From KRYMSIN NOCTURNES by Joseph Armstead
And then she floated out the door, her hand held by a thin, almost mouseylooking man in dark paratrooper-style combat fatigues. Cadaverously thin, gray fleshed, her hair whipping and writhing independently of the wind in serpentine undulations, she drifted out into clear view. Her feet didn’t touch the wet ground, yet she carried a cane. And there were a discomfiting array of floating orbs, objects that looked a lot like human eyes, flying in orbit around her body. Haggard noticed that the paramilitary looking man with her had a very large automatic rifle slung across one shoulder and a pistol holstered on his hip. The man made a show of keeping his hands far away from either weapon.
“Gentlemen and lady, won’t you please come inside out of the rain?” the floating mummy-woman said in a clear and powerful, but definitely unhuman, voice.
Stepping forward, Mitch Haggard announced, “Please stop where you are! We are agents of a Department of Justice task force assigned for hazardous urban crisis management and we have designated this area a potential site for criminal terrorist activity. While we understand that you are on sovereign territorial soil appointed under treaty with the United States government, we are exercising our right to execute a search of your premises and property. We have presented you with court-signed documentation to that effect. In the meantime, you do not match the descriptions of any contactees or representatives we recognize. Identify yourselves!”
The mummy-woman’s wrinkled face beamed a friendly smile as she answered. “Come now, surely we can engage one another on more…human…terms than these.”
“Identify yourself!” Haggard repeated, simultaneously making a motion for his RR team to raise their weapons and take aim.
The aggressive stance did nothing to alter the floating woman’s demeanor.
“Why, kind sir, I am Madame Le Comtesse Cristina Wintyrr of the MacStanclef Gather, a family under the banner of Gen Nocturna, and I am a six hundred twenty-four year-old Apollyonu First Blood,” she said amicably. “You can consider me the family matriarch. The person next to me is the current captain of our house guard, Mr. Haigh. He is responsible for the safety of all who dwell within Crichton House. We are both what you would call ‘vampires.’ Now, considering how hysterically your people tend to react to that word, are you really sure you want to have this conversation outside where other ears can hear?”
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