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.
