Act One Chapter Nine - The End is the Beginning is the End

Michael pulled the Falcon to a stop outside the Fox Club. Sarah’s inconsolable grief had continued nearly the entire journey, but as they pulled into the club’s parking lot, it changed. Her sobbing stopped and her eyes regained their glint of madness.

“Fuck!” Michael thought to himself. “Bad enough for her to lose all those people that she loved, but now this…” Michael figured it was a defense mechanism, her mind trying desperately to shield itself from the onslaught of emotion.

“No, no, no!” Sarah repeated. “Go away. No! It’s not my fault.” She swatted at the air, as if trying to chase off a nuisance fly. Michael knew it was no insect that tormented her, but likely another phantasm of her schizophrenic mind. He decided to intervene.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. Her attention focused on him. “Sarah,” he said forcefully, but compassionately. “Stay with me. Look at me and stay with me.”

“The voices!” she said, her tone desperate and fearful. “I hear them. I hear them all. I hear them crying out from the grave. They say I did this. I killed them. I killed them all.”

“No!” Michael responded strongly. “Max did this and him alone. Don’t listen to their lies.”

“I can’t.” Sarah half-sobbed.

Mitch and Boar emerged together from the club and came over to the car. It was obvious to them something was amiss. “We need to get you inside.” Michael said, opening the car door and stepping out.

Mitch was right there as Michael disembarked. “We saw the news.” He said.

“She’s in the middle of a psychotic episode.” Michael explained quickly. “Help me get her inside.”

Boar opened Sarah’s car door and took hold of her. She began to fight him, scratching and struggling against him. Boar was a big guy, but in human form, his only advantage on Sarah was that of leverage. She was far stronger and proving a handful. He shifted into wolfman form to even the odds.

Michael moved around the car to join them. He took Sarah’s face in his hands as she continued to struggle against Boar’s now vice-like hands. “Sarah, it’s Boar. He won’t hurt you. We need to get you inside.”

“No, not in there. Not where they died.” She continued to struggle.

Mitch tapped Michael on the shoulder. “It’s entirely possible, given her perceptions, that she is, in fact, seeing some sort of Twilight spirit.”

“You mean, actual ghosts might be haunting her?”

“It’s possible.”

“But we can’t leave her out here. Boar, get her inside as best you can.”

Boar hoisted her off the ground and marched her inside, with Sarah kicking and struggling the whole time. The moment she crossed the threshold however, she went limp in his arms. Her voice went silent.

“She’s gone all catatonic.” Said Mitch.

“Take her downstairs.” Michael asked. “Don’t put her in the room Sammy and Angelica died in though.”

“I already figured that was a bad idea.” Boar half-growled in his wolf voice.

As Boar marched the limp Sarah downstairs, Michael turned to Mitch. “I asked you to get the coven out of there. Did you?”

“I warned them, as you asked. They refused to leave. They wouldn’t abandon her.”

“Damned thrall-bond. Loyal even unto death.” Michael pulled out a bar stool and sat down.

“You look tired.” Said Mitch. “I didn’t think you vampires could feel that way.”

“Physically, we can’t. But this isn’t fatigue. It’s world-weariness. I’m tired of getting my ass kicked.” Michael rubbed his forehead, as if trying to ward off a headache. “Stupid.” He growled. “I should have seen this coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“None of this is anything new. It’s the same strategy Max used to undermine Michelle. Kill all the thralls. Hell, we were the ones who did it for him back in the day. The tactics are different. He used brute strength with us. Now he’s got stealth and invisibility in these two new goons. I should have seen it coming. I counted too much on fear of Francois to hold Max in check. Should’ve known he’d eventually do something to take Francois out to give himself the free reign he needed.”

“We need to take back the initiative.” Said Mitch. “Problem is how.”

“Sarah and I had a plan, since she can see through their invisibility. But if she’s gone all batshit on us, that plan is useless now. Damnit,” Michael swore again. “it’s like he has a counter for every move we try to make.”

“He has been doing this for a lot longer than we have.”

“Ernie.” Said Michael bitterly. Mitch looked at him with a puzzled look. “Ernie rigged my whole rise to power. He toyed around behind the scenes, removed obstacles, thwarted my enemies’ plans. The whole game was rigged, all so he could offer me what he thought would make me happy. And when I didn’t want to pay his price, I tossed him away, not realizing how much of a buffer he was between me and my enemies. Without him, I’m just a child playing an adult game, full of delusions of grandeur. People have died for my hubris, Mitch. Virgil, the harem girls. You and Boar are next on Max’s hit list.”

“Don’t you go all defeatist on us now.” Mitch grumbled. “You’ve got us. Solomon. Julia. Maybe Drake too. We’re not licked yet.”

“All brute force.” Critiqued Michael. “Good in a stand up fight. Superior in fact, to the forces Max can rally, but no good against his stealth.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. Max can’t hide every ally.” A sly smile crossed Mitch’s face. “Think about it. We were told that Max stacked the deck of the primogen council with a bunch of sycophants, loyal to him. Valentine still has his seat, as does Damian. The rest are fair game. Remember, Francois is gone. The door is open for all-out war. Max has killed your thralls. You start killing his kindred. Start Hiroshi’ing their asses. Kill enough of them quickly enough and Max’s power base will erode. Show the kindred of the city they should be more afraid of you than of him and they'll turn on him in a heartbeat.”

Michael rubbed his forehead. “What is it with you people giving me kicks in the ass when I need them?” Michael sighed. “Maybe a better question is to ask why you all follow me when it’s clear I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing?”

“You know more than you think you do. You are stronger than you believe. Max is not stupid. He’s frightened of you, Michael, if you hadn’t already guessed. That’s why he’s hitting so hard. It’s time to hit back.”

Michael nodded, his resolve returning. “And I know where we can start. Come on. I have a little present out in the car.”

Mitch followed Michael out to the Falcon. Michael popped the trunk and grabbed the body bag within. “One staked kindred ally of Max coming up. TFV found him snooping where he shouldn’t have been and was kind enough to deliver him to me for ‘justice.’ This could be fun.” Michael’s last statement had a sinister edge to it that Mitch found mildly disconcerting, but he said nothing.

Michael had just reached the door back inside when Solomon pulled up on his motorcycle with Julia behind him. “You’re just in time.” Called out Michael.

“Saw the news.” Said Julia. “Was guessing that was Sarah’s place.”

“They said it was a suicide cult. Burned their own house down with everyone inside, just like Waco.” Added Solomon. “With all this Y2K apocalyptic bullshit, that won’t surprise anyone. But we know better. Max hit us again.”

“Virgil’s dead too.” Said Michael. “Found his butchered corpse at Nightstyles earlier.”

“How’s Sarah?” Julia asked.

Michael paused to find the right word. “Broken” was what he came up with. “She had a breakdown when she found out. Her mind is a mess right now.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But I do know I can hit Max back and I intend to. We start with this guy.”

They walked inside as a group. Boar was at the bar waiting for them, back to his usual human self.

“How is she?” Michael asked, dumping the body bag onto the floor.

“Same as when I brought her in. Just…” He waved his hand in front of his own eyes to demonstrate her catatonic state. “At least, she’s manageable that way.”

“No telling how long she’ll stay that way.”

“We are in serious violation of Max’s edicts right now. A mage, a werewolf, and four kindred together.” Said Julia. “If Max finds out…His spy could be here right now and none of us know it.”

“Five kindred. You miscounted, dear Julia.” Said Damian Drake, walking inside.

“One of these days, you are going to have to tell me how you do that. Popping in with a grand entrance at just the right moment.”  said Michael. “Let me guess…”

“Like pretty much anyone up at this hour, I heard about the fire.” Explained Drake. “Didn’t take much to guess Max had made another move against our august fellowship. Not to be so bold as to tell you what to do with yourself, Michael, but I think it’s time we hit back.”

Michael looked at Mitch. “Funny you should mention that. But I’m curious, Damian. The last time Max hit us, you suggested I run.”

“Run or fight.” Said Damian coldly. “Your choice. What you can’t do is stand here and do nothing as he picks you apart piece by piece. Hesitancy is the worst mistake you can make.”

“Agreed.” Said Michael. He turned to Julia. “And if Max’s minions are spying on us gathered together right now, he’ll see how serious we’ve become.”

“I have something to offer.” Interjected Damian. He motioned for them to come outside. They gathered on the porch. Parked next to Michael’s Falcon was a black Dodge van. Two men in black paramilitary uniforms stood outside, each wielding a futuristic-looking assault rifle.

“TFV.” Michael guessed.

“Indeed.” Said Damian.

“Are those the same folks that brought me our friend in the bag?”

“They are not.” Said Damian. “I made some inquiries after your phone call the other night. Turns out there was a second unit assigned to the area regarding the incidents at Langley. These are my people, and separate from your visitors at Nightstyles. Still, they are equipped with the latest and greatest that TFV’s minds can come up with. Those rifles use a special scope that will ping if it detects an obfuscated kindred. Gentlemen…and lady, we have a new weapon against Max’s minions.”

“Where can we get some?”

“The XM-8 rifles and the anti-vampire scope are state of the art. But the scope is a standard mount. It can be used on most any modern weapon and I can probably get them more easily than I can the guns.”

“Good.” Michael gave Damian a grateful pat on the shoulder. “I’m going to guess your offer comes with strings.”

“As it was last time I came to your rescue, let’s just say I’ll ask for favors to be named later.”

Michael wasn’t entirely sure any of his previous debts to Damian had been paid, but he kept his mouth shut. Damian gave him a devilish grin which soured Michael’s mood all the more. “Let’s see this fellow TFV was so kind to provide for you.” Said Damian.

The group headed back inside. Michael went to the bag and unzipped it, revealing its occupant to all of them.

“So is that…The Spy?” asked Julia.

“I don’t think so. Sarah didn’t recognize…”

“It’s not the Spy.” Said Solomon definitively. His face was a grim mask, a look Michael had never seen on him before.

“Do you know this kindred?”

“Dylan Green.” Said Solomon. “My one and only.”

“Your childe? Why, Solomon, I didn’t think you ever had one.” Said Damian.

“I pretend I don’t.” Solomon growled. He looked at Michael. “He’s not one of Max’s.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he belongs to Thomas Monroe. He’s the Hound of Philadelphia.”

“Hound?” Julia asked. They all remembered Solomon’s mention of that title at Nightstyles during Max’s last court: an officer of a Prince that does the dirty work the Sheriff can’t. “Why would the Hound of Philadelphia be here?”

“Perhaps you should ask him.” Said Damian. He walked over and yanked out the stake with a solid tug.

Life and vigor flowed back into Dylan’s face and body. He struggled briefly with the iron shackles before realizing that was futility. His eyes darted to each of them in turn, lingering longest on Solomon, before locking onto Michael.

“Michael Allens, I presume.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“Ernie’s toy. Wen Zhang’s childe. Grand-childe of Lucy Bonneville. Former primogen of Hampton. Slayer of the Mad Bishop and The Djinn. Yeah, you have a reputation that precedes you.”

“I wasn’t aware my pedigree was as renowned as my deeds.”

“Among some.” Dylan replied.

“Why are you here?”

Dylan’s eyes darted among the assembled again. He did not answer for a long time. “Body bags aren’t sound proof. And while I was unable to move while I was staked, I am fully aware of what you were just conversing. Drake gave you a choice, and yes, I know of him too. Fight Max or run from him. I can offer you a place to run to.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“No, but the reason I am here is because someone in my city has taken an interest in particular part of yours. Namely the Langley NASA research center in Hampton Roads.”

“So you weren’t on the base. You were at the NASA Center.” Said Michael. “That may explain TFV’s touchiness.”

“I don’t know precisely what the interested parties in Philadelphia are after down here. My personal explorations of the Center proved largely fruitless and got me taken prisoner to boot. But I can guess a few things. Whatever it is, it’s big. Big enough to involve a Federal agency and risk the wrath of TFV. Big enough to involve two cities.”

“Big enough to take down the third and final Great Elder.” Added Solomon.

“Yes.”

“And why would we want to stop that?”

“Because you need a place to run. Prince Maximilian has the lot of you by the balls and he knows it.”

“We have a place to run.” Said Michael.

“Back to Roanoke? That hardly seems fitting for kindred of your vaunted ambitions. Prove yourself to Prince Monroe and you’ll have glory, prestige, and power the likes of which Tidewater could never offer you. Even if you usurped Maximilian, you’d only have a tenth what you could have in Philadelphia.”

Michael looked at his allies in turn. Damian and Solomon seemed unconvinced. Julia, Boar, and Mitch were neutral, likely waiting to follow Michael’s lead. The offer WAS tempting. Philadelphia had a lot more to offer, and Monroe was either still in torpor or vulnerable as one newly awoken. Dylan might want to save his Prince, but Michael could try to finish him off.

To be not just primogen but Prince and prince of a city five times the size of Tidewater. Now that would be something.

But was that hubris again? Max had shown himself very much so the superior strategist. Wouldn’t Monroe or even his enemies be the same? Dylan was clearly buttering Michael up with all that supposed awe at Michael’s pedigree and deeds, no doubt for his own ends. Mitch, on the other hand, had spoken from the heart about Michael’s strength and skill, but both were seemingly in agreement. It was not overreach for them to believe Michael could handle and perhaps thrive in a city as large and vicious as Philadelphia. Boar and Julia would follow Michael anywhere. So would Sarah.

But Solomon likely wouldn’t go for it without that ambition. Michael could guess his disgust at Dylan had its origins in a falling-out between them, perhaps decades ago; A falling out between a revolutionary sire and a sell-out childe. As long as that reality overshadowed things, Solomon wasn’t going to buy anything Dylan was selling. But double-crossing Dylan as Solomon himself was likely once double-crossed by Dylan might make the case.

Damian, on the other hand, was a wild card. No telling what he was thinking. After all, he had TFV and the means to take the fight to Maximilian even without Michael’s help. That might be his choice, a choice that might be all the better for him, if Michael left without him. But he was also ambitious and no doubt he too saw the opportunity Dylan was offering.

Michael was about to speak his mind when a sharp pain shot through his head. It was as if something was attacking his mind, a psychic scream sent via telepathy. He’d never experienced anything like it and it staggered him right off his feet. He pitched forward to the floor, holding his head in agony. Then it faded nearly as fast as it came.

The others rushed to his aid, but as Michael came back to himself, he had only one thought on his mind: SARAH! He bolted for the basement door, launching himself from the floor like a track runner and willing the blood to give him haste.

He bounded down the steps, taking them three or four at a time. He hit the basement floor and rushed to the first door he could find. Empty. That was the room Angelica and Sammy died in. In the next, he found Sarah.

She was naked on the bed, her clothes torn to shreds about the room. Her body bloody and ravaged, in much the same way as Virgil or Terra or the others. But it was no intruder who had done this to her. In her hand was Michael’s wakizashi, its blade red with her own blood.

“Sarah!” Michael called out to her.

“Must. Silence. Them.” She gasped out before plunging the blade into her chest, right into her own heart. She drew it out again and a spurt of blood followed. She pitched back onto the mattress and lay still. Michael rushed to her. Her body went cold and her color ashen.

“My God.” Said Mitch in shock. “Is she?”

“No,” said Michael quietly. “No, we can’t die this way. She drove herself into torpor.” He took the blade from her hand. “We shouldn’t have left her alone.”

“There are easier ways to go into torpor.” Said Damian. “Aged kindred simply will it to happen. Why the bloody dramatics?”

“Guilt.” Answered Michael. “She holds herself responsible for the deaths of her coven.”

“When will she awaken?” asked Boar.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Said Michael grimly. “Weeks. Months. Maybe never. The last torpor she experienced drove her half-mad. What will this one do?”

“I’m sorry” was all Boar could answer.

Michael made no sound for a long moment. Then he spoke. “My decision is made. I’m going to Philadelphia with Dylan.”

“You’re being impulsive.” Said Solomon.

“Maybe I am.” Michael’s eyes were suddenly drawn back to the blood soaked bed. Next to Sarah’s body was a small stack of tarot cards. He flipped them face up, only to discover the exact cards of his earlier reading: The King of Wands, the Knight of Pentacles, and so forth. “Or maybe this is fate.”

He slid out the King of Wands. “I remake the world as I see fit.” He slid out the Knight. “Change comes through the arrival of one unexpected. He’s upstairs, bound in chains.” The Lovers was next, but he gave no explanation. In his mind, he remembered: Rebecca.

“You place way too much faith in a folk superstition.” Solomon continued to argue.

“And what do I have left to keep me here? Nightstyles is sold. Virgil and the harem girls dead. Sarah’s whole coven burned to death. Yes, I could fight. I could take Damian’s guns and start blasting Max’s allies to death one by one. But I’d still be one step behind him, still reacting to his moves rather than making my own. Better perhaps to start fresh.”

“Maybe so, but you have no idea what you’re facing. Tidewater, Roanoke, all of Virginia reflected and still reflects Mathias. Strict, legalistic, judgmental, the Nosferatu elder ran things tight and efficient. Max and his successors have done the same, even Deborah in her own fashion. But Monroe is nothing like Mathias.”

“He’s Lancea.”

“Yes, but he and Mathias have hated one another from the very start. Mathias, in spite of his various hypocrisies, was a true believer. Monroe is like a televangelist. Religion is a means to an end for him. Doubt he believes a single word of it. He’ll use it and anything else to expand his power. There’s a reason he’s considered the equal to Mathias and Ernie who are both at least twice his age. His schemes and plots make Mathias’s and Max’s seem like child’s play. As you yourself once observed, the domain reflects the leader. Everyone in Philly has their own agenda. Everyone has a plan and a scheme to obtain it. You think the kindred here are evil? Imagine these here without a single one of Mathias’ imposed moral imperatives. I know you’re ambitious, Michael, but you’re not ready for a place like that. It will eat you alive.”

“The others believe in me. Even your childe seems to think I have a place there.”

“And you’re going to take his word when it’s so obvious his ulterior motives?”

“I am not running back to Roanoke and there’s little left for me here to fight for.” He looked back at Sarah bitterly. “Not even her.”

“Whatever you decide,” Boar interjected. “We’re with you, Michael.”

“I am grateful for that.” Michael replied. He turned back to Solomon. “Solomon, I can ask you to join us, but you will make your own choice and I cannot force you to choose one way or the other. But consider for a moment the opportunity we have here. Mathias is dead. Ernie has been driven off and no one, not even you and other nomads, have heard word of him for years. There’s only one left. Imagine the kindred of the East Coast free of the Elders at last.”

“If we succeed…” Solomon replied incredulously.

“We?” Michael picked that up.

“Alone, you’ll only get yourself killed. I’ve been to Philly a few times and while I likely don’t know it nearly as well as Dylan, it’ll help.”

“Damian?”

“Well, I could certainly join you on this little adventure. One of the largest and most influential cities on the continent surely has more to offer than this little tourist trap here. And there’s also no question Maximilian’s gunning for me as much as he is you, perhaps even more so, since it’s likely he’s been planning this strategy for far longer than the tiny handful of weeks since your return. But I’m not one to back down from a fight and I stand to gain a great deal if I win. Prince Damian Drake has a nice ring to it. That’s a lot easier if you ain’t in the way either.”

Michael wasn’t convinced Damian was being completely honest. After all, the scheming Tremere had always shown a preference for being the power behind the throne rather than the person seated on it. But still, Michael WAS leaving and that opened Damian up to usurp Maximilian on his own and claim all the glory and power for himself.

“Well, your call.” Replied Michael. He moved to Sarah’s side. “I’m going to take her down to the water. Get her washed up. There should still be a coffin in the emergency haven in my office.”

“We’ll go fetch it.” Said Mitch. He motioned to Boar. They had just left the room when the tell-tale staccato of automatic weapons fire could be heard.

“My agents!” said Damian. He reached under his coat to draw his Old West Colt army revolver and dashed for the stairs.

Michael picked up the wakizashi and followed after. The rest of the group followed behind.

Damian paused when he hit the porch. The two soldiers were down, but no enemy could be seen. Michael and Julia shoved past Damian and went to their side.

The two were out, but not badly injured. Whatever had hit them had merely knocked them out.

“It’s the Spy.” Said Julia. “The Brute would have knifed them to death.”

“He must have been trying to sneak up on us to learn something and he set off one of the…” Michael grabbed up the assault rifle next to him and began to scan about with it.

The gun-sight chirped each time he passed the weapon over someone. Damian, Solomon, over each one the weapon registered the presence of a human form and chirped. Michael scanned about. If the Spy had been there, he was likely taken off guard by the weapon’s capabilities. If he was halfway decent at his job, he would want to know what that weapon could do. If he wasn’t, he’d be on the run, but how far would he get?

Michael scanned the road south. The weapon chirped again, only this time there was no one to be seen. Michael squeezed the trigger.

A long burst of fire ripped down the road and hit something. After a few impacts, the Spy lost his concentration and his stealth broke, revealing him to everyone. Michael willed the blood to his limbs, demanding preternatural haste, and he rushed up the road.

The Spy saw him coming and drew a machete. With a quick and skillful blow, Michael knocked the blade aside with his rifle. He tossed the gun away and grabbed the Spy by the throat. Sarah’s description of him was accurate. He looked like a tiny emaciated cancer child. Michael imagined the character Gollum in the Lord of the Rings books was probably not that far removed from the diminutive Nosferatu he now held fast in his hand.

“You!” said Michael, lifting his prey off the ground. The Spy struggled against Michael’s vice-grip. “You will be my messenger.” With his free hand, he drew the wakizashi from where he’d tucked it into his belt.

“This is for Terra.” He rammed it into the Spy’s gut. He drew it out again.

“For Angelica.” He plunged it in again.

“For Virgil.” Again.

“For Sammy.” He rammed it into the Spy’s crotch, likely castrating him.

“And this, this is for Sarah and her people.” He slid the blade under his thumb into the Spy’s throat. He cut to the left, then turning the blade and cutting right. The Spy’s head came off and he turned to dust as he hit the ground.

“Take the dust, put it in a box, and deliver it to Nightstyles.” Michael ordered to Mitch. “Leave it on the office desk. Write Max a note and tell him this is payback for all the suffering he’s brought upon us.”

“That’s half his new weapon.” Said Julia, stating the obvious. “We just scored a victory.” She paused. “Does this change…”

“No.” said Michael. “We are going to Philadelphia.” Michael looked at Damian. “You’re welcome. One fewer obstacle. Let’s see Max rule with an iron fist when one of his best weapons is ash.”

Damian smiled. “I may just consider one of your outstanding debts paid, my friend. May I do the honors of delivering this message?”

“Be my guest.”

“I am almost disappointed that you are going to miss all the excitement this little development will bring.” Said Damian. “Almost. Best of luck.” With that, the Tremere headed back to fetch his box.

-End of Act One-

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