It was Friday night, and in the vampire calendar, January was one of the darkest months, so plenty of time to be awake and delighted in the dark. The moon was nineteen days old, its waning gibbous had emerged from behind the daytime clouds, the stars twinkling beside it in the frosty sky. Cass Motley, vampire of five and a bit years, sized up the pub from the street.

Any passing Muggles did not see it, their eyes slid from the end of the adjacent building to the corner of the pavement as if nothing were there. You had to love magic. It was bitter outside, so she tossed her white blonde curls over her shoulder, straightened her leather jacket, and allowed her high heeled boots stride her across the road and up to the step. She wore them because she felt she could kick arses in them, and it allowed her six foot slender frame to tower even more over others. They boosted an already excited bubble of arrogant confidence within her. The very confidence which pushed open the front door to the Camden Hookers’ domain with both hands without pause. Friday 13th, unlucky for some, but Cass did believe for her.

She paused a moment on the threshold, a small voice wondering if her electric blue dress, tights, leather jacket and long boots were befitting of what Tristan’s coven leader friend expected of a vampire. Her bright blue eyes swept around the saloon bar, across the counter, cushioned seats and the great… considerably empty mirror despite the others present. There was no doubt to Cass this was the right place. She saw nothing of herself in the mirror, either.

“Evening,” she greeted, putting on her radio voice without a second thought, and began a purposefully slow, considered walk towards the bar, eyes still busy on her surroundings. “Cass Motley,” she introduced herself at the bar in lower volume, unable to hide her fangs in her smile. “Here by invitation[1].”

1.	5th Jan Such a Pain in the Neck

Look at this, look at that. Ever a lover of shadowy corners, the ash-smoldering Lazarus Blackburn watched that Cassandra Motley walk in like it was a red carpet. More than a few heads turned, Laz's own among them. Chin over his shoulder, shoulder round the bend, Lazarus slowly spun himself round in and unsteady pivot to fall silently in line behind the young new beast.

"Invitations, there aren't many of those," he said, his voice like whispering gravel. Lazarus wasn't completely in the dark about Vallaincourt and Hooker's little plan to scoop up this careening wanderer, but he hadn't been a part of the deliberations. Fair was fair. He was busy with other things. Nevertheless, novelty was new and new was rare and rare was precious.

"How'd you find one," he asked next, politely coming around Cass's front rather than linger in a blind spot.

        “Here by invitation.”
   "Invitations, there aren't many of those...How'd you find one."

Behind the counter, the lanky bartender with her toothy smile leaned forward and crossed her arms with interest. "What's this? We allowed to interrogate the new meat?" she asked - like Laz, Anaïs too had heard of a new member being invited. A controversial, visible one.

And Hookers' wasn't known for being visible now, was it?

Terry Hooker was in black tie and he looked like he had slept in his suit when he emerged from the bar's back rooms, undone bowtie dangling loose at his unbuttoned collar. He had just fed from a live, unprotesting witch; the slightest drop of blood trickling from the corner of a wide smile. Cass Motley's moment of arrival was fortuitous.

"Everybody!" he yelled, causing a couple of coven members and every single human patron to jump in their seats. "Ladies, gentlemen," Terry laughed in his unfriendly way. "We're closing. Coven busines."

Nothing else needed to be said. Bar stools were pushed back and a low murmur rose as the small exodus began, ushered out by Jin-ho's attentive charm.

“Invitations, there aren’t many of those,” Cass turned her head to regard the scratchy, low tones from another vampire at the bar. His tousled hair, bushy jawline and smoky scent fitted the vocal range. “How’d you find one,” he asked, approaching. She stood her ground, hands placed one by one on her hips.

“What’s this? We allowed to interrogate the new meat?” Asked a feminine voice to her other side, from behind the bar. Fangs there too. Cass raised an eyebrow, enjoying her moment of mystique to the others, which helped her keep her nerve.

Then he arrived, from the back room, in black tie. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and Cass felt the need to lick her own lips at the sight of the crimson.

“Everybody! Ladies, gentlemen, we’re closing. Coven business.” His exclamation made Cass jump too, but she tried to style it out, flicking her blonde hair back over her shoulder, and allowed the corners of her mouth to curl at Hooker’s appearance, even if his laugh held the warmth of a grave.

Hooker’s patrons were surprisingly obedient at the request, a murmur joined the screech of bar stools on the bar floor before the rumble of footsteps and the glassy plonk of downed glasses on the table tops.

“Mr Hooker, I presume.” Cass greeted once the majority were out of the door, herded by another figure who lacked a reflection. “Cass Motley, as expected.” She turned a hand to her chest and then extended it politely, assuming Hooker to be on the same page as grumpy band managers who occasionally graced her studio in the dead of night. “Honoured to receive word of your invitation,” she smiled, full-fanged, eyes only on him despite all other eyes on her from the way her skin prickled.

With Terry's arrival, the hierarchy shifted into order, each in their comfortable place in the close-knit coven (including all the Living who hurried back to their world). Lazarus knew his position and the allowances that came with it, and Cassandra Motley seemed to be guessing correctly at hers. Polite, flattering, attractive.

Lazarus didn't have a notion of why the coven needed her, so he gathered it must be the other way around. It wasn't his turn to speak so instead he raised two fingers to sweet Anaïs for a pair of glasses of whatever was fresh, the catch of the day so to speak.

He lifted a dark eyebrow at the Mr in Mr Hooker but smiled his wide smile at Cassandra Motley nonetheless. There was an aura of schoolgirl still around the woman, an observation that only made sense to those who'd been walking this earth for as long as Terry. Coven eyes followed her movements - then they followed his, dark hand reaching forward to take the pale one.

            “Honoured to receive word of your invitation,” their guest was smart not to exhibit nerves.

"Likewise. It's Terry, to friends, but you can call me Hooker till we're better acquainted, eh?" he said this with a glimmer in his eyes while they shook hands, as though he very much anticipated the act of becoming acquainted. "So this is the face behind the voice."

            "And what a face it is~" Anaïs sighed pleasantly behind the bar, pouring Laz two glasses of crimson. She listened to Motley on the Wireless.

Hooker laughed, which dispersed a slight tension in the room. He let go of Cass and jerked his head to the bar. "Sit. You got an invite, that don't mean your batwing's in the door yet..."

Anaïs brought out another glass, though not for Terry; he was quite full thankyouverymuch. Other members of the Coven perched themselves here and there: on top of tables, on the bar counter, draped languidly in their chairs. Relaxed, almost, if not for their gazes still very much drawn to this new set of fangs.

"You have grievances to air." Terry leaned against the bar, folding his arms. "The red robes, purveyors of all that is good and right in the wizarding world...?"  he said those words, good and right, like they were covered in filth. "Tell us. Tristan's words don't look good in other people's mouths."

Cass nodded. ‘Hooker’ was fine, he was so far charmed if she read him correctly.

“So this is the face behind the voice.”
“And what a face it is.”

Cass was naturally pleased by the way the girl behind the bar expressed her appreciation. It was highly flattering, and Cass responded oh so well to flattery as young Rigel Acrux had discovered at Christmas.

“Thank you darling,” she purred, extending her free hand, limp at the wrist in her direction, and winked. “You are quite the picture yourself, if only you could see yourself.” The boss seemed to laugh at it all, and released her hand at long last. Any longer and it might have become properly awkward.

He granted her permission to sit, and she took up a stool, folding one long leg over the other. An elbow rested on the edge of the bar, feigning relaxed confidence. Fake it ’til you make it, Motley.

“Tell us. Tristan’s words don’t look good in other people’s mouths.” Cass suppressed her itch to express some nervous joke at that expression. Tristan was quite the looker, and she was sure he had quite a queue of suitors or … warm drinks.

“There was a Muggle found Christmas Day, Kensington Gardens,” Cass began, looking from Hooker to the assembled audience. What a treat to see them in person, rather than hear them from their owls later. “The wixes pointed the finger at our kind. Wanted someone to arrest, so next thing I know there’s an auror on the doorstep.”

She inclined a little towards her audience, changing the timbre of her voice for sidenote, “You see, I lodge with Tristan, at Moonshine Mews.”

She nodded, and reset her pose, “her name was Auror Roh, or woe as I dubbed her. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was to come with her directly. Wouldn’t let me even lift the needle on my record. The indecency. Attacked me in my home, our home.”

Cass lifted her hand, as if she were sickened by it all and had to pause her account, rather than just for dramatic intensity.

Roh. Lazarus showed rare surprise, snapping his gaze around to the flamboyant young vampire who was reveling in the attention, ably flexing her tale-telling prowess. Her flowery words were too ostentatious for his tastes, but they carried heavy names. Roh had to be that girl's mother, the volunteer with the singing tongue and protective mums who they'd paid a visit just last night.[1] He glanced at Hook, then off into the distance. That unexpected detail was nearly as interesting as the whole bit about Motley being accused of murder.

"Some people have no manners," Lazarus mumbled in his way, a little absently. He was apparently referring to the Auror's invasion, if context mattered to you.

"None at all, none at all."

1.	12 Feb 2012 - Some Blood in the Cut [M]

He couldn't help but glance at Blackburn, whose eyes fleetingly found his own. Auror Roh. Tristan had described the witch as one of two usually sensible hens who marched into the Frenchman's office last week demanding ludicrous answers. No doubt she imagined her daughter at the fangs of a vampire not unlike their guest.

Motley's theatricality, drawing interest from many in the coven, suited Hooker. He imagined she would fit in alright - there was so much personality in that young frame, how did Vaillancourt manage?

No, he thought as he watched Anaïs slide a shot of blood liquor across the counter for Cass. No, a group was a better fit for this one. She must be bored out of her head with old Tristan. Dangerous vampires weren't necessarily the most interesting.

"Yes." Terry murmured pensively, echoing Lazarus. "No manners. And," he crossed his legs, "no respect." A hiss cut the air. Jin-ho, who was sitting in the closest booth to the bar, bared his teeth.

Hooker looked around his bar at the eyes who had been following Motley's tale. "Why should the Aurors respect us?" he spoke in a louder voice, gravelly. "They're afraid of us. They don't even know what we're capable of -" another round of hisses "- and they're still afraid. Of what we'll do or say. What our new friend here might say."

His dark gaze snapped back to Cass. His smile, which had been friendly, appeared only vindictive now.

"You don't take it lying down, now do you lass?" Terry licked his lips, a flash of fang. "Not on the Wireless, I bet."

"Some people have no manners. None at all, none at all."
"Quite." Cass agreed, flicking strands of long blonde hair over her shoulder and nodding in agreement with the yet to be acquainted vampire with the beard and touselled hair.

The pretty thing across the bar pushed another shot her way. Cass battered her eyelashes and flashed a toothy smile of thanks.

"Yes... no respect." Hooker agreed in a murmur, and another vampire hissed, teeth bared. Cass did her best to cover her start at the noise.

"Why should the Aurors respect us?" Hooker asked the assembled reflection-less audience. ".... They don't even know what we're capable of-" There were more hisses. Cass did her best to join in, keen to show she was one with them already. Her eyes rarely left Hooker though, he had a commanding presence and it was a little unnerving.

"... of what we'll do or say. What our new friend here might say."

New friend! Cass' bloodless heart swelled with pride at being called such.

"You don't take it lying down, now do you lass? Not on the wireless, I bet."

"Darling," Cass ventured, adrenaline-fuelled in this communal moment, "the only ones 'lying down' will be the crimson-robes after they cross us. I won't be kept in a cell all night again. I am no beast." Vampires were classified as beings much to the distaste of merpeople and centaurs who took beast status along with transformed werewolves. It was a lesser category. "But I am capable of drinking a muggle dry."

She winked and knocked back the shot and wiped a drop of blood from her lip with a pale hand.

"As loud as my voice is on the airwaves, I am one vampire alone, which is why I was so pleased to accept your invitation. You're absolutely right, it is time they knew what we were capable of. So how about an alliance?" She shrugged, and looked about her new friends.

Lazarus stood up away from the bar with a grunt and fully turned his back on the empty mirror, on Motley and Hooker, too. Something had woken up Terry and bright and bloody Motley, oh, she was dangerous and oh, damn too easy to move. Lazarus didn't like it.

"Old Thunder, they call him," muttered literary Lazarus ungracefully from where he was headed bringing to mind an ominous epithet of old Captain Ahab of Melville. He slid out a chair at his favorite table, sat down and put a boot up. He looked for all intents and purposes like he'd have a nap right then. From under his hat he continued his complaint.

"Drink and drain all you want, just don't bring the mess home. It's earlier than you think."

If Terry had sparked a fire amongst them, Motley was fanning the flames.

He couldn't quite help the way his eyebrows rose at her eagerness to drain bodies dry - muggle or wix. Himself, well, he wasn't so much a fan of muggle blood. Tasted all but flat to him, he'd rather a squib or a nervous little witch with more power than sense. It was clear that Cass, still young, revelled in the violence of her condition.

Something every vampire must quell in their immortal infancy.

Laz had something to say. Hooker valued his opinion; he didn't throw it about often so he knew that whenever Blackburn did speak up it was significant. His eyes followed the other vampire turning away.

            "... just don't bring the mess home. It's earlier than you think."

"Mm..." Terry made a thoughtful noise, as abruptly pensive as he had been excited. "House rules, aye. We don't drag corpses to our door, do we now?" The coven fell silent - not uncomfortably, no, they all knew the danger of too much attention from the Ministry of Magic.

This was a sober silence, almost embarrassed.

His kind, they were dangerous but not invincible. "Motley." Hooker pushed himself off from against the bar, looking away from Laz and towards the blonde. "Covens aren't alliances, you get?" he slipped his hands into his pocket. "We're like family. You come into our house, you learn the rules before you even think about bending them."

Tristan had sent him a wild cannon. Terry didn't mind - he asked for it - but he didn't get to where he was by letting fangs run amuck. And should Cass join the Camden Town Hookers she wouldn't just have to live with their rules. If she broke them, she would die by coven rule as well.

"We play, darling," he smiled as he echoed her address. "But this isn't a game."

"Drink and drain all you want, just don't bring the mess home. It's earlier than you think." One of the vampires kicked his boots up on a table and judged her from his vantage point. Cass rested her tongue just behind her sharp incisors, itching to issue a comeback.

"House rules, aye. We don't drag corpses to our door, do we now?" The boss issued his decree. Not that Cass had any intention of bringing corpses to the door. No, blood was better fresh and walking voluntarily into the place, wasn't it?

She held her cold tongue.

"Covens aren't alliances, you get? We're like family. You come into our house, you learn the rules before you even think about bending them." She was transported in an instant back to Hogwarts - though those memories were distorted and foggy in her vampire mind - but being told off. There was a cold prickling sensation down her spine.

It might not be a game in Hooker's mind, but all games had rules, and rules she would learn. Tow the line, just like the radio station.

"Rules, yes, of course, brothers." Cass grinned and shook her blonde mane arrogantly. "Now whose blood would you like me to sign in?"

Even if Motley lacked the manner, the maturity, and instead seemed near feral and fully famished even in this moment, she at least knew the right things to say to pay proper deference for her new brothers.

"Cousins," Lazarus decided. Suddenly and lightning fast appearing on his feet, then nearly across the room then around the bar to impose on Anaïs's domain. Back there was where he'd last left his ledger. It wasn't some massive ancient thing, covered in dust, with cracked goat-vellum pages. It wasn't bound in the leather of anything, it was not clasped with cursed brass or silver. No, it was like one you'd buy in a store, of a reasonable size. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about it was its age. This volume was, oh, a hundred and twenty-five years old. In the intervening years, it had benefited from a strap to keep it closed when not in use.

Lazarus had without being asked long ago taken on the self-ascribed role of - what would you call it? Historian? Archivist? Genealogist? Whoever kept the book of names.

He laid the book on the bartop, licked his finger and began flipping through the pages.

"Ink will work just as well," he said to her, humming as he perused the ledger. "Who's your mother, father, savior. Who ate your lunch? If you like? Or don't you know?"

Ever vampire was made by another vampire was made by another vampire. Lazarus wasn't the only one of his kind who liked to keep track.

“Who’s your mother, father, saviour. Who ate your lunch? If you like? Or don’t you know?”

Cass looked across the antediluvian pages, timeworn as vampires were. To her it looked older than its years, as a more recent bite. Its pages held a certain smell and creaked as it settled open. Her pale hand received ink and quill, and with celebrity ease, she inscribed her name upon the ledger. Cassandra Rachel Alice Motley. CRAM. Her witch self had despaired at the thought of marrying a wizard with a surname beginning with B, or P.

As for her mother, Cass inscribed a single word name, Hope, for that was how they had known each other. In the height of her success on the network they had met, when Cass was seeking a headier high. A nibble had become a bite and a drink nearly dry. Cass had not seen the vampire since - partly for the fact her father had tried to stake her in revenge. Last she had heard Hope had fled the country not long after. Cass had not been adequately introduced to vampire kind to know any of her associates, and the two years that had followed had been the worst for Cass. She had let sleeping bats hang.

“There,” Cass signed the date, her grin all fangs. “And sign me up for karaoke Friday.”