Becoming Midnight: Rise of the Black Vampires

By MG Hardie

Ambrosia Wharton is a little faster and a little stronger than her classmates. She has all the problems of the average teenager, except Ambrosia Wharton is a vampire.

Nightmares have forced her to live with her mother in Angel Beach, California. The problem is that Ambrosia, Amber for short, hasn't received her powers&nb

• Language: English
• Publisher: MoorRey Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780996829618

MG Hardie

MG Hardie is a literary award winning writer from California. His works and well as his commentary are thought provoking ground breaking exploration into the lives and minds of Americans.

Book preview

BECOMING MIDNIGHT

(Rise of the Black Vampires)

MG HARDIE

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MoorRey Publishing

Copyright © 2019 MG Hardie

Becoming Midnight, Rise of the Black Vampires 2nd Edition, Midnight: Rise of the Black Vampires and The Midnight Saga are trademarks of MG Hardie. Use of these terms is prohibited without permission from MG Hardie.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Unless authorized in writing by MG Hardie, no portion of this book may be reproduced or used in a manner inconsistent with MG Hardie copyright. This prohibition applies to unauthorized uses quotations, artwork or reproductions in any form, including electronic applications.

The correct citation for this book is Becoming Midnight. United States, MG Hardie, 2019

ISBN

Print: 9780996829601

Ebook: 9780996829618

Chapter One

I saw little difference between my human classmates and myself. I’m a little faster, a little stronger, but that seemed pretty normal to me. I’m a fifteen-year-old Black girl, and I don’t have my vampire abilities yet. I live with my father in Beverly Hills, California. He works hard to keep me insulated from the outside world.

My father was a hard man with few regrets, and I adored him. In less civilized times, he would be in charge of our coven, the alpha vampire. In those days, vampires allowed what was known as ‘The Thirst’ to rule them. It was pure arrogance that prevented the vampire from living longer than forty years.

In that time, vampires had no desire to fit in; they wanted to run things. The word ‘Integration’ for the vampire, for my father, had the same meaning as suppression. He didn’t believe in killing humans, only because of the war that could start.

I was born in deep vampire country, Savannah, Georgia to be exact, in a simple house that my parents shared. They separated five years before we all moved west to Southern California. I had no reaction to the shake-up; I guess I was too young to even notice.

My father and I moved into a plush Beverly Hills condominium. My mother moved to a modest three-room, one-story home in Long Beach, California. I hadn’t spoken to my mother in years because it was agreed that my father would provide all of my needs.

Big cities and vampires didn’t mix, so my father spent half a decade hovering over me. Of course, when night fell, there was always an endless supply of opened blouse women around him.

My father had a keen appreciation of women of all shape and sizes. As long as they weren’t all up in my face, his indulgences didn’t bother me. My dad and I lived in a world of expensive, luxury cars, precision timepieces, fine dining, and more elegant clothes.

Both of my parents were telepathic. My mother can communicate with minds; my father can read them. Telepathy was a female vampire trait. The fact that my dad had any telepathic ability showed the different path in his life had taken. It seems like my dad can absorb power from others, but I’m not sure about that.

My father is slim and muscular, and he’s about 6’3". He wears vintage hats that seldom left his bald head; he had great vampire swag. He is a man of few words, and since he can read thoughts, so a few words were all he needed. I had never seen this, but the rumor was that my father had telekinesis.

Telekinesis is the ability to move objects just by thinking about them. This ability is typically reserved for elders. All I knew was that his irises barely turned yellow when he read my mind.

My father says there are more vampires now than there were before the middle passages. Grandfather was killed during a slave uprising, which killed dozens of southern plantation owners. He didn’t speak about his father, and he didn’t talk much about his grandmother. She was from a time when vampires fought, loved, and reveled throughout the night.

Half a century ago when my father was very young, a gang of humans killed her. She survived their torture and went four days without. The elders found her in an old shed. Her body dismembered. I think that single wrinkle in the middle of my father’s forehead appears whenever he has fond memories about his mother.

My steps were ordered and that led to unremarkable days of wearing black. My father warned me about the dangers of living among humans. He told me of the Neo-Nazi’s that roamed forests, the Klan remnants in Orange County and the slayers that sought the pleasure of killing monsters, even if the monster was a fifteen-year-old girl.

Daily blood use prevented me from attending summer camp like other kids my age. Instead of summer camp, my father and I vacationed in Mecca, at The Wailing Wall, Varanasi and Glastonbury Tor. I saw incredible sights on these trips, but not as many as I would had liked.

I wanted the vacations to be grand adventures, but they ended up being opportunities for my dad to meet up with old friends, other vampires. My father was always greeted as if he was some kind of a returning hero.

My father and his friends would speak of a time when vampires celebrated openly. I also heard a lot of old vampire spirituals and whispers of being on the wrong side of heaven. We seem to only go places where my dad’s friends had trouble with the locals.

When he wasn’t tending to me, he drank and partied with his wealthy friends. We had a two-bedroom condo filled with tufted leather, burnished wooden headboards, vintage film stills, historical art, marble floors, vaulted ceilings, rain showers and an unused pool that we could look through from inside the living room.

From our balcony I could peered into heavens with our telescope. My dad used the telescope to look down on the skyscrapers and people that populated Los Angeles. Every night, he and his friends would go out. He would return at all types of hours, usually before four in the morning. This is the way my life had been this way since I was ten years old.

I had no play dates and a few friends. Things were pretty simple. It’s not like strange things don’t happened, like my canine teeth descending randomly, or my fingernails growing as soon as they were cut or being able to see in the dark, but now there’s something new—this nightmare.

In the nightmare, screams rip through the darkness, and my eyes opened. My curls lay across streams of sweat on my forehead. The faint smell of butterscotch floats through the air. My body shakes as I scramble to get out of bed. My muscles contract and release and I tingle all over.

My low cut, cotton, crimson sleep shirt clings to me. I feel powerful and weak at the same time. I lose my balance and lean against the dresser, my heart rate slows, and then all of a sudden, I realize that I’m alone. The vanity mirror over my chest of drawers is the only audience for my hardening nipples. My eyes glow intensely yellow, I looked at the clock, and it’s precisely midnight.

I reached up, and blood is dripping from my mouth. It’s not my blood. I scream—and then I wake up. This is the reoccurring horror that has kept me company these last three nights. This nightmare is what changed my life.

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The repeated clicking of the turn signal pulled me from the isolated region of my mind. The chrome black-tire walled Porsche Panamera sped along at seventy miles per hour; its soft leather seats swallowed my small body.

I eyed my father as the corners of my mind hid the nightmare. It was my screams that had alerted him. The only thing I knew for sure was that something had gone wrong.

You’re going to love Poly, the volume of my dad’s voice slowly increased.

I had been lost in thought the whole time he had been talking. We slowed down as freeway traffic congested. I could tell that my father was unnerved. The plan was for me to stay with dad until I reached a certain age. I stared out the window into the deep blackness. I had reached that certain age was about three nights ago.

Dad, you sound just like a TV commercial, I said.

What’s wrong with a father wanting his daughter to love her new school?

How do you know I am going to love it? I just don’t understand why I have to move, and here of all places. I mean, why can’t I just stay in Beverly Hills with you, like I’ve been doing? Why can’t I just keep going to the same school?

Because… it’s just that your mother is more…

More what? I interrupted.

She’s more stable than I am. I have my own issues, and now you’re having these nightmares… so your mom and I...

…decided I should move with her without even asking for my opinion. I interrupted. Well, it’s my life. Isn’t it? I’m fifteen years old. I’m practically an adult. I already know what’s best for me. I said this, but I could feel my father reading my thoughts. He saw that I tried to hide the nightmare in my mind.

And what, may I ask, is best for you? he said, looking at me through his jet-black sunglasses.

I looked away from my father to gaze out the window. We passed thousands of lighted billboards and dozens of car dealerships as we speed south on the 405 freeway. My father effortlessly moved the steering wheel, gently coaxing the vehicle from lane to lane. My dad’s familiar scent of red grapefruit, saffron, and wood filled the car. We were insulated from the night.

Long Beach is a large city along the California coastline. It is the port that services Los Angeles. Long Beach is one of the busiest port centers in the world. Long Beach Poly High School had forty-two hundred students, and there are fifteen hundred students in my sophomore class. That’s a lot of humans. The thought of it was sickening.

I just wish you and mom had talked to me before making a life-altering decision that will ruin my social life, I said. I don’t remember much about my mother. My father said when they met, she needed him and that she made him want to be a better vampire.

How can living with your mother ruin your social life? My father said to me. You're not reasonable. There are more things in life and more things to your life than being social… he said briefly looking at his diamond-encrusted watch.

It was precisely 11 p.m.

I had tons of friends in Beverly Hills. So, yeah, moving to a new school will ruin my social life. I’ll have zero friends, none. All of my friends live in Beverly Hills.

Now who’s exaggerating? You said the kids in school hardly talked to you.

Well, you don’t need a lot of friends when the ones you have count. I had just started talking to people, and now this. It’s my life, and you two are ruining it.

You’ll make new friends, you’ll be prom queen before you know it, my father said with a smile. My social life, my friends… everything will be destroyed! he mockingly said.

Adults say condescending things like that to kids. They always think they know what’s best.

I’m the one that’s fifteen. I said, raising my hand, Count ’em, five, ten, fifteen. I’m fifteen, and I know what the hell is best for me!

Ambrosia Wharton! he said. He quickly pulled the car over to the freeway’s shoulder. How dare you raise your voice to me? His fangs showed, and a faint yellow glow circled his pupils. The sound of his voice rattled the rear view mirror.

You may be a young woman, but I am still your father! You won’t be just another girl on the beach. You must always remember your legacy. You were born into a world that has spelled-out with brutal clarity and in as many ways as possible, what you are. We are expected to make peace with being invisible. But you must never forget who you are and what we are. We are the Uhura coven. We are the elite. We are vampires!

I know.

Then, act like it! As a female vampire, it’s crucial for you to be around…

Another female vampire, I interrupted my father’s lecture. You’ve told me this a half a dozen times. I get it; I don’t have to like it. I sat uncomfortably silent in my seat. Dad…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. The car subtlety vibrated from the still running engine.

Now, that’s my little girl, he said with a smile while merging back into traffic.

Traffic cleared as we neared our destination. To change the subject and perhaps, to end the uncomfortable conversation, my dad waved his hand and the car’s entertainment system on.

A techno-hip-hop beat blared from the sound system. It was as if the car switched lanes merely from the vibration of the music’s bass. He adjusted his glasses as he swayed his head to the musical tune. The green off-ramp sign read Long Beach. I put on my oversized shades and slowly nodded my head to the beat as a single tear ran down my face.

It was 11:30 p.m.

***

The gritty, rough-and-tumble world of urbanness beckoned to me. All I could think about was that Long Beach was a ghetto. We turned down one poorly lit street after another. We drove past one church, then a liquor store and then another church and another liquor store.

The lightly pot-holed streets were as deserted as the darkened buildings we passed. We made a right, a left and finally a right onto almost blind Myrtle Avenue. I turned my head and looked at all of my name brand clothing lying neatly on the back seat. All of the major fashion houses were represented. High fashion is mandatory in Beverly Hills and my wardrobe was a high end theme park.

Underneath my glasses, tears began to pool, and a small, dark river of black eyeliner ran down my light brown cheeks.

We’re here, my dad unnecessarily announced as we pulled into the driveway behind a vintage, knickerbocker-tan, Fleetwood series, V8 Cadillac Eldorado.

The artichoke green, white-trimmed three-bedroom house was a few hundred feet away from a corner church. It was wedged in-between a series of drape apartments. ‘Killa’ was spray painted on a nearby red brick wall.

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Oh God, they can’t even spell, I said to no one in particular. This is definitely the hood.

The ocean breeze carried the smell of spilled liquor and regrets. I rolled up the car’s windows as the lingering scent of old marijuana blunts, and burnt rubber invaded my nostrils. My mother stood on the porch, tapping her foot.

How’s everything? her soft voice echoed in my head.

I opened the car door and muttered, It would be better if I was still in BH…

Well, you’re not in BH, are you? Get your things, the softness in her voice was gone. My father just looked around; he was keeping out of this mother-daughter discussion.

Violation… I don’t like people being in my head without my permission. It’s so vampire, I blurted out. I could tell by how fast my father put my things into the house that my mother was telepathically letting him have it.

Ambrosia… and what’s wrong with being a vampire?

Please, Mom, call me Amber.

Well, daughter. I can call you daughter, can’t I? All female vampires in our clan have the power to project thoughts.

I don’t. So what does that say about me?

It says that you have a lot to learn.

Are you going somewhere? I asked.

My mom wore an all-white, flowing robe. She didn’t party like dad, but she wasn’t a stay at home vampire either. Female vampires in the coven wear white during the blood moon, but I am going somewhere.

Where is my white robe? I’m a female vampire, too, I countered.

Well, that’s why I… we decided that you should come live with me.

So you want me to project thoughts too? I quizzed.

I… we want you to develop into a mature female vampire. You need a mother’s touch.

No one cares about what I want!

What do you want?

Nothing…

Then go to your room…

I went into the house, entered my room, and slammed the door. I filled my mirrored closet with clothes, and my eyes filled with tears. Sadness erupted from me like lava from a volcano. In the condo, my bedroom was full of cute, small stuffed animals. My drawer was against the wall, and my desk was in the corner. Everything was where I wanted it.

I can’t believe that I’m being forced to give up life in Beverly Hills for life in the hood. I just want to lie on the floor and cry, but something held me back. That something was the noise of my parents arguing in the living room.

Well, my father said matter-of-factly, she’s your daughter.

When she behaves like this, she’s my daughter, and when she gets A’s in school, she’s your daughter, right?

Well…

She’s our daughter. Your job of protecting her is over. Would you like some tea?

After all of these years, you are still patronizing me. I know what you’re thinking.

Well, she said while pouring a small cup of Chamomile tea. "I am glad you told me about the nightmares, but let me tell you what I think. I think your party too much that you drink too much.

You are hardly around enough to give her what she’ll need. I think that self-indulgent, uppity lifestyle has been a bad influence on her. Do I need to mention your temper…

They argued like their separation was moments ago, not five years ago. It was one of those arguments that make people relive the bad times. I continued to organize my room. I couldn’t grasp the full nature of my parents’ conversations due to the periods of noted silence from the living room.

There is no need for us to argue, it’s simply in her best interest to live with you for a while, my father said.

What do you mean for a while? My mother raised her hands toward the roof to center herself and her thoughts.

I mean, this is not a permanent move, he said.

Our daughter doesn’t need to be moved back and forth between schools, between parents. She’s a young woman; she needs a stable upbringing. They way you think is part of the problem!

Let’s not argue. Let’s come together for our daughter’s sake.

Let’s commune... Amber! My mother yelled.

Communing is how vampires shared their love for one another. Communing is how we become one soul, one heart, one mind, and one blood. Three or more vampires can commune. Communing is a séance that brings the essence of the vampire’s soul into connection with other vampires.

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I walked out of my room and joined my parents in the living room. We formed a circle and held hands. Our eyes fixed on the empty space between us as our souls conjoined like Siamese twins attached at birth. When our vampire powers are triggered our light brown eyes becoming bright yellow, well my eyes were little more than yellow sparks. When that happens, we are joined with each other and with others in the Uhura clan.

Before us, images flash and voices whisper the name of the elders. The Uhura coven was an ancient coven of vampires. The legend

Reviews for Becoming Midnight

[mghardie · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"Midnight, Rise of the Black Vampire does not disappoint when it comes to racial inclusion. Not only is Amber an African-American vampire, the story is littered with cultural markers that never leave the reader doubting her identity....Everything from the music, to the language affirms Amber's identity as a person of colour. This is a refreshing change, as more often than not, when stories include Black women, they often read like White woman painted Black for inclusion cookie points. I found myself relating with much of Amber's lived experience."--Fangs for the Fantasy "Midnight: Rise of the Black Vampires is an interesting addition to the vampire-genre that has taken the world by storm. From its use of biblical and mythical history to its descriptions of the modern vampire culture, this book has some intriguing twists to the typical contemporary vampire-stories."--Sandy Kemper, from the Kindle Book Review