It was dark, dark being the only word readily available, though inadequate to describe the complete lack of visibility on the narrow, tree-lined country road. The rain pelted down in alaming rate and volume doing its part to advance the depth of this darkness.

  This darkness was occasionally contrasted by a blinding flash of blue-white lightning and the angry crash of thunder, the only thing louder than the howling wind. This road was not as lonely as it first appeared however. Something was on it. Something low, black, long and fast. A 1967 Cadillac formal limousine raced through the slippery blackness at supernatural speed. No headlights were visible, no windshield wipers swatting vainly at the downpour. Only the deep and throaty exhaust note of a large-displacement V8 engine, angry and powerful, and the occasional squeal of protest from the tires barely clinging to the road. Any insect foolish enough to be out in this storm and surviving a collision with the Cadillac's tinted windshield would only bear witness to a steering wheel moving by itself, no visible hand guiding the dark missile through the night. Should that insect view the passenger compartment, it would see only a dark and cloaked figure possibly female, reclined comfortably on the opulent leather upholstery.

  This dark missile had a target. A target which became visible as the trees thinned out and the lightning chose to blast it's stark illumination upon it. A house stood upon a hill. Maybe less a house and more a fortress, large and imposing, even menacing. The structure had been first built possibly 600 years ago, but had been expanded and reworked over the centuries to the point that it had no singularly distinct archetectural style. It's oldest features were little more than large blocks of stone, but it displayed influences of the Rennaisance, Tudor Era, Victorian Age, Art Deco, and plenty of details that would fall under the blanket of 'Gothic'. Despite the collage of archetectural schools, it was tasteful, even beautiful in a sinister way. It exuded magic and power. It's towers, turrets, arches and buttresses telling a million stories despite the structure's stony silence.

  At the base of this hill was a massive iron gate, intricately crafted and impossible to breech, flanked by large stone pillars covered in carvings of mythical beasts and arcane symbols. As the Cadillac approached this gate, it slowed to a more stately and safe pace. It's passenger sat up straight and prepared for her arrival. Large lanterns burst to light as the vehicle passed through the gate which opened and closed unassisted by human, or any other hand, and proceeded up the large drive. The storm was no longer evident within the protection of the manor, rather, the sky was filled with a full silver moon and a few silent clouds against the peaceful star-studded velvet of the universe overhead.

  The limousine cruised silently in and stopped gently under the shelter a grand porte-cochere. The impressive entance of the manor was to the right of the car and up a flight of five large marble steps. Through two impressive large oaken doors came two silent footmen, dressed in 17th century livery. They walked briskly down the stairs and approached the vehicle, one of them opening the back passenger door and assisting the visitor to her feet, the other standing in rigid attendance. Once the mysterious individual was standing on the white gravel of the drive, he closed the door and the Cadillac crept silently away. Both footmen briskly escorted the cloaked and hooded figure up the stairs and through the grand doors into an even more grand foyer.

  Once inside, the footmen closed the doors and bolted them. The ceiling of the foyer extended an easy 30 feet above them and supported a series of half a dozen large crystal chandeliers. A beautifully woven carpet of a forgotten age fringed in what was probably gold ran the 100 foot length of the foyer to an arched opening. At either side of the carpet for it's entire length were her servants of every station, present to welcome their mistress back home. Their heads were bowed, nobody daring to raise eyes to the woman on the carpet. A lady's maid emerged from behind the mistress, assisting her out of the dark, velvet cloak she had traveled in, revealing Sabrina Merkut, the First Mother, Elder vampire, and ruler of all of her kind. At an age of over three thousand years, her power and authority were unquestioned.

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  Over the centuries, words had been used to describe the First Mother. Words like stunning, beautiful, timeless. All were accurate if not grossly indequate, She was all of those things, but with the added allure intrinsic to the female vampire. Allure that increased with age. To say she was irresistible was falling short. Sabrina Merkut was a force of nature, not to be denied, and perhaps more importantly, not to be defied.

  She stood before her staff, white hair, adorned with a clip in the fashion of an owl in flight cascaded in graceful waves over her bare shoulders and down her back to her waist. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black, her features delicate and fine with the appearance of a woman in her early forties, her skin pale and her figure slender and flawless. The dress she wore was dark burgundy velvet with gold embroidery. It reached the floor but split up the left side to her waist, revealing perfect legs, it plunged down her back and the neckline was low and daring. The sleeves were full-length, ending at her slender writsts and delicate hands, her fingers ending in sharp, unpolished fingernails, as much weapons as they were details of her beauty. On her right index finger was a silver ring holding a large red stone that seemed to have it's own pulsing luminescence. The shoes she wore, pointed high heels in a matching burgundy, raising her height to nearly six feet, and adding sophistication and authority to her image. She began to walk toward the arched opening at the end of the foyer and as she did, a pair of impossibly large black mastiffs dropped into step on either side of her. These were not ordinary dogs, they were her personal guard, loyal unto death and with a ferocity beyond measure or comprehension.

  Her stride was one of purpose and grace, taking her to the entrance of her grand hall. A room of enormous proportions. At one end were arched stained glass windows starting at the floor and soaring to dizzying heights, portraying the epic history of her line. at the other end was a dais with a large throne made of gold and velvet. Her throne. A throne that currently held court over a long table at which sat 150 elder vampires from around the world, now standing at respectful attention as the First Mother entered and ascended the dais to her position of authority, the mastiffs taking station on either side of her, one of them yawning impressively, displaying teeth that could rend flesh and crack bone.

  First Mother did not sit. Rather, she stood before the gathering, assessing, considering, and finally, judging.

  She did not allow the assembly to sit either.

  "Brothers and sisters," her sultry and melodic voice addressed those before her, "For millenia have we remained strong, our existence protected by the ignorance of our prey."

  There were murmurs of agreement from the assembly, First Mother let them continue for a moment before speaking again.

  "It is unfortunate that this invisibility we have enjoyed has been compromised. Compromised by unsacntioned fledglings. Newborn vampires, un-mentored and unfettered, breeding and killing without restraint, and leaving a trail of dead humans that leads to the doorstep of this very manor!"

  Her last words ending in a near shout. She let the assembly process this revelation. There were reactions of,

  "Impossible!"

  "Unheard of!"

  "Surely not!"

  First Mother let these circulate, she listened to arguments breaking out between vampires, she heard accusations, she heard conspiracy theories. Finally she raised a hand and the chatter stopped.

  She spoke up again, loud enough to prevent any misunderstanfing,

  "Brother McDade!"

  A distinguished looking elder vampire of Celtic descent wearing a grey silk suit of a style popular in America during the 1920s and sporting a long ginger beard peppered with grey, stiffened his posture, standing halfway down the length of the table. His expression was unreadable. He looked directly at his queen.

  First Mother looked hard into his eyes while she spoke in a very strong and authoritative manner,

  "Our laws are very clear on this, there is no room for question or interpretation. This sort of treason cannot - will not be tolerated."

  Brother McDade burst into flame, becoming a pile of smoldering ash in mere seconds. The Elder vampires on either side of him recoiling in surprise and terror.

  First Mother elegantly descended the dais and with her mastiffs flanking her, left the room as it erupted into chaos. Voices were rising in shock, anger, protest and fear.

  A formal execution of one of their own had not taken place in centuries.

  One had taken place tonight.