On the Backs of Pigeons

Chapter 1 – He's Back

On the backs of pigeons you'll fly away…


The man stood by the big willow tree by the small pond in the park. It was the end of summer, beginning of fall, and the leaves were slowly starting to cascade down to the ground.

The man stood silently.

In one hand was a small loaf of stale bread, which he crumbled up with his other hand and gently dropped to the ground for the small group of pigeons collected at his feet.

"Do the pigeons talk to you?"


Nikola Tesla woke up with a start and rubbed his tired face with his calloused hand.

It had been awhile since he lost his Vampirism and he still wasn't used to the concept of sleep, let alone dreams.

He hasn't slept since the latter half of the 19th century, henceforth he hasn't dreamt, save for the occasional daylight fantasy, or the times he would zone out during really boring speeches or annoying people trying to start up a conversation with him; and with the Vampirism he hadn't the need for sleep, or rest, or food, or anything else so draining. He was miles ahead of every other scientist because he didn't have to stop, or shut his brain off; he was always working.

Now, instead of loathing his fellow colleagues, he pitied them; Edison, Marconi, they were so un-evolved it was almost sad. Now he was no better, except for his human-magnet thing, but that was no match to Sanguine Vampiris.

Nikola swung his legs over the bed and stood up on the cheap carpet floor of his hotel room. He walked over to the balcony door, a cheap sliding glass door, no less; he couldn't afford the standards he was privy to.

He stepped out on to the balcony into the fresh night air. It had been raining earlier, but it had stopped sometime in the middle of the night and all that was left was that clean earthy smell. He breathed it in.

He had traveled a bit, keeping himself under-radar as always, going here and there, never staying very long, and very rarely being seen.

Somehow, like always, he found himself back in Old City. Back to see her. He always came back for her, he always had, and he probably always would until the day his fragile human body frayed away into nothing. It was his curse.

He turned and went back inside; the paranoid side of him telling him it was not a good idea to stand out there for too long. He closed the glass door behind him and sat at the cheap IKEA table.

He eyed the small duffle bag he always carried with him on his travels. He sat there staring at it for a while before finally reaching in and pulling out a piece of paper; not the cheap printer paper made from recyclable biodegradable green party crap that the whole world deemed the norm.

He took out an inkwell and pen. A gift she gave him at Oxford long ago, a birthday present, something he carried around with him with the gentlest of care.

Dipping the pen in the inkwell he proceeded to write his letter…

~~~~Old City Sanctuary - Main Office – Tuesday September 9th - 8:32 a.m.~~~~

Helen Magnus sat at her desk early Tuesday morning, checking over the day's itinerary and making her mental schedule for the day.

She read the report on the new abnormal they had obtained a few days ago, and it's stabilization in its new habitat. It was truly a fascinating find. The creature had a chameleon like ability mixed with the appearance of a small wild cat, and a strange craving for Bubble Gum. A docile creature mostly, but if threatened or frightened it defended itself by biting it's attacker with a nearly fatal, paralyzing bite.

Helen looked up from the report when she heard Big Guy come in with her usual tea and scone breakfast; what Will called 'very British'.

"Good morning, you're just in time, I'm nearly famished," she smiled brightly at Big Guy who grunted in a knowing response and placed the tray in front of her. "Thank you," she patted his arm and he grunted again, reaching for something in his belt.

"This came for you," he held out a small letter with beautiful handwritten calligraphy on it. It was strangely familiar.

"Oh, who from?" she asked tentatively.

Big Guy grunted and shrugged.

"Don't know. I found it with the newspaper," he grunted and bobbed his head in dismissal. "Will that be all?" he looked at her and then jerked his head in the direction of the door.

"Yes, that will be fine for now."

He nodded and left as Will came walking in.

"Hey Magnus, enjoying your morning tea while reading the newspaper?" he came in and sat in his usual chair across from her, leaning back in it casually.

"No, I got a letter this morning," she lifted up the still unopened letter.

"Whose it from?" he leaned closer to get a better look at it.

"I don't know, there is no return address on it, but I have a sneaking suspicion…"

She trailed off and proceeded to open the unsealed letter, her eyes dancing over the handwritten words, before rolling upwards in a knowing expression.

"Just as I thought, I should've known…" she sighs audibly.

"What?" Will quirks his eyebrow slightly sitting up, suddenly a little intrigued in the mystery letter.

"The only man in the whole world who stills sends handwritten letters to me with about the same obnoxious snark and flirtatious nature as he has."

She handed Will the letter, and he sighed as he read it. He looked up.

Sure enough, the last line of the letter, unsigned of course, in the handwritten letters, and right below the 'With Love', was the most dead give-away phrase for this particular sender…

'P.S. You Still Look Hot.'

Will handed the later back to her.

"Don't tell me…" he started.

"I'm afraid so," she finished.

They both let out an audible sigh at the same time.

Nikola Tesla was back.