The Blood-soaked Masquerade by

by Martin J. Manco

One night, when the moon was hidden behind dark clouds, the Defenders of the Dawn, a group of talented and successful vampire hunters, gathered outside the elaborate estate hosting the grand masquerade of a particularly wealthy Marquis. This mysterious figure, a long-lost heir to a nearly forgotten family, supposedly, was possessed of incredible wealth that had drawn many fallen nobles, pleasure-seekers, and avid merchants to his banner. It was rumored that even members of the royal families of the surrounding nations were in attendance this evening, mixed in the crowd of masked and costumed entertainers and other guests.

The Defenders had also received an invitation, which was suspicious, since they were not from particularly lofty heights of society, nor was their mission, to rid the world of the undead and their minions, widely known. They had just come back from investigating reports of lycanthropes in Southern Germany when the letter arrived. It was written in blood, and though dry, it seemed unnaturally gleaming and bright, almost as if it was impossibly fresh. To my recent foes,

Know that I bear you no particular ill will for our confrontation three years ago. In fact, it was your harsh actions that enabled me to gain my current position of influence. When you are finished dealing with those Bavarian mongrels (and I do hope you bathe thoroughly, afterwards), I would be delighted if you could attend the masquerade one of my minions has arranged. I promise you, however, that by my honor... and my loathing of you and all your simpleminded, simpering kind, that I shall be the only enemy you shall face there. If you can destroy me, then you will have thwarted centuries of my plans... and finished your own botched job last time. Should you fail to find me by the Witching Hour... well, then I shall have removed one less obstacle. See you soon, and remember... wear masks.

Sincerely, The Black Beast of Belgrade

The Defenders of the Dawn were nervous. They had fought the Black Beast throughout the streets and surrounding countryside, and had lost several of their friends and allies to the creature's unspeakable thirst, tremendous strength, impossible speed, ability to shrug off common charms and banes as well as conventional damage, leathery wings, savage claws and fangs, and dominating gaze. The Defenders had only managed to defeat the creature with a tricky set up of mirrors as the Sun rose, blasting the vampire to ash that drifted away on the

wind. If the creature had somehow survived that, then this might be their last chance to rid the world of its existence.

"Remember," said their leader, a black-haired, bearded man with tired bronze eyes, who, in order to keep his family safe, called himself, Metatron. "If the creature means to keep to the rules of its game, we have until the very end of Mid-night to find it and destroy it. Each of us has a potent relic, which should be enough to finally send the creature from this world. Gabriel," he said, pointing to the red-haired young man with the bandage on his arm. "You were bitten by one of the wolf-men, but the weather has hidden the moon, keeping you from changing ... if need be, you must use your senses to track down the Beast, and you are armed with enough black powder to destroy this whole mansion ... use it if you feel the animal within trying to come out ... our sacrifice might be the only thing to destroy the creature once and for all. Michael ..." He turned to the shorter, blonde man with blue-green eyes, "Scout the grounds ... it might be outdoors. Uriel ..." He now switched his attention to the man rescued from Darkest Africa, "... you must speak with the servants, and see if they are willing to give us any information on the Beast or its identity here. Raphael ..." His eyes now went to the blonde woman, "... we saved you from the river test because your charms might be useful to us ... use them now, but be careful not to endanger us with your corrupt power. And Azrael ..." His attention now went to the last member of the party, a slim woman from the far East. "Be ready with the horses. We might have to escape quickly if he turns his minions against us. I will explore the main rooms, the basement, and the upper floors for the creature's lair. Agreed?"

They all nodded, put on their masks (a lion for Metraton, a wolf for Gabriel, a shark for Michael, a jackal for Uriel, a cat for Raphael, and an owl for Azrael), and split up.

Upon entering at seven, Metatron was astonished to see many of the richly-garbed party guests bowing to him, seemingly seriously, though it was difficult to tell, with all the elaborate masks. He was frequently stopped, and greeted as "My lord," and was utterly bewildered and horrified to find a vast portrait above the double stairs, featuring him, dripping in finery to suit a prince! He turned to ask what was the meaning of this mockery, only to have the band begin a majestic waltz, and suddenly all of the guests were too busy whirling about the ballroom floor to answer his questions.

It was then that he glimpsed a beautiful young woman, dressed in scarlet, with a dark mask fashioned like a bat perched above a pert little nose, flashing him a beautiful, close-mouthed smile on crimson lips ... which he was suddenly certain hid fangs. He plunged into the crowd, but found himself dizzy and bewildered. He soon lost sight of her, and escaped outside to catch his breath ... just in time to hear a scream from the stables! Dashing towards the wooden

lady of intriguing personas & exquisite time-honored talents

I’d hoped to interview the busy re-enactor, historian, and artisan, but caught her just as she was embarking on a well-deserved vacation. Here are a few of the questions I wished to pose to her, specifically regarding her historical persona Marye Bucke and her budding Perrin Cottage Perfumery. Visit her sites to find the answers on your own, and enjoy bringing the past to elegant life.

as Marye Bucke

• What exactly is a Living Historian • How has your background in Archeology, Education and Rare Books Librarian sciences directed your interests and path? • Why Marye Bucke, specifically? • How did you go about emobodying Miss Bucke? Was it difficult to find historically accurate materials for your costume? Is there a certain style of speech or accent you adopt? • Where do you portray Marye? • Do you ever find you lose yourself in the role? • What is the general response from audiences -- especially children? • What have you learned about yourself through portraying Marye?

• What do you enjoy most about the experience? • Have you changed your presentation at all over the years? Has any new information about Marye or life in her time come to light? • Are there any other personas you'd like to adopt going forward? • Do you have any advice for people considering either becoming a Living Historian or re-enactor?

Perrin Cottage Perfumery

• When did you notice you had a keen interest in perfume • What have been your favorite perfumes throughout your life? • What was the first scent you created? And how successful was the finished product? • Can you tell us some of the steps involved in making perfume? • How have perfumes evolved over the centuries? • What distinguishing Perrin Cottage from other perfume companies? • What is the most enjoyable part of the process for you? (I have a feeling coming up with the names would be my favorite) • What scents are you currently working on? • I notice you teach classes. What can participants expect at your events? • Any do's or dont's on applying and wearing perfume?

[continued from p. 67] lovely, their manners impeccable. It was the chaperone who caught his attention. She was wearing a deep garnet colored dress of a very smooth wool. Her hat perched maturely on her very serious chaperone hairdo.

She sat slightly to the back so that her two young charges could be shown off to the best of their abilities. She actually read a book, glasses perched on her nose—Plato by Socrates. Could she be a bluestocking, right here in his formal sitting room. The chattering young ladies indicated that they were in a group of six and that he would meet the rest of them in the next several days. They talked for a whole hour, but what they said simply did not lodge in his brain; he, instead, had watched the chaperone read her book.

He decided he should be an actor on the stage at that announcement of having more chattering visitors. He actually smiled, convincing them that he really cared about having his afternoon consumed by chattering females rather than to spend time reading in the library. His eyes moved to the chaperone. She would be back. For time with her, he would tolerate chattering ninnies. Her smile was slight, the humor of his response was locked in her eyes. She had the bluest eyes, ringed with sooty lashes and eyebrows that looked like a raven's wing. Her glasses did not hide her eyes—they seemed to make them larger. She broke the gaze by looking back to her charges.

His grandmother watched her grandson. He was taking the bait. She would bring the chaperone and her charges two at a time to meet her grandson. Grandmother didn't care about the flighty children. She was parading Lady Catherine Elaine before him. She had reached the morbidly ancient age of twenty six without receiving any offer of marriage. Therefore, she was officially on the shelf and off the market for marriage. Lady Elaine had always been too smart for her own good. She'd had a difficult time tolerating dandies and putting up with conversations with gentlemen who thought she could think no further than counting embroidery stitches. Grandmother thought that idea was insane— that Lady Elaine was too old—but she would sure use it to get Ian's attention and make him think all of this was his idea.

All-in-all, he had met six debutantes and he was appalled that their parents would consider him a match for these infantile females that were on the marriage mart. When he was nineteen and had first laid eyes on Julianna, he wasn't at all upset. He was as much a child as she. They were considered adults but now he knew just haw young they had really been.

Lady Elaine was entirely a different matter; when he spoke of books he was reading, he saw her eyes sparkle with interest. She would speak, instructionally, to one of her charges in hopes of helping her to understand what he was talking about. On her final visit with her young charges, he made a bold move. As the chattering pair was allowed to move to the carriage, he detained Lady Elaine.

“Would you return tomorrow for tea?” he asked. Her eyes grew quite large. “I will invite Grandmother if it makes you more comfortable,” he added. His face was so earnest. He had been so patient with the six debutantes. She smiled and nodded.

“I'd love to have tea with you tomorrow.” She turned, walking with a quiet elegance to the carriage. He closed the door, quite satisfied with himself that she had accepted. He planned to enjoy an afternoon of conversation about good books and whatever else he could think of to entertain the lady....

structure, he looked inside, only to find Azrael, crushed and trampled by the very horses she should've been readying! Her body was twisted and bludgeoned to death by the hooves of the panicking, screaming animals. Something ... perhaps a masked maiden in red ... had spooked them and led to the death of another member of his Defenders. Murmuring a quick prayer, Metatron swore he would make the vampire pay, and swiftly set off, now worried that their escape route had been compromised.

When the clock struck eight, Metatron had searched the entire first floor and moved to the second, ascending the steps and heading down candlelit corridors lined by doors behind which the party guests made sounds that hinted at their cavorting and illicit activities. When he looked inside, searching for the woman, many of them even invited him to join them, as if he were an old friend, despite his sneers of disgust and hurried exits.

He found Raphael at the end of the hallway, whispering, "the spells indicate the Beast is behind this door ... should we try to take it together?"

Metatron nodded, saying "We have already lost Azrael. Perhaps together we can prevail."

They kicked in the door and stalked in, seeing the woman in the revealing red gown facing a window ... which showed no reflection in the rainspeckled glass as the storm raged outside.

"We have you, monster! Now you die for good," cried Azrael, as she readied a hex at the woman ... only to have it flicker and die in her hands.

"My dear," said the woman with a richly accented voice. "I am protected from your spells ... I wonder if you are so resistant to mine?"

With a wave of her hands the windows opened, and bolts of lightning blazed across the room, straight towards the two Defenders! Metatron readied himself for burning death ... only to find that a blinding flash of light surrounded him ...

... and suddenly, he was in the dark! He stumbled around, eventually finding a torch and lighting it ... and saw that he was in the basement!

"Raphael ... she must have sent me to safety with her last breath ... I will avenge her, since such dark magic surely stained her soul as she died," he murmured, trudging through the dungeons and storage rooms below the manor.

Strangely, he found no coffins ... or rather, he found one, clearly unused, without the grave dirt inside that formed the resting place of so many vampires. How could this be?

Above, he heard the clock strike nine. He made his way into one of the storage rooms, and found a gilded sarcophagus, the lid slightly ajar. Pushing it back, he recoiled at the sight within ... for Uriel had been savagely treated, and lay, dead, with his lungs, stomach, liver, and intestines stuffed inside clay jars, his brain removed, and his body wrapped in bandages.

"Sacrilege!" howled Metatron, backing away from the corpse, and rushing towards the stairs. He had already lost half of his team, and he was no closer to defeating the Beast.

He began to search for others, but as the clock chimed ten he still was no closer to finding the remaining Defenders. He headed outside, seeking Michael, only to find his teammate laying facedown in the reflective lily pond. He sorrowfully turned the body over, only to have something grab his wrist! He pulled back, seeing a tentacled creature tangled around Michael's corpse, and staggered away from the pond before he joined the younger man. He had to find Gabriel and hope that the explosives might be able to destroy the Beast and this entire, accursed land, no matter the loss of life that

would involve. The people inside were but unrepentant sinners, and their lives and souls were already doomed. They would be no great loss to the world.

He was searching the top floor around eleven when he heard scrambling on the roof. Hurrying to one of the opening windows, he climbed up, grappling with the siding and roof tiles, and finally pulling himself up, to see the red-draped woman, with bat wings flapping in the night air as she hovered, mockingly facing Gabriel. The Defender was armed to the teeth and ready to use flint to spark one of his more vicious weapons, when the lady spoke.

"Do you need a light? Allow me to provide it." With a wave of her pallid, elbow-length gloved arm, the clouds rumbled and rolled back, shedding moonlight ... full moonlight ... down on the roof.

Metatron watched in horror as his former friend's face twisted into a slavering mask, body warping and hair spreading, nails and teeth growing long and sharp, and eyes turning a wild gold. Tossing aside the wolf mask that now mirrored his real face, the animal that had been Gabriel let out a soul-rending howl, and leapt to the ground, rushing off into the forest ... along with the remains of the black powder. Metatron whirled to try and attack the winged woman, but she was nowhere to be seen, having flown off while he'd watched his last comrade's transformation. Now he was alone ... and the duty of completing the mission fell on him. He would not let his comrades' spirits down.

Midnight came and passed as he searched the mansion for some sign of the masked woman. Often she would appear at the end of a hall, only to vanish behind a corner, or to sift through the crowd as if they weren't there. Fortunately, more and more of the revelers retreated to their beds (or other people's beds), and the moving obstacles began to thin out. As darkness fell over the house, and the Witching Hour approached, even the servants disappeared, leaving Metatron alone, in the dark.

With ten minutes to spare before one, he paced in the ballroom, freezing when he sensed a presence behind him. He spun, seeing the batmasked woman step onto the marble floor ... and sprang at her, pressing the amulet holding the hand of St. Cyprian of Antioch, Patron Saint of Occultists, against her bare throat!

He'd expected sizzling flesh, melting hair, and hideous cries of agony as the holy relic touched her profane skin. He wasn't expecting her to laugh at him.

"My dear fellow, that simply will not work on me. Quite frankly, this body is not sullied by the sins you so bemoan, and is quite immune to your little tricks. And you will curse yourself for a fool when you finally figure out why. But first, let me introduce you to your new friends."

She gestured a gloved arm, seemingly ignoring the fist wrapped around her throat, as she gestured several figures lurking in the shadows forward. One was a loping beast, lupine jaws snarling at Metatron from on top of a naked, manlike body. Another was a twitching creature, dripping water with limbs that contorted and flexed like the very sea beast that had killed its body and faint scales and fins emerging across its face. A third was a shambling, bandaged creature, draped in gold and gems, and smelling of brine. A fourth was very much alive, her blonde hair tangled and wild, her