Smiljan, Croatia 1856

The sky was lit by the fierce power of the gods. Lightning struck and thunder roared. Two hooded figures looked upon a humble home. The screams of a mother giving birth were muffled by the strength of the storm. Inside the father crouched by the bedside, hands clasped together in devout prayer. The midwife looked on, sweat rolling down her brow.

"More cloth," she insisted.

The child was coming forth, and those present were uneasy. A child borne under such omens would bring only darkness. The midwife shuddered as the child’s head began to crown coated in blood and forcefully entering the world. The father gripped the hand of the mother, his eyes fixed on heaven, faith filling him with hope. For on this night he hoped that God would grant him another son. The mother heaved, breathing, creating the magic of birth. She let out a blood-curdling scream. The scream permeated the home, and rang out beyond into the field along side. The hooded figures continued to observe, unnoticed, hidden in the shadows.

A horse whinnied from fright of the storm, and one of the figures spoke.

"Could this child truly understand the secrets of our world?"

The other simply looked on, intently watching, eyes piercing through wood and stone. The child’s head came forth, and the midwife gripped him, pulled him into the world. As she held him the child began to take a breath. His cry was muffled by an ear-shattering thunderclap. Glass windows gave way, and wooden walls shook as the child cried in unison with the natural world. The father looked on as his child was borne into the world of men. The mother collapsed exhausted from the tribulation, and the midwife spoke.

Her arms shook as she held the young boy. "This child will be a harbinger of darkness."

The father looked on silently praying, eyes focused on the heavens. His mother came to and in a statement of pure love, claimed, "No, he will be a child that gives light to the world."

The hooded figures looked on. The silent figure turned and walked away. The other looked on watching the child take its first precious breaths. Something took hold of Samsara that night. Lightning continued to cascade across the landscape, celebrating the birth of the child. The child that those with the gift of foresight knew would later unlock the secrets of the natural world. His father held him in his hands, and as he looked into his eyes, he found his name. The eyes of the mother met the eyes of the father, and the father said, "He shall be called Nikola."

White Chapel, London, England 1888

He could smell her stink as he watched her from the shadows. The smell of rum and unclean cunny protruded from her body like a spear to his nostrils. Night after night he would watch the harlot walk up and down the alleys looking for a cock to please just to buy another drink and pass out in the streets or at her pest ridden flat at Spitalfields. Not a soul would speak to her anymore unless it was to trade a pence or two for her filthy quim. Her husband had disowned her, her father had quarreled with her and sent her to fend for herself on the streets of White Chapel. Tonight, he watched her from the corner of the run down pub. Although his attire was over dressed for the slum of a watering hole he drew no attention. That was exactly how he wanted it.

For tonight he was not only to watch the tramp. Tonight he was to set forth his sinister intentions. Throughout the night he had watched her guzzle drink after

drink to numb the shame of her perverse life. Three times she had earned money by selling her body to the lowest bidder, only to turn around and drown herself again. The thought of her disgusted him, but he needed her, specifically her unclean blood.

She stumbled away from the corner of Osborn Street and into the alleyway. For blocks he followed her as she stumbled. The streets were quiet now; he pulled out his pocket watch. It read half past three in the morning. He knew he had to make his move soon, during the darkest and quietest parts of the night.

The tart passed the Royal London Hospital and stumbled into a dark alley on Fulbourne Street. His anticipation heightened as he watched her stumble into a brick wall and collapse momentarily. He grimaced as he moved towards her; the stench was overwhelming to his predatory sense of smell. He would have to complete his task quickly. He moved with ease through the shadows, his cape barely fluttering in the late night autumn breeze.

He spoke from behind the dark veil of the night to her, "Mary Ann...Mary Ann..."

His voiced crackled with the malice of a thousand tortured souls. Her eyes fluttered open, surprised and unable to focus. She stumbled further along the wall.

"I’ve been watching you Mary Ann; you might say I’m an admirer."

She smiled a drunken sloppy smile, gripping her bonnet, straightening it, haphazardly attempting to collect herself.

"Have ya, now my lordship?" She called to him slurring her speech.

Attempting to straighten up and look half lady like. He sneered from underneath the shadows. His fine top hat emerged from the shadows first, the moonlight crowning it. He flashed his deep white teeth, grinning as he approached her.

She belched and covered her mouth, "Pardon my lord."

Choking on her stink he gripped her shoulders firmly.

"What can I do for you my lord?" Her tone was the embodiment of the sensual filth of the White Chapel district. Oddly her perverse nature both disgusted him and excited him. He smiled once more, the devil inside him showing through his perfect teeth.

"I think you know what I want my dear, I’ve been following you for sometime. I am ready to purchase some of your wares."

His fingers dug into her shoulders.

"So strong a man I’ve found this evening. I hope his pocket book is as strong."

He leaned in and whispered in hot breath into her ear, "Turn around my love, I have a present for you."

"A present for me, I do love surprises."

He forced her stumbling body to turn around; the scent of her hair caught him off guard, exciting his manhood once more. This enraged him. Fighting the rage boiling over inside of him, he calmly collected himself and reached inside his breast coat pocket. The blade reflected the light of the nearest gaslight a blade emerged from his jacket. His thirst for her demise grew stronger.

"Well then get on with it she said."

She bent over and raised her dress exposing herself to him. At this moment he had had enough, it had been weeks of watching her perversion. He pulled her up from her bent position and held the blade to her throat. With the cold iron against her throat she barely had the time to scream before his left hand slashed her throat twice from ear to ear. Her blood coated the knife and spattered across the bricks in front of them. Her choking filled the alleyway as a deep dark silence fell on the air.

The nefarious man began to speak, "Under the Autumn Moon, the blood of the whore has been spilt. From it shall come forth the darkness, the perversion shall be set right."

Her body slumped over into his arms. His blood lust fulfilled, he gathered himself. He began to drag her body around the corner and laid it in front of a gated stable on Buck Street. There he lay her out, sprawled out like a woman of the night, underneath her dress, he began to go to work.

New York City 1892

The streets were dimly lit by gaslights and bustled with the sounds of steam powered mechanized merchant carts, the hooves of constable’s horses, and the propaganda of town criers. The city clock rang at the hour mark loudly across the square as the night sky shone with the stars and a blood red moon. The city street lamps brought life to Samsara’s shadow on walls of the stone buildings of the city of New York. There she stood underneath one of the only electric lights on the street. The advent of electrical power was upon the largest cities across the western world. Before long electricity would change the western world and beyond. Industry was exploding and corporate magnates ruled the day. Lighting the night had begun to change the course of mankind’s destiny and that light would guide humanity out of the darkness into what those in charge called a very bright future. At least that was what the majority of the humans believed.

Sam knew better. She had watched humanity for millennia. At first they would succeed. Progress would envelope them for a short time, creating a golden age. It would be complacency, greed, and jealousy that would cause their downfall again and again.

She had watched them move through the streets day and night wasting their short and shallow lives. They were all clueless to the truth, completely wrapped up in their egotism. Samsara was a Fae, one of the many magical beings that walked among the humans in secret. The humans had no idea that the creatures that inspired their mythology still walked among them.

She wore a hood to keep her face hidden as she walked the dark streets. Her slim fitting brown leather jacket contained a number of artifacts of the occult. Her belt held a pistol on each of her hips. Her pair of tattered khaki cargo pants, and a pair of worn combat boots filled out her outfit. She had grown fond of the style of dress in the current time. For the first time in awhile she was able to wear a practical outfit while in the human world.

A newsboy cried out to her, "Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" He held the latest copy of the Herald, a newspaper that was largely owned by the corporate magnates that truly ran the city.. Sam flipped him a copper and took a copy from his hands.

"Wow, a whole copper!" The boy exclaimed and ran off dropping his stack of papers. Sam grinned and flipped through the first three pages. Buried on the fourth page, ’Constables Discover the Body of Young Woman, Scene Indicates Suicide’.

Sam’s gut wrenched, she was one of the few who wasn’t fooled by the cover-ups. The thought made her cringe; the rise in power of the blood cults had been growing in the last year. The sacrifices were scattered and sloppy at first, the workings of a mad man. Women mostly, some hacked into pieces, others killed with surgical precision. Each killing had an elaborate altar and a piece of parchment scribbled with madness. The papers had labeled the writings as nothing more than the deluded thoughts of a madman.

The reports were little more than speculation about the meaning or cause of these ritualistic killings. The police commissioner and the Herald were playing the case close to the chest. The detectives at each precinct in every major city throughout the western world had no leads, despite the detention of over twenty suspects found unconscious at each of the sites.

‘Patsy’s no doubt,’ Sam thought. Her training told her differently, but the detectives were tired of hearing her “theories”. She had been following the cases since the beginning. Every single detective from around the globe believed these occurrences to be a new phenomenon.

To Sam it was business as usual. Her game was tracking, decoding the mysteries that the local constable or sheriff was confounded by. Sam was a wanderer, neither human nor of fairy blood. She was able to navigate both the Summerlands, the lands of the Fae, and the world of humans. It was her gift, her curse. She would remain ageless and in exchange she would have to keep the balance. The balance between the worlds must be maintained. The humans must remain ignorant of the world behind their world. On the opposite side the beings of the Fae world must not expose themselves to the humans under penalty of death. If a magical being over stepped its boundaries, Sam was to deal with it. If a human had even a simple inkling about the world of the Fae, Sam was to discourage their progress in discovery. Over the centuries Sam had dealt with her fair share of both.

Sam had been following the breadcrumbs left by those who had involvement with the blood cults. They had seen the cults grow from a few small cells, to highly organized religious zealots. They called themselves the Brotherhood of the Dawning. Sam suspected the members of the organization were well entrenched in the bureaucracy of the government and their corporate masters.

It all began with the discovery of a body in White Chapel London four years ago, The killings had continued and had expanded from the massacre in London to Paris and New York City. The ripper had paralyzed the streets of London for months. The fear had spilled over into the other great cities of the world now. Curfews had been instituted on the streets of New York City. In another hour the streets would be empty and Samsara would be able to move throughout the city without being seen. She was following a lead near the five points. The lead was an Irishman who rang a betting ring for bareknuckle boxing. He was the most feared man in the five points, however Samsara wanted the man who controlled him. Connor O’Brien was a small fish, but his boss was the man in control of Tamany Hall. The underworld of New York City was the easiest way to access the men in real power.

Samsara wanted to find the leaders of The Brotherhood of the Dawn. The level of power that the shadowy group had amassed over the past four years could only be explained through the power of the old religion. There were many occult groups that were widely known, such as the Illuminati and the Free Masons. The groups were all publicly known of, and many of the so called great men of the time were apart of them. However, the Brotherhood of the Dawn remained shrouded in mystery even to Samsara.

Samsara suspected that one way to find the Brotherhood would be through Tamany Hall. She had sleuthed her way from city to city. In London she had looked into the Free Masons, in Paris the Illuminati. The organizations of the nations of Europe had led her no closer to the men behind these killings. According to those investigating the case in London, the Brotherhood of the Dawn was nothing more than a myth. They had eluded her for months. In order to expose them she would need to find a way to infiltrate and illuminate their machinations to the human world before they could do harm to the balance.

A horn sounded loudly from the cab of a steam-powered carriage rattling down the cobblestone street, Sam realized she had begun to meander without caution. She snapped to, her aim wasn’t to analyze the current political rhetoric; her aim was to investigate the scene of the sacrifice reported in the paper and find out if the Irishman had any light to shed. Her feet quickened as she headed towards the main street, she’d need to stop by the local apothecary and pick up a few things. Samsara wasn’t the only one interested in finding the Brotherhood; a great number of dangerous parties were looking for those responsible for the killings. Pursuing those responsible for the killings would be dangerous, even for her.