Kindred Tribune October 1,

2006
Volume 1
Issue 3
 Contact info:
Email: Kindred.Tribune@gmail.com
Web Site: www.myspace.com/KindredTribune

Editor: Melissa Brown

Contributing Authors and Artists:

William Blumberg Jordan Ierome Angela Pearson

Melissa Brown Kathryn L Kerr Goddess Rosemary
Vincent Grisanti James Martin Leilah Wendell
Agustin Hazim Yara Nightshade Matthew I Williams

PsiVamp

DISCLAMER
This magazine can and occasionally does
deal with adult topics and themes.
So we recommended this for those with a
mature mind.

The information provided here is for

educational purposes only.
The authors and editor will not be held
responsible for the actions of the readers.

© Copyright 2006, Vein Press and Publishing. All rights reserved.

All content, unless otherwise noted, is copyrighted by Vein Press and Publishing

No part of the Kindred Tribune may be reproduced in any way shape or form, by any means, electronic,
mechanical or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for review purposes.

The material published in this paper does not necessarily reflect the viewpoints of the editor or the Kindred
Tribune as a whole.
 From the Editor

Hey everyone.
Here we are issue number 3!

I would like to thank everyone who contributed to this the last issue of the year.
Come January we will be going on year 2!
I hope that you enjoy this issue and come back next issue!

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 Table Of Contents
Necromancy 101 1 For any of you Kindred Tribune readers interested
Whispers from the Otherside
A Necromancer's Prayer
Vampyr Snyper The Genesis
Piercing The Veil 18
Death and the Love Of
Samhain 22
Red Letters of Love 24
Daughters of the Night
Reviews 35
News, Events, & Announcements
Cover Artwork
Provided By Jesse Peper
in knowing; I am a painter, mostly. Although, I
3 also work with sound-related projects, sculpture,
intaglio and anything that looks useful for me to
5 bring my ideas and imagination out into the
physical world. Whenever I attempt to describe
7 my work as a painter, I find myself engaging in a
process that interferes with the actual paintings
as individual entities. Currently, I feel as if
painting is a language of sorts. One day my
19 paintings will have to live without me and speak
for themselves. Titles and sometimes
inscriptions are as far as I usually incorporate the
use of words regarding my visual ideas.
Symbolism has a very strong impression on my
work. A great deal of what I use or see as such,
33 are thusly incorporated with some degree of
personal association and interpretation. If you
would care to view my works or correspond with
me please visit my website:
36 http://www.jessepeper.com
Thank you! - Jesse
Poetry, Art, & Humor
Psychic Vampire 2
Haikus 2
Artwork by Agustin Hazim 6
Contemplating Reiko Comics 17
 Kindred Tribune
Necromancy 101
By Leilah Wendell
---------------------------------
Stop me if you've heard this one. "Necromancy is
a dark and dangerous practice so make sure that
you stand in your magic circle to protect yourself
from evil spirits." Puhlease! Don't tell me that
some people still buy into that antique mumbo
jumbo. Although, with the advent of the internet,
we have immediate access to all types of
"information", and when one does an innocent
search for a topic, one never knows if the
information procured is unbiased and accurate, or
simply the by-product of dis-informed minds
seeking to perpetuate fear mostly due to sheer
ignorance. Case in point, Necromancy, a simple
little word that commands a whole gamut of
hyperbole. Oh, the sites you'll see! Now folks, I'm
not someone who publicly enjoys bitching and
moaning (that often), but everyone has that one
niggling thing that just sticks in their craw
enough to yell ouch out loud.
Folks, it's time to put away all the bad old books
inspired by Christian fear, intolerance, ignorance
and dogma bias and open yourselves to a purer,
unconditional level of consciousness. Necromantic
practice is aligned with neither the 'right' nor the
'left' hand path. It is simply an acute attunement
to what I like to call, the "death energy", an
affiliation and natural affinity some people have
for the current of transition. It is a fact that some
people just feel more at home among the dead
rather than the living. Most of the historical
information on necromancy is so heavily steeped
in the Christian religion that such "staples" of the
craft like The Black Arts by Richard Cavendish
and The Grand Grimoire by A.E Waite, the
Malleus Maleficarum and anything by Eliphas
Levi, while fun reading as a teenager, are no
longer a viable nor accurate view of necromancy
in today's world where many belief pantheons
overlap to create the multi-cultural society we
live in. The world is a big, diverse place no longer
bounded by the harsh constraints that produced
these types of fear-inspired texts. It amazes me
that there are several sites out there purporting
to be 'lefthand path" necromancy that simply
reiterate the same old Christian based texts as
their "Grimoires".
True necromancy, or what I prefer to call
Necromantic Practice can only be achieved when
all elements of fear are eradicated. Necromantic
Practice does not involve dominance and
servitude. In other words, the spirits of the dead,
or of Death Itself, are not at the magician's beck
and call, nor will they, nor "He" do your
~1~
Volume-1 Issue-3
"bidding". It is only the arrogant soul that
believes this. One cannot "conjure" nor
"command" spirits.
In earlier times, Necromantic rituals were often
elaborately ghoulish, and irreverently brutal.
Because of this, Necromancy (or divination
through the dead) was considered a "black" art.
Something engaged in only by practitioners of
"sinister magic". True Necromantic workings,
however, do not involve using brutality,
desecration of the dead, or any other practice
that one would consider the antithesis of
reverence. Such methods are the trappings of
fear and ignorance. We do not seek to have the
dead tell us our futures, nor to call souls back
from that distant realm to do our bidding. In High
Necromantic practice, the cadaver is simply a
consecrated catalyst - an empty chalice, if you
will, that we will attempt to fill with a potent
spirit. It is the host body. The death house is not
violated, nor is the host. All elements are treated
with the love and sacrosanctity a true magician
must have if he or she ever hopes to succeed in
contacting and sharing consciousness with non-
corporeal entities.
Necromantic rituals are neither "black" nor
"white" magic. They are rites of twilight, a
merging of dark and light in a beautiful and
natural union where all dividing lines become a
blur. Black and white are simply sides of the
same coin of Truth. There is no balance of one
without the other. Everything in the universe
must have its balancing factor, or there would be
no universe at all. There is great beauty and
divinity in the darkness, though fear of the
unknown keeps many from looking. If you have
an open heart and are pure of spirit, you may be
graced by the presence of spirits, but only when
one is humbled by Love and perforce of Faith will
one be ready to receive their message and
appreciate the visitation for what it is. Contact
with spirits, whether the spirits of the dead, or
"higher" entities entails responsibility. It is not a
game to be engaged in for egocentric purposes.
You can play in your magic circle until one day
you are mature enough to realize that no circle is
necessary, nor can such trappings of man contain
any energies outside of our realm.
Many people believe that if they 'raise' the dead,
that they can tell one's future because spirits are
not bounded by time and space as we know it.
However, if a spirit has something vital to impart
to you, IT will call upon you, not vice-versa. The
dead have better things to do and a higher
purpose to serve than to be someone's personal,
on-call seer. Necromantic practice entails respect
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

and reverence not only for the spirits of the dead,
but for the spirit of Death, Itself. So, if you are
sincerely seeking to engage in necromancy, ask
yourself this-
How willing a lover would you be to Death?
----------------------------------------------------
© 2000 by Leilah Wendell
PSYCHIC VAMPIRE
Living a life of stolen vital force
Always searching for a cure of his own remorse
Hidden in the shadows of night
Studying and filling books of indite
Dare try not to feed
Only making others safety far from guaranteed
Manipulating this energy at his will
Psychic vampire
Living a life of hunger and Thrill

Jordan Ierome

Haikus
**********
By. Matthew I Williams

Death is not the end, I search for my soul,

It is the beginning of understanding life, Because it is not a complete one,
With more steps to come. For she is not here.
********** **********
I seek the innocents blood, I come with the night,
To drain all but the last drops, To destroy everything you have ever loved,
And create an unholy innocence. There is no greater pleasure
************************************
© Matthew I Williams

~2~
 Kindred Tribune
I kept hearing a girls voice by my right ear for
years, she told me about things that were going
to happen and gave me psychic dreams I woke
up the next day and the things began happening,
I became more and more aware of what would
happen next in conversations and situations I
saw that I didn't know about previously, most
recent one was a car crash predicted on the turn
off from the M5 well a week or so after she had
told me, it happened, the strange thing was i had
just finished telling my connexions worker about
it when it happened, and he was as freaked out
as I was.
Chrissy x
********************
M y family and I moved into our house in 1997.
I was the only one in the house (husband at
work, son in school) and I was unpacking boxes
in the basement rec room. I heard what I
thought was a deep-throated cough coming from
the utility room and turned around to see who
was there. A gray-haired man, wearing blue
jeans and a red/black plaid button up shirt, was
sitting on my couch...and he hadn't been there a
moment ago! I asked him who he was. He smiled
and said he was Mr. Yochum. But his words were
long and drawn out like they were coming from a
long way away. I sprinted up the stairs after
hearing his voice (don't think I even touched the
steps!!!) I started asking the neighbors and
found out Mr. Yochum lived in our house about
10 years before us and died in the master
bedroom.
After that we had some disturbances in our
house. Like doors opening and closing in front of
us. The French doors were thrown open so hard
the glass broke. Seeing lights float through the
house. Cold spots. I saw an elemental on the
attic stairs (that REALLY scared the shit out of
me!!!).
Miss Crye
********************
~3~
Volume-1 Issue-3
Whispers from
the Otherside
Real life experiences with the
paranormal
My favorite encounter was when I joined a
paranormal group at the old Melbourne goal and
when I was on the top floor (at the place with the
most activity) alone I got tapped on the shoulder
and asked to leave, I thought it was my dad
being funny but later I found out I was probably
contacted by one of the hanged prisoners.
Another one I had, also in Melbourne on the
Melbourne ghost tour was when we were led to a
place that a murderer killed several people and it
was also an active haunting spot and I got my
left shoulder pushed down so hard I swear it
nearly dislocated, talking to my mum later she
had the same experience to a lesser extent.
The most haunted house in Australia is called
Monte Cristo and is known for its colorful past
and all the ghosts that live there. My dad and I
went on a tour of the house and in the children's
room it was defiantly colder than the rest of the
house for no apparent reason, it also seemed
darker. I got a photo of a spirit in the mirror of
the dining room in the house and I felt like
throwing myself off the balcony, which I later
found out that a girl about my age had killed
herself that way and the stain of blood could
never be washed out. So they bleached it up.
My last one that I’ll share is the encounters I’ve
had with my grandparents who've passed over.
The first one I had was I got a terrible pain when
my grandfather died and had to be brought home
from a friends house, to find that he had passed.
The second one was with both my grandmother
and grandfather one night when I had a friend
over... Anyway, my grandfather ended up helping
me cheat at monopoly and win gloriously.
Spitefultounge
********************
 Kindred Tribune
I have only one encounter or at least I still think
it was.
You see my grandmother was in the hospital
dying. Everyone was sad and praying as any
family would. So then when everyone went to
gather at her house while she was still in the
hospital I had the strangest dream. It was about
me and my grandma sitting in the 2 old rocking
chairs on the porch. I remember her telling me
that I better do well in school and keep on writing
because I could become very famous if I put my
effort into it. And I don’t know I started crying in
my dream asking her why does she have to go.
And she told me to take care of my mom and
dad. And then I remember being awoken by her
alarm clock cause I was sleeping in her room.
And when I was awoken by this loud clatter
coming from the alarm clock at around 8:35am I
could have sworn I could sense a presence beside
me making me jump out of the bed and run into
the kitchen (leave me alone I was only 11).
But I soon found out that my mom received a
phone call saying my grandma had died that
morning...I guess it was her goodbye to me,
cause the doctors wouldn’t let me see her I was
too young.
Jordan
********************
I believe I saw a ghost back around May of 85. It
was during a field exercise in the Republic of
Korea (Team Spirit 85). I was walking a guard
post late one night along a path between a dry
river bed and a dry rice paddy. A small road ran
perpendicular to a bridge crossing the river bed.
It was probably between midnight and 1am when
I heard footsteps on the road behind me. I saw
someone walking along the road heading towards
the bridge. I didn't think much about it but when
that person reached the bridge he disappeared. I
ran over to the bridge but there was nobody in
sight. I was kinda freaked out at this point.
I took a photo of the area. Red X is where I was
standing, green X is where the person vanished. I
don't recall the location, all I know is that we
were south of Seoul. I do know that the whole
area was a battlground during the Korean war.
On another note, my father almost bought a
house that was later reported to be haunted. A
few years later we read in the local paper that
~4~
Volume-1 Issue-3
the new owners found human remains buried in
the cellar. Creepy
Michael Ingram
********************
Sitting in my friend's Pinto over 14 years ago
now, and preparing to chow down on my triple
cheese veggie sub, a horrible story came over
the static laced radio, of a recently found body on
Knox Mountain. They identified the body to be
male, 14-18 years of age. Bones were missing,
probably carried off by animals in the night. I
couldn't shake this sad and horrible feeling I was
having since hearing this. That night I dreamt
that I knew who killed this male. A blonde, gay,
schoolteacher who lured young boys up to the
mountain. I saw the house he
lived in, a rose trestle near his front walk, and his
address, street and number continually flashed
like a neon sign in one part of the dream. Just
before I woke, he knew that I knew, and was
headed after me to quiet me. I jumped-no, flew,
from my bed and stood trembling. It was so
vivid, so paralyzing.
My friend and I had to go seek out the address I
saw that night. Halfway down the street I saw
the exact same rose trestle as I had seen the
night before. Here sat a murderer's house! My
breath froze!
Terror-stricken as I was, I had to go up to Knox
Mountain. It was like this sick addiction, and I
wanted to get a sense of the area and maybe feel
or see something to help the cops and this
unnamed body. I found a bone about a
quarter mile from the left over crime scene tape.
After some much needed coaxing, I called the
cops. It turns out they had already questioned
this man and he had been busted with an
underage boy up on the mountain earlier that
year. The bone turned out to be a leg bone from
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

a large animal. To this day the body has never

been claimed, and his murderer walks free. There
was not enough evidence to even try him.
I always question why I dreamed this. I had
never been on the teacher's street before, nor on
Knox Mountain. I often wonder if somewhere
along the way I may have crossed paths with this
young male.
Never before, or after has anything happened to
me like that. So many people want to be psychic-
not me. It brought unbelievable terror to me for
a long time...
I have been able to see ghosts for almost as long
as I have been alive. I saw my first ghost when I
was about 5 years old. It was a little girl who
wanted to play hid and go seek with me.
When I told my mom she said that there wasn’t
any little girl and that I shouldn’t lie to her.
After that, I never talked to my mom about the
things and people I saw.
In the last couple of years since I have moved
out of my moms house I have begun to
acknowledge the people and things that I see.

Poesraven333 Last Candlemas was one of the best experiences.

********************
A Necromancer's Prayer
Ad tu, deditio meus cor, meus amina, meus
credo.
ea id cum fides ille cado in tuus potens ala
ea id cum amor ille offero calix de meus cor-
bibo profundis de meus vita ille licet cognosco
altitudos
de flumen de oblivio et memoria.
ea id sine timor et cum desiderium verus
ille osculum tuus tranquillus, frigus oris
prudens ille hic memoria volo esse meus ultimas.
I went to a ritual and one of the people who was
participating in the ritual had lost her husband
last year (On Yule) and we where doing the ritual
at her house.
So while we where in circle we had generated a
lot of energy, after we were down with the work
we took down the cone of power. Right after we
took down the cone of power and I opened my
eyes I saw him standing right outside the circle
behind his wife.
When I told her (The wife) it made her feel good
and she smiled. So in turn it made me feel good.
********************
Melissa Brown

(English Translation)

To thee, I surrender, my heart, my soul, my

trust.
It is with Faith that I fall into your mighty wings.
It is with love that I offer up the chalice of my
heart,
Drink deep of my life that I might know the
depths
of the river of Forgetfulness and Memory.
It is without fear and with true desire
that I kiss your still, cold lips
knowing that this memory shall be my last

--------------------------------------
© by Leilah Wendell

- Above-

A photo of me at the
Whaley house in San
Diego with an orb on my
~5~ cheek.
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

To the Right:
Heartbreaker

MEDIA: It is
a graphite
(plain old
pencil)
drawing with
marker
accents and
some minor
digital
contrast

To the Left:
Flying Vixens

MEDIA:
Done in
graphite (plain
old pencil)

Artist
Agustin Hazim
I am 26 human years old. I was born in Manhattan and have resided in the Bronx for the last 12
years. I have been drawing since I was 2. I attended the H.S. of Art & Design and majored in
Fashion Illustration. Since then I realized I also have a knack for clothing design as well as 2-
dimentional art. Not to mention that the release of Interview with the Vampire helped reinspire
me to design apparel for our kind. I then attended Katharine Gibbs School and recieved an A.A.S.
in Fashion Design and Merchandising. Now my goal is to become an established artist/designer of
all things nocturnal and be one with the community. Of course I was born a vamp and I've been
aware of it since the age of about 5. Jerry Dandridge is my first vamp hero and is my inspiration
for life. In case you wonder, I am not a goth and do not want to be referred to as one although I
respect anyone's choice to be one. I prefer to be classic and sophisticated with a twist of sickness
in my interpretation of my nature.

To the Right:
Dinner for Two

MEDIA: Done in
graphite (plain old
pencil)

~6~
 Kindred Tribune
Vampyr Snyper The Genesis
By. Kathryn L Kerr
-------------------------------------------
Chapter 2
Catrina’s apartment was immaculate, mostly
because she spent so little time in it.
Her bedroom was different. Clean and worn
clothes created a makeshift carpet. Another pile
of clothes had gathered at the bottom of the
wardrobe. An inconspicuous pinewood cabinet
was built into the side door of the opened
wardrobe. A sniper rifle and sawn-off shotgun
hung there, barely used . The same could not be
said for the Colt AR-15, scratched, dirty with
trace remains of blood, discarded behind the
door. The Beretta – her favorite – was
underneath a magazine on the bedside table and
in a better condition: it had been a gift.
Catrina awoke from an unsteady sleep. After
taking a few painkillers for her headache, she
started doing sit-ups. She sat down in front of
the bed, slipped her toes under the frame. It
helped clear her head and shake the feeling that
the dead were watching her.
Her victims haunted her, their faces burned
into memory. During the day she had more
important things to think about and they were
buried in her subconscious. At night, her
defences dropped and they returned.
Remembering countless bulging eyes and
panicked hands gripping her coat woke her up
with the sensation of being choked. It was one
of the reasons she did not sleep much.
She started to think of Fox. His proposition
was interesting, but she wanted to know what
made him so unique. It was obvious he was not
like anyone else she had ever met. Her first
thought was Navy Seal, or the result of some
Secret Service experiment, or a genetic anomaly:
any were a possibility, yet she doubted them all.
She would not find out about him unless she
accepted the offer. If she declined, she knew
they would never meet again. Not to say he
would stop watching her…
She stopped exercising. It dawned on her
how long three years actually was. She had been
a professional contract killer for as long. She had
been involved in the business for closer to seven
years, but Tony had not given her a gun until she
had turned sixteen. The things she had done as
~7~
Volume-1 Issue-3
part of her job was enough to send shivers up
her spine. Fox could have seen it all.
And they wanted to take her on because of
her performance so far. She was flattered at the
attention, and the intrigue of the whole thing was
immensely alluring. Fox had been so confident
she would say ‘yes’, yet he had given away very
little by means of persuasion.
She went into the bathroom for a glass of
water. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, the
tank top she slept in rode up to her ribcage and
showed the thick scar over the left side of her
pelvis.
It was faded silver now, but she still
remembered when it was red raw, and how much
she had cried. She got it the night she had met
Tony Gostanzo. He had hit her with his car.
She was ten at the time, and Tony – having
a son of a similar age – took pity on her. After
the accident and realizing she was a runaway, he
took her in. It started so easily. Before the age
of thirteen, she had shot a would-be assailant in
the kneecap and pushed a man out of a ten-story
window.
Catrina had very few scars, as her skin was
quick to heal. But the older ones, such as this
one, stayed to remind her of the past.
Tony was the biggest issue she had to
overcome, not just from a professional
standpoint but as a father. She had no family
and refused to talk about her parents. Tony was
the only family she knew.
She would be a fool to let Fox’s offer like this
slide. She had been looking for other work for a
while, but never actively. She had been lax in
her assignments, but mainly it was in the hope
that Tony would fire her. It would make it easier
to walk away when he was angry. Unfortunately,
a Gostanzo never gave up on a child, even if the
family ties were not by blood. He just assumed
she was struggling under the pressure.
The previous year, she had carried out a kill
on Robert Dyne, a boss to a rival organisation
and a personal enemy to the Gostanzo family.
That had been the pinnacle of her career, yet she
felt little elation – except on a personal level – at
having the honour of killing him. It left her
feeling hollow, and her work had taken a
nosedive since then.
 Kindred Tribune
Fox would not wait. No doubt there were
other people with natural abilities that rivalled
hers. She climbed onto the bed, cradling taking
the Beretta in her lap. It helped her think.
This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If
she turned it down, she would be with the
Gostanzo organisation until she died. She
understood how important it was; she was just
taken aback at how quickly she had to decide. It
would not come up again.
Settling back into her existing profession
would not suffice. She wanted something more
challenging, something more dangerous, more
exciting.
She would not find a better excuse to move
on . Even Tony would not pass up an offer like
this.
The scars told stories, and there was no time
she would not remember them. A change of
scenery would not change her memories. And
she wanted this, she was interested in Fox and
his abilities, and more interested in how they
would benefit her.
If she did not move on, it was going to slowly
eat away at her. She had seen it happen to
other people and refused to suffer the same fate.
She finally got into bed, slipping the gun
back under the magazine. She curled up under
the sheets and looked towards the window. The
LCD on her alarm clock flashed 03:47, which left
her a few more hours before she had to leave.
She set her alarm for nine o’clock every
morning, whether or not she was working. She
exercised or went to the nearest café and
watched people passing. The world moved so
quickly, she never liked to sleep for too long for
fear of missing it.
Her reasons for getting up that morning
would be different. She had not returned to the
office that night to report on the McCann
assignment. Tony would be worried, and had she
not signed in by the next morning, he would send
out a search party. If she was planning to accept
Fox’s offer, she would have to be out of the
apartment by then.
She would decide in the morning. If she
were to stay, she would make up a story to
excuse her lateness and sign in as usual. If she
were to go, she would gather a few belongings
and go before she was found.
~8~
Volume-1 Issue-3
Without windows, the room was pitch-black.
A slit of pale light slid under the door. It was
cool inside, blanketed in silence with the
exception of soft, deep breathing.
A shrill telephone ring sliced through the
serenity; the darkness was shattered as the
room’s occupant switched on a light.
Fox took a few seconds to wake up. He sat
up in bed and checked his watch. It was seven
thirty. He had barely been in bed half an hour.
The sheet slipped off his bare shoulders, as he
dragged himself up to reach the phone. There
was no number on the display.
‘Good morning, Catrina.’
‘How did you know it was me?’
‘I don’t know anyone else who’d call at this
time.’
‘…I know what I want to do.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I accept your proposition.’
His smile was sincere, but it was not
articulated. ‘What persuaded you?’
‘…I know this isn’t your average job offer.
My intuition’s swayed it.’
‘I thought it would.’
‘That and curiosity.’
‘I’m glad,’ he replied. He ran his fingers
though his hair and considered his next move. ‘I
can’t get to you until tonight. Do you have a
problem with safety?’
‘Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I
didn’t sign in. They’ll be looking for me soon.’
He gave her an address over the telephone.
It was the name and location of the nearest safe
house. He gave strict instructions on what to do
in order to get in. She took it all in as he said it.
‘…Got it?’
‘Every word,’ she replied, scribbling the last
thing he had said on the Post-It by the telephone
stand.
 Kindred Tribune
‘Bring as many of your things as you want or
need to. Leave your bigger weapons, and don’t
be offended if they take your gun when you go
in.’
‘If they threaten to take it, I’m not going in.’
He sighed and pulled off sheets. Since she
had woken him, he might as well get up. Half an
hour was not bad. He took his cigarettes from
the table and lit one as he circuited his small
room.
‘I’ll let them know to expect you, then. Don’t
be aggressive with them, Catrina. In fact, if
you’re going to courteous with anyone, make it
them. I’ll be there at eight thirty tonight.’
He hung up the phone at that, but he
continued to pace and smoke. There was an
excited gleam in his deep eyes. The hardest part
was over, all that there was left to do was take
her. He sat down on the bed and wished he
could get there sooner. But what was one more
day? He fell back and rested his arms on the
back of his head, moving one to take the
cigarette out of his mouth. He watched the
smoke rise from his barely parted lips. He was
still tired. He had to reserve his energy. It
would not be an easy job.
The line went dead. She was not expecting it
and stared at the phone for a few seconds longer.
She placed the phone back in its cradle. Her
decision had been easy; it just meant that now
she had no right to be in the apartment. Tony
would be in his office before eight. If she had not
signed in, first he would try to call her. She
checked her cellular phone was not switched on
and put it back in her pocket. She would dispose
of it later.
When he could not get her on the phone, he
would send someone to check her apartment.
She set about packing. She left most of her
clothes and belongings; it would be more
convincing that she had been abducted if her
items had been left behind. For the same
reason, she did not pack any of the guns other
than the Beretta. Tony would have expected her
to have taken it anywhere she went.
When the search of her apartment returned
nothing, the search would spread across the city.
By then, she would be initiated into Fox’s
organisation and too far for anyone to pick up the
trail.
~9~
Volume-1 Issue-3
She read the Post-It once, twice…again and
again until she could recall it from memory. She
went into the kitchen, fished a disposable lighter
out of the drawer and set the small shred of
paper alight. She dropped it into the sink and
watched it burn before washing the ashes away.
No one else was to know where she was heading.
She left the apartment without looking back.
She had not been there long enough to set roots
or have any sentimental attachments. It was
just a series of rooms in a lifeless building.
The safe house was a few miles away, but it
was still early. She was in no rush to get there,
since Fox would not be there until gone sunset.
She ended up at the safe house just after
one. There was an intercom on the steel-
enforced door. She pressed the button.
‘Look into the camera,’ a voice commanded.
She leaned away from the door and looked
straight into the camera. The intercom crackled.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m here for Fox,’ she replied to the camera.
Another silence, longer this time and more
uncertain. ‘Hang on.’
The lock clicked back and the door opened
slightly of its own accord. She pulled it with
supreme effort. The door slammed shut behind
her and for a few seconds she was enclosed in
the tight space between the enforced door and
the entrance. She braced herself and went
inside.
The inside of the safe house looked like a
run-down motel. A long corridor ran from the
front door, splitting into corridors, rooms and
stairs. There was a cheap desk a few yards in
from the security door, and a man sitting behind
it who fitted the scene.
He was a dumpy-shaped man in his forties.
There was more hair on his face than his head,
all grey and white. He looked Mexican, maybe
Spanish. She neither knew nor cared, but he
was the first port of call.
‘I’m here to meet up with a man called Fox.
He said you’d be expecting me.’
The man continued to chew his gum
nonchalantly. He made his way around the desk.
 Kindred Tribune
‘Hands on the desk,’ he droned. ‘Godda pat
you down. Don’t look at me like that. You get a
pat down or you walk out.’
‘Firstly,’ she said, scooting back. ‘Fox was
meant to tell you not to search me, and second…’
She whipped the gun from the back of her jeans.
The man jumped as though she had shoved it in
his face. She slammed it on the desk. ‘You
could just ask me to show you what I’m packing.’
He read over her face carefully. ‘Is that
everything?’
She smiled. ‘If I wanted to use it, it’d be
enough. But I don’t need it. I just carry it for
comfort. Like jewellery, only bigger.’
There was a long hesitation on his part. Her
face betrayed nothing of her intention, and he
was nervous. But he was assured by the name.
‘You’re Fox’s?’
‘I’m here to see him, yes.’
‘Right, right, sure. Whatever. Well, okay, if
you’re here for him, I guess I can let you go on
ahead.’ He went back to his side of the
reception. He took a key off a board full of
identical keys. ‘Forty Three.’
She took the key with a nod, picking her gun
back up as she went. She settled in her room,
no doubt once Fox arrived, she would be busy.
There would be so much paperwork to go over,
they would probably be there until the early
hours of the next morning.
She opened the curtains to get a view of the
area, only to find the windows were boarded up.
In a place like this she did not think that
maintenance was high on the list of priorities.
She decided to get a few more hours sleep,
just one or two, to make sure she was alert for
when he arrived.
She was dragged from the nightmares of
shadows and monsters by the sound of someone
knocking on the door. She groaned and rolled
over, and only then did she remember that she
was not at home. She sat up quickly and
checked her watch. It was eight o’clock exactly.
‘Shit,’ she cursed quietly to herself, dragging
herself off the bed while trying to straighten her
hair and look more presentable. ‘It’s not locked!’
she called.
~10~
Volume-1 Issue-3
The door opened carefully, but it creaked all
the same. Fox avoided meeting her gaze as he
entered.
‘You should always lock the door,’ he said,
locking the door behind him, but she did not
notice. She barely heard him speak.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘I usually do. You must
have a heap of papers for me to sign.’ She
looked at him intently. ‘You haven’t brought
anything.’
He said nothing.
Her brows furrowed. Although she barely
knew him, something in his expression was off.
She refrained from questioning him and instead
started to get her things ready. She was nervous
and not sure why. It felt like foreboding. Or
excitement. Whatever it was, it was making her
constantly walk around the room.
He traced her steps carefully; she did not see
the urgency in his eyes. She grabbed her
backpack from the windowsill and quickly threw a
few things in it.
‘I’m not ready yet,’ she explained, trailing
her own discarded items. Fox kept out of her
way but was advancing. ‘I was just so tired
when got here. I was only meant to have an
hour or so. But I didn’t sleep well last night, and
I figured we’d have a lot of business to cover,
so…’
She turned around and he standing right in
front of her. She doubled back and slowly raised
one arm to create a safety zone, and he stepped
warily back.
The Beretta went into the bag last. He
watched her without a word, as she fastened the
bag, put on her coat and picked up the bag in
one hand. With all her worldly possessions
inside, it was heavier than she remembered.
She attempted a friendly smile his way. He
was keeping his distance now, and he looked
slightly indignant. Had she offended him
somehow?
‘I’m ready when you are,’ she offered.
His eyes drifted up to meet hers. They were
darker now and lacked spark. ‘You’re sure about
this? You can’t go back on your word.’
 Kindred Tribune
She looked at him carefully. ‘I know.’
‘Alright, then let’s go.’
She went to the door, only then realising it
was locked. She hesitated. ‘Uh, did you lock
this?’
She turned, once again coming face to face
with him. She had not heard him move, but in
an instant he was less than three inches from
her. She tried to create space between them.
This time he resisted.
Panic settled over her. She pushed against
his chest, but it made no difference and he just
kept staring into her eyes. She tried to slide to
the left, but he stretched his arm to the wall and
cut her off. She was half afraid, half irritated,
and – perhaps not wisely – it was the irritation
that showed.
‘What are you doing?’
She moved to the right; his other arm was
already there to box her in. Now she had
nowhere to go; the door handle pressed against
the small of her back and forced her closer to
him.
Her eyes widened and her expression
pleaded with him to explain. Her heart was
racing, pounding her chest so hard she could feel
him being moved by it. The motion only made
him move closer, so close she could feel his
breath on her lips and his hair as it brushed
against her.
He moved close enough for their lips to
touch, when suddenly his face disappeared from
her line of sight. She tried briefly to move
forwards, but he grabbed her by the wrists and
forced her against the door. The wood strained
against their weight.
She tried to speak, either to scream for help,
hurl insults, or to reason with a man who had
obviously gone mad. Words formed in her throat
but never made it past her lips.
He stabbed what felt like needles into her
throat. A feeling more potent blind panic took
over. Primal rage at this unfounded attack
spurred her. She pushed fiercely against him,
and for a second she felt his grip lessen. But it
returned. His face was still out of sight, as he
slipped his hands up her back and gripped her by
the shoulders. He pulled her from the door.
~11~
Volume-1 Issue-3
She refused to go down like this, and if she
did not fight, he would kill her.
She tried to kick him. Her brain told her
limbs to move, but nothing happened. She tried
again. No reaction. Again. Nothing. In her
mind, she shoved her knee into his groin and
slammed his skull against her raised knee. In
reality, she just stood there in his arms.
She felt all the muscles in her body abandon
her, and she started to slip into Fox’s expectant
arms. The hot sting around her neck where he
had started felt like it was about to slide down
her throat and into her chest.
Her face was wet. It took her a few seconds
to realise she was crying. She could not hear
herself, because whatever Fox had injected into
her had muted the world around her.
The world started to turn dark. It returned a
few seconds later, but she knew this was the
onset of unconsciousness. White spots danced
tauntingly across her vision. Her body convulsed
of its own accord. She wanted to wipe her eyes,
to stand up and kill the man who was trying to
kill her first.
He lessened his grip on her, which made no
difference now. She could not hold her own head
up, let alone fight back. He guided her to the
floor.
Darkness remained for longer this time. Her
eyes fluttered fitfully. She was losing the fight.
Whatever he had done to her, he had done it
well. Her blood was burning with whatever drug
he had used.
Still crying and going into shock, her body
surged and her back arched. His hand went over
her chest and pushed her back to the floor.
He leant closer, looking into her eyes. He
said something that she could not hear. He
should have known that much. His eyes were
completely black and stared deeply into her soul.
She felt him press against her more urgently.
Her own consciousness receded. The last thing
she saw of him was a set of long, perfect fangs,
covered in crimson and still dripping, as he went
back for more…
She woke up screaming. The sound
resonated in her head and forced her forwards.
The image was still left in her mind, so she forced
her eyes open to shake it. She was met with the
 Kindred Tribune
dreary drab of the safe house room. Nothing had
changed, and she was alone.
She untangled herself from the sheets and
threw herself out of bed. Her heart was racing,
leaving her short of breath and light-headed.
She staggered to the wardrobe for support. Her
head throbbed with a terrible ache and she slid
down to the floor. She checked her watch. It
was five o’clock, but she was none the wiser
whether it was morning or evening. She was not
sure which would be more strange.
She could hear her heart like never before.
The soft thud as it surged the blood around her
body was surprisingly calming. It also meant she
was not dead. She tried to stand but without
success. Her body was still tired. Slowly, she
headed back to bed. Her feet itched whenever
she moved. It was as though the carpet was
filled with thousands of tiny spikes. She may
have been coming down with a fever.
She slid under the sheets, lay back and tried
to relax. The beating of her heart was not
getting quieter; it started to annoy her. She
rolled over and pulled the pillow over her ears.
The feeling shifted her chest; she felt and heard
it all perfectly.
As she sat up again to get her painkillers,
she heard the key turning in the lock. She had
not locked the door. Fox had. But Fox had not
been yet. Had he?
She went for her Beretta only to realise it
was not there. Her bag was tucked in the
opposite corner of the room. She had not packed
yet, either…
She was out of bed in a shot. The carpet
scratched the soles of her feet. She fell by the
bag, fumbling with the ties.
The door opened. She was momentarily
blinded by the intense white light from outside.
It burned so fiercely, she thought her eyes would
burst. She raised her arm to protect herself and
ended up falling over.
Fox closed the door quickly, and gave her a
few seconds to readjust to the dim light and sit
up.
‘You’re awake.’ He sounded surprised.
She stood up so quickly it shocked her. But
she was confused and angry. She was not sure
what she had dreamt and what was real.
~12~
Volume-1 Issue-3
Neither moved. She did not know how to get
answers, and he did not know where to begin.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked eventually,
moving towards the chair beside the bed. He sat
down and waited for her to join him.
‘How am I feeling?’ she repeated, moving
forwards cautiously. She tried to get some
answers from his expression. ‘I’m not sure.
You’re early,’ she added, tapping her watch.
‘Actually, you’re late,’ he replied. ‘It’s five
o’clock in the morning. You’ve been out for
nearly nine hours.’
She edged back towards the bed. ‘Why
didn’t you wake me?’
‘I did.’
She stopped. ‘What?’
‘You remember what happened.’ It was not
a question, more an urge for her to bring back
the memories she had been so quick to stifle.
‘That…didn’t happen.’
‘It did.’
‘It didn’t.’
‘Catrina.’ He stood up. His eyes lacked both
their ungodly blackness and their dangerous
gleam, but it did not calm her. He gestured to
the bed. ‘Sit down, I need to explain.’
She made no attempt to move. ‘What did
you do?’
‘Sit down.’
‘No, tell me first.’
His eyes softened a fraction. It was
sympathy because she did not understand what
had happened, and she would not believe what
he had to tell her. There was no easy way to put
it, and there was no joy in keeping the truth from
her. He took a deep breath and spread his arms
wide.
‘I made you a vampire.’
She laughed. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
 Kindred Tribune
Fox took a step closer. ‘It’s not easy to
believe it…’
‘You’re crazy,’ she barked. Her legs were
going to give way. Sheer determination kept her
standing. Her heart pounded. She felt dizzy.
‘You’re crazy and a liar.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘You have to be,’ she argued. She staggered
to the side, feeling nauseous and faint. The last
thing she saw was Fox move to catch her, but
she passed out before she could respond.
She woke up again in bed. This time Fox
was already sitting in the chair beside her. He
was not watching her, sat with his arms rested
on his thighs, staring at the opposite wall, deep
in thought.
The feeling that he had been there with her
all that time infuriated her. She did not feel well
as it was, and his presence did not help. What
was she doing back in bed? What had he said?
She sat up, arms folded.
‘Feeling better?’ He was smiling.
She could have screamed. ‘You think this is
funny?’
‘Not at all.’ He sat up straight and let the
smile drop.
‘What’s going on here, Fox?’
‘I’ve told you.’
‘Well, I don’t believe you.’
‘And I don’t care. It doesn’t matter whether
or not you ‘believe’.’
Her body ached. It felt longer than one
night. Maybe she had been out for days. She
needed to stretch, to crack her bones, maybe to
do a few exercises or go for a run. She did not
want to let him know she was in pain, because
inside she was still fighting away the notion that
he had done something terrible to her.
‘I want to get out of here,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘That’s not a good idea.
Your body’s going through some changes. It’s
not wise to move around too much.’
‘I need to move.’
~13~
Volume-1 Issue-3
‘It’s normal, trust me. The best thing is
rest.’
‘But my legs…’
‘You’re going through a change,’ he cut her
off. ‘I know what it’s like. I’ve been there, we all
have.’
‘…All?’
‘Other vampires. Most turnings take a few
days.’
‘Vampires? Turnings?’ She hunched her
shoulders, tried to move. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
She got one leg off the side of the bed,
before Fox was by her side. The concerned gaze
did not suit him. ‘Just lie back. The pain will
pass.’
She tried to stand. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
She made it half way, before he wrapped his
hand around her throat and forced her back
down. ‘You’re not listening to me…’
‘Why should I?’
He sat back down, willing to give her space,
as long as she did not get up. They stared at one
another. Her eyes blazed, but it subsided into
another dizzy spell. She shuddered and felt
herself passing out again. ‘God damn it…’
This was not the best start to her new,
exciting career.
Catrina awoke, as something was stabbed
into her arm. She screamed and tried to get up.
Fox pulled the needle out quickly.
She lashed out, throwing a severe punch to
his gut.
He doubled back and let out a growl. His
grip lessened, but not long enough for her to
attempt an escape. He turned her over and
caught her leg as she went to kick him. She
could tell by the way he held her that he was
angry. The blow must have shocked him.
He moved back. She sat bolt upright in bed,
overcome with vertigo. He took something from
a carry-all by the door.
‘What are you doing now?’
 Kindred Tribune
He did not answer but came back to the
bedside holding rope. Despite her fragile state,
she attempted another mad rush for the door.
He went after her, so much quicker than she
could fathom. He hooked one arm around her
waist, lifted her up like a giant feather, and
carried her back.
He shoved her onto the chair. The sting ran
from her tailbone right up to her skull. He was
not sympathetic.
‘What’s your preference?’ His voice was
sharper; at last her behaviour was pushing him.
‘The chair or the bed?’
‘Excuse me?’
He wrapped the rope around his hand.
‘You’re going to accept this sooner or later. I
didn’t want to spend long doing this, but you are
obviously having difficulty with it. I’ll need to
keep you from causing any harm to yourself.’
‘You are not tying me down.’
‘That’s my decision,’ he replied, less patient
by the second. ‘Do you accept that you are a
vampire?’
He waited. She wondered what he was
expecting her to say. In the end, she shrugged.
‘No.’
She went into submission and let him tie her
wrists and ankles. The rope burned where it
touched; every microscopic fibre scraped against
her skin. She lay down on the bed and tried to
keep still. The sheets were itchy. The light
burned her eyes. Her heartbeat drummed its
constant rhythm in her head.
‘How long are you going to keep me here?’
she asked.
He sat down on the chair and tilted his head
to look her in the eye. ‘As long as it takes for the
hunger to kick in. You won’t be able to deny it
then.’ He got back up.
‘What hunger?’ she asked, trying her best to
follow his gaze without moving.
‘Your body will stop changing within forty
eight hours. After that, it will be stronger, more
attuned. Your sight, hearing, smell…all the
senses will improve. But your new strength will
need a new kind of nourishment to keep those
~14~
Volume-1 Issue-3
abilities at full power. Without blood, you’ll
become delusional, your body will suffer.’ He
took a small vial out of his pocket. ‘I have a few
of these to hand. It’s blood. Your body will need
it. Will you let me inject you with it?’
‘I don’t want that thing in me.’
He shrugged and put the syringe back into
his jacket. ‘Fine. But eventually your body will
force you take it.’
‘I didn’t know vampires were injected.’
‘You can’t drink from the vein until you’ve
accepted what you are.’
His words sent shivers up her spine. ‘I can’t.’
‘You say that now…’ He headed to the door.
It was a task in itself for her to roll over on
the bed to look at him. ‘Where are you going?’
‘You’ll benefit from some time alone,’ he
said. ‘The hunger will start to show itself soon. I
want you to experience what will happen if you
deny your body what it now needs.’
She woke up some time later to an empty
room. The light did not sting her eyes as fiercely
as before. Her heartbeat was not so loud now.
Either she was tuning it out, or it was not beating
as strong.
Something else was thudding in her ears in
its place.
A shadow cast over her face for a second;
she focused on the ceiling. She heard the thud
again and discovered the perpetrator.
A determined little moth flew into the bulb.
The flap of its furry little wings brushed air
against her face. She could see every single hair
on its back. She could see into its eyes. She
watched the insect, fascinated by it, hypnotised.
Nothing else existed in that moment but the two
creatures; one an insignificant little moth, the
other not quite sure what she was at all.
She drifted in and out of consciousness.
Each time she awoke she wondered where she
was and had to remind herself how she had
ended up there. And as she woke up more
frequently, she wondered why Fox had not
returned.
 Kindred Tribune
She was starting to feel irritable and the
ropes were burning her skin. Although the aches
and pains were lessening, she still wanted to get
up.
She thought of ways to retaliate when Fox let
her go. She would let him think she had let all
this slide, then take him down when he least
expected it. She thought about him as she
drifted back into sleep.
The dreams she had were stranger than
usual. The faces of victims had gone, replaced
by people she had never met. One, a man
dressed in a simple woollen cloth robe that
obscured his face, hefted a broadsword on his
shoulder. The second was barely a man at all.
Built like an ox and standing on legs that – while
sturdy – should not have been able to carry such
a huge frame. The hunch in its back put more
emphasis into the decorative crest over its
leathery head, where a thick snout and canine
fangs hung over a protruding jaw.
Neither man nor beast spoke, and in the
moments she saw them, they looked stunned to
see her looking back.
The sound of heavy breathing brought her
around, and she listened to the deep rumble
before she opened her eyes. It was a soothing
sound, gentle and constant, like the sound of a
father’s chest as a child slept upon it.
Her closed eyes scrunched up. The sound
was deeper than she was used to. Slowly, she
opened her eyes.
Standing at the end of the bed, watching her
through eyes that glowed like torches, was this
same creature. It held out a hand to her; did it
expect her to shake it?
She sat up in bed. She took a precious few
seconds to realise what she was seeing. Its eyes
were set deep back into its skull and glowed
amber, no pupils. It lowered its hand.
It stopped, tilted its head in a universal
gesture of curiosity. ‘Interesting,’ it said.
She froze in place; every fibre in her body
was ready to flee. The creature disappeared in
smoke and sparks that shocked her awake…
She sighed at the effect this was all having
on her. Her body was not aching now, but her
eyes still stung and her mouth was dry. She
stared up at the ceiling and watched the tiny
~15~
Volume-1 Issue-3
silhouettes of passing lint cross the bulb.
Footsteps constantly came and went; she
listened until she could discern the men from the
women.
She tried to ignore the constant gnawing in
the pit of her stomach, the thing that craved its
fill. It surged through her arms to her fingertips.
When she could not bring her arm around, she
discovered that Fox had chained her to the bed.
She fought against the shackles, her body
contorted and she grew angrier with each
ferocious heave.
The alien feeling inside crept through her
veins and between the pores in her skin,
searching. It became more frequent and
sharper; it was not happy that it could not find
what it looked for. Her eyes felt drawn to her
wrists, and as time went by, she kept drawing
herself towards them. It was only when she
struggled up to the metal bed frame and locked
her jaw around her own wrist, knowing even then
that she was looking for a major artery, she
pinned herself against the bed and screamed.
The thing inside wrought against her bones and
tissue, threatening to break her into pieces. She
screamed and screamed, beyond when the lining
of her throat begged her to stop.
When Fox came in, she lay on the bed
trembling and sobbing. She did not hear him
come in, but her senses heightened when the
door clicked shut. She opened her eyes wide,
forgetting momentarily that she was bound. She
lunged forwards, until the chains locked and
threw her back down. She curled her hands into
fists and punched the surrounding area with all
her strength, already forgetting Fox was there.
‘Catrina,’ he said.
She looked at him. Her breathing was
shallow and her chest was closer to vibrating
than expanding. The sharp, short noises coming
from her mouth said her throat could take no
more screaming, although she still wanted to.
‘Fox.’ She had not spoken since he had left,
save for the light mumbling to herself. Her voice
had never sounded so hoarse or loud. She tried
to cover her ears, but – still chained to the bed –
she did not get far.
Fox moved closer. ‘How was it?’
She glared up at him. ‘I tried to eat my own
arm!’
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

‘Are you going to take the blood?’

She sighed agitatedly. ‘Does it look like I
have a choice? All I know is I can’t hear you
properly because people are walking around
outside, and every time I breathe, this thing acts
like it wants to break my ribs.’
Vampyr Snyper: the Genesis is available in
paperback, hardback, and e-book format. Click
the links for further information and to buy, or
visit the website for further information on the
series.

He sat down on the bed and turned to her. www.VampyrSnyper.com

There were slight circles under his eyes. ‘It’ll
pass. Relax.’ He took out a syringe and
prepared the blood. She took a few deep
breaths, but the hunger could sense a release to
its pain and surged forwards. She screamed as it
jumped into her throat and started to choke her.
Fox moved quickly but without so much as a
flinch. He pushed her hard against the bed and,
as her body went into a spasm, he jammed the
needle into her bicep and plunged the entire elixir
into her system.

Her eyes flashed open, pupils contracted until

they were no more than the size of pin heads.
The effects were instant; the hunger was beat
into submission by the strange substance Fox
injected. The rush flowed like liquid ice through
her burning blood, soothing and invigorating all
at once. She felt as though she could lift a ten
tonne truck with one hand, if she wanted.

The feeling of unquestionable euphoria was

very short lived, lasting barely more than three
seconds, but as it subsided, it took the agony of
the hunger with it. She breathed more steadily,
letting her body relax in itself once more.

She looked up at Fox. ‘That was good.’

He nodded but passed no comment of his

own, as he unlocked the chains and helped her to
sit. She pushed him away, not viciously, but just
to say she could manage. After a few
unsuccessful attempts, she stood without falling.

She turned to him. They had never really

looked at one another without some hidden
agenda. Now she looked at him, he seemed
more real.

‘What now?’ she asked.

© 2006, Kathryn L. Kerr

~16~
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

School is Back in Session

www.Taintedink.com

~17~
 Kindred Tribune
Piercing The Veil : Looking
Beyond The Physical
By: Yara Nightshade
-------------------------------------
For many vampyres who are energy workers and
or Pranic feeders, ghostly life is an everyday
occurrence. We are sensitive to ghostly images,
energies and places.
We are often drawn too these areas, where wars
long ago have split the blood of the innocent, the
slain, the murdered.
I often get emails and instant messages from
people asking me if I have seen ghosts, actually
seen them. That answer is yes, I have. It
depends in my opinion on in regards if you
respect the occult, or magick fields, if you have a
high respect for the dead, or the spiritual worlds,
and if you have enough belief or faith in what you
can feel but may not be able to see with a
physical eye if you will be able too "see" ghosts
or not.
There are many born with a gift called
"clairvoyance". This is the act of in basic terms
seeing visions. Many people believe that is just
the not to distant future, but Clairvoyance also
aids a Seer in recovering of past lives and even
meduimship, where you the remote viewer, "see"
another's past. Why we are sensitive too these
energies is a mystery, or perhaps the energies
are like puzzle piece too us, where we are able
too go in and pierce the veil so to speak about
what lurks just on the other side.
I started seeing ghosts and visions from an early
age, even before i knew myself as a Vampyric
person, even before i awakened most past life
memories.
Both started occurring about age 16, and have
only been increasing ever since.
Many will argue it is impossible too do but I have
been since able too meet with others via email
and IM and based on what they tell me pull their
memories out of the ether for them to ponder
and think upon.
As a Seer and or meduim I try and not give
everything away, but I am a pretty in depth
reader and when one does this one is opening a
channel. One can not rush that channel or that
voice and one can not tell it to shut its mouth,
just like one can not ask for more information.
~18~
Volume-1 Issue-3
Sometimes, people’s memories get stuck and a
seer or medium can help get them unstuck. A
Person should however always quest their
memories as well on their own, just to verify
what a Seer has said, and A Seer's channel
although most likely fact, should be taken as a
Theory until the person can remember as it is on
their own.
One thing I like to think about and around
Samhain (Halloween) is that all who have been
reborn, and who have reincarnate, the more
aware we are of who and what we are, have
been, and will become is much like being a ghost
in a flesh body.
That can be a very sobering thought when you
think about yourself like that. We are alone in a
vastness, just a flick in the minds-eye of eternity.
All in some ways lost souls who roam the nights
restless looking for pieces of our former
existences, putting back together all we have
been and been through, so we will not make the
same mistakes in this life.
It is about this time of year I also like to sit down
with my cauldron and a piece of paper and a
black candle on a nice October night, and write
down things I'd like too burn away from my life in
the new year, and then I put the paper to the
flame and let it burn in the cauldron, then i go
and let fly the ashes at a crossroads so mother
Hecate can will it away on her breath.
Trad witches and so on don't like to do magick on
Samhain, but if its the most powerful night of the
year then i figure the energies of this time should
be manifested.
So many of us, vampyres included like to pretend
and make believe and those who are real need
too stop and think whom and what they really
are, come to terms and acceptance with it and
prepare too live life on the other side.
Only you can decide if you will blink from
existence once your life is done, or go to Source
to reincarnate or continue on in some form.
Learn now before that time on how too pierce
through the Veil.
© 2006, Yara Nightshade
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

Death and the Love Of

An Interview with the Necromancer
Leilah Wendell
The Woman
As a child, she grew up shadowed by a powerful
& dark entity. Unremembered to her at first, this
spirit became the host of numerous paranormal &
extraordinary occurrences. These haunting
events led her on a life-long excursion into the
astral world. More precisely, into the "Valley of
the Shadow." She has spent most of her life
researching, writing & teaching matters
pertaining to the cosmic & metaphysical,
particularly the gray areas where light &
darkness merge in a most necessary & important
balance. Through her unique relationship with the
Angel of Death, she endeavors to impart His
message to all.

A member of the Author's Guild/Author' League

of America, she is the world's foremost
recognized researcher of Death personifications
and encounters. Author of 14 books and scores
of articles on the subject, she is also a fine artist,
poet and proprietor of The Westgate Museum in
Louisiana, the first and only gallery devoted
exclusively to Necromantic Art & Literature.
Dedicated to Azrael, the Angel of Death, the
gallery features fine art, prints, posters, books, The Interview
cards, sculpture, artifacts, jewelry & one of a kind
items. Born in New York and best known for her Could you tell us a little about your books?
ground-breaking title Our Name is Melancholy-
The Complete Books of Azrael, and over 35 years I write a little of everything, from scholarly books
of research and documentation via The Azrael like "Encounters With Death", to poetry, "Eros in
Project, she currently resides in Western Exile". Books that give people a ritualistic
Louisiana, in what is commonly referred to as approach to the Angel of Death ("The
"The House of Death" Necromantic Ritual Book"), to the direct, first
person approach with "Our Name is Melancholy".
In the end, ALL of my writings revolve around my
relationship with the Angel of Death,
personifications thereof, and approaches thereto.

Could you tell us a little about your artwork?

I work in a variety of mediums, painting,

sculpture, wall relief, lamps, etc. Again, almost
all of my works are of a necromantic theme.
-Bottom Left-

Name - "The Gift".

Media - Mixed media sculpture.

Description - It is a life-scale sculpture created by

Leilah Wendell and New York artist George Higham
as a collaborative piece. It features a face cast and
hand cast of Leilah Wendell. It is called "The Gift"
because the Lady is offering the gift of her heart to
the Angel of Death.

~19~
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

much as of late. The hurricane, selling our house

What one thing would you like, above all to
achieve in your time on Earth?
The reconciliation of Life & Death. That being,
that mankind will learn to accept and appreciate
his eventual shedding of the need for this flesh so
that he can better appreciate and understand his
own life.
What influences your work?
and gallery, relocating to a completely alien
environment than I'm use to working in. It's all
just still sinking in on this end. I'm waiting to see
how country life will affect my art.
As a person? As my husband, Daniel would say,
I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to giving
people more chances then they sometimes
deserve. But sometimes I feel I don't give them
enough. Go figure!

The ONLY influence I ever HOPE comes through
is that of the Angel of Death directly. I am NEVER
influenced by trends or fads. I like to think I've
created a few along the way though.
Do you remember the first piece of art that
you did?
Sheesh! Not really. But I DO remember the first
painting of Azrael that I did when I was 10.
It wasn't very well done, but it pleased me allot
back then.
Do you have a favorite piece?
My strength as an artist, is that I'm media
adaptable. I can make something out of almost
anything you throw at me. I NEVER EVER listen
to "art rules". If someone tells me it "can't be
done", or "that's not the way to do it.", I'm
BOUND to prove them wrong, and I'm not afraid
of bucking the current art "trends". I've never
been a "follower" and don't plan on being so
anytime soon.
As a person? I'm a stubborn, pig-headed control
freak. I need to steer my OWN destiny or I'll get
ugly. I also like to think I help people when I can.

"The Gift" (bottom of page 19) is one of my

favorite pieces.
It was a collaboration between myself and fellow
artist and long time friend George Higham. It was
made using a life cast of my face and hand. My
other favorite is simply called "Azrael" which was
made from a face cast of an exhumed corpse
back in 1988.

What's your favorite media?

I prefer anything 3 dimensional these days. I've

kind of lost my interest in doing flat paintings
over the years.

What is your ideal end goal of your art?

To speak to someone enough that they MUST

have it because it evokes something deep and
primal within their psyche, and to reflect Azrael
to them in such a way that it is a very personal
connection.

What do you feel are your strengths and

weaknesses as an artist? As a person?
My weakness as an artist? I wish I could paint
like the Pre-Raphaelites, but I'm just not that
talented. These days, one of my weaknesses as
an artist is that I seem to have done everything I
feel that I could do, so the inspiration well is a
little tapped as of late. We've been through so
- Above -
Name - "Azrael"
Media - Covered over in grave clay and assorted mixed
media objects.
Description - The face was from a cast of an exhumed
corpse created in 1988 by me.
It serves as my altar piece.

~20~
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

What is the most common misconception

you face on a regular basis?
That someone what we do has ANYTHING to do
with Satanism OR that the Angel of Death is, in
fact, Satan himself when neither could be further
from the truth. OR that I'm an "elder goth". LOL!!
When in fact, I was "goth" long before it had a
title and never thought anything of it.
Heck no! We have a GREAT relationship. After all,
we are a foursome. Daniel has his relationship
with Lady Night, which is how we met,
incidentally. I'm certain that Death & Night had a
big hand in bringing us together.
© 2006, Melissa Brown

You produce a wide array of materials, from

paintings, books, poems, to lamps, music
boxes and wall hangings, how does
inspiration hit you?
-To the
Mostly it just broadsides me when I'm not Left-
looking. LOL! Sometimes I'll just look at a
collection of STUFF sitting in a corner and see Name -
what it CAN become. Other times, I have a "Blue
definite plan, which is usually overtaken by a Mourning
"higher" power. Those are the best times. Revisited"

Have you ever run into any problems with Media -

those who may not agree with your views? Acrylic on
Wood, 26" x
Of course! Who among us who walks a 36"
misunderstood path hasn’t? Mostly the usual
bible thumpers. But, sometimes the fear aspect
comes from those you least expect to balk at
what you do.

When were you first intrigued by Death?

When I was a very, very young child. When He

first introduced Himself to me by NOT introducing
Himself. But rather, by plunking Himself down
beside me one night.

What is your relationship with Death?

It has changed, grown and morphed over these

many years. At this point, I would say that it is
truly symbiotic and empathic. We are One...yet
we are individual enough to discern that fact. It is
a very loving symbiosis.

Do you always feel the presence of Death

himself?

Most of the time. Of course there are moments

when this is NOT your first impression. Stress
plays a big factor in NOT being able to be
resonant to His energy. I try on a daily basis to
"go back to Source". Some days it's easier than
others.

How is your relationship with you husband,

is it complicated by your relationship with - Above –
Death? Name - "Danse Macabre"
Media - Acrylic on Wood, 25" x 28"
~21~
 Kindred Tribune
Samhain
By. James Martin
---------------------------------------------
October 31, known commonly as "Halloween,"
and known to Witches as "Samhain" is associated
with many customs in many different cultures
around the world. It is generally considered the
Witch's New Year.
Regardless as to whether Samhain marked the
beginning of the new year, this time of the year
did mark the beginning of the cold, lean months
to come. Flocks were brought in from the fields
to live in barns until spring. Excess livestock was
slaughtered-ensuring enough food for the
remainder of the heard-and the meat was
preserved to provide food for the winter. This
final gathering of crops was known as "Harvest
Home" and was celebrated with fairs and
festivals.
There is some evidence that indicates that three
days were spent celebrating this festival.
Samhain, from October 31 to November 2 was a
time of "no-time." Celtic society, like all early
societies, was highly structured and organized-
everyone knew their place. But to allow that
order to be psychologically comfortable, the Celts
knew that there had to be a time when order and
structure were abolished, when chaos and
mayhem could reign, and Samhain was such a
time.
Time was abolished for the three days of this
festival and people did crazy things: men dressed
as women, and women as men; farmers gates
were unhinged and left in ditches; horses were
moved to different fields; and children would
knock on neighbors doors for food and treats in a
custom that we still observe today as trick-or-
treating.
Huge bonfires were a central point to the
celebrations. It was tradition to allow the hearth
fire to go out, so it could be rekindled from the
communal fire; this was believed to ensure unity
and bring good luck for the village-for if at any
other time of the year (excepting Beltain) the
hearth fire was to be extinguished, it was
considered to be a very bad luck indeed. Another
practice involved marking stones with people's
names. They were then thrown into the bonfire
to be retrieved in the morning. The condition of
the stone foretold that person's fortune in the
coming year. The ashes of the bonfire were
spread over the harvested fields to protect and
bless the land.
~22~
Volume-1 Issue-3
Because October 31 lies exactly between the
Autumnal Equinox and the Winter Solstice, it is
believed that the ancients, with their reliance on
astrology, thought it was a very potent time for
magic and communications with the sprit plane.
It is a magical interval when the mundane laws of
time and space are temporarily suspended and
the "veil between the worlds" of the living and
the dead was said to be at its thinnest.
Communicating with ancestors and departed
loved ones is easy at this time, for they journey
through this world on their way to the
Summerlands. The dead are honored and
feasted, not as the dead, but as the living spirits
of loved ones and of guardians who hold the
root-wisdom of the people. Because of this, the
dead were invited to return to feast with their
loved ones-being welcomed in from the cold,
much as the animals were brought in from the
cold. These ancient customs ranged from placing
food out for dead ancestors, to performing rituals
for communicating with those who had passed
over.
Divination of the future was commonly practiced
at this magically significant time. Many common
customs of this time of year, such as bobbing for
applies, roasting nuts in the fire, and baking
cakes containing tokens of luck, are actually
ancient forms of divination.
Modern Witches
Many Witches of the Old Ways actually celebrate
two Samhains. The "old" date for Samhain occurs
when the sun has reached 15 degrees Scorpio.
(The Catholic Church has "borrowed" this same
day to celebrate the holiday of "Martinmas".) So
if one follows this, one can always celebrate the
"party aspect" with friends on one date and the
"worship" part with kin on the other!
Samhain is an important holiday to the modern
Witch as it is one of the major Sabbats in the
Wheel of the Year. A customary practice
celebrated at this time is to perform a ritual
honoring the dead. Many invite their deceased
loved ones to visit for a time if they choose.
Because the veil between the worlds is thin at
this time, it is safe to attempt to travel between
the planes. This is done through meditation,
visualization, and astral projection. Because
Witches acknowledge human existence as part of
a cycle of left, death, and rebirth, Samhain is a
time to reflect on our mortality and to confront
fears of dying.
It is also customary to light a new candle for the
"New Year." This ritual harkens back

to the days when Samhain was one of only
two days-the other being Beltaine-when it
was considered correct to extinguish the Submissions will only be rejected if they do not abide by the guidelines
hearth fire and then re-kindle it.
Some Witches look on Samhain as a time
to prepare for the long, dark months of
winter, a time of introspection and
drawing inward-as the earth rests and
prepares for the renewal at springtime,
so do we. It is a time to study the Dark
Mysteries and honor the Dark Mother and
the Dark Father, symbolized by the
Crone and her aged Consort.
© 2006, James Martin
Kindred Tribune Volume-2
Issue-1
Release Date:
January 1, 2007
Topic:
Awakenings: Magical, Vampiric, &
Otherkin
Share about YOUR
Awakening!
Vampiric awakenings, Otherkin
awakenings, & Magical awakenings
Would you like to share what your
awakening was like?
How it came about, what you
learned during it, and the best
advice you can give to someone
who is going threw there
awakening.
If you would like to share your
story you can contact us at:
Kindred.Tribune@gmail.com
Get Involved!
Do you have a topic you would like to
see the Kindred Tribune cover?
Send us an e-mail at:
Kindred.Tribune@gmail.com
Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3
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~Fiction~
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~Poetry~
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~23~
 Kindred Tribune
Red Letters Of Love
By. Angela Pearson
-----------------------------------------
Chapter Four
My most dear Aine,
You ask so many questions, which to my
mind is good. It will help you prepare for what I
do. So, permit me to answer your questions
about myself whilst knowing that they will only
raise more because I am only giving you a sketch
for now. This brevity is more for me, as many
parts of my life are painful and filled with failures.
Oh, do not think that my life has been dreadful,
only that I have had to confront a plethora of
foibles of my youth.
I was a divinity student at Harvard in 1891
when I was installed into my new life. I had
completed my thesis and found that I was to be
ordained and given a small congregation in
Bethel, Vermont. Then, everything changed. The
person who was to become my master took me
on May thirtieth, at twilight, just before my
ordination. "My master" is the wrong term, for it
is more like a partnership. Only, when you are
new, is it easy to see that person as your master.
They know so much more, can do things, and
influence you, that for someone, almost anyone,
when they awake to this life it becomes easy to
think in terms of master and slave. Yet, it is not
so. I learned this lesson very soon, much too
soon for Damek, the one who sired me. That is a
long story by itself, one which I will retell some
other time. For now, know that we are partners
and my wish is for us to walk together through
the night. Yes, Damek still lives and by now
knows that you exist. The reason I do not spend
too much time with you is for your safety. Damek
would like nothing better then to try to control
you in order to hurt me. Although, I think he
would be very surprised how little control he
would have over you. I do not see you permitting
such control, well that is, unless it was to a
person who you fully trusted. Do not worry about
him too much, for he will not be able to find you,
unless I somehow lead him to you. Oh, the
questions that must be going through your mind.
Yes, I will be able to, and I will need to, be by
your side soon. This is because of how your
health is progressing.
I fear that your improving health does not
bring me joy right now. Oh, I do wish for your full
health to return so that we may ramble through
this world. It is just, well, you will see soon if you
have the strength to survive. You are, in fact, in
~24~
Volume-1 Issue-3
a state of in-between as you suggested in your
letter. Your body, perhaps even your soul, is
undergoing changes. All too soon, you will feel
the need to hunt. You will need to take a life to
feed your own. This is what I fear, for if you are
to survive you will need to hunt, to take blood
from a living creature. I will tell you that you will
need to hunt a human. There are ways to live a
half-life without taking human blood; however, I
do not think you will choose that. Aine, you will
need to choose to take a life or to give up yours.
This is the truth and one I cannot shield you
from. It is not time yet, and I will be with you, in
person, when it is time and we can talk then.
Perhaps you will not worry so much about
work with the weight of what I have told you
now. You will return to the office as my senior
acquisition manager. And, yes, there is a raise
with that title. It also means you will not need to
work in the office all the time; you will need the
freedom for now. Before you think that there is
no responsibility with this new title, there is and
you will be working very hard. I will be looking
for new accounting staff to fill your old job
because, yes, the paperwork is consuming your
old desk.
Now, at last, about us. There is a mystery
about you Aine, one in which I do not understand
but somehow connects us, binds us in a old
magic, deep within our souls. You surprise me
with your trust, and yet, I freely give you my
trust, too. I come to you each day just to gaze
upon you and lightly touch your flesh, to hear
your body sing to me. It is like a song of passing,
of morning, and yet filled with some kind of hope.
I even hear it in my dreams of you, which you
sometime join me in, even if you do not
remember. This will change. Perchance, the next
time you sleep you will join me and feel my hand
touch your body and my lips lightly press upon
yours. I long for you, mi carus. My passion for
you grows hot, and yet, we cannot, well, should
not explore our passions, until after you have
hunted. I cannot tell you why, not because I do
not wish to- it is that there are no words for what
will happen. Again, I ask for your trust in this
matter. Rest now, even if I know you will write
again before you permit yourself sleep.
Your Wynter
Aine was sitting in the bed, the silky sheets
pooled around her waist baffled by what she just
read. He was turned in 1891, she thought
stunned. She had heard all the lore about
vampires never dying and could be really old, but
she never believed it to be true. Then again, she
 Kindred Tribune
hadn't believed vampires were real until she saw
Wynter's fangs flash in the dark night and felt
them when he brought her to this life.
She read the letter through once more.
Certain phrases stuck in her mind this time.
Phrases like "your safety" and some unknown
person wanting to control her gave a slight sense
of unease, but it was too distant for her to be
concerned about right now. The phrase "you
have to take a life" gave her pause. She decided
to examine that later. The next phrase that
caught her attention was "senior acquisitions
manager." She wasn't too sure what that meant,
but she didn't recall seeing any kind of
acquisitions people on the payroll and began to
wonder if Wynter was keeping a second set of
books. This didn't seem like something Wynter
would do, but how well did she know this man?
That thought gave her serious pause. She
knew very little of her employer and now she was
bound to him, perhaps for the rest of her life.
The next phrase that leapt up at her from the
page- "I come each day to gaze upon you and
lightly touch your flesh." That raised goose
bumps along her bare arms. Had he been
stalking her this whole time, planning to turn her
to his life since the day he hired her? Who was
to say this whole vampire thing was real and not
some delusion of his. He could be drugging her
to keep her compliant and then feeding her this
stuff, this fantasy, until she believed him and
became just like him, just as deluded as he was.
She had to get out of there. She had to get
away. She flung the papers away and leapt from
the bed. The room spun and she clung to the
curtains around the bed until it stopped.
Swallowing down the bile that had rushed up her
throat, she carefully walked to the closet.
After dressing with the first pieces of clothing
she saw, she left the closet and walked by the
bed. Wynter's letter grabbed her attention. She
reached across the bed and picked up all three
sheets and went to the desk. She withdrew a
sheet of paper and wrote down the thoughts that
had been swirling in her head while she dressed.
Wynter,
This is just the extreme of too far. Vampires
don't exist! They are myths and legends used to
explain the bad things that used to happen to
people long ago. You must have drugged me
that night and have kept me drugged, feeding
me your delusions in the letters you left for me.
~25~
Volume-1 Issue-3
You need serious help! Have you been
stalking me since I applied for that job in your
company? What have you been drugging me
with? Is that why you keep checking on me?
What else have you been doing to me?
Aine threw the pen on the desk and stood.
She had just reached the door when it opened
and Wynter stepped inside.
"Aine?" Wynter was surprised to see Aine out
of bed and dressed. He was puzzled by the look
of anger on her face. "You don't look like you're
feeling very good. You probably shouldn't be out
of bed yet."
"You are out of your mind!" Aine all but
yelled at the handsome man standing between
her and freedom.
Wynter froze. "What has happened, Aine?"
"Why did you do this to me?" Aine swung
her arms wide to encompass the room. "How
long did you stalk me?"
"I wasn't stalking you, Aine," Wynter said
calmly. "The day you came in and applied for the
job, I thought you were an attractive woman.
Nothing more than that. Your references were
excellent as were your qualifications, but there
were other applicants more qualified than you."
"So, why did you hire me?" Aine walked
away from Wynter to stand near the heavily
covered window.
"I felt a connection when I shook your hand."
"So, you did hire me for some reason beyond
my job skills," Aine snapped. She folded her
arms around her to prevent herself from
attacking Wynter.
"You could say that. I was more concerned
about you being able to fulfill your job duties
than any attraction I felt for you," Wynter's heart
was hurting. He stuck his hands in the pockets
of his slacks. He wanted to take her in his arms
and convince her he was sane and that he hadn't
tricked her in anyway. "Is that why you think I
am out of my mind?"
"Just one of the reasons." Aine stared at
Wynter. His shoulders were bunched like he was
preparing to defend himself from a physical
attack. "What did you use on me that night?"
 Kindred Tribune
"I didn't use anything on you, Aine."
Wynter's voice was hollow sounding to his own
ears.
"Yes, you did," Aine moved her hair aside
and pointed at the scars forming on her neck.
"What did you use to do this to me? What did
you give me to make me so tired and sick?"
Wynter took a few cautious steps toward
Aine. "Those scars were made by my teeth,
Aine. I am a vampire. I have sharp fangs that I
use to pierce the arteries of my victims so I may
drink their blood." He was about five feet away
from Aine. He lifted his lip so Aine could see the
teeth he spoke of.
"There are dentists who can make those.
I've seen the ads online." Aine sneered at
Wynter. "You need psychological help. Vampires
aren't real."
"Vampires are real, Aine. I am one and you
are becoming one. I didn't drug you that night.
I haven't been drugging you. What you have
been experiencing is caused by the vampire virus
taking over your body, changing you, making you
into a vampire."
Aine rolled her eyes and decided not to do
that again as the room spun once more. She
squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed down the
bile that threatened. "Is it daylight out?" she
asked with her eyes still closed.
"Yes," Wynter said cautiously.
"So, aren't vampires supposed to be asleep
during the day?" Aine looked at Wynter.
"If they choose to sleep during the day, they
may. Just like humans. I don't sleep very much
and haven't for a long time." Wynter took
another step toward Aine.
"The stories say vampires can't go out in the
sun. Is that true?" Aine took a step backward.
"Yes, that is true. Aine, you really should go
lay down." Wynter took another step toward
Aine.
"I'm not laying down, I'm leaving." She took
another step away from Wynter. She could feel
the heavy curtains brushing her back. "If
vampires can't go out in the sun, how come you
do?"
~26~
Volume-1 Issue-3
"I rarely go out in the sun. When I have to I
wear thick amounts of special sunscreen and
cover as much of my skin as I can. I wear dark
glasses to protect my eyes. I have even used an
umbrella if I have to be in the sun for any length
of time."
That made Aine pause a moment. "What do
people say when they see you with an umbrella
in the sun?"
Wynter shrugged. "I tell them I had a bad
case of skin cancer and stay out of the sun as
much as possible so it doesn't come back. Most
people believe me. Those who don't just think I
am eccentric. I'm rich, so I can have
eccentricities."
"I don't believe you." Aine spun around and
ripped the curtains open.
She screamed as her skin began to burn and
pain filled her being. She dropped to her knees
to escape the burning rays of light she had
released into the room. She was barely aware of
Wynter rushing by her to jerk the curtains closed.
She didn't hear the magnets the held the curtains
securely closed bounce and click together. She
felt blessed relief when darkness shrouded her,
cutting off the sunlight pouring over her.
She lay sobbing, curled in a tight ball,
rocking slightly. She didn't fight Wynter when he
rolled her over and lifted her into his arms. She
didn't fight when he lay her on the bed and
gently pulled her hands away from her face.
Aine gasped when her hands came away
pulling little bits of raw skin with them. Her tears
burned as they washed over her ruined skin. She
heard Wynter turn on the light, but kept her eyes
closed.
"Oh, Aine," Wynter said and left her side.
Aine heard him moving in the bathroom, the
clink of glass bottles, and the swoosh of drawers
quickly opening and closing.
When she heard him place things on the
bedside table, she peeked at him. She gasped
when she saw his ravaged face and hands.
"Will you let me care for your injuries?"
Wynter asked.
"I'm so sorry, Wynter. You got hurt because
of me." Aine began to cry harder.
 Kindred Tribune
"I've been hurt worse before and will
probably be hurt worse than this again. Actually,
your injuries are more severe and I am
concerned about them." Wynter carefully
removed her shirt and bra. Dropping them to the
floor, he picked up a bottle of oil. "Because you
haven't had blood yet, I am worried about the
way you will heal. I don't want you to have
scars."
"I deserve them for my stupidity and lack of
faith in you," she said with anguish.
"No, Aine," Wynter sighed. "I will take some
responsibility for what happened. I should have
made sure you truly believed. It is over. Think
of it as a lesson learned." Wynter poured some
of the oil onto a piece of gauze and tenderly
applied it to her injured skin.
Aine flinched at his touch and the pain it
caused. As the oil covered her burns, she felt the
pain lessen. She could smell a strong herbal
scent. The smell was neither pleasant nor was it
bad, but it did cover the horrid stench of burned
meat, her own skin, that filled the space around
her.
Wynter finished applying the oil to her face
and neck and began putting it on her arms and
hands. When he was done with her injuries, he
took a moment to put the oil on his own wounds.
Setting aside the oil soaked gauze, he picked
up a roll of clean, white gauze and began
wrapping it around Aine's hands and arms.
"This will help keep the oil on your hands
while you rest. I don't think your face will need
it, though," Wynter's voice was calm, but still
held his sadness.
Once Wynter was finished with the gauze, he
picked up another bottle. Aine saw it was cobalt
blue and had a dropper top on it.
"These are drops to help heal any damage
your eyes might have. The drops hurt at first.
That means they are working. This medicine
needs to be put in several times a day until your
eyes don't burn anymore when the drops touch
them." Wynter opened the bottle and looked to
see if Aine was ready.
Aine swallowed and thought the drops
wouldn't hurt as much as the sun had. She also
thought they wouldn't hurt as much as her heart
did each time she saw Wynter's injuries and the
~27~
Volume-1 Issue-3
sadness in his eyes. She nodded when Wynter
held the dropper up.
Wynter was right, the drops did burn and
Aine inhaled a breath with a hiss. "It's not so
bad, Wynter."
"That's good then. It means your eyes were
not damaged too much." He sealed the bottle
and placed it on the table. He picked up the rest
of the first aid supplies and took them back to
the bathroom.
Aine blinked rapidly, trying to not cry and
wash out the medicine in her eyes. She fumbled
with her bandaged hands to remove the pants
she still wore.
Wynter walked to her side and helped her get
undressed. He didn't say a word but picked up
her clothes and went into the closet. Wynter
carefully checked the curtain after he left the
closet.
"You need to rest more, Aine." Wynter leaned
against the post at the end of the bed.
"Wynter, I am so sorry," Aine said, blinking
to stop crying.
"You can put more drops in if you cry."
Aine sniffed. "Okay. Wynter?" She stopped,
unsure what she wanted to say. "You are angry
with me."
"Yes and no," Wynter sighed heavily. "I
know you are sorry, too. You need to decide
what you are sorry for." Wynter turned and
walked to the door.
"Wynter," Aine called.
He stopped at the door, but didn't turn
around. "We will talk the next time you are
awake and I am here. Get some rest." Wynter
closed the door quietly leaving Aine alone with
her thoughts.
Aine tried to roll on her side and cry, but her
injuries kept her on her back. After she had cried
herself out, she gently bloated her cheeks. With
clumsy hands, she put more drops in her eyes
and turned off the light.
Alone with her thoughts in the dark, she lay
staring at the canopy for a long time. She could
hear soft sounds of Wynter moving in the rooms
beyond the one she lay in. Finally, sleep claimed
 Kindred Tribune
her and released her from her thoughts for a
short time.
Chapter Five
Aine awoke to the feel of a damp cloth being
smoothed over her eyes. She knew Wynter was
tending her injuries, without having to completely
wake up or even open her eyes. She vaguely
remembered Wynter doing the same thing once
or twice after she fell asleep.
Aine half-opened her eyes when she felt
Wynter shift of the bed. She watched him set
aside the cloth on the bedside table the rise.
Next to the cloth was a fat wine glass filled
with dark red liquid. Instinctively, she knew it
wasn't wine.
"Oh, good, you are awake," Wynter said,
then he changed positions to sit next to Aine.
"How are you feeling?"
"Stupid," Aine said with a sigh.
"I understand," Wynter said softly. "You do
not need to feel stupid, Aine. You are not stupid
in the least. What is done, is done. Focusing on
it won't change what happened. I also said you
may feel the need to take your anger out on me.
Think of this as a lesson learned and your anger
released."
Wynter put a gentle finger over Aine's lips
when she opened them to reply.
He helped her sit up and supported her to
lean against him.
"I'm not sure if this will work, but you are not
healing as well as I think you should. Even slow
for a regular human," he said in a distracted way.
He picked up the goblet and held it not far from
Aine's mouth.
"This is blood, as fresh as I could manage.
Do you think you can drink it?" He asked, looking
into her eyes.
"I'm not sure, but I will trust you, now. If
you think this will help me heal, then I will drink
all I can." Aine eyed the glass. She remembered
the coppery taste of blood when she had sucked
on a sore on her finger from a paper cut.
~28~
Volume-1 Issue-3
Hunger stirred to life in her belly. She
inhaled deeply and could smell the blood in the
glass and nearly ripped it from Wynter's hand.
She pulled the glass to her mouth and began to
take greedy gulps.
"Slowly, Aine, you will make yourself sick,"
Wynter tipped the glass back so Aine would slow
her drinking.
"More," Aine requested when Wynter took
the now empty glass away.
"Let's see if you can keep that down first,"
Wynter lightly stroked his fingers over Aine's
injured cheek. "It is not unusual for vampires to
get sick the first time they drink blood."
"Why is that?" Aine asked, looking up at
Wynter's face.
"Sometimes, it is because of having an
empty stomach and other times it is the fact the
vampire is drinking blood and can't deal with
that."
Aine stared up at Wynter's face. His skin
was nearly healed. She could see small traces of
the burns she had caused him to receive, but
nothing like the ravaged skin she could feel on
her own face.
As she watched, Wynter's eyes moved over
her face, she could feel a tingling in her skin
where she had been burned by the sun.
Triumph flashed in Wynter's eyes before he
shifted to lay Aine back on the pillows.
"Wynter," Aine said. "Are you leaving?"
"You need to rest more so we can see if the
blood will help you recover," Wynter said at the
door. "I will be here when you wake up."
Aine frowned with disappointment, but
settled more comfortably into the bed.
The tingling she felt in the skin on her cheek
spread to all the injuries she had. She had to
fight the urge to scratch at the tingling. It felt
like tiny bugs were running around under her
skin. It was a felling the bordered on unpleasant
and unbearable and tolerable and annoying.
She flopped on to her back and stared at the
canopy overhead, forcing her hands to remain
still on the bedding. While she stared at the
canopy, she thought of what had happened in her
 Kindred Tribune
life. She was proud of her accomplishments in
school. She knew her parents would have been
proud, too, if they had lived to see her graduate
from college.
That day had been bittersweet for Aine. She
had arrived late in her parents lives, much to
their surprise. They had doted on her, but she
didn't grow up as spoiled child, obnoxious and
mean or shallow. Her parents had sacrificed
much while she was growing up to see that she
had the best education they can provide. Her
father had been employed by a company in China
and had moved his small family there. Growing
up in China had been an interesting experience
for Aine. Aine's mother would drive them in their
tiny car to the next city to make sure Aine would
get the best education possible. Aine grew up
with the usual experiences as most children,
simply in another language.
Aine's father retired and moved them back to
America during Aine's third year in high school.
Because of the differences in the education
systems between the two countries, she was able
to graduate at the end of that school year.
Tragedy struck that year. Aine's mother
passed that winter due to pneumonia.
Aine put her education on hold to get a job to
help pay for medical bills that had accumulated
during her mother's sickness. After a couple of
years, Aine was able to start college part-time
and was close to receiving her diploma when
tragedy struck once more.
A celebrating driver, drunk and tired, had run
a light and took his life and left her father nearly
bed ridden because of his injuries and age.
Aine put her schooling on hold once more, to
care for her father and help him recover. She
spent her free time helping him with his physical
therapy. A year after the car accident, she was
able to bring her father home from the nursing
home he had been moved to after leaving the
hospital. Three months later, Aine walked into
her father's room to wake him for the day and
discovered he had passed of a heart attack
during the night.
Devastated, Aine had sold the house. The
money she received for the house and from his
life insurance policy went far to paying off the
medical bills and Aine's student loans. Aine
worked through her grief and eventually went
back to school. The opportunity to work for
Wynter Cruento and his import company had
~29~
Volume-1 Issue-3
been the one she had been looking for. She had
been able to finish her schooling twice as fast as
she had been if she had been working for a
traditional nine-to-five company. Her new
paycheck quickly paid off the rest of her loans
and she was finally able to breath easier knowing
she didn't have a huge debt hanging over her
head.
The gift Wynter had given her when she
graduated was a huge check. Aine had been
floored. She asked her co-workers if he had
given them money (Aine didn't say how much
Wynter had given her) for graduating or other
special events. They told her he was always a
generous employer and had given many of them
money during their employment. All the
employees had positive and supportive things to
say about their employer.
She felt a physical twinge of regret she had
not trusted him and ended up hurting them both.
She pushed those thoughts away and tried to
focus on the warm mood she had been in and
concentrated her thoughts on the positive.
Aine had used the money to put a down
payment on a new-to-her car.
Aine smiled as she remembered the pleasure
she felt at having a new car, even though it
meant a car payment after not having one for so
long. With these thoughts and memories, she
drifted off to sleep.
Wynter left Aine with thoughts he had not
had in a long time, of that day when he died only
to find a new life. The last time Wynter
considered this was when he was in Inverness.
There was little need after his discovery there.
Yet, Aine was the first, perhaps the only person,
he would have him join in this life.
It was a very warm day in May with the sun
shining down upon the ground fresh with life
from the spring growth. The road Wynter
traveled was small but well used. He was going
to see the small parish he would soon be charged
with keeping their souls safe. Christ Church in
Bethel, Vermont was small but still it would be
his charge.
Wynter thought he was nearing the town
based upon the landmarks he was told, so he
dismounted the horse he rode. The thought of
entering the town walking, being humble, would
set the right tone for his arrival. Long shadows
 Kindred Tribune
were appearing from the late afternoon sun.
However, Wynter was not concern. He had met a
small man outside of Royalton, the last village
Wynter had passed through, who told him which
road to take and said that there would be no
divergence from this path. The shadows continue
to grow longer as the sun drifted towards the
mountains. Wynter could not see any signs of the
town itself. The man was clear about which way
to go and seem to know the landmarks that
Wynter was passing by.
His first thought was the man was the local
Unitarian Minister. At school they often has a
strange sense of humor, which is why Wynter
often kept their company. His second thought
was the man seemed vaguely familiar, but he
wasn't quite sure why.
He was about to turn around when he saw
them -- two large timber wolves. Why hadn't his
horse warn him? How could they be so close?
Wynter looked back to see that his horse was
calm and her eyes unfocused. As he was backing
away, he tried to pull the horse along but she
would not move. As painful as it was, he decided
to leave the animal behind with the hope that the
wolves would simply take the easier prey.
Wynter backed away slowly but the wolves
maintain the same distance to him passing the
horse without a glance. Were these wolves really
demons come to kill him? The thought seemed
ridiculous, yet had the merit of the only reason
he could give. He would believe that for many
years to come.
They kept coming, looking at him as if there
was only one thought behind those yellow,
glowing eyes.
His fear got to him. Turning, Wynter ran back
down the path, looking for a tree to climb up or
some other means of escape. Once he started
running, there was no other thought. As the
forest grew dark and Wynter's strength was
fading, his hopes raised seeing two men standing
along the path.
He ran to them. Stopping just short, yelling,
"Wolf-- no wolves, behind me."
The men just smiled.
Wynter turned but nothing was coming along
the path. When he looked at the men again they
were still smiling but not out of humor at the
man who just cried wolf but with something
colder, sinister.
~30~
Volume-1 Issue-3
The taller one said, "Come with us for we are
to take you to your new master."
Wynter did not understand because he was
still afraid that the wolves were near.
The other man reiterated, "Come now with
us for your new master awaits you."
Wynter looked at them, really looked at
them. They were in all black with long knives on
their belts. They looked well-worn much like
some of the sailors he had meet on this travels.
The look of a hard life with little comfort. There
was no joy in their eyes, no humor in their
bodies. Only work, that must be done, was left in
this pair.
"I do not understand," Wynter said. He was
still confused but relieved like coming out of a
nightmare where the two worlds are still
commingled.
He did not yet know that he was still in the
nightmare.
The tall man said, "You have been chosen by
the master." There was bitterness in his voice as
if he was told by his mother to share his toys
with a stranger. He continued, "Come with us
and the master will explain his gift to you."
The other one retorted, "The master must
have the wrong man, this one is too slow."
Before Wynter could say anything, a voice
came from behind him. It was a strong voice with
a heavy accent Wynter could not quite place.
"It is not your place to question me," said the
voice and as if to answer an often-asked
question, "that is why you have not been chosen
nor will you by questioning my orders."
Wynter turned towards the voice as if
commanded to do so and could see the man now.
He was short but stocky wearing bright
colors that seemed so out of place in the forest
that had grown dark with the sun just below the
mountains. At first, the man looked like a gypsy
but Wynter did not think so. The man's skin was
darker and the accent was from Eastern Europe
but the clothes were an illusion, he wanted
people to think he was a gypsy. Wynter had
spent time with his family in Europe and
something seems wrong with the man's
appearance, which worried him.
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

The two men in black lifted him. Then, all was

Then he heard the cries from his horse. He
had forgotten about her and the wolves; it was
like the event happened days ago.
"My horse," cried Wynter, "they are attacking
my horse."
The man he was facing said calmly, "Yes they
are. That was their reward for ensuring you did
not escape."
This was more than Wynter could take, "Who
are you?" he yelled, "if you be the devil then
know that I will not recant my belief in Christ."
dark for Wynter.
He remembered this initiation into being a
vampire clearly. He had been in the dark for
many years after his turning. Damek had chosen
him for his pride and his devotion. However,
there was a secret that Damek did not know
about Wynter. One that would lead him to his
liberation from this self-styled god. Wynter was
under the influence of another set of masters,
whose suspicions would lead Wynter to the truth.
© 2006, Angela Pearson

"Oh, but you will," shot back the man before

him, "for I am not the devil but something real. I Stay Tuned for the Next Installment of Red
am your new master, your god now." Letters of Love:

Before Wynter could speak, the man dashed
at him and pulling him down to his knee. The
man's hands were strong. With one on his
shoulder and one on the back of his head turning
it to one side, Wynter was forced to kneel before
him.
Will Aine and Wynter be able to reconcile and
move forward in their new lives together? Check
back and see what Angela Pearson has in store
for Wynter and Aine and read their Red Letters of
love.

Wynter tried to wrap his arms around the

man's legs, thinking he could lift the man and
throw him down but could not as the man's teeth
sank into his neck. He could feel the sharp teeth
rip into his flesh, and then, there was a calm.
Wynter realized that he was going to die, that the
blood was flowing out of him. This was not how a
man of God should die; nevertheless Wynter did
not cry out for intervention.

It was a moment of truth and Wynter could

not muster up the belief in the God he claimed to
serve. What he wanted was to live, to understand
what was happening. It was the sin of pride and
it was too late for him.

"I am Damek, your new god" said the man,

"if you wish to live, to serve me, to become like
me, take my blood."

Wynter did not realized that Damek had stop

draining his blood but now he saw the man's
wrist before him as Damek cut it open with this
own finger nail releasing the blood. Without
thought Wynter drank from this opening. The
blood flowed into his mouth tasting salty and
satisfying as it drained down his throat. Then, his
hair was being pulled back by Damek who said,
"Enough, you are mine now."

Wynter crumbled to the ground. The cold

was invading his body as he felt hands on him.

~31~
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

Daughter of the Night

Who is the model? Type of camera used?

A mannequin Fuji FinePix digital camera
~32~
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

Daughters of the Night
By Goddess Rosemary
Matriarch House of Sahjaza
--------------------------
As a daughter of the night with the moons
natural pull on the cycles of women, are they
then more natural to become
vampires/vampyres, because they are
predisposed to bleed and therefore blood play?
In “Metamorphoses of the Vampire” by
Baudelaire, which was written in 1852, was
censored for his first edition of poetry titled
appropriately “Flowers of Evil”, (1857), woman
was extra sexual in nature, a sphinx that drained
her husband’s juices and life blood with her
abundant sexual desires, like a praying mantis
she literally sexed him to death. Coiling like a
snake with fluid lips….she shocked the very
marrow from his bones… having gorged itself on
blood. Naturally this woman was a prostitute and
therefore allowed the extra sexual prowess.
Pleasures of the body in works of fiction are often
paid for in the price of death particularly a
woman with sexual desires, and she must pay for
her lewd activity with the price of her death, at
least in the 1800, to 1900’s of classic literature.
And the classification of blood lust generally was
associated with madness and a certain sensuality
enough to suck the reader in, pun intended.
model which is easy to play with and not as
dangerous, like our female praying mantis.
Examples of this are Martha Stewart, Coco
Chanel and others who when achieved power and
wealth and, be they of the vampire culture or
not, are seen as women who are cold and
calculating and the world loves to take them
down and see them scattered on the cold
pavement or land face first in the mud. Why is it
we all secretly loved (the sales rates betray the
lip “dis-service”), Christina Aguilera in her video
for “Dirty”? She looked totally hot, sexy and
powerful yet we berated her on her choice of
apparel but she was watched and desired and
struck that primitive chord just like Madonna did,
and Britney in her “Slave for You” stance…. The
sexual and vampyristic portrayal of a strong
sexual woman, be it dominate or submissive, still
having the power to seduce and to be the
seductress - the one in charge. And yet is this
not really the true rule of nature? Is this not the
path that nature designed? The real way that we
were designed is with the female as the dominant
party, the one who says yes or no and the one
that the man chases and has throughout the
centuries to ensure procreation. And yet we just
do not allow that to be said. It’s a secret, but if
you look at advertising and movies, books,
television, the real sexual message portrays
itself; that what is natural for a woman is a
predatory stance.

And now to be a temptress and have the sexual
prowess and seduction of one and a coquette
who loves to dance taking all risks and allowing
herself to enjoy her sexual nature to the fullest,
and not hold guise to her wanton lusts she must
surely be a beast or an enchanted vampire, and
so perhaps she is…..and so if, she has the thirst
for blood and sex and power. What is she in
today’s environment? In business if she is
successful then she is a bitch or power hungry
and the adjectives to describe her are not the
kind applied to those more becoming of a role
The soft breasted mother, the talon clawed
monster that rips your heart out, and is the
sphinx, the destroyer, the real beast, the
vampire.
Why is it that there are classifications of women
as angels or whores? Does this not verify what I
am saying? I believe that it does if you reflect on
it for a moment or two.
Each generation tries to subdue the very
dangerous power of a woman, the most powerful

San Bernardino County, Orange County-The

OC, and San Diego The Southern California
Vampires is a private group for those who
romance the dark side in and around the
Greater Southern California area.
Membership is subject to approval. Members
must live in Southern California and profiles
must have a photo. We are a family of
Vampires, Werewolves and Witches (from
Los Angeles County, Ventura County,
Riverside County, San County) who share
similar interests. This is as "real" as it gets.
Our group is our safe haven; an Elysium for
our family.

~33~
 Kindred Tribune
force on earth, the elixir, the very thing that
makes the beast the man. The strong one of the
species weak on his knees as no other drug or
element or thing can do. She alone is able to
draw from him his power, his very life’s essence,
and render him weak and useless before her.
And so who is the strong one and why do men
bother to try to reason with her powers?
Just for face or for ego? Or perhaps they are just
not aware of the futility of their efforts. And so
we have saints and devils/vampire, virgin and
whore, and man ever pliable before each of
them.
We have the early and strange medical
treatments that hold testament to the thirst for
blood by women who were suffering from anemia
and blood was the prescribed treatment of the
day in the 1800’s. This led to tales of bloodlust
and is there still a need for this nourishment for
something lacking in our diet? Did this history
build in some of us the wanton thirst and lust for
blood and blood drinking? Is it purely a fetish for
blood, a blood sport or something deeper, a
bonding of the two individuals on a spiritual
level? A way of denoting a caste system; you
drink of me there for you are me. You drink of
me and therefore you are bound to me.
The night and the moon bring out the animalistic
nature of us all and the effects on women are
strong in their cycles as is the pull of the oceanic
tides, as is it on us all, but the picture of the
woman under the moon with her talons ripping
flesh and spilling her blood is the one we’re
looking at right now, or the blood of her victim.
In other articles we will look at the masculine
side of bloodlust but this article is reserved for
the feminine side of the Daughters of the Night.
The female persona of the vampire/vampyre is
the eternal animal, natural animalistic instincts
within a woman. And in the fiction of the 1800
and 1900’s, for the most part, she is awarded a
fiendish demeanor with no redeeming qualities as
in the tale of the playful and rather dapper
“Dracula”. She is a total beast and is only out for
the kill, never seeking any mate of long standing.
It is Dracula who laments for lost love and
eternal companionship.
She is more like a cat with a snarl and claws. Like
Lucy Westerna when turned into the undead she
gives a wanton smile and attacks like a fiend.
I suggest that we become the new women and
adopt the stance of the past and do the
proposing ourselves, and call a spade a spade
and adopt our true nature and take what we wish
to embrace. Embrace our animalistic past and
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become Eve having tasted the apple, take into us
what is offered and enjoy it. Be it sexual
pleasures or other material goods and enjoy it
fully and thoroughly with out guilt, and if our
night dress be stained with sperm or blood enjoy
the road before us. It’s ours for the making.
In Krafft-Ebing’s “Psychopathia Sexualis”, a
married man presented himself to his wife who
was “young and nervous”. First he had to make a
cut on his arm; she would suck the blood and
having done so she would immediately become
sexually excited. And they were able only then to
have intercourse. Krafft-Ebing commented that it
was a case as of the widespread legend of
vampires. The origin, he stated, may be related
in sadistic facts. And so the taste of blood
affecting this woman, turning her into an
insatiable maniac desiring sex, could be an
example of vampirism. I always wondered
exactly what Salvidor Dali was saying when he
often quoted the phrase “eat to be eaten”, was
he just talking about food? I don’t think so.
By the 1900’s a female vampire became a
depiction of everything negative. In Rudyard
Kipling’s writing she was a gold digger who was
only after money, just as hungry for coins as for
blood. Though her looks changed somewhat now
in literature as she gained beauty and could
almost be a visual of a virgin, however, with an
ungodly unnatural bloody appetite for sex and
life’s blood, always portrayed in the negative in
regards to sex, money and power, (and what was
said of men who wished for these things at this
time). Another note is that oftener then not, her
hair became long and dark or black and she
worked during the night more often then not a
prostitute. These days were full of fear of things
not understood and sexual diseases which were
past on without knowing more information, and
so were attributed to women with abnormal
prowess and appetites.
And what shall we write of today? Dare to come
to the awful moment of abject surrender then we
shall see. What will be written of the feminine
appetite for sex and power and more? Only time
will tell. Come here and sit with me awhile and
we will talk of many things, come closer and I
shall whisper in your ear, come here my sweet
how good smells the luster of your skin, and can
you see yourself reflected in my eyes? Come, let
me taste you come, come with me back to my
temple and let’s toast the night and greet the
dawn. Let’s see where we are. Come! Come with
a Daughter of the Night!
--------------------------------------
© 2006, Z/n Inc & Goddess Rosemary
 Kindred Tribune
Reviews
Phantacie: Welcome to Swamp’s End
Authors: Angela Pearson and Crystal Ordonez.
Pages: 304
Review By William Blumberg
When Phantacie: Welcome to Swamp’s End
arrived in the mail, I was wondering what
changes and additions I would find there. I was
not disappointed. I had the opportunity to review
a preview copy of this book. I also received a
proof copy before it was sent in for publication. I
was happy to find a prolog added to Phantacie:
Welcome to Swamp’s End illustrating the
deadliness of this world’s inhabitants.
This is the first book in a series of fantasy books,
which introduces the reader to the world of
Phantacie and more specifically the town of
Swamp’s End. The title is an indication of the
word play that is evident throughout the novel.
The reader will also note the influence of J.K.
Rowlins and her Harry Potter series. However,
Phantacie is strictly for adults with violence and
sex throughout the book.
The book follows the story of Elodia Phelan who
has intruded upon the live of Delphian Grimm
and his only friends, Amethyst and Vendois
Severi. She is disconcerting for all of them. They
are just not sure where she fits into their world
and what to do if she becomes a threat. Elodia is
an outsider even when compared with Delphain,
Amethyst and Vendois. This is a story not of self-
discovery but more of discovery of the other. One
in which Elodia, always feeling the pains of being
an outsider is unsure, and even more unaware,
that people can care about her. Yet her destiny
seems to rest with these people, now all that is
to be seen is if her need for revenge outweighs
her heart.
There are two main backdrops of Phantacie –
Severi’s bookstore and town morality. Yet at the
heart of this tale are consequents of actions,
luck, and the reality of a world that is not kind
while still finding its beauty and perhaps even
love. Phantacie is a place filled with magic,
secrets, death, and hope. There are sentient
magical creatures such as dark elves and
vampires along with humans. Some humans can
perform magic and therefore are included in the
sphere of magical beings.
Pearson and Ordonez have their own way of
creating characters and ideas. This is where their
strength is located. Phantacie’s first chapter
introduces us to the main characters that are
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Volume-1 Issue-3
amoral at best. What are we to make of them?
Are they going to be the “heroes” of the story?
Well yes, over time the reader will find these
characters likeable. They are surviving in a world,
where a line is drawn between good and evil, by
not taking sides. Yet I would suggest that they
know full well that their continued survival is
dependant upon the forces of good to win…well
perhaps not so much as win as forestalling any
kind of evil calamity overtaking the world they
live in. These people show true loyalty to those
whom they consider friends, generous to those
they feel deserving, and engage in relationships
that may seem unconventional and yet works.
For those who cross them, there is a violent end
often one of their own making.
The book does contain some typographic errors
but nothing too distracting. The graphics in the
printed copy did not translate well to black and
white. The digital version shows them with full
color and is lovely but some simple line drawings
may have serviced the printed copy better. The
use of Latin, called Old Phantic in the book, is
interesting by adding some foreign element into
the world but still allowing the reader to translate
the words if they so wish. I enjoyed it but others
may simple skip over it with no loss in
understanding what is going on.
So Phantacie is filled with sex, violence,
monsters, magic, and books. Yes, books for the
main characters are precious and I would suspect
they are for the authors too. Some of the other
more subtle undertones include a wide array of
what some would deem alternative way of life.
This would include gay and lesbian themes,
unconventional domestic arrangements, and Neo-
Pagan religion. All of which are present in today’s
culture and are becoming more mainstream.
Overall the book was interesting with some
mystery, which a good reader should be able to
put together before the secrets are revealed like
a good puzzle. I am looking forwards to more
stories with these characters and the town of
Swamp’s End. Pearson and Ordonez have an
interesting backdrop to work from. This is
beneficial because their fans will be asking for
more, more, more as Elodia does in one of the
more provocative scenes.
----------------------------------
© 2006, William Blumberg
If you would like to obtain a copy of:
Phantacie: Welcome to Swamp's End
You can find it here:
http://www.lulu.com/content/308719
 Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

News, Events, & Announcements

For Immediate Release One of the original founders of Midnight
Syndicate, Joseph Vargo is also a prolific and
talented artist whose works bring to life the
denizens of the darkest regions of the
imagination. More information can be found at
http://www.noxarcana.com

Both Michelle Belanger and Joseph Vargo are

available for interviews. Email
glenarvon@gmail.com to arrange a time. If you
run a print magazine or newsletter, you can
request a copy for review. Email
glenarvon@gmail.com with "Blood of Angels
Review Request" in the subject header.
Michelle Belanger, vocalist and vampire author,
teams up with the musical duo of Joseph Vargo Blood of Angels
and William Piotrowski Will be released on Friday, October 13, just in
(http://www.noxarcana.com) to create the time for Halloween.
haunting new music of Blood of Angels. Drawing
upon the Enochian myth of Watcher Angels who
abandoned Heaven for a taste of mortal love,
each of the nine tracks on this debut CD is
steeped in myth, magick, and ancient folklore.
The brooding and atmospheric orchestrations
that have made Nox Arcana fan-favorites in the
realm of Gothic music combine to create a wicked
alchemy with Belanger's eerie and versatile
soprano. Rich lyrics weave through layers of
melody, telling stories of lost love and forbidden
passion that will haunt your dreams and evoke
your darkest desires.

The Artists:

Michelle Belanger is best known for her writings

on vampires and vampirism. Author of the best-
selling Psychic Vampire Codex (Weiser, 2004) ,
and Sacred Hunger (Dark Moon, 2005) she has
appeared in documentaries on both sides of the
Atlantic and is a sought-after speaker on the
subjects of vampires, magick, and modern
occultism. Classically trained in voice, piano, and
flute, Michelle has lent her vocal talents to both
Chicago-based dark metal band URN and
Cleveland's Nox Arcana. More information on
Michelle can be found at
http://www.michellebelanger.com

Joseph Vargo and William Piotrowski together are

the wicked talents behind Nox Arcana. Starting
with their release Darklore Manor (2003) and
progressing through the most recent Carnival of
Lost Souls (Summer, 2006), Nox Arcana weaves
rich, Gothic landscapes of sound that transport
the listener to the realm of dream and nightmare.

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 Kindred Tribune
Vampire & Energy Work
Research Survey
The Vampire & Energy Work Research Survey
(VEWRS) & the Advanced Vampirism & Energy
Work Research Survey (AVEWRS) are complete
and now available in either online or printed form
at:
www.vampiresurvey.com
The final release of the VEWRS comprises 379
questions, covering 11 primary categories, and
spans 74 pages.
The final release of the AVEWRS comprises 609
questions, covering 5 primary categories, and
spans 139 pages.
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Volume-1 Issue-3
We realize these surveys (VEWRS & AVEWRS)
are lengthy, and that they call for a serious
investment of time and thought. Many months of
development and countless hours of editing and
review have gone into the writing of these
surveys. We have done our best to put together
questions which, when answered by members of
the community, will help provide answers to
questions that vampires have been asking for
years, and will allow our community to be
understood better by others. This is a rare
chance for those who are willing to put forth the
effort to benefit the entire community. Keeping in
mind the scope of this project, please do not
request a copy if you feel you are not up to the
task. To maintain the integrity of the data, we
need as many surveys to be returned to us as
possible. This is an effort by the community and
for the community - no loyalty of affiliation, bias,
or preferential consideration is taken into account
in the pursuance of this community study. The
results of these surveys will be published in 2007
as an expansive study.
Orange County Vampire
Meet up
http://vampires.meetup.com/3
This is a group for vampires,
donors, and all those interested in
vampires and the vampire culture.
This is a place for you to seek help
and guidance, support, and to just
have a place were you can meet
with other people like yourself and
who have like interests.
Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

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Kindred Tribune Volume-1 Issue-3

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