitor spread, people were drawn to seek out the truth of those rumours.  People milled around Jacob, their eyes wide and mouths agape.  He offered a kind, comforting word to their questions, and a smile to their soft touches.

After a few minutes the doctor had returned, motioning Jacob into a empty room and closing the door behind them.  She had looked up at Jacob with dark, wise eyes; a question hovered on her lips, but she shook it away.  She had informed him the young man was going to be alright, hinting that she knew the real cause of  the blood loss.

Then she had looked at him intensely and said, "You know what's really happening here in New Orleans, don't you?  Vampires, and lots of them."

Jacob nodded, but had been surprised by the doctor's knowledge and had asked her about it.

"I'm Dr. Sophie Laveau, it's my grandmother's maiden name.  She used to tell me stories of her mother, Marie Laveau, a powerful voodoo practitioner.  I was raised on those stories, and in time learned of some of their truth.  I think we can help each other."

Jacob had been skeptical of what that meant, but his fear had been assuaged by her words.  "I'll help you by showing you their weaknesses and vulnerabilities, you help me by providing what I need as a doctor.  I'm supposed to heal people, some vampires can be healed, turned back into humans.  I have connections, I can get the equipment and a boat to take us into the French Quarter via the Mississippi, if you're willing to provide the muscle necessary to restrain and capture the vampires in the first place."

Jacob had agreed.

Dr. Laveau had suggested making their base of operations in a church where she was a member.  It would provide room for the necessary equipment, and probably have vampiric candidates for blood transfusion treatment already inside.  She had been correct on both counts.  It was odd for Jacob, switching his thought processes away from killing and towards capture.

Dr. Laveau helped where she could, informing Jacob about the ineffectiveness of crosses and other holy symbols against vampires, using the vampires' aversion to garlic to their advantage, and pointing out to Jacob the places where they most liked to rest.  They had worked throughout the day, a routine of capture, restraint, blood transfusion, and flying them to the waiting boat, working well.  They had been rewarded with eight transfusions, one of them a child, that were transferred to the hospital for observation.  Dr. Laveau had pointed out that, though they might be cured of their vampirism, some of them might still suffer from a kind of psychological addiction.

Jacob and Dr. Laveau had worked throughout the day, and as dusk approached, Jacob had felt that they should leave.  He had tried to convince the doctor that they should go and return the next day.

She refused to listen.  "One more vampire," she had intoned, "just one more."

Jacob could then fly both her and the newly returned human away.  Everything had gone so well up until then, that it was easy to agree.  The boat left the two behind to continue their work.

Even with his sharp sense, he had heard nothing before the attack.  It had been quiet, then suddenly glass shattered.  With the doctors assurances, he had left to investigate.  He had found three vampires at the back of the church.  Checking to make sure Dr. Laveau was still alright, he had turned his attention back to the trio, one of which had taken a Bible and was beginning to burn it, turning to laugh at Jacob.  He had felt his anger growing at this wanton destruction, and had assured himself Dr. Laveau would be fine, surrounded as she was by her garlic wards.  He should have known better.  He should have wondered why three vampires would so brazenly defy him, after he had slaughtered so many in the nights before.  He should have
wondered about so many things, but he didn't.  Instead, he allowed his anger to grab hold of him, condemning another person to death.

It all happened so rapidly; he had moved towards them, one of them had shouted, then the air rang with the sound of rocks smashing into windows and of doors being broken.  He killed the three quickly, the blood and gore from their exploding bodies staining his white clothes.  Then suddenly they were everywhere.  Throwing their bodies, sacrificing themselves in order to
prevent Jacob from making his way to the Doctor.  Unlike the other nights, there seemed to be a dark intelligence leading their attacks; many of the vampires were broken, but few died.

Light, sword and fist, Jacob fought his way through the throng.  He made his way into the sanctuary of the church just in time to see the raven-haired lady from Detroit twisting Dr. Laveau's head, exposing her neck.  He had tried to charge Vamp, the raven-haired lady, tried to lance out at her with his light blasts, but vampires had rushed at him from all directions,
recklessly sacrificing their immortality for this dark-haired beauty.  In between the deadly struggles, he had caught glimpses of Laveau's struggling form, had watched as her life ebbed away to be replaced by a more sinister one.  With the process complete, the remaining vampires moved back into the shadows of the church, having left Jacob face to face with Vamp and a just turned Dr. Laveau.

******

A knock at the door shook Jacob from his journey into memory.  Still, he lingered for a moment longer over the image of the raven-haired beauty.  She had managed to turn Dr. Laveau almost instantly into a vampire, a skill not possessed by the rank and file of her kind.  That must have been one of the reasons why her kind was able to explode so quickly in population in New Orleans.  If she could do that, what other dark skills was she hiding.  The
wisp of a memory flittered about on the edge of vision, but disappeared as the knock came again.

"Jacob?  Are you in there?"  It was Delroy's voice.  Jacob sighed and got to his feet.

"Just a moment," he said, walking deliberately towards the door.

The image of the man behind the closed door rose in Jacob's mind and he smiled, shaking his head.  Delroy was a study of contradiction and possible illusions; all of which seemed to fit his role as a PR man.  He was a middle-aged black man with a Jewish last name and faith.  He shifted between roles with ease; at one moment a businessman, in another a staunch defender of life.

There was something familiar about him that Jacob couldn't quite place; it was a sense of familiarity that made it too easy to trust him.  Yet, there was another element to the man, an element of knowledge and mystery that made it impossible for Jacob to completely trust him.  Then again, maybe it was the name, Delroy Sheister; it was difficult to trust a man whose last name was synonymous with a trickster.

Jacob unlocked the door to the hotel room and allowed Delroy to enter.  He nodded to Jacob and began to speak about plans all ready underway.  "I talked to Merv, the warehouse guy.  He said that his people had been scrounging around town for more garlic, but he thinks we've got most of it.  He might be right, we do already have a fair amount."

Jacob closed and locked the door.  "Still, considering what we're dealing with, its better to have too much."

Delroy smiled, "I know, that's what I told him.  Anyway, I was thinking, even though your nightly patrols keep you fairly busy, it might be good for the morale of those few who've stayed in New Orleans if you came by and talked to them tomorrow."

"I was thinking the same thing.  I'll fly around, see how everyone's doing, that kind of thing." Jacob sighed.

Delroy glanced at Jacob, then out the window.  "Nightfall's coming.  I should get going soon.  I find it oddly uncomfortable to sleep too close to vampires -- you know, within a hundred miles of them or so."  Delroy laughed slightly.  "It's just one of those cowardly traits of mine."

Jacob looked out the window and saw out there a million questions, his mood turning introspective.  He moved to the window and replied absently, "We're all cowards in our own way."

"That's an interesting perspective." Delroy chuckled.

"I seem to be living an interesting life,"  Jacob responded.  "How are the eight people Dr. Laveau and I saved?"

"Two of them were released, four of them are still under observation, and," Delroy hesitated, "two of them committed suicide."

Jacob nodded.  "I should have thought about that then, when we first wanted to save them; would they want to be saved with the knowledge that they had killed others and drank their blood?"

"You don't talk about doing that anymore, saving them." Delroy left the question hang.

"No,"  Jacob replied somberly.  "If given the opportunity again, in the future, maybe.  But not now, not here.  Here, death walks on both sides and doesn't look kindly to those interfering in its work."  Jacob swayed momentarily as a strange, undecipherable image flashed in the periphery of his mind.

Silence followed for a moment, with Delroy finally saying, "I should probably get going."  He started to move, but Jacob's voice stopped him.

"What do you know about me?  About what I am?"

"What?"

"When we first met you said you knew who I was."  Jacob breathed deeply before continuing, "You told me to read Genesis 6.  I assume you were referring to that chapter as a metaphor for what I am, because I doubt you would want a fallen angel as a guardian figure.  That's what's meant by 'Sons of God' in that context."

Delroy looked at Jacob, studying him.  "Why now?  Why all of a sudden in the middle of all this?  Aren't there more important things to think about?"

Jacob stared back.  "Something's happening to me.  I don't know what.  I'm beginning to see things, remember people I've never meet.  And there are other images, darker ones, lying just out of my vision.  I know they somehow belong to me, or to what I'm becoming.  I need to know more."

"When did these visions begin?" Delroy asked, a bare hint of suspicion concealed in his voice.

Jacob was too concerned about what was happening within himself to notice the change.  "It happened the night we lost Dr. Laveau."

Delroy moved closer.  "You never talked about what happened that night, at least not the part after Vamp turned Dr. Laveau into one of her kind.  What happened?"

"Sousa."  Jacob shook his head.  "Sorry, it was an image, somehow connected to all this, its gone now."  Jacob's eyes narrowed as he looked at Delroy, "Not without something in return.  I tell you what happened, and you give me something more substantial than 'Genesis 6.'"

Delroy stood motionless for a moment, as if consulting within himself.  Finally he nodded and Jacob continued.  "After Vamp turned Dr. Laveau, the vampires attacking me moved back into the shadows of the church.  Vamp made some trite, villainous remark, it wasn't important.  Then, at a command from Vamp, what used to be Dr. Laveau rushed at me.  Her eyes were completely different from when she was a human.  I had to make a choice, and, she died
quickly."

Jacob paused, gathering himself.  "Vamp smiled and said she wanted to test my resolve.  Then she stopped and looked at me, her face taking on a strange expression.  Her eyes got big and she smiled.  She began to move towards me, slowly.  She said, 'I almost didn't recognize you without your heart in your hand.  I remember you winged one.  You were there when I was truly born, do you remember?  We danced under the stars, you and I?'"

"She was probably lying to you?  She just wanted to get under her skin," Delroy interjected.

"But I remember.  I remember pieces of that night.  It happened so long ago, but I remember.  We did dance, after a fashion, that night."  Jacob paused, trying to find the right words.  "But how do I remember a night that happened hundreds of years before I was born?  Are they memories?  What is going on?"

Delroy shifted his feet, knowing it was his turn to speak.  "My guess is that they are memories.  Before your transformation, the being inside of you lived as well, had memories just like you.  You're just getting glimpses into that past.  I will say this, and don't ask me how I know, the being that's sharing your body is mentioned in the Bible...  I guess you're kind of famous that way."

Silence followed for a moment, finally being broken by Delroy. "I really should get going.  The sun's just about down.  You keep safe tonight America's Guardian Angel."  Delroy smiled, his eyebrows shooting up.  "Huh?  You like it?"

Jacob returned the smile. "Well talk about it tomorrow."

Jacob watched as Delroy left and returned to the window.  He felt oddly ambivalent about not telling him the entire conversation between him and Vamp.  He didn't see the need.  What good would it do telling him that Vamp hinted a major attack on North America was imminent?  Why worry him needlessly about her claims that a "Great Conquest" was beginning and that
vampires were part of the next stage of natural selection?

******

Delroy watched as the door to Jacob's room closed behind him and walked purposely halfway down the hall before stopping.  He turned towards the wall where two barely perceptible shadows hung.

"The merging's begun before we expected.  Their minds are joining; who knows how long it will take before he remembers everything."  Delroy turned to one of the shadows as if listening to a silent question.

"I don't know.  All we can do is wait and watch.  And pray."