Act Three Chapter Ten - Killing in the Name

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“This Boorman, what is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Regardless, what choice do you have?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

“My God, Michael…” exclaimed Leigh.

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

“I…” he began.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, don’t say it.”

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

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

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

“Who? What are you talking about?”

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

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

“It would follow. No…”

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

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

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

“Did you foresee this?” he snarled.

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

---

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

"What's this about?" Max demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have no standing here, Bishop."

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

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

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

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

"And that is?"

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

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

"What say you?"

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

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

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

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

---

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

“Did she leave?” he asked.

“Yes. About midday."

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

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

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

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

Michael opened it and began to read the handwritten script.

Michael,

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

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

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

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

I await news of your success.

Maximilian

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

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

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

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

"What the..." Michael began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nancy nodded and set to her work.

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

---

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

“Hello, Maximilian.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shakespeare, of course.”

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

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

“You should have known.” said Guy accusingly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Damian.”

“Possible.”

“Michael.”

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Kindred.” she muttered under her breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there no hope?”

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

“Mitch had told me.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he was?”

“Drake was his name.”

“Any way I can contact him?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

“Drake. It's Michael.”

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

“I know you know what's happened.”

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

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

“And so does Max.” concluded Damian.

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

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

“Not enough have died yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

“For now, a meeting.”

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

----

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

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

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

“And what of Damian?”

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

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

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

“Moment of decision.” Said Sarah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This place stinks of lupines.” Whispered Sarah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ernie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mom!" Michael heard Sarah scream.

"There! The child witch! Take her!"

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

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

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

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

"For Raoul." He fired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael ran.

To Chapter Eleven