Dalia stood, shuddering. She stared, aquamarine eyes filled with hatred, anger, and wicked glee. She looked down at herself and sneered. Ugh, she HATED to be filthy. Sending the black-green flame of cleansing over herself, engulfing herself in it, she remedied the problem.

Dusting a bit of singed slime of the "ether" from her body, she smiled and smoothed her hands over herself. "Ah. Yes, that's better. Now then, who are you and why am I alive again? NOT that I am complaining, dear. Oh, and why are you...oh yes. A demon mark." Clucking her tongue, she watched the demon press his burning fingers against the inside of her right arm. The skin scarred, burning breifly, as his mark was left. She'd wear it until she worked off the debt owed to him.

With a flash of flame, the demon and his imp were gone, leaving Dalia alone in her own shop. She was nude, she was penniless, and without even a stitch of clothing. Damn, now what?

With a sigh, she conjured some appropriate clothing and headed barefoot for the table where her brother's ashes were piled. Sadly, she sifted her fingers through them. He had been returned to her, and then taken from her so quickly. His body was too far gone for her to be able to do anything about. She'd have to find one stronger than her, if she could.

Sighing with frustration, Dalia tempered her grief with anger, turning what she felt were weak emotions into something useful. Hatred and anger filled her as she thought of Khoss, and of that little b*tch that had killed both herself and her dear lover and brother.

Fuming, Dalia stormed out of her shop, anger over being tossed out of Darkon without any of her own possessions fueling a violent attack on the next passerby. Screaming incoherently, she cold-cocked the woman and stole her boots and coat. Leaving the woman unconscious, but relatively unharmed, Dalia headed for the Marketplace. She'd have to find a way to get the Blackthorne money, somehow. It should be still sitting in the bank. A simple charm and her own charming personality should be enough to get it, but she needed the herbs and things for the charm itself.

Catch 22, she smirked, and knew that she would simply steal what she needed. Wouldn't be the first time.

She knew that Zillah had a cache of money, gold, gems, and finished peices of jewelry in the attic of the shoppe, but she didn't want to dip into that just yet. If she couldn't get her money, she'd definately make use of it. Her next step would be to decide what it is she was brought back to do, and how to find a way to get even.

Dalia did not dream during her sleep of the undead, but between sleeping and waking, nightmares did haunt her. Dusk came, and she dreamed of Zillah, burning alive in the fires of their murderer. She knew Bellora had done it, had killed the three of them.

She awoke in a cold sweat, shuddering and whimpering for her Zillah. Then the thought hit her: she had been brought back from ashes, so why couldn't Zillah? She sat up, tugging a silken robe that once belonged to Zillah about her tightly, and padded down the stairs. She needed no candles, but the slave girl she collared just yesterday led the way, lighting them for her Mistress.

"Out of the way, pet. Madame Dalia has work to do. But don't stray far, I need a bit of blood from you." Dalia set up her altar last night, so it was ready for her. She tapped into the energy of the young witch she had enslaved, fed a circle, and began the ritual to give herself a summoning name, and then called upon Bill. He answered promptly, but was a bit peeved to be stuck in her circle.

Smirking, he touched to greasy, black wall of power and sucked at the injured finger as it zapped, sparked, and smoked. Chuckling, he nodded in approval of her strength, and spoke. "You rang, Madame Dalia? Oh, but you do realize, I could take this circle down in an instant. You are sorely out of practice, and I expect you to work on that, my luscious little flower." With a motion of his hand, he was dressed in a smoking jacket and slippers, a pipe in one hand. He puffed, blew smoke at the cirlce and watched it dissipate as it touched the barrier. "I see you have registered. Good. But why did you feel it necessary to call me? Are we bragging or do you have something for me?"

"I want something from you. I called you to make an offer. I will work for you, as I did for Zaruk, as a seducer and reaper of souls, if you will bring back my brother, Zillah. My soul and his soul in exchange, as well." She stood, chin high. She clutched the hand of her pet witch tightly, a ceremonial daggar in the other hand, ready to bleed the girl and herself. This was for a gift of magick blood to the demon for coming and to bind the contract, respectively.

Bill laughed, nearly bleating in his amusement, and a cloven foot stamped beneath his robe. His taloned hand slapped his thigh and he wiped a tear from one amber-orange eye. "Oh, Dalia, my pet, you are hilarious. Love, I already own your soul. You already work for me. As for your brother...who do you think is warming my bed at night? MARA? I need more than this offer to even consider letting him return to you. I enjoy him far too much, and as for Mara...well, she ended up elsewhere, surprisingly. It seems she was too innocent in all this to merit spending her eternity with the rest of us party animals. She was boring, anyway." A dismissal of this with a wave of a taloned hand. "You bring me the soul of the Vigilante woman, the one who slayed you so easily, and I will consider your request."

Straightening, her eyes wide in surprise and shock, Dalia dropped the hand of her pet witch. "Bellora?! You know her?" Regaining her composure, Dalia crossed her arms beneath an ample bosom and glared suspiciously at Bill. "What is she to you? She is a demi-god, does she even have a soul to damn?"

"My precious Necromancer, my little sex pot. Think before you speak. You are already indebted to me, and I can make you bring her to me for nothing. You want Zillah back?" A wave of his hand, and then he leaned in close, nose nearly touching the edge of the cirlcle, his eyes alight with hatred and hell-fire. His voice growled, the sound of a coffin lid grinding, "Bring me Bellora Vendetta."

Taking a step back, Dalia nodded, mouth slightly agape. She snatched the girl's hand, slit the palm and tossed the blood onto the small coal burner at her altar. The scent of burnt amber flooded the building as she cut her own hand, shoved it through the cirlce (dispelling it), and shook hands with Bill. Petite fang tips bit at her bee-stung lower lip, and she was honestly worried.

Turning away, she muttered the usual dismissal. "Our deal is struck, demon. Return to whence you came, immediately, harming none here." She was not surprised that he did not depart quickly, but she prentended his presence did not bother her.

"You are powerful, Dalia, I grant you that. Why else would I go to the trouble of bringing you back? But do not let it go to your head, my little flower, for I still own you. You are mine, and I will do with you what I will, circle or not. Never forget who your Master is." With a puff of horrid smelling smoke, and a flash of orange light, Bill, Dalia's Master, was gone.

Dalia caught glimpse of a young, pale face pressed to the windows of her shop. She started to anger, beginning to oder her pet witch to shoo the child away when she paused. It was that young half fairy girl. Hmm...she had been planning on using her. Perhaps those dreams, her words had done the trick after all.

Putting on her best "motherly" smile, Dalia went to the door quickly, as if worried the girl would freeze outside. "Darling! Come in, quick. How long have you been out there? It is still cold at night, my love. Sit by the fire, I shall have Cyan fetch you some food and a blanket. I have been waiting for you, dear." Walking the girl to the fire, she sat her on an empty crate and motioned for Cyan, her pet, to do as ordered. The kitchen would have been stocked by now, for Cyan had moved in with Dalia, they had made the upper workrooms into an apartment.

"Would you like coffee? Something stronger, perhaps? Vodka and juice?" Her voice was soothing, almost a purr as she stroked the wild mane of dyed hair, gently pressing herself against Lyric, teasing her with the scent of her perfume. Was she mother? Was she seductress? Let the girl's actions choose which role Dalia would play.

"I have her now. Good. Pretty little thing, and full of blossoming womanhood and magick! ALL mine for the plucking."she thought. A smirk settled on those darkly painted lips as Dalia folded the girl into her arms, soft clicks and whispers, meant to soothe the girl. She allowed her silence to answer the young fae for her.

"Drink up, little wing. It will make you feel better."she murmured, tipping the rather strong screwdriver towards Lyric's lips.

A voice shattered her preening, ego-driven moment with the teenage pixie: "VERY nice, Dalia, but this is not Bellora. Stop gloating over the corruption of a lonely, abandoned girl and FIND ME THAT WOMAN!" The voice of Bill echoed in her skull, reverberating about the bones and chattering her teeth. She winced in pain and quickly nodded in reply, thinking in response: "Yes, Yes, Master Bill. I will find her and bind her for you. But I need power, I need blood, and this one will provide me with both."

"I did not ask you for a tart remark, vampire. I can bring you back to the dust you were. Do not forget yourself, Dalia Ninane Blackthorne. I will indulge your outburst this time, only out of respect for that disgusting, corrosive, and vile mind that lurks in your pretty little head. Please me, Dalia, and I can give you the passion and ecstasy you have forever sought, but never reached. Bring me the Vendetta woman, and you will taste me as no other creature has. Can you feel me beside you, Dalia?" She did. His warmth was along her left side, pressing into her. She felt invisible hands touching her hair, lingering at the pulse point in her throat. Soft fingertips stroking over the top swell of her breasts, gentle, yet she could feel every tintilating stroke through her clothing. She swallowed a groan, and images filled her vision.

Dalia stood over the very nude and very tied up figure of Bill. She sucked at fang tips in anticipation, nails dragging over the pale flesh of the demon's "male" suit. She growled, he groaned and writhed beneath her touch. His smile was as wicked as her own, and suddenly there was a whip in her hand, coiled about her wrist expertly. He nodded, she laughed, and then the vision melted.

Dalia's breath exploded from her in a whine of disappointment, of frustration and denial. She pulled from Lyric, motioning to the pet witch, Cyan, hovering at her right. "Take Miss Danu upstairs, give her your room. Make sure she is comfortable. Move your things down here." Abruptly, she turned on the hesitant human witch. "What are you waiting for?"

"My room, Mistress? Have I done something to displease you? Is she to take my place in your bed and at your side, as well?" Tears streamed down the young woman's face, she choked on a sob, wondering what it was she had done to merrit banishment from Dalia's rooms upstairs. Down here? She was to live among the artifacts and dust of this dilapidated shop?

Dalia did not answer, she did not take a moment to think, either. With a flash of her hand, nails curved in a dagger-like claw, she slashed the throat of the insolent girl. With the gurgling, choking of one bleeding to death, Cyan sunk to the floor, bleeding out through the large gash across her throat. Her head fell back as she fell, nearly severed from her slender, malnourished body.

Clucking in dismay, Dalia sucked her fingers and nails, licking them clean as she looked down at her mess. "Pity. Look at what you made me do, Cyan. I made such a mess, and who will clean it up with you gone?" Sighing in exasperation, she nudged the body with the toe of a high heeled boot, and looked up at Lyric, still seated at the table. "That may have shocked you, my pet. But you must understand, she did not do as she was told. Slaves should always obey their Mistress's. Especially me."

Turning from the shocked, frozen girl, she beckoned with a hand. "Come. Follow me upstairs, little wing. We have much to discuss. Such as....getting you some genuine wings." She looked over her shoulder to see the girl shuddering, and watched those fake wings with distaste. But, if that was what little one wanted most, then she would get it. Dalia was sure she could drain what human blood the girl had in her, or change it. There were lots of things that could be had, if one was willing to pay the price.

She could smell the fear on the girl, and it stirred her hunger. Licking her lips, she turned away from Lyric to pretend to fidget and fuss with poor little Cyan's make-shift altar. "No. Cyan was a slave, a pet, and a source of blood for me. You come to me of your own free will, and can leave whenever you like. I am here to help you, and all I ask in return is respect, company, and a little help when I need it. You have come into your powers, yes? I know you have, even if you do not know just yet how to control them. No matter, I can teach you." Turning and dropping to her knees, hands resting on Lyric's own knees, she smiled sweetly to the young girl.

"I can teach you so much, Lyric. More than your Mother ever could. You have your Mother's power, but I can teach you to use it. You are royalty, and I, being half Fae, can sense it. Soon, little one, I can teach you enough to take your rightful place as Queen of the Fae. Your Grandmother is old, failing. How else do you think you escaped her? "

Rising, she paced the small room, boot heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor, polished from years of bare feet treading it's boards. Her hair was pulled free, unpinned and shaken out. A wash of scent fell over Lyric, Lilly of the Valley. Lyric would know, being a pixie, that the scent came from a poisonous flower. Was it a warning to the girl, or a harmless perfume that Dalia chose to wear? Let her figure it out.

Plucking up a small fairy figuring, and tossing it in one hand, Dalia spoke again. "I can teach you. I can give you the wings you desire, Lyric. I can make you the Queen, you are the last surviving heir to the throne. All I ask is that you stay, learn from me, and aid me when I need a bit more power." All spoken softly, calmly, sweetly; she was not asking for much, outright. Was she? It was all very innocent.

Dalia ran a hand through her hair, handed the fairy figuring to Lyric, fingers lingering on the sheer, glittery wings. "You can have it all, Lyric. I will be able to pass on my knowledge, for you will be MY heir, as well, and you will recieve everything your little heart desires. Won't that be nice, love? You can make your Auntie and your Grannie proud. Stay, learn, and aid me." Her fingers shifted to tip Lyric's chin up, gazing into those scared, naive eyes. She smiled, bent to kiss her lips, a little less than chastely, and she left the room. She left her scent lingering, the coolness of her presence; she would give Lyric time to decide. For now, though, she had to feed.

"You have her now. Congratulations. Despite watching you kill in cold blood, you have convinced an innocent young girl that SHE needs YOU. I am impressed, my sweet flower." The tone of the demon's voice was sincere, echoing in Dalia's mind. She smirked, back to the teenage half pixie.

Turning, however, her face was serene, almost motherly. She smiled softly and nodded, walking back to take Lyric into her arms. She placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and stroked that bared throat with a fingertip, leaving a tingling sensation behind that wasn't unpleasant. "I must feed. I see you understand what I am. Do not fear me, Lyric. I will not take from you, for you are still young and you are my charge. If later you still wish to give a sip to me, of your own free will, I will accept and consider that a great honor. For now, my little wing, I must feed from a chosen prey. I will return shortly." Hugging the girl to her bosom, she then released her and headed out into the night to hunt.

The bell on the door jingled merrily, fitting nicely with her triumphant mood. She'd roped Lyric in easily, and was rather proud of herself. Dalia had thought she had blown it, killing Cyan like that in front of the girl. She had forgotten how sheltered Lyric must have been, being the last heir to the Fae throne in Avalon. Oh yes, she knew exactly who this was. Dalia was half Fae herself, but she knew the goings on of that world.

She conversed with the demon Bill in her thoughts as she stalked a tasty young man on the docks, scenting him out as he wove home drunkenly. "She was easier than I thought."

"Mmm. Still impressive, though. I may have to rethink the deal I have made with you. You would be a true asset to me, Dalia. My own personal despoiler of souls. I will have to think on that. But, for now, get back to your task at hand. You have your power source and plaything, now I need you to find and twist Bellora Vendetta."

"Yes, Bill. I have a plan for that. There is a young man, an interior designer that owes a blood debt to me, and he was most willing to insert himself into her new offices. I am waiting to hear from him, and then I will know all about her building, the security and such. Have no fear,"she added with a purr to her lilting voice,"Master."

His voice was rough, deeper with a lusty growl. "Oh, Dalia. You do know how to turn on the beast, don't you. You liked my little day dream, didn't you my sweet? Please me with this task, and I will show you just what I can do for you. It has been centuries since I have had a consort to share my bed and my power, Dalia. You may be the next." With that, his voice faded, but she was left with the image of herself atop the demon. He was naked in all his muscular splendor, completely at her mercy and the ecstasy on his face sent a heat through her, turning her core molten. She panted softly, having lost scent of her prey momentarily.

Reeling a bit from the desire he instilled in her, and concerned slightly about it, she gave up the chase to think. He thrilled her, titilated her, and yet she feared giving in to him. She'd been bound to Zaruk before, and hated it. But then, he had never offered her power, or asked her to be at his side.

Growling at herself in frustration, she turned her attentions back to the task at hand: finding a meal. She headed down the docks, back towards the bars. She didn't feed off just anyone, they had to be beautiful. Tragic and beautiful was better.

Soon, though, she found a young woman, drunk and crying. The girl had been dumped just tonight and was far more than three sheets to the wind. Practically carrying the young woman into the alley, Dalia pressed her against the wall, murmuring sweet things to her as she cried. She silenced the sobbs with her lips, her tongue. Sweet she tasted, and to her surprise, young Sally threw herself into the kiss with abandon. She took her there, in the alley, teeth at her throat and hands up the girl's skirt. Her blood was sweeter as the girl came, her orgasm releasing those tasty hormones into her system. Dalia shuddered in her own height of ecstasy, as Sally's fingers had found her center, stroking and thrusting eagerly. Poor, tragic beauty. So tasty. She never knew it was the end, and she died with that orgasmic look on her face, eyes closed in bliss. She would be found sometime tomorrow, layed out serenly, that smile upon blued lips, hands and clothing arranged artfully.

It was late, far later than she had intended. The door locked behind her with a heavy, metallic click upon the wave of her hand and a few muttered words.

Her boot heels were soft, her steps deliberate so as not to wake the slumbering teen upstairs. Dalia sighed, not knowing really what to do with the girl tonight. She could smell her, she could hear her drunken snores.

Dalia smiled to herself, biting back the urge to scoop her up, wake her with the intensive strokes and licks that the girl so obviously desired. Her fingers itched to undress the young woman, to explore her still developing body. Oh, Dalia was so lonely, and so hungry. She'd fed, and fed well, but her body craved satisfaction. Dalia had always been insatiable when it came to sex, but since waking as a vampire, it was threefold.

Dalia arrived home after murdering her little plaything, Jay Simons. He'd done her bidding by bugging Bellora Vendetta's new offices, and played right into Dalia's hands. Men were so easy.

She had to dispose of him, despite her slight attatchment to his...um...appendages. He was amazing in bed, was built for the job, but he knew too much. He could be made to talk, so he had had to die.

Dalia, dripping wet from the foul river water, stinking to high heaven and colder than usual, banged on the front door. She pretended to have lost her key, had perfected a slight limp on the walk here, and had her cover story all laid out in her mind. She waited, rather impatiently, for Lyric to wake, come down, and let her in.

It was taking too long, what was with the girl? She scanned the building, and sighed, seeing Lyric had drunk herself into a stupor and passed out. Pity, she had made such plans for the rest of the evening. Perhaps a little tea of her own concocting would wake the girl up. She had a bit of that drug left over from Zillah, as well. That would really get the young girl's jets going, and perhaps having her addicted to something only Dalia could provide would be a good thing.

Letting herself in, she headed for the stash, grateful Zillah had asked her to take the risk of obtaining the silvery-purple powder for him; she was still in contact with the dealer. Adding an ample dose into a cup of strong coffee, Dalia poured too much sugar in to hide the taste. She stirred it, calling out softly to Lyric as she climbed the stairs.

"Lyric, my little wing. Wake up, I am home. I have some coffee for you, dear. I need you, you can sleep tomorrow, when I sleep." Waving the cup of flavored, heavily sugared and drugged coffee under the girl's nose, she watched her twitch, coming around. "I need you to help me get out of these clothes, and my ankle...could you wrap it for me?"

Dalia had dressed herself after rinsing the blood off after the murder, taking pains to soak (and, regretfully ruin) her dress. The devil is always in the details, she thought to herself with a smile.

Dalia silently pondered stringing the girl along, teasing her and leaving her unfulfilled, but she could not do it. She wanted the girl too much.

Her expert fingers brought Lyric over the edge, her mouth and tongue devouring the damp, hot flesh. Lyric was hers, now, and this sealed the deal. She nipped, nibbled, and tasted of Lyric, rewarded by whispers, moans, and murmurs.

Dalia hefted the weight of one small, still developing breast. This one was hers, and she would grow into a vision. Biting the jewel hard nipple, Dalia sipped of Lyric's blood, then kissed her, allowing her to taste her own life on her tongue.

Dalia spent the final hours of the night with Lyric, moving from the bath to her large, canopied bed. When dawn broke, they both slept. The drug would be wearing off soon, and when Lyric woke, Dalia would be there to administer another dose. A few nights of this, and she would have Lyric where she wanted her. Who knows? Perhaps Dalia would be able to rule the land of Fae, Lyric sitting on the throne only for show. She smiled at this, and slipped into her nightly coma.

Koya stood outside the front door of the building. The same scent she detected in her apartment lingered here. Whoever owened this building, this shop, had known she'd been here, and had checked up on her.

Koya, dressed in a leather trench, leather pants, and a poets blouse, fussed with her hair a moment. She decided to twist it up, stabbing a chopstick through the short mane to hold it in a mussy french twist.

She took a deep breath, raised her hand, and knocked hard on the door. She could hear the knock echoing in the building. Koya took a step back, or rather three or four, putting her in the street of the MarketPlace. She looked up, noticing a light on in what was surely the bathroom. She hoped that meant someone was home.

Koya nearly turned and ran when she felt the hairs on her arms and back of her neck stand up. A voice filtered through the door, angry, barely containing it's underlying malice. Oh no, had she made a serious mistake?

The door opened before she could decide her best course of action, and she was face to face with a vampire. Her internal alarms told her to run, her eyes locked on the barest glimpse of fangs, and she swallowed hard. But, she recovered, remembering that some of the vampires she'd met here in RhyDin were not all that bad.

So, tearing her dark gaze from slightly parted lips, she found it followed the lines of the woman's body; down to the obviously purposeful display of thigh, calf, and perfectly formed ankle. Koya, having experimented like all women her age did in college, was intrigued by what she saw. She allowed a gently aplogetic smile to turn up the corners of her lips, and she forced herself to speak. "I am terribly sorry to bother you. From your tone, I suppose I interrupted something." She was questioning, but went on before the woman could stop her and send her away.

"The reason I came by was, I, erm. I need help. I had passed by your shop before, but it was closed, and I was hoping to meet with you, or, you are the proprietor, are you not? Of course you are, I can see the strength of your core from the street, now that I look." Flustered, she rambled a bit and a hand fluttered at her throat, fingering the onyx "donut" her pentacle was attatched to. "You see, I ended up here by a mistake of mine. I goofed up a spell, and I was hoping to find someone who could help me get home."

Breath held, she couldn't tear her eyes from this woman's brilliant aquamarine gaze. She found her heart pounding, not just from nerves. Clearing her throat, she shifted her weight from one boot to the other, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather. What would this woman say?

Remembering she had not introduced herself, but had jumped right into the reason she was here, she pondered doing that now, but figured she had better wait. The woman had asked what she could do for her, not what her name was. Koya shook her head gently, as if clearing these rather submissive thoughts from her mind. Where had that come from? She was never this weak, this accomodating to anyone. Why all of a sudden was she thinking like a, well, a minion?