WARNING: contains sex and violence!! This is a fan fic!
Mood:  bright
Topic: Fan Fiction Story
Part One:
The Meeting

I smiled on reflex as the woman I had waited the last two years to meet sat down in front of me. She was short, shorter than me, but I already knew that. Some how, seeing her in real life was a lot different than seeing her in articles in the Orgonian.

She wore her curly black hair down, falling in soft waves to her shoulders. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, but her skin had a strange almost translucent glow to it.

“Miss Rosilinni?” Anita Blake, Vampire Executioner, Necromancer extrodinare asked me. She dressed in appropriate Christmas style clothing. A large red blazer with a green dress underneath. I could tell by the way she carried herself she was packing a weapon, a gun, would be my first guess.

“I hate that name,” I muttered to myself. It reminded me once again I was not in Kansas anymore, as the phrase is said. “Please, don’t call me that.” Looking slightly puzzled, she cleared her facial expressions quickly.

“Then what would you like me to call you?”

“My Americanized name of Michelle works well.”

“Americanized?”

I nodded a bit sheepishly. I was not a born American. I was not that fortunate in my life. Instead I had been born in Italy. “Yes. I was born in Italy. Raised there too. Michellaenia Isabella Rosilinni is my full Christian given name.”

“Michelle works.” Anita sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. I believe her mug read, “Death before Decaf.” I chuckled to myself as I slid my jean encased legs together.

“I like your mug.” A small smile touched her lips.

“Thanks. Most people don’t read the mug. They’re either too nervous or don’t give a damn.” I shook my head.

“I like to notice the little things.” Reaching for my own mug that sported the logo “Animator, Inc.” on the side, I sipped. Good coffee. I hadn’t had coffee this good in years. Not since I left Italy.

“Who makes your coffee?”

Another smile quirked her lips. “Usually our night secretary Craig does, but I had to make this pot. He’s home sick.” She took another sip. “Too strong for you?” She asked as I placed the mug on my lap.

“There is no such thing as too strong when it comes to coffee.” I took another sip to prove my point. Um, delicious. “Now, Ms. Blake, the reason I am here is rather complicated.”

Anita nodded. “You didn’t go through Burt to get this appointment which is really unusual. Most clients talk to Burt, hear him say that I’ll do anything imaginable for the right price, and then come see me.”

“I didn’t do that.” Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair. It had recently been cut, to help hid my identity. The curly locks of hair fell only to the middle of my back, instead of all the way down and past my toes like it used to. “As I said Ms. Blake, this is complicated, and I do not wish to bring parties into this unless absolutely necessary.” I could tell Anita had raised her guard on me when she sat slightly straighter in her chair. An ordinary human would never have seen it, nor would even a Master Vampire or Lantrocope. I was none of the above.

“What do you need? A dearly departed ancestor raised? Anything over two hundred and fifty needs a human sacrifice, and thats murder. I don’t do murder.” I could almost hear her inner voice saying “unless its absolutely necessary.”

“I need no one raised from their comfy beds in the ground, Ms. Blake.”

“Since I’m calling you Michelle, you can call me Anita.”

“Fine. I don’t need a corpse raised, Anita.” I hadn’t realized I had been staring at my black Nike crosstrainers until just that moment. Looking up, I looked into her eyes and took a deep breath. “What I need from you, Anita, is your protection.”

“Pardon me?” Anita looked completely taken aback by my statement.

“I need your sworn word to me, Anita, that even if you decide not to take this job, that you not tell a soul what I am going to tell you.” At her brief, yet hesitant, nod, I leaned forward, and continued at a whisper. “I told you earlier that I was from Italy. I lied. I was born in Scotland. In a year before the keeping of time. I am not human, Anita, nor am I vampire or lanthrocope.” I smiled to myself. “I am the last living Elvin princess.”

Anita stared at me as if she thought I was about to jump up and do an Irish jig. “Impossible.” I shook my head.

“No, not impossible.”

“The last Elvin princess was Princess Tatharwen. She disappeared in the late seventeenth century. It is believed that her own brother, Prince Ismond, had her executed.” I nodded. It had been the reason I disappeared.

“Yes,” I said. “That is very true. I had to disappear, in the year 1569. Ismond had taken a new bride, Edwenia, whom hated me sorely because unlike in her human world, where the male child takes the throne, no matter where in the line of children he was birthed, in our realm, the first child born, weather male or female, takes the throne. I was second in line. Ismond was third. My eldest sister had been queen at the time.”

“If this is all true, why do you need my help now? Almost four hundred years later?”

“Ismond is now the king of Elf kind, as I am sure you are aware. His castle and holdings are not what they used to be. Thanks to Edwenia, mostly. He has no land, no real title or claim to power.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m alive.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

I sighed. “As long as the true heir to the throne lives, he will not come in to his power. I had hoped that Hermia would sustain power until the end of time, as we are capable of doing, but some how, through magic, I am sure, Ismond had her disposed of. Because he believed me dead, he thought he would come into his power now. I am alive, very much alive, and therefore he is unable to rightfully claim
the throne.

“In the past few weeks, Ismond has sent dispatches to kill me. It was easy to find me, I fear. After a few centuries of hiding I figured I was safe. I will never make that mistake again.” I sighed to myself and ran my fingers though my hair. “Nor will I get the chance to ever again.”

Anita leaned back in her chair to study me. I know what she saw very well. I was of medium height, about five seven, in American inches, with clear hazel eyes. I had no distinguishing physical features. It used to be my hair, but now I could not claim that. My hair had not only been cut, but died and styled. I was layered at the bottom and I had bangs. I dyed it a color called Chocolate Cherry. It gave red highlights to my chocolate brown hair where as to before, I had neither.

I itched to remove my contacts, but knew if I did I would need to don on my sunglasses. Since it was well past nightfall, I didn’t wish to resort to that, but I had to keep my eyes from showing. The hazel contacts took the glimmer out of my eyes. My eyes are originally hazel, but the gold flecks in my eyes glow and the green and blue seem to pulse in my eyes. It is like that for all elves. Weather our eyes be green, blue, brown, hazel, purple, red, gray or black. All the colors were possible and all the colors where alive in the eyes.

“Excuse my ignorance, I’ve never met an elf before, but I thought you all had pointy ears and long hair and eyes that glow.” Anita said. I executed her ignorance. Elves were rarely seen in our own country, let alone in America. There was a very good chance I was the only elf on the entire continent.

“Where is your restroom?”

“If you walk behind you, go down the hall to your left.”

I nodded and stood. “Coming, Ms. Blake?”

Raising an eye brow, Anita stood. “I thought we agreed on Anita.”

“Very well, lead the way, Anita.”

She wore heals, I noticed, she was at least five five. If that wasn’t evidence enough for me, there was the tell tail sound of clicking on the floor. Pushing the bathroom door open she held the door open for me and let me enter first. She didn’t trust me not to have set up some sort of attack. Point in her favor.

“Now what?” She asked.

Slowly I removed both disposable colored contacts, and flipped my hair back. My eyes and ears must have startled her because she bound herself metaphysically tighter.

“Long hair to the Eleven realm is not only a sign of your culture, but of your life span. To escape Ismond the last time, I cut my hair, dyed it and styled it.” Taking a deep breath I shook my head. “And have taken my own immortality away from myself.”

Anita looked shocked. “You mean that just by cutting your hair you take away your immortality?”

“An elf is always to be immortal until the time comes that he or she cuts his own hair. No other can cut it and take your immortality from you. It must be. . . much like suicide. Only I suppose it would be hairicide.” I smiled over my own joke.

“When was the last attack?”

“Two weeks ago. I had been living in Portland Oregon for about fifty years when the attack occurred. I was home, reading the morning paper at my kitchen table when I sensed magic. Then I smelled it.”

Anita looked confused. “Smelled what?”

“A golgothoum.” A look of disgust crossed her face. She knew what the disgusting creature was. A shit demon. When Christ was crucified, it wasn’t just Christ. It had been thousands of people. Rapists, murders, pedophiles, etc. When death arrives, most people don’t know that death causes a release of all bodily fluids. The most disgusting of which is the rectal and bladder release. The golgothoum was a demon constructed of all the bowel and bladder releases at the crucifixion site.

“Some one really wants you dead. Those things are supposedly impossible to kill.” I nodded.

“They are.” Shaking my head, I leaned against the counter and replaced my contacts. “I was lucky, the magic tipped me off, and I ran before he found where in the house I was.”

“Damn lucky.” Anita said shaking her head at me. “Why come to me though? I’m a vampire executioner and an animator. How am I supposed to help you?”

“No, Anita. You are much more than that. You are a Master Necromancer. One who can not only feel magic but create it. You command the dead. I suppose you have a vampire servant now don’t you? I’ll take that as a yes. You are also a member of a trimulitive. The Master Vampire of the City, and the Ulfric of the Thronne Rokke Clan right?”

Anita looked peterbed. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I nodded. I have.”

“I should be pissed.”

“Aye, you should.”

“Why aren’t I?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “This I do not know, Anita. Maybe you know I need your help.” She seemed satisfied with that answer. “Will you help me?”

“Yes, princess.”

“I beg of you, Anita, I am no princess. I don’t address me as such. Call me Michelle or Mike if that suits you.”

“Mike?”

“I was a doctor in Portland. A surgeon. Dr. Mike Rosilinni is a hell of a lot easier than ‘Dr. Michellaeina Rosilinni.’ And Mike is easier than Michelle when you’ve gotta yell directions fast.”

“I believe you.”

“Will you help me?”

She thought for a second. “Let me talk to a few friends of mine before I answer.”

“That is fine, Anita. I just want you to know that the fewer people that know of my existence as a princess the better. I don’t want people hurt on my account.” Anita nodded.