19. Amber Hart
Content warning: Ritual human sacrifice. Skip this chapter if you don't want to read about that - everything that follows will still make sense.
The Dominguez... compound, perhaps? The property that has caused so much trouble, it turns out, is not just one building. It's a complex of several large apartment buildings, built around a small courtyard with a green space. In the center of that courtyard is what looks like a very small church, a cross above the door and several carvings on the outside of the walls depicting religious scenes. But as Amber approaches closer to the entrance, she can see that several of them are... wrong. The Virgin Mary, for one, probably wasn't displaying that much cleavage, nor were the Romans at the crucifixion wearing 16th-century breastplates and helms. Nor was Mary crushing the hearts of one of them in her hand. The place is bustling despite the late hour. Children play and adults talk in the courtyard, all of them clearly of Hispanic descent with various intensities of native blood. Seems everyone living here nocturnal. There are several people casually near the entrance to the little compound, encircled by a chest-high brick wall except for a wrought-iron gate, and their eyes watch Amber cautiously. No one here is a vampire, but they're most certainly dangerous. Amber can smell the gun oil in the air, and one of the men approaches her as she draws near. "Excuse me, are you lost, senora?" He asks politely, but making it clear she's not unwelcome.
"Amber Hart," she introduces herself, doing her best to seem unconcerned with the guns and their owners entirely willing to use them. Being shot doesn't quite worry her in the same way it used to. Still not a good thing, but less... final. Her manner of dress is significantly less formal than it was for meeting with Lord Wyndham - she's changed back to her usual, a tank-top and jeans, though she has made a concession to the chill by adding a sweater over the top. It still shows off her ample assets, and doesn't get the question "aren't you cold" nearly as frequently. "I am expected."
He blinks and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. Immediately the man's entire demeanor changes, respect flavored with just a bit of fear. "Of course, Senora Hart. My apologies." He bows his head deeply. "La Santa Dominguez has told us to expect you. Welcome to El Templo de Dona Renacimiento." He opens the gate for Amber hurriedly and actually bows to her when she passes through it. "La Santa would ask you attend the service, after which she will hear your news, if you would follow me?" He turns and walks, assuming Amber will follow him. Not out of disrespect for her, no. He genuinely can't seem to imagine someone disregarding a command from Dona Dominguez.
"Thank you," she nods and follows. A church service? Unusual, but she's not one to argue with an elder without good cause. She follows along, attempting to drink in everything around her without seeming to look away from their path. The Dona is worshiped here? It certainly seems like it. Siveri's words echo strangely in this place - it's a heavy responsibility Dominiquez has taken on, being the queen for so many.
The inside of the little church is perfectly normal - a Catholic church with wooden pews and more of that subtly wrong art adorning the walls. But they don't stop in that church. He takes Amber behind a tapestry depicting the Virgin Mary drinking the blood of Christ. She stands directly under the Cross, wooden cup angled to catch the crimson product of his suffering.
A hidden panel moves aside slowly and stairs lead down into darkness sporadically lit by small bulbs attached to the stone walls. Amber can see perfectly, of course, and moreover she can smell. Blood, decades and decades of it, has been spilled down there. So much that the stone itself smells of the blood that has impregnated it. Her escort bows his head in silent respect or perhaps prayer and leads the way down. Of course there's secret blood-catacombs beneath the secret vampire-temple in the middle of the city. Why wouldn't there be? Amber is shocked. Shocked, definitely. Ok, not that shocked. It was probably easier to keep secret in the old days, before things like structural inspections and property tax assessments. But even now she could keep a secret like this, if she wanted to. She doesn't want to, but she could. Lacking anything to do with her disbelief other than go along with the experience, she remains silent.
"Senora Hart, you may wish to undress for the service." Her escort says quietly as they descend. "We can provide a robe, though some prefer to approach La Santa as Eve. Clothes do not survive unstained." She gets the feeling that he probably wasn't supposed to warn her about this, but feels it would be wrong to just let her wander in completely unprepared.
That she was not expecting, and she nearly trips over her own feet - a bad idea on a long stairway - but catches herself, the only evidence of the misstep being a scuffing sound and break in the cadence of her footsteps. "I appreciate the warning." She takes off her top as they continue to descend, folding the sweater and tank top under one arm. Shoes and pants will have to wait until they stop. "I'll take the robe, thank you."
"Your belongings will be guarded." He promises solemnly. They reach a little side room and the man takes Amber's clothes and hands her an ankle-length robe of black cloth, changing into a grey one for himself. The robe fits surprisingly well, almost flattering in its cut. Amber's escort seems to feel no shame in changing in front of her, though she can detect a glance or two at her while she changes.
Good to know these people are still possessed of human weakness. She doesn't mind the snuck glances, and a little quirk of her lips lets them know she noticed and appreciates the attention. Unlikely to lead anywhere, but she does look damned good without her clothes on, and it's pleasant to know they realize it.
Once dressed, the two continue down and the stairs finally end, opening up on a candlelit room. The walls are absolutely lined with candles at their base, making the room bright enough for even weak human perception to handle easily. The melted wax is deep enough that Amber could likely walk on it safely. The floor is no longer stone, but... Something else. It takes a moment before Amber realizes it's stone mixed with bone. The walls are similarly lined with bones, like the catacombs under Paris. The texture is smooth under her feet, no skulls here, but she can feel the curve of ribs, the lines of demurs and ulnas and radia. Pews line the hall here again, and an altar of black stone sits down the center of a long aisle between them. The pews are filled with men, women, and adolescent children, most in white or grey robes. Past the altar is a pitch-dark passage cut into the wall. The altar and the ground around are stained dark crimson and brown with the ancient stains of bloodshed.
Amber falls back on the most basic of vampiric knacks, stillness, allowing her face to fall completely blank. This is not the time for a human notions of creepiness to show, and so, they don't. Descendants of a dead "saint," she looks around at the faces of those gathered - those she can see, rather than the back of unrevealing backs of hoods, refusing to let a shudder show. They are a strange crew. Mostly Hispanic, with a smattering of other ethnicities- presumably people marrying into the family. There must be fifty-ish of them here, and sure enough several are nude, unremarked among this crowd. The quiet, but excited, murmur is like white noise washing over Amber's perceptions, though she can pick out individual statements with just a bit of focus.
Amber's escort places a hand on her shoulder. "Your place of honor is in the front row, Senora." He murmurs, leading her there gently. As they pass the pews, eyes settle on Amber. All but the oldest of the gathered crowd are anywhere from lustful to envious to fearful of her. Several older members of the congregation, likely in their early 60s, are universally present in the nude and they alone view Amber with nothing but cool and guarded respect.
And I'm another dead saint, her suspicions are confirmed. How many vampires in the family? Just the eternal matriarch, or does she embrace the 'worthy'? It seems like there must be others, to keep the continuity if the Dona is as recently re-awoken as has been implied. Amber takes the seat offered to her, peering into the darkness for a sign of what waits in there to emerge. In the complete darkness of the passage beyond the altar, even Amber's vampire senses struggle. But she relies on more than sight. She can hear... something being dragged? A rustle of fabric across skin, and a heartbeat, frantic and panicked.
After a minute or two, a man who looks less Hispanic and more straight Nahua steps from the passage, adorned in the same black robes as Amber. Instantly the room falls silent, and this man's black eyes lock on Amber's with an intensity that would steal her breath if she still had it to be taken. He speaks in a language that is certainly not Spanish or English, and the others respond. Amber's Escort translates for her quietly.
"Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, all gathered here in love for The Saint who has birthed us all." The vampire bows his head respectfully for a moment. "God has graced us with her return. Give thanks and praise to Him." The congregation issues a short response, many with their eyes closed and hands clasped in sincere devotion.
Amber is here to witness, not to participate. She remains silent, though she mimics the bowed head of the others so as not to stand out too much. She has a faint churning sensation in her stomach - or she would, were she forcing blood through her veins - and a suspicion that she's about to hear the sounds of a sacrificial victim's last moment. There's nothing she can do though, no action or word she dares make against what's happening, beyond a silent vow that this will never be her, lurking in the darkness. Never.
"And give recognition to another of the dark angels of the Lord, here to witness La Santa's communion, our family's love and absolution." His long dark hair falls in a curtain as he bows to Amber, and the congregation murmurs in English.
"We give thanks for the angel among us." The vampire continues. "We gather that we may be forgiven, and that the strongest among us may be recognized for their loyalty to the divine. The Mother In Death sees and loves all her children, and those who honor her love must be recognized!" The crowd cheers, the sudden noise startling. Some of them are openly crying, hands clasped tightly. Amber's escort leans over and whispers in her ear. "That is Metztli, newest of The Mother's angels."
He falls silent as Metztli makes a sharp gesture, turning back to the passage. "Bring forth the enemy of the family, that our love may absolve his heart from sin!" Two more vampires emerge from the darkness, a native American-seeming woman and a black man holding a man between them dressed in ragged and torn modern street clothes. He's marked with tattoos, and Amber recognizes the general style: he must be one of Salazar's people. He looks exhausted and resigned, come to terms with the fact that he will never escape.
They're going to kill a man in cold blood, right here in front of her. And she's not going to do anything about it. Nothing at all. Their eyes meet, unwillingly, and Amber averts her gaze, looking down at the floor in shame. This isn't family. It's not what family means. She calls still more deeply on the quiet stillness of the grave, watching the floor in front of the altar and wishing that her ears were so easily fooled.
The crowd's breath is sucked in with a universal moment of anticipation and excitement. The captured man is mandhandled onto the altar and pinned there effortlessly by the vampires. Metztli's chest rises and falls, blood pumps through his dead flesh. "OUR MOTHER COMES! GIVE THANKS TO GOD, AND GIVE THANKS TO SHE THAT GAVE BIRTH TO US, SHE WHO PROTECTS US, SHE WHO SHOWS US THE WAY!" Metztli roars, Amber's companion translating quietly for her still, even as his head bows in respect. Amber realizes he simply would not be allowed this close without her. This must be an incredible religious experience for this man - even as she finds it horrifying and disgusting.
And then Dona Dominguez enters the room, and even Amber must look. One can't not behold her. And God help her, she can see why they would worship this woman. She approaches from the dark passageway, her naked body painted with elaborate designs and images in some cinnabar dye, religious imagery clearly mixing pagan and catholic inspiration freely. Her generous hips swing slowly in a hypnotic motion as she walks, her pitch-dark eyes surveying the crowd imperiously. She looks every inch the bloody mother goddess, every bit the Saint they worship, every bit the mother of angels, here to visit grace on her people.
Against her will, Amber finds her eyes drawn to the saint - no, the Dona, she corrects herself. There's power there she can't help but desire, even as she hates the uses to which it's put. Someday, someday she'll have that herself, that magnetic draw of the predator and queen that of which her current powers are but a pale shadow. She wants it. She wants it so much. And no matter how many times she lowers her eyes, they come back up to watch without quite realizing it.
"My children..." The Dona says in English, a hand raised to her voluptuous chest with aching pathos. "Even though I have returned to you, my heart aches for the years I was gone. For the blessed offspring I could not know and love. I speak now in the language of this time, of this place, so that our honored guest may understand me without the aid of dear Rodrigo." She gives Amber a beatific look, and if she had been alive, Amber's heart would have skipped a beat at the sudden surge of envy and lust twined together like mating serpents in her chest. One delicate hand traces down the face of their captive as the Dona walks around the altar.
"My beautiful children... The words of this paltry tongue cannot tell you how it pains my heart that our family has been threatened, even to the death of one of our loyal daughters. And no language could convey my wrath." The room is silent as the grave, every eye riveted on their goddess, every breath shallow and stilted as they listen to her every word. "Let those with sin left unwashed by the blood of my love step forward. Let those to be known as first among my children step forward. And at the last, when all others are anointed, let our beloved guest step forward." Several people, most of them nude, stand and approach the Dona, two of them adolescents who can't be older than 17. Then all of the elderly members of the congregation stand and stand in a row behind those.
Why does the Dona want her to see this? Is it meant to be temptation, to lure her away from Siveri? Warning, about her power and the loyalty of her followers? Can she simply not imagine someone reacting with horror rather than worship? Regardless of the reason, Amber has little choice remaining, and so she does as she's told, joining the line with her black robe to bring up the rear. To be anointed by the blood of a man who's certainly done much evil in his life - but still doesn't deserve this.
Each man or woman to approach in that first row kneels before the Dona and recites their sins. Some are paltry, the imagined wrongs of a fanatic convinced of their own unworthiness. Some of these people confess openly to murder before what must be a sizable portion of everyone they know in this world. The Dona smiles lovingly at each of them and listens to their confession, not rushing, always letting them have their say. The two teenagers flush furiously as they confess to having intimate relations outside the family, unauthorized. And at this, the Dona laughs and caresses their heads. "The vigor and excitement of youth is no sin, only a transgression against the rules of the family. It is best that you not disobey your elders, for they know what is best through long experience, but you have committed no sin against my love. Sit, my beloved children, and let your hearts be lightened." The two adolescents stutter thanks, tears flowing freely, and return to the pews where they are hugged by presumably their direct family. The other absolved members of the congregation stay standing when they are done, waiting patiently.
When the confessions have finished, she turns to Metztli and nods. He rears back a hand clenched into a claw and punches through the poor captive's chest. The man dies in seconds, only a faint wet gurgle from his throat to pass for last words. And from his chest, Metztli pulls out his dripping red heart.
The scent of blood is thick on the air and even with everything else, with her fear and disgust - Amber feels her fangs elongate. Her instincts don't care about the context, about the horror of this bizarre ritual. They just want blood. Just as she forced down her revulsion to stand silently as all this occurs, so too does she force down hunger. She's not starving, and so the beast remains leashed to her will. She waits, still and silent, for all this to be over. She's gone numb, her desire to do something ground to dust by weary weight. At least she's not expected to confess her sins - she'd not have been able to come up with something inoffensive and unrevealing to say.
Each member of the congregation who confessed their sins is marked with blood from the sacrifice, the Dona personally anointing their foreheads. As each is marked, they departs to be seated once more. But for the second group, those 'first among her children', the Dona bites into the sacrificed heart. Amber can smell the sweetness of the Dona's own blood in the air, thicker and more potent than human blood. Each member of this group is not anointed with blood, but drinks several drops squeezed from the heart, mixed with the Dona's own vitae. The elderly members who stepped forward each start to change. Wrinkles fade, scars settle into smooth skin, and cataracts leave their eyes. Hair grows and darkens, and in moments they look like young men and women in their 20s, not the elders they were a moment ago. This "reward" sets the congregation alight with excitement, and the newly young kneel and thank the Dona for her grace.
And finally, she comes to Amber. "I welcome you, child of my most hated and most beloved foe, to the heart of my family." And whatever else Amber may think about her sincerity or even her sanity, for that moment, with the glory of her presence directly focused... she believes it. She is welcome here. Human blood and the Dona's vitae coat her hand and she gently caresses Amber's cheek down her neck, anointing her like the others. Blood runs down her neck and chest under the robe, staining some of the cloth. "Behind the altar." The Dona murmurs too softly for anyone but the vampires present to possibly hear. "Twenty steps past the threshold, turn right. I will speak with you soon." She leans in and kisses Amber's forehead, her lips warm.
Amber feels her skin flush, heat welling up under the rivulet of blood touching her skin. False life, drawn up through contact with the fresh and vital fluid. She remains silent, letting the attention wash over and through her. She is welcome. She's not Siveri's child though. His lover. His servant. His secretary. But not child. The mention of her regnant helps still some of her emotions, brings life back to her leaden thoughts. She nods at the instructions, and escapes the scene at the sedate walk that would be expected of anyone so honored as to have a private meeting with the saint. The blood still smells inviting, but she knows better than to taste it, mixed with vitae as it is.