A Scripta

Narayanan "Sham" Sharma locked up his store. He had hoped to get home before midnight to see his wife before she went to bed, but a jerk dropped a jar of Tostito's cheese and then kicked the glass under the display, making a horrible mess he had to almost scrape up. He adjusted his over-the-body purse - he didn't care if it made him look female, it was a secure way of travelling with his money. He stood under the small light that shined at the door, the only light in the immediate area. The rest was darkness around him.

Sham was a small man, so when the three bigger men in gang colors came up to him and one held a knife to his throat, he merely stood there paralyzed with fear. "Hand it over, towel-head," one said.

He shakily started pulling the purse over his head. Then suddenly, one of the men leering at him was suddenly yanked back, into the darkness. Sham heard a muffled cry, and the other man turned to look into the dark. Then he, too, was yanked by his shirt into the darkness. There was a scuffle, and then silence.

Sham heard water hitting tar and hoped that wasn't him.

"Who's that? I'll kill this mother fucker!"

"No," said a voice, and the man whirled toward it still holding Sham. "You will release him."

"Fuck you, pall!"

Someone stepped into the light from the left - he looked like he was made of marble. His black hair was like a raven's wing, and he had a short neat beard. He was tall, even taller than this other man who held Sham, and wore a well-worn Houston Astros baseball shirt. His jeans were torn and greasy, and he wore no belt. Sham glanced up at his eyes and immediately looked at the Astros logo, not wanting to look at them again, ever.

"Release him."

The knife dropped out of the young man's suddenly limp hand, as he was absolutely frozen with terror. Sham took a step out of his arms. The dark-haired man only had eyes for his attacker. Sham moved out from between the attacker and this man. The last thing he saw before he dove for his car was the man putting his arm around his attacker, as if they were old friends, and guiding him out from the pool of light into the darkness.

He snapped on his headlights, pointing them at the store, but the men were gone.


"Mr. Acheron, if you would sign here..."

Dmitrius took up the A.T. Cross pen the banker offered and began signing. He would sign a paper, and then put it aside.

"Mr. Nokimos, if you could sign here..."

Kalius no longer had the sling, and his arm was fully functional now. He picked up another pen and signed below Dmitrius. He smiled at Dmitrius' flourish of his initials.

"You can just fax over the marriage certificate when you get it."

"Now," said Dmitrius, "the property. You said there were issues?"

"They are treating it as arson, Mr. Acheron. This is what I didn't want to discuss over the phone with you."

Dmitrius rubbed his thumb along the cleft of his beard. Dmitrius had dealt with this bank for over a hundred years, and this particular banker's great-grand-uncle when he first opened it. They've kept him quiet all these years, and he sent them business and helped keep them afloat. He didn't want to move the banking to Rhode Island, and he could still do many things electronically. But he wanted the bankers to be sure that Kalius - Kevin Nokimos - was allowed access to his funds as a domestic partner.

"I appreciate your discretion," Dmitrius said. "Do they have any leads?"

"Not from what I've gathered."

"You will keep me posted?"

"Of course, sir."

Both he and Kalius got up at the same time. Dmitrius pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and bit into his own wrist. Blood welled up, and he held out his wrist to the banker. The banker bent his head and licked the blood, then closed his eyes and suckled. Dmitrius gently pulled his arm away, and covered the wound with his jacket sleeve. The banker sat down, seemingly in a daze, gazing up at Dmitrius.

Dmitrius left the bank, and Kalius put an arm around his waist. "Is that necessary?" He nodded back to the bank.

Dmitrius nodded. Taking a vampire's blood three times usually meant that the person was absolutely devoted to the vampire. This was called a Blood Bond. It was the way most vampired controlled their people. Dmitrius did not like using that ability, and, even among his servants, did so very sparingly. Oftentimes he wanted to offer his blood to Kalius, when he was injured or had his power taken away, but he didn't want Kalius to love him because of the bond.

Dmitrius said quietly, "It's insurance. If I don't claim him, someone else might." He stopped, and turned to face Kalius. "So, how does it feel to marry into money?"

Kalius looked up at him, "I wouldn't care if you were poor. I have you. I love you, eranamos."

"I love you, erastes," Dmitrius said, and the two men kissed under the moonlight.