Michael awoke the
next sundown next to Sarah with murder on his mind. While he had ravaged Leigh
something fierce, his anger over the raid on the Fox Club had not abated. But
Max had given him names and addresses belonging to Michelle’s most valuable
thralls in Hampton Newport News
But how to do it?
Michael had plenty of
options there. As a vampire, he could, of course, rely on his strength and
speed; he could rely on his fangs and other powers. But flaunting the
Masquerade was a sure-fire way to bring the Servants and the Disciples (with
Anarchs tagging along for good measure) down on the Old Guard’s head. No, there
had to be a better way. A more mundane way.
It was in search of
that way that brought him to Solomon’s old bungalow, abandoned since Michael’s
infamous visit to Aegyptus. But it was not people he was looking for; he knew
Max had no reason to lie to him about Solomon’s fate. No, Michael knew that
Solomon kept a stash of weapons in all of his havens, and he knew where.
Michael marched
through the house to the back laundry room. He pried up a loose floor board and
exposed several crates. He pulled them out in turn and began fishing through
them for what he wanted.
Hours and hours of
roleplaying games had given Michael a passable knowledge of firearms, although
not quite enough to qualify as any sort of expert. He admittedly chose his
selections as much by how “cool” he thought the weapons were as much as how
effective he knew them to be.
Michael heard the
front door swing open and the footsteps of someone walking inside. He quickly
fetched up a pre-loaded clip of .45 ACP rounds and
slapped it into the Mac-10 he’d just picked up. He raised the weapon to fire
just as the intruder rounded the bend.
It was Mitch.
Michael yanked the
gun upward and let out a profanity, but he did not fire on his friend.
“That was a bit
close. It’s just me and Boar.” Said Mitch. Boar peeked his head around the
corner.
“Sorry. Just a mite
paranoid right now.” Said Michael.
“Guns. Best tools for
the desperate and paranoid.” Quipped Boar. “Nice to pick up the Ingram
Smartgun’s predecessor there.”
Boar was referring to
the fictional descendant of the Mac-10 from the Shadowrun roleplaying game; a
game they’d all played back in what seemed a lifetime ago.
“True.” He set the
Ingram aside and grabbed a shotgun. “Hmm,” he mused. “Never seen a SPAS-12 with
a wooden pump on it before.”
“It’s not a SPAS.”
Noted Mitch. Michael too noted the ‘Remington’ label on the weapon and frowned
in disappointment it was not his ‘favorite’ shotgun. No matter. He tossed it
into the pile as well.
“Feel free to shop
around yourselves.” Said Michael, adding an AK-47 (or, at least, one of its
more modern equivalents) to the pile.
“Only grabbing big
guns?” noted Mitch. He reached in and pulled out a long-barreled automatic
pistol. “Might want a few like this beauty.” Mitch tucked the gun into his belt
and pocketed a few clips of .45 ACP rounds as well.
“Good point.” Said
Michael, fetching a Desert Eagle pistol. “Would rather have my Beretta. A
magnum has nice stopping power, but a machine pistol’s got a much better rate
of fire.”
“And where would that
be?” asked Boar.
“At the Club. Along
with my katana.”
“And the sleeping
stiff of a certain vampire.”
“I’ve not forgotten
that. My weapons and Francois’s chamber are all well-hidden. Damian had no
reason to suspect that’s where the long-lost Sheriff is slumbering, but I’d
like to make sure Francois remains undisturbed.”
“Sounds like we have
our first destination.”
---
The Fox Club was dark
and silent, its grounds surrounded by yellow police tape. At first glance, the
facility seemed abandoned, but the occasional flash of a police flashlight
could be seen through the windows. It was guarded, patrolled by thralls of
either Michelle or Damian or both. And likely police thralls at that, well
armed and alert.
“How are we getting
inside? The front door is probably a bad idea, presuming your keys even still
work.” Assessed Mitch. Of the three of them, he had the most to worry about
trigger-happy guards.
“Leave that to us.”
Said Michael. He pulled the truck to a stop, got out, and headed round to the
back. From the truck bed, he fetched a bit of rope.
Boar and Mitch got
out, both wondering what Michael had in mind. “You planning to climb to the
roof?” speculated Boar.
“No, I was thinking
about a little wager.” He grinned. “Who can jump the highest, werewolf or
vampire?”
Boar grinned. “I’d
like to find out.”
“Me too.” With that,
Michael took off into a run and, with a great bound, leaped up to the flat
rooftop of the club. He rolled and came up to his feet, feeling quite pleased
with himself.
“Nice.” Growled Boar,
quite literally as he shapeshifted into a wolf-man. He dashed toward the
building and hurled himself toward the roof. He cleared the edge easily and
landed a good five or six feet further than Michael.
“I win.” Boar snarled.
“And so you do.” Said
Michael. He tossed one end of the rope down to Mitch.
“Now, the question is
whether anyone below heard you two.” Grumbled Mitch as he pulled himself up.
“You know, if I’d trained in forces magic, I could manipulate kinetic energy in
such a way to kick both your asses at this.”
“Too bad you didn’t
have time for that at wizard school.” Teased Michael. “I’d have liked to seen
that.” He made his way over to an access panel; one of the watertight doors
that allowed easy access to roof. Beneath the door would be a catwalk that the
club employees used for maintenance. Michael opened it as quietly as he could,
but the metal still screeched in protest.
Immediately, a
flashlight shot upward. “Mine.” barked Boar and he dove through the hatch. He
hit the ground on all fours as the cop opened fire on whatever furry thing had
just fallen from the roof. His gun flashed three times before Boar was upon
him. Then a scream of terror and agony, then silence.
Michael jumped down
next. A second cop was running up the stairs from Michael’s office area in the
basement, his flashlight jiggling up and down in his rush. Michael raised the
Desert Eagle and fired several rounds. Even in the near pitch darkness, the
officer was an easy target. The flashlight clattered to the floor.
Boar and Michael held
position, expecting another guard to emerge, but none did. Mitch shimmied down
the rope to join them. “Guess that’s it.” His voice seemed ill-at-ease.
“Remember,” said
Michael, guessing at the source of his friend’s unease. “These were vampiric
thralls, slaves of our enemies, not innocent bystanders.”
“And you know that
how?” questioned Mitch.
“Would you have
trusted this guard duty to just anyone?” Michael replied.
Mitch gave no answer,
seemingly satisfied with that explanation.
“Let’s get what we came for.” He picked up the dead cop’s flashlight and
headed downstairs. Michael and Boar followed.
Once in his office,
Michael flipped the secret switches that triggered the hidden doors to his
emergency haven. The door swung open and the lights within flickered on,
powered by batteries separate from the Club’s electrical system. Michael walked
inside and first grabbed his Beretta and its holster from the wall where they
hung. Then, he grabbed his katana. As he did so, Boar moved over to the coffin
and opened the lid.
“Still here. Still
sleeping like the dead.”
A more apt
description Michael could not have invented. Where once lay a healthy-looking
slumbering Frenchman of indeterminate age, now there rested a withered and
atrophied husk of a man. Only his clothing gave away that it was, in fact, the
same person Michael had hidden in that coffin nearly three weeks earlier.
“Safe and sound. I
wonder what Damian would have done if he’d found him.” Michael decided he didn’t
want to know the answer. He pulled the coffin lid shut and headed out.
As they exited, Mitch
paused beside the body of the cop Michael had shot. “A thrall,” Michael
reminded him. “and not the last one to die tonight, I promise you that.”
---
“Our enemies are
moving quickly now that the Regent is dead.” Valentin Thompson was a vampire
embraced in his mid-40s. He was garishly dressed in purple and black, a
throw-back to his days as the popular stage magician Valentine the Magnificent.
His love of the occult had drawn him to the Circle of the Crone covenant and
once he settled in Lazarus’ Tidewater, he had allied with Michelle out of
necessity.
“So Michael Allens is
retaliating already. Foolish and impotent, even if Max has told him of your
membership in our coterie.”
“This wasn’t the
fledgling.” Asserted Valentin. “It was Takagi.”
“The primogen?”
replied Michelle in alarm. “The Disciples are on the move?”
“It would seem so,
and against us.”
“Hiroshi is a coward,
too timid for this sort of action. Are you certain?”
“His blade nearly
separated my head from my neck. If it weren’t for a few tricks from my days as
an illusionist, I’d not be here to tell you any of this. Yes, it was him, but
he’s not the one calling the shots. A vampire in purple robes, dressed as if
clergy.”
“The Mad Bishop of Lynchburg .” Said Michelle, her voice full of awe and fear. “Why is he here?
Ernie? Or Mathias?”
“I cannot say. All I
know is that he and Hiroshi cornered me while I was hunting for blood. The
Bishop gave the order to kill me, that I be purged from the city ‘in the name
of God.’ I have no stomach for this sort of thing. I’m a scholar and a
performer, not a fighter. I’m heading south, to Suffolk , until all this sorts itself out.”
“Then I have a favor
to ask of you, Valentin.”
The former magician
was taken aback. “You, of me, my primogen?”
“Yes, just last night
I embraced two childer. Like you, they are not fighters and while I could throw
them at the Bishop and his minions as cannon fodder. That would likely be a
futile gesture and a waste of valuable assets. Take them with you. They are
brand new to our world and will need guidance. Use Suffolk as a hermitage city and raise them in our ways. Return when I summon
you or when you think it safe.”
“Are the Servants
strong enough?”
“We number five, plus
our thralls and servants. Decent fighters all. You three would make little
difference.”
Valentin ran the
numbers in his head. “Are there not eight of us total? You, me, Brooke, Helen,
Simone, Gabriel, Brock, and Sarah?”
“Sarah can no longer
be trusted. Nor would she be of any use anyway. She is another scholar, another
mystic. Useless in these circumstances. Go now. Take Nikki and Felicia this
very night and go. We will see what fate awaits us. The Servants of Typhon will
not go down with out a fight.”
----
Michael rapped hard
on the front door of a Newport
News townhouse. After a
brief moment, the door opened. A balding man in his mid to late forties was
standing there.
“Buford Orr?” Michael
asked. “You’re the State Attorney handling the Fox Club case?”
“That’s right.”
Replied the man, a little confused. “Can I…”
Fast as lightning,
Michael drew and fired his Desert Eagle. The hallway behind the man exploded
into red as blood and brains erupted down it.
Michael holstered his
weapon and walked back to his truck. Two thoughts entered his mind. One, that
the Magnum was proving a worthwhile acquisition after all. And two, it occurred
to him that a mere eight months earlier, he was consumed, paralyzed even, with
guilt over all the deaths he had caused as a vampire. But not anymore. Now he
killed without remorse.
The screams of the
man’s wife made no difference in his emotions as he climbed into the cab and
drove away.
---
Raoul studied the
lights of Norfolk from his vantage point on the aft deck of the yacht.
Behind him, inside, he could hear the soft jazz music and the conversations of
the party guests, all enjoying the hospitality of one Mr. Raymon Jiminez. Mr.
Jiminez was a wealthy Florida land developer, the son of Cuban exiles who’d fled
from Castro. There had been much talk of him wanting to open a new hotel near
the boardwalk of Virginia
Beach . The proposed site was
the location of the abandoned and bankrupt Nightstyles club at 21st
and Pacific.
That the vacant
building served as the “capital” building for the local kindred was not why
Raoul was there however. Yes, Jiminez had invited just about anybody and
everybody of the Tidewater elite aboard his luxury yacht, ostensibly to sway
someone among the powers-that-be to condemn the property and let him buy it for
a song. That would never happen. Hiroshi or Max or Michelle or perhaps all
three together in a rare show of unity would ensure that. Even in the midst of
the brewing war, certain protocols and institutions had to be maintained.
A portly man in his
late 60s staggered out onto the aft deck, his face flushed red and covered in
sweat. Raoul smiled imperceptibly: the reason he was there had emerged.
The man leaned over
the side and vomited violently. After emptying his stomach of half-digested
food and more than one gin-and-tonic, he seemed to note he was not alone. Embarrassed,
he straightened up.
“Are you alright,
Judge Hansen?” asked Raoul
“Oh,” stammered the
judge. “It seems I’ve not quite got my sea-legs under me. Perhaps, I should
have known better than to have one more drink.” The judge gave Raoul a curious
look.
“You’re not from
around here?”
“I am not. I am new
to town. My name is Raoul Lambert, aide to the Comte de Savoy.”
“French, huh? And a
nobleman at that.” Hansen seemed impressed.
“Well,” admitted
Raoul, “of a sort. After the Revolution, the nobility was largely abolished.
But my lord remains a very wealthy and influential person regardless.”
“What brings you to Virginia Beach ?”
Raoul shrugged. “Traveling
the world, enjoying its pleasures, its excitement. Hobnobbing with the rich and
famous wherever we go. Mr. Jiminez and my lord are acquainted from our travels
to Florida .” That last part was a lie, but not much of one.
Jiminez and his staff may not have known Guy and Raoul personally, but they
jumped at the chance to bring a real honest-to-goodness European nobleman into
their scene.
“I’m curious about
something. Perhaps you can answer a foreigner’s question about your city.”
“I can try.”
“The news about that
club, the one the FBI raided two nights ago. When do you suppose the accused
will end up in your courtroom?”
Hansen gave Raoul a
sly look. “There’s no guarantee that…”
“Oh, but we both know
better.” Interrupted Raoul, flashing his fangs for good measure.
“What do you want?”
“It’s not about what
I want. It’s about what your mistress wants. You see those accused are allies
and associates of an acquaintance of mine and it simply will not stand that
they spend any part of their life in prison. But we know that’s what your
mistress has ordered. We know that’s what you’ll arrange.” Raoul glanced over
the side at the dark waters of the Chesapeake Bay .
“They’re just kids.
Punks. Not worth it.”
“They are to Michael
Allens.”
It was at that moment
that Hansen fully realized what was really going on. A look of panic crossed
his face and he made to run back inside. Back where there were people,
witnesses, someplace a murderer wouldn’t dare strike!
But Raoul was not
ordinary assassin; he was a vampire. With blinding speed, he was in Hansen’s
path and clamped a hand about his neck hard, choking off any cries for help
that might draw the other party-goers.
“Oh, no, we don’t.”
said Raoul with an evil grin. He shoved Hansen backwards to the railing. “Tell
me, mon ami, can you swim?”
Hansen nodded
nervously.
“Too bad.” Raoul spun
him around, forced him down, and opened his throat with a dagger that appeared
in hand from seemingly nowhere. He grabbed the judge’s belt and hoisted him
over the side. He hit the water with a splash.
Raoul glanced behind
him to see if anyone had seen anything. The people inside the yacht seemed
oblivious, but the judge’s absence would soon be noticed. Noting no obvious
witnesses, Raoul stepped up onto the railing himself and jumped in the water.
“A clean kill and
a clean getaway.” He thought to himself as he sank toward the bottom.
Vampires, of course, cannot drown.
---
Karan Sharma moved
across the busy street, dodging traffic until she reached where Helen Richards
awaited her.
“This is madness.”
Karan lamented. Despite her vampiric nature, the dark skin of her South Asian
heritage was obvious to all. But she was not what anyone would call beautiful.
Like Max, Thomas, and their progenitor Mathias, she was of the Nosferatu clan,
and her presence twisted by that clan’s hereditary curse. It twisted her teeth
and fangs into a cruel facsimile of Kali, the Hindu goddess of time, change,
and death. She would often hide her disfigurement by wearing blouses and
jackets with high collars, which she could maneuver to hide her mouth to all
but the most careful observers.
Her heritages of both
her human and vampiric self were not of her choosing. Neither was her faction
in her adopted city of Hampton . That was forced by her faith, for she worshiped the very deities her vampiric curse had twisted her appearance into. Hinduism made
her unwelcome in the midst of the strongly Christian Disciples. The Old Guard
might have welcomed her, given her shared Clan with Maximilian but the
Servants with its pagan members and anti-Christian bent seemed the better fit.
“Our leadership is
clearly not infallible. Michelle didn’t reckon the Old Guard would respond so
strongly.” Replied Helen. Helen was a more traditional member of the Servants,
a woman who after a divorce from a domineering Christian husband rejected that
faith for the ancient religion of her Viking ancestors.
“What’s the body
count?”
“5, including a
prosecutor and a judge.”
“Carving up
Michelle’s thralls one by one, and handicapping her control of this city.”
“I have to give Max
some credit,” said Helen. “After all, Michelle is primogen of Chesapeake . She’s not technically supposed to have thralls meddling in affairs
this far north, so Max and that fledgling pet of his are free to act with
impunity.”
“All the more so
since Regent Solomon disappeared.” Karan sighed. “This was bound to happen
sooner or later. I just expected the Disciples would make the first moved
against us rather than the Old Guard.”
“That was Michelle’s
own doing. After all, she’s the one who chose to go after that fledgling
Michael Allens. Damn her vanity.”
The two of them
headed into the Blue Room, a bar popular with local police and military
veterans. One of the bartenders, one Myron Roth, was Michelle's first thrall in
the city of Hampton . He proved most valuable and she had used him to
meet many of her most influential contacts in the city, including the now late
Mr Orr. With both Orr and Hansen now dead, Michelle figured Roth to be most
vulnerable and had sent two of her allies to fetch him to safety.
The bar was fairly
empty, but most of those present looked to be off-duty cops. The walls were
decorated with MIA Veteran flags and various other military paraphernalia. Most
obvious however was a large Stars-and-Bars Confederate battle flag above the
bar.
Karan hung back; even
without her disfigured appearance, her ethnicity would have made her quite out
of place in this clearly Southern establishment. Helen headed up to the bar. The
man standing there was not Myron.
"I heard Myron
was working tonight." said Helen.
The barkeep gave her
a once-over, wondering what this stranger might want with his co-worker.
"Who wants to know?" He asked suspiciously.
"We're friends
of Michelle."
"Oh, that
redhead." The barkeep whistled. "Still can't believe a guy like Myron
could fetch a woman like that."
"Some guys are
just lucky." mused Helen.
"I suppose so.
He's on break. Out back."
Helen nodded to
Karan, who darted back out of the bar. Helen followed more leisurely, the
environment less uncomfortable to her Nordic self. They met outside and headed
around to the alleyway.
As they entered the
alleyway, both of them grew more wary. Their vampire senses should have heard
all sorts of noise from Myron: the burning of the cigarette, his breathing, his
casual movement about as he took his smoke break. They heard instead absolutely
nothing.
“Something is wrong.”
Said Helen. She reached under her jacket and loosened her weapon of choice, a
hatchet, in its holster.
“There!” declared
Karan. Helen’s eyes followed where she pointed; behind a nearby trash dumpster,
two legs could be seen sticking out. The two dashed over. Sure enough, it was
Myron.
“Dead.” Said Karan,
kneeling down to give the body a quick inspection. “No visible wounds.”
“Drained,” concluded
Helen. “By one of us.”
“Damn Max and his Old
Guard. Doesn’t he realize this petty conflict only makes the Disciples
stronger? They need us.”
“Very astute
observation.” Said a voice from the darkness. “I, for one, am grateful Primogen Maximilian has not figured that out yet.”
A Japanese man
carrying a katana stepped into the light: Hiroshi Takagi.
“Lord Hiroshi.” Helen
gave the Ventrue a respectful nod.
“You are
trespassing.” Said Hiroshi coldly. “I am Primogen of this city and its hunting
rights belong to me.”
“We are not here to
hunt.” Said Karan firmly.
“No,” agreed Hiroshi.
“No, your crime is worse. You are here to meet and conspire with a thrall
against my reign of this city. I have disposed of this thrall.”
“This then was your
doing.” Helen repeated. She did not like the implications.
“I’m not finished.
Not all the conspirators have been appropriately punished.”
Helen reached under
her jacket and pulled out her hatchet. With a twist, the weapon split in two,
forming two such hatchets, one for each hand.
“Killing a mortal is
one thing. You will not find us such easy prey.” Warned Helen.
“I sincerely hope
not.” Hiroshi smiled and drew his sword.
---
Simone Guerrero
frowned as she looked over the destruction. The small shine she had erected
deep within the woods near Lake Maury
“Again?” said a
voice. She spun, startled as Thomas Calderon emerged from behind a nearby tree.
“I really wish you
wouldn’t do that, mi’lord.”
“Simone, we’ve been
friends and allies for decades. Why so formal?”
“You are a primogen
now.” She said coldly. “And head of a rival faction.”
“The Anarchs have
never had cause to oppose the Servants before. We’ve often been allies in the
Council. You know that.”
“We live in paranoid
times. Or are you completely unaware of what has happened over these past few
nights?”
“It is those affairs
that have brought me to seek you out. Your thralls told me you’d be here.”
“They should not be
so quick to share that information.”
“You’ve never had
such cause to distrust me before. What is into you?”
“This!” she snarled,
gesturing to the ruined shine. “You, a childe of Maximillian, now a primogen. A
half-dozen thralls of my mistress now dead or missing. The regent who was
supposed to prevent all this also gone. This is not a time for friends. It is a
time for survival.”
“Friends are probably
what are needed most in such times. Our kind are not taken to gestures of
affection as our mortals, but friendship is perhaps more valuable to us.
Because friendship usually means survival. That is why I’m here.”
“An offer of alliance
should be made to Michelle.”
“It’s not Michelle’s
survival I’m concerned about.” Said Thomas. “Forgive me a human weakness, but
I’m here for you.”
Simone looked Thomas
in the eye. Had he not been Nosferatu, one might have regarded him as a
handsome man. He was bald and bearded and he carried himself with all the
dignity of his aristocratic upbringing. He had, in his mortal life, been a
plantation owner, wealthy and powerful. But the Nosferatu curse had worked upon
him and it manifested in those eyes. Black as pitch they were, no iris, no
pupil, just blackness.
And yet, behind those
dark eyes, she discerned the truth.
“I would not have
thought you capable of such feelings.” She said coldly. “Particularly towards
one such as me.”
Simone was also
Nosferatu. Although embraced as a young woman, the curse had turned her fine
black hair to white, giving her the appearance of one far older than she was. She
hated it, loathed her appearance as she had been quite the beauty as a mortal.
“Danger has a way of
making one reconsider their priorities.” Admitted Thomas. “And the danger is
grave.”
“What has happened?”
“The Disciples have
made their first move. Helen and Karan are dead.”
Simone’s eyes grew
wide in shock. “What? Impossible!”
“Hiroshi caught them
intruding in his territory and killed them.”
“Killing thralls is
one thing, but to go after Kindred…”
“A dangerous
escalation. Whatever violence Max and his Old Guard have done, this is far
greater. This is open war.”
“Hiroshi must be out
of his mind. The other coteries would not stand for such violence, especially
unprovoked like this.”
“He’s not calling the
shots anymore.” Said Thomas. “There are rumors…”
“What sort of
rumors?”
“That another leader
has emerged in the Disciples. Your comment about Hiroshi being out of his mind
is somewhat appropriate, given what I’ve heard, for this new leader surely is.”
“Who? Ernie?”
“Possibly.” Said
Thomas. “If so, he’s working through a proxy: The Mad Bishop of Lynchburg.”
“Either way, we’re
not dealing with rational actors here.”
“No, we’re dealing
with the madness of fanaticism. The Servants are an abomination: heathens and
witches that deserve only destruction. That’s what they believe and the Bishop
won’t stop until every Servant is dead.”
“Does Max…” Simone
began. “Scratch that. Of course he knows. Is he going to call off his vendetta
against us to deal with this new threat?”
“I don’t know. Things
are moving quickly and I know nothing of what my sire intends at this point.
All I know is that you are in danger. It’s only a matter of time before the
Bishop sends someone for you. After all, our city borders Hiroshi’s.”
“This is your
territory. He wouldn’t dare!”
Thomas gave her an
incredulous look. “My control of this territory has always been somewhat
tenuous. Most of my coterie lives in the south and our principles include a
dedication to freedom. We are not a group united by ideology or religion, but
only by a common enemy. Lillian could count on aid because of her charisma. I
am not so well loved. If they come, and they have proven more than bold enough
for that, I cannot stop them.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We must flee.
Abandon this enterprise and flee the Tidewater.”
“You, who have wanted
a primogeniture for so long, would give it up so quick and so easily?”
“There is opportunity
here. Guy of Savoy is here, allied and aiding Maximilian. And if he is here…”
“…then he is not in Richmond .”
“Better to rule in
hell…” quoted Thomas.
---
Officer Ballard made
his way nervously down Duke of Gloucester Street. The Williamsburg police captain had a growing suspicion he was being
followed, chased even. He’d heard the news about his fellow thralls. He knew
about Judge Hansen and Prosecutor Orr; everyone had via the news media, but the
media was speculating these were mob hits or random acts of violence. Not the
deliberate results of the nighttime war between Kindred; The Masquerade and its
defenders would see that element was kept hidden.
Ballard now knew he
was next. He was a twenty-year veteran of the force; in that time he’d learned
a few things, done a few favors for his Lady Michelle, and made a few enemies.
His every instinct at that moment was that these things were now coming back to
haunt him.
He was on the campus
of William and Mary when he’d first sensed something amiss. He’d found his
police cruiser’s tires slashed shortly thereafter, confirming his fears. Now he
made his way across Colonial Williamsburg. He knew one of his officers often
stopped at the Palace Shuttle Stop. If he could just make it there and make
contact…
He made his way past
the Parish Church
That was, however,
not their intent at all.
As Ballard made his
way north, he heard a loud growl behind him. He turned around to see something
that defied all logic: a large grey wolf was stalking him across the Green, its
eyes aglow in the half-light.
Ballard spun about
and began to run. The wolf, sensing the chase, took off after him. A sprinter
in his youth, Ballard still knew his chances of outrunning the beast were slim.
He hurled himself forward, heedless of anything but the monster behind him.
That proved fatal.
As he passed under a
tree, Ballard felt something hit his neck. Immediately, a figured dropped out
of the branches behind him. He felt something tighten around his neck and he
was yanked upward.
Michael smiled,
pleased his snare had worked. He’d been inspired by listening to a CD of the
Phantom of the Opera musical, noting from the recording the particular method
the Phantom character used to murder: the fictional Punjab lasso. So, he’d set up this trap with the direct intent of hanging his
latest mark in similar fashion.
Boar caught up to him
and morphed back to human form. A few more minutes after that, Mitch emerged
also. He’d been the one who’d started the chase back at William and Mary. He
looked up at the twitching body of Ballard, trying to gasp out breath through
the strangling lasso.
“So, the deed is
done…” said Mitch disgustedly.
“You don’t approve.”
Said Michael. “You know these…”
“…are not innocents.
Yes, I am aware.” Interrupted Mitch. “And all you’ll do is replace them with
more of the same. Only these will have the right loyalties to the right
vampires.”
Michael frowned.
Mitch had been growing more and more discontented at their work against
Michelle’s minions. “You know,” Michael began “we don’t make the world. We just
live in it. You think it’s really any different for mages, or werewolves, or
even humans? We’re all trying to scrape out what we can to survive and
sometimes that means others have to die.” He looked up at Ballard as he gave
one final shiver.
“All that is true,”
continued Mitch, “but you’re starting to enjoy this. An elaborate chase, a
creative trap, when all you really needed to do was jump the guy, drain his
blood, break his neck, whatever.”
Michael glared at
him. “Yes, I am enjoying this. It’s personal. They made it personal. They shut
down the Fox Club. They hauled Virgil and all the staff off to jail. Would have
done the same to Leigh if I hadn’t gotten to her first. And you and Boar? Let’s
not forget they tried to kill the two of you. Did you forget that part?”
“We were never in any
real danger.” Retorted Mitch.
“You got lucky.”
Argued Michael. “Did not the one have a fast-loader full of silver bullets?
What if he hadn’t been stupid and loaded his gun with it? What then?” Mitch
gave him no answer. “That night proves the stakes we are under now. Did you not
kill the officers who were to execute you?”
“There’s a difference.
I didn’t have fun doing what I had to do.”
“Don’t lie to me.
Boar told me you fried him with a lucky lightning strike. You revel in your
power just as much as I do.”
Mitch had no response
to that. He stormed off.
“So what are we doing
about this one?” asked Boar.
“You don’t share
Mitch’s views?” Michael verified.
“Dude, you were
right. If the cop who’d grabbed me had half-a-brain, he might have used those
silver bullets Damian gave him and I’d be in a world of hurt. That’s the second
close call I’ve had; being run out of Roanoke with an angry
self-righteous pack of werewolves on my ass was the first. I don’t need to be
reminded what the stakes are here. Mitch ain’t figured it out yet.” Boar
paused. “Revel in his power, you say. Perhaps too much. I think he believes
himself invulnerable. I worry about what it’ll take for him to learn otherwise.”
“Life…” came a voice
out of the darkness. “or unlife is a learning experience.” Michael was not
surprised by the sudden arrival. He’d known Max was to arrange a rendezvous
sometime tonight, and it was also no surprise that Max would know precisely
where to find them. The Nosferatu looked up at Michael’s handiwork. “You’re
learning quickly.”
“We’ve got Michelle
sweating now, I’m sure.”
Max nodded as a car
pulled up. Two other figures joined them. Michael guessed these would be Guy
and Raoul, who he had yet to meet. Seeing his allies assembled, Max continued.
“There has been a new development.”
“We’ve heard.” Said
Guy. “The Disciples are no longer neutral.”
“And they moved
against us or the Servants?” asked Michael.
“Helen Richards and
Karan Sharma are dead. They were Michelle’s and they were kindred.”
“Escalation.”
Concluded Michael.
“Oh, yes, the
Disciples have come into the fight with guns blazing.” Max smiled. “As we
hoped.”
“So what is the next
move?” Michael asked.
“We conclude our
fight with the Servants and ready ourselves for the Disciples.” Said Guy,
answering for Max. “After all, it is likely the Disciples will be gunning for
us next.”
“Therefore,” added
Max. “it is best we call a truce with Michelle and the Servants. We will need
what remains of their strength to undermine the Disciples.”
“Say what?” exclaimed
Michael.
“You heard me. ”
Said Max coldly. “You will deliver my olive branch.”
“You’ve got to be
kidding me. This whole affair started because Michelle wants me dead, and she
has the permission and sanction of the Council to carry it out.”
“Don’t treat me like
a fool, Michael. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. First, give me
some credit. I’m not sending you in to throw you away. I need your strength and
that of your rather unique allies in what is to come. Guy and Raoul will
accompany you. Second, give your opponent some credit as well. Michelle’s back
is against the wall. She is not so proud to be suicidal. She’d played this game
for a long time as well.”
----
Michael stopped
outside the front door to Aegyptus, Guy and Raoul flanking just behind him. “I
don’t like this.” He admitted.
“I do not share Max’s
confidence that Michelle will be reasonable. I know her better than he does.”
Said Guy.
“She’s yours. You
should.” Replied Michael.
“You are hoping I am
right, I think.”
“The first time I was
here I made a promise.” Said Michael. “I told her she was next. I wouldn’t want
to be caught in a lie.” He looked back at Guy to gauge his reaction. After all,
Michelle was his childe and they had, presumably, been close at one time.
Perhaps lovers. What residual feelings remained?
If there were any,
Guy gave no sign. He looked emotionlessly at Michael. “Let’s go.” He said.
Michael turned back
to the door and began to approach. The bouncers at the door closed ranks to
prevent their entrance. Michael stopped before them, tempted to draw a weapon.
Remembering that he was here as a peace envoy, he choose otherwise.
“Move.” Ordered
Michael. The bouncers merely glared at him behind their sunglasses, the
leftmost one even smiled, as if daring him to try something.
“Fair enough.” With
blinding speed, he grabbed the smiling man’s shirt and flung him into the brush
with one arm. Other began to draw his weapon, but Michael clamped down on his
arm with his free hand. He squeezed, his vampire grip like a vice on the man’s
arm.
“Move.” Michael
repeated and he gave the man a harsh shove. Unable to resist Michael’s
supernatural strength, the bouncer stumbled back. Michael then headed inside.
The club was much as
it was the first night he’d been there. Michael looked about and saw a few
familiar faces, faces he recognized from either his first visit or from the
photographs Max had showed him of Michelle’s known thralls. Then his eyes fell
on Damian.
Damian was sitting
facing the front door. Three others were at his table, presumably some of his
thralls. As Michael, Guy, and Raoul walked in, he locked eyes with Michael. As
if on cue, the clatter and noise of the busy nightclub came to a stop and a
disquieting silence settled over the place.
“Miss me?” Michael
mouthed silently, regardless of the calm, confident Damian could read lips.
Damian came to his feet and looked to be making for the elevator. Michael then
sensed a presence to his right and he looked. Michelle exited the elevator of
her own accord, looking as ravishing as ever.
“Come to wreck up the
place again?” taunted Michelle.
“Would you like me
to?” retorted Michael with a sly smile.
Michelle’s eyes
darted to Michael’s companions. “Lord Guy. Lord Raoul. It has been a long
time.”
“So it has.” Said Guy
with a polite nod.
“So why are you
here?”
“I come with an
offer.” Said Michael. “Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?”
“Let’s…” Michelle
started to turn back towards the elevator when something drew her attention.
Michael followed her gaze to a figure who gotten up from one of the center
tables and moved into the center of the dance floor.
The figure made a grandiose
gesture, as if casting off a cloak. As he did, his appearance morphed before
their very eyes. The face that emerged was Shakespeare, the Primogen of
Portsmouth.
“Misery acquaints a
man with strange bedfellows.” He quoted. “What a wonderful coincidence to find
all of you here on this lovely night.”
“What are you doing
here?” barked Michelle.
“He’s here because I
am here.” Said another voice. Everyone’s eyes darted to the corner opposite
Michelle. There stood a man robed in black and purple.
“The Bishop, Prince
of Lynchburg .” Snarled Guy under his breath. His hand had gone
under his coat, where Michael knew his rapier was safely hidden.
“This is a trap!”
Michael concluded. “Two kindred openly flaunting their powers before
mortals. No one is leaving this room alive.” Michael looked behind him to
the door. Outside, several vans had pulled up. No doubt, the Bishop’s thralls.
Shakespeare yanked an
over-and-under shotgun from his coat and leveled it at Michael. “Is this a
dagger I see before me?” he quoted, a crazed look in his eyes. He turned the
gun to point at Michelle, but his eyes remained locked on Michael. “You three,
we’re only here for the heathens. Be gone.”
“On the contrary!”
barked the Bishop. “These apostates have shown themselves willing to ally with
the Devil’s servants. If with his servants, then too the master. Kill them.”
“As you wish!”
Shakespeare spun the gun back around.
Michael willed the
power of the blood to his body and time seemed to slow as his reflexes
accelerated. He saw Shakes’ finger squeeze the trigger and he instinctively
ducked. Instead of the usual blast of flame and lead, a gout of fire erupted
from the gun’s barrel, blasting over Michael’s head and into Raoul behind him.
Michael drew his
Beretta and trained it on Shakes. As he did so, the whole room erupted into
chaos as the assembled patrons of Michelle’s club took to their feet in panic.
Michael squeezed off a three-round burst as he heard glass shatter behind him.
The Bishop’s thralls had gotten their cue to attack.
Michael’s burst
slammed into Shakes’ torso, not even a remotely lethal wound for a vampire, but
it took the delusional vampire by surprise. He swung his shotgun down to fire
the second barrel at Michael. He squeezed the trigger, only to have a panicked
man step in between at the last instant. The blast of flame took the man in the
back, setting his clothes alight.
That only increased
the man’s terror and his companion yanked a table cloth free to snuff out the flames. Whatever combustible
substance Shakes had fired out that shotgun was not so easily extinguished and
the only result was a flaming table cloth.
Michael felt the
rising fear of the Beast within him, but he fought it back. Shakes opened the
shotgun to clear the used rounds and reload. Michael rushed him and with a
powerful back hand sent him flying. Several patrons jumped Shakespeare as he
hit the ground.
Michael then took an
instant to assess his surroundings. The gunmen at the door were cutting down
the patrons as they sought to flee. He could make out neither Guy nor Raoul in
the chaos. Michelle had also vanished. Damian had taken to his feet, his Colt
Peacemaker in hand. He was not moving either to attack or flee, but like
Michael was taking stock of what was happening.
“Release him!”
bellowed the Bishop and Michael was amazed his voice carried so well above the
din. Michelle’s thralls who had pinned Shakespeare down ignored him, so he
reached out with his hand. A line of white-hot fire shot out from his
fingertips and ignited the closest of Shakes’ tacklers.
“Fire. Fire
everywhere.” Michael thought to himself and the Beast erupted within again.
This time, he did not resist. A frenzied panic took hold and he tore for the
door. His mind was only aware of two things as he fled.
The first was Damian.
One of his companions grabbed his hand and they vanished from sight. The second
was another figure, now standing at the side of the Bishop, his face almost
orgasmic at the chaos: Ernie.
To Chapter Ten
To Chapter Ten
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