PART 1<br/><br/>The sound of her footsteps as they tapped through the stone streets of Munich echoed from the gray buildings in the gray twilight of a black day in the history of humankind. Isolde Devereaux was in no mood to think of the poetry or the irony of the situation as her blood was boiling with an intensity that matched her red hair. Just today when she had showed for her shift as nurse did she find that not only were they short staffed but that some of their medicines had been confiscated. Short staff, My Aunt Fanny!, she thought angrily. The Nazis had declared that her Jewish colleagues were unfit to provide services even to the very poor of the poorest. She knew that she was not safe from their scrutiny, not because she was a Jew but because she was a witch. To the Master Race, she was an abomination and was subject for intense studies in whispered locations. Today, she would do everything in her witch’s power to bring the most powerful entity she knew to this hellhole. She wanted Malachai.<br/><br/>Isolde was an immortal witch and had existed since Roman times in many different incarnations, Each one she had found her soulmate, Malachai, half demon, half vampire, and together they had conquered any problem that had presented itself. For two evolutions of life, for over 100 years, she had not found him but tonight, out of sheer desperation, she was going to cast a conjuring spell guaranteed to bring his father out of his seat in Hell. Times were troubled and this was an emergency.<br/><br/>Casting a spell like this reeked of personal gain, and Isolde, being the good witch that she was, usually avoided any spell that could be construed as personal gain, unlike her ice queen cousin, Darcy D. She put her evil cousin from her mind. She had to have a clear head and a pure heart to bring Malachai forth into this century, into this time. As she approached the lake, Isolde reached into her pockets to check that she had the candle, the salt, the atheme, the herbs. All were in place. Fervently hoping the watchmen did not challenge her for they would confiscate the ceremonial knife, she stopped in the shadows, listening for sound.<br/><br/>Isolde had chosen to come to the warehouse where one of her patients worked. He had come in to have a piece of steel removed from his eye and swore to be ever in her debt. When she had requested the keys to the warehouse, the old man had not even looked at her oddly. He had dug them from his pants pocket, handed them over and walked away. Unlocking the door, Isolde paused to listen once again and then slipped inside.<br/><br/>The warehouse stank of sweat and motor oil, a sweet pungent yet cloying smell. Underneath it was an odor that she had smelled in another life time, fear and despair. The only sound was that of scurrying feet, probably rats and a dim light filtered through the cavernous building from a single bulb in the back where the shipping and receiving agent sat during the day.<br/><br/>Quickly, Isolde went to the far corner, her footsteps tapping out a quick march tattoo on the concrete floor. She arranged the candle, lighting it and then poured salt around herself, encasing her in its protective circle. Chanting a special spell, she rubbed the herbs into the palms of her hands.<br/><br/>“Malachai, demon, vampire, lover, mine<br/>Come to me now.<br/>Demon from hell release your servant needed to counteract the insanity of this world<br/>Demon from hell release your servant needed to bring back the balance<br/>Demon from hell release your servant to destroy”<br/><br/>Holding her hand over the flame, Isolde took the atheme and cut into her palm, allowing three drops to sizzle in the fire.<br/>She waited, chanting softly. Fog began to roll in under the door, spilling in as if the world was on fire.The smoke billowed together, turning deep gray and then black as a figure began to emerge. Isolde’s heart beat fast and her breath came short. A smile spread across her face and hope began to flood her being. The figure stood up straight and walked through the smoke toward her. Her hope turned to horror.<br/><br/>“You’re not Malachai.”