Johnny walked the halls of The Murder Academy, feeling sullen and heartbroken. This year wasn't turning out anything like he'd thought it would. After his killing spree the year before that nearly wiped out half the population of his hometown, Johnny's parents sent him here. The brochure had promised a "safe and progressive environment in which to mold today's young thugs and sociopaths into tomorrow's serial killers, assassins, mass murderers and hitmen", but so far it was all boring history, math and science. His teachers insisted that a solid grounding in these core classes would make him a more efficient, innovative and therefore sought-after killer following graduation, but he really just wanted to get to the actual killing. Hell, they didn't even let underclassmen into the Stabbing Club, and that was one of the reasons he wanted to come to the damn school in the first place.
Then there was Ms. Barry. He closed his eyes with a sigh just to think of her. She taught Advanced Poisons and was the advisor for the Femme Fatale Club. She had also substituted for his Violent Anatomy 101 class the previous week, and he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since. His roommate teased him about his crush, but Johnny didn't care. He didn't care that so far Ms. Barry seemed completely indifferent to his affections. And he'd gone out of his way to sneak home just to get his collection of preserved heads to show her. He thought for sure that would impress her, but she just smiled and suggested he talk to Mr. Weems about any possible extra credit.
But he'd show her. Somehow he'd find a way to show her how much he cared.
The next day, he was given his chance. Basic Tools and Practices had its first lab, and the class was assigned to bring in the mutilated corpse of a freshly killed hobo. He and his lab partner, Becky Johansen, went out that night to find a fitting victim. He'd told Becky his plan. He was going to carve Ms. Barry's name into the Hobo's chest, and present it to her at the assembly the following week. Becky agreed to help him with the carving. She had plenty of experience, as she'd been caught carving bad goth poetry into the flesh of her boyfriends' dead bodies at her old high school. Becky always helped him in his classes. She was a good friend.
But then that night, down at the railyards, something happened between Johnny and Becky. He was holding an old drifter down while shoving a rag in his mouth to keep him quiet and Becky was tying him up when Johnny looked at her in a way he never had before. There was something about the way the moonlight reflected onto her face from the steel bolt cutters she used to cut off the old bum's fingers that gave her beauty (which had always been obvious, for all that he never noticed) an otherworldly quality. Right then and there, he knew there was only one name he wanted to carve in the the struggling hobo's chest.
Later, their hands touched as they shoved Johnny's lucky hunting knife up under the drifter's ribs and into his heart, warm blood running over their entwined fingers. They looked deep into each other's eyes as the ragged old man gave one final spasmodic twitch and it was as though time itself had stopped.
"Becky," Johnny whispered nervously, "would you like to go to the Spring Massacre with me?"
Becky smiled and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Johnny," she said breathlessly, "I thought you'd never ask."
Becky and Johnny stayed together all through school, eventually being named Master and Mistress of the annual Clergy Hunt in their final year. They went on after graduation to run a very successful murder-for-hire business until they died in each other's arms amid a hail of gunfire during an FBI raid on their compound.
Short stories, flash fictions, and other miscellaneous dispatches from an overactive imagination. Updates randomly.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
A Game of War
"If you'll follow me, Senator?"
She followed the official-looking young man down a non-descript hallway. She had received a strange invitation at her office the previous day, telling her to come to a particular address. She had been told to come alone, and that she would learn things imperative to her presidential campaign.
And so, here she was. The young man leading her seemed nervous, and became more so the further they went, leading her to the conclusion that she wasn't supposed to be there.
Finally, they came to a large glass window, overlooking what appeared to be a converted warehouse. Several thousand young men and women sat in the most comfortable chairs she'd ever seen playing video games on state-of-the-art entertainment systems. They seemed to all be playing the same combat simulation game. She looked over at the nervous young man.
"And?" she said, eyebrow raised.
"Do you know what you're looking at, Senator?" the young man asked her in a low voice, glancing around.
"A bunch of kids playing video games?"
"Yes," the young man nodded, "but there is more to those games than you see at first glance."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one thing, those graphics seem awfully life-like, don't they?"
She shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't follow the technology that avidly. But I understand such things are always improving, yes? And I'm beginning to think these kids are all playing some next-generation game system?"
"Not quite. You see, these young men and women have been recruited by the Pentagon for this."
"For what?"
The young man sighed, looking down. She began to suspect she was talking to a whistleblower. He had the look of someone who's conscience had finally gotten the better of him.
"These people are engaged in what has been officially named 'Remote Asset Optimization'," he said.
"Really," she said. "I assume you've brought me here to explain exactly what that is?"
"Yes," the young man nodded. "You see, these young people are among the best gamers in the country, recruited by the Pentagon after achieving a certain level in the latest Operation Global Empire combat sim game."
"I'm familiar with the title," she said dryly.
"I know," he said, beginning to get excited. "Your opposition to violent video games is well-known, so I thought you would be best to bring here. Perhaps you can expose what's going on over the course of the campaign."
"Perhaps," she said. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on, so I know what I'm dealing with."
There was a pause, while the young whistleblower gathered his courage. "You're familiar with the new nanotech battle gear that's been developed for combat troops, yes?"
"Of course," she said. "That stuff is common knowledge. Lightweight polymer body armor, submolecular performance enhancers, medical implants, etc."
"What is not commonly known," the young man said, "is that the suits, the performance enhancers and the medical implants make it possible to reanimate dead soldiers for a limited span of time."
"Do they," she said, staring down at the mass of gamers. She noticed they were hooked up to a collection of tubes, which were in turn connected to a series of machines and plastic sacs.
The young man noticed her attention and nodded. "They're being intravenously fed a nutrient rich caffeinated glucose solution. Essentially a liquefied form of the typical gamer diet of snack foods and soda, though I should point out that the solution they're being fed has higher nutritional value than what they'd normally be eating. They're also hooked into a waste removal system, thereby preventing the need for bathroom breaks."
"I see," she said. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that these kids are controlling the reanimated bodies of dead soldiers in our various combat zones throughout the world?"
"Yes, actually," the young man said. "Once a soldier dies in the field, his or her nanotech activates the reanimation sequence and initializes control functions, at which point their bodies fall under the control of these gamers. A miniature camera mounted on the soldiers' armor can provide first and third person perspective, depending on the gamers' preferences."
She nodded, continuing to survey the room below. "Hmm. I assume they've made some progress in utilizing the wounded as well?"
"Oh, um, yes," the young man responded. "Even the reanimation technology can only stave off decay and rigor for so long," he explained. "At best, the gamers have use of a dead asset for most of a day. Less, if the body takes too much damage. A wounded soldier can be kept in a coma indefinitely and used for as long as its gamer can avoid damage." He gestured to the people hooked up to the game consoles. "Of course, these people were chosen for their extremely high proficiency, and manage to avoid serious damage for a considerable time. But, should their asset take too much damage..."
"A nanobomb implanted in the soldier is activated, leveling a 5-mile radius," the Senator said.
"Um, yes," the young man said, looking up. "But how did you..."
The Senator aimed her pistol at the young man. "Why do you think I singled out the Operation Global Empire games for particular criticism? Everyone knows the quickest way to get young people to do anything is to tell them they shouldn't. I've known about this plan since its inception. I've been assisting in the creation of the necessary cultural triggers to generate enough willing gamers for the project."
"B-but... why?"
She smiled, "Why do politicians do anything?"
He didn't have time to answer, as the bullet from her gun sprayed his brains all over the window.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Down on the floor, a high-ranking supervisor answered his.
"I'm here," she said. "No, my visit wasn't scheduled. One of your people brought me here, hoping to expose the project. Tend to your security, general. I don't have time to clean up your messes."
She hung up her phone and looked down on the rows of gamers, a slow smile spreading across her face.
She followed the official-looking young man down a non-descript hallway. She had received a strange invitation at her office the previous day, telling her to come to a particular address. She had been told to come alone, and that she would learn things imperative to her presidential campaign.
And so, here she was. The young man leading her seemed nervous, and became more so the further they went, leading her to the conclusion that she wasn't supposed to be there.
Finally, they came to a large glass window, overlooking what appeared to be a converted warehouse. Several thousand young men and women sat in the most comfortable chairs she'd ever seen playing video games on state-of-the-art entertainment systems. They seemed to all be playing the same combat simulation game. She looked over at the nervous young man.
"And?" she said, eyebrow raised.
"Do you know what you're looking at, Senator?" the young man asked her in a low voice, glancing around.
"A bunch of kids playing video games?"
"Yes," the young man nodded, "but there is more to those games than you see at first glance."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one thing, those graphics seem awfully life-like, don't they?"
She shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't follow the technology that avidly. But I understand such things are always improving, yes? And I'm beginning to think these kids are all playing some next-generation game system?"
"Not quite. You see, these young men and women have been recruited by the Pentagon for this."
"For what?"
The young man sighed, looking down. She began to suspect she was talking to a whistleblower. He had the look of someone who's conscience had finally gotten the better of him.
"These people are engaged in what has been officially named 'Remote Asset Optimization'," he said.
"Really," she said. "I assume you've brought me here to explain exactly what that is?"
"Yes," the young man nodded. "You see, these young people are among the best gamers in the country, recruited by the Pentagon after achieving a certain level in the latest Operation Global Empire combat sim game."
"I'm familiar with the title," she said dryly.
"I know," he said, beginning to get excited. "Your opposition to violent video games is well-known, so I thought you would be best to bring here. Perhaps you can expose what's going on over the course of the campaign."
"Perhaps," she said. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on, so I know what I'm dealing with."
There was a pause, while the young whistleblower gathered his courage. "You're familiar with the new nanotech battle gear that's been developed for combat troops, yes?"
"Of course," she said. "That stuff is common knowledge. Lightweight polymer body armor, submolecular performance enhancers, medical implants, etc."
"What is not commonly known," the young man said, "is that the suits, the performance enhancers and the medical implants make it possible to reanimate dead soldiers for a limited span of time."
"Do they," she said, staring down at the mass of gamers. She noticed they were hooked up to a collection of tubes, which were in turn connected to a series of machines and plastic sacs.
The young man noticed her attention and nodded. "They're being intravenously fed a nutrient rich caffeinated glucose solution. Essentially a liquefied form of the typical gamer diet of snack foods and soda, though I should point out that the solution they're being fed has higher nutritional value than what they'd normally be eating. They're also hooked into a waste removal system, thereby preventing the need for bathroom breaks."
"I see," she said. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that these kids are controlling the reanimated bodies of dead soldiers in our various combat zones throughout the world?"
"Yes, actually," the young man said. "Once a soldier dies in the field, his or her nanotech activates the reanimation sequence and initializes control functions, at which point their bodies fall under the control of these gamers. A miniature camera mounted on the soldiers' armor can provide first and third person perspective, depending on the gamers' preferences."
She nodded, continuing to survey the room below. "Hmm. I assume they've made some progress in utilizing the wounded as well?"
"Oh, um, yes," the young man responded. "Even the reanimation technology can only stave off decay and rigor for so long," he explained. "At best, the gamers have use of a dead asset for most of a day. Less, if the body takes too much damage. A wounded soldier can be kept in a coma indefinitely and used for as long as its gamer can avoid damage." He gestured to the people hooked up to the game consoles. "Of course, these people were chosen for their extremely high proficiency, and manage to avoid serious damage for a considerable time. But, should their asset take too much damage..."
"A nanobomb implanted in the soldier is activated, leveling a 5-mile radius," the Senator said.
"Um, yes," the young man said, looking up. "But how did you..."
The Senator aimed her pistol at the young man. "Why do you think I singled out the Operation Global Empire games for particular criticism? Everyone knows the quickest way to get young people to do anything is to tell them they shouldn't. I've known about this plan since its inception. I've been assisting in the creation of the necessary cultural triggers to generate enough willing gamers for the project."
"B-but... why?"
She smiled, "Why do politicians do anything?"
He didn't have time to answer, as the bullet from her gun sprayed his brains all over the window.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Down on the floor, a high-ranking supervisor answered his.
"I'm here," she said. "No, my visit wasn't scheduled. One of your people brought me here, hoping to expose the project. Tend to your security, general. I don't have time to clean up your messes."
She hung up her phone and looked down on the rows of gamers, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Monday, November 21, 2005
A Hero Revisited
"Can we play hero, mama?"
She looked up from her paperwork and smiled at her 4-year-old son. This was his new favorite game. Ever since he found out Mommy used to be a globe-trotting teen hero, that was all he wanted to play. She slid the files into their folder and closed up her laptop. She could use a break from it, anyway. She'd moved from field work to analysis when she got pregnant with John, and she was very much looking forward to returning to it once he was in school. She'd take an elaborate deathtrap over mountains of case files any day, though working for a global organization still came with plenty of paperwork, even in the field. Sometimes she missed the days when a mission would start with a hit on her website and end with a heartfelt thanks.
She grinned. And, of course, her sidekick losing his pants.
"I wanna be your sidekick," her son said.
"Oh yeah?" she said, smiling down at him.
"Yeah," he beamed. "Like Daddy used to be."
She laughed. "Sure thing, sweetie. So, who are we fighting? Mad scientist? Monkey ninja? Crazed Scottish golfer?"
Before John could answer, there was a knock on the door.
"Hang on, sweetie. I'll be right back. You practice your moves, and, uh... try to keep your pants on." She grinned over her shoulder as she walked toward the door.
She saw the green outfit first, and her hackles went up. Green always put her on the defensive. Just to be safe, she grabbed the retractable baton she kept near the front door, before flinging the door open.
The woman at her front door held her hands up and a little girl ran and hid behind her. "No, wait!" the woman yelled. "No, please! I'm not here to fight!"
Later, the two women sat at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in hand. The children sat on the floor, drawing. John had tried to get the little girl to play hero, but she was very shy, and wouldn't leave her mother.
The woman in green nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, she's his." She shook her head, put the mug down and rested her forehead in her palm. "Not that she knows him. He threw me out of the lair once he found out I was pregnant."
"Um, I didn't know you two were..."
"We weren't. Not really. It just kind of happened one night." She sighed. "It was late, you'd just led a GJ team to trash his latest take over the world scheme, we were at the emergency lair, and he... we... well, things just..."
"Happened?"
"Yeah. So, a few weeks pass, I start throwing up in the morning, I take a test and the rest is... well, kind of pathetic, actually."
"That must have been shortly before I left the field. Our kids look to be about the same age."
"Near as I can tell, it must have been. I didn't really keep up with what he was doing after that." The woman in green took another sip of her coffee. "I put a lot of money aside over the years, so when I got pregnant with her I just went into hiding. We've been living on a private island of mine for the past few years."
Across the table, the former teen hero stirred her coffee slowly. "So, you really don't know what happened to him after you left?"
"No. Why? Did he die or something?"
"No. But he is in a secure holding facility."
"Really? What made you finally lock him up somewhere he couldn't break out of?"
"He killed a bunch of people, during his last attempt at world domination."
The woman in green put her mug down hard, and some coffee sloshed over her hand onto the table. "No," she whispered, covering her mouth. "How..."
"As near as we could tell, it was an accident. He had some sort of doomsday device, and it was pointed at the north pole, or the moon or somewhere -I forget the actual plot at this point- and when he tried to activate it, it blew up." She looked down at her lap and sighed. "The shockwave alone wiped out most of a small town. Somehow, he managed to survive."
"He always does."
"Yeah. The thing was, I don't think he was ever prepared to deal with the fact that someone could get hurt. You remember how it used to be. You both made a bunch of noise about how evil you were, but I don't recall either of you ever hurting anyone. Hell, most of his henchmen were synthetic, so even when his labs blew up, there weren't any casualties." She looked away, suddenly sad. "If you could have seen him after... it was as though all the life had drained out of him. I saw him when they brought him in. They said he just knelt down and begged them to arrest him." She shook her head. "His mother came to visit once, just to tell him she never wanted to see him again. Now he just sits in his cell muttering to himself."
The two women were quiet for a long time, then the woman in green spoke.
"I've reconciled with my brothers."
"Really? That's wonderful! What made you...?"
She smiled, looking over at her daughter, then back at her one-time adversary. "It's hard to be selfish once you have them, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."
"Well, I realized that so much of what I'd been doing with him, had been done out of selfishness. My older brother had always tried to teach the rest of us the virtue of selflessness, but we never got it. Oh, I guess the twins did, but I know I sure didn't." She shrugged. "I get it now."
"So, you're..."
"Back doing the hero thing? Yeah. The thing is, there are warrants out for my arrest, which makes it kind of hard for very effective heroics."
Realization dawned in the other woman's eyes. "And you'd like me to make those warrants go away."
"No. No, I just want the chance to make up for so much of what I've done. I feel I can do a better job of that with my brothers than rotting in a cell." She looked up, eyes pleading. "I just need time. Time to prove how much I've changed. Can you convince your bosses to give me that?"
The former hero smiled at her old enemy. "Well, I do say I can do anything, right?" She extended her hand. "I'll do my best."
The woman in green shook it, a smile on her face. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
The other woman grinned wide. "Eh. No big."
She looked up from her paperwork and smiled at her 4-year-old son. This was his new favorite game. Ever since he found out Mommy used to be a globe-trotting teen hero, that was all he wanted to play. She slid the files into their folder and closed up her laptop. She could use a break from it, anyway. She'd moved from field work to analysis when she got pregnant with John, and she was very much looking forward to returning to it once he was in school. She'd take an elaborate deathtrap over mountains of case files any day, though working for a global organization still came with plenty of paperwork, even in the field. Sometimes she missed the days when a mission would start with a hit on her website and end with a heartfelt thanks.
She grinned. And, of course, her sidekick losing his pants.
"I wanna be your sidekick," her son said.
"Oh yeah?" she said, smiling down at him.
"Yeah," he beamed. "Like Daddy used to be."
She laughed. "Sure thing, sweetie. So, who are we fighting? Mad scientist? Monkey ninja? Crazed Scottish golfer?"
Before John could answer, there was a knock on the door.
"Hang on, sweetie. I'll be right back. You practice your moves, and, uh... try to keep your pants on." She grinned over her shoulder as she walked toward the door.
She saw the green outfit first, and her hackles went up. Green always put her on the defensive. Just to be safe, she grabbed the retractable baton she kept near the front door, before flinging the door open.
The woman at her front door held her hands up and a little girl ran and hid behind her. "No, wait!" the woman yelled. "No, please! I'm not here to fight!"
Later, the two women sat at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in hand. The children sat on the floor, drawing. John had tried to get the little girl to play hero, but she was very shy, and wouldn't leave her mother.
The woman in green nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, she's his." She shook her head, put the mug down and rested her forehead in her palm. "Not that she knows him. He threw me out of the lair once he found out I was pregnant."
"Um, I didn't know you two were..."
"We weren't. Not really. It just kind of happened one night." She sighed. "It was late, you'd just led a GJ team to trash his latest take over the world scheme, we were at the emergency lair, and he... we... well, things just..."
"Happened?"
"Yeah. So, a few weeks pass, I start throwing up in the morning, I take a test and the rest is... well, kind of pathetic, actually."
"That must have been shortly before I left the field. Our kids look to be about the same age."
"Near as I can tell, it must have been. I didn't really keep up with what he was doing after that." The woman in green took another sip of her coffee. "I put a lot of money aside over the years, so when I got pregnant with her I just went into hiding. We've been living on a private island of mine for the past few years."
Across the table, the former teen hero stirred her coffee slowly. "So, you really don't know what happened to him after you left?"
"No. Why? Did he die or something?"
"No. But he is in a secure holding facility."
"Really? What made you finally lock him up somewhere he couldn't break out of?"
"He killed a bunch of people, during his last attempt at world domination."
The woman in green put her mug down hard, and some coffee sloshed over her hand onto the table. "No," she whispered, covering her mouth. "How..."
"As near as we could tell, it was an accident. He had some sort of doomsday device, and it was pointed at the north pole, or the moon or somewhere -I forget the actual plot at this point- and when he tried to activate it, it blew up." She looked down at her lap and sighed. "The shockwave alone wiped out most of a small town. Somehow, he managed to survive."
"He always does."
"Yeah. The thing was, I don't think he was ever prepared to deal with the fact that someone could get hurt. You remember how it used to be. You both made a bunch of noise about how evil you were, but I don't recall either of you ever hurting anyone. Hell, most of his henchmen were synthetic, so even when his labs blew up, there weren't any casualties." She looked away, suddenly sad. "If you could have seen him after... it was as though all the life had drained out of him. I saw him when they brought him in. They said he just knelt down and begged them to arrest him." She shook her head. "His mother came to visit once, just to tell him she never wanted to see him again. Now he just sits in his cell muttering to himself."
The two women were quiet for a long time, then the woman in green spoke.
"I've reconciled with my brothers."
"Really? That's wonderful! What made you...?"
She smiled, looking over at her daughter, then back at her one-time adversary. "It's hard to be selfish once you have them, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."
"Well, I realized that so much of what I'd been doing with him, had been done out of selfishness. My older brother had always tried to teach the rest of us the virtue of selflessness, but we never got it. Oh, I guess the twins did, but I know I sure didn't." She shrugged. "I get it now."
"So, you're..."
"Back doing the hero thing? Yeah. The thing is, there are warrants out for my arrest, which makes it kind of hard for very effective heroics."
Realization dawned in the other woman's eyes. "And you'd like me to make those warrants go away."
"No. No, I just want the chance to make up for so much of what I've done. I feel I can do a better job of that with my brothers than rotting in a cell." She looked up, eyes pleading. "I just need time. Time to prove how much I've changed. Can you convince your bosses to give me that?"
The former hero smiled at her old enemy. "Well, I do say I can do anything, right?" She extended her hand. "I'll do my best."
The woman in green shook it, a smile on her face. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
The other woman grinned wide. "Eh. No big."
Thursday, November 17, 2005
The Gothic Quarter
The Gothic Quarter plays host to the city's supernatural residents. Vampires, zombies, werebeasts and magicians all make their homes there. Much of it was built in the waning days of the 19th century, though there have been modern additions over the years as the Quarter's notoriety grew along with its population. Everyone who lives in the Quarter has a story to tell, and most everyone's story is part of someone else's.
Alison Banta is a prostitute, a high-paid call girl who works exclusively in the Gothic Quarter of the city. Her clients are vampires, werebeasts, magicians and the occasional ghost. She refuses any and all zombie clients. Only steetcorner junkie hookers take zombie clients. She charges her vampires extra to drink from her, and takes a special charm as payment from one of her magicians. The charm protects her from the curse of vampirism, and prevents her more overzealous vampire clients from drinking too much.
Lena Shriver is Alison's roommate, and an earthbound ghost. When Lena died, she found herself with a karmic deficiency. She wasn't judged to be evil, and therefore was not damned, however, she was not pure enough to enter the afterlife. She has been charged with acting as a messenger between the otherworld and the living world, and delivers prophecies through psychics and mediums. Once those in charge of such things decide that she has paid her debt, she will be granted entry to the afterlife.
Roger Sandoval runs the most popular occult shop in the Gothic Quarter, and owns a coffee house and bar (The Wooden Stake) on the same street. He is a magician who has managed to retard his own aging. He has been active in the Quarter since the first World War, though he looks not a day over 40. He is one of Alison's favorite clients, and she is a regular customer at the coffee house and the bar.
Louis Eugene is a bookish wererat. No one likes him much, and he will come to cause much trouble in the Quarter before he is finally killed.
Steven Boykin is Roger Sandoval's latest apprentice. He works the counter at the coffee house, tends bar at The Wooden Stake and nurses a crush on Alison Banta. He is sweet, charming and the typical nice guy. As such, he barely registers on Alison's radar. Her feelings will change when she is in desperate need of a true friend, and discovers that Steven is the only one she has.
Archibald Whitlock is heir to the Whitlock fortune, and executive VP of Whitlock Enterprises, a multinational entertainment company. The Whitlocks own most of the real estate in the Quarter, and have been magicians for generations. Archibald has no use for magic, and seeks to gentrify the Quarter, making it more accessible to tourists and other normal people.
April Whitlock is Archibald's twin sister, and the most powerful witch born to her family in three generations. She is the President of Whitlock Publishing, and a member of the Whitlock Enterprises board of directors. As she also has controlling interest in the family's real estate holdings, she is one of the only people standing in the way of Archibald's gentrification plans. She is one of Alison's clients, a fact that will be revealed to her brother through the machinations of Louis Eugene.
Desmond Whitlock is the widowed father of Archibald and April. He is a devoted father, though blind to his son's more sinister nature. April is the apple of his eye, and he will shock everyone when he stands by her during a time of great public scandal.
Amelia Lyle is Alison Banta's birth mother, who will resurface in her daughter's life just as it seems about to end. She will come bearing many secrets, one of which could bring devastation to all Alison holds dear.
Deborah Rossiter is a reporter for City 6 news, and a vampire. She uncovers Archibald's secret plans for the Quarter, though possibly too late to save anyone, including herself.
Terrance Moorehead is also a vampire, and one of the original residents of the Quarter. He is kind and generous, though prone to fits of brooding melancholy.
Bobby Poland is a cop working the Quarter beat with the ghost of his dead partner.
Steve O'Neil is the ghost of Bobby Poland's partner. He must solve his own murder before he can pass on to the afterlife.
Joanna Wallin is the manager of The Wooden Stake, the bar owned by Roger Sandoval, and a powerful psychic. She receives prophecies and predictions from Lena Shriver, and passes them on to her customers.
Patrick Cardwell is a vampire magician, who has been quietly buying up real estate in the Quarter for decades. He is another obstacle to Archibald's plans, as Patrick owns the historical district of the Quarter. He is a contemporary of Terrance Moorehead, though the two are no longer speaking. A deadly threat to a mutual friend will end decades of pointless animosity between the two.
Lula Gabel is an immortal and former burlesque dancer. She is a regular at The Wooden Stake, and is never seen sober. She saw more than she should have during the vampire gang wars of the 1920s, and has been trying to drink the memory away ever since. Though immortal and ageless, she's been drunk for the past 80 years and it's beginning to show.
All of these people will meet at one time or another, some as enemies, some as friends and others merely as passing acquaintances. But all will have lasting effect on the fate of the Quarter itself, and the Quarter will guide their destinies as well. Some will live, some will die...
And a few will pray for death before the end.
Alison Banta is a prostitute, a high-paid call girl who works exclusively in the Gothic Quarter of the city. Her clients are vampires, werebeasts, magicians and the occasional ghost. She refuses any and all zombie clients. Only steetcorner junkie hookers take zombie clients. She charges her vampires extra to drink from her, and takes a special charm as payment from one of her magicians. The charm protects her from the curse of vampirism, and prevents her more overzealous vampire clients from drinking too much.
Lena Shriver is Alison's roommate, and an earthbound ghost. When Lena died, she found herself with a karmic deficiency. She wasn't judged to be evil, and therefore was not damned, however, she was not pure enough to enter the afterlife. She has been charged with acting as a messenger between the otherworld and the living world, and delivers prophecies through psychics and mediums. Once those in charge of such things decide that she has paid her debt, she will be granted entry to the afterlife.
Roger Sandoval runs the most popular occult shop in the Gothic Quarter, and owns a coffee house and bar (The Wooden Stake) on the same street. He is a magician who has managed to retard his own aging. He has been active in the Quarter since the first World War, though he looks not a day over 40. He is one of Alison's favorite clients, and she is a regular customer at the coffee house and the bar.
Louis Eugene is a bookish wererat. No one likes him much, and he will come to cause much trouble in the Quarter before he is finally killed.
Steven Boykin is Roger Sandoval's latest apprentice. He works the counter at the coffee house, tends bar at The Wooden Stake and nurses a crush on Alison Banta. He is sweet, charming and the typical nice guy. As such, he barely registers on Alison's radar. Her feelings will change when she is in desperate need of a true friend, and discovers that Steven is the only one she has.
Archibald Whitlock is heir to the Whitlock fortune, and executive VP of Whitlock Enterprises, a multinational entertainment company. The Whitlocks own most of the real estate in the Quarter, and have been magicians for generations. Archibald has no use for magic, and seeks to gentrify the Quarter, making it more accessible to tourists and other normal people.
April Whitlock is Archibald's twin sister, and the most powerful witch born to her family in three generations. She is the President of Whitlock Publishing, and a member of the Whitlock Enterprises board of directors. As she also has controlling interest in the family's real estate holdings, she is one of the only people standing in the way of Archibald's gentrification plans. She is one of Alison's clients, a fact that will be revealed to her brother through the machinations of Louis Eugene.
Desmond Whitlock is the widowed father of Archibald and April. He is a devoted father, though blind to his son's more sinister nature. April is the apple of his eye, and he will shock everyone when he stands by her during a time of great public scandal.
Amelia Lyle is Alison Banta's birth mother, who will resurface in her daughter's life just as it seems about to end. She will come bearing many secrets, one of which could bring devastation to all Alison holds dear.
Deborah Rossiter is a reporter for City 6 news, and a vampire. She uncovers Archibald's secret plans for the Quarter, though possibly too late to save anyone, including herself.
Terrance Moorehead is also a vampire, and one of the original residents of the Quarter. He is kind and generous, though prone to fits of brooding melancholy.
Bobby Poland is a cop working the Quarter beat with the ghost of his dead partner.
Steve O'Neil is the ghost of Bobby Poland's partner. He must solve his own murder before he can pass on to the afterlife.
Joanna Wallin is the manager of The Wooden Stake, the bar owned by Roger Sandoval, and a powerful psychic. She receives prophecies and predictions from Lena Shriver, and passes them on to her customers.
Patrick Cardwell is a vampire magician, who has been quietly buying up real estate in the Quarter for decades. He is another obstacle to Archibald's plans, as Patrick owns the historical district of the Quarter. He is a contemporary of Terrance Moorehead, though the two are no longer speaking. A deadly threat to a mutual friend will end decades of pointless animosity between the two.
Lula Gabel is an immortal and former burlesque dancer. She is a regular at The Wooden Stake, and is never seen sober. She saw more than she should have during the vampire gang wars of the 1920s, and has been trying to drink the memory away ever since. Though immortal and ageless, she's been drunk for the past 80 years and it's beginning to show.
All of these people will meet at one time or another, some as enemies, some as friends and others merely as passing acquaintances. But all will have lasting effect on the fate of the Quarter itself, and the Quarter will guide their destinies as well. Some will live, some will die...
And a few will pray for death before the end.
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