ORIGINAL SIN

CHAPTER ONE

Vampire Kellan Donnolly smiled as he looked out the window in his father’s office and watched a gentle drizzle of snowfall. Shimmering flakes, accentuated by twinkling stars against purplish-blue dusk, twirled in the wind and brushed through large ice crusted blue spruces surrounding his home.

He loved these moments. Peaceful. Calm. Soothing. Not the sentiments commonly associated with his kind. His father, Simon, wouldn’t wake for another half hour, and although he liked his father’s company, he enjoyed his time alone.

Life was never boring when gifted with immortality, but as Simon grew older, he became less interested in certain activities. It was understandable.

Simon was more than two-thousand years old, and one can’t live that long without the ravages of time catching up. At one-thousand-and-seven, Kellan, though still retaining the appearance of youth and vitality, felt a lot different, physically and mentally then when he was first reborn.

Mistakes--yes, he’d made many throughout his long life but with Simon's patient tutelage, he learned to harness his gift and control it. The label inhuman monster was still difficult to stomach but now, a hundred lifetimes later, he accepted his fate with unreserved tolerance.

After coming to terms with shedding innocent blood to maintain his lifestyle, and witnessing centuries of humans struggle with war, famine, plagues, pestilence and disease, there was only one thing truly bothering him.

Kellan couldn’t recall a single memory of his mortal life prior to his transformation. Not an inkling, not one solitary reminder, except one, the death of his mother, Catherine. Indirectly, she was the reason he became the daunting creature he is today.

His willingness to convert to a life of evil however remained crystal clear in his mind as if it occurred only yesterday. It was the year 1028 in Dublin, Ireland when twenty-five year old Kellan found himself in a very unpleasant predicament--rotting in a dungeon for killing the man who murdered Catherine. On the eve of his execution, a compelling and mysterious man came to visit him, offering an...alternative to the gallows.

He introduced himself formally as Simon and quickly, without giving Kellan enough time to protest his intrusion, proclaimed a surprising revelation. He was his father. The father he never knew. Catherine had raised Kellan alone and admitted when he had asked her years ago that she didn't know the identity of his father, so naturally, he was skeptical.

Only after Simon exposed his true self and explained the nature of his visit did he believe and Simon whisked him away from a life of poverty and certain death to one of wealth, privilege, and everlasting life. Simon never divulged the reason for his absence during Kellan’s childhood and adolescent years, and Kellan never asked why. Now, having the nostalgic attitude acquired in old age, not knowing his past left an unfulfilled emptiness inside him, like a dark bottomless pit.

Kellan turned away from the window and sat in his father’s high back executive chair. Leaning back, he propped his feet on the desk, and put his hands behind his head. Kellan loved their house, nestled in between a secluded grotto in the Colorado Rockies.

Simon purchased the massive forty thousand square foot French baroque chateau more than one-hundred and fifty years ago from a man who made his fortune building the railroads during the Gold Rush era. The textured stone exterior could withstand the harshest weather and the three-mile winding road leading to the castle was impossible to scale in winter, perfect for the privacy they required.

The house was a mini museum, consisting of three floors and fifty rooms, each adorned with priceless artifacts, exquisite furniture, marbled tiled floors, and countless other objects Simon collected over the years.

At the turn of the century, Simon added plumbing. Vampires have no need for bathrooms, but being a man of modernization, he had them constructed anyway. The second and third floors were rarely used so Simon and Kellan mostly stayed on the ground floor.

An elevator located in his father’s office led directly to the basement where they slept but before its installation, a heavy six-foot iron door protected them. Thirty-foot underground, it was a perfect place for a vampire to rest.

Simon and Kellan each had their own room, simply furnished with a small bed, a table and a lamp. Kellan considered himself quite lucky, living in such a fine home; however, his favorite room was his father’s office.

On the back wall against the window stood his father’s six-foot classic cherry desk with black inlay top. Various abstract and traditional pieces of art ornamented the walls and above a credenza were his father’s countless awards and plaques he received as President of the National Blood Associations UK Division.

Simon, along with eleven other vampires known as the Council of the Elders, founded the National Blood Association during World War I, supplying hospitals housing wounded soldiers.

“What better profession for a vampire to go in to,” Simon had said when he presented the idea to John Westfield, another Elder.

The Elders expanded the Blood Association after the war and distributed their offices in various locations around the world. Their objective was not to help humans, but to provide an acceptable way to be brought into the human world undetected.

Kellan rested his eyes on a portrait of his father hanging over the fireplace. Simon was still as young as the day he posed for the painting, over three hundred years ago.

At six-feet four inches tall, Simon was an intimidating individual, with a stocky build, broad shoulders and long arms and legs. His meaty hands were large with thick, round fingers and nestled snuggly on his right middle one was a large, ruby ring. A gift given to the Elders by their master and maker, Ahava, as a symbol of their status.

Well-groomed, short black hair topped his head, and olive skin, brought out his shiny blue eyes. Simon’s features were rather striking: a long, slender nose with predominant cheekbones slightly sinking in, and his mouth, neither full nor thin, complimented his face nicely.

Kellan resembled his father but had a few different characteristics. He was an inch taller than Simon was, and his eyes were brown. His hair was also dark, but he changed his hairstyle often, unlike his father, who kept his the same.

Kellan’s facial appearance was a bit fuller and his lips were plump, retaining a slight red tint despite the fact, dead blood flowed in his veins. The other thing separating Kellan from his father was their difference in fashion. Simon liked a traditional look and kept his closets crammed with expensive tailored suits from London, France and New York, while Kellan preferred a more relaxed approach.

He wore the clothes of the underestimated, emotional, youth of the day known as ‘emo’ and bought skinny jeans, tight printed tee shirts and high top tennis shoes.

He spiked his hair, coloring it bright blue or fire-engine red, wore stretch bracelets covering both wrists, placed leather strap necklaces around his neck and pierced his bottom lip with ‘snakebites’.

Technically the two had a thousand years age difference between them, but appearance wise they were only a few years apart. Having a young father wasn’t easy, so they passed themselves off as brothers when in the company of humans.

A noise coming from the hall brought Kellan back to reality. He quickly removed his feet from the desk, and sat up, then let out a sigh of relief when their servant, Connor, stood in the door.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, leaning against the door jamb.

“No thanks,” Kellan said, waving him off.

Connor bowed. “Very good, I’ll just make my rounds then,” he said and left the office.

Kellan got up from the desk and tiptoed to the door. He peeked around the corner, then gently closed the door and locked it. He liked Connor but he had a tendency to snitch on Kellan if he thought he was doing something Simon wouldn’t approve of. Connor was a man of great power in his former life and often times, forgot who was serving whom, still fancying himself as lord of the manor.

Kellan yawned and stretched, then paced over to a large, oak bookshelf in the corner of the office. Simon accumulated quite a compilation of books over the centuries, and his extensive library contained hundreds of rare and first edition copies. He especially loved books about their kind, and his prize possession was a copy of A Night In The Life Of A Vampire by Bret Dubois, an up and coming author in the late 1950’s.

Dubois traveled all over the world researching vampire myths and legends, and fancied himself as somewhat of an expert. Out of all the vampire stories circulating throughout human existence, Dubois' theory of their origin was the closest ever conceived. He claimed that while on one of his many excursions, he located a real vampire living in a remote village atop the Carpathian Mountains and was granted permission to write about his experiences while in its company.

Kellan snapped his fingers, smiling when the book flew off the shelf and landed in his hand. He rubbed the etched covering, remembering when Simon first bought it and the panic it had caused throughout the vampire community.

At first, Kellan thought Simon and the others suffered from a mild case of paranoia, but after reading the book himself, he concluded perhaps an inside source was responsible for leaking the inner workings of vampire society.

Dubois confirmed the usual tell tale abilities of vampires: Reading Minds, altering thoughts, immeasurable strength, the capability to fly, etc, but when he added another twist to the vampire repertoire, the similarities were eerily unsettling.

He theorized vampires projected their minds from their bodies and roamed at will, a fact profoundly accurate. Free mind--that was the skill in question--and as Kellan read more and more he found himself growing increasingly agitated.

Dubois also publicized a unique perception, known as ‘the vision’ which allowed a vampire to scan inside a potential victim for defects and illnesses, such as diabetes, heart disease or medications which could make the blood have an unpleasant taste or after effect on them.

Disregarding holy emblems, garlic and stakes as means to subdue a vampire, he proposed the only way to defeat one was to cut out its heart. That was true too, but most intriguing was his precise details of a vampires unique genetic makeup. Case in point, sunlight. Yes, vampires could walk around during daylight hours, but their powers were not as acute.

As far as turning into wolves, fog, or mist? Dubois responded with an emphatic no, no, and no. Total rubbish. So was the falsehood of sleeping in coffins and the notion vampires can only enter a dwelling by invitation only. His take on how vampires were made was very inventive. And it was that particular passage, which turned Kellan’s blood ice cold.

Dubois rebuffed the popular misconception of a human turning into a vampire by being bitten or ingesting vampire blood. According to his ‘undisclosed informant’, becoming a vampire was far less dramatic. A vampire was chosen and when a human had the honor of being selected, the process was quite...uneventful.

A simple ceremony was performed, a Blood Ritual, consisting of an uncomplicated gesture humans applied every day. The list went on and on, challenging modern folklore and old wives tales and inserting his own outlooks on what he knew as fact.

He agreed vampires intermingled with humans and in doing so, learned to mimic their activities. The process of consuming food and drink was adapted but only for the purpose of appearing mortal. Liquid was absorbed, but food on the other hand didn't digest and was expelled when it became too uncomfortable. Vampires didn’t have pale, ashy skin, or wild feral eyes, they looked normal, just like any other person on the street.

Their bodies reacted to heat and cold just as it would in life, they could sweat, cry and beating hearts still pumped blood throughout their bodies. Only in their morphed state (as he called it) did the ominous characteristics and bloodthirsty nature emerge.

Much to Kellan's surprise, there were significant facts about vampires not included in Dubois' tale. And a tiny glimmer of hope surged inside Kellan, making him think that maybe Dubois was just making it up as he went along.

Vampires have an extra oomph about them, a certain je ne sais quoi not widely known. Vampires are experts in the art of black magic, a special gift given to them by Ahava, who himself was a former student of Lucifer.

Another crucial element omitted was the role of guardians for high ranking vampires called, Protectors. Protectors watched over their masters affairs during day light hours and made sure they slumbered peacefully without being disturbed. Protectors weren’t vampires but rather a mixture of half-dead, half-alive species of demon, requiring neither food nor sleep.

Made from the single bite of a vampire, a Protector didn’t die when bitten, but rather, stayed in a suspended state with a life span of about eight hundred and fifty years. All Protectors had the same appearance: light hair, pale blue eyes, and thin bodies. Connor was Kellan and Simon’s Protector for more than six hundred years and Kellan knew, despite their petty differences, he’d miss Connor dearly when his life was over.

Dubois also failed to mention the specifics of the vampire population among mortals. A tidbit of information, Kellan thought, would have been of great interest to humans. Thousands of minion vampires, the children of Ahava, scattered all seven continents, strategically divided up into clans.

Unable to keep his eye on all of them, Ahava appointed watchers who kept the minion armies in line and monitored their activities. An unruly vampire could attract attention, possibly endangering the lives of others and if one foolishly strayed from the vampire code of ethics, as Kellan loving called it, punishment was swift and sure.

Rarely, vampires took it upon themselves to act in an unbecoming manner, but more often than not, once transformed, they adapted fairly well. Kellan recalled only one vampire who was foolish enough to test Ahava's wrath. And the punishment for its blasphemous behavior was something he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy.

After finishing the book, Kellan gave Simon his judgment of Dubois accounts, admitting he was still unsure but agreeing verification wouldn't hurt. A meeting was held with the Elders and with Ahava’s approval Simon was dispatched to ‘take care of’ the problem.

When Dubois held a book signing in Fort Collins, Simon attended the event, eager to silence the insolent twit once and for all. Kellan anxiously waited back at the mansion and when Simon returned a few days later, he explained a fortunate turn of events, which put any fears they had to rest. Simon followed Dubois closely, monitoring his patterns in case a rouge vampire was in fact, feeding him information.

After several days of careful scrutiny, Simon quickly found the source of his muse. Dubois was a lunatic. And the popularity and success of his book attributed that fact. He was a mockery. A joke. Branded by the literary community as a sham artist and a freak.

If a real vampire did disclose its dark secrets, Dubois out of his wits with madness, couldn't prove it and the chapter was officially closed on the matter. Not long after Simon’s visit, Dubois was committed to an insane asylum, where he spent the rest of his life in a drug induced comatose existence.

Kellan placed the book back on the shelf and directed his eyes to a large glass box resting on a platform beside the bookcase. An ancient text, inscribed The Beginning, adorned with the Great Seal of their clan, a screaming gorgon, rested inside. The aged outer covering and leather binding was falling apart, but most importantly, were the pages it protected.

Written in human blood, the pages documented the history of their kind and the events of their creation. The book also foretold a prophecy, one if went unfulfilled, would mean the destruction of the entire vampire race.

Kellan never read the book, but Simon told him the tale. The story of their creator’s severance with Lucifer, the reason for his rebirth, and the child he was to father by the Daughter,

a woman whose blood was imperative for their survival.

The knob on the library door rattled and Kellan snapped to.

“Kellan!” Simon said, shaking the knob. “Open this door.”

Kellan ran to the door and clicked the latch.

Simon entered. “Why was this door locked?”

Kellan moved back a step.

“Well?” Simon demanded.

Kellan went to the bookshelf and pointed. “I was looking at the Book of Beginnings.”

Simon quickly went over and examined the case.

“I didn’t touch it,” Kellan said, rudely. “I only looked at it.”

A small grin spread on Simon’s face. “I believe you, Kellan,” he said and sat down at his desk. “Now, what were you really doing?”

Kellan laughed, nervously. “Okay, Connor sneaked up on me while I watched the snow. He scared the hell out of me, Dad.”

Simon flipped open his cigar box, pulled out a Cuban and clipped the end. “Yes, well, that’s his job Kellan. He’s supposed to sneak up and scare the hell out of people. How else is he supposed to protect us?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kellan plopped down in the chair across from his father’s desk. “Yeah, I know, Dad, but he’s supposed to scare humans, not me.”

Simon lit the cigar and took a long drag. “Yes, but if you were doing something you weren’t supposed to like, um, propping your feet on your father’s six-thousand dollar desk, you wouldn’t have been so jumpy now, would you?” Simon smiled.

Damn, Kellan thought. Connor ratted him out. Kellan shrugged his shoulders. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, I did, thank you,” he said, pulling the ashtray toward him. “And you?”

“Yes. I got up early to watch the snow. I love this time of year.” Kellan looked toward the window.

Simon leaned back, following Kellan’s gaze to the falling snow outside.

Kellan went to the desk and sat on the edge. “Are you hungry?”

Simon thought it over and nodded. “A little. You?”

Kellan smiled. “Starving!”

Simon rose from his chair. “Well, where do you want to go tonight? L.A., Chicago, New York?”

Kellan and Simon always hunted away from home; it was safer.

“Let’s go for L.A.”

“All right, L.A. it is,” Simon said and brushed a piece of lint off his sleeve. He held his hand in mid-air and looked at Kellan’s emo attire, disdainfully. “Are you going out like that?” he asked, arching his eyebrows.

Kellan groaned and pushed off the edge of the desk. “Yes,” Kellan said defiantly. “Yes, I am.”

Simon frowned. “The idea,” he said, coldly. “Is to blend in, not stand out and call attention to yourself.”

Kellan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Have you seen what people my age are wearing these days? Everyone’s wearing this stuff. You dress like you should be smoking a pipe, reading the “Wall Street Journal” in some private club surrounded by old men who say, ‘What What? Pip Pip and Cheerio.’ Besides, I like the look. I think I look cool.”

Kellan didn't understand why Simon was so stuffy about things. Being twenty-five years old forever had its advantages and he was going to live it up. Human females adored him. Kellan read their thoughts when he mingled among them and they found him quite dashing.

Some even thought he resembled the famous movie star, Bryce Deveraux. Not a bad comparison in Kellan’s book.

Simon pointed to the hoops in Kellan’s bottom lip. “But, why do you have to pierce your face? Kellan, you’re so handsome. Why would you do that to yourself?”

Kellan laughed and decided to have some fun with his father. “You know,” he said, leaning his body toward Simon. “I thought about getting a few tattoos.”

A look of horror crossed Simon’s face.

Kellan grinned. “Maybe a full sleeve, or my entire back. I know,” he said, snapping his fingers. “A full body tattoo. I'll get an all over tat like the Yakuza or something.”

Simon pursed his lips and turned away.

Kellan laughed and walked over, throwing his arms around his father in a bear hug.

Simon returned the affection, and patted his back a few times before releasing him, then sat back down at his desk. He put his face in his hands and massaged his temples.

“What’s wrong?” Kellan asked.

Simon smiled, faintly. “Nothing.”

Kellan could read his father’s mind if he wanted but out of respect for him, he asked again. “Dad, what is it?”

Simon quit massaging his temples and laid his hands on his desk. “Kellan, The Elders and I are concerned with your apparent lack of interest in finding the Daughter.”

Kellan rolled his eyes and sat hard in the chair in front of Simon’s desk.

“As you know,” Simon continued. “We don’t have much time before the prophecy needs to be fulfilled, and yet you haven’t searched for her for centuries. The Elders are concerned if you don’t apply yourself and live up to your obligation, we'll surly become extinct.”

Kellan grunted. “How is that my fault? I can’t help it if humans kept breeding and filling the earth. Father, you know for centuries we struggled to survive and finding the Daughter had to wait so we could remain secret. Humans feared us in the beginning, and when their technology and lack of faith spread, well, we had to protect ourselves.”

Simon held up his hand. “No one is blaming you, Kellan. I know you’ve tried. The other Elders know you’ve tried but as the time grew nearer, we felt you needed help.” He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t want to tell you like this but I guess I have to.”

“Tell me what?” Kellan asked, a little angry his father would keep something from him.

Simon sighed again. “Kellan, for over twenty years, the Elders and I have used our connections with The National Blood Association to find the Daughter. In 1986, John Westfield’s Protector, Adrian Brenner, read an article in the “Medical News Journal” about a man named Winston Defries, a young scientist who successfully extracted proteins from human blood and matched them to a genetic code.”

“DNA,” Kellan said.

Simon nodded. “He presented the article to John and he sent Adrian to scope the boy. Adrian watched him for months, convinced the young man was genuine in his claim. John instructed Adrian to approach him and offer him employment with the Association under the guise of finding a cure for HIV.”

Simon laughed. “A truly genius idea crafted by John to keep him in the dark of our true goal. DNA extraction restored our hope in finding the Daughter, and John devised a scheme to ensure our success. He convinced Winston he was working on a highly secretive project. As you know, John collaborated with the French team of physicians in 1983 that discovered HIV.”

“John became somewhat of an expert on the subject, and was regarded as the top physician on AIDS related research. He told Winston he had a theory—that a specific hormone secreted by a small percentage of females carries a similar protein of HIV in its pure form, causing immunity.”

“If Winston could find the hormone and isolate the HIV protein in a healthy female, a vaccine could be created, thus preventing the virus from mutating and cause AIDS. He provided Winston with a bogus blood sample and told him to extract its DNA and compare it to blood donations taken at our blood banks from uninfected donors for a potential match.”

“He didn’t lie, and told him it could be years before a match was found, and compensated him greatly in an effort to keep him on the project and not reveal what he was working on.”

“The young man thought he was extracting the DNA of HIV, but in reality, he extracted the Daughter’s genetic code. When the extraction was complete, John gave the other Elders and me, a copy and we hired technicians, like Winston, to perform the same test using samples from donations taken at our global blood banks.”

“To increase donations, John proposed an incentive. Cash for blood. It worked. And when other blood banks began using the same method, we counteracted by offering higher monetary compensation. They couldn't compete, so within three years The National Blood Association became the leading blood supplier in the world.”

“In 1990, our Bloodmobile program was established, enabling us to collect donations in rural areas all over the country. The program was so successful, we expanded it to our global outfits and tested millions of samples, but still haven’t found her. The Elders are losing faith, and you need to do your part in preparing for when or if we do.”

Kellan stood up and walked to his father. “What do I need to do?”

“Accept your responsibilities to our kind and start thinking of them and not yourself," Simon said, firmly. "If they see you’re making an effort and concentrate on helping, their hope will return.”

Kellan sighed. “Yeah, but what happens if a match is found and the Daughter turns out to be an eighty-year old woman?” He shuddered.

Simon gave him a harsh look and clucked his tongue. “Kellan, don't be ridiculous. The prophecy clearly states the Daughter will be of child bearing age. We're only testing older females to keep the scheme going.”

Kellan huffed. “Okay, but what makes you so sure you'll find her? There's no guarantee she'll walk in one of our blood banks and make a donation.”

Simon smiled. “No , you're right. But what else can we do? We have to try, Kellan. And I'm confident, one way or another, we'll find her.”

Kellan placed his hands on his hips.“Really? And how's that?”

Simon winked. “Faith, son. I have faith.”

Kellan's face softened. “Okay, Dad. When we do find her what happens when she conceives?”

Simon leaned back in his chair and looked at his hands in his lap.

“Father, what happens?” Kellan asked again.

Simon opened his mouth to speak when a knock on the door interrupted him.

“Yes, Connor, come in,” he said.

Connor opened the door and poked his head in. “I’ve completed my rounds. All is as it should be.”

Simon rose from his chair. “Thank you, Connor, That'll be all.” He stepped around his chair and pushed it up to his desk.

“Very well,” Connor said, then quickly glanced at Kellan and stuck out his tongue.

Kellan made a face and mouthed the word asshole over Simon’s shoulder.

Connor grinned and closed the door behind him.

“Well, son, are you ready to go?” Simon asked, strumming his fingers on the back of his chair. “You must be famished.”

Kellan wanted to finish their talk, but he could tell by Simon's nervous tapping, he didn't want to discuss it anymore. “Yeah, Dad,” he said in a low voice. “I’m ready to go.”

Simon walked to the door and opened it. “Well then, let’s be off!”