Present day.

Fixier made his way home through the catacombs under Paris. The tunnels were dark and damp. A trickle of dripping water in the distance annoyed him. Drip, drip, drip. He hated that insistent droning sound over and over. Sometimes he thought Dista assigned his quarters near it to irritate him. Mission accomplished. Lucky for him, he could not hear it once he entered his chambers. Fixier installed a solid metal double door with locks that would challenge the best thieves in the world. The doors also acted as a shield for sound.

He moved in right after bringing Hubaire home. Dista chose the name Hubaire for his wolf child. Listen to me. I am referring to him as though he were mine. He calls me father. We all know it’s not true. Even Rashala, my other so-called son, refers to me as dad and Dista as his mother. As if she and I… An arctic chill traveled up and down his spine. Fixier shuddered. That would never happen. That smell, I could never.

He had almost made his way to his chambers when a freshling, a nickname they used for new vampires, approached him.

“Dista requests your presence in her chambers,” said the freshling with his voice trembling.

Fixier sighed, “Fine, fine, I am on my way.” At least they show respect. Freshlings know enough to fear me. It needs to stay that way.

He followed the freshling to Dista’s rooms. He did not bother to knock and walked in.

Dista’s personal quarters were elaborate. The primary room contained three antique eighteenth-century French sofas and multiple chairs. Each done in a red floral pattern. Tables of the same era attended each. Adorning the walls were tapestries depicting various terrains.

Dista was a frigid woman but had warm tastes in decor.

The sickly rotting smell vampires produce was faint, but also in attendance.

Joining Dista were Rocsa and Vocair. Each sitting on opposing sides of Dista. Her guests were so similar in looks. One could take them for sisters. Yet, their personalities were unique. Rocsa was sound and methodical while Vocair was insane. They were arguing while Dista sat in the middle, listening.

A male human servant stood in the corner, waiting. All he wore was a buckskin loincloth.

Dista saw her newest arrival and stood up. “Fixier. I am so glad you could come. Please join us. Would you like a refreshment?”

As if on cue, the human servant walked forward, bent down, and offered his neck.

Dista laughed. “No. Maracas. Fixier is not of our kind. Bring him a scotch; I believe he would appreciate a fifty year.”

Fixier raised an eyebrow. “Fifty? That is a rare scotch, indeed. What is it you want, Dista?”

“Am I that transparent?” Dista laughed. “Yes. I have another request for you.”

“This last one required twenty-five years of my time. I agreed to stay here while the boys grew.”

“You will like this one, lots of murder and mayhem.” She smiled.

Fixier waited. He knew that smile. That smile said you will not decline, and I know it.

“I have a problem in the desert, near Israel. The resistance fighting back is strong. I have made many freshlings to compensate, but we are still losing. Many of our people are disappearing, gone. I need you to do your thing and end the problem.”

“Israel, you say? Dista, I warned you not to get involved in that area.”

Dista’s smile disappeared. “You do not inform me. It is the other way around. I venture where I want, especially if it is profitable.”

It was Fixier’s turn to laugh. “Dista, I have been running that area for over a thousand years. Your people are disappearing because I gave my people the tech to obliterate a vampire out of existence. They are UV bombs and UV guns. Each has one hundred times the sun’s ultra-violet strength. Had I known it was you doing this, I would have warned you. I thought it was another coven, Davenportia’s. I am giving you the chance to withdraw your people.”
Fixier followed up his speech with a haughty stare. His icy steel-gray eyes made even the dead, or undead, in this case, feel uncomfortable. “Either way, our contract for me being here is complete. I need to pursue other ventures.”

Dista always kept her composure. Yet, right now, her face darkened. Where blush would be for a human, dark highlights filled her cheekbones. Her visage resembled a corpse. She took three slow breaths. “We will leave, but understand, that area is not just yours.”

Fixier gave her a blank stare. “Many others have said the same. They no longer walk this planet. I will not relinquish it. I don’t wish to go to war against you. We have had a beneficial relationship. It would be hard to continue that if you no longer exist.” He turned and left her quarters. If Dista only knew how many UV bombs I planted throughout the catacombs, she would vacate—never to return. He headed to his rooms to retrieve his belongings. His next move was personal. The spirit walkers sparked his curiosity. Fixier spent years with Hubaire and Rashala. His instinct told him there was more he needed to learn.