Blood Wars [Chapter 1: Snowflakes]

~~*~~Chapter 1~~*~~







SNOW FELL FROM the soft, gray sky in millions of tiny flakes; each one perfect, each one unique.
         It was hard for Matthew to watch this phenomenon. The perfection was not unlike his own, but the individuality, much different than he. He kicked at the small snow drifts cumulating on the cobblestone walkways that spider-webbed through London. He looked up at the sky, slowly shifting to a darker hue as the sun set. The snow stuck to his long, black lashes and to his equally dark hair. He let out a deep breath. The temperature was -14 degrees Celsius, but his breath did not produce a cloud of smoke.




         "Here," Matthew spoke as he dropped a black bag into the boy's gloved hand.
"For a Christmas present." The boy stared at him in thankful wonder. The boy and his family sat on the porch steps of a vacant apartment building begging for spare change and hoping for generosity; then this hansom, finely clothed man comes and gives them a black velvet bag that clinked happily as he dropped it. The boy pulled it open to see at least 30 silver coins, He gasped and lifted his head to thank Matthew for his generosity, but he was already gone.
         Matthew walked silently and alone through the snow and slush. He knew he would not be alone long, though; it was only a matter of time before---
         "Matthew!"
He spun around to see Cathrine standing close behind him, causing him to take an automatic step back.
         "Matthew," she repeated. "What on earth was that about?" she questioned, lifting one delicately arched eyebrow. A curl of auburn hair hung across her forehead, escaping from her headband. This gave her the look of one who had been running and did not have time to make one's self presentable; which was exactly the case.
         "They were a poor and deserving family," he replied coolly. "They needed the money."
         "Oh, really? Well, I wouldn't give them a cent if I were you. All they deserve is to die, if you ask me."
         "I didn't exactly ask you."
         Cathrine went on, ignoring him. "They will probably spend all that money on alcohol, or--- or gamble it all away!"
         Matthew rolled his dark eyes. "They were a family of five, Cathrine, they can't afford to 'gamble it all away!'"
         "Sure. Just waste your money on the worthless humans! What do they need it for any way?"
         "I don't know? Maybe-- um, FOOD?!" Matthew replied, his patience with Cathrine wearing thin.
         "Why buy food?"
         "Because, they don't always kill their won food the way we do." He shivered to himself.
         Cathrine shrugged indifferently. "They shouldn't buy their food. It's just stupid."
         "If they don't, they'll die, Cathrine. For humans it is quite necessary to eat often."
         "Well, maybe they should die anyways. All they are good for is destroying the planet and killing things. All those poor, adorable pigs and chickens being pluck and beheaded! It's horrible!" she exclaimed.
         Matthew rolled his eyes. "And what we do is much more appropriate?"
         "I see what she means, Matthew," a different voice spoke from Matthew's left side, startling him again.
         "Bloody hell, Grace! You scared me!" he exclaimed. "it is quite difficult to keep my composure with you two popping up out of no where like that." he mumbled, irritated.
         "Well," Grace went on, undisturbed by Matthew's grumbling. "Humans kill animals not always for food. They are wasteful creatures, and no one ever complains about them killing."
         "Ha! Except vegetarians," Matthew countered.
         "Yes, but we aren't vegetarians," Cathrine spoke smugly.
         Matthew sulked, "If only!"
         Grace patted him on the shoulder, comfortingly.
         Cathrine, of course, only rolled her eyes.

         When the trio had finally made it to the small café, Grace sighed. They had been walking in silence the rest of the way, and Grace, one who always felt obligated to fill a silence with conversation, began to feel uneasy. This was not true for her companions. Matthew, who was still thinking of the conversation that had just taken place, needed the silence to sort out his jumbled thoughts. And Cathrine, still irritated with both Matthew and Grace, did not want to talk to either.
         When they walked into the cramped café, an assortment of smells wafted around them; the smell of freshly ground coffee, of chocolate, of sugar and cakes being baked. It was heavenly. The three inhaled deeply. Matthew smiled and pulled a chair out from a small round table for Grace. He turned to pull one out for Cathrine as well, but she was already seated. He sat down himself and took off his hat as a short, young woman walked over and asked them for their orders.
         "Coffee. Black preferably," Matthew answered, still preoccupied with his thoughts.
         "Hot chocolate, please!" Grace replied enthusiastically.
         "A cappuccino," Cathrine answered stolidly.
         "I'll be right back with your orders," the woman informed them uneasily after Cathrine's cold reply.
         Matthew rolled his eyes. "Was that really necessary?" he questioned.
         "What?" Cathrine replied innocently.
         "You know what. You frightened that poor girl nearly to tears. If you cared even a rat's ass about other people you might have noticed." His usually warm and inviting voice turned as cold as the winter air outside as he reprimanded her. Cathrine folded her arms across her chest defiantly and looked away. Grace sighed. Sh didn't know what to say about that.
         It was a universally known fact, kind of like two plus two equals four, or zebras are black and white, that Cathrine didn't really care much about anyone. No one usually asked her for advice because she would usually do one of three things:
1.Give her honest opinion. (An opinion that was usually rather cold and heartless.)'
2.Reply with some extremely sarcastic answer.
Or 3. Ignore you altogether.
         And no one ever bothered asking her about how she was doing or how she felt. Most people were just too afraid of her even to ask, while the few who weren't afraid knew her well enough to know she would either not tell them of reply coldly, "Fine." or, "Why on earth do you care?"
         No one really understood why she was this way. Rumors flew around that she was tortured as a child or ignored. Or that she had inherited her frigid personality from her parents.
         But then another mystery was presented; no one knew who her parents were. Of course, Cathrine herself told no one, so the question was entirely open for debate. (Which Cathrine, most dutifully, ignored.)
         Most believe they were killed in a previous war. But few more imaginative beings suggested that she ran away from her home or was left at Madame Isabella's doorstep as a babe.
         And then there were the stories intertwined with legends: That her parents were human and she was cast away because of her thirst for blood, thought of as a demon. Whoever her parents were and what ever the reason for her icy behavior, one thing was certain: Cathrine was the coldest vampire ever known.
         Grace stared at Cathrine's expressionless face. Grace had never told anyone, but she held a sort of respect for Cathrine. She was mature and quiet and reserved, things Grace would never be. She also worried about her. Grace and Cathrine were quite close. Though, to those who weren't in the know, it would seem that Cathrine despised Grace and that Grace didn't want much to do with her. But the truth of the matter was that hey were practically family. Matthew was part of the odd family as well.
         In fact, most would call them "ter imparis amicitiae" or "the three odd friends". Which was true. They all seemed to be polar opposites. And this assumption was never more apparent than at this moment in the café.
         Grace sat, quietly, and fidgeted in her seat every few seconds.
         Matthew sat quietly as well, staring off into space and contemplated the latest events.
         And Cathrine sat like a marble statue, though probably colder, and tapped on the wooden table with her long red fingernails.
         The woman came soon enough with their drinks, and Matthew thanked her with a suddenly warm smile. She seemed to pause in her steps for a moment, awestruck by this man's appearance.
         His face was pale, as pale as the porcelain coffee mug she handed to him. His black hair fell loosely around his face, mimicking his long black eyelashes that dripped slightly with melted snow. And last, but most shocking of all, were his eyes. From far away one might think they were  just an ordinary shade of brown, but from the close distance  by which the woman was observing him, she could quite clearly see their true color; a deep burgundy color. Somewhat like an aged red wine, or antique velvet on a wooden chair. A color that was as beautiful as it was menacing.
         The woman stood for a moment, bewitched, when a man standing next to the imposing coffee roaster, a monstrous thing that more closely resemble the belly of a dragon or a train engine than a useful cooking utensil, called her name.
         "Isadore, stop conversing wit' the customers and give me a 'and with tis coffee!"He said in a thick English accent.
         She turned, breaking the trance, and walked toward him silently.
         Matthew rested his head in his hand in a pitiful but thoughtful gesture.
         He put several pounds more than was necessary to pay for the drinks on the table, then stood. His mug was mostly full, for he had taken only a few sips of coffee. Grace looked at him pleadingly; she wasn't ready to leave her hot chocolate. Cathrine gulped down the remains of her piping hot cappuccino, too quickly to have enjoyed it, and stood as well.
         "Come, Grace. We haven't got all day. Madame will be expecting us in a quarter hour."
         Grace frowned and took one last gulp of her hot chocolate and stood, still fuming.
         Matthew chuckled at Grace's obvious hesitation to leaving her drink.
As they began to make their way out the door, Isadore called, "Leaving so soon?"
         Matthew turned and smiled. "Yes. We have somewhere we must be. The coffee was exquisite by the way." He donned his hat and smiled. Isadore smiled back sheepishly as they left without another word.
         They walked along down the sidewalk in silence until Grace's contagious laughter broke it. Matthew and Cathrine turned to her in confusion. When Grace had managed to control her giggles to where she could see their puzzled faces, she explained her outburst.
         "Good lord, Matthew! Do you unconsciously pray on unsuspecting women, or is it a hobby of yours?!" At this Cathrine joined Grace in a new bout of hysterics, and Matthew walking on, cursing his friends under his breath.
         Grace and Cathrine caught up to Matthew, still trying to suppress the giggles. Grace put her hand on his shoulder for forgiveness, but he only shook it off.
         "Oh, come Matthew! You mustn't hold grudges. It is most unfashionable!" She said, in a matronly way. "We were only joking!" She added in a final attempt to satisfy him.
         Matthew stopped in his tracks, causing Grace to bump into him. She took a step back.
         Matthew slowly turned on his heel and stared back at the now solemn girls. His burgundy eyes were flaming.
         "Joking you say? Ha. I find that funny," he said in a way that made it clear that he did not find it funny at all. "Let's all just joke about every bloody thing we cannot control and pretend we weren't just dangerously close to killing someone!" His voice rose from an intense whisper to a roar that echoed down the barren street. Grace and Cathrine stood dumbfounded at Matthew's statement. He hardly ever rose his voice to them, to anyone for that matter. But this was not just some teasing thing that he was irritated about. No, this was what he was thinking about all that time in the café. About his appearance, about who and what he was. About how dangerous it was to be in such a confined space with such fragile people...
         "Matthew, I understand how you are feeling," Cathrine broke the heavy silence with her calm, velvet voice.
         Now a wave of confusion washed over Grace and Matthew. Cathrine understands how someone feels?

         Impossible

         "I know you hate being this dangerous creature you are, that is your personality," she continued. "But you have to find a balance. You can't keep hating yourself for what you are. You had no choice in fate. Loathing yourself will only amount to pain and suffering, and that will help absolutely no one. Control is something we all strive to have, and for some it comes easily. But that dose not mean it comes over night. What you are cannot be ignored or feared, but it can be maintained. Stop trying to suppress it or you will explode. Embrace your power with ever bit of strength you have; control it. And yelling at others about it will not help either," she added.
         Matthew and Grace stood in awe at Cathrine's sudden bout of wisdom. This wasn't the Cathrine they knew. The Cathrine they knew would have just ignored Matthew's roaring and moved on with her life. This new, caring Cathrine was foreign to them.
         Matthew's flaming eyes softened, and he hung his head.
         "I suppose you are right. It wasn't fair for me to yell at you like that. I apologize." Grace, quickly forgiving as ever, smiled widely. He turned his gaze to Cathrine, who half-smiled and began to walk down the street.
         Matthew and Grace stood silently for a moment, still not believing what had just taken place. The snow fell from the gray sky, sprinkling Graces fire-hued hair and caught on Matthew's lashes once more.
         Grace out and held Matthew's hand in a comforting gesture. Matthew squeezed the offered hand and let go, and walked after Cathrine with Grace close behind.