Gateways: The Guardians

Chapter 3: Nine to five

Miles away in a dark, cramped cubicle, a pair of ice-blue eyes strain at a computer screen. The space feels sterile as any office space used only for work. Devoid of personal effects or personality, although perhaps the owner preferred it that way. Irene Rosemead, to look at her, you might not realize that she came from one of the most well-known and honored Vampire clans dating back to the 8th century. Not from her tired expression or messy curls currently bound up in a bun on her head.Or the rather drab clothing in tones of gray and faded black. She seemed ordinary and, to a point...forgettable. She liked that, strangely; it afforded her the safety of just existing in a world where she could blend in. Irene was neat, always had been, and would swear she always would be.

Her office space screamed obsessive-compulsive.

The monitor was always clean, and the keyboards were dusted to factory perfection. The desk and surrounding file cabinets were an organizational dream, with color-coded tabs and not a single dog-eared page.

The order was comfortable. It made things run smoothly and kept everyone's eyes off her, which was difficult. Because if anyone looked into her file, they would find that Irene was anything but ordinary. She didn't just come through a prolific bloodline like most vamps; no, she was a rare-born vampire.

Vampires, as a whole, tend to turn their families as their fertility rate is almost non-existent. A pureblood vampire only occurs once or twice every few hundred years. Irene was one of those; her father was notably one of the most respected of their kind.

Amedeus Rosemead was head of the Vampieric grand council and not a man to be crossed. Some would say he was made of stone, and his only warmth was there because of his daughter.

Irenes' mother was Katrina Montoya, Amedeus had turned her, and the two had a rather whirlwind romance for centuries. They often butted heads over policy and regulation. Amedeus had seen what life was like before the gateways, and while he, as much as any ancient, hated to live on the end of a leash, he could see the value in safety. Katrina thought that they were on top of the food chain and could control the world at large with a bit of effort. He loved her determination but felt she was too young to grasp her station fully. She always wanted more, not in the forever learning and striving way most individuals exude determination. No, Katrina wanted something darker, like a jealous child clawing at every scrap and demanding more.

After Irene was born, this didn't change; if anything, she became more bloodthirsty. It was then that Amedeus became head of the council and decided that while he adored his mate....she was a liability.

Irene had never known the lengths he went to; she knew her mother was a free spirit and chose to leave them to pursue her own life.

Some might say not having a mother made Irene cold; she would say it made her stronger. Not having someone there to cuddle or soothe her made her do it for herself. She was analytically minded and structured. She didn't need any hand-holding, which made her one of the most efficient Agents the bureau had ever had.

Even now, rounding out the end of a lengthy investigation, Irene was content to file away the particulars. This one had been an easy fix, friendly and tidy compared to some of her cases.

A hunter's trail cam had picked up a group of fairies, and the footage was released onto a popular social media platform. It went viral in moments, but thankfully, Humans had a way of talking themselves out of many things.

It only took a few altered images and a well-placed correspondence trail with a nonexistent group of hackers and digital artists. By the end of the week, the video had been debunked and refuted as CGI.

As for the fae, they were officially warned to stay within the boundaries and away from any artificial digital devices they may see in the forest. Should they have a grievance with humans making their way into the gateway, they would need to file a formal complaint with their local authorities, and representatives would assess the situation. AKA – lots of red tapes that Irene knew would be avoided.

Her eyes drift to the digital clock on the wall, the pale green numbers humming silently in the darkness announcing the hour 4 am. The night shift was nearly over, it would be dawn soon, and while the Vampires' fear of the sun was purely movie myth, it wasn’t entirely false. Vampires could move about just fine during the day; It was uncomfortable in the summer months or during the height of daylight hours. That being said, it certainly was not fatal. Irene, like many of her kind, preferred to keep to the evening and night hours.

A heavy sigh leaves her lips as she leans back in her office chair, her spine releasing an audible crack from hours in a hunched position over the keys. “Time to pack up,” she says softly to the space around her. As if announcing her leave somehow brought the work day to a close, and shutting off the computer and packing up her tablet with a few files in her briefcase. Not that there was any additional work on this case, but Irene was efficient. She was always ready to answer any other inquiries about an issue long after it was closed. Not to mention there was no telling what tomorrow would bring. A chance could occur at any hour, and she’d be back at it again.

Heading out to the parking garage, her fingers dance over the contours of her Genesis G80 key fob. A gift from her father, though he had wanted to get her something more audacious, a Pagani or Rolls-Royce. Thankfully she could talk him down to something luxurious but still sensible.

Approaching the sleek midnight blue vehicle, she pressed the auto start. The lights ignited, and the engine purred. She sighed slightly as she slid into the heated driver's seat. Irene wanted her shower and a warm bed for the next few hours.

Her car gilded almost soundlessly through the streets of Washington, DC. At this hour, there was still some traffic, but not like when the capital city was at its peak. Primarily early morning commute looking for a cup of coffee and morning paper before heading into the open shop for the day. A few graveyard shifters like herself heading home to collapse into the blessed oblivion of sleep before getting up to do it all again.

Soon her apartment was in sight, and she was pulling into another parking structure. This one is much nicer, of course—another insistence of her father. The council-owned the building, and many residents were of her kind or, at minimum, the nonhuman persuasion.

She was sure the only human there was the doorman Ted; he was friendly to them, though. He was an older man in his 70s with a kind smile. He'd loved a woman in his youth who was a vampire, and she didn't have the heart to turn him—knowing the pitfalls of eternal youth and near-immortal life span. She loved him too much to force him to watch his family and friends age and die around him. To never be more than a spectator of the life he once knew.

A sad kindness, Irene thought, although she imagined it was more challenging for the woman to watch the man she loved age and become frail. Her father said she lived in the building for 30 years before leaving for Europe. She hadn't been back since.

Irene wondered what it was like to love someone with such passion and pain.

Entering her apartment, she gently stored her work items and headed for the en suite bath. She was stripping off her work garments and discarding them in the laundry bin. She craved the encompassing caress of warm watt right now. Washing away the sweat and makeup of the workday felt so good. Like peeling off a second skin of someone she barely knew.

True, Irene was good at her job, but sometimes she wondered if there wasn't more out there. Maybe she was too frightened to find out. Too predictable to step outside the lines and be a bit …. Wild.

After her shower, she didn't bother with night clothes, a rarity for her, but right now, she was tired and hot, and the sheet-to-skin contact would soothe her. Slipping into bed, her eye closed before even hitting the pillow.

She dreams, of course; contrary to popular belief, vampires are not some soulless thing with no hopes and dreams. Many non-human creatures crave; in fact, a sorceress at the bureau once told Irene the goals of the paranormal were often more than dreams

They were visions of a life not lived yet or perhaps a life lived long ago.

Irene wasn't sure she believed all of that. Still, behind her sleep-laden eyes, her mildness spiraled into a world of rich fall colors. The warm smell of a wood burning fire, Jasmin, and cloves in a gentle breeze. The feeling of solid hands wrapping around her body, pulling her into a muscled chest peppered with hair. The subtle scratch on her neck of a man's beard as he worshiped her with kisses and tender love bites. Irene shivers in her sleep as this dream lover touches her in ways no man ever had. The way he writes upon her flesh with fingertips and whispers in dark voice words she can't quite make out. Something in her core knows, though; she understands the meaning in the smoky tones …Mine. Yes, she is his totally and unequivocally.