The nights passed but Michael’s mood remained sour. He felt trapped and confused. What was he? A monster or not? A beast to be feared or one utterly powerless? He found no answers within the confines of his mind.
Michael marched grimly down Tom’s Creek, heading for downtown. It was the walk he did nearly every night from his haven in the woods into town. Like it had been for the past several nights, it was done with an almost mechanical frustration, like a soldier off to do his duty with great reluctance. He no longer found much joy in the willing arms of whatever student he enraptured with his powers. But feed he must and this was the easiest way to do it.
He cut a quick turn down Price’s Fork towards Turner Street, coming up towards his old dorm in Thomas Hall. He cut across to the left side of the street, towards the old convenience mart that he’d frequented during his brief stint as a student, thinking he might see Mitch or Boar there. There were not, so Michael continued on.
As he cleared the parking lot, two hands grabbed him somewhat forcefully and flung him into the small copse of trees between the convenience mart and its neighboring house. Michael skidded across a patch of fallen leaves and was ready to leap back to his feet for a fight when he saw that his “attacker” was Deborah.
“What the…” he started to say angrily.
“Just shut up.” She snapped, cutting him off. “I’m sick of your bullshit lately.” She popped open his jeans and yanked them half down his thighs. He was about to continue his protest when she took him into her mouth. He hardened immediately and decided to keep silent.
She worked him with her mouth for several minutes and then climbed up and slid him inside her. By now, Michael was enraptured in pleasure, although confused about Deborah’s rather spontaneous and hurried seduction. Her touch was overwhelming and he climaxed hard, harder than he had in months.
“Maybe now, that’ll put you in a better mood.” She said, running her hand affectionately down his cheek.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was, but not for the reasons you think.” She let out her breath in frustration. “Look, I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have been so blunt with you the other night.”
“You told the truth. I’m the one who couldn’t handle it.” Admitted Michael. “I still can’t.” His tone was despondent.
“Hush.” She said, putting her fingers across his lips. “I rushed you into the ugliest part of our existence and I shouldn’t have done that. The counter to what I told you is that our choices still matter. I should have made that clearer, but I figured you could reason that out on your own. That’s the secret of the cliché I told you.”
“Monsters we are, lest monsters we become.” Michael repeated.
“Yes. What monster will you choose to be to keep yourself from becoming the monster you do not wish to be.”
“Or are.”
Deborah nodded. “Yes. Or to keep yourself from being the monster you are. That’s what I wanted you to learn.”
“But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m alone and always will be.”
“Stop dwelling on that.” She said. “You’re not alone now. You’re with me.”
“A lie.”
“Is it?” she replied.
Michael looked at her keenly. “You're trying to backpedal on a truth you should not have revealed so soon. Little point in closing the barn door once the horses are gone.”
“Perhaps, but our choices still matter.” She took his hand and gave him an affectionate nibble along his palm. “Right now, I choose to be with you. If what we have now is a lie, then it is one I choose to believe. You can too.”
“Tempting, but ultimately empty.” said Michael.
“Pretending is sometimes all that keeps the ennui of the long years away.” She paused. “It's not the only way, but it works from time to time.”
“What are some of the others?”
“The Danse.” she said. "The ongoing struggle for power and prestige. To overcome our enemies.”
“Like you're trying to do with me and Ernie and Solomon against this unnamed foe. Building alliances. Purchasing weapons. Garnering favor.”
“Destroying your enemies provides a good distraction. Once you have some, that is.”
“I have one.” he said.
“Ah, yes. That mortal girl who broke your heart. Rebecca, I believe was her name.”
“Yeah.” Said Michael weakly. “You know, the more I think about it, the less what she did bothers me. After all, I have any woman I want now. I have you and Kris and anyone else I choose to turn my charms upon. Not entirely sure she really qualifies as an enemy anymore.”
“Oh, please.” said Deborah incredulously, almost mockingly. “You honestly think I’d believe that after all you’ve done.”
“All I’ve done?” There was confusion in his voice.
“Have you forgotten what you did, the day she left you?” Her voice was teasing, playful even. “The way you lost your virginity that night. Not exactly the stuff of romantic daydreams. If I’d been anything but Kindred, you’d have split me in two. Don’t tell me that fire has gone out. It’s a lie and you know it. Our dead frat boy is proof. Why did he die? Why did you kill him?”
She let the question hang, but didn’t expect an answer. Michael did not provide one.
“There is the truth and then there are the lies we desperately want to believe. Tell me or yourself or anyone what you chose, but there’s no denying that your anger drives you, Michael. Your fury at the world around you. Your rage at losing what could have been.”
“You said yourself that path would be denied to me under any circumstance. I was, even before my embrace, a monster.”
“And is that fair? Imagine even a little grace on her part. Then what? She could have overlooked those flaws in your character. Instead, she held them against you and used them as rationale for her betrayal. Are you really going to leave her unpunished for that?”
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”
“In truth, because your anger is becoming a liability.” she said frankly. “You're no good to me dead and too many more dead frat boys will force Mathias' hand against you. And since you are still my childe, it will move against me as well. Better to give you the means to resolve your frustrations rather than have you try to rationalize them away as you've been doing. The simple truth is, Michael, it's not working and there's a moldering corpse in the Blacksburg morgue to prove it.”
The two of them looked in each others eyes for a long moment. “I know what you want. I know what you fear.” Said Deborah. “But what you did the other night is not the way to go about it. Master your anger and you will discover true power. Channel it into a goal, a purpose. Randomly killing any jerk who ticks you off only makes you an animal, a mindless beast. Meticulously destroying a hated enemy, bit by bit, that makes you Kindred. My question to you, which will you choose to be?”
“I am a vampire.”
“Then act like one. Bring Rebecca here and prove it.”
-----
“Alright, you've seen exhibition shooters before, right?” asked Solomon, scooping up about a half dozen clay pigeons from a box.
“On TV a few times.” said Michael. His training had progressed beyond melee weapons and hand-to-hand techniques into firearms. Thus, they had come to a secluded clearing within Jefferson National Forest, somewhere off I-81 between Roanoke and Blacksburg. There, Solomon had pulled out a variety of guns: rifles, shotguns, and pistols. Plus a few blades in case they decided to spar a bit before finishing.
“This is one of their tricks.” Continued Solomon. “For a human, this is a very difficult shot. With your vampire reflexes and senses, you should be able to pull this off without too much trouble.” He tossed the pigeons skyward, then fast as lightning, brought the shotgun in his other hand to his shoulder, fired off six shots, and hit all six pigeons before they hit the ground.
Michael stood their dumbfounded. Solomon smiled at Michael's look. He reloaded the shotgun. “We'll start you easy. Semi-automatic shotgun with birdshot. With practice, you'll be able to do this with pump shotgun, then slugs, then rifle and pistol. And if you can pull off this trick, shooting at live targets will be a piece of cake.”
He tossed the shotgun to Michael. “Two rules for fighting with a gun when you're Kindred. The first is to take your time. With your reflexes and senses, you can afford a bit of hesitation to set up your shot. Remember that in order to do this trick.”
“And the second?”
“Bullets don't really hurt, so if your enemies are shooting back at you, there's little need to flinch or duck or let that rattle you. No need to rush things to get a shot off before they do. Odds are good you'll do that anyway, but even still...unless they're using a mini-gun like the guy in that Predator movie, there's nothing to fear in their firing back at you. Now, let's try the trick shot.”
“Ok.” said Michael hesitantly. He scooped up the pigeons, tossed them in the air. He brought the gun to his shoulder with the same fluid motion as Solomon had. He fired. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! He got four of the six before they hit the ground.
“Not bad.” said Solomon. “Told you it wasn't that hard. Humans practice that trick for years before mastering it. And yet, on your first shot, you took down two-thirds of the pigeons. Reload and try again.”
It wasn't five minutes before Michael had mastered the trick. Then, as promised, he moved up to the pump shotgun. Now he had to pump each round out of the chamber between shots. That proved a more difficult challenge. It took Michael nearly an hour to get that one down.
“Alright, we've squeezed off enough rounds for one night.” said Solomon, starting to put away the guns, ammo, and what few clay pigeons he had left. “We'll spar for a little while with the swords.”
“You missed a box.” said Michael, picking up a stray box of ammo, .44 magnum pistol rounds to be precise.
“That one stays out.” corrected Solomon. He drew his Ruger Blackhawk revolver from his belt and opened the cylinder. “Check them out.” he said, as he dropped the loaded rounds from the cylinder.
Michael drew the bullets out of the box and immediately noticed their unusual color. “Those aren't standard rounds.”
“No, they're not. They're a precaution. We're out in the woods and there are certain things out here that might see our practice as encroachment on their territory.”
Michael put two-and-two together. “Silver bullets.” he said.
Solomon nodded. “Bane of werewolves everywhere.” He started slotting six new silver bullets into his pistol. 'I should have done this when we got here. I let myself get distracted.”
“Are they common?”
“Werewolves? No supernatural being can be considered common on this earth, but they are around here. Prince Mathias has had his dealings with them. Deals made. Favors traded. Treaties signed. The forest is theirs. And while our presence here will likely go unnoticed, it never hurts to be prepared.”
Michael felt both a sense of excitement and a sense of fear at the possibility of an encounter with a skinchanger. He picked up a sword, and gave it his characteristic twirl.
“I keep telling you not to handle your weapon that way.” said Solomon. “This isn't Hollywood.”
“It hasn't hurt my chances against you.” said Michael with a bit of bravado. “I'm up to 50/50 against you.”
Which was true. “Then, I suppose I will have to alter that ratio a bit tonight. Get it back where it belongs.” Solomon lunged with a powerful thrust, one Michael just barely parried.
They went back and forth, slashing, thrusting, parrying blows. Michael's skills had improved considerably and Solomon found beating him, while certainly still possible, was far more difficult than it used to be.
After a match that left the two of them battered and bruised as always, Solomon turned to Michael. “Alright, it’s time you at least got the book lesson on decapitation. Obviously, this is something we can’t practice, so you’ll have to try to apply what I tell you to the real world on your own. Again, forget all the Hollywood stuff you’ve learned. Taking a man’s head is not easy, not even for the sharpest of blades. It’s a matter of historical record that even Madame Guillotine often took multiple hits to end the lives of the French nobility. And that was against a stationary target.”
Solomon pulled out a katana. “For lighter blades, one of these is probably your best bet. Or you could go the route of our friend, The Djinn, and use a heavy blade. He carries a tulwar, but a machete or any other large hacking blade will do. The first trick is to hit the neck, not always easy on a moving and dodging target. The second is to get through the vertebrae, which are thicker and denser bones than just about any other.”
“So they neither break nor cut easily.”
“No, the bones of the arm or leg are either thin enough to be cut or brittle enough to shatter under the blow of a sword. The bones in the neck will not give so easily. Now, mind you, a strike to the neck by any sword, even if it doesn’t decapitate, will likely kill a normal human. There’s way too many vital things in there that they cannot survive without. A vampire or skinchanger on the other hand can survive such a strike; the vampire because all those vital things aren’t vital anymore and the werewolf because they can heal the wound so fast it’s like they weren’t even hurt.”
“So aim true and swing hard or it’s my funeral.”
“Basically. Now, let’s go again.” Solomon switched back to his other sword and came at Michael hard. Thrust, parry, slash, and Solomon found he had gained the initiative against Michael. First time tonight and now he was doing to take advantage. He pressed his attack. Michael stumbled on a tree root and Solomon was about to deliver a faux coup de grace to end the skirmish when he stopped mid-stroke.
“I hear it too.” said Michael, coming to his feet. “We’re not alone.”
Two burly men emerged from the woods into the clearing. They looked to the casual observer to be nothing more than typical western Virginia rednecks, but there was a feral look in their eyes that said to Michael he'd just gotten his earlier wish about meeting some of the other denizens of the night.
“Evening, gents.” said Solomon.
“You're intruding, bloodsucker.” The tone was unmistakably hostile.
“We were just leaving.” Solomon gave Michael a telling look, but said nothing else.
“You come on our land. You become fair game.” With that, the man growled out a noise no human should be able to make. His skin seemed to ripple and morph, and within seconds where a man once stood there was the largest wolf Michael had ever seen.
His companion also began to shift, taking on the form of a giant man-wolf, nearly 9 feet tall. And for the first time since his turning, Michael felt fear.
Beside him, he saw Solomon tense up, ready for battle. His fingernails lengthened as he consciously used one his vampiric powers. Michael, absentmindedly, twirled his sword.
The two vampires faced off with the two werewolves. And then, in a split second, everything exploded into violence.
Michael couldn't remember who “blinked” first, but he did remember the man-wolf charging towards him. But Solomon tackled the giant and knocked him aside. Michael lunged forward but was taken off his feet by the wolf. He brought his foot up and landed a solid kick in the gut of the werewolf, launching it over his head.
Michael came back to his feet as the wolf leaped again. This time, Michael was ready. He dropped backwards, and brought his sword up with a powerful thrust. Just as the wolf reached him, his sword pierced flesh. He gave the sword a hard yank to the left and felt it cut through. He dashed to his feet to see the wolf at his feet, half decapitated and yet still moving.
“Solomon was right. It’s not as easy as it looks in the movies.” Thought Michael, swinging his sword around in a long arc. Before his very eyes, he could see the savage wound on the werewolf’s neck closing again, but it did not finish before Michael’s blow connected with the side of its neck and cleaved through to what remained of it. The wolf’s head came loose and bounced on the ground at Michael’s feet.
One down. One to go. Michael turned to see Solomon sorely pressed by the giant man-wolf thing the second skinchanger had transformed into. With his vampire claws, Solomon had given the werewolf a number of nasty scratches across its belly and chest. Despite the ugliness of those wounds, the werewolf was not stopping.
Michael charged forward and sank his sword deep into the man-wolf’s side. It howled in shock and pain, and then gave Michael a solid backhand which sent him flying. Michael landed hard on his upper back and then tumbled over to land flat on his belly. Although he’d sustained numerous injuries in his sparring bouts with Solomon, this blow hurt worse than all of them combined. How hard did the werewolf hit him?
Despite the injury, he knew he couldn’t leave Solomon to face the monster alone. He popped to his feet and went looking for his sword. It was at that point that the second werewolf determined enough was enough. His companion dead and now facing two well-equipped and well-trained vampires, he decided discretion was the better part of valor. With a mighty leap, he bounded over Solomon’s head, shifted into the form of a normal sized wolf, and dashed off into the night.
“Are you alright?” Michael asked of Solomon.
“I’ve been better, but I’ll live. What happened to the second?”
Michael gestured to the body of the werewolf he’d killed. It had shifted back to human form and was now a naked decapitated man on the forest floor.
“Fuck me. You took down a skinchanger?”
Michael shrugged. “What choice did I have?”
“We should have lost that fight. Vampires are usually well outmatched by werewolves. And yet, there’s hardly a scratch on either one of us.”
“Guess they fucked with the wrong pair of vampires.”
“Guess so.” Said Solomon. “Damn, you even took his head like I taught you.”
“Luck helped.”
“I’ll take it.” A loud howl pierced through the night. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back with more friends.”
-----
“War!” screamed the youth. He was no more than 17, but carried with him all the energy and impulsivity of his age. “They dare come onto our land and slay one of our own.” He was one of several, perhaps a dozen, individuals encircling a large bonfire deep within the forest. They came from all walks of life. Some were clearly rural, wearing the dusty clothing of farm workers or forest residents. A handful were dressed more sharply, marking them as urban folk, a mix from Blacksburg, Roanoke, and Christiansburg.
“The vampires grow stronger.” Said another. “They have created at least three more of their kind in the last twelve months. They have spread their filth into Blacksburg and now encroach upon our forests and wilds. The young one is right, we must retaliate! Before it is too late.”
“And die under the fangs of the ancient one.” Retorted a third. “You forget they are ruled by one who has seen uncounted nights, whose bodyguard walked the earth when the tales of Robin Hood and King Arthur were first being written.”
“Your fear is misplaced.” Said the leader, a venerable but still vigorous werewolf named Tyler. “With our strength combined, we are a match for any of them, even their decrepit misshapen prince.”
“A man is coming.” Said the woman at the chief’s side. As if on cue, there was a flash and within the circle stood Professor Nolan Baranski.
“You mock our sacred ways by your presence, mage.” Snarled Tyler. “You are not welcome here.”
“You don’t exactly keep appointments with wizards, great chief. Thus, I must disturb you at odd times. Normally, I would respect your people’s ways, but the urgency of this matter necessitated a more direct approach. This is a war moot and you need what I offer to make its decisions wisely.”
“You have nothing we want.” Retorted Chief Tyler. “And I should gut you for daring to intrude on this hallowed ground.”
“Do you really want to test what I’m capable of?”
“You couldn’t stop us all, Doctor.” Said the youth.
“Perhaps not, but I can assure you that your belligerent plans against our common neighbors will be far more difficult if you try anything. Who wants to lay bets on how many of you I can roast in your own juices before you cut me down?”
“Enough!” barked Tyler. “We know your ways, and your power. What do you offer?”
“An exchange, of sorts. Call it a token of good will between our peoples.”
“An exchange of what?”
“Information and mutual assistance. Within the circle of the vampires in Blacksburg travel seemingly normal mortals. Thralls they call them. But one of them, as I’m sure you know, is a cub, an unblooded werewolf, ignorant of his heritage and true potential. He is not alone. There is another, a friend of his, who has shown the potential to be one of our kind.”
“They are vampiric thralls.” Spat Tyler with a sense of disgust. “Tainted and worthless. They are bound slaves to their vampire master and useless to us and to you.”
“We both know that when they awaken to their true selves the bond of blood will break. You may be willing to discard one of your own, but I am not. Your war plans endanger our own fledgling.”
“What matter is that to us?”
“Do you really want to battle on two fronts? Against the vampires and the magi? Besides, I wonder if all of your pack shares your disdain for this unblooded cub. He’s an innocent, or worse, a victim of their treacheries. Will you not rescue him?”
“Mind your courtesies, mage.” Snarled Tyler. “You are not welcome here and you are certainly not allowed to question my judgment in these matters. I lead this pack, not you. He is a vampire’s plaything and he is condemned for that reason. Let him die with his masters.”
“Bravado robs you of logic, Chief Tyler. If you can kill his masters, you can rescue him. Surely, he’s not beyond redemption.” Nolan looked about and could see the assembled werewolves in the circle mumble among themselves. “Stay your hand, mighty chief, and we will work with you to ensure that both your cub and our fledgling mage are safely rescued from those who would enslave them. Do not continue on this violent course, both for you pack and for the younglings you would so callously sacrifice.”
“You go too far, wizard. I forgave your first attempt to question my leadership, but my grace has limits. You dare to try to plant seeds of dissension within my pack and at a moot of my calling!” Tyler jumped to his feet and immediately began to morph into a massive man-wolf.
Baranski was ready. As Tyler leaped forward in what would be a massive tackle, the mage simply vanished.
He reappeared on a hillside about a half-mile away, next to his waiting apprentice, Darren.
“They sound mad.” Observed Darren. The howls in the distance were loud and furious.
“Their chief should be. I deliberately embarrassed him before his pack. And werewolves tend not to be the forgiving sort.” Said Baranski.
“What did you hope to accomplish by this?”
“Tyler is a bitter old bigot. His hatred of the vampires blinds him and makes him willing to sacrifice his own needlessly. Hopefully, his own have now seen that clearly. With luck, one of his subordinates will now challenge him for leadership. Undoubtedly, at least one of the others now questions whether it is right and just to simply abandon one of their own because a vampire has forced their way into his life.”
“And how does that help us?”
“Oh, a lot of different ways. A more open-minded chief will probably be more amenable to diplomatic relations with our kind, but regarding our immediate concern, he will be far less likely to go in 'guns blazing' as it were.”
“And if Tyler overcomes their challenge?”
“The distraction will keep him occupied for a while. Long enough, I hope, to figure out a way to get our boy out before the wolves slaughter him in an orgy of blood. Besides, if I know anything about vampires, there's an orgy of blood coming the tribe's way anyway.”
-----
Deborah paced back and forth somewhat nervously. “This is disturbing to put it mildly.”
Ernie nodded. “Yep, the puppies and the wizards together. It didn't look like they were too happy, but they were talking.”
“How do you know all this?” challenged Michael.
“I saw them.” replied Ernie. His tone changed, becoming more formal. He'd switched personalities mid-stream again, responding to Michael’s mistrust.
“How?”
“I thought it wise to learn their plans after the skirmish the other night. So I crept up on their ritual circle under the cover of shadow and listened in.” Ernie looked angry, defensive. “Something I would not have need to do if you hadn't slaughtered one of them.”
“We didn't have a whole lot of choice.” said Solomon, defending Michael.
“And then there's your part in this, Solomon.” said Ernie, his voice like ice. “Nowhere else in all our territory for you to take him for your belligerent exercises than land belonging to one of our most dangerous enemies?”
“I don't need to apologize to you for my training techniques. Mortal police tend to frown upon discharging firearms within city limits. Explain how I’d keep the Masquerade safe doing that?”
“Enough.” barked Deborah. “I'm content to take Ernie's report at face value. But why the mages? The werewolves don't get along any better with them than they do us. And this isn't their fight anyway.”
Ernie shrugged innocently. “Something about a cub.”
“A young werewolf is still no concern of the mages.”
“This cub has a friend: A wizard fledgling.”
“An unawakened mage and a cub werewolf together?”
“And both of them, thralls to a vampire. One of us.”
“Cause for war.” said Solomon. “Above and beyond what we did the other night.”
“Who are they?” asked Ernie. “Who's the cub and the baby wizard? Whose thralls are they?” He glowered at Deborah, expecting an answer.
“You don't know?” said Michael.
“They didn't confide that much openly. I got the sense I was the only one there who did not know who they were talking about.”
“Regardless, hell is coming.” said Solomon. “War with the werewolves will be unpleasant.”
“And worse if the mages ally with them.” Added Ernie. “You need to cut these thralls loose. Eliminate the reason for the conflict.”
“You presume they’re mine?” said Deborah. “Michael has his, as do you. Without knowing who they are talking about, how are we to proceed? No, I say we let them bring their war.”
“What?” exclaimed Solomon.
“It's an opportunity.” said Deborah. “The Prince will be distracted and we can make our move. There will never be a better time.”
“Fear of Mathias is one of the few things that keeps the werewolf threat in check.” argued Ernie. “They'll move to overrun us if we take him down now.”
“So he is the enemy.” said Michael; His answer had come at last.
“Yes, you've learned everything you need to face him and his allies.” said Deborah. “We had planned to bring you up to speed tonight anyway, but Ernie's news complicates things.”
“This is not the time for rash action.” interjected Ernie fiercely. “Rashness is what has brought this upon us in the first place. Unvetted thralls, a dead werewolf, and now you want to move against the Prince immediately. No, there are too many variables. I'll have no part in this.” With that, he marched out of the apartment.
“He may be right.” observed Solomon. “This is delicate situation and I'd be more inclined to side with the Prince when a werewolf war looms. Killing him now leaves us all vulnerable.”
“Maybe that’s what Ernie wants. He’s not telling the whole story.” observed Michael.
Deborah looked at him keenly. “Why do you say that?”
“He can read minds. And if those werewolves and mages had no cause to think they were being observed, I presume he could loot their brains at his leisure. And yet he didn't. Why not? I doubt they could innately resist his powers. For one, Ernie is nearly a thousand years old as best we can guess. His power should be far beyond what those werewolves and mages could resist. And yet, he tells us nothing of what he read in their thoughts.”
“You don't trust him.” said Deborah.
“No, I don’t. There's something fishy about all this. Sure, I can imagine the werewolves being angry at the killing of one of their own. But to have them and the mages stalking us because we've enthralled one of each is a stretch. And let's be honest. We know exactly who the prime candidates are: Mitch and Boar. Ernie probably knows of your discovery of Boar’s odd blood and Mitch’s uncanny luck and has woven a story that fits those facts.”
“So you think the whole thing's a lie? The whole story just made up?” said Solomon.
“It could be. The question is why.” said Michael. “And I think I know that too.”
Deborah gave him a quizzical look. Michael continued. “I don't know if you've noticed but Ernie shows an almost unhealthy interest in me personally. He hovers a little too close, is always excited to see me. And when Kris and I visited his 'church' last Christmas he essentially propositioned me. And has done so since. I've been dismissing all this as pieces of his crazy personality but maybe there's a method to the madness. Maybe Ernie wants me for himself. Isolating me from the two people I know who bridge between my life before and my life now would only benefit that.”
“Perhaps,” said Deborah, “I’ve certainly noticed his interest in you, but like you I’ve not given it too much heed. After all, any guesses as to what he’s up to are probably moot. Who are we to try to figure out the mind of a thousand year old lunatic?”
Solomon shrugged. “It's as plausible as anything else, I suppose. Regardless, Michael is right about one thing. Ernie did not tell us the whole story. There’s no reason he wouldn’t know the minds of those he was spying on. And he did not tell us.”
“Mark one in the ‘Lying through his teeth’ column.” Said Michael confidently.
“You’re learning how the game is played.” Complimented Deborah. “Still, Ernie’s known for his theatrics and few of us volunteer information of this sort for free. That he told us anything is probably a mark in the ‘May be the truth’ column. He told us this without extracting a favor; Ernie probably thinks this information too important not to be shared.”
“But he did not disclose all of it.” Michael wasn’t sure now if this wasn’t another exercise. To see if he could discern the truth of the matter.
“No, but perhaps he didn’t have to. It didn’t take you long to discern who our most likely mage-and-werewolf pair are. It may be a lie, as you say, but it’s a good one because it does fit the facts. Fits well enough to be the truth.”
“All this is academic.” Said Michael impatiently. “What are we going to do now? Challenge Mathias or stand by his side against the werewolf onslaught? Do we hold fast to Boar and Mitch or cut them loose somehow?”
“All good questions.” Interjected Solomon. “It may be theatrics, but I think we have to presume that we've lost Ernie's support for the time being. It would be unwise to move against Mathias without him. And since we don’t know if the threat of war is real or not, it would probably be good to take a wait and see attitude. Odds are good the werewolves will make a move against us soon enough. They’re not exactly known for subtlety. Or patience.”
“If they do,” added Deborah, “We’d better hope there's a deity up there who's favorable to vampires.”
Act Two Chapter Three
No comments:
Post a Comment