Cleaning up

I've been working on chapters for Act Four in what little spare time I have. One of the things that keeps popping up is that I have to explain some aspect of vampire society, some element of the VTR universe, and it occurred to me that I shouldn't be introducing standard elements of the universe that late in the story.

So I'm going back through Act One and making some edits to put these explanations where they belong in the context of Michael's own introduction to his new world. Along the way, I'm finding a number of plot holes and errors that needed correcting (For instance, Andreas at one point tells Michael the Mad Bishop is from Richmond instead of Lynchburg.)

So, if you've already read Act One, there are a few changes here and there. Hopefully the story will flow a little more smoothly now.

Act Three Chapter Eleven - Dead Souls

Damian Drake walked into his apartment and sat down. Across the room from him was a young woman, sitting in a lotus posture, meditating.

“Things continue to spiral out of control, I presume.” she said without opening her eyes. “I can sense your anxiety from across the room.”

“This level of violence is unprecedented in my experience. Oh, I've seen Kindred kill thralls and mortal allies in these wars, but never have I seen vampire blood shed so freely.”

“And why would that bother you? What difference does it make to us?”

“Because it is our allies who now lie in ashes. The Bishop burned the bulk of the Servants tonight. I am now unemployed.”

“Someone of your skill? I doubt that will remain for long.”

“Perhaps not. My inclination is to side with the winners...”

“But?” The woman's eyes came open for the first time.

“I do not trust this Bishop. His fanaticism is unpredictable. Any pact I make with him is likely to be void the moment whimsy strikes him. He's a childe of Ernie and potentially the most like him in nature. A madman born of a madman.”

“That leaves what options?”

“Retreat, of course.”

“You've never been one to run, sir. It's not in your nature and never has been for all the years I've known you.”

“No, Opportunity grows greater the more chaotic things become. There's no telling what openings may occur in the midst of this turmoil. Retreat at this point would surrender the best possibilities I've had in decades.”

“Then why mention it?”

“Because the alternative is almost as unpleasant, maybe even more. To ally with Maximilian and the Old Guard.”

“Why is that so horrid an option?”

“Because they will demand atonement. An act of contrition that proves my good faith to them.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I think you know. They will want a sacrifice. And I will give them one.”

“A dead lich?”

“And the souls of the willworkers in her possession.”

“So, I must make preparation then.”

“Yes, it seems the only way.”

“So be it...master.”

---

It was worthy of a small newspaper article. Nothing much, but it was nice to have something positive in the news with all the violence of recent weeks. A new church had opened up on the beachfront, having taken over the old Nightstyles nightclub. It was to cater to the tourists, give them a place of worship in an area often neglected by the religious minded. That this new church sat a mere two blocks away from a large Methodist congregation appeared to evade the journalist's notice. Nor did he mention that the true owners of the church were vampires.

It was a Wednesday when the article appeared. It was the same Wednesday that the Primogen council had summoned all the kindred of the Tidewater to a conclave at the new church. Failure to attend would not be well regarded by those in power.

Michael arrived early and used the time to scope out the tone of the assembled vampires. The room was schizophrenic in many ways, divided in two between the dour defeatist tone of the Old Guard (and those handful of Anarchs who were present) and the jubilant almost-giddy sense of victory by the Disciples. There were no Servants present. Michael did not know if the Bishop had managed to destroy the rest of them, but he did know that Sarah had stayed away. It was a decision he could not disagree with.

Maximilian arrived next and did nothing to rally his battered coterie. They had been outfoxed at every turn, and Michael could guess why. The game of the Danse Macabre had rules and they had played by them as best they could. The Bishop and his insane sire cared nothing for the rule book. They had pillaged and burned their way through the Kindred community in a way none of them had ever seen before.

Michael was only now becoming aware of that truth. He was, he admitted, still a novice to the game, however much influence he might command through his allies. It made him feel better to see the veterans just as defeated however. At least, he could chalk this defeat up to something unexpected, rather than his own naiveté.

Guy came next, then Damian. As best Michael could tell, only the Bishop and Ernie were not yet in attendance. That, Michael was certain, was deliberate. They were the Kindred of the Hour. Michael may have been inexperienced and naive, but he, like everyone else, knew what this meeting was truly about.

There was a new Prince in Tidewater.

“My children!” boomed a voice over the dim of conversation. The gathered crowd grew silent, trying to determine a source for the voice. The Bishop appeared on a stairway that led up to the upper level of the club/church, dressed as he often was in his tattered clerical robes. Descending the stairs to the Bishop's left was Ernie.

“The long night of chaos and uncertainty has now come to an end.” the Bishop continued. “A bitter time that began with the death of Prince Lazarus, that was made worse by the deaths of Sheriff Francois and Regent Solomon. But no more. I have come down from my hermitage in Lynchburg. I have brought low the enemies who brought this turmoil to our city. No more shall the pagans and unbelievers of the Servants of Typhon plague our fair city. I have rid you of them. Only a few scattered remnants of their coterie remain and they will be dealt with.”

Michael did not like that threat. Nor was he keen on both the idea that the Servants were the cause of Lazarus's death and that Francois and Solomon's disappearances were simply random occurrences. Lies all, and Michael knew it. He suspected also most of the assembled vampires knew it too, but as the old saying went the “victors write the history.”

“With the end of these blasphemers and traitors, a new dusk comes upon the Tidewater. And with it, new leadership. I will guide you through the nights henceforth. I will be Prince of this city from this time forth. Those who wish to dispute my claim to the throne will feel my wrath as did the Servants.”

Hiroshi stepped up to the landing on which the Bishop was standing. “We name Hiroshi Takagi, sheriff and herald of our new order.” said the Bishop.

“All here present will now come forth to pay homage to the new Prince.” declared Hiroshi. It went unspoken what defiance of that edict might mean.

Michael looked around the room. The Disciples were quick to get in line before their new leader. Shakespeare and Darrel Mills, as primogen, were first in line. The Old Guard were more hesitant and the Anarchs most reluctant of all.

Michael felt very alone in that moment. He had come to this city ten months earlier in the company of Ernie and Solomon. He had since befriended Sarah and reunited with Mitch and Boar. Solomon was missing. Sarah was most unwelcome in this place this night. Boar's presence would also have been inappropriate. Mitch lay in a hospital. And Ernie stood with the enemy. Michael was alone.

As he wrestled with his emotions, the line of those giving homage grew shorter. Eventually, even the Anarchs went forward, pledging their loyalty by acts of humility and words of allegiance. Soon, only Michael remained.

“My child, you are the last. Come forward.” beckoned the Bishop. “Was it not you who had been most wronged of late by the vile Servants? I have rid you of them.”

Michael felt tempted to remind the good Bishop that he had given an order to kill Michael and his companions at Aegyptus, but he doubted the Bishop remembered.

“You should be more grateful. You owe me a boon for my generosity.” The Bishop continued.

“I will abide your laws and your rules, Bishop. But I know what you would ask. You would demand the surrender of a Servant that I claim as friend and companion.”

“Indeed I would. We cannot allow this remaining rot to grow and fester within our fair city. The cleansing must be complete.”

“My answer is no and it always will be. I will not turn Sarah over to you. If you want her, come and get her.”

With that, Michael turned around and marched out of Nightstyles.

---

Michael decided to take a walk. The night air was warm and it felt good to mingle among the gathered masses of humanity again. The summer tourist crowd was brisk and energetic.

“Enjoying your walkabout, I see.” said Boar as Michael entered the hot dog shop where they'd agreed to meet at midnight.

“How did you know?”

“Just a guess when I saw you on the street as I parked my car. Got the feeling the meeting went worse than you expected.”

“The throne of Tidewater is no longer vacant. The Mad Bishop has taken his place at last, somewhat later than many of us expected. Guess he figured the wholesale slaughter of an entire coterie of kindred would ensure no one would challenge him. He thought wrong.”

“You?”

“Yes. This is all Ernie's game. He betrayed me in Blacksburg, which led to whatever-happened to Rebecca and the imprisonment of Deborah. Now he uses the Bishop to terrorize the city, kill Solomon, and threaten my new lover with destruction. If I don't stand up to him now, what else do I lose? You'd likely be next. Can't trust a werewolf. Savage beasts all. Surrender him to the Prince for judgment.” Michael's words had an impact on Boar, whose face grew more concerned. “It's what Ernie wants. To isolate me from everyone so I come to him. He's an obsessive stalker with the power of a demigod. All fear him, as do I. But I'm not backing down and I'm not playing his game anymore. I'm going to fight.”

“I'm with you. Hell, what choice do I have?”

“You could run.”

“I did that once already. Not again.”

“You might find you'll need more allies than a single lycanthrope and a child-like vampire witch.” The voice was Damian.

“Did you follow me?”

“I did. Had the Bishop sent Hiroshi to end you after your little show of defiance, I doubt you would have seen him coming. Dangerous mistake. Fortunately for you, it seems the Bishop has a soft spot. He'd rather see you redeemed than destroyed.”

“Ernie.” said Michael. “Ernie won't let him kill me. Besides, as you say, I still have a werewolf and a child-like vampire witch as allies. I'm still vulnerable through those I care about.”

“There's also a friend of yours sitting in Virginia Beach General.”

“I'm curious as to how you know about that.”

“Up until two days ago, we were enemies. I was in the employ of Michelle La Croix and she had given me specific instruction to make your unlife as difficult as possible.”

“So you're admitting Mitch's condition is your fault?”

“More my allies than my own, but yes. I was there when it happened. But now, Michelle La Croix is a pile of dust in a Chesapeake park.” Damian pulled up a chair and sat down next to Boar and Michael. “My circumstances have changed, and you're in need of allies if you're going to fend off what the new Prince is going to throw at you.”

“As much as that's true, I'll decline your gracious offer.”

“This is not a time to be spiteful. I can make it worth your while. I know who has your friend's soul.”

Michael gave Damian a sidelong glance. “And what do you get out of it?”

“Our new Prince is a madman. How long do you suppose it will take him to remember that I sided with the Servants? His hatred of them is the only consistent thing about him and we're both under the gun for our associations with them. Makes sense that we team up.”

“So you need me as much as I need you?”

“Essentially.”

“And you're willing to give up the lich to persuade me?”

“Oh, I'd rather you not kill my ally. As I'm sure you've learned, a mage is most useful to have around. An undead one is even better. But sacrifices must be made sometimes for the greater good.”

“How soon can you lead me to him?”

“Her, actually. It will take me a few days to isolate her from the rest of my entourage. Best to minimize damage to my assets and to yours. I will contact you when all is prepared and the lich is most vulnerable.”

“I don't trust you, Damian.”

“I wouldn't expect you to. But consider my self-interest here. You're my ticket to survival. Why would I betray you now?”

Michael nodded. Damian stood up and left.

---

Michael looked out onto the beach from the back door of the Fox Club. He found the sound of the waves comforting, one of the few moments of peace he'd had since his defiance before the Prince-Bishop. It had been four days since that event and Michael, Sarah, Boar, and Elizabeth had all taken up a siege posture at the Club since then.

He knew their hiding place was dangerously obvious. Michael had suggested that Sarah call in a favor or two from Fiddleskins, her changeling friend, but she refused to risk the danger of drawing the changeling community into a vampire war. That made sense, Michael conceded. They had enough enemies as it was.

Instead, they had implemented a security plan of their own. Boar had offered to use some of the spiritual gifts of his werewolf blood, calling upon the animals of the area to create a perimeter against intrusion. Likewise, Elizabeth kept watching during the daylight hours, taking up one of Michael's numerous weapons to fend off any potential intruders.

But no intruders came. Whatever hold Ernie had over the Prince-Bishop, it was keeping them away from Michael and his allies.

With their enemies apparently unwilling to make the next move, they were left with a lot of time to kill. Michael tried to be productive, working a bit on another sci-fi story. But most of the time, his mind merely wandered. He thought of Leigh, wondered what she was doing. He had not seen her since he had somewhat roughly told her to leave that night. It was less than a week and yet seemed like a lifetime. He longed for her touch, to feel her breath on his face, the touch of her lips, the warmth of her loins.

Sarah was there, ever willing to satisfy Michael's lusts and desires, but there was something missing. Michael now understood more clearly than ever what Sarah had meant in her tarot reading on those early nights of their meeting. Without a mortal lover, Michael felt incomplete and empty.

And it was more than just physical desire, Michael realized. Thinking it might matter, Michael had taken Elizabeth to his bed. While Sarah's sister succumbed to his charms as easily as any mortal, the act was empty and meaningless to Michael. “No,” he dared admit, “it's not the same because there's a part of me that's in love with Leigh and that is what goes unsatisfied right now.”

Those were uncomfortable thoughts and Michael tried to avoid them as much as he could in these idle hours. To occupy his mind, he filled it with questions about other topics, specifically about the silent resident in Michael's emergency haven: the former Prince's bodyguard and sheriff, Francois.

Michael wondered what part he had in all these affairs. Was his presence such that the ambitious and the power-hungry could not move forward with their plans so long as he was around? Was his quest for answers so threatening to the assassins that he had to die quickly? The answers did not come and Michael recognized that in many ways it did not matter if they ever did. Some mysteries would always remain mysteries.

A gull called out overhead and Michael glanced upward. Despite the momentary distraction, he also noticed he was no longer alone. Sarah had come outside and joined him.

“The ocean is peaceful.” observed Michael.

“Not for me.” she replied sadly. “Is this all really worth it, Michael? We're living like rats, scuttling about in the dark. Frightened of our own shadows and for what? We've lost this round. Perhaps it's best if you go and make apologies to the Prince and if I go into exile.”

"That's what he wants." replied Michael. She did not need to ask who “he” was.

"You sound like them.” she scolded. “It's all a game to you now.”

“Not by choice.” Michael's voice gained an edge and Sarah shrank back from him. “I was like you. I wanted to avoid the politics of this place. I came here with a goal, a mission. To find allies that would help me back home. I was naive in thinking that I could stay out of all the scheming. There would be favors demanded of me for what I wanted of them. They drew me in and now I'm trapped in the game."

He paused and looked at her. "But, in truth, so were you. All along. You held some of the best hunting grounds in the cities. Did you really think you wouldn't lose it once Prince Lazarus was gone?”

“Lose?” Sarah laughed mirthlessly. “Listen to you. Don't talk to me about loss. Do you not even realize what I've lost? My mother is dead! We've been so busy running from our enemies, I haven't even had time to mourn her.” Her voice grew angry, the pain slipping through behind the words. “Lose! What does it matter? It's just another pawn. It's just a mortal thrall. It's just a house. It's just a business, a club. Something we'll get back when it's our turn to make our move. There's nothing left for me here, Michael. Nothing left to fight for. I should just go.”

“We've all lost." retorted Michael. He was angry too, but not at her and he tried to keep his voice even. "I brought my sire into slavery. Buried two lovers. Boar was forced to abandon the mother of his child. Mitch lies senseless in a hospital bed. And Leigh? I threw her out of my life and it's killing me inside. You were the one who said I should never be without my 'two' and yet here I am without once more. We've all lost something in this.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Sarah half-snarled in response, tears running down her face. “That I should just suck it up and deal?”

“God, no!” said Michael firmly, taking her into his arms. “Look, I'm no good at this sympathy stuff; God knows I made a mess of it with Rebecca back in the day. But I can't imagine it's a good idea for you to leave me. I'm doing this for you.”

“Why bother?” Sarah replied disdainfully.

“Because you're the best thing that's happened to me in this cursed existence. If I won't fight for that...” he let his voice trail off. “You say I'm like them. You say it's just a game to me now. Maybe from the outside it looks that way, but that's not the way I see it. I may be trapped within it, but I'm playing it my way. They play for resources, for power, for prestige. I'm in this to protect you. I'm in this to save those I care about. Those I love.” Michael's own frustration started to emerge in his words. “I've done a pretty shitty job of it so far, but I'm not giving up. Not now!”

“You can't save everybody, Michael.”

“Maybe not, but I can save you.”

The gull above them began to caw all the louder, joined in turn by a great cacophony of sea birds nearby. “Someone is coming.” said Michael, recognizing the signs of Boar's spirit gift at work.

They headed inside and through the club to the front door. Michael grabbed his Remington off the bar and chambered a round. Boar and Elizabeth came up from downstairs. She too grabbed a weapon.

A long black limousine was pulling into the club's parking lot. It came to a stop and Damian stepped out of the back. “Not the most difficult of hiding places.” he called out.

“We have our defenses.” said Michael, lowering his shotgun.

“So it would seem. Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“I promised you a lich. Now's the time.”

----

Damian took a seat across from them in the back of the limo. He pulled out his revolver. Now that Michael could see it up close, he recognized it from dozens upon dozens of Westerns he’d seen: the classic Colt Single Action Army, better known to most as the “Peacemaker.” Damian popped open the loading gate on the side of the revolver and began to load it. He looked over at the three of them.

“Do you know the story of how the liches came to be? It involves the vampire race, but not many vampires know it. The historians and scholars of the Ordo Dracul perhaps, but only a handful of others.” Damian paused to gauge their reaction. Seeing blank and quizzical faces, he finished loading his pistol and continued.

“A thousand years ago, there was a bloodline of vampires known as the Tremere. These vampires looked upon mortal mages with envy and longing. Here was a being that had true power, the ability to manipulate the very essence of the world. If only they could wed that power to the immorality of the blood...

“Well, the Tremere researched. They studied. They made pacts with beings of the Outer Darkness and in doing so, they believed they had found a way. So they kidnapped a group of mages and forced them to participate in a grisly macabre ritual. Each of Tremere present sought to drink the magic from the mages’ blood, but they had been mistaken. As they drank the blood of the mages, it became as fire within them and each of the Tremere in turn burned to ash.

“But the ritual went both ways. As the power of the mages flowed into the vampires to their detriment, so too did something of the vampires flow into the mages. They were changed, twisted into something abominable. They became something like their vampiric captors, neither alive nor dead. Immortal, undying, but at a price. Much as a vampire must drink blood, so too much a lich consume the souls of the living. As long as they do so, they can live forever.”

Damian holstered his pistol and reached into his coat. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. The air filled with the odor of burnt tobacco.

“How do you know this?” asked Sarah.

“The story says the Tremere died to the last on that fateful night they performed the ritual. But the story is wrong. There were a handful that survived; those who did not participate in the ritual. They and their childer still walk the night today. They are slaves to the very mages whose power they once tried to steal and not all of them are terribly happy about their servitude.”

Damian paused to let his story sink in.

“So that’s why you know so much about the lich...you’re a Tremere.” said Michael.

“Yes, the grand-childe of one of those who survived that night.”.

“And the lich you serve is one of the original?” asked Boar.

“No, thank God. I can scarce imagine what a thousand years of unlife would create in such a being. They are powerful enough as it is. No, as time went on, the liches have found a way to add to their number, a way to duplicate what was done to them and to create more of their kind. This lich is relatively young; Less than a half-century old.”

Damian locked eyes with Michael. “You don’t believe me,” he said, recognizing the skepticism behind those eyes.

“Your story of the liches’ origins is plausible. May even be true. But I don’t believe for a second that you’re slave to anyone.”

“And I never said I was.” retorted Damian. “You added in that part yourselves.”

All three of them gave him a confused look. Damian laughed. “Let me tell you another story. About one hundred and fifty years ago, a Tremere and his lich came to the Drake estate in southern Georgia. The lich had recently inducted a new apprentice and this apprentice was now in need of a slave of his own. The Tremere embraced the crafty belligerent son of the late Georgia congressman Nathaniel Drake. They loved the irony of making a slave out of a good son of the plantation in the antebellum South. A white man treated like a negro. But they underestimated this little Georgia boy and he soon turned the tables on those who thought themselves his betters. So now...”

“...you are the master and the lich your slave. The same as once...no, it can’t be. You said the lich who first had you was male and our quarry tonight is a woman.”

“I’ve made a habit of taking various young liches under my wing in the decades since my liberation.” Damian smiled, as if impressed by Michael’s intuition. “As I’m sure you’ve realized willworkers are a great asset to have around, particularly those that are hunted by their peers and desperate for some form of sanctuary.”

“Why then would you help us kill this one?”

“They are most useful to me when I am able to keep their existence a secret from my enemies. This one has jeopardized that secrecy by what she did in Charlottesville. Taking the soul of another mage? Bold and their power can fuel a lich’s immortality for months, but it’s a surefire way to bring the mage community down on your head. Which is precisely what happened. I hoped that hiding out in the chaos of Tidewater would be enough, but then your friend Mitch came snooping. And now, I am faced with a choice. I can move on to another city, or I can cut my losses.”

“So, therefore, the lich must die…”

Damian nodded. “Make no mistake, my friends. She is a mighty opponent, as are all mages. But this one, despite her youthful appearance, has had a human lifetime to master her craft. She can command the forces of nature: fire, gravity, light, kinetics. She can animate the dead and use them to do her bidding. Beware!”

---

Michael stepped out of the limo and checked chamber on his Remington. “Mount Trashmore.” he commented aloud. He looked at Damian. “Why here?”

“An old landfill?” He replied. “Reclaimed or not, only the good Lord knows what sort of relics that might be of use to a mage lie within it.”

“Why is she here?”

“I mentioned her ability to animate the dead. She has come to create a servitor, an undead creation made up of bone, flesh, and whatever else might be of use here.”

“Ugh, sounds like something out of a bad horror film.” snorted Boar.

“Perhaps. The weight of mortal unbelief makes such creations temporary at best, but regardless such things have their uses.”

“And what use is she creating for this one?” asked Sarah.

Damian shrugged. “I do not know.”

Michael looked down at his gun. “Well, I guess we get to see if the old zombies-vs-shotgun trope from the movies is correct.”

Mount Trashmore was an old landfill in Virginia Beach the city had converted into a city park sometime in the 1970s. It was a popular destination for locals, but now well after it dark it was abandoned and silent. It was however one of the highest points in the coastal city, forcing Michael and his allies to begin climbing to reach their quarry. As they ascended, they could hear a woman’s voice speaking softly in the night.

There were few trees about, so it was not long before Michael had a clear view of the peak. There sat a young woman, surrounded by piles of animal bones. Her chanting stopped and she stood up.

“Vampires.” She said loudly down at Michael. “I have no quarrel with you and your kind.”

“You have something we want, lich. Give us the soul of James Mitchell.” Michael demanded in return.

“Come and take it, bloodsucker.” A wand slid down from her sleave into her hand and she pointed it at one of the bone piles. The bones rattled and came together, forming a gruesome composite beast of bone and rotted flesh. The bone dog leaped down the hillside towards them.

Several things happened at once. Boar shifted into wolf form beside Michael. Damian disappeared, perhaps using his vampiric powers to vanish from sight. Sarah fetched up a stone and flung it at the bone dog. It struck home on the dog’s skull, but did no damage. The dog turned and leaped, hitting Sarah full in the chest and rolling with her back down the hill.

Michael turned to help her as Boar charged forward. The lich brough her wand up again. “Agoniste!” she barked. Boar let out a canine yelp and tumbled to the ground, twitching in agony and unable to move.

“Damn you!” snarled Michael. He turned again and fired his shotgun. His aim was dead on, but the pellets seemed to ricochet off of something invisible before her.

“What the hell?”

He fired again, with the same result. The lich smiled and raised her wand. “Solaris!” she cried. A beam of light shot out from the wand and struck Michael in the chest. Unimaginable pain shot through him and he pitched to the ground in torment.

Michael forced back the rising Beast within as he saw Damian emerge on the lich’s left side. His Peacemaker in hand, he opened fire, fanning the hammer on his pistol Wild West style. The bullets from the revolver struck the invisible shield just as his shotgun blasts had. The lich pointed the wand at him and there was a great explosion of rock and soil where he had been standing. “Betrayer!” Michael heard her say.

Sarah wrestled the bone dog to the ground. Grabbing another stone, this one much larger, she brought it down hard on the abomination’s head. The skull crushed to powder and the spell was broken. She came to her feet and rushed to Michael’s side.

“The shield is dir…” She did not get to finish her sentence before some sort of  kinetic spell from the lich knocked her off her feet and down the hill.

Michael came back to his feet and rolled over to where Boar was still spasming uncontrollably under the lich’s pain spell. He brought up the shotgun again and fired. This time, the lich lurched to one side, as if struck. It was not a major wound and she immediately turned her fury upon Michael.

The shotgun exploded in his hands.

Michael collapsed, his face and hands shredded by shrapnel. But the wound he’d inflicted had caused her concentration to slip. Boar let out a vengeful howl and morphed again into a monstrous man-wolf, 9 feet of fur and fury. He tore up the hill and bowled into the lich. All Michael could see of the two of them were claws, teeth, torn flesh, and blood. It was over in seconds.

Sarah ran up beside Michael as he tried to come to his feet. Blood was everywhere, his hands, his face, but the only wound he could feel was his chest. “My God, are you all right?” she asked him.

“I…” he started to speak and pain tore through his chest as he tried to expel the air to form the words. Michael fumbled with his shirt and was horrified by what he saw underneath. Much of his torso had turned to ash and was even now flaking off, turning to powder, and revealing bone and organ beneath.

Michael learned something as he viewed the ghastly wound. Despite all that he had seen of blood and gore, he now knew there were still some things that could sicken even him. He felt the world spin round and he knew that he was on the brink of torpor. Sarah grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at her. “No, don’t give in!” she demanded. Michael focused on her face, her words, and the allure of the long sleep passed.

“Dear God, what the hell did she do to you?” That was Damian. He had approached unnoticed while Michael was fighting to stay conscious.

“Light.” Muttered Michael. Each word was agony. “Sunlight.”

Damian grimaced. “The lich is dead.” He announced. “Boar made short work of her once he was freed from that spell.”

“Good.” Michael tried to smile as he buttoned his shirt back up. Sarah helped him to his feet.

“It will be a long time before that wound heals.” Said Sarah. “Blood will not do it as it does with our other injuries. Only time.”

Boar had returned to his human form and was sitting next to the mangled corpse of the lich. Damian leaned over and reached inside the lich’s pants pocket. He pulled out two small glass orbs.

“Are those…” Michael began to ask through clenched teeth.

“Yes. Soul gems.” Said Damian. “Time to get these to your friend.”

----

Damian walked into the hospital ICU like he owned the place. He began barking commands to the nurses on duty and Michael recognized that he was using one of the most famous of vampiric powers; he was mesmerizing them.  Damian turned back to Michael.

“We should be undisturbed now. They will remember nothing of this.”

Sarah marched into Mitch’s room. Michael followed close behind. “You aren’t going to have to get naked for this, are you?” he asked with a worried tone. “Your secret…” he tried to continue before pain cut him off again.

“No. That was necessary because I needed to appease spirits of the hedge to help me find Ian’s lost soul. I have Mitch’s soul, so no need for appeasement.”

“Sounds to me like the spirits of the Hedge are pervs.” Said Boar, who had obviously overheard what Michael had hoped would be secret.

“Somewhat.” Admitted Sarah.

“We have two orbs.” Said Damian as he came inside last. “Which is which?”

“Michael,” instructed Sarah. “Take one of the orbs in hand.”

Michael reached out and took one of the orbs. As he touched it, he felt a wave of emotion come over him, uncomfortable, as if he was committing a terrible violation of a stranger’s most intimate self. His face cringed at the feelings.

“Try the other.”

He did so, only now the feelings that came over him when he touched the orb were those of warmth, friendship, and affection. Michael was about to ask why they were so different, but Sarah sensed the question on his lips and answered before he could speak.

“Mitch is your friend. His soul is known to you and you can feel it. The other is a stranger, probably his mentor.” She reached out and took the orb from his hand. “This won’t take long. The soul will sense its vessel without much coaxing.”

She placed the orb on Mitch’s unmoving lips and began to chant softly in some strange language. After a minute or so, the orb vanished in a puff of smoke and Mitch’s eyes popped open. He took in a deep gasp of breath.

“Mitch!” said Boar, moving to his bedside.

“Where…what…” said Mitch. His eyes fell on Damian. “You!”

Michael moved between them. “Much has happened since you were attacked. Damian has had a change of heart!”

Mitch glared balefully at Damian for a few more seconds before directing his attention at Michael. “What happened to me?”

“My lich ally turned your soul into a snack. It has been restored.” Answered Damian for him. “The lich is destroyed. And I believe this belongs to someone special to you.” Damian dropped the remaining orb onto the bed at Mitch’s feet.

Mitch picked up the orb in his hands, incredulous as to its source. “Why?”

“What Michael said was true. Much has happened.” Damian looked to Michael. “I’ve kept my end of the bargain. Do we have an accord?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, I think we do. What happens now?”

“For right now, nothing. We are in no condition after tonight to face the Prince and his allies anytime soon.” observed Damian. “I suggest you rest and recover from that wound. Mitch has a soul to return to its rightful owner. I will provide you with some extra security in case the Prince comes looking for you at the club.”

“Thank you.”

Damian nodded in acknowledgment. He looked at Mitch. “It’s a small victory, but it is a victory. None of us have had many of those lately.”

Next Chapter

Act Three Chapter Ten - Killing in the Name

Michael sat on the bar at the Fox Club, his clothes covered in blood and smelling of smoke. He'd managed to escape the burning Aegyptus club, but he did not know how. He sat silently, thinking on the events of earlier that evening.

A bat flew into the club from outside and, in puff of smoke, transformed into Maximilian.

“So that’s how you do it?” mused Michael.

“One of many tricks. Not all of the old stories about our kind are false.”

“I don’t know what happened to Guy and Raoul. After the frenzy took me, all I could do was escape.”

“You are hardly the first to lose themselves to the monster within.” Commented Max, a rare sympathy in his tone. “Guy is fine…physically. He is most distraught however at the death of Raoul. It seems Shakespeare’s accuracy with Dragonbreath rounds is rather uncanny.”

“You knew it was a trap?” asked Michael angrily.

“I know now.” Said Max. “Guy told me everything. I knew the Mad Bishop had come to town. He among many others, like sharks to blood-filled waters: Damian, Guy, others. What I did not expect was he would so boldly assume such authority. Unless I miss my guess, he is the one calling the shots for the Disciples now.”

“You were outmaneuvered.” Observed Michael. Max’s eyes flashed with anger at being mocked by a mere novice, but Michael continued. “And still are. Ernie is calling the shots, through the Bishop. It was he who outfoxed you. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

“The Bishop is Mathias’ pet, as was Lazarus.”

“Not anymore. Ernie was there tonight, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Bishop. Let me guess…sire and childe.”

Max made no answer, but his silence gave Michael all the answer he needed. “Well, let’s hope you’re as smart as you think you are.” Said Michael. “The Disciples were fanatical before a madman took them over. God only knows what they’ll be like now.”

“Then you know why I’m afraid.” With that, Max faded into the shadows. Michael had no idea if he’d left or not and frankly didn’t care. He was furious; Angry at Max, angry at Michelle, and most of all, angry at Ernie. Angry because of those they’d killed in this mad competition of theirs, angry because of those he’d been forced to kill for his part in their schemes.

“Monsters we are…” he mused aloud, remembering something Deborah had told him in what seemed eons ago. And he grew angry at her, angry for dragging him into this world, angry at her abandoning him when he needed her most.

No, that wasn’t right, Michael reflected. That was his fault. His own stupid impulsivity in turning Rebecca without sanction. His thirst to see her tormented as he was.

And so Michael became angry with himself. And he knew what he had to do.

---

Michael was far from alone in his anger. Across town, Mitch was stewing himself. He was to meet with Lisa, his fellow mage from Charlottesville. She was in town to see how much, if any, progress had been made in finding the lich who’d attacked their mentor.

Mitch had little to offer her. He reported that the vampire war was heating up, that the undead had taken to killing each other’s slaves and even in a few cases each other. But no sign of the lich had been found. If he was amidst the vampires in their conflict, he was well hidden.

“Who is new to the city?” Lisa inquired. “What vampires have come recently, drawn by the turmoil?”

“There are several, many of whom I’ve had no contact.” Admitted Mitch. “One called Guy who comes out of Richmond. There is another they call the Bishop. I’ve not met either of them. There is one I have met: Damian Drake. He’s aligned with the enemies of my friend Michael. A few days ago, Damian led a bunch of his thralls and allies in the FBI to Michael’s club. He arrested the staff, shut the place down. He nabbed Boar, Michael Boorman that is, and me. He pulled us aside, because apparently he knew what we were.”

“This Boorman, what is he?”

“Oh, Boar’s a werewolf. He gave two of his thralls a set of silver bullets and had them drive us out to the beach. Dumb ass vampire thralls underestimated us and we both escaped.”

“So what does this have to do with anything?”

“He pulled us aside for a reason. He didn’t want others to see us killed. He gave those bullets to kill Boar, but nothing for me.”

“He wouldn’t have to. You’re still human.”

“Maybe, but I got this feeling he had something special in mind for me. Something he didn’t want others to see.”

“That seems a little thin.” Said Lisa bluntly.

“It’s all I’ve got. Damian could be the lich, although most everyone in the vampire community acts as though he’s one of them. But even if he isn’t, he may know who is. He does travel somewhat extensively around the state with a good sized entourage, and it wouldn’t surprise me if his travels correspond to where we’ve seen evidence of the lich.”

“Well,” conceded Lisa. “A thin lead is better than no lead. Best you follow up on this guy.”

“Easier said than done. Damian is a powerful and dangerous. One on one I don’t doubt he’d be a challenge, but what’s worse are his allies. This guy’s connected: FBI, police, you name it. The vampires all fear and value him, jockeying to get his resources at their disposal.”

“Regardless, what choice do you have?”

And that was that. After Lisa had left, Mitch was left to stew. He was angry. Angry that he’d have to find a way to confront one of the most powerful beings in the city. Angry that he was going to have dealings with the vampires all over again, something which disgusted him to no end.

“Back into their ugly world. A world of murder, backstabbing, intrigue, betrayal, and all that. Where even those I care about are twisted into monsters by the very nature of it all. Damn, why me?”

Mitch stood up and shook himself out of his mood. There was little sense in sitting here brooding, nor any more sense in fostering a grand sense of righteous indignation over the nature of those creatures he was to investigate, regardless of how tempting those options might be. No, there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. If he must plunge back into their world, then so be it.

He headed to his car, the same old beat up '78 Camaro he always drove. Despite its disheveled appearance, it ran like it was brand new, a combination of some dedicated care with a little Fate magic on the side. He was about to get in when a curious feeling descended upon him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Standing under a street lamp nearby was Damian Drake. With him was a young woman of about Mitch's age.

"I had the sense I was being watched." said Mitch warily.

"And you have been." said Damian, looking casually at his pocket watch. "For quite some time."

"You're the one I'm after, aren't you?"

Damian gave no more answer than a smile. He turned to his companion. "Take him."

---

Michael marched into the front door of Sarah’s occult shop, his face a spectre of grim determination. Just as he was about to open the door to the back area where Sarah and her family lived, the door burst open.

“My God, Michael…” exclaimed Leigh.

Michael had been wallowing in his anger for a couple of hours before finding his truck again and making his way back to Sarah’s shop. In that time, he’d forgotten his appearance, covered in blood and stinking of smoke from the fire. Now, with Leigh standing agape before him, he looked down again at his clothing.

“I…” he began.

“Are you hurt? What happened? My God, I was so worried. Where were you?” She machine-gunned the questions at him one by one, saying them so fast Michael had no chance to respond. She began to run her hands over him, checking for the wounds that would correspond to the blood.

“I’m fine.” He finally muttered, grasping her shoulder and giving her a gentle shove to get her attention away from his clothing. “I’m fine.” He repeated. “It was others who were hurt. A fight. A fire.” He locked eyes with her and could see the terror behind her gaze. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt. Let’s go inside.”

Leigh turned and Michael followed as they headed into the residence. They went up to the spare room that Leigh and her son had been staying in since Michael evacuated them from her home after the Fox Club raid.

“We need to get you cleaned up.” Said Leigh, her voice calmer and quieter now. Michael noted little Matthew was sleeping quietly in a cot against the far wall. She peeled off his shirt and ran her hands across his skin, as if not believing it was not bruised and brutalized.

Michael grasped her hands. He leaned down and kissed her fingers gently. Then he kissed her, fiercely, passionately. Then he began to speak. “I’m going to tell you something that you are not going to want to hear. My past is catching up with me. The Fox Club, the events tonight…it’s only a matter of time now. I had a near miss tonight, but next time it might not be. And if you or your son were in the crossfire…”

“No, no, don’t say it.”

“I have to. Leigh, you’ve got to leave. You’ve got to go…away…far away from me. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. You’ve meant so much. You brought me back from the brink, but now I know I can’t get away from the things I’ve done. The thing I am. You…you’re in terrible danger.”

“I don’t care. I don’t.” said Leigh insistently. “I love you. I would die for you.”

“Don’t say that!” snarled Michael, an image of Kris expiring in his arms flashed before his eyes. “I won’t let you. Not like her.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Another who died because of me. Because of what I’m involved in. Because of who and what I am. I couldn’t live with myself if you ended up like her.”

“You can come with me. We could flee together. Run away from all this. All these secrets and violence and ugliness. Come with me.”

“It would follow. No…”

“Don’t send me away. Please, anything but that.”

“Go. Go back to your apartment. After what happened tonight, I doubt anyone will much care what happened at the Fox Club. You’ll be safe away from me. Pack your things and go.”

With that, he turned and marched out of the room. In the hallway, he found Sarah standing against the wall, holding a tarot deck in her hands.

“Did you foresee this?” he snarled.

Sarah ignored his aimless anger and pain. “No,” she said. “But I didn’t have to. Death follows our kind. Linger in our presence too long and it will come for you.”

---

Max marched into the conference room at Nightstyles impatiently. He plopped himself down into his chair and glared at those who had already assembled. Darrel Mills and  Shakespeare were already there and watched him silently. Max noted the empty chairs. No Hiroshi, no Michelle, no Thomas, and certainly no Francois, although Max would have given almost anything for Prince Lazarus' old sheriff to come through the door. Staring down two members of the Disciples coterie all by himself made even Max a mite nervous.

"What's this about?" Max demanded.

"A calling of the council." answered Darrel. "That's all we know."

"By the prickling of my thumb, something wicked this way comes." said Shakes with a mad grin.

Hiroshi barged in next, forcefully flinging the door aside. Behind him was a vampire in the priestly robes of an Anglican or Roman Catholic bishop.

"So, it's true then." said Max, glaring at the Bishop. "Come all the way down here from Lynchburg to help us with our little problem of succession. You really shouldn't have."

"The issue of succession will soon be resolved." interjected Hiroshi, taking his seat at the table. "Once a small number of obstacles are removed."

"Oh? And am I to be one of them?" asked Max directly. "After all, I don't imagine our august guest is here on his own initiative. I'm sure Lord Mathias would love to rid the world of his errant heir."

"Your fate is in your own hands, Maximilian." said the Bishop. "Stay out of our way and you will find your Requiem will soon return to a sense of normalcy. Interfere, and you will learn that there are consequences."

"You have no standing here, Bishop."

"Ah, but I do...now." That seemed to be a cue, for when he spoke the word "now," Hiroshi stood up and the Bishop sat down in his chair.

"I am officially relinquishing my title of primogen to the Bishop." said Hiroshi. "He will represent the city of Hampton on the council henceforth."

Max forced his face into a visage of neutrality, but within he was full of rage and shock. "This is unexpected and unprecedented! He has no power base in this city. No hunting grounds, save those he's leeched off of Hiroshi. Damn the weak-minded fool. He's been enthralled by this madman."

"Thank you, Hiroshi.” Answered the Bishop. “My first order of business is to begin the process of removal of those aforementioned obstacles. I am disappointed to see Primogen Calderon absent tonight. It would be good for the Anarchs coterie to bear witness to what I am about to propose."

"And that is?"

"I propose that this council declare all members of the Servants of Typhon anathema. As heretics in the eyes of God and Longinus, they are to be hunted down and destroyed to the last."

"A process you've already begun." Max noted silently. "That explains Thomas' absence. He probably fled with Simone after things started getting really ugly. Michelle wouldn't dare show her face here after all that's happened." He paused in his thoughts. "I am alone."

"What say you?"

"I could point out that with three vacant seats we have no quorum." said Max. "I could make use of my authority as primogen to vote against this. But neither would accomplish anything. You will simply do whatever you wish. This council is now a genuine farce. Hiroshi, you spoke truly. The matter of succession has been settled," Max glared at the Bishop. "hasn't it?"

"Not quite yet." came the answer. "We were so hoping for your support in our efforts. After all, the Invictus and the Lancea are so rarely enemies elsewhere."

"What are you waiting for?" thought Max in great confusion. "The Bishop can marshal all of Hiroshi's assets and authority. The Servants and Anarchs are in disarray; their leaders on the run. The Old Guard now stands alone and we are not enough to oppose the Disciples as I just demonstrated. Why the delay? Take the throne and be done with it!"

But the Bishop made no such declaration. "I see no formal objection to my proposal. I will take that as affirmation. The Servants must die and all Kindred of the city are now called to that very purpose. The hunt has begun."

---

Michael awoke the next night to find Sarah's mother waiting for him.

“Did she leave?” he asked.

“Yes. About midday."

Michael nodded, his heart heavy. He had gone to bed immediately after dismissing Leigh, saying no more to either Leigh nor Sarah. When the dawn-sleep came upon him, he was too lost in his sorrow to even notice if Sarah had joined him. Yet, when he awoke, he found Sarah curled up next to him, holding on to him tightly. When he stirred at dusk, she grasped him all the harder, but said nothing. She simply held him.

Michael had wanted to be angry at Sarah for not warning him about this, but he realized she'd been right. Leigh had been what Michael needed when he came to Tidewater, but the situation had changed. Maybe, had the cold war between the Kindred factions stayed cold, they could have had some more time, but that was not how things played out. Now the danger inherent in unlife as a vampire had risen up to threaten her. He should have known himself this would happen eventually. He should have known it couldn't last forever.

Knowing that, realizing that however had not made it easier. He let out a pained sigh, a very human act, given that vampires had no need to breathe. Sarah embraced him tighter again. He returned her affection with a pat on the hand and then got up.

"And there’s more." Nancy pulled Michael from his reverie. "This came for you during the day." she told him, handing him a letter.

Michael opened it and began to read the handwritten script.

Michael,

I will trust that one of these notes will find its way to you in short order. Much has happened in these past nights and we must act quickly if we are to salvage anything from this debacle.

The Mad Bishop of Lynchburg has deposed Hiroshi Takagi as Primogen of Newport. With his new found authority, he has declared what fundamentally amounts to a blood hunt against the Servants of Typhon. They are to be killed on sight.

In some ways more disturbing was the absence at the Council of my childe, Thomas Calderon. If the Anarchs are leaderless and the Servants under condemnation, we now stand alone against the Disciples. This cannot be.

There is only one strategy I can divine that will save us now. It is the same we began that took you to Aegyptus: Alliance. We must rally the Anarchs and the surviving Servants to our cause. I will not divulge how I intend to do the former, as these missives may fall into the wrong hands, but I am entrusting the latter task to you. We must convince Michelle to set aside her grudge against you; a task that in light of these recent developments will prove even less difficult than before Aegyptus. Finding her in the midst of this blood hunt will prove the greater task. For that, I suggest you seek a favor from your Servant lover, Sarah.

I await news of your success.

Maximilian

Sarah came up behind him and saw the note in his hand. "What is it?"

Michael handed the note over to her. "We have work to do."

"Michael, Sarah, come quick!" came a voice. It was Sarah's mother. The two headed downstairs toward her.

On the TV in the study was one of those brief commercial-break breaking news blurbs. "...the young man, identified as 20 year old James Mitchell of Frederick, MD, was found unconscious early this morning near the Virginia Beach boardwalk. Police are continuing to investigate. More at 11."

"What the..." Michael began.

"They said he's been taken to Virginia Beach General. No idea what happened." said Nancy.

“Linger too long…” mused Sarah, repeating her words from the night before.

Michael slammed his fist against the wall in mute fury. "I was so worried about Leigh that I forgot about Mitch and Boar."

"Do not blame yourself." argued Sarah gently. "Mitch is a mage; his life is full of its own dangers. You cannot protect him from them all. Besides we're all in danger now."

"This place isn't safe...not if the whole city is hunting for us now."

Sarah turned to her mother. "Mom, we need to close up the shop and find someplace else to stay."

Nancy nodded and set to her work.

"You be careful." said Sarah to her mother. "Things have just gotten a whole lot more dangerous for all of us."

---

Guy sat on the beach and stared out over the rolling waves. At this late hour, no one was on the sands with him. He was as alone physically as he felt spiritually. Despite his grief, he was not utterly lost in his thoughts. He could still hear the shuffling gait of one approaching.

“Hello, Maximilian.”

“Dining on ashes again? Just as I found you last night.” quipped the Nosferatu hunchback.

“We're just tools to you. Why would you care?”

“Don't you get on some moral high horse now, Guy. You are no different. Toying with the lives of others is what we do. It's how we survive these endless nights in the midst of thousands upon thousands who would destroy us if they could.”

“And now they have. For two hundred years, Raoul has been my companion, my friend, my love. Without him, I am lost.”

Max snorted in derision. “After two centuries, you should know the dangers of such base sentimentality.”

Guy came to his feet and turned on Max in rage. He grabbed the Nosferatu by his shirt collar and hoisted him into the air. “How dare you lecture me as if I am the same as that piss-ant neonate Michael, Max. Do not provoke me further.”

“Anger. Good.” said Max. “That's more like it. But I'm not the one you want to kill.”

“Who then?” Guy tossed Max unceremoniously into the sand.

“Shakespeare, of course.”

“No, he's the puppet. I want the puppet master. I want the one who started all this and I know you know who that is.”

“Who started all this is irrelevant now.” said Max evasively. “What matters is who is driving it now: Ernie. It's all on him. Whatever scheme the original murderers of Lazarus had intended is now out of their control. Ernie's taken the ball and run with it. He's the one pulling Shakespeare's strings. He's the one behind the arrival of the Mad Bishop. It's all him.”

“You should have known.” said Guy accusingly.

“You cannot predict an earthquake, how it will strike, what buildings it will flatten. You cannot predict a forest fire, where it will go, what it will burn. Ernie is like that. He always has been. Everywhere he goes he tears things apart, but never in the same way twice.”

“Destroying one of the great elders is not an option.” said Guy with frustration. “If it were easy, someone would have done it by now. Monroe or Mathias if no one else, and yet they've done nothing.”

“He's not invincible. The puppet master is nothing without his puppets.”

“Shakes and the Bishop are not the only ones whose strings are being pulled.”

“No.” said Max. “Ernie wouldn't be Ernie if he didn't have his hand in as many cookie jars as possible.”

“Damian.”

“Possible.”

“Michael.”

“Most assuredly. They came to the city together.”

“They must die also if Ernie is to be beaten.”

“So be it.” said Max. “But not until their usefulness is over. For now, we need them. Once that's done, they're all yours.”

---

Michael and Sarah made their way through the labyrinth of corridors to the ICU at Virginia Beach General. He hit the switch to open the large fire doors that separated the unit from the rest of the hospital and was immediately confronted by the night nurse.

“You can't come in here.” she said sternly. “Visiting hours are over and we only allow immediate family anyway.”

“You will allow us to visit.” said Sarah sternly.

“Go right ahead.” said the nurse, a glazed look coming over her eyes.

Michael found Mitch's room quickly and the two stepped inside. He was not alone. Dozing in a chair next to him was a freckled young blonde woman. She snapped awake when he entered.

“Kindred.” she muttered under her breath.

“Mage.” guessed Michael. The girl nodded. “What happened to him?”

Sarah answered instead of the girl. “The same thing that happened to Pastor Ian. His soul is gone. Don't you recognize that same catatonic look in his eyes?”

“Your friend is very perceptive.” said the mage.

“Can you help him like you did Ian?” Michael asked Sarah.

“No,” said Sarah. “Ian's soul was torn from him by the Hedge, the barrier between our world and that of the fae. Because it was so violently ripped from him, there were remnants still connected to his body. That's why he still had some minimal function; he could wander aimlessly down the street like he did when you found him. Those fragments were enough of an anchor for me to draw the rest of his soul back to him. This is different. Mitch's soul has been removed with almost surgical precision. There's nothing for me to grab onto to pull it back.”

“Even if there were,” interjected the mage. “you'd have to contend with the one who did this. Somehow I doubt he'd let his prize escape him.”

“The lich?” asked Michael. The mage nodded.

“Is there no hope?”

The mage stood up and walked over to Mitch's bedside. “The same hope that brought Mitch here in the first place. Our mentor back in Charlottesville lies in a hospital bed just like this, another victim of this predator.”

“Mitch had told me.”

“A lich doesn't always consume a stolen soul immediately. They store them in enchanted objects and draw on their power later. Until a soul is utterly consumed, there is chance to restore what has been taken in much the same way as with your changeling friend. But you'll need the item and it could be anything.”

“The lich will know what that is.” said Michael with determination.

“If you're intent on that course, I recommend you talk to Damian Drake. Mitch believed he knew who the lich was.”

“Damian will also know where Michelle is.” added Sarah.

“Two birds.” mused Michael. “But such an unreliable stone...”

---

Finding a single individual in a metropolitan area as large as the Tidewater of Virginia was going to be no easy task. Neither Damian nor Michelle were going to be eager to be found, but Michael suspected that Damian would be the easier of the two. The reason was simple. Damian had made use of the local law enforcement establishment to attack the Fox Club. Surely, someone among the cops would know where to find him.

Michael drove up to police headquarters in Hampton and parked outside. A notebook in hand, he headed inside.

“Can I help you?” said the officer at the front desk.

“Yeah, I'm from the campus newspaper at ODU. I'm doing an article on the Fox Club raid and was wanting to interview one of the officers involved.”

“A little late at night for this, don't you think?”

Michael was prepared for that objection. “I was told this was the shift the officers in the raid worked.” It was a bluff.

The desk officer scratched at his beard. “You got a point there.” He yelled back behind him. “Jerry, got a reporter here to talk to you about the Fox Club.”

“Jerry” came out from the back room, muttering a similar objection about the late hour. “What do you want to know?”

Michael rattled off a series of questions, the answers to which he already knew. How many arrests? What were the charges? So forth. But then, he launched the ones he really wanted answers to.

“So how did you discover that all this was going on there?”

“Some bigshot from the FBI clued us in. He was the one who organized the raid.”

“And he was?”

“Drake was his name.”

“Any way I can contact him?”

“Yeah, I've got a business card from him. There's a mobile phone number on it.”

Jerry offered over the card. Michael smiled, thanked him for his time, and walked back outside.

Sarah was sitting in the front seat of the truck. “Did it work?”

“I've got a phone number. Let's find a payphone.”

That was an easy task. Michael dropped in his quarters and dialed. Damian answered.

“Yes?”

“Drake. It's Michael.”

“Resourceful, aren't we? Not everyone knows this number.”

“I know you know what's happened.”

“Yes, Aegyptus burned to the ground. Such a terrible tragedy. So many valuable pillars of the community killed. Just goes to show how important those fire codes really are.”

“Don't give me the 'official' cover story. You were there. I saw you. You know what really happened and what it really means.”

“And so does Max.” concluded Damian.

“All the more now that the Bishop has taken Hiroshi's seat on the council.”

“Odd that he didn't also claim the throne of Lazarus as well. Guess you can never truly fathom the mind of a mad childe of Ernie.”

“Not enough have died yet.”

“No,” replied Damian thoughtfully. “No, I suspect not.”

“You know who's next and since I think you are most interested in remaining gainfully employed...”

“You stab at my mercenary heart. What is Max proposing?”

“A truce between the Old Guard and the Servants in order to stop the Bishop and the Disciples.”

“Max is seeing his dreams of sitting the throne once again slip away.” Damian chuckled. “And what's he going to offer?”

“For now, a meeting.”

“Yes, I'm sure that's all it is at this point.” Michael did not like the inference there. A short chuckle followed from Damian that did nothing to reassure him. “Well, I ain’t so foolish as to think things are going well for us right now. A meeting of the minds is probably worth while. Meet me at the Arby’s on Virginia Beach Boulevard in one hour. You know the place, I presume?”

----

“It’s one thing for you to not tell Max. I understand your fears there.” Chided Sarah. “It’s another entirely to go alone. No way. Absolutely not.”

At two o’clock, the Arby’s was long since closed. Michael and Sarah sat in the parking lot, waiting for Damian’s arrival.

“I escaped Michelle once before and I can do so again if I must.” Said Michael.

“And what of Damian?”

“Like it or not, we’re going to have to trust him to some degree. Michelle is not going to meet us here at Arby’s. Damian will be taking us to her, and if he plans any foul play, he’ll have plenty of opportunity. No, I think Damian is sincere. There’s no profit in betraying me.”

“Regardless, you’re not going alone. I know Michelle. You’re going to want my help if you’re going to get around her stubborn pride to get anything accomplished.”

A large black limo pulled into the parking lot. Damian stepped out and walked over to the truck.

“Moment of decision.” Said Sarah.

“Fine. You’re coming along.” Truthfully, Michael was glad to have the company. He opened the door to his truck and stepped out. “Not exactly what I would call subtle transportation.”

“I travel in luxury as befits one of my station. The streets are nearly empty at this late hour. No one will notice nor care.” Damian proffered a pair of blindfolds as his driver also got out. “I can’t have the two of you knowing where Michelle has been hiding. Consider it a concession in good faith, the first in our negotiations. Is Max slinking about here?”

“I speak for Max.” said Michael, as he consented to have the driver blindfold him.

“Well, what great faith he places in you.” Said Damian with a smirk. “Mind your head here.” Michael was gently guided into the back seat of the limo. He could hear the shuffling of Sarah as she too entered the vehicle.

And then they began to drive. Michael could see nothing of course, but he could tell by the ride of the limo what sort of roads they were using. First, the city streets of Virginia Beach and Norfolk, then the interstate, then streets again. Quick stop and goes, leading Michael to believe they were now in residential areas instead of commercial.

The limo came to a stop some half-hour after their departure, or so Michael guessed. He was lead out and the blindfold removed. Their destination was heavily wooded; the sounds of civilization silenced by chirping of insects, frogs, and other forest animals.

“For people so accustomed to luxury…” mused Michael at their rustic location. “Oh, how the mighty are fallen.”

“Come.” Said Damian. He pulled out a flashlight and led on into the woods.

Michael and Sarah followed. Michael slid his hand under his summer jacket. He was mildly reassured to feel his Beretta tucked away in there, but also knew that if it came to him drawing it, the whole trip would be a failure.

“This place stinks of lupines.” Whispered Sarah.

“All the more to keep curious kindred at bay.” Answered Damian.

The woods parted into a clearing. Dotting about the clearing were several old rustic cabins; the place was an old summer campground, long abandoned. Parked near one of the far cabins were a half dozen or so large pick-up trucks.

“Something is amiss. Those shouldn’t be here.” Said Damian. He darted over to the parked vehicles and placed his hand on the hood of one. “Warm. Someone else is here.”

Michael drew his gun. “Failure” he mused silently to himself. Damian did likewise, pulling his old Colt Peacemaker revolver from under his suit coat.

Damian cocked the revolver and motioned. “This way. I think I hear something.”

Michael tuned his vampiric senses and he too could hear what Damian heard: singing. “What a fellowship…what a joy divine…leaning on the everlasting arms…” Not at all what a group of vampires looking for one of their pagan brethren wanted to hear.

Damian darted down a side trail into the woods once more. It was a short trail, opening upon another clearing some 100 yards or so down. Here again was an abandoned building, one that had the look of an old camp chapel. It was open to the elements, but Michael could see in the darkness that where its altar should be had been replaced by something significantly less Christian.

“I’ve heard of this place.” Whispered Sarah. “It’s one of Michelle’s secret pagan temples.”

Their attention was drawn again to sound as the singing fell silent. Off to the side of the desecrated chapel, they could see a cluster of people gathered, perhaps 30 or so. An outer ring made up of armed men carrying shotguns and rifles. An inner circle made up of what looked like frightened and humbled prisoners, perhaps a dozen or so. Beyond the crowd, Michael could see three stakes driven into the ground. Tied to them were two men and one woman: Michelle and two vampires Michael presumed were members of her Servants coterie.

“He’s going to burn them alive! Like witches of old.” Exclaimed Sarah in astonishment. Her voice was loud enough to carry.

One of the guards turned. He was armed unlike the others, carrying only a Japanese katana rather than a gun: Hiroshi Takagi.

“No, see us not.” Said Damian, who made a gesture with his hand. Hiroshi glanced about and then turned back to the proceedings. “I have cloaked our presence here. Try not to cry out again.”

The Mad Bishop then stepped forward. In his hand was a burning torch. “Our God is strict. The path to him is narrow. The way straight. Those who fall upon the way face only the fires of hell, destined to join Satan and his servants.” He thrust the torch into the brambles at the foot of the first stake. “These three are the willing servants of the devil. For them, there is no redemption.” Again, he lit the second. Now only Michelle remained. He stood before her. “No mercy for the likes of these.” He tossed the torch into brambles at her feet and turned around.

The air was filled with the screams of the dying. Michael looked first at Damian. His was a look of anger and frustration. Michael then turned to Sarah. She was shivering in abject terror as she watched the three vampires, three of her coterie and her covenant, burn to ash before her eyes.

As the screams fell silent, the Bishop’s voice pierced the night. “But for you, there is still hope. For you, there is a chance at redemption. Repent and turn to the Lord. Return again to the narrow way. Replace false light with true light. False teaching with right teaching. Turn now or join these.”

“I repent and call upon God’s mercy.” Said a desperate voice. Michael recognized it instantly.

“Ernie.”

“His cult.” Added Damian. “Damn that bishop. Not only has he destroyed the Servants, he’s subverting the madman and his followers.”

“He hasn’t destroyed all of us yet.” Said Sarah. “We need to go.”

“Damian,” said Michael firmly. “If they found this place…”

Damian looked at Michael. “Yeah, I understand.” He stood up, holstered his pistol, and looked back. All the gathered cultists had bowed down before the Bishop, following Ernie’s lead.

Michael looked at the Bishop. Even at this distance, he could feel the tug of the Bishop’s vampiric majesty, his magnetic power over emotion. Michael knew the Bishop possessed that power at levels far greater than him. Michael could get a woman to his bed; he knew the Bishop could get people to follow him into hell.

“Even Ernie cannot resist him.” Michael mused as he holstered his own weapon.

“Oh, I doubt that.” Added Damian. “This is for show. Just like at Aegyptus, these two are in alliance. Ernie is the one calling all the shots I have no doubt.”

“Is he?” Michael wondered. Normally, he’d have agreed with Damian, but the pull of the Bishop’s charisma was extraordinary, unlike anything Michael had experienced thus far. It left him unsettled. “Let’s get out of here.”

---

The details of the whole Ernie-Bishop-Disciples alliance rattled around in Michael's head as they retreated from the campground. It was pleasant distraction from Sarah's rising anxiety. Michael took her in hand, but it was a futile gesture.

Damian had not bothered with the blindfolds on the way out; they were clearly no longer necessary. He now sat across from the couple, his face contorted in a look of frustration and anger. Michael could guess why. After all, Damian had thrown his lot in with the Servants and now his gravy train was quite literally up in smoke.

Once on the open highway, Damian ordered his driver to pick up the pace. The driver floored it and they made the trek back to the Arby's in less than 20 minutes. Upon arrival, Michael and Sarah jumped out of the limo and dashed to the truck without a single word to Damian. All thoughts of political schemes were now gone. Their only concern was getting to the bookstore before the Bishop's thugs.

The trek back to Norfolk was a quick one. Michael pulled up the street towards the bookstore, only to discover the street blocked and a crowd gathering.

"It's four in the morning." mused Michael aloud. Whatever was ahead, it had stirred up the whole neighborhood in the middle of the night.

"My family!" said Sarah, tearing at the door to get out of the truck.

"No," barked Michael. "You're no fighter. Stay here!"

But Sarah paid him no heed. Michael reached behind the seat and grabbed the first long gun he could find. his Remington shotgun. He pumped it to chamber a round and headed towards the crowd to find Sarah.

Sarah shoved her way through and emerged on the other side. Several cars had been moved to block the street. A group of men with torches stood before the bookstore. Among their number was Shakespeare.

"Our city has been plagued by disaster. Murder, fire, dozens have died. I say the devil is among us!" cried out a voice. It was from a mortal with a torch, obviously the acting leader. "And it is people such as these who have brought him here. We, the disciples of our Lord, will drive this plague from us. We will burn it out and all those who carry it!"

"Do it!" cried out someone in the crowd. "Kill the devil worshipers."

A plant perhaps? But he had the desired effect. The crowd began to chant "burn them." Others began to pray the Lord's Prayer or other signs of piety. Michael tried to shove his way through as Sarah had, but the people had closed ranks.

"Mom!" Michael heard Sarah scream.

"There! The child witch! Take her!"

"No!" barked Michael. He pointed the shotgun skyward and pulled the trigger.

No one in the crowd expected that and, fanatical or not, no one was in the mood to get shot. A panic fell upon them and the crowd began to scatter. Michael shoved his way past them to where the disciples had gathered.

Two of the disciples had grabbed Sarah and were trying to pin her to the ground. It was proving difficult. Although only the size of a teen, Sarah still had the enhanced strength of a vampire.

Michael swung the shotgun as a club, knocking the first thug off Sarah and sending him flying. He then brought the butt of the weapon down on the second, knocking him cold. Michael then took up the gun and pointed it at Shakes.

"For Raoul." He fired.

Shakes took the full blast in the chest. He collapsed backwards. Sarah came to her feet. Michael pumped the weapon and fired again, taking down a disciple thug.

"Kill them!" barked the leader. Behind him, Michael could see Nancy and Elizabeth pinned to the pavement by disciple thugs. They drew their guns.

"No!" Michael and Sarah cried out almost in unison. Michael fired again, the shot taking down one of the thugs on Nancy. Gunfire filled the air in response. Michael felt bullets rip through his flesh. He ignored it. He pumped the gun again, fired, and killed the thug threatening Elizabeth.

"No! The servants of the devil will not see victory here tonight!" That was Shakespeare, so angry he actually broke character. He pulled the gun off his back. Michael recognized it; the same shotgun he'd used at Aegyptus. He pointed it at Michael. Michael stopped cold.

"No, not you." He spun with vampiric speed and fired instead at Nancy. The gout of flame enveloped Sarah's mother.

A half-second later, Michael saw something he'd never seen before. Sarah gave into her Beast and frenzied.

Michael remembered well his own experience with frenzy; the time when the Beast had taken him on the beach right after he awoke from torpor. He also knew it had been frenzy that had taken him from Aegyptus. But this was the first time he'd seen it in another vampire.

Though barely over five feet in height, Sarah began tossing disciple thugs around like toys, scratching, biting, flailing about like a maddened animal. Shakespeare fired his second barrel at her, but missed.

Still the blast of flame had its own effect on Sarah, even in her maddened state. Terrified of flame, the Beast shifted from fight to flight and she ran.

Shakes began to reload. Michael had had quite enough by now. He pumped and fired again. Shakes took the shot in the belly. Michael fired again. Shakes spun from taking a blast in the shoulder. Michael pumped again and click.

"Too bad." mused Shakes with a goofy look on his face. Michael smashed the butt of his Remington into it.

Stunned, Shakespeare staggered back. Michael dashed with vampiric speed to Elizabeth's side. He grabbed her by the arm. "Let's get out of here." Michael said urgently.

The remaining thugs were regrouping from where Sarah had torn through them like a tornado. Most of them were injured, but only a few were so hurt as to be incapacitated. Michael smashed the closest with his empty shotgun. "Run!" he barked at Elizabeth. She did.

Two thugs grabbed Michael. He slammed his elbow hard into the gut of the first, knocking him back. He took the other by the arm and twisted, hearing the satisfying snap of bone.

"Leave him!" barked Shakes. "He's the one chosen. Finish our work."

The thugs turned their attention to the bookstore, picking up their burning torches from where they'd fallen about and tossing them into the building. Shakes stood to his feet, his wounds closing. "O, from this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!"

Michael ran.

To Chapter Eleven