The world of the vampire. Strange, dark, fascinating, and completely imaginary. Hollywood has turned the myth into uncountable movies, played up the evil, enhanced the look with special effects, even threw in some memorable sex scenes. But behind every myth, there's a fragment of truth. Always.
The year 1999 was dominated by the pop groups. Boy bands. Their perfect smiles and sickeningly sweet faces graced every magazine cover, billboard, and TV show. Among the onslaught of teen-ness, there was a group that stood out. They made the mold for the other groups and they were at the top of the scene. Their wild shows sold out like there was no tomorrow, their singles flew up the charts, and their lives could be read like open books, thanks to the tabloids. The National Enquirer and The Sun printed heart-stopping headlines that slandered their spotless reputation. The Backstreet Boys paid no heed to the foolish rumors and continued on their firey way, blazing themselves a trail into the very souls of the world's female population. In fact, they were pleasantly satisfied that the stories were horrid tales of promiscuousness and sex with young teen girls. No, it wasn't the truth at all, but that's why they were happy . . .
The Boys were different. They weren't exactly 'alive,' one might say. They made up a whole that challenged the very point of typical immortal life - their unit was made up of the five different clans, Nosferatu, Ventru, Brujah, Toreador, and Gangrel. In the society of the night, this was impossible. The very thought of it flustered all who knew - five clans getting along peacefully when there was a war between their clan counterparts in the streets - every clan for himself. Brujah pitted against his brother the Ventru, Nosferatus fighting the members of the Toreador clans. And all for dominence in the vampire world. How absolutely insane that they propose such a bizarre idea of living side by side, in a strangely close and loving environment - even scooting over to share the spotlight with their supposed 'enemies.'
Perhaps. Perhaps not. A strong leader might be able to up hold the group, keep them together - in the public eye. A cooperative system could make it work - or make it appear to work in a world brimming with unsophisticated humans. Afterall, it had since the early nineties. Right? The Boys only had to keep their fans happy. An easy sounding task, yes. But looks are decieving.
Maybe the next time you pick up a magazine and you see those adorable faces on the front, you'll look deeper. Maybe you'll see the careful attention paid to covering up the Secret. The attention paid to covering up their little masquerade. You'll understand the effort it takes in the business world, the infinite connections that have to have been made, the incredible talent the Boys possess, to keep the Undead untold . . . And keep the insatiable unconformist of the group happy as a bat in the land of the everlasting night . . . Welcome to the World of the Killing Machine Popstars.



BOYS OF THE NIGHT: CHAPTER ONE


Brian raised his eyes to the full Harvest moon in the dark sky.
He exhaled slowly, trying to relax his tense body. He loved the
night, probably more than any of the other members of the group.
It was invigorating to him. He closed the curtain to his bunk on
the tour bus and turned on his back to stare at the fake wood
paneling above him.
His sensitive ears picked up on the muffled screams of young
girl who wasn't too far off. They weren't screams of joy though.
He listened harder but there was only silence. Then he heard AJ's
unmistakably devilish laugh followed by the final cry of the dying
pre-teen.
"Oh God, Bone, not again," he mumbled. The dull headache
that he'd had all day was slowly getting worse with the fear of
being discovered. AJ was becoming a threat to the group: This
marked his second victim in one week. If he kept it up, the police
and the media would start to suspect something. That was exactly
what the group didn't need. With Kevin taking a break and out
clubbing for a few days, AJ was on a spree. The second oldest of
the group, Howie, was also out relaxing with a few others of
"their kind." This left no authority what so ever. He and Kevin
were probably out partying until dawn, collapsing at a rented hotel
room and sleeping all day, then repeating the cycle until they had
to come back and pack up to move onto the next city. Brian bristled at the thought of how Kevin was quickly losing interest in leading their clan. He only cared about himself lately, and on certain occasions, he cared for AJ. He rarely acknowledged Nick, who was young, and practically raising himself. Not good. Not good at all. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
Yes, it was true that AJ was a problem, but Brian was more concerned with Nick. He was no longer the obedient young boy he once was. Nick was growing very independent and distant from the group. He hated what he was, unlike the rest of the others. He was convinced he was evil and wouldn't see what he had to do to survive as anything less than a curse. Even if what he was doing was making him semi-immortal. Nick would disappear for days at a time, all alone and without telling
the guys where he was or would be. Then he'd appear minutes before
the next show, ususally exhausted and ill. This scared Brian who
thought that he should be supervised constantly, shown how to
harness his powers and use them to his benefit. The others just
labeled Nick's moodiness as "a phaze." Brian knew it was more than
that.
Pulling his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, he punched in
Nick's pager number and listened to the beep that told him his
message had reached its destination. Brian closed his eyes and
prayed that Nick would return his page.
Suddenly the curtain was pulled back and light poured in.
"Boo," AJ's sandpaper voice said teasingly.
Brian dropped the phone on the floor with a clank. He sat up,
startled. "Oh... hey, Bone."
AJ got out of his crouching position and leaned against the
doorframe. Brian's eyes were fixed on the fresh blood he was
wiping off his lower lip with the back of his hand. A drop fell to
the carpeted floor. It was thick and such an unusual shade of dark red.
To his dismay, Brian felt his stomach growl hungerly. Though he
didn't enjoy killing, he did have to eat at some time or another.
He pushed the feeling out of his mind - for the moment being.
Then, his gaze drifted to AJ's washboard middle where his
newest tattoo was prominently exposed on his shirtless torso. It
read in huge gothic letters: DIABOLIQUE. French for DEVIL. Brian
squinted, adjusting his tender eyes to the strong lighting in the
cabin bunk. That crazy bastard . . ., he thought.
AJ noticed his staring and smiled genuinely.
"Hey! You like?" he asked, pointing to his abs.
Brian shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. "It's not really my
taste. But it's not my body either, Alex."
AJ looked disappointed, but brightened at the thought of why
his stomach felt so sickeningly full.
"Oh man... you shoulda taken a sip of that, Bri. It was the best blood I've had in loooong time," he hissed, an evil smile
spread across his face as he licked his fingers.
Brian sighed disgustedly and stood up. Just as he was about
to go outside the bus, a tattoed arm flew up and blocked his path.
"Was I interrupting something, Bri? Was it REAL important?" he asked menacingly, peering over the rim of his wrap-arounds. Brian could smell the stench of death as it clung to AJ from his recent kill.
"No, no. I was just leaving," he answered shakily.
Sensing his fear, AJ bared a set of sharp fangs threateningly and
growled. Sizing him up, Brian growled back, exposing his
animal-like teeth. They were both poised for a fight.
"Come on, Bone... This isn't funny anymore...," he warned through clenched teeth.
Out of nowhere, AJ began to cackle in Brian's face. The shorter Boy pushed past him, glaring hard, opened the door and jogged out.
"You're a weakling, Bri! You'll never have the heart to be
one of us!" AJ yelled after him, still laughing nastily.