The horizon was just beginning to show the slightest hints of dawn. The night was ending, and the sun was poised to rise. This meant that the normal denizens of the city would begin to come out while the creatures of the night would retreat to their abodes. It also meant the end of another night's work for the vampire-slayer, Blade.

His arms fell heavy at his sides as he trudged toward the dingy buildings that served as the facade for the Chiaroscuro, the fantastic headquarters of the Cathari mystic order. It served as a home for its sole Cathari inhabitant and Blade's oft-times ally, Bible John Carik. Blade was guessing how many more steps it would take for him to reach the entrance, and he wondered if he had the strength left to make it half that many steps.

"Man," Blade sighed. "Them bloodsuckers are getting more audacious every night. Ever since Strange let the Book of Erebus get blown up, it's been nothing but more trouble with the vamps." He continued to plod forward. "How many did I take out tonight? Ten? A dozen? Does it really make a difference?"

"Damn right it does," he chastised himself. "That's less vampires out there to do what got done to me." It still hurt to think of his mother being bitten by Deacon Frost as she gave birth to him. He was about to turn the last corner before reaching one of the Chiaroscuro's hidden entrances when he heard a voice call out to him.

"Blade! Blade! Is that really you?" The voice was tinged with a British accent.

Blade turned around quickly. Though his arms were sore and tired, he still had the strength to draw a teak dagger. He wondered if a vampire would be so stupid to attack him so near dawn. His eyes peered through his green goggles to see the speaker.

It was a black man, his thin-cropped hair was streaked with white. He wore a dapper dark blue suit and brightly polished black shoes. "Blade. It is you. It's been a bloody awful time trying to track you down, even for a crack reporter like me."

Blade stared harder at the man. His eyes were tired and they did not want to focus. Still he was able to recognize the man. It had been a few years, and those years shown upon him, but Blade did recognize. "Mickey! Mickey McMichaels! What the freak are you doing here in the States?"

Mickey came over and shook Blade's hand while he gave him a big hug. "Blade, it's fantastic to see you."

Blade returned the embrace. Mickey had been one of Blade's few friends over in England as well as one of his biggest fans. Not a fan for vampire-slaying, mind you, but rather, Mickey was one of the biggest fans of Blade's skill with the trumpet. Back when Blade operated in London, he helped make ends meet by playing for tips at Slow Boy's Club.

"You still seeing that hot number, Jalva?" Blade asked. She had been one of the scantily-clad waitresses that worked at Slow Boy's. "You always fancied here, didn't ya?"

"I see her almost all the time, Blade, since she's now Mrs. McMicheals, and mother to Mark and Lucinda McMichaels." Mickey beamed.

"That's great, Mickey, just great," Blade replied. "But what the freak are you doing here?"

Mickey's face turned somewhat sullen. "Maybe we'd better find a place for a spot of tea or a cup of that coffee that these Americans prefer."

"Sure. I could use a cup or else I'm going to collapse right here."

A few minutes later and a few blocks away, Blade and Mickey were sitting at a dingy dinner with a pot of coffee between them. Blade was already on his second cup, while Mickey had barely touched his.

"So give, Mickey. What's the story of you 'hopping the pond' to find me?" Blade demanded.

"I don't know how to tell you about this. It's just so incredible. It took me a while to even find you. I've moved up the ladder at the Times since we last saw each other, so I have some top-notch journalist colleagues here in the States. They helped me find you," Mickey explained.

"Great," Blade said with a touch of exasperation. "I'm glad that you're a big time reporter now. I always thought you were great at it, but whaddaya want with me?"

"I'm getting to it," Mickey sighed. "It's because of a visitor that we had the other night at Slow Boy's."

"Slow Boy's?" Blade piped up. "You still go there? How's old Slow Boy hisself?"

"Slow Boy's a little older, a tad slower these days," Mickey replied, "but he still has the best jazz club in town." He took a sip of the coffee and scowled slightly. "As I was saying, we were at Slow Boy's about a fortnight ago. Jalva loves going back there. She's too busy with the kids these days, but she still has to figure to work there if she wanted. And Slow Boy is always begging her, halfheartedly to come back."

"The point, Mickey?"

"So we were there late. It was closing time, and Slow Boy was getting all of the customers out of the club. Jalva and I stayed to talk a while longer with Slow Boy. Then it happened. While everybody was making their way out of the club, this one lady was smoothly pushing her way inside. She was a stunning woman, I tell you, even Jalva would have admitted, but neither of us knew who she was . Slow Boy, however, his jaw dropped.

"She effortlessly waded through the exiting crowd and came up to the bar. Her attire was exotic, to say the least. It had the subtle hint of the 'ladies of the night' but it also had a distinct sense of sophistication. She came up to the bar and sat herself down on a stool and crossed her legs seductively ..."

"My mother!" Blade shouted. "What the freak!"

"I couldn't believe it, either," Mickey responded. "But Slow Boy was certain, well, almost certain. He went up to her and talked to her …"

Blade thought back to Lady Vanity and her bordello. It was where Blade had grown up, pampered and mothered by Lady Vanity's girls. Despite all the love, Blade had grown up with a hard shell around him. He knew that his mother was dead, and that a vampire had killed her, just like vampires had eventually killed Lady Vanity and all her girls in a ploy to get at Blade.

"Jamal Afari!" Blade exclaimed in utter astonishment. "Jamal Afari is my father? I don't freaking believe it. But it explains a heck of a lot …"

"He was a junkie, just out of the hospital," Blade explained. "He was also one of the finest jazz horn players that maybe ever lived," Blade explained. "He moved into Vanity’s, kicked the dope habit, became the father I never had. He taught me everything he knew about the horn, about the undead. He’d fought them all in his youth, even fought Dracula, fought them with all he had, for all the good it did. Me, I thought he was a crazy old man.

"Until that night at Slow Boy’s. Jamal had been gone a week without a word an’ we were worried that he had gone back on the junk. I almost wish he had."

Mickey had booked them a flight back to England. Blade had left a note for Bible John before they headed towards JFK Airport. When they arrived at Heathrow, Blade was certainly feeling the jet lag, but he was not going to let anything stop him at this point.

They hired a taxi and traveled from the airport towards Soho. After Blade had told Mickey about Jamal Afari, he had been quiet for the remainder of the trip. Thirty minutes later, the black cab pulled up in front of Slow Boy's Club. Mickey left the driver a generous tip while Blade hurried into the club. It was early in the afternoon, so there were very few people inside. The music would not be starting until well after dark, and that was the real reason anybody came to Slow Boy's.

Once inside of the club, Blade noted how little the place had changed since he had last been there. Cigarette smoke filled the air. There was the little stage in the corner where Blade had played many a night for a few pounds. He looked towards the bar where he saw Slow Boy himself standing behind the rail.

"Slow Boy!" Blade shouted. "Is Mickey really telling me the truth, or is this just some big plot to get me back to Merry Old?" He reached over the bar and gave Slow Boy a big hug.

Slow Boy returned the embrace graciously. "Blade, my boy, it's good to see you again. It's been too many years."

Blade looked up and stared into Slow Boy's eyes. "Slow Boy?"

Slow Boy sighed and nodded. "It's true, Blade. God help me, I don't know how, but it was your mother."

Blade grimaced. "And the part about Jamal?"

Slow Boy nodded again. "It's the true, Blade. Your mother told me. Jamal and me were old mates. When he came back, I had to tell him. That's why he stuck around. He loved you, boy."

For a moment, Blade could not say anything. He cleared his throat a few times before speaking again. "Yeah, OK. Now you're sure about my mother?"

Slow Boy slammed his hands on the bar. "God as my witness, I'm sure. She was a fine woman. It was a tragedy what happened to her. We were so happy that you managed to survive, though your mother didn't. Made sure she wouldn't come back, though. I ran with Jamal back when we were young. I knew about vampires. I won't go into the details, but we made damn sure she wouldn't come back undead." He frowned for a while. "Somehow she did. I don't know how."

Blade stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. "I got an idea or two about that. Where can I find her?"

"Couldn't rightly say," Slow Boy admitted sadly. "We've tried to follow her, me and Mickey, when she leaves, but she always gives us the slip."

"Always?"

"Yes," Mickey approached the bar. "She's come here every other night or so, shortly before closing. She just sits at the bar, sometimes she talks to us, sometimes she ignores us."

Blade plopped himself down on a chair. "Then I guess I'll just have to wait for her." He checked his watch and saw that it was still on New York time. He wound it ahead to the local time. He looked over to Slow Boy. "You got a spare horn around here? I might as well play to pass the time."

Slow Boy smiled. "I think I can find one in the back."

For the rest of the afternoon, Blade played solo on the stage, much to the delight of the surprised customers. In between sets, he sat down and talked with Slow Boy. Shortly before six, Mickey excused himself to go home and pick up Jalva.

By the time Mickey and Jalva arrived, the night's scheduled entertainment had arrived. The jazz trio were longtime locals, and they recognized Blade sitting at the bar. With some slight pressure, they convinced Blade to join them on stage. The music made the time pass more quickly for Blade. That was a good thing, since it was tearing him up inside to try to dwell on the situation that would inevitably confront him.

Closing time was approaching, and Blade had put his horn down for the night. He sat at a table with Mickey, Jalva, and Slow Boy and reminisced about the old days. Every time somebody came through the front door, his head turned suddenly to catch sight of the newcomer. Every time, he felt disappointed and relieved at the same time when it was not her.

"Maybe they're wrong," Blade thought to himself. "Maybe it really isn't her." He was not too effective in trying to convince himself.

Finally, the door swung open. It was her. A strong blast of cold air accompanied her entrance. Blade was not sure if the chill that went down his spine was because of that frigid gust or because of the sight of her. It probably was the undeniable sense of the occult that surrounded her. He knew who she was. He knew what she was.

Her eyes instantly found him. She smiled widely at him, but she did not head towards the table. Instead, she headed towards the bar and began to talk seductively to one of the bartenders.

Blade rose quickly from his chair. He stomped towards her, pushing his way through the other patrons. She was an exact match to the image he had carried in his mind all of his life. Without even seeing a photograph of her, before he was old enough to walk or talk, he knew what his mother looked like. The trauma they had undergone together had granted him that small favor.

He tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I think we need to talk."

Cherise turned away from the bartender and fixed her gaze on Blade. "Do we now? Now where are your manners? Did your mother raise you to be so gruff?"

"No joking, lady," Blade said dryly. "We need to talk. Outside."

"Very well," Cherise sighed. She ran her fingers down the bartender's chest and followed Blade out of the bar.

As they left, Mickey turned to Slow Boy. "Shouldn't we do something? I can follow them." He started to get up.

Slow Boy reached over and put his hand on Mickey's shoulder. "You best stay. This is something Blade has to sort out for himself."

Blade and Cherise walked until they reached a nearby, dimly lit dead-end alley. After making sure that no was around, Blade turned towards her. "Now what's your freaking story?"

Cherise smiled. "You know who I am. I can see it in your eyes, though they're shaded by those hideous green goggles."

"Your supposed to be mother, turned to a bloodsucker?" Blade asked impatiently.

"I am your mother, transformed into a superior lifeform."

Blade struggled to maintain control. He could feel her trying to mesmerize him. Though he was naturally immune to vampiric powers, he could feel her nonetheless pushing her way into his brain. "No way. Slow Boy made sure you wouldn't come back."

Cherise laughed and threw her head back, her long black hair shaking as she did so. "Old Slow Boy? He's not that resourceful."

"Maybe," Blade said "So I'm supposed to believe that you've been stalking the streets of London all these years?"

"But of course." Cherise smiled again. "How else is a working girl supposed to survive? I take from men, like I always did, only now I take something infinitely more precious than their money."

Blade did not like the thought of his mother as a prostitute or as a vampire, but he maintained his self-control.

"Come on, Blade. We're together again. Let a mother hold her son." She opened her arms wide. "Come here … son."

Blade began to walk towards her. "So it must have been a real downer when the Montesi Formula hit? What was it like to get wiped out by it?"

"Montesi Formula? Wiped out?" What are you talking about?" Cherise said in confusion. She moved her fingers, beckoning him to come closer. "Blade, come here."

Blade shook his head. "He didn't tell you about the Formula, did he?"

"Who?" Cherise said with exasperation.

"That stinking white-haired vamp that killed the real you, Deacon Frost!" Blade exclaimed.

"That's the name of the one who turned me?" Cherise asked with seeming innocence.

"He didn't tell you about the Formula. The freaking arrogant Prussian didn't think that a 'savage' like me could use his brain. He didn't figure I'd ask you about the Formula that wiped out all your kind, until Strange mucked it up."

Concern crossed over Cherise' face. "Blade, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm your mother."

Blade's hand went to the teak daggers strapped to his chest. "No, you're not. Any vampire that came back after the Formula knows about it. Even a vamp doesn't forget being melted into nada," Blade raged. "You're one of his damn doppelgangers. Anybody Frost bites, he can make a double. I'm surprised he didn't think of this ploy years ago."

Cherise's face now displayed its full vampiric aspect. Her voice whistled through her now-prominent fangs. "So you know. Deacon Frost figured that I could put you off-guard and dispose of you."

"Frost figured wrong!" Blade lunged forward and drove a teak dagger into Cherise's heart. It elicited a terrifying scream from the vampiress. She struggled to claw Blade's hands away from the teak weapon. She managed to pry one of Blade's hands free, but he then used it by pushing his palm against the dagger's hilt. The weapon plunged deeper.

Her hands grew weak and fell away from Blade's. She began to slump to the ground. Blade bent down with her, making sure the dagger did not come out.

"Spare me, Blade. I beg of you. I may not be your mother, but I know all that she did. I have," she gasped, "all of her memories. She loved you so much."

Blade paused for a moment. He thought about her words. Then he thought about what his mother would have wanted him to do. This thing before him was not a copy of her, it was an unholy creation by the monster that had killed her. He took a dagger from his bandolier and held the sharp edge to her neck.

"Blade … don't" she gasped.

Blade closed his eyes. He pulled the dagger back and then swung it at her neck with all of his strength. His eyes still closed, he turned away from the decapitated body. "Damn you, Frost! Damn you to hell! I'll punch you a one-way ticket there, I promise!"

NEXT ISSUE: "Slayer of Vampires" - The voyage of discovery continues as Blade faces an old foe, a human with an intimate link to the undead.

BITING REMARKS

Bob Gansler
28-Jan-00