Chapter One
-Wren-

      “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and elegant vampire…” Birdie began.

        My eyes rolled back in my head. “Don’t start, Bird Brain.” 

        “No, I will start, because she,” Birdie indicated to herself, “was sparkling and lovely and charming and yet, her evil family,”–that was us, Birdie gestured–“made her go into the icky human realm to a boring costume party to suffer.”

        “You’re not suffering,” I said. 

        “And you’re not family.” Lark added. “We never adopted you.”

        “Good,” she chirped right back. “I wouldn’t want to be related to you anyway.” 

        Lark was my actual brother. Not hers. 

        “Not after the first summer we met. How incestual.” The female vampire hinted at their dalliance from half a century ago as if it were recent or common. She only ever brought it up to get her way or if she wanted something. I coughed in protest. Lark shot her a dark look, but that gave Birdie exactly what she desired. 

        To get under his skin. 

        To poke and prod him. 

        I sat back in the winged arm chair, now held hostage by their squabble. Lark stoked the mammoth fire in the hearth and ignored her, while Birdie did what Birdie did best: goaded men for sport. To his credit, this evening my brother wasn’t biting. Much. 

        And they were each wrong about our relationships. 

        Whether they liked it or not, Birdie, Lark and I were a family. Though we weren’t truly related, undead family units were commonly made through vampire war and trust, and Birdie had been in our lives and under our skin for a long, long, time. Through hell and back. If those immortal bonds devolved into sex now and then over the course of a century or two and all parties were on board with that, so be it. 

        Still, Birdie’s wiles had little effect. I barely blinked in her direction. And Lark’s primal urges with our would-be sister were ancient history. She wouldn’t get a rise out of either of us tonight, much as she might like to.

        “Biggest mistake of my life,” Lark grumbled. 

        “Don’t lie,” Birdie smirked. She had him there. An evening with the ancient girl was bound to be a good time. With her jet black hair, nonchalant demeanor, and icy blue eyes that pierced your defenses without ever resorting to a vampire’s compulsion, she had her pick of men… and women… and monsters… we all knew it.

        Hell, if she hadn’t already bedded each of my younger brothers at one time or another in the past fifty years, maybe the old girl and I would have had a roll in the hay… maybe we still would. The undead life was lonely and immortal. I often longed for more. Something substantial. We all did. But any romance between us wasn’t happening. Not today. Not so that the girl could get out of doing her chores.  

        Birdie had a job to do.

        And she did not want to do it.

        “Move over.” My brother jostled her leg. She took up half the couch.

        “Or what?” Birdie challenged again. 

        Lark merely picked up her feet and swung her legs around to perch on the coffee table, giving him space on the settee. “She’s impossible,” he muttered to me. 

        “I didn’t take her to bed,” I shrugged. 

        “You’re too old,” Birdie laughed at me next. She was ‘turned’ centuries before me, but I’d become the patriarch of the family, no question. Classic first-born dynamics.

        “You are two hundred and eighty six years my senior,” I shot back.

        “Ah ah. A lady never reveals her age.” Birdie mused, then immediately thrust up her hand, bored. “Stop.” She cut off Lark. “I know what you’re gonna say next, ‘I’m no lady.’ I get it. Very funny.” She stuck out her tongue, complaining. “You’re so predictable. You both are.”

        “Then you know what I’m going to say next.” I crossed my arms. “You break it, you replace it.”

        “I didn’t break the witch,” Birdie complained. “She was attacked by your mass murdering, bloodsucking vampire.”

        That was one way to describe our youngest brother.

        “Who took the witch out into the field?” Lark checked. Birdie slumped. 

        “Oh come on. What was I supposed to do? We were surrounded by Finch and his goons and she panicked. She ran. She fell off the Dragon’s Tail cliff. Then the Brotherhood pounced. They ate her up like a midnight snack. The witch had zero skills. You’re not much of a dreamcast if you can’t even see a vision of yourself falling to your death. Not my fault.” 

        “And the two casters before that?” Lark poked at the bear. 

        “Kane was cute. So was Dream Mike.” She remembered. 

        “Both your selections,” I reminded her. 

        “It’s not like they all died in one night. Paranormal life is dangerous, Wren.”

        “Around you.” I agreed. “Point is, we need fresh eyes.”  

        “I can see just fine.” Birdie grumbled. She stood up. “Don’t lay this all on me. It’s Finch’s fault.”

        I stood next. “We need to stop him, Bird. He wants to unleash hell on earth.”

        “I know. Don’t you two lecture me.” She glared. She dripped with disdain. “Not my problem.” 

        “Yes, it is. And you’re gonna fix it. You’re gonna go back to that damn witch house and ask for another dreamcast.” Lark snapped. 

        “Child’s not gonna like it,” I noted of the coven leader. 

        “Too bad.” Lark said. “We need their sight.”

        “What’s the point?” Birdie groused. “The magical dumbdumbs just break, the second we take ‘em outta the box.”

        “Stop picking himbos you wanna hump.” Lark cut in. 

        “Life’s not a fairytale. Choose a dreamcast for power.” I added.

        “You’re doing an awful lot of criticizing,” Birdie warned us. “Child hides the powerful ones. The casters he picks can’t see shit, so I go rogue. I choose more… engaging selections.” She grinned at what I could only imagine was a specific, visceral memory of being ‘engaged’ by a shirtless Kane or a pantsless Dream Mike. 

        “We’re serious, Bird. This time, take a real witch. Bring them back, and put them to work. Kidnap them if you have to,” I ordered. “Grab a witch, shove ‘em in bed. Make them dream. Then compel them to tell you the future they saw while they slept.”

        “If it’s so easy, you go.” Birdie glared. 

        “I’ll go.” Lark muttered. “I’ll choose our next mark.”

        “No. Let him.” Birdie stared me down. “You pick.” 

        “I have better things to do with my time.” 

        “Like what? Another workout to master your abs? You’ve been training for a hundred years,” Birdie said. “Finch’s gonna strike. As soon as the moon’s full, he’s coming with a hard-on for destruction. If our dear brother builds the demon gate, all hell will break loose, literally. Fuck, Wren. What’s more important than that?” 

        I glared at Birdie. So did Lark. 

        We both knew she’d picked this fight to get out of going to the masquerade. The High Council coven leader was manipulative and uncooperative. These witchcraft events were always boring. We got little out of them. She was working us both, and it was effective.

        “Fine.” I glared. “I’ll get the next dreamer. You update the Crimson Flood leadership about what he’s doing. See if we can get more men.” We traded jobs. Birdie grinned. The total winner. 

        “Deal. General Mourndale loves me.”

         “‘Cuz you climbed into his pants?” Lark asked.

        “Ew, no. Standards… I do go to the Blood Club with them,” Birdie winked.

        “That place is below you.” I said. 

        “We all have needs, Mr. High and Mighty.” Birdie shrugged. “Even you.”   

        “I’ll see about Mystic Shores. I’ll ask around, see if there have been any more sightings,” Lark said. 

        “Enjoy the party,” Birdie told me, twisting the knife. 

        “Whatever,” I grumbled. 

        I didn’t want to go to the dumb coven party anymore than the others did. But we needed a fresh witch. And not just another worthless bottom barrel dreamer. Someone smart. We had to find a caster with legitimate magic skills. Better I chose the witch myself. Like the old saying went, if you want to do something right…

        I checked my watch. Time to act. 

Birdie got her way. Just like always.

        “Try to have a little fun while you’re there.” She encouraged me. “Live a little. You never know, maybe you’ll meet someone engaging too.” 

That wasn’t happening.

         I, for one, could keep my dick in my pants.

For more... head over to Kickstarter