Fire Nectar 2

F
ire Nectar 2

William & Joshua

By Faleena Hopkins

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictionally
from the author’s imagination and do not in any way claim to be the truth.

Cover Image –circle © Storoch

Cover Image - fire © Olinchuk

Images used under license from Shutterstock.com

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2014 Faleena Hopkins

"...
R
eminiscent of 'Interview
with The Vampire' and beautifully written..." - Literal Addiction

F
ire Nectar
1 and 2 are interchangeable (either can be read first). They're the personal stories of three enigmatic vampires before they come together in Part 3. This is Joshua's and William's story. Part 1 is Daniella's. Enjoy...

JOSHUA 

When William calls Joshua, present day, his news of what's happened to Daniella stirs up ghosts of the year Joshua was turned: 1812. As he races to Los Angeles, memories flood him, bringing him back to the fateful night he met a woman who changed his heart forever. 

WILLIAM 

King William The Conqueror did not die as the history books told you. He is the eldest of the vampires. Yet his inner wounds still ache. The wife he left behind, and the slur they called his birth - 
Bastard - 
both haunt him to this day, one thousand years later. Fate isn't always kind, but what you do with what you're given is what matters. 

Genre: paranormal historical fiction and fantasy

J
oshua hit
the “g” chord on his piano. He smiled and stopped to write a note on the blank sheet music perched in front of him. Touching the dulled fraction of a pencil to his lips, he looked to the ceiling for answers. The only sound echoing through the vast basement studio was that of his left foot falling gently, repeatedly, on the pedals. Tap tap tap. Not enough pressure to express the instrument…just a light touch of shoe against brass in perfect time with the search for his inspiration.

The French Provincial Grand was one of two pianos in the spacious room–the other a Boston Grand, both by Steinway. Tucked off in a corner on the gleaming hardwood floor stood a cello, a double bass, and beside them (seemingly out of place among the more classical instruments) a Djembe drum. On the walls surrounding Joshua hung eleven guitars; six acoustic, three electric, two bass. Beside them were two violas and three violins, one a Stradivarius. Next to the Stradivarius, hung a triangle. To balance out the strings were saxophones, flutes, oboes, and clarinets all sitting in glass cases–like those one would find in a jewelry store. Each was spaced apart and held a single instrument. Each instrument was shined and ready for him, silently waiting, hoping to be chosen.

The basement boasted no windows, as windows could be dangerous. Not dangerous merely because they let in The Sun because if The Sun rose, basement or no, Joshua would fall fast asleep wherever he stood, even if he could not see it. It was the same for all vampires. The room was free of windows rather to protect his vampyric privacy, for his hours were not at all normal and the manner with which he did things would also raise eyebrows were he to be seen by the curious eyes of his neighborhood.

In here shielded from the world Joshua was free to move as fast as his natural, inhuman speed craved for. He could be himself. He could relax. But just in case he were to ever have an unwanted visitor, he himself had installed an emergency exit that could not be seen by the human eye, nor opened by human strength. He’d installed it himself so that no one knew about it, not even the builders. It was necessary for all them, few as they were, to protect themselves from the humans who would want to kill them before they heard their story; those humans who killed what they feared and could not understand.

One must be careful.

T
he last time
he’d been in San Francisco, over a hundred long years ago, Joshua had had this home built. It was all the way back in 1906 after The Great Earthquake hit. Before that he’d lived in New York, but in 1905 a depression descended upon him so deep and cavernous it nearly seduced him to walk into The Sun to give up his eternal life. His artistic nature had always bent him toward moodiness and over-thinking. Music was his salvation. But when even that could not dent the expanding bubble of his inner pain, he’d searched desperately for a way out of the darkness–a way to
want
to survive–before that bubble burst.

He’d found hope in a place where others had none: the news. Disaster had struck the great western city, with fires stealing what the Earthquake left behind. He’d stared at the New York Times and knew it then and there.
I will rise like a Phoenix with the city and its surviving people on my back.

Leaving everything behind, he’d traveled by night finding this way and that to carry him there. Sometimes he simply ran faster than the eye could see. Other times, he rented a coach. Others a car. Sometimes a train, but all of it only at night. He could never arouse suspicion as to what he really was. This meant slower travel than those with less strict limitations. He fed as he had vowed to do–on only the evil. There were many. It was a time of grabbing what you could as fast as possible before the next thief tried. This made Joshua’s meals easy to come by–the only positive in a sea of negatives. Before plane travel was common, getting from one place to another for a vampire, was always a pain.

When he’d arrived in San Francisco, he could not believe his eyes. The rubble, charred wood and broken dreams left behind were exactly what he’d hoped for. But there was more–something unexpected that opened his ailing heart. In the shattered city people like him existed–those who wished to use destruction as a means to rise up greater than ever before. The people who had not run from disaster but had chosen to stay, were filled with courage, determination and loyalty. They would not succumb to despair. They vowed to rebuild and flocked together to plan how.

In them his faith in humanity and reason to live was reborn.

Joshua’s spirits soared and his pockets opened wide to help. Not himself a laborer of wood, brick or steel, he’d instead anonymously donated large sums of money to help the city thrive again. With the vast varieties of “inheritances” he owned he paid for the city to fly up from the ashes. He joined the planning crews, the voices of those with business and artistic minds who also had the ability to follow through. He helped guide them and mold what would be the San Francisco of today.

And for his own home, skilled, honest men were employed to build a beautiful Victorian. He’d instructed them to include a basement in the foundation. Because the men were too overwhelmed and harried with all the work that beckoned them, they never wondered at the need for a basement in a place lacking tornadoes or hurricanes from which to hide. Their distraction suited Joshua’s privacy needs perfectly, and with a sense of security he stood back and watched them create his dream home, the favorite of all those he’d had.

For a happy decade he’d lived there. He’d written music, given to charities, made friends, and slowly picked away the evil, one by one…just as Ludovico and William had taught him to. But when twelve years had passed, the inevitable happened. His human friends began to wonder at his never-changing youthful appearance, why they could not persuade him to join at events held in daytime…why he never ate a meal.

It was time to go.

With a heavy heart, he stared at his home, not wanting to leave it. He went from room to room and sank deeper into pain. The painting of his friends that hung near the foyer grabbed his attention and he stared at the scene for an hour, until he finally smiled and realized he had to find a way to enjoy this moment, since he’d been given the gift of it. When others had died, here he was still alive, and with so much left to see.

“Ludovico,” he’d whispered, “You devil. Should I?” A grin had spread his soft lips and he’d tapped the painting, turning to leave it for his plan. It took two nights to find someone who could engrave the name
Jeremiah
into photo frames, but when he did, he chuckled to himself and nearly did a dance. Then he had the most fun placing them around his home on tables, next to his bed and on the piano, with photos of himself behind the glass.

His kind had a cross to bear. They could not stay in a place for long. But at least he could have a little fun with it. So he locked the door, knowing he would not return until all those he’d known and had called friends, had died.

In 2011, he’d returned. He’d called ahead and hired a maid to clean, sending her a key. When she’d opened the door to greet him for the first time, all she saw was a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to his forefather, Jeremiah. She’d let him in with mild shock, a finger pointed at a yellowed photograph, “You look just like him, sir! It’s amazing!”

“Do I?” he’d asked with an amused smirk. “But his hair is rather dreadful, no?” He’d taken her weathered, aging hand and kissed it–bowing deeply as a gentleman must–forever securing her loyal devotion. An immortal must find his entertainments where he can.

T
ap tap tap
on the brass foot pedal. Reach reach reach for the muse. He nibbled on the pencil stub. As a melody began to journey from the recesses to the forefront of his mind, the ring of a cell phone stopped it cold. Unperturbed, he rose from the stool. Why lose one’s patience with the flow of the unexpected; there was more than enough time. It was probably the music director of the San Francisco Symphony calling to request a completion date.

When I’m ready and not before
, thought Joshua with a smile.

He strode to the low table positioned at a perfect angle in front of his deep leather couches, and caught sight of the unexpected name
William
lighting the screen. The photo of his friend showed a handsome hulking vampire, aged around forty. Fierce and wise of expression, his essence looked like that of a male who wore the world on his shoulders, and wore it well.

Joshua’s reach quickened and he answered with a warm smile, “William, old friend! This is a surprise! How goes it?”

William’s voice came back tensely urgent. “I’m afraid I’m not calling with good news, Joshua, although it is always good to hear your voice. How are you?”

Joshua shoved his free hand casually into the pocket of his light grey jeans. Unlike himself, William had a penchant for the dramatic, he knew. “I am well, as always. Alright then, let’s hear it. What news? Have you gotten yourself into a scrape? Surely you can find a way to make all well once more. Although I can’t wait to hear the story!”

“I? No, not I. Elizabeth just rang me,” William said, heavily.

Concern rose within Joshua at once. “Is something wrong with Elizabeth? I’ve not heard from her in ages.”

“What? No. No. It’s not Elizabeth, Joshua, but it may as well be, because the problem is with Daniella and you know how Elizabeth feels about her.” Joshua stopped dead in the center of the room, his attention fully mastered now as William continued, “When we spoke, her voice was grave and almost fearful; a drastic departure from her normal calm composure, as you know. We are to go to them at once, my friend. Tonight.”

Joshua chewed on every word, intently listening. Daniella was turned just after he, a mere few months after. The first evidence of impatience barked from his lips. “What is it, William? Stop talking around the thing, blast it! What’s happened to Daniella?”

“She’s turned her first vampire. It’s the same thing that happened to you, all over again.”

“To me? You mean when…? No!” Joshua already knew the terrible answer before it came. He flashed up the stairs with unchained vampyric speed to pack his things, knuckles whiter as they gripped the phone tightly to his ear.

“I’m sorry, friend.”

“For what, William? It wasn’t your fault. It was mine, and we both know it.”

William coughed. “Yes. Well, Marion was a master at deception. But about this new situation…I don’t have details. Elizabeth kept our conversation very brief. She did say that Daniella would not be happy we were summoned, but there is no way around that, I’m afraid. This is a matter for all of us to contend with, now.”

At the mention of Marion’s name, Joshua winced. He tried never to think of her, and usually succeeded. But with this new turn of events, there was no ignoring her existence, or what happened. By then on the second floor, Joshua asked, “Is that what Daniella wants?” as he shot into his office and grabbed a medium sized leather satchel circa 1912 from an immaculately clean shelf. He slammed it on the desk.

“It doesn’t matter what she wants, Joshua. And you know more than I do - she is most likely not in her right mind now.”

“We’ll discuss it when we are all together, William. Where are you now?” If he needed clothes, he’d buy them in Los Angeles, but there was nowhere he traveled where he did not bring the tools with which to capture inspiration. Into the pouch sped several notebooks and empty music sheets.

“We must put an end to it at once, Joshua! The beast must be dealt with. I’m in New York, en route to JFK now. Because of the time change, it’ll still be dark when I arrive.”

“I was wondering how you would manage to beat the sun. I’m in San Francisco so my flight will take less than hour.” He searched for the pencil stub he’d been using and remembered he’d left it on the piano. No matter. He shoved several new, sharpened pencils in and pulled tightly the old zipper, ignoring its stubborn resistance. “If I leave now, there’s plenty of time to get to and from both airports before the blasted sun comes for me.”

“She won’t get us this time,” William laughed.

Joshua joined him with a chuckle. “Not this night, no.” He shot down to the first floor where he set the security alarm with lightning speed. In the foyer still hung the painting, circa 1812, the year Joshua and Daniella were turned. It showed two males talking together on a warm spring evening both lit by a full moon in Montmartre, Paris. They were striking and commanding in presence with William a great deal taller, Ludovico more stocky, and both highly interested in what the other had to say. The artist had done a fine rendering of them. He’d captured so well their personalities and likenesses that when Joshua had unexpectedly come across the painting in an estate sale almost a century later, he could not believe his eyes. “So you found a way to stay immortal after all, old friend,” he’d whispered, grabbing and buying it quickly before the red tears betrayed him.

With the house alarm set, Joshua took one moment to stop in front of the canvas. “It’s good to hear your voice, William. It has been too long. If only Ludovico could be with us tomorrow as well.”

“Indeed. A wish that has often entered my mind. Nevertheless, it will be great to be with you all.”

“Yes, and we all know you love a good war,” smiled Joshua, exiting the front door and locking it behind him.

“What man doesn’t?” William laughed.

As the diffracted light from an approaching taxi’s headlamps pierced the fog ominously, Joshua raised his hand to stop it. He didn’t feel the need to argue with William that he, in fact, did not love war. Instead, he simply bid his friend adieu and reminded himself that all vampires are not made alike.