Act Three Chapter One - The Twilight Zone

“This is not, however you may envision it as such, the Curia of Rome, seeking to elect a new Pope to rule over the church.” Barked Maximilian. “Lord Takagi, this council of Primogen is under no obligation to continue in the path our now dead Prince Lazarus led. It is time for change. No more of this religious folly.”

“You forget yourself, Lord Maximilian.” Retorted Darrel Mills, the Primogen of the city of Norfolk. Michael had only been partly right about his understanding of the title “Primogen.” Here, in Tidewater, it did denote a leader, not of a faction, but rather of a city. “The Disciples hold three seats of this council, more than any other group. Your call for a new order will not pass, no matter how many times you make it.”

“Nor will yours to maintain the old. You need a majority and you do not have it.”

“This impasse will not last forever.” Added Hiroshi Takagi, Primogen of Hampton.

“Your loyalty to our previous ruler is touching and, like most sentimentality, utterly useless.” Michelle La Croix now added her voice. She ruled Chesapeake. “But, as strange is it may seem, I agree with Lord Takagi. He is right. The impasse will not last forever. All we need is someone to take the vacant seat of Virginia Beach itself, as our friend Thomas has taken Newport.”

Sitting silently to her left was the Nosferatu, Thomas Calderon. He said nothing, even as his name was called. His eyes never left Maximilian, who was his sire.

The sixth and final member of the council was a childe of Ernie and like him, insane. But this one’s madness manifested differently than his sire. Utterly deluded that he was, in fact, the famous playright, he went by the name of Shakespeare. Like Calderon, he said nothing.

“And in these six months since the death of the Prince, none have been bold enough to try.” Reminded Maximilian to Michelle. "The seat of Virginia Beach was vacant, because it had been Lazarus’ seat. Whoever claimed the title of Primogen of that city was not automatically Prince, but they would have the power to sway the council. And neither Maximilian nor the followers of Lazarus were eager to see that seat in the hands of the other side.

In their current venue, that seat was a literal reality. They had gathered, as they had for each month since the death of Lazarus, in the conference room on the upper floor of Nightstyles, once a thriving nightclub on the boardwalk of Virginia Beach. Lazarus had acquired it a few years back from its previous owner (a drug pushing Daeva who had met a similar fate as the twins), immediately closed it down, but still used the property as neutral ground and a place of meeting. In the conference room was a single table around which were set seven chairs. Six now held the present Primogen and the seventh remained empty, like the chair of Elijah at a Jewish seder meal.

For six months, that chair had always been empty and the stalemate continued. All the Kindred of the city knew that whoever dared to sit upon it would not only likely break the stalemate in the council, but they would paint a large bullseye upon themselves as a result. Thus, none had come forward.

Until tonight.

The heavy door of the conference room swung open violently with a bang, a noise that startled even the cold stare of Calderon to it. Francois du Bois entered boldly. As the sheriff of the city and the former Prince’s bodyguard, Francois was no stranger to these proceedings. He had often been tasked by the council to deal with some interloper or lawbreaker. But he came tonight without invitation.

“And speaking of loyalty to our beloved and late Prince...” commented Michelle sardonically.

Francois ignored her and made his way to the empty seat. He sat down.

“A bold gesture.” Observed Maximilian.

“Is this a symbolic gesture or merely a pragmatic one?" demanded Hiroshi. "Are you claiming that chair and all its responsibilities, Francois?”

“I am, mi’lords.”

“Then shall we take a vote upon who will rise to be our new Prince?”

“No.” That came from Francois.

“Excuse me?”

“If you take a vote, I will abstain and your stalemate will remain. I claim this chair and its authority for one purpose and one purpose alone. I no longer doubt that the killer of Prince Lazarus sits within this very room. I come for justice. For vengeance. To see that Kindred burn in the light of the sun.”

“This reminds me of something.” Said Shakespeare, speaking for the first time that night. “Ah, yes, to be or not to be...”

“I did not come here to match wits with this fool.”

“That is wise. You would be badly outmatched.” Claimed Shakespeare.

“Enough!” barked Hiroshi. “If there is no vote, then our business is done this night. We meet in one month’s time here again.”

“And let us hope that we will be one short again.” Added Francois. “For let us hope I found this murderer by that time.”

“You play a dangerous game, Lord Francois.” Said Calderon as he stood up to depart. “Do you think the culprit so foolish as to allow you to provoke them in this way?”

“Do not presume, Lord Thomas, that I think you innocent because of your late coming to this body. You were swift enough to stand in for Lillian.”

“Do not try to intimidate me, Francois. You know I am no more guilty than that young pup who immediately claimed her properties and hunting grounds. You waste your threats. Mark my words. You will not sit that chair long.”

“I do not have to.”

---

Mike “Boar” Boorman took another sip of his beer and let the bass pound within his whole body. The dance floor was alive with bodies. In the six months since The Fox Club had come under “new management,” the whole place had changed. Outside street racing remained hot, but inside the new building, constructed quickly in February after the old was torn down, was not a bar, but a dance club.

As the pounding beats of a 2 Unlimited techno track came on, a hand grasped him firmly by the shoulder. He spun to see the face of his friend Michael. “Better than what we had in your old dingy apartment, isn’t it?”

Boar nodded. “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but this is grand.”

“Right place, right time.” Said Michael, somewhat evasively. “You know, you should go out and pick yourself one of those fine ladies and take her to one of the private rooms. That brunette over there is looking lonely, and she keeps looking over this way.”

“No thanks. Besides, those rooms aren’t exactly private.”

“Oh, come now. Mitch is already back in one with some blonde he picked up earlier tonight. You should be more trusting of me, after all we’ve been through. I would never film my friends.” That was one of Michael’s big secrets. The “private rooms” were used by the club’s clientele for illicit sexual encounters, but each was filled with hidden cameras. Michael filmed those encounters and sold them via computer BBS’s to people all across the country. The club was a front for a thriving business in pornography.

“Still, I’ll pass.”

“I miss the old Mike, the old Boar. You are not so fun.” With that jestful complaint, Michael headed off into the dancing crowd.

---

Eight months since that fateful night in Blacksburg, when Mathias rained unholy vengeance down upon them. Eight months since Boar and Mitch learned their true heritage, and yet they were together again. A new venue, a new battle, and new tools for them to use, but for all his teasing Michael did not truly understand that Boar was not the same as he once was. He could not.

Unbidden came the memories, undaunted by the flashing lights and powerful beats of the music in this new setting. Another hunt in the woods around Roanoke. Now side by side with Ami. But she seemed not herself. Slower, more distracted.

“What is wrong?” said Boar, shifting to human form for speech. “You can barely keep up.”

“Go on ahead. I’m only slowing you down.” She replied, shifting also from wolf to woman. Without pause, her hand grasped at her belly. “I’ve been sick.”

“Werewolves do not get sick.”

“Pregnant ones do.”

“Dear God! Is it true?”

Ami nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “They will know. They will know and they will come for us. This thing within me is no joy, no cause for celebration. No, as you’ve been told, when werewolves mate, what they conceive is an abomination of the spirit world. Not wolf. Not human. Not Uratha, but a blight and a monster. They will destroy us both for this travesty.”

“Then we will run away together.”

“And what tribe will take us? Do you think strangers will accurse us less than our own packmates? Go, my love. Now may be our only chance. You bear no mark of this sin. You may have a future yet among our kind. But me, I am damned.”

“I will not leave you. I love you.”

“And I you, but I will not have you go down with me. Together we are doomed. Apart, you still have a chance. Go! Go now!”

Boar could barely imagine what he was hearing. Their romance had been firey, passionate, and real. Ami was not like the others, the one-night stands, the party girls, the drunken conquests. His confession of love was sincere, and he felt his heart break within him.

“I...” Now his eyes moistened and words failed him.

“Go!”

He went, reluctantly. His heart now heavier than it had ever been. He traveled south, to old haunts. To Blacksburg.

Once, not so long ago, he would feared returning there. The woods were safe, but the city, the towns, these were the lands of Mathias and his victorious vampire allies. Mitch, Michael, Deborah, all dead or missing.

He wandered onto the campus of Virginia Tech in a daze. It had been a beautiful spring day, mid April. Warm and sunny, and many of the students were sunning themselves in swimsuits and bikinis upon the lawn next the Schultz Dining Hall. As he moved from there to the Upper Quad, a voice cried out.

“Boar? Mike Boorman, is that you?”

“Corwin?” It had only been months since he’d last seen his friend, Boar could scarcely recognize him, his mind so muddled by recent events.

“Dear God, you look like hell. What’s happened?”

Boar did not answer. But somehow, over the next hour, Corwin managed to get Boar out to Michael’s old cabin, now abandoned. “It’s not the cleanest place. Not exactly been kept up recently. But it’ll give you a place to stay. Anything I can get for you?”

“Booze. Help me forget.”

He drank himself into a stupor for a week. In his rare moments of sobriety, he often found Corwin checking in on him (and perhaps also when he was not sober enough to remember.) His wits muddled, his heart in agony, and his inhibitions gone, he told everything. That he was a werewolf, that he had fallen in love, and they had broken the worst of all the taboos of his new people.

And then the booze ran out.

Boar woke up with a hangover so bad he thought he had to get better to die. And again, Corwin was there. Another day passed, or was it two? Even now, as remembered these things sitting at the bar in The Fox Club, Boar could not remember clearly.

The next memory was him returning to town. He was still not himself, but he was sober and awake. There was a meeting at Macados. With Boar and Corwin were Karl and Geoffrey. Also present was Joshua Burke, the young hacker they’d all intimidated into joining Michael’s little club of thralls. It was the first such gathering of that club since the night Michael was taken by The Djinn.

“He’s alive.” One of them said. Joshua, Boar seemed to remember. “He’s contacted me. He wants to set up a BBS to sell videos.”

“What sort of videos?”

“Porn. He’s got some kind of deal in Williamsburg or Hampton. But he needs someone to set up a board for him.”

“That’s your line of work.” Said Geoffrey. “Why call us together?”

“Figured you guys would want to know Michael’s alive. You were his friends.”

“He’s in Hampton?” asked Boar, the first time he’d spoken that day.

“Yeah, I’m heading out this weekend. Going to meet him to talk business.”

“I’m coming with.”

And so he did, and now here he was.

---

Michael made his way across the dance floor, pausing briefly at various points to dance with several attractive women. Despite the appearance of their interest and availability, Michael found none of them appealing. His find was elsewhere, scheming for the future and inordinately pleased with his unlife.

Having Boar and Mitch back again was huge. To discover they were far more than the mere mortals he (and presumably Deb) had thought they were was even better. A wizard and a werewolf as allies! What a boon that was. Eight months since his flight from Roanoke and from Prince Mathias's justice, his allies were growing in number. Soon, he hoped, there would be enough to return in force to rescue Deborah and Rebecca, the latter of whom Michael was now convinced had survived somehow.

He had just about made it across the dance floor to where the back rooms (and the recording studio) were when a pair of hands came around his waist and stopped him cold. He knew those hands and the person to whom they belonged was one of the few things that could draw his thoughts away from his grand schemes.

The hands began to seductively massage his hips and crotch. Michael took one and brought it up to his lips for a playful kiss, and then turned around.

“You’re here.” He said to Leigh, his voice faint and nearly inaudible in the din of the music.

“Of course. Shall we dance?” She grabbed him and pulled him close. What followed was less a dance and more of two bodies grinding together, but it was not so different than what was happening all over that dance floor.

As the song ended and the DJ began another, Leigh reached up with her mouth to nibble on Michael’s ear. “Take me to a back room. I want you inside me.”

That was not a request Michael was inclined to reject. Taking her by the hand, he again made his way through the undulating crowd, this time without pause or hesitation. Emerging on the other side, he sought an empty and was thankful there was one left. He pulled Leigh inside and then gave her a playful shove onto the mattress on the floor. She fell back, spreading her legs and letting her already short club dress ride up all the more to give Michael a very pleasant view.

Michael grinned greedily and made an odd gesture in the air with his hands. It was a signal to the recording studio to turn off the cameras. Not only did Michael not film his friends, but he was not inclined to let himself be filmed either.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Said Leigh.

“Why? Do you really want dirty old men all over the country masterbating to you?”

“To have all those eyes on me as you ravage me? God, do you have any idea how wet that makes me?”

“Let’s find out.” He pulled down his pants and moved between her legs. He discovered she was very wet indeed.

She pulled up her tank to reveal even more of herself as he thrust in and out of her. The rooms were not soundproof, but neither could you hear much of anything from outside save the pulsating beats of the music on the dance floor. Michael kept rhythm and Leigh twitched in orgasmic delight.

His desire for her had not lessened over these past months. If anything, it had increased. Her affections for him seemed so genuine and that was so intoxicating, as it always was for him. The more she desired him, the more he wanted her. But a nagging fear began to fester in the back of his mind. She had always had her suspicions about him and his "story" to rationalize his refusal to answer those questions about him was flimsy at best. Early in their relationship, it didn't seem to matter. Leigh accepted his evasiveness in stride, but as time went on it got riskier and riskier. He would either say something taboo and put her life in danger by those who enforced the secrets of his kind, or she would eventually grow weary of that evasiveness and leave him.

No, Michael couldn't bear the thought of either of those things happening. To prevent those fears from coming to pass, Michael bound her to him. Now Leigh would be his forever.

Was her affection still genuine or just another trick of his vampiric power? That question nagged Michael from time to time, but in the passion of the present moment, he didn’t care. It was easy to forget those darker possibilities when she came to him so wanton, so hungry for him. With each thrust she seemed to become even more lustful, so much so that it seemed no amount of sex could satisfy her. She was insatiable this night and that was a challenge Michael was more than willing to embrace.

As he rose towards his own climax, the door to the room flew open. His anger flashed at the interruption and the Beast within him rose. He came off of Leigh and turned in rage upon he who had opened the door. A strong arm clamped on his neck and pinned him to the wall.

“Come back to yourself.” Barked Boar. And he did. The frenzy passed as fast as it came.

“I should have guessed. You’re the only one strong enough to do that to me.”

“You’re needed.” Said Boar’s companion. It was Mitch. “Outside.”

“What’s going on?” Michael pulled his pants up.

“You should come and see.” Michael didn't like the sound of that.

“Boar,” Michael commanded. “Take Leigh home.” He followed Mitch across the dance floor to the front of the club.

Outside, a crowd was gathering around the fallen form of a man, bloody and beaten. “What’s going on here?” Michael demanded.

Virgil, the street racer Michael befriended his first night at the Club, answered. “Dude just staggered down the street and collapsed here.”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“No, help me get him inside. Virgil, grab his legs.” Virgil did so, as Mitch and Michael took the man’s arms. They brought him inside. Michael barked a quick order to the bartender once inside, an order to close the Club early that night. They then continued past the bar to the stairs to the basement where Michael kept a small office.

They brought the man into the office, setting him down on the floor. Michael grabbed Virgil, “If anyone asks you, we called the police and they took care of this.”

“Right, boss.” Virgil was also now a thrall and would obey. He departed.

“You know him?” asked Mitch of the bloody man.

“I do. He is a vampire named Francois. Used to be the bodyguard of the dead Prince.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’d have turned to ash if he was. He’s in torpor sleep. Francois had a reputation for being tough as nails, shrugging off blows that would stagger even other vampires. For someone to beat him bloody like this is almost inconceivable.”

“I can try to find out what happened to him.” Offered Mitch. “See back in time.”

“Do it.”

Mitch opened Francois’ unseeing eyes and stared deep within them. “What secrets do you hold?” he asked aloud as he focused his will on bending the very fabric of time.

---

Mitch’s story of how he came to be reunited with his friends was, in some ways, no less tragic than Boar’s. He arrived in Charlottesville in early December. There he met the cabal of mages that called that town and the University of Virginia home. Foremost among them was Stanley Duncan and his apprentice Lisa King. Stanley ran a head shop in downtown Charlottesville and was a popular figure among the stoner crowd on campus. But it was all a front for one of the most powerful Acanthus mages on the East Coast to live, conduct his research into the mysteries of magic, and teach his apprentices.

Mitch took Darren’s advice to heart; cheat codes of the universe indeed. He was always pushing, trying new things. He had expected his studies to be something out of an old fantasy novel, books of spells, potions, and other trappings of fictional sorcery. He was most pleasantly surprised to discover it was more experimentation and practice than book learning, more like learning to play a musical instrument. So he practiced and he experimented, most often with Lisa, a cute short-haired freckled blonde that found him hard to keep up with. It did not take long for her to find her way into his bed, although Mitch had to admit he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t him finding his way into her's.

There was sex, drugs, booze, and magic, and it was not long before the horrors of the night of Mathias’ vengeance faded to dim memory. It was his life in Blacksburg all over again, only more so. It was not long before he learned to turn his powers on others in ways that always benefited him. He played the lottery and won often, but not so often as to draw suspicion. Lisa was not his only conquest; he soon learned a few simple rotes of magic that made anyone he desired open to his charms.

Life was a grand party, but it was not to last.

Beware the ides of March, the soothsayer once said to Caesar, and that date proved no less inauspicious to Mitch. For that was when they found Stanley, or what was left of him, hunched over in his shop, doing little more than drooling on himself.

They took him to UVA hospital, but the doctors could find no cause for his catatonic state. There was nothing physically wrong with him; no injury and all tests returned normal. But he was no more than a vegetable.

“This is magic.” Admitted Lisa. “But none I’m aware of or have encountered before.” So they called upon the rest of the cabal for an explanation.

It was Adrian Lott, a mage of the Moros path, a necromancer, who gave them an answer. “There is a rare and secretive branch of our path.” He said, as he examined Stanley’s comatose form. “We do not speak of them often, but they are called the Tremere. We have another name for them: Lich.”

“That’s the name of an undead monster in Dungeons and Dragons.” Offered Mitch.

“Yes, and like that fictional creature these mages are neither alive nor dead, but something in-between. They are much like vampires and often mimic them, but they command powers far greater than many vampires and most mages. Part of that is because they are functionally immortal and can have centuries to refine the mysteries we have but a single lifetime to learn.”

“Immortal? Really?” said Lisa.

“Yes, just as a vampire drinks the blood of humans to sustain his undying state so too does a lich require sustenance. But what a lich requires is more intangible. They drink souls. And that is what has befallen your mentor.”

Adrian continued his examination. “Most often, they drink of sleepers. But the aged and more powerful can take a soul from an awakened mage. I had heard rumors that a lich was in the region. Friends of mine in Washington were reporting strange ailments among the sleepers and then one of their own, a mage, was found much as you see Stanley here. The cabal in Washington tried to track it down, but it had fled the area. That was over a year ago. Now it’s here.”

“How can we fight something that hunts mages as this creature does?”

“The same way we fight a werewolf or a vampire or a mortal, with wit and will and strength. Surely by now you’ve learned that no matter how powerful you think you are, there’s always something greater. The top of the food chain is never where we think it is. Regardless, we must try. Once a soul is stolen, the lich will consume it slowly over time. If we can liberate Stanley’s soul from this lich in time, we can restore him to health.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then he will live out the rest of his days as you see him now. Losing your soul is not immediately fatal, as you can see. But once that soul is destroyed utterly, he will lie here like the brain-dead and merely endure until his body finally gives out.”

And so their search began. They quickly exhausted every lead in the Charlottesville area, discovering by doing so that this lich had again moved on. Lisa went south toward Roanoke, while Mitch made his way to Richmond and then to Tidewater. Adrian’s comments about liches acting like vampires led him to seek out the undead, not an easy proposition even for a mage who had prior dealings with them. But luck was ever Mitch’s ally and by chance, he came upon Solomon one night. From there, he soon found himself reunited with someone he had not expected to meet again: Michael.

They exchanged their stories and both found in the other’s tale possibility and opportunity. With the death of the Prince, Mitch learned that many new vampires had come into the Tidewater and it was quite possible that among their number was the very lich he sought. Michael found an old friend and a far more powerful ally than he had been before, and he pledged whatever aid he could to find the lich.

---

Mitch completed his incantation. “He was attacked by over a dozen young men with clubs, steel pipes, and the like. Crude weapons, but effective. Each of them bore an armband with a symbol upon it.”

“Can you show me that symbol?”

“Yeah, easy.” He grabbed a piece of paper from Michael’s desk. “A cross with arrows on each end. Like so.” He scribbled a rough approximation.

“Thank you. I have one more favor to ask. Help me get him into my reserve haven. There’s no telling how long he’ll sleep like this and it’s best that we keep him safe.”

“Friend of yours?”

“No, but not an enemy either. Someone did this for a reason, and I’d very much so like to know why. But they will try again and finish the job if they find him. Now take his arms and let’s get him someplace safe.”

---

Michael pulled his beat-up pickup truck into the driveway at the haven he shared with Solomon. Solomon’s bike was parked outside, so he knew his friend was home. He got out of the truck and paused to note a new patch of rust on the old vehicle’s body that he’d not seen before.

“Oh, well, something else to occupy a bit of my time.” He mused to himself. The truck was not glamorous, but it was functional, and most of Michael’s income he’d pumped into the club. It was a good base of operations. It made a name for him in the city and he would need both of those to get what he came for in this city.

Michael headed inside. Solomon was sitting in the living room, as if waiting.

“It is nearly dawn. I was beginning to think you would stay at the club today.”

“Not possible.” Said Michael. “There is a vampire in torpor within my chambers there.”

“Excuse me?” Solomon reacted with surprise.

“Francois. The old Prince’s bodyguard.”

“I had heard he had taken the seat of Virginia Beach on the council. Presumably to draw out the Prince’s murderer.”

“He was successful.” Michael dug into his pocket and pulled out the slip of folded paper upon which Mitch had drawn the symbol borne by Francois’ attackers.

“I don’t recognize it.” Admitted Solomon.

“I do.” Said Michael. “Over a year ago, back in Roanoke, I visited Ernie’s cult with Kris. That was the symbol in the sanctuary of his church.”

“Ernie did not kill the Prince. He had no reason to.”

“Does he need one?” asked Michael. Solomon’s silence in response spoke volumes. Michael continued. “Ernie wants me. Wants to make me happy. He said as much the night Lazarus died. He’s up to something, I swear it.”

“Ernie told us openly that he did not kill Lazarus.”

“And that may be the truth. But he’s milking this for all that it’s worth, offering it up as a gift... to me.”

“Does he truly think you’ll become Prince in Lazarus’ stead? He is really is mad.”

“I don’t know if that’s his goal or not. But as we could not trust him in Roanoke, we cannot trust him here.”

Solomon nodded.

To Chapter Two