We were seriously overdue for an update...

I had hoped to publish chapters pretty much as I finished them. I found this was unwise, as I often find I have to back up from time to time to edit material to better conform to chapters and plots that I am writing presently. Regardless, I hadn't posted an update here since last May.

I suppose I could blame some of that on the fact that I moved over the summer and had to settle into a new job and a new house and a new town and all that. All true, but still no excuse.

Anyhow, I've posted all the remaining chapters of Act Two. It's done.

The first chapter of Act Three is also up. As for where I am on the actually writing of this thing, I'm almost finished with that Act. Soon, we'll be moving back to Blacksburg for Michael's vengeance on Mathias and The Djinn.

Vampire portraits - Thralls Part 2

A quick post to finish up the Act One portraits. The story's moved well into the Tidewater area now, so I'd like to start posting the pics of the new characters.

First up, Geoff...

Then Corwin...

And now the lovely and corrupt Officer Julia Peacetree (I'll admit I borrowed this one from a Sims 3 site somewhere)...

And lastly, Karl...

Act Three Chapter One - The Twilight Zone

“This is not, however you may envision it as such, the Curia of Rome, seeking to elect a new Pope to rule over the church.” Barked Maximilian. “Lord Takagi, this council of Primogen is under no obligation to continue in the path our now dead Prince Lazarus led. It is time for change. No more of this religious folly.”

“You forget yourself, Lord Maximilian.” Retorted Darrel Mills, the Primogen of the city of Norfolk. Michael had only been partly right about his understanding of the title “Primogen.” Here, in Tidewater, it did denote a leader, not of a faction, but rather of a city. “The Disciples hold three seats of this council, more than any other group. Your call for a new order will not pass, no matter how many times you make it.”

“Nor will yours to maintain the old. You need a majority and you do not have it.”

“This impasse will not last forever.” Added Hiroshi Takagi, Primogen of Hampton.

“Your loyalty to our previous ruler is touching and, like most sentimentality, utterly useless.” Michelle La Croix now added her voice. She ruled Chesapeake. “But, as strange is it may seem, I agree with Lord Takagi. He is right. The impasse will not last forever. All we need is someone to take the vacant seat of Virginia Beach itself, as our friend Thomas has taken Newport.”

Sitting silently to her left was the Nosferatu, Thomas Calderon. He said nothing, even as his name was called. His eyes never left Maximilian, who was his sire.

The sixth and final member of the council was a childe of Ernie and like him, insane. But this one’s madness manifested differently than his sire. Utterly deluded that he was, in fact, the famous playright, he went by the name of Shakespeare. Like Calderon, he said nothing.

“And in these six months since the death of the Prince, none have been bold enough to try.” Reminded Maximilian to Michelle. "The seat of Virginia Beach was vacant, because it had been Lazarus’ seat. Whoever claimed the title of Primogen of that city was not automatically Prince, but they would have the power to sway the council. And neither Maximilian nor the followers of Lazarus were eager to see that seat in the hands of the other side.

In their current venue, that seat was a literal reality. They had gathered, as they had for each month since the death of Lazarus, in the conference room on the upper floor of Nightstyles, once a thriving nightclub on the boardwalk of Virginia Beach. Lazarus had acquired it a few years back from its previous owner (a drug pushing Daeva who had met a similar fate as the twins), immediately closed it down, but still used the property as neutral ground and a place of meeting. In the conference room was a single table around which were set seven chairs. Six now held the present Primogen and the seventh remained empty, like the chair of Elijah at a Jewish seder meal.

For six months, that chair had always been empty and the stalemate continued. All the Kindred of the city knew that whoever dared to sit upon it would not only likely break the stalemate in the council, but they would paint a large bullseye upon themselves as a result. Thus, none had come forward.

Until tonight.

The heavy door of the conference room swung open violently with a bang, a noise that startled even the cold stare of Calderon to it. Francois du Bois entered boldly. As the sheriff of the city and the former Prince’s bodyguard, Francois was no stranger to these proceedings. He had often been tasked by the council to deal with some interloper or lawbreaker. But he came tonight without invitation.

“And speaking of loyalty to our beloved and late Prince...” commented Michelle sardonically.

Francois ignored her and made his way to the empty seat. He sat down.

“A bold gesture.” Observed Maximilian.

“Is this a symbolic gesture or merely a pragmatic one?" demanded Hiroshi. "Are you claiming that chair and all its responsibilities, Francois?”

“I am, mi’lords.”

“Then shall we take a vote upon who will rise to be our new Prince?”

“No.” That came from Francois.

“Excuse me?”

“If you take a vote, I will abstain and your stalemate will remain. I claim this chair and its authority for one purpose and one purpose alone. I no longer doubt that the killer of Prince Lazarus sits within this very room. I come for justice. For vengeance. To see that Kindred burn in the light of the sun.”

“This reminds me of something.” Said Shakespeare, speaking for the first time that night. “Ah, yes, to be or not to be...”

“I did not come here to match wits with this fool.”

“That is wise. You would be badly outmatched.” Claimed Shakespeare.

“Enough!” barked Hiroshi. “If there is no vote, then our business is done this night. We meet in one month’s time here again.”

“And let us hope that we will be one short again.” Added Francois. “For let us hope I found this murderer by that time.”

“You play a dangerous game, Lord Francois.” Said Calderon as he stood up to depart. “Do you think the culprit so foolish as to allow you to provoke them in this way?”

“Do not presume, Lord Thomas, that I think you innocent because of your late coming to this body. You were swift enough to stand in for Lillian.”

“Do not try to intimidate me, Francois. You know I am no more guilty than that young pup who immediately claimed her properties and hunting grounds. You waste your threats. Mark my words. You will not sit that chair long.”

“I do not have to.”

---

Mike “Boar” Boorman took another sip of his beer and let the bass pound within his whole body. The dance floor was alive with bodies. In the six months since The Fox Club had come under “new management,” the whole place had changed. Outside street racing remained hot, but inside the new building, constructed quickly in February after the old was torn down, was not a bar, but a dance club.

As the pounding beats of a 2 Unlimited techno track came on, a hand grasped him firmly by the shoulder. He spun to see the face of his friend Michael. “Better than what we had in your old dingy apartment, isn’t it?”

Boar nodded. “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but this is grand.”

“Right place, right time.” Said Michael, somewhat evasively. “You know, you should go out and pick yourself one of those fine ladies and take her to one of the private rooms. That brunette over there is looking lonely, and she keeps looking over this way.”

“No thanks. Besides, those rooms aren’t exactly private.”

“Oh, come now. Mitch is already back in one with some blonde he picked up earlier tonight. You should be more trusting of me, after all we’ve been through. I would never film my friends.” That was one of Michael’s big secrets. The “private rooms” were used by the club’s clientele for illicit sexual encounters, but each was filled with hidden cameras. Michael filmed those encounters and sold them via computer BBS’s to people all across the country. The club was a front for a thriving business in pornography.

“Still, I’ll pass.”

“I miss the old Mike, the old Boar. You are not so fun.” With that jestful complaint, Michael headed off into the dancing crowd.

---

Eight months since that fateful night in Blacksburg, when Mathias rained unholy vengeance down upon them. Eight months since Boar and Mitch learned their true heritage, and yet they were together again. A new venue, a new battle, and new tools for them to use, but for all his teasing Michael did not truly understand that Boar was not the same as he once was. He could not.

Unbidden came the memories, undaunted by the flashing lights and powerful beats of the music in this new setting. Another hunt in the woods around Roanoke. Now side by side with Ami. But she seemed not herself. Slower, more distracted.

“What is wrong?” said Boar, shifting to human form for speech. “You can barely keep up.”

“Go on ahead. I’m only slowing you down.” She replied, shifting also from wolf to woman. Without pause, her hand grasped at her belly. “I’ve been sick.”

“Werewolves do not get sick.”

“Pregnant ones do.”

“Dear God! Is it true?”

Ami nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “They will know. They will know and they will come for us. This thing within me is no joy, no cause for celebration. No, as you’ve been told, when werewolves mate, what they conceive is an abomination of the spirit world. Not wolf. Not human. Not Uratha, but a blight and a monster. They will destroy us both for this travesty.”

“Then we will run away together.”

“And what tribe will take us? Do you think strangers will accurse us less than our own packmates? Go, my love. Now may be our only chance. You bear no mark of this sin. You may have a future yet among our kind. But me, I am damned.”

“I will not leave you. I love you.”

“And I you, but I will not have you go down with me. Together we are doomed. Apart, you still have a chance. Go! Go now!”

Boar could barely imagine what he was hearing. Their romance had been firey, passionate, and real. Ami was not like the others, the one-night stands, the party girls, the drunken conquests. His confession of love was sincere, and he felt his heart break within him.

“I...” Now his eyes moistened and words failed him.

“Go!”

He went, reluctantly. His heart now heavier than it had ever been. He traveled south, to old haunts. To Blacksburg.

Once, not so long ago, he would feared returning there. The woods were safe, but the city, the towns, these were the lands of Mathias and his victorious vampire allies. Mitch, Michael, Deborah, all dead or missing.

He wandered onto the campus of Virginia Tech in a daze. It had been a beautiful spring day, mid April. Warm and sunny, and many of the students were sunning themselves in swimsuits and bikinis upon the lawn next the Schultz Dining Hall. As he moved from there to the Upper Quad, a voice cried out.

“Boar? Mike Boorman, is that you?”

“Corwin?” It had only been months since he’d last seen his friend, Boar could scarcely recognize him, his mind so muddled by recent events.

“Dear God, you look like hell. What’s happened?”

Boar did not answer. But somehow, over the next hour, Corwin managed to get Boar out to Michael’s old cabin, now abandoned. “It’s not the cleanest place. Not exactly been kept up recently. But it’ll give you a place to stay. Anything I can get for you?”

“Booze. Help me forget.”

He drank himself into a stupor for a week. In his rare moments of sobriety, he often found Corwin checking in on him (and perhaps also when he was not sober enough to remember.) His wits muddled, his heart in agony, and his inhibitions gone, he told everything. That he was a werewolf, that he had fallen in love, and they had broken the worst of all the taboos of his new people.

And then the booze ran out.

Boar woke up with a hangover so bad he thought he had to get better to die. And again, Corwin was there. Another day passed, or was it two? Even now, as remembered these things sitting at the bar in The Fox Club, Boar could not remember clearly.

The next memory was him returning to town. He was still not himself, but he was sober and awake. There was a meeting at Macados. With Boar and Corwin were Karl and Geoffrey. Also present was Joshua Burke, the young hacker they’d all intimidated into joining Michael’s little club of thralls. It was the first such gathering of that club since the night Michael was taken by The Djinn.

“He’s alive.” One of them said. Joshua, Boar seemed to remember. “He’s contacted me. He wants to set up a BBS to sell videos.”

“What sort of videos?”

“Porn. He’s got some kind of deal in Williamsburg or Hampton. But he needs someone to set up a board for him.”

“That’s your line of work.” Said Geoffrey. “Why call us together?”

“Figured you guys would want to know Michael’s alive. You were his friends.”

“He’s in Hampton?” asked Boar, the first time he’d spoken that day.

“Yeah, I’m heading out this weekend. Going to meet him to talk business.”

“I’m coming with.”

And so he did, and now here he was.

---

Michael made his way across the dance floor, pausing briefly at various points to dance with several attractive women. Despite the appearance of their interest and availability, Michael found none of them appealing. His find was elsewhere, scheming for the future and inordinately pleased with his unlife.

Having Boar and Mitch back again was huge. To discover they were far more than the mere mortals he (and presumably Deb) had thought they were was even better. A wizard and a werewolf as allies! What a boon that was. Eight months since his flight from Roanoke and from Prince Mathias's justice, his allies were growing in number. Soon, he hoped, there would be enough to return in force to rescue Deborah and Rebecca, the latter of whom Michael was now convinced had survived somehow.

He had just about made it across the dance floor to where the back rooms (and the recording studio) were when a pair of hands came around his waist and stopped him cold. He knew those hands and the person to whom they belonged was one of the few things that could draw his thoughts away from his grand schemes.

The hands began to seductively massage his hips and crotch. Michael took one and brought it up to his lips for a playful kiss, and then turned around.

“You’re here.” He said to Leigh, his voice faint and nearly inaudible in the din of the music.

“Of course. Shall we dance?” She grabbed him and pulled him close. What followed was less a dance and more of two bodies grinding together, but it was not so different than what was happening all over that dance floor.

As the song ended and the DJ began another, Leigh reached up with her mouth to nibble on Michael’s ear. “Take me to a back room. I want you inside me.”

That was not a request Michael was inclined to reject. Taking her by the hand, he again made his way through the undulating crowd, this time without pause or hesitation. Emerging on the other side, he sought an empty and was thankful there was one left. He pulled Leigh inside and then gave her a playful shove onto the mattress on the floor. She fell back, spreading her legs and letting her already short club dress ride up all the more to give Michael a very pleasant view.

Michael grinned greedily and made an odd gesture in the air with his hands. It was a signal to the recording studio to turn off the cameras. Not only did Michael not film his friends, but he was not inclined to let himself be filmed either.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Said Leigh.

“Why? Do you really want dirty old men all over the country masterbating to you?”

“To have all those eyes on me as you ravage me? God, do you have any idea how wet that makes me?”

“Let’s find out.” He pulled down his pants and moved between her legs. He discovered she was very wet indeed.

She pulled up her tank to reveal even more of herself as he thrust in and out of her. The rooms were not soundproof, but neither could you hear much of anything from outside save the pulsating beats of the music on the dance floor. Michael kept rhythm and Leigh twitched in orgasmic delight.

His desire for her had not lessened over these past months. If anything, it had increased. Her affections for him seemed so genuine and that was so intoxicating, as it always was for him. The more she desired him, the more he wanted her. But a nagging fear began to fester in the back of his mind. She had always had her suspicions about him and his "story" to rationalize his refusal to answer those questions about him was flimsy at best. Early in their relationship, it didn't seem to matter. Leigh accepted his evasiveness in stride, but as time went on it got riskier and riskier. He would either say something taboo and put her life in danger by those who enforced the secrets of his kind, or she would eventually grow weary of that evasiveness and leave him.

No, Michael couldn't bear the thought of either of those things happening. To prevent those fears from coming to pass, Michael bound her to him. Now Leigh would be his forever.

Was her affection still genuine or just another trick of his vampiric power? That question nagged Michael from time to time, but in the passion of the present moment, he didn’t care. It was easy to forget those darker possibilities when she came to him so wanton, so hungry for him. With each thrust she seemed to become even more lustful, so much so that it seemed no amount of sex could satisfy her. She was insatiable this night and that was a challenge Michael was more than willing to embrace.

As he rose towards his own climax, the door to the room flew open. His anger flashed at the interruption and the Beast within him rose. He came off of Leigh and turned in rage upon he who had opened the door. A strong arm clamped on his neck and pinned him to the wall.

“Come back to yourself.” Barked Boar. And he did. The frenzy passed as fast as it came.

“I should have guessed. You’re the only one strong enough to do that to me.”

“You’re needed.” Said Boar’s companion. It was Mitch. “Outside.”

“What’s going on?” Michael pulled his pants up.

“You should come and see.” Michael didn't like the sound of that.

“Boar,” Michael commanded. “Take Leigh home.” He followed Mitch across the dance floor to the front of the club.

Outside, a crowd was gathering around the fallen form of a man, bloody and beaten. “What’s going on here?” Michael demanded.

Virgil, the street racer Michael befriended his first night at the Club, answered. “Dude just staggered down the street and collapsed here.”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“No, help me get him inside. Virgil, grab his legs.” Virgil did so, as Mitch and Michael took the man’s arms. They brought him inside. Michael barked a quick order to the bartender once inside, an order to close the Club early that night. They then continued past the bar to the stairs to the basement where Michael kept a small office.

They brought the man into the office, setting him down on the floor. Michael grabbed Virgil, “If anyone asks you, we called the police and they took care of this.”

“Right, boss.” Virgil was also now a thrall and would obey. He departed.

“You know him?” asked Mitch of the bloody man.

“I do. He is a vampire named Francois. Used to be the bodyguard of the dead Prince.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’d have turned to ash if he was. He’s in torpor sleep. Francois had a reputation for being tough as nails, shrugging off blows that would stagger even other vampires. For someone to beat him bloody like this is almost inconceivable.”

“I can try to find out what happened to him.” Offered Mitch. “See back in time.”

“Do it.”

Mitch opened Francois’ unseeing eyes and stared deep within them. “What secrets do you hold?” he asked aloud as he focused his will on bending the very fabric of time.

---

Mitch’s story of how he came to be reunited with his friends was, in some ways, no less tragic than Boar’s. He arrived in Charlottesville in early December. There he met the cabal of mages that called that town and the University of Virginia home. Foremost among them was Stanley Duncan and his apprentice Lisa King. Stanley ran a head shop in downtown Charlottesville and was a popular figure among the stoner crowd on campus. But it was all a front for one of the most powerful Acanthus mages on the East Coast to live, conduct his research into the mysteries of magic, and teach his apprentices.

Mitch took Darren’s advice to heart; cheat codes of the universe indeed. He was always pushing, trying new things. He had expected his studies to be something out of an old fantasy novel, books of spells, potions, and other trappings of fictional sorcery. He was most pleasantly surprised to discover it was more experimentation and practice than book learning, more like learning to play a musical instrument. So he practiced and he experimented, most often with Lisa, a cute short-haired freckled blonde that found him hard to keep up with. It did not take long for her to find her way into his bed, although Mitch had to admit he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t him finding his way into her's.

There was sex, drugs, booze, and magic, and it was not long before the horrors of the night of Mathias’ vengeance faded to dim memory. It was his life in Blacksburg all over again, only more so. It was not long before he learned to turn his powers on others in ways that always benefited him. He played the lottery and won often, but not so often as to draw suspicion. Lisa was not his only conquest; he soon learned a few simple rotes of magic that made anyone he desired open to his charms.

Life was a grand party, but it was not to last.

Beware the ides of March, the soothsayer once said to Caesar, and that date proved no less inauspicious to Mitch. For that was when they found Stanley, or what was left of him, hunched over in his shop, doing little more than drooling on himself.

They took him to UVA hospital, but the doctors could find no cause for his catatonic state. There was nothing physically wrong with him; no injury and all tests returned normal. But he was no more than a vegetable.

“This is magic.” Admitted Lisa. “But none I’m aware of or have encountered before.” So they called upon the rest of the cabal for an explanation.

It was Adrian Lott, a mage of the Moros path, a necromancer, who gave them an answer. “There is a rare and secretive branch of our path.” He said, as he examined Stanley’s comatose form. “We do not speak of them often, but they are called the Tremere. We have another name for them: Lich.”

“That’s the name of an undead monster in Dungeons and Dragons.” Offered Mitch.

“Yes, and like that fictional creature these mages are neither alive nor dead, but something in-between. They are much like vampires and often mimic them, but they command powers far greater than many vampires and most mages. Part of that is because they are functionally immortal and can have centuries to refine the mysteries we have but a single lifetime to learn.”

“Immortal? Really?” said Lisa.

“Yes, just as a vampire drinks the blood of humans to sustain his undying state so too does a lich require sustenance. But what a lich requires is more intangible. They drink souls. And that is what has befallen your mentor.”

Adrian continued his examination. “Most often, they drink of sleepers. But the aged and more powerful can take a soul from an awakened mage. I had heard rumors that a lich was in the region. Friends of mine in Washington were reporting strange ailments among the sleepers and then one of their own, a mage, was found much as you see Stanley here. The cabal in Washington tried to track it down, but it had fled the area. That was over a year ago. Now it’s here.”

“How can we fight something that hunts mages as this creature does?”

“The same way we fight a werewolf or a vampire or a mortal, with wit and will and strength. Surely by now you’ve learned that no matter how powerful you think you are, there’s always something greater. The top of the food chain is never where we think it is. Regardless, we must try. Once a soul is stolen, the lich will consume it slowly over time. If we can liberate Stanley’s soul from this lich in time, we can restore him to health.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then he will live out the rest of his days as you see him now. Losing your soul is not immediately fatal, as you can see. But once that soul is destroyed utterly, he will lie here like the brain-dead and merely endure until his body finally gives out.”

And so their search began. They quickly exhausted every lead in the Charlottesville area, discovering by doing so that this lich had again moved on. Lisa went south toward Roanoke, while Mitch made his way to Richmond and then to Tidewater. Adrian’s comments about liches acting like vampires led him to seek out the undead, not an easy proposition even for a mage who had prior dealings with them. But luck was ever Mitch’s ally and by chance, he came upon Solomon one night. From there, he soon found himself reunited with someone he had not expected to meet again: Michael.

They exchanged their stories and both found in the other’s tale possibility and opportunity. With the death of the Prince, Mitch learned that many new vampires had come into the Tidewater and it was quite possible that among their number was the very lich he sought. Michael found an old friend and a far more powerful ally than he had been before, and he pledged whatever aid he could to find the lich.

---

Mitch completed his incantation. “He was attacked by over a dozen young men with clubs, steel pipes, and the like. Crude weapons, but effective. Each of them bore an armband with a symbol upon it.”

“Can you show me that symbol?”

“Yeah, easy.” He grabbed a piece of paper from Michael’s desk. “A cross with arrows on each end. Like so.” He scribbled a rough approximation.

“Thank you. I have one more favor to ask. Help me get him into my reserve haven. There’s no telling how long he’ll sleep like this and it’s best that we keep him safe.”

“Friend of yours?”

“No, but not an enemy either. Someone did this for a reason, and I’d very much so like to know why. But they will try again and finish the job if they find him. Now take his arms and let’s get him someplace safe.”

---

Michael pulled his beat-up pickup truck into the driveway at the haven he shared with Solomon. Solomon’s bike was parked outside, so he knew his friend was home. He got out of the truck and paused to note a new patch of rust on the old vehicle’s body that he’d not seen before.

“Oh, well, something else to occupy a bit of my time.” He mused to himself. The truck was not glamorous, but it was functional, and most of Michael’s income he’d pumped into the club. It was a good base of operations. It made a name for him in the city and he would need both of those to get what he came for in this city.

Michael headed inside. Solomon was sitting in the living room, as if waiting.

“It is nearly dawn. I was beginning to think you would stay at the club today.”

“Not possible.” Said Michael. “There is a vampire in torpor within my chambers there.”

“Excuse me?” Solomon reacted with surprise.

“Francois. The old Prince’s bodyguard.”

“I had heard he had taken the seat of Virginia Beach on the council. Presumably to draw out the Prince’s murderer.”

“He was successful.” Michael dug into his pocket and pulled out the slip of folded paper upon which Mitch had drawn the symbol borne by Francois’ attackers.

“I don’t recognize it.” Admitted Solomon.

“I do.” Said Michael. “Over a year ago, back in Roanoke, I visited Ernie’s cult with Kris. That was the symbol in the sanctuary of his church.”

“Ernie did not kill the Prince. He had no reason to.”

“Does he need one?” asked Michael. Solomon’s silence in response spoke volumes. Michael continued. “Ernie wants me. Wants to make me happy. He said as much the night Lazarus died. He’s up to something, I swear it.”

“Ernie told us openly that he did not kill Lazarus.”

“And that may be the truth. But he’s milking this for all that it’s worth, offering it up as a gift... to me.”

“Does he truly think you’ll become Prince in Lazarus’ stead? He is really is mad.”

“I don’t know if that’s his goal or not. But as we could not trust him in Roanoke, we cannot trust him here.”

Solomon nodded.

To Chapter Two

Act Two Chapter Fifteen - Smoke On the Water

Michael regarded the soldiers at the gate somewhat nervously. But at the name of the Prince, Lazarus, they stepped aside and allowed both Solomon and Michael passage into Naval Station Norfolk, the headquarters of the Atlantic fleet.

It all seemed surreal. It was Christmas Eve and, according to Maxmillian, it was the tradition of Prince Lazarus to host a Christmas party for all the Kindred of the Tidewater area. It was the only time all the Kindred came together in one group; attendance was obligatory and necessary to stay in the good graces of the Prince. It was certainly a time when the Prince would demonstrate his power and prestige and the venue usually reflected that. For Michael and Solomon (and presumably Ernie also), it was to be their introduction to the Prince and their time to ask his permission to live within his cities.

Michael knew only a little bit about the Prince, and even less about the other Kindred of the city. Maxmillian and Solomon had both filled him in as much as they could. Michael knew that Lazarus was Lancea Sanctum, like Mathias, and also like Mathias was very much so of the mindset that vampires were God’s avenging angels here on Earth. If anything, Lazarus was even more fanatical about it than Mathias had been, demanding a high moral standard of his Kindred. Licentious behavior was not well tolerated in Tidewater.

And yet, there were those who openly defied the Prince on those matters. The Kindred of the city were divided into several groups, or in parlance of Kindred society, coteries. The Prince had his supporters, mostly the loyal and fanatical members of the Lancea like him; Their nickname was the Disciples. Maxmillian and many of those Kindred who had lived in the city long before the rise of Prince Lazarus formed their own group as well; They were called the Old Guard. Yet another group was made up of pagans and non-Christian vampires who openly defied the Prince’s rule, the Servants of Typhon. And there were others still, some nominally allied to the Prince, others openly defiant of him. This group of largely independent vampires was called the Anarchs.

It was all confusing to Michael. This was a new game, a new setting. Tidewater was so much larger than Roanoke had been. Where there had been less than a dozen Kindred in the Roanoke area, now he was within a city where the vampires numbered near 30. All the games of the Danse Macabre that he’d been introduced to by Deborah and Ernie were now amplified accordingly. Who could he trust? Who were his allies? Who were his enemies? These questions were far harder to answer now.

Solomon seemed to note Michael’s concern as they moved further into the naval base towards their final destination. “There’s not really any reason to be nervous tonight. This party is always declared Elysium. None can harm us save the Prince himself and he has no cause to.”

“You’ve been here before. You know the rules, what sort of hornets’ nest were walking into. Humor me my anxiety.” Michael confessed.

“And I’m asking you to trust me.” Said Solomon. “None tonight will harm us. At best, they will see as new pawns in their games, something we can turn to our advantage.”

“That’s a big part of why I’m nervous.”

“I know you haven’t played the game as long as the rest of us, Michael. But the worst thing for us is for them to ignore us. That makes our task of finding allies to rally against Mathias all the harder. Favors exchanged, however, works to our favor. Loosen up. Mingle. Meet people. This is a grand opportunity for us. You are far more the people person than I am. You have the advantage here.”

“So you say…” Michael’s sentence was cut short by a hideous hacking coughing sound. Maximilian was making his presence known.

“Better than me.” Grumbled the Nosferatu.

“Merry Christmas, Max.”

The hunchback ignored the holiday greeting. “Mind well what Solomon just told you. You’re the pretty one here.”

“And Solomon is the strong one and you’re the smart one.”

Max laughed, “And the known quantity. You’re the strangers. But you’ve made my point for me. You have something they want. Don’t forget that.”

“Of that list, I find pretty to be the least useful.”

Max laughed again. “You may be surprised. If one wants to tweak the nose of our overly-stuffy Prince, a man-whore like yourself is just the ticket.” Max wandered ahead, laughing as he went.

Solomon laughed as well and Michael felt his anger rising. “He’s right, you know.” Said Solomon. “Besides, consider your life in Blacksburg. In the single year you’ve been a vampire, you accumulated a network of thralls that nearly rivaled that of the Prince.”

“For all the good it did me.” Michael snarled in reply.

“And you think you can’t repeat that? You spend most of your nights at that club. How many followers do you have there now? That, and while you may not look it, you are a stronger fighter than you appear. They’ll learn that soon enough.”

“I’m just sick of being a pawn in others’ schemes.”

“You stop being a pawn by starting to play the game.” said Solomon. “The question is, do you have what it takes? Time to find out.”

They both came to their destination: a large factory-like building. It was a foundry, used for casting the steel and iron for parts for the naval fleet stationed nearby. Solomon slid the large aluminum door open and they stepped inside.

The place was largely dark. The only illumination came from Christmas lights the Prince’s servants had used to decorate the place and from the orange glow of the foundries themselves. Heat washed over them and Michael found the place far more intimidating than festive. He was certain that was intentional.

Within, Michael could see only a handful of people mingling about, but hushed conversations from the shadows indicated the presence of more. Many, but not most, were vampires. The rest were mortals, presumably thralls and servants. Immediately to his right as he walked inside, a vampire had taken hold of one such mortal and was taking his fill from them.

“So the host provides for his guests.” Said Michael aloud, commenting on the scene. The vampire overheard him and came up from his repast.

“Michael!” came the high pitched squeal. Only one vampire had a voice like that.

“Hello, Ernie.” Said Michael flatly.

“I am so happy you are here.” Ernie leaped from his victim, bouncing up and down like a small child on, well, Christmas. “I’ve missed you so much. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Replied Michael without emotion.

“Oh, come now. You can do better than that!” scolded Ernie mildly. “Tis the season to be jolly, not dull and boring.”

“This isn’t exactly Jolly Central.”

Ernie shrugged. “It’s all a matter of perspective. You can see this as all dire and dour like mean old Prince Lazarus wants, or you can pretend this is as happy as Disneyland.”

“Well, that explains much about your view of life, Ernie.” Said Michael sardonically. He turned serious again for his next question. “Where have you been? It’s not like you didn’t know where to find us.”

“Oh, here, there, and everywhere. Where does the time go? It’s been a month since we arrived. But there are so many old friends to see. So many people to visit and catch up on.” He raised his hands up as if in exasperation. “So much to do. Work must come first. But there’ll be time for us soon enough.” To drive home the meaning of those words, he gave Michael an overly affectionate stroke on the cheek. And then without another word, he bounded off again.

“As if you needed any more proof of what we said outside.” Commented Solomon. He moved over to the thrall, who remained unmoving against the wall. “Dead.” He said.

“Yeah, that makes me feel so much better.” Said Michael sarcastically. “A lamb in the midst of wolves.”

“You keep thinking that way and you’ll become so.” Said Max. “Better to presume the attitude you took with those robbers. You are a lion, a monster, a savage beast. They’ll respect more if you remember that.”

---

As much as Michael was loath to admit it, what Solomon and Max had told him proved true. Not only was he easily the most popular attendee at the party, but the bolder he was amidst these strangers the more interested they became. Most everyone seemed to at least want to introduce themselves to him, some clearly wanted to go farther, but Michael kept himself at a polite distance from everyone, whether their intentions were friendly, political, or carnal.

As he mingled, he watched Solomon and Ernie. What Max had said about himself being a known element was also proving true about Michael’s companions from Roanoke. Both vampires had been to Tidewater before and it showed. They knew their way around the room. Michael noted however that Ernie had long discarded the bouncy manic man-child persona he so often displayed around him. No, in its place was the Lord, the imperious master he became when he was around those he did not trust. That was telling.

“Fascinating, isn’t he?” came a comment. The voice was accented, French to be precise, and its owner had clearly noticed Michael’s attention.

Michael turned to the speaker. “Francois, is it not?”

“I’m pleased you remember.” Said the French vampire. Michael knew little more than his name and his job: the Prince’s bodyguard.

“Ernie’s been here before.”

“Many times. He wanders. Few of our kind take to the highways and byways, but he does. No fear in that one. Part of his madness, no doubt. He is like a force of nature, spreading chaos wherever he goes. We are not pleased to see him here again.”

“I didn’t bring him here.” Said Michael defensively.

“I am not faulting you, nor Solomon, for his presence. No one brings the Malkovian anywhere. He goes where he wills. But if he is here, he is a harbinger. He brings ill tidings. I know he brought you here, but you would do well, young one, to keep your distance.”

“I’d like to.” Michael admitted. “Tell me, Francois. As the Prince’s bodyguard, are you aware of who controls which hunting ground?”

“Of course. Are you worried as a newcomer that you’ve been trespassing?”

“Tonight is my introduction to the Prince and to the city as a whole.” Reminded Michael, “I’d like to make a good first impression and make amends for whatever sins I may have inadvertently committed.” His use of religious language was deliberate and Michael watched closely to see how Francois reacted. The Frenchman shrugged nonchalantly.

“Where have you taken blood?”

“Fox Hill, in Hampton.”

“Ah, the Fox Club?”

“You know of it?”

“Yeah, Lillian Sterling’s place. Looks out across to Langley. Yeah, we all know of it. Seems like the sort of place that would draw you, given your appearance.”

“So who is Lillian?”

“The far wall. Blond with hair to here in the leather jacket. See her?”

“Yes,” replied Michael, recognizing the vampire Francois indicated as one who had approached him earlier with carnal intentions.

“Be cautious. Lillian is a city primogen. You probably do not want to get on her bad side.”

Michael was not familiar with the term, but presumed it to be some sort of rank or officer position in the city hierarchy. He took his leave from Francois and began making his way to the far wall to reintroduce himself to Lillian.

As he crossed the room, his eyes were drawn to a stunning Kindred who seemed to be heading towards him. She was tall and beautiful, and like Deborah and Rebecca both, her hair was fiery red. She noticed his attention and paused.

“So you’re the new guy.” She said matter-of-factly.

“Michael Allens.” Said Michael politely.

“You are still a stranger here, Mr. Allens.” Said the stunning Kindred firmly. “You might be more careful the next time you decide to play knight-in-shining-armor.”

Michael was about to ask how she knew it had been him the night of the robbery, but she cut him off by offering her hand and introducing herself. “Michelle La Croix, primogen of the Servants of Typhon coterie.”

That word again, but now a context in which to place it: leader (presumably) of a coterie.

“So what are you?” Michael asked bluntly. “Wicca? Something else?”

“Why do you ask?” Michelle replied suspiciously.

“I left one city with an overbearing preacher for a Prince.” Said Michael as disarmingly as he could. “It’s nice to know that at least here there are others that will understand what that’s like.”

Michelle smiled. “Then perhaps we have something in common. But tonight, under our great Lord’s watchful eye, we had best humor him.”

“I’m curious.” Continued Michael, hoping to confirm an observation. “Is it something intentional that every vampire here is of European stock? Is that one way we humor the Prince?”

Michelle gave a clever laugh. “Consider where you are. The capital of the old Confederacy is just a short drive up I-64. You’re no fool, Michael Allens. A bit inexperienced, but no fool. I look forward to talking to you in the future. But not here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a matter of some importance to attend to.”

Michael nodded as she continued on her way. He likewise made returned his attentions to Lillian. But he taken only a single step when a loudspeaker crackled to life. “Your attention please. His Excellency, Prince Lazarus, bids you welcome in the name of our Lord. He asks that all Kindred present now attend to him near the forges at once.”

Michael frowned, but turned to make his way over to the forges. The other vampires present likewise concluded whatever business was at hand and began making their way over as well.

It was the first time Michael had laid eyes on the Prince himself. He was a tall man, dark of eye and hair with a well groomed mustache and beard. He was dressed in a robe of green satin with red trim, appropriate for the holiday.

“Merry Christmas everyone.” The words were festive, but the tone was cold. Michael had the feeling the Prince was not in a good mood.

“Merry Christmas” came the half-hearted reply. Michael wasn’t sure if it was out of disrespect of the Prince or just plain apathy that fueled the crowd’s tone. He wasn’t sure what either implied, but it was clear that the Prince was not amused by their disinterest.

“It would seem on this most festive of nights,” the Prince continued, “that we welcome into our midst two lost sons of the city. It has been many a year since the night over the Tidewater has seen them, but we welcome them back with our love.” Lazarus turned to where Ernie was standing and gave a curt nod to the Malkovian. “Lord Ernie, welcome.”

“It’s so good to be home.” Said Ernie flippantly. “Of course, I also have…” he paused to count on his fingers “…several other homes too. But I like this one.”

“We’re glad.” Replied Lazarus. His affection was clearly forced. “Solomon Wolfe is also with us once more.” Again, the Prince gave a polite nod in Solomon’s direction. “They are not alone in coming before us this night to seek refuge and welcome in our city. There is a third. Michael Allens, stand forth. Let us meet you.”

Michael stepped out of the crowd. Lazarus beckoned him closer. “Come. Let us look at you.” Michael moved to the Prince’s side. Lazarus looked him up and down. “Young. How long ago were you embraced?”

“Last October.”

“Little more than a year. My goodness, you are but a babe in arms. But your sire is not with you, so understand that you will be held accountable for your deeds while in my city. Now tell me. Why are you here?”

“I came with Ernie and Solomon.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It was getting crowded. Too many Kindred in too small a city.”

“No doubt, and yet you come, by your own admission, in the company of two Kindred, neither of whom are your sire.”

“They are my mentors and my friends.” Michael admitted.

“But where is your sire?”

“She stayed behind.”

“And who is she?”

“I think you already know, mi’lord.” Michael was growing impatient, but remained as polite as he could muster under his anger.

“Indeed we do. Deborah Means, the Daeva slut. In fact, your entire reputation precedes you, Mr. Allens. Your crimes, your mistakes, your open defiance and disobedience to your lawful Prince Mathias. You fled a Blood hunt and you seek sanctuary in my city!” Lazarus’ tone was harsh and hostile.

“You gave Ernie and Solomon succor without question.”

“They have proven their value time and again. You are nothing. A foolish childe with delusions of grandeur. You are not welcome here, and I will send you back to Mathias where you belong.”

Two of Lazarus’ mortal guards moved to Michael’s side and grabbed him by the arms.

“Who rules here?” Michael demanded, no longer keeping his temper in check. “You? Or the Nosferatu who lives hundreds of miles away?”

“Mind you insolence, boy, or I will end you right here.” Lazarus snapped his fingers to more of his guards. “Bring in the twins, so this boy can see how little patience I bear for his sort of folly.”

The guards dragged two young-looking Kindred out from a nearby room. The two were shackled together, their chains clanking and clattering as they were dragged across the floor. The guards hung their wrist shackles onto a hook that was dangling near the Prince.

“Lucas and Latetia Black. It is one thing that you have scorned your divine calling to be angels of death for our Lord. A heinous sin, but not irredeemable.” The guard offered Lazarus a remote control. The Prince hit a series of buttons and the two prisoners were hoisted off the floor. “It is quite another for you to have so stained your souls with a sin even the mortals find foul. For you to lie with one another as husband and wife when you were born of the same womb is unforgivable. For that, I condemn you to hellfire.”

Lazarus pressed another button and Michael noticed a large ceramic ladle begin making its way from the forges to where they were standing.

“God no! Mercy, my Prince.” Cried out Lucas.

“There will be none.” Lazarus pressed yet another button and the ladle began to tip. Michael could see the glow of molten metal within.

“Latetia, I love…” The molten steel poured down from above, splashing upon both twins. Their screams echoed through the foundry as the bright liquid metal seared their bodies to ash.

“Who now questions my power?” barked Lazarus. He glared at Michael and then motioned for his guards. “Stake him and take him to Roanoke.”

“I think this little charade has gone on long enough, Prince Lazarus.” It was Ernie.

Lazarus turned and glared hard at the Malkovian. “Yes, we all know.” Ernie continued. “You’re really scary and mean and powerful. You’ve made your point. Now let him go. Michael is with me.”

“You dare…”

“Indeed I do.”

The two elders stared at one another for a small eternity. No one said a word. Michael watched quietly and understood now what Maxmillian had told him over a month earlier about Ernie, Mathias, and Monroe. He remembered what Francois had said just a few minutes earlier and he knew who would win this contest.

Lazarus blinked first. “Let him go.” The guards did so.

“It’s good to know you’re still a reasonable man, Prince Lazarus.” Replied Ernie.

“Reasonable?” came another voice, a woman’s voice. “No, he calls himself Prince, but I call him murderer.” The bearer of the voice forced her way through the crowd. As she emerged, Michael recognized her as Lillian Sterling.

“It is within my rights as Prince to punish lawbreakers.”

“Even crimes that harm no one?” Lillian moved up to the Prince.

“Their sin was an abomination!”

“Before who? Your god? We are vampires! What is God to us?”

“Blasphemy!” exclaimed the Prince.

Michael stood there between the two guards who had been holding him and watched, as did everyone, this grand spectacle. But something drew his eyes upward. The ladle was no longer parked above the chain were the twins had died so horribly. It was now above their heads.

“How…” his mind began, just as he realized it was tipping. Without thinking another thought, he flung himself backwards as the ladle tipped over.

Its molten contents poured down upon Lazarus and Lillian. They screamed in horrid echo of the dying cries of the twins. The guards too, just as vulnerable to liquid steel as Kindred, caught flame.

The room exploded into chaos. Vampires and thralls scattered in panic. The Prince was dead. Assassinated! Michael quickly picked himself up from the dust, mindful only of the growing pool of molten metal where the Prince had stood just moments before. Solomon! He had to find Solomon.

He came to his feet, only to be knocked headlong by a panicked mortal thrall. He made to get up yet again, only to be grabbed roughly by the back of his shirt collar and hauled upright. To his dismay, the one so manhandling him was not Solomon, but Francois.

“Let him go.” Barked an order. “You know he had nothing to do with this.” It was Solomon.

Francois gave Michael a curt shove, roughly flinging him to Solomon. “Whoever has done this will pay.” He said and departed without another word.

“I think he means it.” Said Michael.

“I’m certain he does. Are you hurt?”

“No, thank God for Daeva reflexes. Another tenth of a second and I’d have joined the prince in that molten hell.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

By this point, the room was nearly clear. Ernie conspicuously remained, enraptured by the glow of the molten steel upon the floor. “So beautiful…” he whispered, barely audible amidst the din. In that moment, he took notice of Michael and Solomon. He looked at them and a wicked smile crossed his lips. He began to laugh.

"Ding! Dong! The Prince is dead!" Ernie pranced around the room, whimsically singing his own paraphrase of the old Wizard of Oz tune. “How wonderful! How awesome! How glorious!”

“Ernie!” Michael barked, trying to pull him out of his reverie.

He stopped. “Isn't this a golden opportunity for us? Who knows what may yet come down the line?"

“Was this your doing?” demanded Solomon.

“Oh, no.” said Ernie, “But now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer,” Ernie burst into a brief giggle as he looked down upon the blazing pyre behind them, “by this sun of York.”

“Excuse me?”

"You're welcome." said Ernie with a bit of glee.

"What for?" Michael asked.

"It’s everything you ever wanted, my dear." replied Ernie flirtatiously. "A cause to fight for, enemies to battle, and a city to win. It's all yours. Enjoy it. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!"

Next Act

Act Two Chapter Fourteen - Alive

Darkness. Was this what death felt like? No, that she was conscious of the darkness told her that could not be. She was alive. She shuffled her feet and felt the sensation of her muscles respond to the commands of her mind, felt the touch of concrete beneath her thighs. This was real. She was alive.

But her legs were the only part she could move. She tried her arms and found resistance. But that too taught her something. She felt steel against her wrists. Shackles of some sort. She was bound, secured in place, in a darkened room.

She continued to investigate. What else could she learn? What else could she discover? Her head could move or at least twist from side to side. There was a shackle about her neck as well, so moving her head back and forth was impossible. All these shackles were bound to a wall. Concrete, rough, maybe cinderblock at her back.

It was warm. Almost miserably so. Had she still been mortal, she had no doubt her skin and clothes would be drenched in sweat. And speaking of clothing, she did not feel the brush of cloth against her skin anywhere. No discomfort of a bra’s wire. She was nude for whatever reason.

Sound. There was a dull hum in the distance, like the droning of far away machines. It was not loud, but like white noise it seemed to drown out all else. It was all she could hear.

She pressed again against the shackles and found them unyielding. For all her glorious powers and new found strength, this was an obstacle beyond her. She knew that it was intentionally so. Someone wanted to keep her here. But who?

Memories. What did she remember? An ambush, a sharp pain in her breast, then hazy images of a trial. Of a hideous creature calling down death upon her. A great black beast who dragged her off into the night. Off into darkness. Off to here, wherever it was.

Again, she pressed against her bonds to no avail. The more she became aware, the more fear crept into her. That was a lesson too. The dead do not fear. She was alive.

But there was nothing to be done. Nothing but wait.

After what seemed an eternity, the droning was interrupted by a loud metallic creaking and the momentary amplification of the machinery. Someone had opened a door and entered her chamber from outside. The loudness subsided after a short moment; the door had been closed once more, but she was no longer alone.

“Who is there?” she called out, surprised to hear her own voice in the din. No answer came. Instead, she heard a deeper-than-deep voice, a man intoning a prayer.

“Allah, your way is submission and obedience to your will. Your angels of death are not to be thrall to any but you. By your will, set this servant of yours free.”

She felt a cup brought to her lips and liquid poured into her mouth. She gagged; its taste was vile. Blood, but not such as she desired. This was tainted, polluted, with strange and bitter herbs and other flavors. But down it went, against her will. And as it entered her system, her system reacted. Her stomach heaved, vomiting forth far in excess of what she had just consumed. Blood sprayed forth again and again from her mouth, a vast deluge.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Her mind screamed as horrors came unbidden into her recollection. A lost lover, twisted and conniving, holding her prisoner, making her his against her will. Another, the face of an innocent, now lying dead in the mud. She remembered, but unlike before, she felt what had happened to her.

Pain. Anguish. Guilt. Horror. All these flooded forth into her mind. Revulsion at the memory of a lover’s touch, no, not lover, rapist, violator, slave-master. The emotions were overwhelming and she let out a piteous wail. No words could describe what she felt in that moment.

When the wail came to its end, the only sound she heard was the dull drone of those far away machines. The one who had come was gone.

---

Another eternity and once again, she heard the sound of the door open. This time, the sound was followed by the snap flash of a match being struck. Light entered her chamber for the first time. A candle flame sprang to life and then another. Soon the room was dimly lit, enough for her to see her visitor.

The “black beast” she had called him before, and it was well chosen. But it was not black in the sense that the word was usually used when referring to a person. This was not African. No, this one was black as coal, a wholly unnatural tone for human skin. He was naked from the waist up, and she could see he was a fine specimen. Well toned and sculpted muscles. Tall he was, with a bald head and bright piercing eyes that stood out against the pitch of his skin. He moved like a predatory animal, like a great panther in the night. She had feared him as a memory and feared him in the darkness of his previous visit, but now she feared him all the more as she saw him with her eyes.

From his satchel, he took forth a washcloth and a bottle of water. He moistened the cloth and in a gesture wholly unexpected, began to gently wash the blood she had vomited from her body. “How are we feeling?” he asked in his great deep bass voice.

She could not find the words at first, but he seemed unsurprised by this. “I hope you will forgive me in time, Rebecca.” He said her name for the first time and there was a small comfort in the hearing of it. “The purging rite is harsh and brutal to both body and soul. But it was necessary. I strongly suspected he had bound you and I could not risk that.”

“B...b…bound?” she stammered, finding words at last.

“Yes. A peculiar and somewhat vicious tool in our arsenal. Drink thrice from one of our kind and the blood enraptures you. Makes you a slave to their will, creates desire within you for them. This bond is not easily broken, but there are ways such as what I have done for you.”

“Michael.” She spoke his name aloud. Her master, her friend, her betrayer. “He did that to me.”

“And much more.” He finished the bathing and returned to his satchel. He pulled out of blood bag like those used by the Red Cross in their blood banks. “Here.” He offered. “It is not fresh, but should help with your thirst.”

And thirsty she was. She bit down on the bag, tasted the plastic but for a moment, and then the sweetness of its contents entered her mouth. She drank and drank but it did not take long for that small offering to disappear.

Once she was done, he tossed aside the empty bag and reached over. With a metallic pop, he released the shackle holding her in place to the wall. “There. Much better.” He commented.

“Who are you?”

“I am Youssef Zahid Anwar, but I have not gone by that name in many years. I am The Djinn, Saracen, warrior, the last of the assassins who served under the Old Man of the Mountain. General of the armies of Baghdad when the great horde of Genghis Khan rode upon our gates. As I lay dying on the plain of that battle, I was reborn to darkness. A long time ago.”

It was at that moment that she remembered her nudity and her previous sense of modesty returned. She made to cover herself. The Djinn responded to her action, returning again to her satchel. “I am no great judge of women’s fashion, but I hope you will find these at least adequate.” He offered her some clothing.

“They’ll do.” She stood up, somewhat unsteady on her feet. The clothing was an ill-fit, but it would serve. She dressed quickly.

“I’m very confused.” She admitted. “You were told to kill me.”

“I was. I still could.”

She did not doubt that. “Then why am I here?”

“Do you believe in destiny?”

Rebecca shrugged.

“I do.” He continued. “I believe we are Allah’s instruments, and called to a specific purpose in his great plan. The vampire, as well as the human. We are angels of death, young one. Walking talking manifestations of his wrath against the sins of the world. For seven hundred years, I have labored under the guidance of one I thought closer to Allah’s will than any of us.”

“Once thought, but no longer.” Rebecca concluded.

“He is not what he once was. My lord Mathias. Said to be one of the disciples of the prophet Jesus. But either he lies or he no longer remembers. Now he takes a bride of flesh, the latest in a long line. He plays games of politics. He’s lost sight of the higher goals. He is no better than his rivals.”

“So he should die.”

“Yes. He no longer serves Allah’s purposes. And now is the time to strike. It is, I believe, God’s will.”

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

“I cannot do this alone. For all his weaknesses, he is still the stronger. But he grows paranoid. For all the trust he openly conveys to me, it is clear to me that he suspects my disloyalty. Thus, he grants the boon of childer to other vampires, but not to his loyal bodyguard. I need an apprentice. Someone I can train. Someone I can mold. And if I cannot embrace a childe of my own, then I will simply make use of someone else’s.”

---

Chief Alex Martin watched from his perch down onto the valley below. Untrained or ungifted eyes would have seen nothing but the trees, brown, yellow, and beige in their late autumn colors, but his were the eyes of the Uratha, the werewolf. Below him, he could see his newest charge make his way slowly, but deliberately across the forest floor.

"He's doing well for such a late bloomer." commented Alex's companion. "He takes to our ways quickly." Linda Doran was the tribe's shaman and had joined the new chief in his observations.

"We've been lucky." said Alex. "All along, we've been lucky."

"Is it luck?" said Linda. "Or has it all been predictable?"

"Spoken like a prophet." teased Alex.

"Tyler was doomed, one way or the other." said Linda. "The wizard was right. His hatred had made him blind and foolish. In the end, he would either have met the fate that he did or you would have deposed him. No surprises there. No luck. Just predictable outcomes.

"And likewise the vampires. Roanoke is too small to support them in large numbers. They are vile parasites who bear no honor or loyalty to anyone but themselves. When word had come that they had expanded their number, I knew it could only mean one thing. Their lord was fishing for rebellion and, sure enough, rebellion came. Again, predictable, predictable enough that we were ready and able to move to fetch our lost cub in the midst of the chaos of their infighting."

"But Boar's skill? How do you account for that?"

"On that, it is luck. I will grant you that one." Linda paused. "I fear though you push your luck too far. Ami is not ready to mentor him. A true cub, a child, that I could see. But Boar is a man grown, with a man's desires."

"She was the one who blooded him. The one who found him. She’s earned the right. Besides, Ami has lived with this tribe since she was in diapers, as have I. We have grown up together. She knows our ways. Knows our taboos. I cannot imagine her violating them with him. If I am ready to be chief, then she is ready to train. That is my final word on the matter."

"I pray you are right, Alex. For if the rule is broken, we will have far worse to reckon with than the vampires."

----

Far below his observers, Boar quickened to his bestial senses. In true wolf form, what the werewolves called urhan in their unique tongue, the world came alive to him. But he must focus. So many scents, so many sounds, so many distractions. It was so easy to lose one’s self to the wolf, especially when you barely learned to master it.

Boar focused sharply, trying to discern one single pattern within the noise. One sound, one scent. Her sound, her scent. Ami Janes, who in human form was a petite sassy bespeckled high schooler, the same werewolf who had claimed him that night in Blacksburg. She was his prey. Even Boar found it hard to imagine this wisp of a girl could be a savage werewolf, let alone one seasoned and experienced enough to train him. Yet it was so.

Boar stood still as a statue as he took in his surroundings. He knew she was close. Learning to track a fellow werewolf was just preliminary training. The werewolves saw their purpose in life to hunt things far more vile. Vampires and mages at times, but far more often were renegade spirits of nature, “things” that had escaped from a spirit realm that just a month ago Boar did not even know existed. So much of what he had once thought superstition and myth was proving true.

He should have known. Vampires were real after all. That was his first lesson. Why not these other things? How they all fit together did not yet make sense to him, but now he’d learned this alien world was his world, that he was a part of it, that he was uratha, werewolf, himself.

A scent, a familiar one. A pungent one. Boar understood now why the common dog could sense a human’s mood or physical condition by scent. He could tell so much from just one whiff of Ami nearby. Not the least of which was where she was.

He pounced through the brush to his left and there she was. Her urhan form was not much bigger than a collie dog, but she was quick. Boar overshot and landed in a pile of leaves. She was on him like lightning, biting at the scruff of his neck. To an outside observer it would have looked playful and in many ways it was. The intent here was not to draw blood or to injure, but to practice.

Still, for all her experience, Ami was half Boar’s side and he flung her off with ease. She twisted over and over in mid-air and landed on her feet with all the grace of a cat, shifting to human form on landing.

“Still not fast enough.” She commented. “Why do I bother?” she sighed in feigned disappointment.

Boar let out a pitiful whine and then shifted himself. “I did find you.” He said. “And I would have overcome you.”

“That’s beside the point.” She corrected. “It’s not me you’ll be hunting in the future.”

“So you say” thought Boar incredulously. “You just don’t want to admit I could pin you down and have you at my mercy so easily.” He said to her. A lustful smile crossed his lips.

“You know that’s forbidden.” She said, standing on her feet and brushing the leaves from her. She was dressed in the uniform of Roanoke Catholic High School. One of the first tricks a werewolf was taught was how subsume their human clothing into their shapeshifting, a bit of magic that prevented every uratha from having an excessive clothing bill each month. Boar had learned this from Ami, but he also knew that many of the werewolves of the tribe didn’t bother. He regretted that Ami was not among them.

“Forbidden or not…” Boar let the sentence drop. He knew. She could not hide her interest from him. He could smell it when Ami was in wolf form.

“Again, beside the point.” She said. “What I want and what is permitted are not the same. Do you have any idea what the rest of the tribe would do if they found us together? Or worse if I…” she didn’t finish the sentence.

“There are ways to prevent that…” Boar countered, but he too paused mid-thought. Something was amiss.

Ami shifted to wolf-man form, dalu in the werewolf tongue. When she did that, Boar did likewise, only he went to full wolf out of habit. When he did, the assault on his senses was overwhelming. A rogue spirit was nearby.

What came through the brush at them was somewhat underwhelming. At first glance, he seemed nothing more than a typical local, a hunter dressed in flannel with a blaze vest and a shotgun. But Boar and Ami could both tell there was more to him than met the eyes. He was hithimu, a man literally possessed by the spirit.

The man raised his shotgun lightning quick and let off both barrels into Ami. She collapsed into a heap behind them as Boar leapt. His bulk knocked the man from his feet and onto his back. The shotgun clattered away.

The man grasped at Boar’s forelegs and with inhuman strength began to push him off. His mouth widened into a hideous maw and his teeth sharpened into fangs, gifts of the possessing spirit no doubt. Boar had one shot, so he took it. His head snapped forward, clamping around the man’s neck. With a mighty rip, he tore his throat out and the hithimu’s body went limp.

Boar came back to human form just as Alex and Linda came through the brush to join them. “Are you…?” Alex asked.

Boar gave no answer, but went immediately to where Ami had fallen. Linda moved there as well.

“Not silver.” She said with confidence. “She’ll be fine.”

“So we’ve found our poacher, or rather he found us.” Said Alex. “A gluttony spirit.”

“He fled the man as Boar struck.” Commented Linda.

“Then we’d best be after it. Boar, take Ami home. Your lesson is done today. We will deal with this spirit ourselves.”

---

By the time Boar drove Ami back to her apartment, her wound had healed clean.

“I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there.” She rubbed her chest where the blast had hit. “That hit so hard I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Stunned like that, he’d have been all over me. I owe you my life, Mike.” It was not often that Boar heard his real name, even among his new family.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She shivered and made to get out of the car. “That’s the closest I care to come to dying.”

“We’re uratha. It’s part of the territory.”

“And you think I don’t know that.” She scolded. “I was born to a human father and a werewolf mother. I was raised by the tribe. I’ve known this all my life.” She paused. “It’s one thing though to be told that you’re life will be brutal, violent, and probably short. It’s another to watch it happen, to realize it’s real, that they didn’t lie to you, that they didn’t exaggerate.”

Boar put his hand on her knee. It was meant as a comforting gesture, but touching her soft skin was almost electric to both of them. He ignored it for the moment, however. “When you really think about it, even life as a human is uncertain. Any moment you could die in a car crash, have a heart attack from some unknown defect, get a disease, or be caught in the crossfire of a gang battle. Let alone be sucked dry by a vampire, eaten by a werewolf, or possessed by one of those things we fought in the woods.”

“We don’t eat people.” She corrected him.

“Regardless, we still killed a human today. That he was not himself probably does not matter in the end to his parents or his friends or his children.”

“Next time, it could be us instead though.”

“Yeah.” He said. “It could.”

She took his hand from her knee and brought it up to her face, giving his fingers a playful kiss. “If my life is to be short and uncertain, then I’m going to grasp for what I want now, rules or no rules.”

---

“Reality is what you make it.” Instructed Darren. “Remember that all we see around us, all we call the universe and existence is not end result of physics or science, but the result of will.”

“Whose will? God’s?” said Mitch. The two were sitting on a bench outside War Memorial Chapel on Virginia Tech’s campus. It was around lunchtime and the campus was alive with students making their way to and from class.

“Perhaps. But I’m not trying to make a theological point here. As one of the Awakened, you have the power to alter reality by the sheer force of your will. In a sense, what the divine may have done at creation, you can do now on somewhat smaller scale.”

“So is magic divine power?”

“For someone who is not religious, you make a lot of comparisons there.”

“I went to Sunday School and church as a kid.” Confessed Mitch. “It seems the closest parallel.”

“It serves, I suppose.” Replied Darren. “But magic is willpower made incarnate. What you wish becomes reality.”

“I can’t make the sky turn red, can I?”

“No, your will is not strong enough for something that radical. No mage’s is. Plus, always remember that there are forces of will working against you. The unawakened cannot consciously or individually alter reality like we can, but collected together they exert an immense power upon the universe. We call it unbelief and when you attempt to do something that is beyond what people see as possible, you will run into it.”

“You teleported right in front of me when you found me.”

“You can poke holes in unbelief at times. The easiest way to do the impossible is to do it when no sleepers are looking.”

“But I was not Awakened when you appeared in front of me.”

“You were a vampiric thrall, as was your pursuer. You had already been made a part of the Awakened world by that slavery. In a sense, you did not count.”

“Can you teach me to teleport?”

“I can try. But note that some aspects of reality you will find easier to manipulate. Others will be harder. Despite your fondness for theological parallels, we are not gods. We are not angels. We are human and as such we have limitations. I am Mastigos, a warlock. Spatial reality and the realm of the mind are my strengths. However, altering physical matter is difficult for me.”

“And I am?”

“Do you not know?”

“Acanthus is the word that comes to my mind.”

“An enchanter. Yes, that would fit.”

“How do I know these words?”

“You had vision of a watchtower, did you not? When you fully awoke?”

“That?” Mitch seemed confused.

“Magical legend says the watchtowers are ruled over by ancient mages who seek out like souls in the world and then call them to awaken. Like most legends, there’s probably as much metaphor in that as there is fact, but the nature of your watchtower defines the sort of mage you will be and by some mystery, we just know what we are when we awaken. We even know the Atlantian term for it.”

“Atlantian? As in…”

“Yeah, another legend. But regardless, it’s what we call our secret language.”

“So as an enchanter, what can I do?”

“As I can master space, you can master time.”

“So I can time travel?”

“Only in very small increments. A few seconds at most. Unbelief won’t allow anything greater. But you, once trained, will be able to speed up, slow down time. You will gain a window into past and future events. I envy you. It’s a neat power.”

“Time isn’t all I can do though. My luck is a part of this too.”

“Yes, enchanters can alter and influence the seeming randomness of the universe. Probability, chance, luck are also under your power. The power of fate.”

“Cool.”

“Your power is very weak at this point however. You must be trained and your best training will come from a fellow Acanthus. That, we do not have here, which is somewhat surprising given how they are drawn to the hedonism of your typical college campus. But there is one in Charlottesville at UVA. He will be your teacher.”

“So when do I leave?”

“As soon as you can get your affairs in order. Seeing as your previous allegiances seem to have self-destructed, I can imagine that won’t take long.”

Mitch frowned. He did not like to be reminded of the events of that night. Michael, Deborah, Boar all gone. “No, I don’t imagine it will.”

“Don’t look so glum, James. You’ve been given the cheat codes of the universe. Enjoy it.”

Next Chapter