The girl’s words brought a smile to the aged matriarch. Lightly resting her palm on the servant’s arm, she allowed the young
woman to guide her through the labyrinth under her home. With each step they took, the elder woman found herself thinking
over the young woman’s words. Yes, she had cared for all her children. At first she cared for both mortals, and the undead.
But as her mortal offspring matured and moved away, her attention remained on the children who were the dwellers of the night.
Like a mother recollecting pleasant memories, she smiled slightly as she replayed the images of her immortal clan.
The Night Clan residing near her was not composed of her biological children. Instead, they were all orphans, abandoned by their
own kin and drawn to her for her wisdom and kindness. In their dynasty, they had all found the commonality of their immortal
lives binding. Although only a few of her initiates had stayed on with her, she felt a kindred spirit to the other children. She could
not have explained why they had claimed her as their matriarch and only knew that each member of the night clan had bestowed
upon her this title. It was an honor she had eagerly accepted. Like any group, they had felt the need for a leader. As the eldest,
she had become their queen.
At the thought, she remembered the vivid dream of another queen. While a part of the aged woman felt a need to meditate upon
the dream in hopes of finding answers to the myriad of questions, she was afraid of what she would discover. Yet if her dream
was a prophecy, she could prepare for the clan’s future. Although Madame Tuscany did not seek out the end of her own
existence, she vowed to be ready should it come to her door.
Shaking away these thoughts, the older woman continued to walk slowly next to her human servant. The sound of their footfalls
echoed off the cement walls. They walked softly on the marble tiles that had been brought from her deceased husband’s village
in Italy. Along the wall hung ornate gold candles with crystal sconces. Despite the appearance, she was unaccustomed to
wealth. The old woman never had a desire for the trinkets and coins of status. To her, the wealth and jewels she inherited were
as evil as the darkness that lived within her dead husband’s heart. Madame Tuscany acquired her affluence from her deceased
husband. From as far back as she could remember her husband’s soul harbored cruelty. Through beatings and torture, he
forced his servants to milk the land of its riches for his own betterment.
With a wry grin, the old woman remembered the sight of her husband’s burned corpse. Although her servants knew what she
had done, none had spoken of the incident again. Instead, they cleared away his ashes and discarded the coffin that was once his
protection from the sun.
When she felt her domestic stop next to her, she took a moment to glance up at the staircase leading to her home. Filled with
patience, Magdalena smiled as she obediently waited for her mistress. As a resolve filled her being, Madame Tuscany nodded as
she began the long climb up the steps.
I’m too old for this way of life, she thought as she felt her bones creaking in exertion. I survive only by the goodness of those
around me and there never seems to be a time when I was not dependent upon others. With this thought, she audibly sighed as
she made her way up the steps.
Once at the top of the stairs, a male attendant handed her a smooth wooden cane. She glanced at the young handsome man and
smiled. Fernando was the first mortal that she had ever hired since Mr. Tuscany’s death. Although she did not know who had
initiated him, she did know that it was shortly after he began working for her that he was brought into the immortal clan. The old
lady may not have admitted it at the time, but nowadays she freely confessed how grateful she was that such a beautiful man was
now preserved for eternity. Tall, handsome and forever young, he held the youthfulness that she could only crave.
As she took the cane in hand, Madame Tuscany sighed with relief, and then began to move into the lighted mansion. Fatigued by
the exertion of climbing the stairs, her aged frame leaned heavily against the cane. When she noticed the house staff busily
preparing for the oncoming night, the noblewoman, once peasant, stood still and watched as the mortals worked alongside the
servants of the night.
It had been this way from as far back as she could remember. Her husband had initiated a few loyal servants to tend to their
every need. While maintaining these immortals, their living servants continued to procreate. Now after the many centuries, she
had in her service both children of the night and the mortals’ descendants.
At the gentle nudge against her arm, she suddenly remembered her goal. With an absentminded nod and a slight smile, she
hobbled toward the single person lift. While she rode up in the small caged elevator, her young mortal attendant walked briskly up
the spiraling staircase.
As the caged doors opened, Magdalena stood waiting in silence. Accepting her assistance, the elderly woman moved with
wooden steps down the long corridor. Her body, bent with age, proceeded slowly down the long hallway. As she passed by a
large wooden door, her acute hearing picked up the sounds of her precocious granddaughter. Smiling slightly, she shook her
head as the child’s pleasure rang through the air. Like rutting cats, Aurore’s shrill cries seemed to echo through the mansion. As
if she alone held stock in pleasure, the young woman’s squeals drowned out the moans of her other lovers.
Aurore was not a close kin to the matriarch, but they were distantly related through the girl’s father. As the years went by and
her children married, the grande dame of the family found it difficult to follow the line of her offsprings. Despite this, she held a
pride for all of her descendents, regardless the distance in linage from her. For Aurore, she held a special fondness.
As the sounds of her grandchild’s pleasure escaped from the closed door, the dowager smiled slightly as she continued down the
hallway. In a conscious move, the elder woman ignored the sounds from Aurore’s suite, entered her own private quarters and
immediately moved to the adjunct room containing the bathing facilities. As expected, a warm bath awaited her. The scent of
sweet smelling oil emanated through the room as the steam rose from the water. In satisfaction, she smiled as she made her way
toward the bath. With the help of her servant, Madame Tuscany disrobed and entered the warm liquid.
While the soothing warmth of the water surrounded her, she reflected on her relationship with her grandchild. She could not
deny that the child was her pride and joy. Although not close in generations, the girl resided close to her heart. Madame Tuscany
had always been careful who she initiated. Ordinarily she preferred to bring over only strangers who would eventually leave. The
elder woman was well aware of the discord that could result from an initiate striving for independence. Rather than having
conflict within the family, she opted not to bring blood relatives into her realm of darkness. Aurore had been the only exception….
After she brought the girl over, the matriarch immediately regretted her actions. She mourned Aurore’s inability to procreate
mortal offspring of her own, as Madame Tuscany had done. Yet the wizened woman understood that she had saved Aurore from
an inevitable death. She took the girl when the child was only sixteen years old. At the time, she felt that her granddaughter was
too young to initiate, yet she knew that the child would not live to see her seventeenth birthday. The elder woman contemplated
asking a servant to initiate her granddaughter into their world, yet the thought of someone else touching the girl in this way was
too much for her to bear. In the end it was her own love for the child that persuaded her to listen to the beckoning words of
Aurore’s mother.
Like an event constantly replaying itself in her mind, the old woman remembered the pleas and tears from Aurore’s mother. She
could almost hear the cries ringing through the darkness of the home. With a grimace of distaste, Madame Tuscany closed her
eyes to the vivid images flooding her memories.
Aurore had never been a sickly child. As a little girl she was always running and playing in the mansion’s gardens. However, on
her fifteenth birthday, the illness began. By the age of sixteen the teen was confined to her bed to await her inevitable death.
Even today, in this modern era, the cancer that ran rampant through her did not have a cure. Using compassion rather than logic,
Madame Tuscany went to her sick offspring. She used her own supernatural gifts and eased the child into an endless life of
darkness.
Unlike her own condition, her granddaughter was reborn into a healthy, vibrant body. It was the transition from life, to death, to
life again that had driven the cancer from the young girl. True, the child did wake to the familiar hunger, but it was nothing that
could not be handled. As expected, Aurore quickly learned to sate her needs with the taste of human blood.
While submerged in the steaming water, the old woman’s memories took her back to the throes of the girl’s first blood hunger.
Still dressed in her night garment, the slender adolescent moaned uncontrollably as she trashed in the bed. The girl’s complexion
was as pale as the white moon that hung in the dark night sky.
“Abuela…Grandmother…” Her moans beseeched the older woman.
“Yes child, soon,” was all she said as she gently brushed her gnarled fingers through the girl’s silky brown hair.
“Grandmother?” The voice of Aurore’s mother was filled with fear as she gazed worriedly at her only child. Next to the portly
woman stood the figure of her docile husband. Even though he was related to the grande dame by birth, the old woman could not
help the disgust she felt towards him at times. Unlike the men of past, this offspring was weak in spirit. To look at his refined
clothing, his light skin and tender features, no one would ever know that he was a descendent of the Tenochcas, a proud group of
people from the heart of ancient Mexico. But the old woman had to admit that over the years, with the intermarriage with
outsiders, her line of Mestizo could hardly be seen. Instead, what dominated her offspring was the fairer group of the people
from Europe.
As the memories of her granddaughter’s first day in darkness returned, the older woman remembered the disgust she held toward
the two mortals. With little thought to their discomfort, Madame Tuscany had risen wordlessly from her grandchild’s bed. She
remembered the initiation from the previous night and lightly touched the tender puncture wounds on her own neck. When she
gazed down at her grandchild, she noticed the identical marks deep in the young girl’s soft flesh.
“Grandma!” Aurore cried out in pain as she held her arms toward the old woman.
Madame Tuscany had done all that she could do. She had given the child all that her body was capable of giving. The girl would
now have to learn what it meant to live in the darkness of the night. With little ado, Fernando, her immortal servant, opened the
door and entered the room. Dressed in his black servant’s uniform, he was the most handsome creature that the old woman had
ever seen. So striking was he that she wanted to preserve it forever. Almost reading her thoughts, the tall, magnificent man
smirked slightly as he tipped his head in greeting. In polite silence, his deathly pale form stood silent as he held the door open for
another man. Wrapped in only a robe, the young man glanced nervously at Aurore’s father, then toward her.
When Aurore’s father noticed the indigent man, he blanched, and then turned toward the older woman.
“Grandmother, what’s happening to my daughter?” the pain in his voice was evident.
Without sparing him a word, she turned and nodded toward the servant. The tall, dark haired man smiled as he stepped aside and
waved the newcomer in. The sparkle in Fernando’s eyes showed his own excitement for what was about to happen.
With an understanding nod, the elderly woman took a moment to glance over the young mortal’s form. Smiling slightly, she
moved toward him slowly as she gazed at his freshly washed appearance. When she noticed his dark wavy hair, she reached out
and ran her thin fingers through its length. At the smell of his mortal scent, the old woman felt her heartbeat increase. Confused,
the newcomer looked at each one as his heart raced out of control. While she gazed at him, her eyes focused on the steady
rhythm of his beating heart in the vein on his neck. Each time the flesh pulsed the matriarch felt her smile growing as she
anticipated tasting this man’s warm, fresh blood. Before she could delve further, she pulled away and gave Fernando, a
rewarding nod. No, there was no one who will guess that this man was once a part of the hobo village on the outskirts of town,
she thought as she turned and moved toward her grandchild.
“He is prepared as instructed, Madame,” was all her servant said.
“Yes, I see,” her aged voice came out husky as she tried to control her own excitement. “Very good, Fernando.” She whispered
as she turned once more to the man.
“Grandmother, why?” Aurore’s frightened father asked. Ignoring him, she stood before her grandchild and looked at the
newcomer. She forced his eyes to remain on hers as her mind instinctively reached out to the young mortal’s thoughts. She
listened to his fears and confusion.
“I-I…don’t understand,” the newcomer whispered.
With an evil smile, Madame Tuscany knelt beside her granddaughter.
“You are here for my grandchild,” she explained to the man.
Filled with curiosity, he moved slowly toward the young girl. He noticed her disheveled state and frowned at the muffled
moaning sounds that came from her. When his gaze returned to Madame Tuscany, his brow arched into a question, and then he
gazed back at Fernando.
“B-But he told me that you wanted me to…” the man’s words dropped off when he noticed Aurore’s mother in the room. When
he turned back to the old woman, a blush crossed his cheeks.
