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It was a pitch-dark night, black as I imagined death to be. It was the night of a new moon, where only the dim stars clouded the sky. The moon was shadowed by the earth, obscuring its brilliant beauty. In remote areas, you couldn’t see your own hand if you outstretched it before you. A night like this was the shadow of a moon-lit night; a night where anything could happen, where sins would be veiled and crimes unseen. If there was a God, he had forsaken us.



The crisp night air breezed through my hair, throwing it back into the cold. I put my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket, tilted my head down and kept walking. The click of my boots against the sidewalk was not too discreet. It was a night like this that most women would fear; most women would remain indoors in the safety of their homes.



Not I; I reveled in danger.



It wasn’t cold to me; the cold merely touched my skin and stayed there; it never penetrated. It never sunk past my flesh and into my blood and bones where I would feel the need to shiver and find the nearest source of warmth. I had been like that since birth; I had been born on the day of the first snow that year. That is why my mother had called me her little snowflake. A memory that had long faded with the passing years.



As I passed under a streetlight, it shut off on its own. I smirked to myself; I was thinking too much. My mother had said something about the electricity of our brains interfering with the electricity in the lights when there was too high of a brain activity. It only happened to me once in a while, not enough for it to get noticed. But it was a subtle reminder that I needed a change of scenery; something that would charge more positive energy out of me.



The track.



Right away I could feel the whoosh of my brother catching up to me. Sometimes I envied my mother her sight.



“The track? I’m coming with you,” my brother said, his tone betraying his excitement. The corners of my mouth turned up at his enthusiasm. If I wasn’t so stoic, I would be behaving the same way. “That guy is supposed to be racing his Mustang GT against some modified car from an out-of-towner!”



“What about bikes?” I asked, knowing the racing season was coming to an end.



“A gixxer and an interceptor,” he said, “and a few Harley Davidsons down the road.”



“Hmm,” I pondered. “Are those in order? I can pass on the Harleys if it’s the Garcias at it again.”



“You guessed it Celeste,” he answered. “Race you there!” he shouted as he took off at a full run. I shook my head and rolled my eyes as I crouched before sprinting after him.





We arrived shortly before the first race. The father of the large family, Mr. Garcia, was getting into his brand-new Mustang GT for the race. It was midnight-black with two white racing stripes painted in the middle. He began revving the car and it sounded like the growls of a bear.



Next to him was the out-of-towner, as my brother called him. He got into a sleek black Pontiac Grand Prix, and I could hear a few boos here and there. They didn’t think that this man stood a chance against Mr. Garcia’s brand-new mustang. Why was he even racing? “This is going to end pretty quickly,” I stated. “That Pontiac doesn’t stand a chance against a muscle car.”



My brother shrugged. “Never underestimate an out-of-towner. You don’t know what he’s got ‘til you see him race.”



I rolled my eyes at that statement. “You know Trevor, one of these days you will learn.”



The countdown began for the race. “Carlos Garcia versus Ivan White; Begin countdown!” the announcer shouted. Garcia revved his engine, mocking Ivan. On the last three seconds before the race started, Ivan pressed on the brakes and stomped down on the gas. Smoke emerged from the tires in his burnout, and when it was time he sped off onto the track.



I have to admit that I was surprised. Trevor laughed in glee and began cheering with the crowd. Ivan was well in front of Garcia, and remained that way through the first lap. Garcia caught up in the next two laps. I shook my head. “See? Thought he was a hotshot at first, now he’s all embers!”



I spoke too soon. Through the last lap, Garcia and Ivan were side-by-side. Garcia looked at Ivan with a smirk. Ivan’s eyes never left the road. He put his Pontiac in neutral, revved his engine, and then put it back in drive as he whizzed past Garcia and past the finish line. Garcia’s face was full of disbelief as he crossed last.



The crowd was in a state of disbelief too, but a good number cheered anyways, including Trevor. He laughed and patted me hard on the back. “See sis, what did I tell you? Never underestimate an out-of-towner!” he shook his head and ran from the stands to meet the drivers.



I was shocked. How the hell did he win!? I rose from the stands myself and followed after my brother. He was talking to Ivan, commending him on his victory. Trevor looked up and noticed me approaching. “Hey Ivan, this is my sister Celeste. She didn’t think you would win,” he added.



Ivan’s steel-blue eyes met mine in that instant, his visage a mask of concealed pride. “Why’s that?” he asked in his baritone voice. A voice I swore I had heard before….



Not wasting any time, I grabbed the hood of the Pontiac and lifted it up. Ivan had switched out the stock engine and replaced it with a V6 engine. He had also added a supercharger to the mix, which is what made that pissed-off jaguar roar when he sped past Garcia in the last lap. I nodded, having to admit that I was impressed. He must be a talented driver to beat a stock GT, which has a V8. I closed the hood and met Ivan’s eyes again. “That’s why,” I answered. “I’ve always been told to look under the hood before I judge a car, unfortunately I didn’t get to analyze your vehicle before the race started.”



Ivan smirked coyly. “Are you usually tardy to your races, Celeste?”



“Oh, I don’t race cars,” I answered, turning on my heel, showing a smirk that he couldn’t see as I walked away. “I race bikes.”



I revved my Kawasaki as I closed the visor on my helmet. No one had wanted to race a woman, so I was stuck racing Trevor. It didn’t matter however; he was a challenge, and that’s exactly what I wanted.



The light turned green and I sped forward on my Ninja. I leaned perfectly into my turns, effortlessly gliding through the track. The adrenaline pumped through my veins as I sped up, the wind whipping my hair out behind me. I grinned, enjoying myself a bit too much. I noticed my brother speeding past me steadily. I lost my smile and focused. This wasn’t a ride for the fun of it; this was a race. I pressed on the gas and launched forward. This is where my turbo came in handy.



Trevor popped a wheelie before speeding up again, but he couldn’t stay ahead for long. I gave it all I got as we approached the finish line, and I won by mere inches. I did a stoppie before I disembarked. This time, Ivan came to me. His eyebrows were raised. “Wow, I’ve never seen a woman race like that. You’re quite the fearless one.”



“Are you sexist?” I remarked. “At least I’m not reckless like you are. A burnout at the beginning? You could’ve fried your tires right then and there. You have to be more cautious.”

“I’ll be cautious when I’m dead. I won’t lay in my deathbed wishing that I had just lived my life to the fullest. I’m not going to be young forever, now’s the time to make mistakes and learn from them. You may call me reckless now, but I’ll be one wise motherfucker when I’m old.”



I rolled my eyes and shoved my helmet into his chest. “Learn to ride one of these without falling off, and then I’ll shut up.” I challenged.

Click, click, click, click.



The sound of her high heels as she walked was rhythmic, ticking along the cement like a clock. Her head was low, the hood of her raincoat drawn over her head. There were a few people in pairs scattered about the park, looking for shelter as they held up wet umbrellas.



She heard the shuffling of feet, and her eyes subtly shifted in the sound’s direction.



Click, click, click, click.



She continued her path, and she noticed that the shuffling was coming from a man; well dressed, tall and blonde. His hat was soaked with the rain and he had no umbrella or hood. He was almost jogging to wherever he was headed, eager to get out of the downpour.

It was a cool autumn evening when she saw her. She exited the club, her long red curls billowing in the crisp air. Her pale skin tightened against her body, the hairs of her neck rising to capture what lingered of the summer heat. Her green eyes refused to be subdued by the night, and shone like emeralds infused with an onyx in each of their centers. She was dressed just the way she liked; a plain, tight black t-shirt under a black leather corset, and a black lace skirt. She wore fishnet tights with tall, leather black lace-up boots that plunked when she walked. She wore red lipstick to accentuate her red hair and swayed her hips slightly when she walked. She was perfect, thought Aurelie. She was a natural redhead, had naturally pale skin and natural green eyes….she was the one. She was the one that Aurelie had been searching for.



Aurelie turned to her priestess. “She is the one, is she not?”



“Yes,” spoke Ebony, the oracle and priestess of the coven. “She is descended from the old ones. She must be awoken. Her blood calls to us, her veins cry out to be reborn. We must proceed.” Ebony’s eyes never left the mysterious redhead.



Aurelie nodded, and turned back to the redhead. She was headed into an alleyway, surely taking a shortcut to return home. Aurelie took a tentative step forward, but Ebony’s arm shot out in front of her. “Wait,” she said, her eyes darting a few feet behind the redhead. “Look…”



Aurelie’s eyes followed Ebony’s stare. There was a man poorly dressed, in his 40’s. He was stalking after the redhead, a flask of vodka in one hand, and the glint of a blade in another. He stank of beer and vomit, and he had a smirk on his face that made his intentions clear as day. He followed the redhead into the alley after checking on either side of him if he was being observed or followed. Satisfied, he prepared his attack and pursued her.



Aurelie grimaced. “We cannot let this happen!” Aurelie scowled, turning to Ebony. “He will mug her, kill her or worse…”



Ebony nodded. “What he intends to do is far worse. I agree we must follow her. But judgment cannot be executed until we receive verbal or physical proof of his attack. You know the law.”



Aurelie hissed, but she knew she had no choice. She strolled out of the shadows and followed the man, while Ebony veered around to block off the other side of the alley. Once Aurelie was consumed by darkness, she allowed her night-vision to kick in. She could see that the man had already begun his attack; his knife was at the redhead’s throat and he was fumbling with her skirt. She was crying silently, her eyes searching for any sign of anyone. Aurelie raised her eyes and she noticed Ebony on the other side. Ebony, with her ever-stoic face, held up a hand for Aurelie to wait. Aurelie hissed in frustration; they needed to wait for verbal confirmation. The redhead must have heard Aurelie’s hiss, for her head jolted to the side. Her eyes fixed on Aurelie, and her eyes were wide, pleading. “Help! Please help m—“



“Hey bitch, shut up or I’ll cut your throat!” the man hissed. Aurelie’s head jerked up, and Ebony’s hand lowered. She locked eyes with Aurelie, and nodded.



Aurelie growled low in her throat and bared her fangs. She crouched low to the ground, paused for a few seconds, and then lunged at the man. She knocked him over and tackled him to the ground with a thud. He struggled, spitting out curses and trying to use the knife on Aurelie. She heard Ebony swish past her to grasp the redhead, to make sure she was unharmed. Aurelie pinned the man’s arms to the cement floor and pressed her frozen lips to the man’s jugular. Not bothering to be tender with this villain, she pierced his neck with her teeth without hesitation. He tried to scream, but the blood filled his throat just as it filled Aurelie’s. Warm blood flowed like a river down her throat, thick and potent. It was exhilarating, an outlaw’s blood. It had the rich flavor of sin embedded into the red liquid. She lost herself in the tangy taste….



Ebony tried to block the redhead’s view of Aurelie, but the redhead jerked forward to see. She gasped loud when she saw Aurelie feeding off of her attacker. She tried to break free from Ebony’s hold, but Aurelie had sensed her distress and was at her side. At the sight of Aurelie, Ebony began her sacred chants. Aurelie looked into the redhead’s eyes. “Ruby, do you give us permission to heal your wounds?”



The redhead, Ruby, looked up at Aurelie. “O-o-only this one!” she said, pointing to Ebony. Little did Ruby know that Ebony was the only one who was allowed to heal Ruby. Aurelie looked to Ebony, and they locked eyes. Ebony chanted as she leaned into Ruby’s neck. She licked her neck before piercing her flesh, so there was no pain to the bite. Ruby was immediately knocked unconscious by Ebony’s power. Ebony drank from Ruby, calculating how much blood she must take for the transformation to take place. She needed to weaken the human so that the vampire blood would take over without question.



When Ebony lifted her lips from Ruby’s neck, Aurelie knew it was time. She went for the priestess’s wrist, but Ebony drew her arm back. “No, you must do it. I am an ancient, she would be too powerful too soon.”



Aurelie nodded, and brought her own wrist to her lips. She bit into her veins, and held the bleeding wound to Ruby’s lips. She poured her blood down her throat. Ruby woke, and hungrily drank from Aurelie’s wrist. Aurelie bore her fangs at the rush of adrenaline she had from sharing blood. Ruby didn’t need much; she passed out once she was beginning to transform.



Ebony whispered a blessing and ran her hand across her shaved head. She then took Ruby on her shoulders and took off, Aurelie flanking her.



Let the rebirth begin.