The Vampires of the Paper Flower Consortium

PFC Episode 3: The Chase

April 08, 2020 Elizabeth Guizzetti Season 1 Episode 3
The Vampires of the Paper Flower Consortium
PFC Episode 3: The Chase
Show Notes Transcript Chapter Markers

Paper Flower Consortium's historian, Loretta Fabron Onfoy, describes an encounter between Derrik Miller and Alice Monroe with a vampire hunter during the Great Seattle Fire. Additionally, she offers some trivia from Seattle's past and answers why the coven tends to pay off vampire hunters.
Written and Performed by Elizabeth Guizzetti

For more information please visit: http://elizabethguizzetti.com/paperflowerconsortium

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Opening and Closing music:

Loretta by Evan Witt www.wittynotes.com

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00:00 OPENING
LORETTA: Paper Flower Consortium Episode 3: The Chase

MUSIC LORETTA BY EVAN WITT (WWW.WITTYNOTES.COM)

LORETTA: Recording by Loretta Fabron Onfoy, a former lady of the Kingdom of France and the current historian and librarian of the Paper Flower Consortium

 Dear Beloved Initiates and other listeners, tonights subject is a horrid subject in deed: Vampire Hunters and I will be reading from the journal of Pascaline’s Firstborn, Alice Monroe.

Though vampires are an apex predator—As I said last week, in the modern era, most of us keep thralls so we do not need to hunt. 

Still, there are those who hate us and hunt us. These hunters believe mistakenly that we are cold, evil creatures. 

Of course, our body temperature is colder than that of a human. As with any population, some of us are evil. But one ought not to stereotype an entire species. Though vampires are difficult to destroy, we can be killed by sun, fire, among other methods. We used to keep these things a secret, but modern films and books have pretty much made our weaknesses public knowledge so its not like I am disclosing anything people don’t already know. 

There are rumors of former thralls who become vampire hunters, but for the most part we have never found that to be true.  The thralls who leave most often think back to that time in their lives with a twinkle in their eyes. Most keep in touch—in this past through Christmas Cards, currently through Facebook and social media.

From what we have seen most hunters are rank amatures. They like to think they are Van Helsing or Buffy saving the world from a vampire stretching our dead ashen limbs around some virginal youth and biting into their quivering flesh. But that is simply not the case.

Most of the time they are not heroes.  

Hunters are just people who are angry and afraid about aspects of their lives that have nothing to do with vampires. They are often divorced, abandoned, or downtrodden in someway.  You see many feel they have nothing to live for and hunting gives them a purpose. Those who go down the path of violence do not live long.  –And those who seek vengeance find only coldness as their reward.

 However there is the professional vampire hunter and these by far are more dangerous. 

There is no intrinsic payment in hunting us, yet some people try to find grieving clients. These swindlers, seek to fool a grieving human into believing that their undead family member came to us unwillingly. Since the Hunter can not return the vampire to the family alive, we have even heard of a charlatan who creates a phony séance using fake or real ghosts who cry that the vampire suffers in their eternal hell and who begs “Give me final death!” 

 On June 6, 1889, Alice Munroe left our coven in a hired wagon for an afternoon appointment in the downtown business district with her human father. She had been transformed three nights before. Her father, who originally disowned her when she began dressing in womanly fashion, requested her attendance at his office. Yet, he had set the appointment when the sun was high. We didn’t know what to expect. 

 Pascaline advised Alice to leave her humanity completely behind her, but Mr. Monroe’s letter mentioned an allowance of some sort. She wanted to go. 

 Modern women, who have never needed an escort to ensure their safety, might not understand why Derrik accompanied Alice. He had the excuse of being her attorney, but in reality, Pascaline was worried. While a well-dressed woman crossing the lumber and redlight districts would most likely have been unmolested, there were not enough police in the fledgling city. And Pascaline never quite recovered from her and my perilous journey though that happened centuries before. 

 Derrik was also there to ensure that during any heated discussions, Alice did not make a fatal mistake which might haunt her for eternity.  Alice was only three nights old and a young vampire needs blood. Like all concerned progenitors, Pascaline fed her offspring. She ensured her fledgling had a belly full of blood so no human might tempt her. You see, Alice is Pascaline’s only offspring to survive the Rite.  

 But I should not get off track.  

 It was dangerous to go out in the day at the best of times, but Derrik and Alice’s peril became tenfold, because on that fateful day, at approximately 2:30 pm, a carpenter accidentally overturned glue pot and began the most devastating fire in Seattle’s history.

 

 04:58 
From the Journal of Alice Monroe 

June 6, 1889

 

I admit I am glad Derrik had been with me today. I fear I might have lost my way home without him. I have my creator’s strength and speed, but we try not to show our vampire powers to humanity. I regret I am not a revolress. I never even held a gun. Of course, Derrik told me he never fired a gun either. Charles agreed to show me how to shoot once the city settles down from the day’s tragedy.   

Three times our existence was endangered, but Derrik never lost his head. I wish I was as brave as he. If I am honest, I never saw what Pascaline saw in him until today. He isn’t exactly hen-pecked, but he isn’t commanding either. I suppose what he is with his soft voice and gentle mannerisms is a bully trap. He certainly knew how to handle my father. Derrik is so modest! The strangest thing of all is to hear him talk about the day’s events, you would think I saved him.  

We entered my father’s office at exactly 2’oclock for the appointment. My father’s eyes moved over my dress and the feather in my hat as he stared at me with smoldering hate. He cleared his throat. His hands pressed flat against the inlaid leather of his pine desk. He cleared his throat again. 

“Father?” I tried.

My father said, “Mr. Miller, I am not here to chew the rag with your client.”

And Derrik spoke in his soft way: “You called this meeting, Sir. I am simply in attendance to act as Miss Monroe’s advisor.”

My father quivered in rage. Though he claimed, he had nothing to say to me, he shouted: “This depravity is why I refused to let you come to the house, your poor mother would die of shock if she saw you like this.”

I told myself my father’s hateful words didn’t matter, but they did, of course. I shall never forget the revulsion in his tone. 

“Is Alice’s mother in poor health?” Derrik asked softly.

“How dare you speak of my wife?” He punched the desk top. 

I flinched, but Derrik did not. “Sit, if you please, Sir. We have business to discuss.” 

My father’s pulse flew in his fury. I clenched my fists into my palms, I refused the bloodlust which was growing and allowed Derrik and my father to do business in my name.

I wish my father knew me better. When I pretended to be my father’s son, I was a useless ne'er-do-well. I spent my adolescence deadened with brothel alcohol in the establishments which served the carriage class. He did not care that I was killing myself. I wanted to tell him as a vampire and a woman, I have begun to learn filing systems and business management so our coven can continue to grow.

My father said, “I won’t be dictated to in my office—especially by two immoral reprobates.”

“Very well. Mr. Monroe, if you won’t do your duty by your daughter, then my wife will take care of her. Have a good afternoon.” We turned to leave.

My father put a pistol on his desk.

I wondered if I should speak. I didn’t believe my father would hurt me physically, but I was terrified he would try and shoot us. I couldn’t find the right words, and even when I tried to open my mouth, my mouth was so dry, no words came out. 

“Let’s not make this difficult business more painful. You wrote to my client regarding a stipend,” Derrik said.

“Against my wishes, my wife desires to ensure that creature has a small income. There are few jobs available to women in Seattle. Heaven forbid, this creature becomes a seamstress.” He made a gesture of air brackets at the word seamstress.

I felt like muck on the bottom of a shoe, I suddenly remember thinking I smelled smoke, but I honestly I have been so frightened today I can’t remember. I was still frightened my father would try to shoot us or call the police or even open a window and let in the terrible sun. 

My father snapped, “I could call the police, Sir, for what your wife did to my son.”

I think I winced then. I felt so small and insignificant.  

This was an aspect of the decision that I didn’t like when I made when I took off my outer disguise and accepted my femineity, but it was also the way of the world.

“You could,” Derrik said in his soft-spoken way. “But that would hardly be to your benefit. Think of the scandal. It is, of course, a most distressing time for you, but we wrote this for your convivence.”

He pulled out a paper with my obituary from his leather brief case.

My father said: “A respectable daughter doesn’t leave her family home, unmarried.”

“We could find Alice a husband.” Derrik said. 

“I would not have her marry that….”

Derrik did not allow him to say the profanity against our coven brother any more than he would allow a profanity to fall upon my person. 

“Our coven brother is an American, Sir. But if Mr. Bao doesn’t suit your family’s limited view, there are plenty of other men. Georgetown and Seattle’s population is still overwhelmingly male. Frankly, it matters little to the coven if the husband is even a vampire.”

These words seemed to calm my father. He explained how my mother was depositing ten dollars a week of her own money into an account in my name— Alice Monroe—as she did for my sister—so we might have some of our own money to set aside for a trousseau. After I was married, my husband would care for me as was proper.

Father had opened the account for Mother, but otherwise wanted no part of it. After today, he would not look upon me again and told me if I had any decency, I would leave my mother and sister alone. 

I wanted to say something about my father’s hypocritical nature. He only pretended to be decent, he was part of the carriage crowd who visited brothels in his spare time just as I had been. I said nothing. That life was over, a new existance had begun.

Derrik accepted the account information and set it in his briefcase. He asked how my family would like to be informed of my marriage.

Father told him to write to the office, not to the home. As we said our goodbyes, he reminded me that as long as I continued this debauchery there would be no other monies coming in my direction. I was dead to him.

I almost laughed at that. 

I looked at the aging bag of flesh which once was my father and understood that his world had already turned away into something new. He simply had no comprehension what being a vampire meant. Though I missed my mother, I wouldn’t see her. I could never chance hearing that fragile heartbeat and destroying the life which gave me my first life. 

As we exited my father’s office, my father’s errand boy ran into us, bumping us as if I were nothing. I told myself it didn’t matter. He ran to a young man who stood on the raised walkway smoking a cigarette. 

I noticed the hired cart which we rode to Seattle was gone. 

Something was wrong. No. Everything was wrong.  People were moving too fast around me. Their heartbeats echoed inside me, it took all my will not to reach out and grab one of them and expand my fangs into their delicate flesh. The smell of smoke on the wind was strong so strong it could not be just smoke from one of the mills. Moreover, the sky had turned orangish and brown, but it was too early for the sunset. My hand trembled under my parasol. The silk seemed too thin to protect me. 

I looked around for a cab for hire.

His eyes were bright with rage and did not leave my face. He walked towards them with a leonine authority a long machete scabbarded on his belt. His cowboy hat was too clean as was his shirt. His granite jaw was recently shaved, but his perfectly formed mustache betrayed, he was not a workman—even a freshly bathed one. 

Derrik stepped closer to me and gently took my arm. “I don’t like the way he stares. We dare not wait for the cab,” he said. 

We began to walk arm in arm, southward, hoping to find some way home. I glanced behind me. The man was still there.

“Can you read his mind?” I asked Derrik

“I only know there is anger and hate within him.” Derrik said, “Your father wouldn’t have sent someone after us, would he?”

“Of course not!” But in truth I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to believe my own father capable of that, but I knew that he could be a hard man. Very few men make their money in this world through benevolence. Still ten dollars a week didn’t seem like much to kill someone over.

“The allowance might only be a lure to get you away from those who would protect you,” Derrik said. 

We both glanced back that time. The man was still behind us. 

Derrik’s thin lip expression matched our persuers. In a different set of circumstances the mimicry might have been funny. 

Derrik’s brow furrowed. His facial muscles twitched and the expression became full of bile and a spray of bloody spittle came from his mouth and he sounded like he couldn’t catch a breath. 

“The city’s fear overwhelms me.” 

Suddenly, all around us people started running, a shout turned into a thousand screams for water. A flash of orange fire leapt of timber walls of a nearby building onto the next. The timber building charred and blackened and sent up acrid smoke into the sky. The fire jumped again to the next building. And the next. 

A fire truck clattered by, horses were clopping over the brick and cobblestone. Bucket brigades were set up. Lumberjacks were drafted into the brigades.

Though he was in pain, Derrik pulled me along the dirt road trying to find a way to escape. 

Women with babes in arms pulled screaming children beside us. The smell of their fear laden bodies piqued my bloodlust. I caught the smell of meat on the wind and wondered how many humans and animals were dying. 

Nightmarish visions of flames danced in my head, but what was in front of me was worse. 

Rats their fur ablaze dashed past us screaming in ear shattering panic. Their coats smelling of burning flesh. If I had not already died, I thought I might suffocate. 

Then I choked on the ghastly smell as we crossed past several burning sewer pipes, hollowed out scrap logs, filled with the city’s feces. 

Popping and crackling flames danced from one building to another. Was it chasing us too? 

Our purserer did not seem to care about the burning buildings, panicked citizens, or ash-filled sky. He matched our pace and kept us in sight. 

We passed the brothel I used to frequent. The women had formed their own bucket bigrade and were trying to douse the fires but there wasn’t enough water. The building was lost. I had once known those women, it was they who never judged my needs. I wanted to help them, but the man was still behind us. His hand on the hilt of that terrible knife. 

Derrik coughed beside me. “Alice, I finally caught a thought. The old man killed his brother. Indeed, he is one of those misguided idiots who thinks he should remove monsters from the world.” 

An ember must have hit my parasol, because a small hole burned through the silk and then grew larger. I dropped it onto the dusty road, moments later it was trampled by a man leading cows away from the flame.

I glanced back, he was closer now, the man might overtake us. His hand was on his long knife. His eye were filled with hate.

Holding my arm tightly, Derrik slipped down an alleyway which cut into Washington Street. We crossed to First Avenue which we could follow most of the way home --though it became a dirt road which hedged the mudflats once we left Seattle proper. 

I glanced back again. For a moment, I lost sight of our purser. I felt a breath of relief run through me. We might even be able to hitch a ride with a farmer moving lifestock if we got lucky. All we needed to do was get around the fire and we would be safe. 

Then the man was there again. “Bloodsuckers!” he shouted at us and drew his knife.

No longer worried about exposing our vampiric speed, Derrik and I darted past burning buildings, retreating people and livestock. My eyes burned as we wandered through the thick smoke, dust, and smoldering ash.My muscles ached but we did not stop until our progress was halted by an inferno which sparked and crackled and popped. 

Derrik’s pace was hurried and though our strides are about the same, I struggled to keep up. 

We lost him again and Derrik eyed me. “Forgive me the immodest question, but what do you have on under your dress?”

It wasn’t like Derrik to be improper.

“What?”

“The crinoline. Is it… Nevermind, just remove it. It is a cage. And take my jacket. Wool will offer more protection that your silk.”

“But what about you?” I cried.

“The ash will protect me from the sun. Besides, there is no way I could return to the coven without you. Pascaline would kill me.”  

I unpinned and untied my lower layers as he muttered trying to figure out the safest path. “West to the harbor or east up the hill? All the people are running to the harbor.”

I pulled off my crinoline, it made the outer skirt drag on the ground in an unattractive way. Fearing I would trip on it, I found the seam and ripped off the lower flounce so I could run unencumbered. 

“People will be using the water, so east,” I said.

Derrik nodded. 

Now Derrik was sure, I wouldn’t catch on fire, we hurried east, up the mill road, also called skid row. Normally the logs were greased and skidded down the hill to the harbor. But the ground was wet from the morning’s work, the road had been emptied as the lumber jacks had gone to smother the fire.

However empty or not, the road was a slurry of accursed mud, manure and grease.

Mud and donkey manure splattered up my skirts with every step. My heeled boot slipped and I fell to my knees. Derrik pulled me up by my forearm.  Every step needed two to gain traction. I wished I wore more sensible boots, but Derrik wasn’t doing much better. 

He dropped his briefcase and while he immediately picked it up, for the first time he looked like he might weep as he clutched the leather case to his chest, but then it might have just been ash in his eyes.

Heat radiated behind us. Was the flames climbing the hill? I couldn’t tell there was so much light. My eyes ached and burned. 

I cried out as a loose steel cable caught my skirt and sliced into my flesh. But filled as blood as I was, the ripped flesh quickly closed. 

I kicked some of the muck off my boots and took another step.

Finally we crested the hill and hurried into a forest of stumps. Twigs snapped with every footfall. We ducked down; unsure if we were safe from the fire this high on the hill. I hoped we would be better shaded, but the thick stumps offered little protection. The lumber jacks had been quite efficient in this part of Seattle.

Suddenly the wind shifted and the sun came through the ask. Beside me Derrik grunted, and used his brief case to shade us. 

His flesh started to smoke as the sun pierced his cotton shirt. I used his jacket to press the flames on the back of his neck. The flesh blistered and popped and the fawn colored wool became stained with blood. 

We found a piece of woolen tarplin and Derrik pulled me under his arm and used it to block the sun. 

We both cringed as another scream sounded from lower on the hill. 

Then we saw the silhouette of the hunter in the distance. We raced across a grassy clearing, towards some houses on the top of the hill. Derrik tightened his grip on my wrist and drew me along. He pushed me to run even faster. Pain began in my heels, up my calves. My knees threatened to give out. I gasped, unable to breathe, through the thick ash coated shoulder. Beside me, Derrik gasped. Bloody sweat coated his brow and stained the underarms of his shirt.

We found a house and got on the east side of it. Panting, we sat in the shade. The sun’s terrible rays no longer upon us. Derrik wheezed, trying to hide his agony. I saw that his right hand had blistered as did his right ear and the right side of his neck above his collar. Thankfully his hat and briefcase had offered some shade on his face. Exhausted by the exertion, smeared with ash, Derrik’s undead face looked mottled and completely dead.

I had no way to heal him--except my blood. 

I offered it. 

“I can’t take your blood,” he said. The wheeze in his chest grew deep and horrid. 

“Take it. We still have miles to go,” I said. “I trust you.” I removed my glove and put my hand towards him.

“But Pascaline…” he said. “I can’t weaken you.” 

“Lady P. will understand.”

Derrik wiped his face with his uninjured hand and muttered something under his breath.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“That Charles and Jakub would know how to protect you better,” he said.

“Please, take just a sip, we have so long to go.” I said. “And if you are to protect me, I need you strong.”

Doubt made his blue eyes stormy. Still Derrik expanded his fangs, bit on the flesh of my palm and took a short gulp. 

I replaced my glove and watched as his blistered skin heal. He cried out and dabbed his face with his handkerchief. 

We sat there, resting, for a few minutes more, praying for the ash to hide the sun and the fire to remain in the valley. I never wanted my coffin so badly.  I wanted to sleep in the beautiful darkness. And I wanted Derrik to be well. 

Then the hunter came around the house with a dangerous smile on his lips. 

The large machete left its sheath.

“Did my father send you?” I asked.

“Your father!” The man cackled. “Bloodsuckers don’t have fathers! I will kill you. I hate bloodsuckers. How dare you think to walk in the day!”

Derrik put his hands, palms up. “Let us go, I have money.”

The man swung his machete at me. 

Ahead of his swing, Derrik pushed me into the wall, but the blade caught him on the shoulder. My coven brother yelled as blood poured out of the wound, His scream grew agonized as the flesh knitted back together.  If he hadn’t taken my blood, he would have been badly injured. And I couldn’t leave him anymore than he could leave me. We both had to get back to Pascaline.

Then I saw it. The man’s heartbeat panicked as Derrik’s wound closed.  This was the one moment we might have to get the upper hand. His eyes were on Derrik.

I leaped on the hunter’s back and expanded my fangs. 

“Don’t bite him!” Derrik shrieked. “I don’t his species!” 

I stopped. In my hesitation, the hunter threw me off. He rose his knife again. 

“My species! My species!” the hunter bellowed. 

The machete flashed sunlight into my eyes and I scurried back into the shade of the building as I tried to escape the terrible reflection. 

With a momentous growl, Derrik rushed the man. They barreled into the street. Derrik screamed again as his back smoked through his clothing. 

He lifted the man off his feet and rammed him into a woodpile. The man screamed as a thick stick dug into his flesh. I heard cracking—most likely wood. I don’t think it was bone. 

Gore poured from the man’s wound. 

Derrik’s eyes were open wide. He slowly backed away from the woodpile, his whole body trembled. “How did I do that? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

I yearned to drink that blood so badly, but Derrik was right. We did not know his species. 

The man shouted guttural obscenities at us. He claimed I was in hell and he would save me from damnation.

Derrik didn’t move. 

I edged closer to the man and kicked his knife out of reach. Derrik was still frozen. 

“Your father sent him. I am sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter now. We have to go!” I yanked Derrik’s arm.

Derrik jerked away from me. He opened his billfold and gave the man ten dollars. “Use it for a doctor. Next time I will not be this forgiving.”

When I grabbed Derrik’s hand again this time he ran beside me. 

But tears dripped out of his eyes and down to his bloody ripped waistcoat and shirt. 

Trying to calm Derrik, I said: “He probably survived. But we have to go.”

He gasped and hiccupped. I admit I did not understand my coven brother’s feelings. He had protected us. 

I shouted at Derrik.  “We left him alive!” 

Thankfully, my coven brother snapped out of his morbs and ran alongside me. We dashed from house to house, glancing back every few minutes. The trees grew thicker as we moved southward. 

We were able to remain in the shade of the forest for the last two miles. 

Then in the distance was our wooden barn, but it looked blackened. 

“Do you think….Are they all right?” I asked, my stomach in my throat.

“We would have felt it if something happened to Jakub or Pascaline, correct?” Derrik said. But his face was grim.

“Correct. You’re correct,” I said.

As we drew closer and felt sweet relief. 

The coven moved across the blackened barn. In thick hooded robes, Pascaline, Xiao, and Jakub had climbed up to the roof and had put thick wet woolen blankets on the roof. Charles, Loretta, and Agata had collected some water from the bay and packed wet sand around the base of the barn creating a break in the vegetation.

Suddenly Agata was calling our names and running toward us. Pascaline leapt down from the barn and dashed to us, overtaking Agata. 

My creator cried out something in French. Bloody tears streamed down my creator’s eyes as she embraced both of us around the neck. She kissed my cheeks. And Derrik on the lips. 

Then she started looking at the closed wound on Derrik’s shoulder. They spoke a few words in French. She kissed him again and then pressed his hand to her cheek. 

I regretted not studying French, but I understood her expression well enough.  

When Agata arrived, she eyed Derrik and opened her wrist. 

She ordered us to both take a sip of her blood. Unlike with me, he did not argue with Agata. 

Nor did I. No one argues with Agata. There was hot agony all across my body as minor burns and scratches healed within seconds. I cried out, but in front of his beloved Pascaline, Derrik did not. 

Agata told us to open a jug of deer blood and drink our fill. Which we did. Then she told us to go bath in the slough and when we returned to bring up more buckets of water. And then told us we had quite a day and the barn was safe and that we ought to try to sleep a little. 

Derrik collapsed into his coffin, but I cannot sleep. I am too afraid of the wind turning the fires this way. 

No that’s only half of the truth: why in the world did my father send the hunter after us? 

Pascaline was correct, I should have never gone into the city. What is ten dollars a week compared to my existence? And what if Derrik had been killed or seriously injured? 

I would never forgive myself if I caused Pascaline to lose someone so dear to her.

And her journal entry ends.

27:17 A few notes: For listeners who are confused by Mr. Monroe’s comment about “seamstresses”: in the late 19th century and early 20th century, Seattle had a tax on quote seamstresses unquote. Most who had never seen a sewing machine.  They did not want to tax the lumber jacks so instead they taxed the women who serviced the lumber jacks. 

 The old man which Derrik mentioned is a legendary vampire who wandered the deep forests of Washington State before it was Washington State. It is said, he killed many people—especially soldiers—but was also known for mercy.  He never killed women with children nor would he force himself upon women. However, stories of the Old Man disappeared once Seattle was founded.  

 As for Alice, she did not marry right away. That $10 a week stipend (Approximately $285 in 2020) allowed her freedom that she wouldn’t have had otherwise.

She never saw her human family again though her mother sent Christmas letters and an announcement of her sister’s nuptials. After her father’s death in 1927, Alice attended the University of Washington and found occupation in the budding telecommunication’s industry.  She married in the 1990’s to a lovely ancient vampire and moved to Strawberry Fields in Bellevue. This worked well as the greater Seattle area had begun to grow and traffic has really gotten terrible. 

We miss Alice of course, but we see her often enough that she is still known as Pascaline’s First Born and its better to reside where she doesn’t have to commute over a bridge.

28:50: A word from our sponsor: Paper Flower Credit Union

Sponsored by Paper Flower Credit Union established 1918. For those vampires and ancient Gods who have enjoyed a recent torpor you may remember it as the Paper Flower Savings Fund, established in 1871.

As a member owned, not for profit credit union, we are committed to our members prosperous financial well-being. We offer excellent interest in our savings accounts and CDs not seen for decades. We also offer flexible extended term mortgages with low annual APR for vampires of every budget. We take the long view!

29:28: One Question

 Tonight there is only one question:

Lady Loretta, do you often pay off vampire hunters or do you have to kill them?

 LORETTA: Most of the time if we pay them off they go away. If they come back, we can always call Norma. She and her associates are quite good at cleaning up little messes.

Beloved initiates, our next stories will be on the gifts most commonly seen in the Paper Flower Consortium and how each one can be a gift or a curse. 

 Good day beloved initiates and sleep the sleep of the dead. 

 29:58 Closing

OUTRO MUSIC: LORETTA By Evan Witt

The Paper Flower Consortium Podcast was written and performed by Elizabeth Guizzetti. You can learn more by going to http://elizabethguizzetti.com/paperflowerconsortium

If you have a question for Lady Loretta, please click the Ask Lady Loretta button or email her at info@paperflowerconsortium.com The intro and outro music was written by Evan Witt and you can learn more at www.wittynotes.com

Thank you for listening!

Opener
Introduction to Vampire Hunters
From the Journal of Alice Monroe
A few notes about Seattle's Past
A word from our sponsor: Paper Flower Credit Union
One Question
Closing