Blood Crusade

by Billita Jacobsen

  The foyer was filled with activity, to my extreme annoyance. It’s funny how the universe manages to give you exactly what you don’t want, in my case anyway. Some people say they can wish for success, or money, or love, and the “secret” goes out to the universe and delivers the wish to your doorstep. It seems to provide the opposite for me, every time.

  The only “secret” is that the universe will fuck with you every chance it gets. I just wanted to quietly sneak into Lance’s mansion and be left alone. Instead, every Knight of the Round Table was preparing to leave the estate and dropping off their luggage in the foyer for pick-up, allowing them to hear every word of the sarcastic comments coming from The Professor.

  “Are you sure he wasn’t working with the killers and changed his mind when he saw you were a werewolf? Mark Anthony is no hero, you’re being foolish.”

  “Well, he might be a hero in his own fiendish mind,” Mary O’Malley said, eavesdropping on our conversation, wheeling her Louis Vuitton monogram luggage to the front door.

  “Mark Anthony would fuck a snake if it stood still,” Catherine the Great announced with a majestic smirk, “or possibly a horse!”

  “Touché Catherine,” I said, not wishing to carry on a war of words with her. Turning to the Professor I said, “Harold, he believes I’m human; he doesn’t know my true identity.”

  Queen Makeda’s entourage carried her luxurious Tumi luggage in a grand procession. She was carrying Alexander. My instinct was to walk to her with arms outstretched to retrieve him. She jerked the baby to her side, away from my grasp. “I’m looking after him until we arrive at Camelot,” she announced in a regal tone.

  “They have to leave right now, Nola. They have just enough time to get to Camelot before the sun rises. Makeda kindly agreed to take Alexander on the jet with them, and Lance is looking after Go-Go” Harold said, somewhat sheepishly.

  “Okay, I understand. I don’t need to pack, most of my things are at Camelot anyway,” I replied.

  “You, Harold, and Otis will take a plane later,” Lance said, arriving in the hallway, carrying Go-Go, “and meet us there.” He quickly gave me a one-armed hug that allowed the little monster dog in his other arm to berate me with growls. “The arrangements are made. We need to meet with our scientists who have been studying the information from Hypatia.”

  I looked deeply into his eyes, sure that the hurt was showing. “You don’t want me to go with you?”

  Lozen appeared, carrying a duffel bag, followed by Joan and Vivian. “We’ll meet you in the limo,” she said. Galahad was right behind them, depositing his four wheel spinner Topas Titanium case by the luggage pile.

  Before heading out the door, Sam gave me a friendly hug saying, “See you there, Nola, safe journey.”

  Kong gave me a hug of reassurance too, and perhaps in an effort to ease the tension, gave one of his Confucius quotes, “Wherever you go Nola, go with all your heart,” he chuckled and gave me a bow. “I’ll see you back home.”

  “And remember, no matter where you go, there you are,” I said, bowing back, pleased that he remembered how much I love his ancient quotes and appreciating that he called Camelot my home.

  Lance hung back; it seemed he wanted to tell me something. All the other knights had hurried out the door, minus one. “Where’s Percy?” I asked Lance.

  “Excuse me,” Harold said, “I’m going to get Robin ready to go.” He gave a fond pat on the head to Go-Go who wore a doggy smile and was enjoying his place in Lance’s arms. “See you there, buddy.”

  Lance looked at me with that extreme kindness that is his trademark. “We’re not excluding you Nola, we simply don’t have enough room in the jet and you don’t have to worry about the sun. Please, tell me you understand?”

  “Where’s Percy?” I asked again with annoyance.

  “We need to have a long talk,” Lance said gently, “but we can’t do it now. Let’s have a quiet dinner at Camelot, just you and I.”

  “Where’s Percy?” I asked again, but in a whisper, his invitation for dinner threw me and made my stomach flutter.

  “He’s trying to fix the situation with Heather. Please avoid him if he returns before you leave. Do it for me Nola,” Lance said, heading out the door.

  ***

  The Professor and Otis were kind to me on the plane, or perhaps fearful of my foul mood. They took good care of Robin and let me nap. My mood lightened once we touched down and the limo picked us up for the ride to Camelot.

  Otis knew the limo driver and sat up front with him. Since the driver was a resident of Camelot, I should have known him too but most of my time there, even though it was my home, was spent enjoying the grounds or in my room watching Star Trek reruns, alone. I didn’t have much of a sense of community or wanting to know and talk to my neighbors, even though I loved Camelot more than any other place on earth.

  Camelot was my serenity. The lush lands were a Utopia, Shangri-La, Heaven on Earth, and the Garden of Eden all rolled into 300,000 acres of farmland, prairie, woods, wetlands and lakes. It was like entering a fairy tale every time I returned.

  Somehow, a benevolent collection of vampires had gotten it right where humanity could not. Camelot represents the way life on earth should be--a kingdom of kindness with diverse groups of humans, vampires, animals, and a few werewolves, residing in harmony with nature. Most of the territory is pristine, untouched by humans or vampires, left as nature intended.

  A quiet, gravel road led to the front gates that were made of ornamental wrought iron, flanked by brick columns built to look like castle towers. An arched welcome sign announced “Camelot Farm” with medieval banners flapping in the wind on each side, decorated with bees and flowers that heralded organic honey, eggs, and vegetables for sale within.

  Opening the window of the car, I leaned my head outside to catch the wonderful aromas of a realm that operated without the use of pesticides or herbicides, diesel, or factory emissions. We took the winding road, designed to preserve the ancient oaks of Camelot, up the hill to the castle. Wildflowers bloomed in fields, and the sounds of chirping birds and sights of monarch butterflies landing on the acres of milkweed plants, the only plants where they will lay their eggs, filled me with peace as I inhaled the fragrance of the blazing purple blooms. I had planted some of those milkweeds when the world learned that the monarch butterflies’ population had plummeted due to modern farming techniques using herbicides that eradicated the plants they needed to survive.

  The farmland also had a buffer of milkweed surrounding thousands of acres of organic corn, bean, tomatoes, and variety of vegetables and herbs that were sold and supported the kingdom. Camelot also shared a huge bounty with the local food pantries and supplied the nearby schools and hospital, free of charge.

  The locals never bothered anyone from Camelot thanks to the donations that allowed residents in near-by towns to live a prosperous life. I suppose it was a bribe but it was pleasing nonetheless to know the knights shared the wealth and lived by their creed to help humanity. Camelot built a wing on the local hospital, supported all the local youth sports teams, and donated large amounts of cash to charities.

  We approached the Camelot town square, laid out with a charming, flower-filled park serving as a local gathering place, surrounded by small shops where Camelot residents sold their home-made goods, open to tourists Monday through Saturday. Sundays, at noon, the antique bronze church bells rang out from the belfry tower at the restored Prairie Gothic church. The structure had been built in 1852 and was saved from demolition in a nearby town and moved to a small hill, in the middle of ancient oak trees.

  Residents named it the Church of the Good Stewards, a non-denominational house of worship where people gathered to celebrate the creator that is found in nature. The knights had seen to the loving restoration of the white clapboard structure and its pointed arches, gables, and steeple, the antique foot pedal organ, pine floors, and walnut pews. The only change they made was replacing the plain arched windows wi
th commissioned works of stained glass art.

  Parishioners practiced the art of good stewardship, believing we are meant to be guardians of the earth. Services always begin with quiet meditation. Sermons are open mike and anyone who wants to speak about how nature brings them spiritual relief is welcome to preach. Lunch and a workday out in the countryside follow. One could make a day of it, if they were human or werewolf, planting milkweed seeds or oak trees or installing bat houses or a clean-up at a nearby river. I joined them once, when they created a nature play area in a public park, complete with wildflower gardens and logs for climbing. It became an inviting space where children could discover nature and pick all the wildflowers they wanted.

  Over one thousand people live in Camelot; it’s actually a prosperous town. The majority of residents are human and most have lived in the community for generations, their heritage and belief system an anchor to this special place. Everyone works, jobs are provided for all residents who want one. Some are teachers, some organic farmers; others are shopkeepers, security, chefs, hairdressers, doctors and nurses—all with a purpose.

  Only one road ran through the kingdom; residents didn’t want traffic molesting the landscape and most cars operated on electric power, including the limo. The small cottages where residents live have solar panels on the roofs and rain barrels in the yards. All residents recycle their waste and compost when possible. Every person in town is a vegetarian, a requirement for living in the realm, although it’s rumored that a few go into town occasionally for a burger. Camelot is the most environmentally friendly community I’ve ever seen.

  The kingdom is vast; it takes fifteen minutes to reach the castle after entering the front gate. The road also serves as a community biking and hiking trail and one of the residents jogging this early morning waved at us. Her face was familiar but I couldn’t recall her name or where we’d met. I waved back and smiled, vowing to try and start a conversation next time I saw her.

  “It’s good to be home,” I said to the professor. “This will be your home now too, Harold. It’s where we can raise Alexander and Robin and…”

  “I’m not sure this will be my home, Nola. Please don’t assume and make decisions for me,” he said, cutting me off and returning my foul mood.

  “Okay, fine with me!” I snapped, now unable to enjoy the architectural wonder that was the Camelot castle. The expanse of floor to ceiling windows, anchored by towers with turrets, belied the fact that vampires were in residence. We entered through the rustic knotty alder double doors into what was essentially a four-thousand square foot lobby with a domed, stained glass ceiling that depicted lovely scenes of nature, including a wolf in the wild.

  A large desk anchored the room and served as a reception and security center. A grouping of chairs, sofa, and coffee table allowed guests some comfort while waiting for entrance to the elevators or grand staircase that led downward. The estate was a subterranean earth-sheltered marvel located hundreds of feet below ground. The Knights of the Round Table lived in the earth, like vampire Hobbits. The building contained twelve stories below ground; over 60,000 square feet of community living that could survive a nuclear blast.

  The receptionist and three women hostesses ran up to Harold and Otis, gushing over Robin. “Oh, what a pretty baby!” One of the women exclaimed, snatching Robin from Harold’s arms. I was silently relieved, resting in the knowledge that taking care of her would be a task happily shared by these women.

  “I have your room all ready,” one woman said, smiling at Harold, “you’re on the fifth floor. Both babies are in an adjoining room.”

  I was again pleased, since my room was on the fourth floor. Not feeling a sense of community yet, or wanting to chit-chat with the ladies, I pushed the elevator button and quietly said, “I’m going to my room, see you later.” Otis and Harold made no move to join me; they were reveling in the attention from the Camelot ladies.

  The elevator floor buttons were marked so guests would know where to find their destinations. The first floor down contained a music room; complete with grand piano, an informal living room and a few office suites where the business of Camelot was conducted. The second floor is where you can find the chef’s kitchen and dining room. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served daily and residents are free to visit and raid the large pantry to make their own meals, twenty-four hours a day. The wine cellar and blood donations are also on the floor and vampires can choose to drink from their favorite blood types, freely donated by the human residents.

  The round table meeting room is on the third floor and mostly off limits. Bedrooms are located on the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors, set up like hotel rooms with six bedrooms on each side of a long hallway. The knights all reside on the sixth floor.

  The grand hall and ballroom are on the seventh floor. Most community events such as banquets and celebrations are held there. The library and art gallery are located on the eighth floor, along with the laboratory where scientific research is conducted. The movie theatre is on the ninth floor. Floor ten is used for storage, weapons cache and gun lockers, and cleaning supplies. The eleventh floor is the most popular destination where a game room and bar are located.

  The final floor is the pool and gym location, one of my favorite spots since the magnificent, Olympic-sized pool is often empty and I can swim in solitude. It’s a stunning setting, the infinity pool glistens from the turquoise tiles that line the bottom and decorate the sides and an enormous hot tub provides stress relief after a swim. The pool water vanishes over an edge and appears to cascade into a cavern where strategically placed lighting hits the stalactites that hang like huge icicles from the ceiling and backlit the stalagmites that rise from the ground, tinged in red from the iron that made the formations over the ages.

  The cave was discovered while burrowing under the mountainside to build the last level. Builders had been unaware they were adjacent to a cavern until its vastness protruded into the end of the project. Architects resolved to incorporate its beauty into the final floor and the pool, an expensive decision that turned out to be the best feature of the underground castle.

  Builders, with the advice of the knights, explored the cavern and continued nature’s tunnels to the surface, providing an escape route should the compound ever be attacked. Bats have since taken up residence there, making the tunnels creepy to some. I like bats so it was like an eco-trip to explore and collect droppings, called guano, which could be used as fertilizer for my private garden.

  Resident cats have the run of all twelve floors, thanks to the grand staircase that connects all levels. My favorite feline, Braveheart, a scruffy, gray and white striped stray who found his way to Camelot and was given a home, was roaming the fourth floor as I walked to my room. He followed me in, as he often did, for a day of cuddling. I always had cat treats, food, catnip, and clean litterbox in my room for his visits. I always made sure he vacated the room when I left for missions although the Camelot caretakers were good about keeping tabs on the animals.

  Braveheart earned his name for his fearless confrontations with the dogs at Camelot. He gave no ground to any canine, even facing down and smacking the vampire dogs if they got in his way. Fortunately, the dogs were well trained and always moved out of his way somewhat begrudgingly, showing their huge vampire fangs. Strangely, there were no vampire cats at Camelot, or in the world to my knowledge. I suppose cats aren’t stupid enough to consume vampire blood.

  Bedrooms are mini-suites, complete with small living rooms, kitchenettes, and spa-like bathrooms. I could hole up in my room for days, and sometimes did, with Braveheart my only company. Getting into my comfy pajamas, I planned to nap most of the day and continue watching my Star Trek DVD until the Knights of the Round Table decided on an action to stop the apocalypse or I could get a lead on where to find Claudius. The last mission had interrupted my viewing of a 1966 episode, “The Conscience of the King,” which had a plot that included a murder mystery and Shakespearean acting troop.

 
; I snacked on crackers and cheese, napped, got up and cried for a while thinking about Heather, cuddled with Braveheart, and watched the rest of the Star Trek episode, when someone came knocking on my door. I assumed it was Harold, wanting me to help with the kids, until Lance said, “Nola, it’s me.”

  Panic set in with the realization that I looked like shit. I had time to quickly brush my hair and throw on a bathrobe. Braveheart ran past me and out into the hallway, hissing his disapproval at being disturbed, as I slowly opened the door.

  Lance was dressed in his Sunday best, a custom tailored, traditional, grey three-piece suit. He smelled like a refreshing spring shower. I realized he had never before knocked on my door as I invited him in.

  “I apologize for the late notice but we’re having a meeting of the round table and we would like you to attend and give an update on the vampire attack,” he said.

  “Really?” I questioned with surprise, “Everyone wants me to attend?”

  He placed a hand on my shoulder as I realized my bathrobe could have used a fresh laundering. “Nola, you’re a valuable member of our team. We respect your advice.”

  “Okay, what time is the meeting?”

  “Right now. Just throw on anything and come. You can change for the banquet after the meeting. Oh...” he said, remembering I knew nothing about a feast, “we’ll have our quiet dinner another time. The knights want a grand get together tonight to rouse everyone for what is to come. Shall I wait for you?”

  “No, you go ahead. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  I scrambled around, wasting one of those minutes, trying to figure out what to do. There wasn’t enough time for a shower so I brushed my teeth, applied some lipstick, and quickly changed into jeans and a fresh t-shirt. It was presentable and a step-up from a dirty bathrobe but just barely.

  I was definitely dressed inadequately to walk into the elaborate Knights of the Round Table meeting room. The table itself was like a museum piece, ages old, made from ancient oaks, magnificently carved with ornate decorations, and glistening in spots from inlaid pewter and copper pieces. It was round to represent equality, no one sat at the head of the table.