A Novel Idea
“You promised us the Chosen Child. Our patience is wearing thin.”

On the short list of Epimetheus’ least favorite things to do, facing the Elders was number one without question. A relative youngling, Epimetheus hated how the Elders considered themselves better than other vampires simply because they’d been around longer.

Managing to avoid being dusted for over 10 centuries wasn’t necessarily evidence of intelligence and grandeur.

“I know,” Epimetheus uttered, trying to keep the venom to himself. “Things are progressing slower than anticipated. But the child will be delivered to you.”

The head Elder, whose name Epimetheus never bothered to remember, stood and cleared his throat, pushing the tails of his royal purple robe aside as he stepped toward the kneeling Epimetheus. His steps echoed off the halls of the dark chamber, even long after they stopped.

Reason number 14 why Epimetheus hated the Elders.

“You best be sure of that,” the head Elder pronounced. “You would be a fool to upset Seraphus … you are already pushing your luck by allying with the Vessel. Were it not for her … recent transformation, such ineptitude would be grounds for dusting your worthless hide.

“Make sure she hands you the Chosen Child; take it with force if you must. The well-being of the Vessel no longer matters to the Order. Her swift and unforeseen corruption has made her expendable, and should it come down to choosing her or the child, we will take the child.

“He is the prophecy. She is useless.”

Epimetheus bit his tongue, not about to admit to the Elders why he felt she was of use. He was admittedly quite taken with Samantha, finding her sudden transformation alluring. How someone could so swiftly jump from self-righteous to downright monstrous was a turn-on, and Epimetheus fancied himself the one to bring her into the Order. A swift bite, a quick drink and soon the Slayer would have her face adorned with the sacred mark.

But neither Seraphus nor his acolytes needed to know that.

“Our resources are few,” Epimetheus said in a voice that carried far less bravery than he’d hoped. “The child is now the possession of the state, and the red tape is such that we cannot penetrate … at least, not with our current situation.”

Seraphus squinted and frowned, kneeling before Epimetheus and cupping his chin. He forced the youngling to look him in the eye, an eye aged and twisted by the long years it had seen.

“So what do you suggest?”

Epimetheus swallowed, trying to rid his throat of the knot. His eyes darted nervously for a few moments as his brain tried to find a suitable solution. If his sweat glands still worked, Epimetheus was sure his forehead would be soaked at the moment.

“We …” he began, pausing again to swallow back his knot. “There is a reporter, with the Beacon. He … he’s been following Blanchard’s story, and – and my sources tell me he’s an undercover Watcher, sent by the Council to monitor the Slayer’s situation and report back.”

Seraphus nodded, scratching his chin. “Go on …”

“He visited the child last month; he has access to the Chosen Child that could prove beneficial to us.”

The head Elder shook his head, standing again and returning to his throne. The purple robe slid across the floor in his wake, almost as large as the Elder himself. “And that would be great,” Seraphus offered, “were he not human and aligned with the Council. He will never help our cause.”

Epimetheus stood, so excited with the idea that just popped in his head that he forgot he was supposed to kneel in the presence of the Elders. They could decapitate him for his insolence, but Epimetheus hoped his idea would strike them so much they would forget the slight.

“Not knowingly,” the younger vampire offered. “Pull the strings just right, and he could lead us to the Chosen Child without even realizing it. All I have to do is point the Vessel his way.”

Seraphus again squinted. “And what guarantee do you have the Vessel won’t kill her child?”

Epimetheus blinked. “It’s … her child. She would never …”

Seraphus rose his hand, interrupting the youngling. “The Slayer’s darkness knows no bounds. We have witnessed her acts from afar, and feel that should she come into contact with her son, any humanity that remains wouldn’t be enough to keep her from tearing the child limb from limb.

“Obviously, that is not in our best interest.”

Epimetheus frowned, realizing Seraphus was right. He again kneeled, seeming defeated until a thought occurred to him. He’d enlisted the help of a vampire in the beginning of things, getting Grace to frame Samantha and get her out of the picture with the idea of making Cory easier to reach. It proved to be a beneficial partnership, once Epimetheus was sure he could revisit to ensure the child’s safety.

“There is a way,” he offered, standing with more confidence. “The vampire Grace Hutchinson.”

Seraphus scoffed. “You’re going to ask a vampire to protect the Chosen Child?”

“A vampire with an obvious personal vendetta against the Vessel,” Epimetheus countered. “Grace’s hatred for the Slayer is such that she would gladly kill her given the chance. If something will harm the Vessel, Grace will likely do it … and probably for little cost.”

Again, Seraphus frowned, turning to consult with the two Elders sitting on either side of him. Their voices were mere whispers, failing to reach even Epimetheus’ receptive ears. They consulted for what seemed like forever, undoubtedly making Epimetheus wait and squirm to learn the fate of his plan – and likely his own in the process.

At last, Seraphus regarded Epimetheus, clearing his throat and staring down at the youngling. There was contempt in his eyes, but also a resignation that things were probably going to take a little longer. Seraphus wasn’t happy about that, but he realized the Olympic Scrolls didn’t come with a timetable.

“Very well,” he growled. “Talk to your … vampire. But be warned, young Epimetheus … drag this on much further, or if the Chosen Child is killed, your payment will be severe and far from swift.”

Epimetheus nodded, rose and bowed before turning his heels and leaving the chamber without saying another word. He considered himself fortunate to have convinced the Elders of his idea, deciding not to push his luck with words. He grabbed his cell phone as he descended the spiral staircase, wondering just where these chambers were as he heard Grace’s voicemail pick up.

“Grace,” he spoke into the phone. “It’s Epimetheus. Call me back … I think I have an incredibly promising proposition for you.

“It involves a certain Slayer …”



[NPCs Epimetheus and Seraphus written by Jeff.]