#24 Snow
It still surprised Isabel that people thought that it didn't snow in Italy, and she listened in mild annoyance to the young American tourists as they gawked at the first flurries of the night. Of course, snow was now a huge tourist draw for the Alpine towns, bringing in life and money during the dark winter nights instead of isolation and death. It's also uglier now for all that it has lost its sinister edge, at least in the cities where it turns black from the vehicle exhaust. Black like the long grip of death in winters centuries ago when the wolves roamed the hills driven by starvation to the small lights of the villages to snatch what life they could, when fire was life for the small lives of the Children of Seth, and when travel was for armies or fools.
A gaggle of children ran by pelting each other with snow balls, laughing in sadistic glee when snow would find its way between warm clothing to touch the skin of their unlucky comrade, and howling in outrage and shock when the snow found its way to their skin. The Beast roused at the vitality of them and she began to hunger. The children were safe from her hunger; frenzy alone would drive Isabel to drink from children and she would be hunting long before she could reach that point.
She continued to walk as the advice given to her by her sire echoed in her thoughts. Drink from men directly, from women gently, and from children sweetly. The first two she could do, the last, not ever again. It had been a terribly harsh winter and even the Giovanni larders were growing thin. Antonio had chanced upon a family trying to flee hunger on the road. The parents had frozen to death, and huddled under them was a half-dead child that he brought home. They agreed that life would be harsher to the child than death; unwanted, what could it look forward to other than destitution and hardship. It would also save her the burden of trying to hunt or to bleed the servants for her nourishment. Isabel hadn't the heart to wake the child before she bent over to drink its life away quickly and cleanly. After she fed, Antonio and Marcus had built a pyre and burned the bodies of the small family so the wolves wouldn't savage them while Isabel bound their spirits as part of her tithe to the family.
More children ran shrieking by, laughing and throwing a few last snowballs at anyone in range before going inside to the warmth and mugs of cocoa. She smiled watching them, glad that these nights were kinder to them than to children of ages past. One door opened, spilling out its light and warmth as more tourists emerged from the bar. A knot of kine stood debating what to do next. One figure broke away from the group, begging off more carousing and began to walk toward Isabel after bidding his friends goodnight. Her smile grew as she caught the man's eye and he slowed his pace as if to speak with her. These nights also made feeding much easier in the cold, dark nights of winter.