MANDARC//

Is this address for you correct?

Avenue C?

FRIDAY//

Yeah, that's me.

MANDARC//

Wow, you're really out there.

FRIDAY//

No worse than Jamaica.

MANDARC//

It's nice here.

FRIDAY//

I believe it.

Anyway I am renting a van, picking it up later this afternoon.

Call me when you get here, OK?

MANDARC//

Will do.



Last week, Mandarc had been asked on a date by the witch Friday Perkins. They’d met up at the Blue Velvet for drinks and discussion when, before long, the date was put to a halt by the untimely intrusion of Cedric & Straud.

Cedric had delivered his usual diatribe through gritted teeth, unwilling to accept that Friday was genuine in her affection.

Straud ends up offering Perkins not only employment, but also a place to live within the shelter of the magical community. Mandarc wants to believe in kismet, but knows the Count is a creature of habit. Her glowing red eyes pierce his idle thoughts and the Master’s words float through the chaff.

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

The man maintains a dour, offish expression as he endures the train ride. He counts the stops while studying the itinerary. He’d been studying a famous sequence of numbers, and tries to fit them into the map’s colorful lines. But his exercise ceases when a crowd of people get on to the train at the next station. His nostrils are saturated with a scent he’d been up until then ignoring.

The flesh beckons.

But he tries to put it out of mind, removing his cellphone from his coat pocket. Within its data files is a string of messages he’s maintained with the witch since he’d first met her about a week prior. He flips through and scrolls, suppressing a creeping, involuntary grin.

It’s been a good week.


In Alphabet City is double-parked a rental van as an additional cue that he’s come to the right location. He was not accustomed to navigating within the hustle and bustle and it often made difficult the focus he so needed to maintain the charade.

Within his coat are two silvery pouches as respite, if he begins to falter in his façade.

But it would just open up more questions.

Friday Perkins seemed content to assume Mandarc and his employer were a strange variety of magic-user. But how long until she saw the truth?

Magic-users were generally aware of vampires; some maintained an uneasy truce with any they knew of the stripe. But the approving tone with which she’d described Vincent Marscapone as a “vampire killer” had left him uncertain.

How would she react if she knew the truth about him?

If she reacted in disgust and fear, he could always leave. Find a new Master, start life anew. Again.

But he didn’t want to.

PERKINS

MANDARC! HAH-LO!

MANDARC

…SORRY?


A stiff wind blows her hair into her eyes and she smooths it away with a gloved hand.

PERKINS

SORRY, JUST BEING FANCIFUL.

‘HAH-LO’: HELLO.

…HELLO!

HOW’RE YOU? THANKS FOR COMING OUT TO HELP ME.

MANDARC

YOU’RE WELCOME.

YOU NEED HELP WITH –

PERKINS

SOME OF THE HEAVIER STUFF.


This shouldn’t be something she needed help with, strictly. The Marscapone School should have versed its students with mass manipulations and force redirection. But it was still in everyone’s best interest to avoid looking unusual; Friday was strongly built but thin. It would appear extraordinary for her to tackle a large box of books by herself.

What else would a mage have to tote around?

MANDARC

HAPPY TO HELP.


They stand together in awkward silence looking at the idling engine. The blinkers flash off and on audibly.

PERKINS

WELL WE SHOULD GET THIS GOING.

I ALREADY LOADED UP SOME OF THE SMALLER THINGS BUT WE’RE PAYING FOR GAS.


‘We’?

PERKINS

MY ROOM’S A THIRD FLOOR WALK-UP. HOPE THAT DOESN’T BOTHER YOU.


She turns to face the building and leads him through the entrance.

While they’re navigating the stairs, she talks in a quiet voice.

PERKINS

JUST KEEP IT DOWN, OKAY?

MY ROOMMATES AREN’T IN-THE-KNOW.


When she’d said she was staying with friends…

How was it possible to be friends when you couldn’t show them the truth?

MANDARC

HOW DID YOU END UP –

PERKINS

HERE?

I WAS TRAVELLING FOR A FEW YEARS, HAD MY STUFF IN STORAGE…

WANTED TO COME BACK TO THE CITY BUT COULDN’T AFFORD A PLACE OF MY OWN…

I MET THEM THROUGH A WEBSITE.


She slips a ring of keys from her pocket and into the lock. The entrance is a little cramped with an untidy pile of shoes littering the floor.

MANDARC

SO THEY’RE –

PERKINS

THE BETTER PART OF A YEAR.

I HOPE THIS NEW PLACE WORKS OUT, I’M TIRED OF MOVING.


She quickly answers a question he’d not asked, attempting to mask their conversation.

MANDARC

I’M SURE YOU ARE.


He talks loudly, mimicking her rise in tone.

Based on the shadows down the hallway, he assumes all doors are closed. The apartment has a foreboding sense of unfriendliness. Or perhaps he’s picking up on Friday’s feeling of estrangement.

PERKINS

I’M LEAVING THE BED AND THE DRESSER. THEY WERE PROVIDED TO ME.

JUST HAVE A FEW BOXES OF BOOKS THAT WE NEED TO GET DOWNSTAIRS.

MANDARC

HOW’D YOUR APPLICATION GO?

PERKINS

MY APPLICATION…?

OH!

MY APPLICATION WENT THROUGH ALRIGHT. NOW I’M JUST PLAYING THE WAITING GAME.

THEY DON’T TELL YOU FOR A WHILE YET.

MANDARC

OH, THAT’S UNFORTUNATE.

PERKINS

YEAH, IT IS.

YOU’LL BE THE FIRST ONE TO KNOW, SHOULD I GET WORD.


Friday’s room is modest in size, with plain white walls. The bed has been stripped and supports a few mis-matched bins full of books. The tops are still open. Each box is carefully packed with tomes going this way and that for maximum fill.

PERKINS

DO YOU READ MUCH?

MANDARC

I DON’T HAVE THE TIME THESE DAYS.

TRYING TO SHOW MY BOSS THAT I’M IRREPLACEABLE.

PERKINS

I CAN UNDERSTAND THAT.

MANDARC

WHERE’D YOU GO?

PERKINS

EXCUSE ME?

MANDARC

WHERE’D YOU GO ON YOUR TRAVELS?

PERKINS

OH; YEUROP, MOSTLY.

MADE A BRIEF STOPOVER IN ZHONGGUO BUT FOUND IT REALLY DIFFICULT WITHOUT SPEAKING THE LANGUAGE.

MANDARC

I CAN ONLY IMAGINE.


He gestures toward a large box on the bed.

MANDARC

THIS GOIN’ DOWN?

PERKINS

YEAH, JUST LET ME CLOSE IT UP.



The two work together to pack up the remains of the room and load all of it into the brightly painted van. The room has a scant veneer of dust but otherwise looks to be in mint condition.

Wordlessly, she bids the apartment goodbye and turns off the van’s flashing lights.

PERKINS

SO, WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN?



CEDRIC//

I hope you didn't let her break a nail.

You gentleman you.



She seems perturbed by the interruption.

PERKINS

IS THAT CEDRIC?

MANDARC

…YEAH. HE’S JUST SEEING IF WE NEED ANY HELP GETTING THE STUFF INTO…

PERKINS

TELL HIM NO!


She says with surprising bite.

PERKINS

HOW’D HE GET MIXED UP IN ALL THIS ANYHOW?

I THOUGHT HE RAN AWAY!

MANDARC

RAN AWAY?

PERKINS

YEAH.

HE WAS LIVING IN ONE OF THE APARTMENTS AND THEN JUST…

DISAPPEARED.


Cedric was not often very talkative about his past. From circumstantial evidence, Mandarc had gathered that he had been a student of the Missus before his… undeath.

But not only were such conversations a bit taboo among their kind, Cedric in particular seemed to want to leave his past far behind him. This was acceptable to Mandarc, who, in his darker moments, felt intense shame about his identity as a turncoat.

PERKINS

HE WAS OLDER THOUGH. I DIDN’T ASK ANY QUESTIONS.

HE WASN’T THE ONLY ONE WHO DISAPPEARED WITHOUT A WORD.

MANDARC

WHAT YEAR DID HE ARRIVE AT THE MAGICADEMY?

PERKINS

OH, I DON’T KNOW. HE WAS ALREADY THERE WHEN I GOT ADOPTED.

AND THAT WAS IN ‘92. CHRISTMAS ‘92.

HE WORKS FOR YOUR PROFESSOR?


Mandarc becomes increasingly aware of the plasma packs within his jacket and desperately wants to imbibe. He was becoming jumpy amidst the gossip.

MANDARC

YEAH, HE PROVIDES SOME TECHNICAL SUPPORT.

PERKINS

FIGURES SOMEONE LIKE HIM IS SUPERSTITIOUS.


‘Superstitious’ was often used to pejoratively describe the religious.

PERKINS

NO OFFENSE TO YOUR PROFESSOR, OF COURSE.

MANDARC

NONE TAKEN.

SO YOU’RE A GODLESS HEATHEN?

PERKINS

A MAN SHOULD NOT SEEK HIS SALVATION IN ETERNITY, BUT RATHER ESTABLISH HIS HEAVEN ON EARTH.

NIETZSCHE.

I GOT THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU WERE TOO.


It had been a sore spot over his tenure with the Count.

MANDARC

I’M NOT SURE.

I’M ALSO NOT SURE IT MATTERS WHAT WE BELIEVE.

WHY WOULD THEY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WHAT WE THINK?