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You followed the scant directions on the playbill and passed quietly beneath the scrolled iron gates of the French Quarter. They had once been covered with dewy blossoms of vibrant color and fragrance, but only dried and withered vines hung round them now--brown and brittle husks of an earlier time--a testament, perhaps, to the entirety of the Quarter, for it all seemed much the same.

The streets were largely empty, and crudely sketched signs hung from nearly every shoppe door announcing that the business had moved to the merchants' district. House shutters were drawn and tightly-closed, sealing out all traces of sunlight from the rooms they sheltered and contributing to the inhospitability of the area. But despite the general air of emptiness, the homes looked well-maintained, suggesting that not all of the residents had left this portion of the city after all. Were they simply hermits, you wondered, glancing from the rusted street signs to your playbill? You pondered the matter as you wound through the still empty streets, but had not yet hit upon a solution by the time you reached your destination--the theatre.

Like the rest of the buildings in the Quarter, the theatre was an old and seemingly tired structure long left abandoned, but the arches, scrolled ironwork, and elegant structure of the front entrance suggested an earlier period of grandeur absent from many of the other establishments. No line formed outside the theatre, but a moderately-sized placard that hovered round the borders of ostentatiousness announced that "The Incomparable Giacomo, King of Jesters, and Jester of Kings" would soon be beginning his performance. Having trod through the empty streets for the better part of an hour in search of the theatre, you hastened to enter despite your growing misgivings.

The inside of the theatre was like nothing you had encountered in the rest of the Quarter. Unlike the crumbling exterior of the building and the empty wasteland of the streets outside, the interior of the theatre was richly arrayed with marble staircases, gilded columns and plants of verdant green. Birds of varying colour and size even sang overhead--some perching in tall ornamental trees that rimmed the lobby while others splashed about in the cool waters of a carved ivory fountain that rose from the center of the floor. In awe of your surroundings, you just managed to make it into the auditorium of the theatre before the house lights dimmed, leaving just a sole spotlight on the heavy curtain of golden velvet that swathed the stage. The light was enough, however, to tell you that you weren't alone. The room was completely packed, forcing you to step over a good two dozen people to reach the only empty seat in the house. Most of the other guests were sitting in silent apprehension for the start of the show, but one visitor in the row before yours was busily at work with a pencil and a large book of bound paper, obviously sketching the theatre and clearly unaffected by the waning of the lights.

Interesting as her sketches looked to be, your attention was soon drawn again to the front of the auditorium as the curtain rose, revealing a lone figure on an empty stage. The figure stood approximately two feet high, was covered from head to toe in gleaming purple scales, and had the general shape of a dragon. "Ladies and Gentlemen," it spoke in perfect common, "I give you The Incomparable Giacomo--King of Jesters and Jester of Kings!"

No sooner than he made his announcement, the purple dragonet promptly vanished in a puff of smoke. Although a typical accompaniment to such vanishing acts, the smoke was denser than usual and generated a great deal of coughing and sputtering from the audience. After a few moments, the gagging and hacking ceased, leaving you to wonder whether the visitors' lungs had cleared or whether they had been asphyxiated, and the wisps of smoke parted to reveal a looming figure dressed in motley.

© Copyright A. Lee 2001 Used with Permission Only. "The Juggler"

He wore elven features, with finely pointed ears clearly visible beneath a shock of silver hair, but they seemed somehow 'inappropriate' for him--as if he were simply borrowing a visage to mask his true nature. He performed a variety of acts which could only be described as eccentric bordering on lunacy, and his haunting laugh that accompanied each suggested a nigh infinite madness that chilled your blood. When he paused longer than usual following the completion of a particularly disturbing juggling act, you hoped that he had finally completed his repertoire and that you could slip quietly out of the theatre. Fortune, however, didn't favor you. Instead of taking his final bows, the Jester began to verbally set the stage for his next act by asking for a volunteer. His keen blue eyes scanned the audience as he spoke, and, at last, fell unnervingly upon you. Try though you did to extricate yourself from his ensuing invitation to join him on stage, you soon found yourself standing there beside him, your pounding heart sounding like a drum within your constricting chest.

The Jester grinned gleefully at your discomfort, then began his grande finale--a feat which apparently involved hurling flaming daggers at a wooden board to which you were fastened. You sighed with relief at each dagger that sailed pass you to embed itself in the board behind you with a solid thump, marveling at his skill. The crowd, however, seemed less than amused and began to fling insults at the Jester, sending him into a rage of fury.

Maddened beyond reason, the Jester stormed forward towards you, hellfire gleaming in his narrowing eyes. "What's the matter with you?" he screamed. "Why can't I hit you? What . . ." he stopped mid-scream, the amulet given to you by the elven shoppekeeper having caught his eye. He reached for it in a sudden frenzy, but recoiled his hand with a hiss as if burned to the quick. "So you've been to see her have you?" He growled--a low, feral sound rasping in his throat as he looked away from you and shouted in no direction in particular. "You can't stop me! Do you hear me Eowyn? I'll have this one! If not now, then later!" Glaring balefully at you a final time, he engulfed himself in flames and vanished completely, along with the decor of the building and the entirety of the audience save the young artist who had been seated before you.

An immaculate shimmer of livid moonlight provides ample light in order to catch that momentary glimpse of the ever-moving girl; a flash of mirthful smile, though quiet to the laughter clearly dancing within the perfected orbs of flickering slate-blue serving as eyes to dominate her olive-tone visage. Then the laughter sounds; a silvery bout much farther off than you'd perceived when her fleeting image swept by.

Memories linger though, worry not, for this girl once-encountered--is a girl difficult to forget. That tiny, nearly unnoticeable glimmer of sharp canines perks curiosity, for surely the worn tank and faded jeans--and was that a hanna cap 'top her head--is attire much too casual for a vampire? But then again.. perhaps this isn't your average vampire? And the hair.. obviously soft, but which shade? Conclusively all three, the combination of brown, red, and blondish shades tousling over each other, though a swift pale hand keeps them in check so as not to appear disheveled. But, the age; why eyes so much older and spirited than the late-teen visage..?

"My angel wings molted long ago and the handbasket ain't ready for this doll-girl."

As you made a hasty and thankful departure from the theatre and the Quarter,
the distant song of the sea led you towards a hidden cove.



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© 2001 Stormpoint Writers Guild

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