I'll be using this thread to post any short stories or stubs or even novellas that I feel like sharing with the public at large. Everything posted within by me will be original intellectual property by yours truly,
Amorphous Metal, The Metallic Sage. :)

My first offering is a short story that may in fact turn out to be a novella. It features characters from a novel that I'm working on but takes place many years after the events in the novel. The setting is an alternate Earth in the year 1941. This is only the first part. I hope you enjoy.


Of Wolf and Peacock

My name is Daciana Sala. My family were servants and so like the origins of most names they were called after their vocations. It seems this was to be even more appropriate for me. I’ve served now for over one-thousand years. I’ve served a man who I once admired as a beautiful noble, my heart skipping beats if I so much as caught his sent on the breeze. I’ve served a man who I worshipped as my own personal savior, an angel sent from on high. I’ve served a man that has done evils that had Satan cowering in the corner, a demon god who’s wickedness is uncontested. I serve this man still and it’s my own personal shame, a torment of utter pain. My own personal heaven, a pleasure divine. I serve Lord Alexis Severian, lord of the blood feast. I will serve him from now until my bones crumble to ash and if that’s all that he’ll take of me then it’s all that I could ask. My name is Daciana Sala but I am called, Ea lup, the hound of Severian.

* * * * *

THE CARPATHIAN HOTEL, MANHATTAN 1941

The private elevator that runs from the lobby to the three-floor penthouse makes a tick about every three seconds as it descends to and ascends from the ground floor. The journey takes three minutes exactly. It’s only sixty ticks, yet I can’t help but absently count them off in my head one by one. I could tell you what floor it was on or how many feet, inches or even microns of elevation it is at just by the absent minded counting droning on in the back of my mind. I hate that damn elevator. I’ve made quite a fuss over it actually. Two mortal technicians - if you could call them that - go missing on assignment from The Carpathian and so then Sev decreed that the elevator was to have no more maintenance calls unless it had completely malfunctioned. “The publicity you inflict upon us with your petulance these past months will no longer be tolerated”, he had said. “There is no ‘dining in‘ at The Carpathian and you know this. We all have our curses and sixty or even sixty-thousand ticks, no matter how many times a day is not worth our security!”

He was right of course. On all accounts across the board. I’ve never known him to make even one mistake. That’s his genius and his curse. I’ve loved him for it and I’ve even hated him for it at times like those but I would never argue with him to the contrary of his decisions. I would lose a fool’s bet every time. Damn him if he hasn’t forced me to play fetch for any excuse he could find since I received his last tongue-lashing. I’ve been sent to retrieve every telegram, every parcel and even the Times every single morning! It never ceases to astound me how petty we seem to become the older we get. Is this what’s becoming of me lately? Am I only acting my age? Let me catch the first fool to utter such nonsense and they’ll feel the wrath that my age carries!
Sixty, I counted. Five seconds for the kinetic energy to dissipate and the doors opened onto the lobby. There are palaces that are shabby in comparison to this “lobby”. Sev spared no expenses in The Carpathian’s construction. He commissioned it in nineteen-hundred and it was completed in nineteen-oh-two. As far as such grand events go, it was subdued to say the least. Of course that didn’t keep the Manhattan realty moguls from gossiping like old women when at the yacht clubs, speculating on the quiet construction. Despite the elegant yet simple architecture and the quiet construction with little - and by that I mean, none, from us - fanfare The Carpathian has become as profitable as hotels such as The Waldorf but has managed to keep itself low key. The opulence of the lobby alone has kept the word of mouth spreading and it’s patrons fiercely devoted to it’s anonymity.

As I stepped out into the bustle that greeted me every morning in my newly acquired torture task I had a sense of something amiss. It wasn’t anything to do with the crystal chandeliers or the five-hundred year old tapestries. All the priceless paintings, vases and other works of art had seemed to be in good order. I could make out every vampire sentry in the vicinity in under a second. I run our security, I should be able to. None of them seemed alert to anything unusual yet this feeling nagged still. I had decided to shake it off and continue on my way to the front desk when I was suddenly reminded to always trust my instincts even if my head’s a mess.

I was walking past the last sitting area in the great hall before I were to reach my target destination when something lightly thudded into my upper thigh. I looked down and there he sat, all nonchalance in action, holding a folded copy of the Times with today’s date on it outstretched in one hand to bar my path. He looked up at me with his odd, multihued, eyes. He wore a disarming smile that would no doubt dazzle any mortal woman coupled with his faintly glittering skin. His hair, like his eyes, was blues, greens, and gold. His suit was finely tailored blue silk, pinstriped and double breasted. He had a matching hat and long coat folded beside him and his signature peacock patterned silk scarf hung draped over his neck, the tails rested below his waist. He rose and his full height always catches me by surprise. Probably no more than six-foot-three, it’s his gangly stork like legs and neck that make his height seem odd. His features both fae and avian. He’s actually quite alluring if seen with proper eyes, though I’m sure he seems queer to the casual mortal observer.

“Ah, Daciana. Arati minunat in dimineata asta!” His words were perfectly accented and that just irritated me more than his presence normally did.
“Your Romanian’s horrible. What are you here for? Lord Severian made no mention of guests.” She really hoped he understood that she meant ‘pest’ when she laced that last word with venom.
“Well that’s very simple and yet also very complicated to answer. Would you like the question you asked answered first or the implied question? I usually find that to get one to listen to the answer to the question asked, one must first answer the question implied. I don’t want to be rude by assuming and answering the implied question because there’s always the chance, especially when the personage in question is you, that the implied question is rhetorical.” He truly seemed to be puzzled and cocked his head in that peculiar birdlike manner. “Why do you always look at me with such irritation and open hostility?

“Beasle”, I truly never know which way is up or which way is down when this one is around. Reality doesn’t seem to treat him the same as she treats the rest of us. I’m at a bit of a deficit in knowledge when concerning Beasle Sop. He and my master have much history together that I’m for some reason never to be privy to. Well, that’s something else for me to be petulant about now isn’t it?
“Beasle”, I continued. “Would you just tell me what you’re here for so I can quickly escort you out?”
“Perhaps you would care to join me on a tour of the lower floors”, he asked oozing charisma. “I have a warning for your master but most importantly I have one for you. I’d like to keep it just between us. If you have no objections? Of course, should you object then I’d then have to object to your objection. I’ve never been good with objection, or, is that rejection. Well, in this case I guess it doesn’t really matter because it would really equate to the same principal, wouldn’t it? So, shall we off? His chin jutted forward as his head ticked to one side slightly again. “See? You’re looking at me that way again. One might think you didn’t like them when you wear that look, you know?” Without another word or my acquiescence he strode off in the direction of one of the hidden panels that accessed the lower floors.

The lower floors are six subterranean levels that house the many vampires that serve the army of ‘The Blood Feast’. The Blood Feast is the territory that is ruled by none other than my master, Lord Alexis Severian. It consists of the entire continents of North and South America. It’s the largest holdings that any of our kind claim singly or as a group. It was the price paid to keep my lord from taking over the vampire world and knowing what I do about Sev I’ve never understood why he chose these lands over the entirety of the world. As close as I get to him the further it seems I must go to gain his trust. I wouldn’t describe the lower floors in the same way that I would the rest of the hotel.
The lower floors are the nerve center of Sev’s empire. They were designed for function over opulence but remain regal and comfortable just the same. There’s been rumored to be a seventh floor as well with many clandestine and nefarious purposes but if that’s true, it’s hidden well enough that no supernatural abilities have found it in thirty-nine years, and Sev’s never once made any allusion to such a floor. The first two floors comprise of the living - as it were - quarters for the soldiers and staff. Beyond that you’d find anything a functioning modern government would need to survive in these war ridden times. We keep good tabs on the American government so that we remain as well equipped and better funded than them. It keeps us ahead of the mortals and rivals across the veil. Although it’s mainly werewolves and others of our own kind that cause us problems, it’s not unheard of for us to get embroiled in other matters concerning the veil. The last time Beasle Sop showed up here in fact, nineteen-twenty-five. There was a mess.

As we walked through the open panel he looked down at me and smiled as he said. “You should really go back to dresses. You always looked so lovely back then.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean, you overgrown feather duster”, I growled.
“No offense was intended my dear. I was simply recalling how the gowns you used to wear softened your features and made you quite fetching. The suit pants that you wear now are of as fine a cut as you are but that is precisely my point. You only show off your chiseled features, all very severe. There’s something hard and jaded in you that didn’t used be apparent. Was my image of you always so distorted or has something come to pass to change you so drastically? His face was a mask of concern but this was Beasle sop. Should I take the risk of exposing myself to, honestly, the best candidate I would ever have as a shrink. I’d have to think on that some more. You can never tell with the Pucca, whether or not his involvement would be for good or ill. I suppose it’s his nature as the Child of Dreams.

* * * * *

Stall.
That one word. That was all he had to say to me but I suppose it was enough. Beasle informed me that as we toured the sub-levels of the Carpathian that Lord Severian was receiving distressing news regarding our original homeland, Romania. For well over a millennium has our homeland been a prized property, a field of battle surrounded by enemies. The jewel in the eye of Europe, coveted and surrounded by thieving dogs.

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