Act Two Chapter Ten - Lady Marmalade

Michael spent most of the rest of that evening cleaning the beach house. It was mundane work, mindless work, but it gave him time to calm his thoughts and sort out the confusion from his torpor. What Solomon had said proved right, his mind began to clear as time passed.

Curiosity was in the midst of those thoughts however. He had guessed that Solomon and Deborah had been lovers at one time, and Solomon had given that no reply to either confirm or deny Michael’s suspicions. That deficiency gnawed at Michael. He knew Deborah’s story, or at least a good bit of it. He did not know Solomon’s and he wanted to.

Finding no particular moment to be better than any other to satisfy this longing, he simply blurted out at one point. “So was I right?”

“About?” replied Solomon.

“You and Deborah.”

“You were.” He replied. “It was a long time ago and that part of our relationship is long over.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“I do have moments where I miss it, yes.” admitted the Gangrel.

Michael took another leap of faith, seeing as Solomon seemed open to admitting to what was once kept in secret. “Were you the one that rescued her in San Francisco?”

“Clearly your torpor has worn off. That sharp little mind of yours is back at work.” Said Solomon with an amused grunt. “Yes, that was me.”

“It’s just that I know my sire’s story, her background, her origins. Yet I know next to nothing about the ally to whom I now owe my life. I know you are a good fighter. Loyal, perhaps to a fault. But what’s your story, Solomon? Where do you come from?”

“Has it not occurred to you that perhaps I don’t want others to know?” said Solomon gruffly.

Michael shrugged. “What’s the harm in asking? I’m never going to learn anything if I don’t.”

Solomon looked Michael over, assessing the younger vampire in his mind. For a long while, it seemed the conversation was over, but then Solomon spoke.

“1870. That was the year Geoffrey Solomon White was born the heir to Earldom of Bantry in Ireland. My father died when I was an infant and my mother when I was a young child, so what was a bored member of the Irish nobility to do with himself? Young, adventuresome, and foolish, I wandered the continent. Landed in Paris in 1889, the year of the Exposition Universelles and the debut of La Tour Eiffel.” Solomon rattled off the French phrases with the pronunciation of a fluent speaker.

“Moulin Rouge?” interjected Michael.

“Saw it open. I was there. I was particularly fond of it in those days, a young man with young man’s desires and more money than sense. It was there in that lauded place that my real life began.”

“That’s when you were Embraced?”

“No, actually. But it is where this upper crust Irishman first really came in contact with the salt of the earth. It’s hard for me to describe those days, what were called the Belle Epoque. A time of wonder, and yet also a time of horrible exploitation. You saw it all in Montmatre, the neighborhood of Paris where the Moulin Rouge still stands today. It was there that I cast off my high-born name and began going by my middle name with the adopted surname of Wolfe, the name of a commoner. Oh, back then, like so many other young men I wanted to change the world for the better.”

Michael chuckled. “That doesn’t seem like you. Poetry, romance, dancing the Cancan with a bunch of French whores and Toulouse-Latrec.”

“Is that really so different? I remained a revolutionary from then on. I renounced my wealth, my title, my family. I devoured the works of Marx and Engels. I wanted done with the old world governments, down with the kings and despots. It wasn’t long before this young revolutionary found himself in Tsarist Russia. 1905. Do you know your history?”

“Not that well.” Michael admitted. “At least not for that time and that part of the world.”

“There was a popular uprising, a revolution against the Tsar. General strikes. Mutiny aboard the battleship Potemkin…”

“Now that I’ve heard of. That old movie.” Interrupted Michael.

“Yes. Well, I was in the middle of it, as was a Carthian Gangrel with similar sympathies. When I was gunned down by the Tsar’s soldiers, he rescued me and brought me into unlife.” Solomon paused at that point and looked at Michael as he took it in.

Solomon then continued. “I remained in Russia for the next 25 years. Stalking in the shadows of Moscow, St. Petersburg, and elsewhere. Fought in the First World War. I watched the Revolution…” Michael noticed Solomon begin to slip into a Russian accent as he continued. “…of 1917.”

“Communism.” Said Michael with disdain.

“Ah, but it wasn’t that at first. It was democracy, power to the people. Then Lenin subverted the soviets for his own gain, and we came full circle. Same tyranny. Different names.”

Solomon’s voice returned to normal. “So I went to torpor myself for the first time. Awoke in the midst of the Second World War. In the chaos of those days, I made my way across Russia and found a ship bound for America. It landed in San Francisco in 1949. And, as you’ve already guessed, it was not too many years later that I met our dear Wen Zheng as she was known then.”

“After I freed her from her sire, we fled East, traveled across the country. She took on her Westernized name of Deborah Means, playing up the Irish-American half of her ancestry rather than the Chinese of her mother. She eventually settled in Virginia and I kept wandering. Up until about 5 years ago when I found myself back in Roanoke again.”

“And you signed on for another revolution.”

“Yeah, over a hundred years and I’ve not changed one bit.”

“Still trying to go back to the Belle Epoque or whatever you called it?”

Solomon gave a small chuckle. “Everyone, as they age, will look back on one moment in their life that they’ve come to believe was a perfect time. A time of happiness and clarity. Take you, for instance. Had Deborah not embraced you, what would your life be?”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. College student. Gamer. Going to parties. Going to classes. Not really all that different than what I had in Blacksburg as a vampire.”

“The prime of your life.” Observed Solomon. “Those mortals that journeyed by your side through those days, Mitch and Boar and Corwin and all them, they will likely spend the next 60 years pining to return to those days, doing anything they can to recapture that feeling. Maybe you will too, for the rest of your unlife, however long it lasts.”

“And that’s what you’re doing. Trying to go back in time to the Moulin Rouge.”

“Life does not allow us that luxury. One moment of heaven that we cannot have back no matter how hard we try.” He sighed. “And yet try we do. So I remain a revolutionary and probably always will be.”

“Has it occurred to you that you’ve not been a very successful one?”

“I’ve always been a sucker for a lost cause.” Said Solomon with another chuckle. He leaned forward and looked Michael in the eye. “Understand something, Michael. These Lancea Sanctum bastards are trying to turn this whole country into their own little theocracy and they’re not going to be satisfied with just the vampire world. They’ve got Virginia and most of the south in their grip already. What you’ve seen on TV as a mortal with the 700 Club and those creeps, it’s all part of their plan. The Religious Right, all of it. Now they’re moving north. Boston, New York, Philadelphia. They’re the next battle grounds.”

Solomon paused. “I suppose I should fill you in on a few details. A good bit of the history of this country over the last two hundred years or so is a result of an ancient rivalry between very old and very powerful vampires. Mathias is one of them. He’s the southern elder and he’s trying to take out his northern enemy.”

“Sounds like the Civil War all over again.”

“For our kind, that war never ended. But what Deborah wanted to do was open up a new front in the war. Behind the lines as it were, right here in the heart of vampire Dixie. Think about their mortal proxies. Falwell’s in Lynchburg. Robertson here in the Tidewater. This whole state is Mathias’ command center. Here, we can make a real difference in stopping him.”

“So that’s what Deborah was really fighting for.”

“It’s a start.” Solomon admitted. “Mathias’ rival isn’t much better than him, but we can’t take on both at once. None of us, together or separate, are strong enough to do that. His turn will wait. For now, we focus on that Nosferatu monster hiding out in Roanoke.” Solomon paused. “Mathias’ sentimentality may prove his undoing. He spared Deborah and he failed ultimately to kill you. He’s set us back but he’s done little to stop our revolution. And here we are, exiled to a city ruled by a very weak and vulnerable Lancea prince, an ally of Mathias. All Mathias really accomplished was to move the battlefield.”

“What’s that old military saying? We’re not retreating...”

“...we’re advancing in the opposite direction.” Solomon finished for him. “Indeed. We can help bring down Prince Lazarus and they’ll help us dispose of Mathias.”

“Who is ‘they?’”

“That’s not entirely clear. Mathias’ northern rival probably has allies and agents here in Tidewater, but I have no idea who they are. Plus there may be others who have their own reasons for wanting rid of Lazarus. He’s a hated tyrant, brutal and cruel for their own sake. It’ll take us time to find out who’s who.”

“So where do we start?”

“I have an old friend that I need to talk to. Might take me a few days to track him down. Until then, let’s get ourselves as settled as much as we can. Money, food, etc.”

Michael nodded.

---

Michael ran his fingers over the wad of bills in his front pocket. He wished it was $50s or even $20s, but knew it was mostly small bills. A small fraction of the fortune he'd accumulated hacking, writing, and playing gigs in Blacksburg.

He was in line at the bank. From the crowd waiting in that same line, he suspected that it was the only branch anywhere in the immediate vicinity that was open that late. Michael had come to use that small wad of bills in his pocket to open an account, one of his first steps to getting settled in this new environment.

Michael mused to himself that there was something fundamentally wrong about him doing something so mundane. He was a vampire, a monster, a killer in the night, and yet here he was standing in line waiting for a bored bank teller to help him.

The line next to him was no faster, but at least had something to look at. A young woman, probably no more than 18 or 19, stood there next to him. She was not Michael's typical fare. Heavy set, buxom, with dark hair and eyes, she was wearing a tank top from some local bar and a pair of shorts that exposed more skin than was fashionable for someone of her size. Everything about her said "white trash," and yet he stared, drawn to her. His last feeding had been that half-remembered assault on that couple, and before that his torpor, and before that...Michael shook off the memory but not before Kris' dead eyes stared at him for a moment.

So it had been a while since he'd seduced and fed normally. But was that it? The mere longing of his loins and of the blood? Or was he simply that bored that even staring at this cow was relief?

He would not remain bored for long.

"Everyone on the floor! This is a robbery!" shouted the first of three men in masks who stormed into the bank.

By reflex, Michael did as he was told and hit the floor. He watched as the three men, two armed with AK-47 assault rifles and the third with a large handgun, made their way behind the counter to harass the tellers.

It took them a few minutes to get what they wanted from the tellers' drawers. But these robbers, clearly well organized and rehearsed, were also greedy and the valuables and possessions of the customers were not to be passed up.

A rough hand grabbed Michael by his arm and dragged him back to his feet. He was forcefully shoved against the wall, finding himself next to the heavy-set girl he'd been watching earlier. She was pale with fear, trembling as she stood.

"Empty your pockets. Wallets, watches, purses. We want it all." Commanded the one with the pistol. "Do not fuck with us. No funny business and no one gets hurt. We are wolves and you are sheep. Do not forget that."

Michael found that comment laughable, but he kept it to himself. The men with rifles began moving around the circle of customers, looting each on in turn. One of them soon reached the girl, but she was frightened beyond reason. She clung to her purse and refused to surrender it.

"No...my son...my money..." she whimpered as the robber tried to force it from her.

Michael could never say what possessed him to act. With the blinding speed of a true predator, he lunged forward. With a quick strike, he knocked the robber's gun upward. Taken off-guard, the robber hardly resisted as Michael wrestled the gun from his hands.

The other two were reacting to the ruckus. So Michael gave the first robber a harsh shove, knocking him back onto his rump. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion but him, so he brought the gun to bear and squeezed off two rounds at the pistol-robber. Before he even saw if he'd hit, he spun and did the same for the other rifle-robber. Both double taps landed where he'd hoped, dropping the two.

Only one remained. "Wolves, are you?" He laughed angrily as he hoisted the third back to his feet. "This is what a wolf truly looks like." He body slammed the robber against a nearby concrete pillar, enjoying the sound and sensation of crushing bone.

He dropped the body to the floor and quickly made for the exit.

Next Chapter

Vampire Portraits - Thralls Part 1

Michael and Deborah have numerous allies in Roanoke and Blacksburg. Too many for me to do in a single post. So I figured I'd hit the major ones first and the minor ones next time.

First up is James "Mitch" Mitchell. You should, as I implied in an earlier post, see some similarities to Ernie. But I think I've made Mitch distinct enough that you wouldn't know they're based on the same person unless I'd told you.

Second is Michael "Boar" Boorman. Boar suffers from the same problem as Ernie/Mitch, as the person on whom he is based has two characters in the story. Boar's "other" doesn't get introduced until Act Three however.

Lastly is the lovely Kris Keller, Michael's lover and first thrall. Kris is a character who was once based on a real person, but has been changed so dramatically that she is no longer even remotely like her origin. Thus, I had a lot of leeway here to create whatever I wanted and I like what I've come up with. Kris is a bit of a Bohemian hippy type and I think this portrait reflects that.

Act Two Chapter Nine - Not Enough Time

Michael awoke in a living room. He did not recognize it, but somehow this place felt familiar, as if he had graced this location once before and yet no longer remembered it. The furnishings were dark, the carpet red. He was sitting upright, odd since his last coherent memory was of falling into sleep in the back of a large van. Was this a dream of some sort? It felt real, seemed real, and yet made no sense.

That unease continued as he became more aware of his surroundings. Behind him, he saw sunlight filter through the blinds to illumine the floor, yet he felt none of the monstrous fear that had nearly pinned him indoors just a few minutes earlier. He also heard voices, the sound of children playing nearby.

Michael stood up and went to the door nearest the voices. Curiosity drove him and he opened the door onto the scene of a child's birthday party. A group of children were laughing and playing, having a good time, with adults supervising nearby. One of the adults, a grandmotherly figure dressed so conservatively it seemed wildly out-of-place, summoned the children to her side. “We will play musical chairs.” She announced to the cheers of the children.

“How do you play?” asked one of the children, a blond boy of maybe 5 or 6. The other children laughed at his ignorance.

“You'll pick it up soon enough.” said the grandmother impatiently. “When you hear the music, run about the chairs. When it stops, sit down.”

The haze of forgetfulness began to fade. Michael remembered this. First grade, the birthday party for a classmate. What was his name again? Gregory? Grant? Something with a G, he knew. As the epiphany came upon him, his point of view suddenly shifted. He was no longer observing the scene from the background. He was once again within himself, within the child he had once been.

He remembered what happened next. The game began. The music started, some horrid pop song from the 70s. Olivia Newton-John, he suspected. But just as soon as it started, it ceased. Chaos erupted. In his memories, Michael had failed to win a seat, but now....

But the dream denied him any outcome but what had happened 15 years before. He landed on his rump to the laughter of his supposed friends. The first eliminated. Just like before.

Despite 15 years of maturity, Michael still felt the sting of wounded pride, the feeling that he'd been robbed, cheated of a fair chance. The dream brought him back to his feet, and he stormed out of the room in embarrassment and anger. Just like before.

Michael knew what had happened next, but no longer felt a need or a desire to resist where this vision was taking him. He came back into the previous room. It was the same as before, save for a pile of party favors on the one sofa. He did not see it before. Atop the pile was a sheet of Superman stickers, top prize to the game winner.

In a fit of spite, Michael tore the sheet down the middle. Just as he had as a child. Served them right for laughing at him.

The roar of anger from his host echoed into his ears. The birthday boy's best buddy had won the game and the stickers were his by right. But no longer. The next thing Michael remembered was being grabbed, spun about, and having a 6-year old fist land against his jaw.

It didn't hurt, not really. And the grandmother intervened immediately to break up whatever fight might have erupted. But from the ugly tone of her voice, along with that of her grandson, Michael knew he'd committed some unforgivable sin. Hands roughly shoved him out the door.

The vision changed.

Michael knew that he had moved not just in space, but also in time. He was in the corridor of a very familiar place, his church in Charleston. It was a clean-up day of some sort and people were busy about the building.

David was there. David had been one of Michael's closest friends. Had been, being the operative phrase. Michael recognized the setting. This was the day that changed.

Feelings rushed in along with the memories. Disappointment, for he remembered Rebecca had not been there that day. This was at least a year before they ever considered dating, but Michael's crush on her had already begun. That feeling was counterbalanced by excitement, excitement because David had promised Michael a bootleg copy of Ultima V.

This was 1988; four years ago. Michael was a sophomore in high school. And he was about to lose his best friend.

Michael noticed a weight on his hip. His old tape Walkman was clipped on his belt, a bootleg copy of The Choir's Diamonds and Rain album within. His parents had largely forbidden he listen to anything but Christian music (not that he didn't have a few Tears for Fears, Genesis, Rush, the Cure, and a few other secular bands tucked away in his collection.)

David and Michael shared everything. If one got a tape first, he immediately copied it for the other. Same with computer games. Hence, Michael's excitement over Ultima.

Michael pressed play and listened to the music as he wandered about looking for something to do, or more specifically, looking for his friend. He found David just a few yards down the corridor, helping his father move a large sofa out of the parlor.

“Hey!” Michael called out.

David set down his end of the soda as his father did likewise. He turned and waved.

“Did you bring it?” Michael asked impatiently. No need to specify what “it” was.

“We need to talk.” replied David. No good ever came of those words in any circumstance.

“What's going on?”

“I was talking with Mr. Kelly on Friday.” David began. David lived in one of the suburbs of Charleston and as such, went to a different school from Michael and Rebecca. Mr. Kelly was his computer teacher. “Talking about how I figured out the crack on the game.”

“Was he impressed?” said Michael absent-mindedly. Michael certainly had been. Figuring out how to get past copy protection had been one of their latest pet projects, and David had proven really good at it. The Matthew Broderick character in War Games could have been written about David. Hacking and cracking came naturally to him.

“Not really. He just shook his head and told me I was the most dishonest Christian he'd ever met.” David looked grave.

“So?” said Michael.

“So, I'm done.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm done, Michael. No more hacking. No more pirating. I'm done with all of it.”

“And my copy of Ultima V?”

“You don't get it, do you?” said David, getting angry. “This is about you as much as it is me.”

“Don't drag me into this attack of conscience, David. All I know is what you promised to me.”

“I won't give it to you. And you should think about what we've been doing.”

Michael scowled. Now he was getting angry. “So this is what a friend's word is worth then? Valid only if its bearer doesn't have an attack of self-righteousness.”

David's nostrils flared. “That's all that matters to you. Where you can cut corners. When and where to ignore the rules when it suits you. If your faith means anything to you, you'll not go down this road.”

“Go down it? I'm already down it. And so are you.”

“Not anymore.”

“I want my copy of Ultima V.” repeated Michael. “You owe me that much.”

“And what part of you're not getting it didn't you understand?”

Present day Michael wanted to take a swing at him, but past Michael had long since had the impulse to physical violence literally beaten out of him by Todd and other bullies at school. So he stood there and stewed, walking away after a long moment. It was the last time the two of them had spoken. Five months later, David's father got transferred and they moved away. Michael thought it for the better in more ways than one. Not only was David the more talented of their pair, but he was also the one the girls always swooned over. Among them was Rebecca, who not-surprisingly began to finally notice Michael after his “cooler” friend was gone.

Suddenly, Michael's eyes snapped open. He shook his head clear of the visions. Now, he found himself within an underground chamber. Brick walls, stone floor, a newsstand a few yards away: A subway station, in which city, he knew not, but somehow he felt as if he were in New York City.

Michael stepped away from the wall upon which he found himself leaning and headed over to the stand. Offered there were a variety of magazines and newspapers: New York Times, Washington Post, Cosmo, Playboy, Time, Newsweek, etc. The purveyor was an older man, perhaps mid-50s, who stared bored at the potential customer before him.

“I wonder what's down here.” came another voice. A familiar one: Rebecca.

Michael turned and his eyes fell upon her. Vague memories of a violent scene in a church sanctuary intruded, but seemed a dubious fantasy, as though this was real and that remembrance myth. But the feeling was full of doubt and uncertainty. Michael could not tell. Was he awake at last in this strange place and his memories of Mathias' court a mere nightmare? Or was it the other way around?

Becca was regarding the service corridor with some curiosity. “Probably just where the staff...” Michael began to explain, as she darted through the door and disappeared. Michael let out his brreath in frustration, heading to the door and following her through.

The hallway beyond was of hellish unreality, a firmer clue that he was within yet another hallucination. The floor was brown stone bricks, lined with iron grates. Spurting forth from the grates at semi-regular intervals were bursts of flame. And Rebecca was here...somewhere.

“Becca!” he called out, and made to step forward. A gust of flame shot before him and he staggered back from the heat. An arm grabbed him and pulled him back onto the platform.

“What are you doing in there, silly?” teased Becca. “Our train is about to arrive.”

There had been no way she could have gotten behind him and yet there she was. Michael shook his head in confusion. This seemed so real, yet reality made no sense.

“Sorry.” Michael muttered weakly. A train pulled up to the platform and Rebecca gave Michael a playful nudge toward it. He went as she directed, boarding the train and finding a seat.

“Ah, I can't wait.” she said with delight. The train began to move.

Michael was almost afraid to ask his next question. “Where are we going?”

“To swim camp, silly.”

Now, Michael knew this was another dream. He'd gone to camp with Rebecca before, specifically to the Creation festival in central Pennsylvania. But never to any “swim camp.”

The train emerged from the dark underground into the blazing sunlight. Then, Michael saw they were above water. The train rode a trestle above the waves, heading out to sea.

“I can't wait.” repeated Becca.

A slow recognition came upon Michael. This was no memory, but it was familiar in one sense. It was what Michael called a “travel dream.” He had these periodically throughout his life. An imagining of a journey to someplace unknown. He would visit cities, towns, shopping malls, parks, even universities, all within the confines of his own mind. Frequently, the dreams would fuse known qualities of places he'd been with the fantastic conjurations of his subconscious. Also, at times, Michael could not discern the dream from reality, even upon waking. And even when the truth would not be denied, Michael always felt a profound sense of loss. He always wanted to go back to those places, shop in those malls, visit those universities, walk the streets of those cities, even though none of what he remembered was real. For years, he would hold onto the memory of those places in his head, long after most other dreams would be forgotten. But a specific dream would never return. He never traveled to the same place twice.

This was another such dream. He was going to swim camp with Rebecca, via a train traveling across the ocean.

Best to enjoy the experience. It would never come again. And in that thought, for the first time, Michael did not want to awaken from his reverie. He wanted to experience this one to the fullest.

An island appeared on the horizon and almost as quickly as it appeared, the train was pulling into a station upon it. Rebecca gathered up her bags (from whence they came, Michael did not know), and headed outside. Michael followed.

Instantly, he found himself poolside. No train station, no platform, no hotel or bunkhouse even. Instant transport to the next “episode” of the travel dream. Michael accepted it manifestly, especially since it gave him a chance to ogle Rebecca in a swimsuit.

Her suit was not overly revealing or sexy. Just a simple black one-piece. Michael found his own behavior in this moment a little odd; after all, he'd seen her in far less clothing quite recently.

“You there! Allens!” barked a voice. A giant ogre of a man marched over to him. “You didn't hear a word that I said.”

The coach, Michael presumed. “Sorry.” Michael replied quietly.

“You'll learn the price for disrespect.” The coach slammed a fist hard into Michael's gut, doubling him over with pain.

“What the hell?” Michael screamed astonished in his mind.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you!” barked the coach. “Dismissed.”

Michael felt graceful hands take him and bring him back to his feet.

Presuming them to be Rebecca's, he was surprised to look into Deborah's eyes as he stood. “He's a nasty one.” she said. “Best do everything that he tells you.”

She walked away, letting her fingers linger on his arm a bit longer than was polite. Michael didn't mind.

He turned back to find Rebecca only to find the episode changing again. They were gathered in a line, Rebecca at his side. Across the pool, maybe 15 yards away, was Deborah. The coach was sitting at a desk nearby also. Michael felt a sense of imminent danger. He looked about for a weapon and his eyes fell upon a Philips head screwdriver in a nearby tool box. He fetched it up and slipped it into his pocket.

“Allens! Front and center.” barked the coach. Michael stepped forward timidly towards the desk.

“You don't seem to be taking this seriously enough.” The coach continued. “It seems I'm going to have to find new ways to motivate you.”

Hearing the words of Darth Vader echoed back at him did not make Michael feel any better. Four athletic young men emerged from behind the coach. Todd, Shawn, David, and a fourth that he did not recognize yet somehow knew was Grant or Greg or whatever his name was from 1st grade.

“Let's see how you fare against these. I'll give you a 5 minute head start.” The murderous glare in the eyes of the four made no secret of their intent.

Michael bolted from the pool and headed off into the jungle.

He dashed down the wooded path, not entirely sure why his dream had taken this turn, but all he knew was that his life was in danger. To let those four or the coach himself catch him now would be deadly.

Now he wanted to wake up. His travel dream had turned swiftly nightmarish, and yet no awakening was forthcoming.

He hastened up a tree, hearing the scramblings in the brush of his pursuers just a few short yards behind him. Five minute head start indeed, of course, time flowing somewhat randomly within the dreamscape didn't help.

He kept his perch and made no sound as his four enemies paused beneath him. “Split up!” barked David, and each headed off into the brush in a different direction. All save Todd, who stood below him as if waiting.

Opportunity! Michael dropped down right on top of him. The impact of his feet upon Todd's head and shoulders stunned his foe. He rolled off onto the trail and grabbed the first thing he could find, a large tree branch. One swing and he felt it connect, sending Todd sprawling.

“One down.” thought Michael. “Three to go.” Now the hunted would become the hunter.

Michael kept hold of his crude club and headed off into the wood . He hadn't actually paid all that much attention to which direction his foes had gone, but he knew without knowing that this was the direction Shawn had taken. He would be next.

He came out into a clearing, seeing Shawn before him. His opponent turned to face him, brandishing a set of nun-chucks.

“You know how to use those?” taunted Michael, wielding his club.

“You just don't get it, do you Michael?” replied Shawn. A curious comment. “This is all your doing.” He continued.

Michael charged forward and felt the ground give way beneath him. He stumbled down a set of rough stone steps and landed in a puddle of mud. He quickly came to his feet to stare into the lifeless eyes of Kris Keller.

Michael screamed at the shock and backed away. But there she was, as he last saw her, dead by his hand.

“All your doing.” repeated Shawn. He had followed him down the stairs.

Michael lashed out with his club blindly and felt the wood connect. There was a dull crunch of bone and Shawn went down. Now his eyes stared at him just the same.

The floor of this macabre tomb gave way and Michael dropped down some 50 feet to a catwalk suspended over the ocean. To his side, a mighty waterfall cast its waters down into the sea below, its roar near deafening and its mists so thick as to blind.

Michael took back to his feet, uninjured despite the fall. Despite the din, he could hear a voice faintly, calling his name. “Michael! Michael!”

A shadowy form emerged in the mists ahead. As it closed, Michael could make out the form of his old friend David. But he was not alone.

“Careful, Michael, you might slip.” he warned. Before him, wrapped in the chain David brandished as his weapon, was Rebecca.

“Let her go.” Michael demanded.

“You never could keep your balance.” said David, as if he hadn't heard. “Neither could she.” With a shove, he pushed Rebecca over the side. Michael dashed forward, but the rain-slicked platform betrayed him. His feet slipped out from under him and down he went.

Rebecca fell and fell and came to the end of the chain with a sickening crunch.

“Too bad.” said David, looking down. “There's always others. Ones far more worthy.”

Michael came to his feet in a rage, charging down the catwalk. This time, he kept his feet and slammed his body hard into his former friend. David was hurled back by the tackle and vanished into the mists.

Michael grabbed the chain and pulled it up. There was no Rebecca on the other end. No body to recover. It was as if she had simply vanished into thin air.

“Todd.” came another voice. “Then Kris, then Shawn, then Rebecca.” Michael began to twirl the chain expectantly. “Where does it end? Who gets justice for them? Dead by your hand.”

“Not you.” He knew it was the last of his pursuers. And he remembered his name at last: Gideon.

“But I'm the one you've feared the most. The one you've hated the most. I'm the one with the most power over you. The one you've never beaten.”

“You were a child last I saw you. And even now, you're just a figment of my demented imagination.”

“I'm real enough to best you.”

Then all went black.

Michael's eyes snapped open again. He desperately hoped this vision had come to its end and that he was off on another. But that was not to be. As swiftly as his visions and remembrances had come and gone, he was surprised and dismayed that this “swim camp” nightmare lingered.

He was back at the pool. Only now, all was dark. All he could see was the coach, lit dimly in the twilight, and a bench upon which was tied and bound the form of Deborah. Michael tried to move, but found that he himself was bound by his wrists and suspended above the floor.

“Useless.” said the coach. “Still doesn't get it.”

“Let me go.” said Michael feebly.

“You have much yet to answer for, Michael.” said the coach. “For instance...”

The bruised and battered body of Todd tumbled before him. He was not as Michael left him in the forest. The wounds, the bruises, were as they had been on the floor of another forest.

“Vengeance.” said Michael firmly.

“Does my crime merit this?” coughed the body beneath him. Blood spouted from his lips.

“And what of her?” said the coach.

Kris appeared beneath him as Todd vanished. The bullet wound on her chest gushed blood. “I loved you.” she whispered. “You killed me.”

“Stop it!” demanded Michael.

“And him?”

Frat boy made his appearance next.

“Her?”

The girl at 7-11.

“Stop it.” Michael demanded again, feebly.

“And this one?”

Shawn appeared, his skin pale and grey. He said nothing, but stared blindly upward.

“Enough.” Michael half sobbed. He knew who would come next.

“No, not enough. Not yet.”

Rebecca. Unlike the others, she appeared before him uninjured, unharmed, perfect. She looked upward at him, then her eyes filled with fear. She screamed and Michael watched as she burst into flames and vanished into ash and smoke.

“NO!!!!” he cried. “No! No more.”

“We're not done.” said the coach. “We've only touched the surface of your crimes.”

“Please.” he pleaded.

“And what of this one?” the coach motioned towards Deborah. “How you've betrayed her. Left her to a fate worse than these others.”

With a fluid motion, the coach went over to her bound form and mounted her. With each thrust of his pelvis, Deborah cried out, sobs of pain and regret.

“No more.” said Michael.

“Not yet.” repeated the coach. “I think she's starting to enjoy it.”

Michael grabbed hold of his own chains. With a quick tug, he pulled himself upward and felt them slacken. He could get loose.

He dropped to the floor. The coach, enthralled with his ravishing of Deborah, made no notice. Within his pocket, he felt the bulge of the screwdriver. It was still there.

Michael yanked it free and struck. He aimed for the base of the neck, right where the brain stem lay hidden. It was a killing blow and he knew it.

The screwdriver glanced off harmlessly.

“Did you think me so easy to destroy?” said the coach turning towards him. His voice had changed. He recognized it, the same grandfatherly tones as Prince Mathias. “Now comes your reckoning, Michael.”

Michael screamed.

He bolted to his feet and stumbled upon the floor. Darkness was all around him. Was he awake at last? His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked about. His surroundings were unfamiliar once again. Another vision, another dream, another nightmare.

“No more.” said Michael aloud. “Enough.” He half sobbed.

Terrible pain tore through his belly, all-consuming agony ate at his flesh. He tried to stand but the room spun and he crashed to the floor. Then, a scent, a sound. People nearby.

“No, not again.” his mind screamed as the beast within him took over. He tore to his feet and out the door. He vaguely registered the sand beneath his feet or the waves crashing beyond. All he knew was that blood was near.

A couple were laughing and playing on the beach. Young lovers oblivious to the danger at hand. Michael roared like an animal and the two stopped short. The woman screamed. Then the man.

Michael tasted sweet release.

----

“There you are.” said a voice.

“Solomon?” queried Michael. His voice seemed off, distant, alien. “Where...” He tried to sit up and saw the blood. It was everywhere, all over him. “What...”

Around him were the bodies of two people, or at least, that's what he thought they were. They looked as though a wild animal had mauled them.

“Not a vision. Not a dream.” said Michael.

"Few of us can maintain control after awakening from torpor." said Solomon.

"More death."  sobbed Michael. "And at my hands again."

“No time to fret about that now.” Solomon picked up the man and tossed him into the waves. "They drowned. The sharks got them. Whatever." He mused aloud, tossing the woman in next. "At least this way, we can cover our tracks. The tide'll wash away the bloody sands and even if the corpses wash back up, the authorities will write it off as sharks chewing on the carrion of two drowning victims."

"You should throw me in next. Let them eat me." said Michael with grim humor. "Up to ten dead now."

"You keep a more accurate count and you'll drive yourself mad with guilt." warned Solomon.

"And what should I do?" snarled Michael in frustration. "Forget about them? I've spent my torpor haunted by each one of their faces. I dreamed of every one of them. Deborah and Rebecca and Kris and the girl at 7-11. Dreamed of Shawn and Todd. Of that damn frat boy and even people I hadn't seen in years. And now I've got two more faces to add to the list. Ten lives destroyed because of me. I've done better than Jack the Ripper. Not quite up to Ted Bundy, but I'm getting there."

Solomon turned and grabbed Michael by the shirt collar, yanking him up into the air and putting them face-to-face. "I did not drag you out of the sunlight a week ago so you could mope around in self-pity. You are a vampire. You have been a vampire for over a year. You have seen our world and it is not a world where the weak last long. The Michael I know is not weak. Foolish, impulsive, but not weak. You're feeling guilty and depressed will not bring the dead back." Solomon tossed Michael back onto the sand. "The choice is yours, Michael.”

Michael picked himself up and followed Solomon back towards the strange house. As if divining Michael's next question, Solomon began to speak.

"When I was first embraced, I traveled all over.” His anger appeared to be gone. “I set up a series of these little bungalows, little safehouses, places I could stay." Solomon noticed Michael's distraction. "Hey, you here?"

“I don't know.” said Michael. He felt strange, still sick from what he had done on the beach and still confused and bewildered.

Solomon chuckled. "You were in torpor for about a week. Now you know its effects. Muddles the mind. You don't remember me quite right. Something seems different. Well, nothing's really changed, just the way you perceive the world around you. It'll pass soon enough. You weren't down long enough to really get your brain scrambled."

"So, this is your place? You were saying..."

"Yeah, we're outside Williamsburg and Yorktown. On the coast. Obviously, I haven't been back to this place in a while. So it'll take some work. Make this place a little more homey.”

“This is real?” Michael said. He still wasn't certain.

“Yes, you're back.”

Michael looked as if he was about to say something else, but the words did not come.

“It'll pass in time.”

“Was it like this for you?”

Solomon nodded. “I've not been in torpor much, but yeah. Strange dreams, visions of past events, guilty consciences, all mixed together with vivid imagery so real you can't tell it's all happening in your mind. You had only a week of it. Imagine decades of it and you can see why elders like Mathias and Ernie are not all there.”

“Why? Why did I go into torpor sleep?”

“The shock of it all, I would guess.”

“What happened?”

“Mathias knew. He knew about Rebecca and he struck first. We didn't see it coming.”

“How did he know?”

Solomon shrugged as they headed inside. “He did not penetrate my mind, if that's what you're thinking. I would have known.”

"We were betrayed." said Michael flatly. "Ernie."

"You think so?"

"He was screaming something to Mathias at my trial. Something about a broken deal or some such. He sold us out. Sold us out so he could have me."

"And when Mathias condemned you, he broke the deal." Solomon paused, as if thinking. "Would explain why he wanted to rescue you so badly."

"So why did you help him?"

Solomon stopped and turned to Michael. His posture indicated hostility. He began to speak, but Michael cut him off.

"You heard what Ernie said just as clearly as I did. You knew it was him. I know you did."

"I don't like your tone." said Solomon angrily.

"Deborah said she wanted you by her side in a fight more than anyone. Said I could trust you. Well, can I?"

Solomon threw the question back at him. "Can you?"

The two vampires stared at one another for a long time, neither moving nor speaking. Then Michael nodded.

"Yes, I can trust you."

"And why do you believe that?"

"From what you and her have said, you've been allies for years, decades even. But I'm willing to bet you used to be more than that. I've the seen the way you look at her from time to time. Why else aid her in this crazy coup when she offers you nothing that you want? You offer loyalty for your remembered affections. The same loyalty that now drives you to salvage what remains of Deborah's plan. It wasn't by Ernie's request that you saved me. You did it because you need me to save her."

Solomon was as stone, but then he spoke. "Now the question remains for me, can I trust you? Your folly gave Ernie his opportunity."

"Rebecca is dead. I have no more vendettas, save Mathias."

Solomon nodded. "And Ernie?"

"We need him. And if he's desperate enough to double cross all of us to claim me as a prize, then I think we've been given a powerful tool in controlling him."

Solomon nodded again, a devilish smile crossing his lips. “So it begins.” He offered his hand. Michael took it. “Our retribution and Deborah's deliverance. Glad to have you on board.”

Act Two Chapter Ten

Vampire portraits: Okay, I lied.

Well, not intentionally anyway...

I mentioned in my last portrait post that I had no way to depict the Djinn or Prince Mathias. Well, I decided after posting those very words that I would find a way. Here's what I've come up with...



I intended the Prince to come across as a creepy old man, and I think I've mostly gotten it. I say mostly because he's not quite there. Mathias is so ancient and so hideous, that it's actually hard to really do him justice. The Sims 3 engine simply doesn't quite have the means to go all out with the ugliness of this character. (Mathias' other childe, who you'll meet in an upcoming chapter will prove even harder.)

His clothing isn't quite right either. Mathias dresses as a medieval monk and is almost always hooded; another limitation of the Sims 3 engine.



Now I'm a lot more proud of my Djinn. I've always seen this character as a real-world Drow elf, immensely handsome and sexy but utterly alien due to his pitch-black skin. And while this skin tone isn't quite dark enough, it's close enough to show off the Djinn as something not quite human.

Act Two Chapter Eight - Disintegration

Rebecca said a brief farewell to her new hosts and headed back towards downtown Blacksburg. She did not know what to expect. All she knew was that she was to be the bait. How Michael or Solomon would know when she’d been taken or where to find her when that happened, she did not know. But Michael had seemed confident that this plan would work, so she trusted his instincts and continued on her way.

At this late hour, there was very little activity in Blacksburg. The bars had done their last calls and were closed down for the night. Only the 7-11s seemed open. Rebecca passed the one at the corner of Tom’s Creek and University City and turned towards town.

It was then that she heard gunfire. Indistinct and distant, but obviously the discharge of a weapon or several weapons. Another report and then silence. She looked about, fear growing in her mind. But there was nothing; Only the clerk at the 7-11 stepping outside briefly to wonder at what he’d just heard.

Rebecca quickened her pace. The quiet remained. No sound. No guns, no cars, no people even. Just the silence of the night. A single car drove past after a few minutes, but no more sign of anyone as she continued her journey. The car pulled off and parked into a nearby driveway. Its driver emerged, followed by two others.

Rebecca slowed her pace, wary of these new arrivals. The latter two headed around the house, as if going toward the back yard. That struck her as odd. She stopped. The driver began to move towards her.

“Awfully late to be walking alone.” he said as he approached.

“Not by choice.” She replied, trying to sound angry. “Damn boyfriend.”

“Yes,” said the driver, almost knowingly. “you could say that.”

Rebecca was taken aback by that odd reply. The driver stepped into the glow of a street light, and she gasped. His skin was dark as coal.

“So,” she said, trying to fight down her fear. “You’re him. The one I’ve heard of. The Djinn.”

“Yes, that is what they call me.”

“I suppose I should have known you’d find me sooner or later.”

“No one escapes me. You have a date with the Prince of this territory. He is very eager to meet you.”

“I’ve been very eager to meet you.” Rebecca said coyly.

“Your sire’s game is over, girl.” Said the Djinn coldly. “You may as well stop playing before you embarrass yourself further.”

Those words sent a chill through Rebecca. She turned to run. “Stop!” The Djinn’s command stopped her cold. He moved beside her.

“Don’t bother.” He continued. “I already said none escape me. Where will you go? The ones that made you what are now are already in my power. Who else? The mortals you once knew will fear and destroy you for what you’ve become, assuming they believe any of the wild story you’ll tell them.”

“Better to take a chance with them than with you.” She tried again to run, but this time, he was close enough to grab her. His grip was like iron. She spun about, trying to fight, slashing at his face with her fingernails, anything to get away.

The Djinn slammed the stake in his off hand into her chest. The pain was brief and then Rebecca too felt her limbs stiffen in paralysis. “I’m the better odds.” Said the Djinn, carrying her back to the car.

---

"Did you hear that?" said Boar.

"Gunfire." replied Mitch. They stared at each other silently for a few seconds. "Not good news."

"Probably not." said Boar. He shot to his feet and went to the door. He quickly worked the bolt shut. "Better safe than sorry."

"Also our only way out."

"Balcony." said Boar. "It's not a long jump. But let's hope we don't need it." He returned to his seat, still pensive.

"Rebecca? Michael?" asked Mitch. "What about them?"

"What do you suggest we do?" shrugged Boar.

"And Deborah?"

At the sound of her name, the blood stirred in both of them. Bound as they were to her, both men were left disquieted by the thought that their master and lover might be caught up in this as well. "The weapons cache at her apartment." said Boar. "We could arm ourselves. Fight off whomever..."

Boar never finished his sentence. A loud pounding at the door interrupted him.

"Go!" barked Mitch, and he nearly launched from his seat towards the balcony door. As if anticipating his action, the door flew open, the set dead-bolt splintering apart the cheap wood. The door knocked Boar to the floor.

Boar reacted sluggishly, barely coming to his feet as two men in black stormed into the apartment. The leader was bearing a club and took a swing. Boar ducked and took a swing of his own, landing a solid punch in the thug's midsection. Mitch made the balcony and made the jump.

Stunned, the first thug staggered against the wall. The second shoved past him and made a grab for Boar, but missed as Boar made a dash for the balcony himself. He reached the edge and vaulted over the railing, dropping down ten feet or so onto the lawn below.

The impact was jarring, but adrenaline had kicked in by now. Boar could just barely make out Mitch some yards ahead in the twilight cast from the apartment. He took off after him, the shouts of the thugs behind him.

----

Mitch ran and ran. Startled and shaken by the sudden arrival of Mathias' thugs, he never looked back, presuming all along that Boar was behind him. And Boar had been until Mitch took a quick short cut across the elementary school towards Main Street.

Downtown was quiet and empty at this late hour. Mitch noticed that Boar was no longer with him and cast about, looking and listening for his friend in the quiet of the night. The only person he spotted was the second thug to barge into the apartment. He was near the Taco Bell, maybe a full block behind Mitch.

Mitch knew he had but a few seconds before the thug spotted him. He bolted, heading further into downtown. His dash alerted his pursuer, who started after him. Mitch heard the report of a pistol and felt the bullets whiz past him, far too close for comfort.

In absolute panic, Mitch tripped on the curb as he attempted to cross the street at College Ave. He stumbled and fell, closing his eyes in expectation that his opponent would not miss this opportunity.

He expected the “life flashing before his eyes” cliché to occur. That was not what happened. As he closed his eyes to the world around him, his mind reeled with images from a place unknown. It was not merely his own life that he saw, but all lives, from the first moment of time to the collapse of the universe. All interconnected, all bound by the once-invisible threads of fate and destiny. He understood now. He understood everything. The universe in all its vast complexity now made sense to him.

“Too bad.” He mused in a moment of lucidity. “All this now, with death but a millisecond away.”

But death did not come, or at least, he did not think it had. The images of his mind quickly faded, only to be replaced with the dream-like image of a single tower sitting upon a plain. Mitch mused for a moment that he was reminded of 1970s era van art or album covers. Why his brain would go there in his final moments, he did not know. But there was also a sense that it wasn’t him doing this. This was coming from outside, from somewhere else.

He walked up to the tower. It was overgrown with thorny vines and clarity came to him. This vision was real. It was not his own panicked imagination. Something was happening. Something wonderful.

“Possibility. Coincidence.” He mused in his mind. “These are illusions. All is controlled by fate. All is written into the tapestry of time. And I can be the author!”

He knelt down before the tower steps, and found a brick with no markings upon it. He ran his finger across it, as if to wipe the dust clean. Glowing letters appeared beneath his touch. The word made no sense to him, but he somehow knew that it was his name. His real name. His soul’s name.

Then his eyes snapped back open and the real world rushed back in. He was once more on the streets of Blacksburg. Once more, being chased by a vicious thug.

The expected kill shot had not come. Mitch made to stand again, when he saw something just a few moments before he would not have thought possible.

A man stepped out from the brick wall of the drug store on the corner; Literally stepped out of the brick. Without a word, the stranger drew a pistol of his own and squeezed off several rounds at the thug up the street. Mitch did not look to see what the result of that was, but the new arrival seemed satisfied. He offered Mitch his hand.

"Come, James Mitchell. What wonders I have to show you, young mage."

---

Boar lost track of Mitch in the darkness but he continued towards their planned destination, towards Deborah's apartment near Books, Strings, and Things. It did not take him long to realize his pursuers had kept up. He spotted the second thug on the sidewalk near Taco Bell and figured the other was not far away.

He watched as the one he'd spotted dashed off down the street, drawing a gun as he did so. He heard the gun go off a few seconds later, and his heart left into his throat. That thug would only have fired if he'd spotted Mitch.

He only had a second to dwell on that truth when the other came around the bend. Boar dashed across Main Street, heading towards one of the few businesses he knew would still be open: Mill Mountain Coffeehouse.

His pursuer seem undeterred by the possibility of witnesses, chasing after him. Boar heard more gunshots, uncertain if they were headed for him or if they were from the other thug chasing Mitch. But then he heard an odd sound: a howl, but not that of a dog. This was a wolf's howl.

Something about that out-of-place sound calmed him. He stopped running and moved into a nearby alley. The thug caught up.

"You've led me on a merry chase." commented the thug. And then the werewolf struck.

Boar didn't see much. Just a massive black dog-shape come out of the shadows. The thug barely had time to cry out before that shape overwhelmed him. It was over in less than a second.

Boar stood there dumbfounded and, much to his surprise, unafraid. The wolf came back around the bend, blood dripping from its mouth, and still Boar did not flinch.

But then the wolf charged him.

Boar was taken by surprise as the great black shape slammed into him. He felt the wolf's fang's tear at his arm. But just as soon as the attack began it was over. The wolf let him go, it backed away, and then morphed into a young Asian girl, maybe 15 or 16.

"You bit me."

"A rite of initiation," she explained, wiping the blood from her chin. "I am Ami. You are Mike Boorman. Now you've been blooded and it's time to join your new pack, cub."

---

"Mi'lord, we have them." reported the Djinn dutifully. His voice echoed across the empty sanctuary of St. Andrews church.

Prince Mathias made no motion for a long moment, no indication at all that he'd heard his bodyguard. He stared straight ahead, looking keenly at the altar. Upon it, the green of the post-Pentecost season seemed black in the dim light.

"Bring them, and let justice be done." he said quietly. "Deborah first, and alone."

The Djinn departed without a word, leaving the Prince to his meditations in the dark sanctuary. He returned a few minutes later, carrying the paralyzed Deborah, her chest pierced by a wooden stake. The Djinn did not await further instruction; he knew what he was to do. Without a word, he placed Deborah on the floor before the chancel area, binding her wrists and ankles with chains that he'd earlier anchored at various points on the church's stone walls. The Djinn tore her clothes from her body and tossed the shreds into a pile along the wall. She was spread-eagled on the floor before the Prince, naked and staring towards the ceiling of the church.

Mathias turned around, but did not look down at the vampire before him. That took some effort, The Djinn could tell. "Welcome my court." Mathias ordered. "They shall be witnesses to this."

The Djinn nodded as if in salute and turned towards the narthex. He opened the doors without a word. Then entered Ernie, Solomon, Andreas, Sophia, and her childe Corrine. All came in, and all but Ernie dropped their eyes to see Deborah displayed before them.

"It has come to my attention that a challenge has come against me as the rightful ruler of this city." said Mathias, his voice booming and full of anger. "One of those who has chosen to participate in this challenge lies before you. Two more await." He looked at the Djinn. "Bring them in."

The Djinn once more departed out a side door. He returned dragging Michael and Rebecca behind him, both staked, one under each arm. He sat them down in a choir pew to the left of the Prince and then moved to Deborah's side. "Deborah came to me nearly two years ago now to petition for the privilege to sire another kindred, a privilege I granted not just to her, but to others in this august assembly. She chose Michael Allens, a student at Virginia Tech to be her childe. He has now in turn embraced another, this Rebecca Philips. This was done without permission, without even the courtesy of asking.

"Our laws are clear. None may turn another without permission of the Prince. And every sire is responsible for the conduct of their childe until such time as the childe is recognized as a full member of our communion. I have not yet done so for Michael, thus Deborah will share in his punishment."

"For her, there are punishments worse than death, prisons stronger than those with bars. Deborah shall be forced to submit to the blood bond with her Prince. That should keep her wayward nature in line. But, lest any of you feel the urge to question my authority in the future, a more public demonstration of my power is warranted."

With that, Mathias took up a piece of parchment and scrawled Deborah's name upon it. The Djinn stepped forward and yanked the stake free from her heart. She stirred and then tested her bonds, but they were secure.

Mathias held aloft the parchment, held so all could see. "Longinus, the sainted founder of the Lancea Sanctum, taught his disciples many prayers, ways to invoke the power of the divine to serve our needs. Thus, Deborah Means, I now condemn you to suffer the scourge so that others may remember my power." The parchment burst into flames and vanished into ash. "Begin."

The Djinn took out a small dagger and slashed his wrist. A long stream of blood trailed to the floor from his wound, and then almost immediately coalesced into a whip-like strand.

“One” barked the Prince. The Djinn snapped the blood whip across Deborah’s naked skin. Her scream was deafening inside the stone church. Instead of the blood red welt one would expect from such a strike, it left a hideous grey wound, as if the very touch of the whip rotted flesh beneath it. The normally stoic and jaded crowd of vampires standing witness cringed.

“Two.” And The Djinn struck again. And again, Deborah screamed, a cry of agony and pain that left the witnesses shaken again.

“Three.” Another crack, another scream.

“Four.” And another.

“Five.” At this, the Prince raised his hand and the Djinn stepped back. The whip dissolved back into blood and splashed upon the floor.

Upon the floor, bound in chains, was no longer a beautiful young girl. Each blow of the Djinn’s whip putrefied her flesh and now she resembled a rancid corpse. Only the flicker of her eyes gave anyone any indication that she remained within that form.

“The long decades of our unlife can make one forget that pain is something we can still feel. Any who dare challenge me will learn that lesson anew. In time, her beauty will return, but for now she will endure not only my will but the grotesqueness of my kind.”

The Prince turned away from Deborah and came over to where Michael and Rebecca sat. The stakes within their chests kept all but their eyes from moving. “As for these foolish childer, there will be no mercy. Take each to the rooftops and leave them from the sun.” He snarled.

Ernie shot to his feet, as if in protest. The Djinn moved swiftly between him and Mathias. They glared at each other for a long moment.

“Have you something to say, Ernie?” taunted Mathias.

“You have made a dangerous choice, my Prince.” said Ernie.

“Have I?” said Mathias. He turned back to the assembled kindred. “Now go. All of you. And do not forget what you have seen this night.”

-----

Michael found himself dragged from his pew and carried out into the night. He had one fleeting glimpse of The Djinn carrying Rebecca off through another door. His tongue frozen by the stake’s paralysis, he could say nothing to her, no farewells, no apologies.

Fear like he’d never known gripped him as he was unceremoniously tossed into the trunk of a car. A few minutes drive and he was fetched from it again. In through a back door in some downtown Roanoke edifice, up the stairs to the roof, and then dropped onto the asphalt to await his fate.

Hours ticked by. Michael could see the darkness recede and the dim light of the sun began to filter through. He felt the heat of those first weak rays of sunlight. This was it. The end. It had come far sooner than he expected.

A loud bang erupted behind him; the door had been kicked open. Hands grabbed him by his jacket and dragged him forcefully back into the stairwell. A yank at the stake and he was free. Michael took a moment to regain his bearings. He was going to survive after all.

“Can you walk?” barked a voice, a familiar one. Solomon!

“Yes, but…”

“No time. We race the sunrise. Go! Down the stairs!”

Michael stumbled at first down the steps, but soon found his feet. Solomon tore on ahead of him. “Hurry!” he urged as he moved ahead. Michael quickened his pace.

They raced down the stairs, reaching the ground floor in record time. Solomon burst out the door into the rays of the rising sun. Michael hesitated when he saw the brightness. Solomon turned around and grabbed him forcefully, dragging him into the light. With a powerful shove, he literally tossed Michael into the air and into the back of a waiting van. With a powerful leap, Solomon was right behind him.

“Yay! Let’s hear it for the toughness of Gangrel.” Said another familiar voice: Ernie.

Solomon had the look of a man with a horrid sunburn, and Michael noticed his own skin bore the same bright red tint. “You came back for me?”

Solomon nodded. “Ernie refused to leave you to your fate.”

Michael suddenly remembered. “Rebecca! We have to find her!”

“There’s no way. It’s already too late for her.” Said Solomon. He barked up to the driver. “Now drive.”

“Too late?” sputtered Michael weakly.

“We’re sorry, Michael.” Said Ernie sympathetically, shaking his head.

“It can’t be…not Rebecca.” Michael felt his words slur.

“The daylight sleep comes whether we wish it or not.” Solomon’s words seemed far away as oblivion took him.

Act Two Chapter Nine