It was time for the ritual hunt. She removed a small chest from under the bed she never slept in and opened it with a gold key. Inside was a wooden rosary representing living wood, its divine might could hold a kindred in stasis, a bottle of clove oil to represent sacred anointing, a chalice for ritual, and red wine to represent The Blood.


She poured the sweet wine into the cup. It was purely for ritual. She opened the bottle of clove oils and placed a few drops on her thumb and raised her hand and glistening digit to anoint her forehead with a cross. “May my head be clear for the hunt.” She whispered softly. And then added more oil and did the same gesture over her breasts where her heart lay in atrophy. “May I feel no mercy for the sacred lamb that strengthens me.” She then lifted the cup and allowed the sweet wine to fill her mouth, and then she spit it out. “Let me spit out that which will poison me or not sustain me. Let the blood of the lamb fill me as I am the true chalice.”


She set the chalice down, and took up the rosary, and wrapped the beads for prayer around her hand and began her prayers. She whispered feverishly and softly. Every single bead was gently pressed between her thumb and forefinger against her head, and then her heart over and over until her prayers were complete. She put away the baubles into their box and locked it and placed it back under her bed. She showered and got dressed for the hunt.


Later…


There were absolutely no viable subjects for the night. Her usual hunting tract was dead. Adeline blamed Veterans day for this, and really she hated picking up people in restaurants. It usually resulted in having to eat revolting food in order to bring anything outdoors to eat, and you usually wasted more blood than you got. It was the first time the city resisted her attempts at feeding, and she would pay for it with hunger and a level of morose frustration that came with her bloodline. They just weren’t their usual productive selves when they flubbed their feeding.

failure