Act Four Chapter Thirteen - Sleeping Satellite

Michael was not quite torpid when Rebecca found him, a pile of ash next to him. Catatonic was a more proper description.

She walked up to him cautiously, uncertain as to when he might snap out of his fugue. She wasn’t sure what it was that had made him like this, but the ash pile told her that he’d somehow overcome his foe. The Djinn was no more.

“One blow.” she said to him, “and it’s all over. Deborah gets her throne and I get Deborah free and clear. One blow. It’s almost too easy.” She gripped her scimitar tightly and raised it to strike.

She held it there for a few seconds, questioning in her mind if she could go through with this.

“What are you waiting for? His allies will be here any minute.”

Rebecca spun around in shock and surprise. A nearby shadow coalesced into the form of a man: Cranston.

“You weren’t the only one who followed The Djinn here tonight.” He explained. “Now, finish him off or I will.”

“No,” said Rebecca, her decision now made. “I won’t do it. He was my friend once. My lover. And while he may be here for mistaken reasons, I’ll not kill him for that.”

“You’re as much a fool as he is. Mistaken reasons? We set him up. This was always the plan. He was supposed to die against The Djinn and he had the audacity to win. Well…” Cranston drew his pistols. “I’m here to ensure his victory is a short one.”

“You’ll not touch him.” Said Rebecca fiercely.

“Get out of my way, bitch.” Cranston summoned the shadows around him and commanded them against Rebecca. She’d only seen the barest hints of this power and was taken off-guard by shadow stuff that was solid enough to touch. The tendrils wrapped about her limbs and flung her across the pavement, slamming her hard into the asphalt.

“All this effort over such pathetic weaklings.” Scoffed Cranston. “Hard to believe Prince Guy thinks you two are worth such energy.”

“That weakling…” snarled Rebecca as she came back to her feet. “just defeated one of the most powerful vampires in the world. He is my sire. I am his childe. And I will not let you touch him.”

“He got lucky. You will not.” Cranston opened fire.

The heavy .454 Casull rounds tore through her dead flesh, hammering her body with immense force. Bullets were usually of little use against vampires, but rounds that powerful were not to be taken lightly. Rebecca stumbled as her blood desperately tried to regenerate against the damage Cranston was inflicting.

“These guns are no accident. I built them precisely to take down antiquated kindred like you, with your swords and knives.”

“You got one problem.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Reloading.” She spun on her heel and hurled the scimitar at Cranston. The blade tumbled end over end before planting itself in Cranston’s cranium.

The Lasombra vampire staggered back, blood pouring forth from a wound that nearly cleaved his head in two. He raised his guns again and pulled the trigger, only to hear them click empty.

Rebecca rushed forward and yanked the scimitar from the wound. She spun again, putting all of her weight into a mighty swing. The sword came around, striking Cranston on the neck and sending his head free. His body turned to dust before it hit the ground.

She walked over to Michael, who remained oblivious to what had just happened near him. She knelt down next to him. “Deborah says I’ll never be rid of you and she’s probably right. But maybe I don’t want to be. You’re the only thing I have left of the world I left behind. I can’t kill you, but I can’t stay either. All that’ll result from that is a battle for supremacy between you and Deborah. There’s only one way we’ll all get what we want.”

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Michael began to stir; he was starting to come out of his fugue. “Good-bye, Michael.” Said Rebecca. She stood back up, hearing the voices of Michael’s allies in the distance, and vanished.

---

Boar, Julia, and Solomon found Michael a few minutes later. "Dear God," mused Solomon. "He did it."

"Not without cost, it seems." said Boar. Michael was stirring, but he was still not quite there yet. He gave Michael a hard shake. Michael's eyes regained their focus.

"He loved her." Michael said, his voice distant. "In his own way."

"What are you talking about?" asked Boar.

“It was all a lie. The Djinn had nothing to do with the hunters in Tidewater.”

“That’s not really why we came.” Said Solomon.

“No, but Rebecca is innocent. I know that now. Cranston’s the one that killed Sarah. On whose orders, I don’t know, but he’s the one with her blood on his hands.”

“And that appears to have been avenged.” Said Julia. “There’s another vampire corpse over here. I recognize these pistols.”

Michael stood up and walked over. “What? How?”

“Rebecca.” Said Boar. “When you went to chase after The Djinn, she appeared and attacked us. We broke off from one another when you summoned us. She must have found you first and then killed Cranston for some reason.”

“I was lucky twice in one day.” Mused Michael. “I should not have won that fight. The Djinn would have had me if not for a tiny bit of cleverness and a hell of a lot of luck. Now I learn that Cranston was stalking me as well."

“You or her?” asked Solomon.

“Me.” Said Michael emphatically. “The Reign, the hunters, they all were after me. From the very beginning, they were after me. I thought it was because Rebecca had a beef, wanted revenge, but now I know better. No, some other enemy arranged all of this. Something else at work here.”

“Perhaps,” said Solomon, “But whatever it is, it has failed. You still live and The Djinn is no more. For our purposes, our task is complete and a coronation is in order."

---

Michael walked into Solomon's apartment haven. He paused briefly just inside the threshold to take in the place where he had trained so vigorously to prepare for this campaign, for this triumph.

He looked out onto the balcony and to the hot tub outside, remembering more than a few amorous escapades. That, in turn, brought his mind to his present purposes.

"Where is she?"

"I would guess," said Solomon, "in the bedroom. Dressing, make up, getting ready. Or maybe..."

"...she's not alone." Michael got a devilish grin. “A threesome like the old days would make a nice welcome home.” Michael moved towards the bedroom door.

“And if it’s…” Solomon began. He didn’t get to finish before Michael barged in. “Rebecca” was, of course, the name he was about to utter.

For both of them, the image in their head was not to be. Deborah was within, getting dressed. Alone. The room was filled with the dulcet tones of Tasmin Archer's almost-a-hit song Sleeping Satellite, playing on the radio nearby.

"...I blame you for the moonlit sky...for the dream that died..."

Michael had almost forgotten how beautiful Deborah was and seeing her before him made him trip over his words. After a second or two, he managed a "Hello, Deborah," a greeting somewhat more formally than he intended.

For all her beauty, Deborah's glare at him was icy cold, almost hateful. It moved from Michael to Solomon in turn. "Do you know what you've done?" she hissed at Michael.

This was not at all what Michael had been expecting.

"She's gone. Vanished. Fled into the night. Fleeing from you." Deborah stabbed the words at Michael like daggers.

"She's innocent." retorted Michael. "I know she's innocent. It was ruse. Neither she nor The Djinn had anything to do with what happened in Tidewater. She had no reason to flee."

“She had every reason to flee. Damn her sentimentality. And damn you for coming between us.”

“I…” Michael stumbled. “I don’t understand.”

“I told her to kill you.” She snarled. “She went out to do that, but when the time came…”

“You told her to do what?” Michael growled in reply.

“It was the only way!” said Deborah emphatically. “The only way for us to have all that we wanted. She decided your life was worth more than that. Damn her! Now she’s fled. Fled to keep us from fighting over her.”

“No. Now we’ll just fight over the fact that I didn’t lay down and die for you just so you could keep her.”

“That’s what you were for. From the very beginning. Cannon fodder and nothing more.”

“And you think I didn’t know that? You have only yourself to blame, Deborah. You made me what I am to destroy your enemies. Problem is, your enemies were so powerful and so grand that there was only one way to me to accomplish what you wished. I had to gain power and strength and skill greater than you've ever had. I had to become a greater monster than you or they and so I am. I haven’t just survived. I’ve overcome. I’ve dominated." He paused and his mouth twisted into a grin, as if he was enjoying a private joke. “I am the master now.”

He looked towards Solomon. “But Solomon reminded me of something you once taught me. All that you told me of holding onto my humanity in the face of all we kindred endure. The monster would scrape you off his boot and take for himself what he came to give you. By rights, the throne should be mine. But I made a promise to you once. Don’t make me regret keeping it.”

“Then bow to me as your Prince.” Demanded Deborah.

Michael went down on one knee. Solomon did likewise.

“For what you have done for me…” said Deborah, her voice still shaky with rage. “I give you and your childe Blacksburg. Rule it my stead, but do not set foot in Roanoke without my summons. I will abide you in my city, but I want as little contact with you as possible.”

“And as for you, Solomon, I promised you a refuge. You shall have it. Make your haven wherever you wish, even in Blacksburg if Michael will permit it. But as I said to you earlier, you will not have me. Now leave me. I will summon you for court in a few nights time.”

---

Michael and Solomon returned to the hotel. As they entered the parking lot, Solomon pulled his bike up next to Michael’s Falcon.

“Deborah’s the only one that won anything.” Said Michael bitterly.

Solomon merely nodded.

 Michael paused, reigning in his frustration. "The blood of so many kindred and kine on our hands. So many have died and for what? Kris, Leigh, Sarah. All of them rot in their graves alongside countless others, friend and foe. All for a throne whose occupant doesn’t even want it anymore.”

“She’ll get over that soon enough. I’ve known Deborah long enough. Hell, she may find her way back into our beds sooner than you think.”

“But she said…”

“She spoke in anger. In the same frustration you’re talking in now. But I’ve learned something over my century of life. Sometimes small victories are all you get. Tomorrow, or the night after that, they’ll be another battle and with it another chance to win what we want.”

“Deborah may be your prize, Solomon. But for me, she’s only minor consolation. Sarah dead. Rebecca fled to who knows where. What’s left for me?”

“That is a question only you can answer.”

---

Maximilian marched down the line of staked Kindred. "You captured these four. What of the leader? What of Guy?"

Francois bowed apologetically. "I'm afraid the Prince of Richmond has scurried back to his own city. His coup has failed."

"And he's left these, his allies, to rot. Damned fools." Max looked the four vampires up and down. "Leave them for the sun. Let these last few hours be a gift by which they can reflect on putting their trust in a worm like Guy du Savoy. Damn his treachery. To think, I once called him ally."

Francois considered a comment, but thought better of it. It was probably unwise to provoke the Prince of Tidewater further. He motioned to his thralls, who came forward and hauled away the prisoners to their fate.

"So, we were played for fools." said Max.

"I am afraid so."

"The hunters, the Reign of Terror, the attack here on Nightstyles, the raid on Sarah's witch coven, all of it a ruse to convince us Roanoke sought my throne when it was Richmond all along."

"Michael's crusade to Roanoke wasted." added Francois.

"No, not wasted. Have you not heard? The Djinn is dead. My sanctimonious brother sent screaming into Final Death at last. And let’s not forget the other plus.  Two primogen dead and now a third exiled."

"Exiled?"

“Come now, Francois. You didn’t I’d take every advantage I can out of recent events. Michael Allens is gone from our city and I have no intention of ever lettering him come back home. He is banished henceforth and if he sets foot here again for any reason, he will face justice. Is that clear?"

Francois nodded.

"He can enjoy the comforts of that backwater in Roanoke, his reward for being played for a fool.”

“We were all that.”

“True, but I’m the one to most benefit.”

---

A light November rain fell on the muddy field of ground where Michael's old cabin had once stood in Blacksburg. A half-constructed mansion now stood there, the beginnings of a new housing development on the outskirts of town.

Michael had bought the property and threw in plenty extra to ensure his new haven would be under roof before the snows came.

"So what do you plan to do with such a big place?" asked Mitch. His wounds had begun to heal up nicely, thanks in part to the tender medicine of Angelica Walton.

Angelica stood by Mitch's side. The rest of the harem were also about that night, taking stock of what would be their new home.

"Well, between me, you, Julia, Boar, and the harem girls, we going to need a lot of space. This was the only lot in the development large enough to meet those needs."

"Awfully extravagant for a college town." said Sammy.

"Yes, but imagine the parties we can throw." added Julia.

"Blood will come to us." said Michael with a sinister tone. "And it will come in the form of nubile young college students, all eager for a good time."

"And who says they won't get one?" said Julia. "Some will have the time of their life."

"You two are making me nervous." said Mitch.

"Oh, come now, Mitch. It's not like you won't be in the mix of it all. Savoring all those hedonistic delights." Michael laughed and headed back towards his car.

"Is that really what you want?" asked Mitch as Michael opened his car door.

"No," answered Michael honestly. "But it will have to do for now."

---

Braden Jackson flicked on his flashlight, scanning the tombstones.

"Remind me again why we're here." said his companion, Vincent Murphy. "Graveyards are creepy."

"Death is a part of life." reminded the elder witch. "And we're here because of a hunch, a feeling."

"This is crazy."

"Not necessarily. The note found with Sarah's ashes said  'Your lover now dwells with her mother in the grave.' What if it wasn't just poetic license? What if her killers left some clue or something else at her mother's grave?"

"And what would it accomplish if we found it? Michael Allens has moved on. The coven is scattered and leaderless. What's the point of all this?"

"What if it's her?"

"Now I know you're off your rocker, old man. She's dead."

"Vampires have a habit of not staying that way."

"We saw the ash."

"We saw some ash." He paused before a grave marker. "Here we are." The grave marker was labeled "Nancy Anne Cobbler."

"Her mother's grave."

"Start digging." ordered Braden.

"I still say this is nuts."

It took only twenty minutes of digging before they hit something.

"Now, isn't that odd? Nancy's vault would be deeper. Something else is here."

Vincent tapped whatever it was with his shovel. "Wood."

"A pine box. Old school coffin."

"We might be able to." Vincent slammed down hard with his shovel, breaking through the soft wood. He bent down and cleared away splintered wood and dirt. "My God," he said as he got his first look inside. "It can't be."

"Too valuable to destroy." mused Braden. "Her enemies left her here to fetch later."

Both men could barely believe their eyes. Within the pine coffin was the withered desiccated corpse of a young girl, about 12 to 14 years of age. Within her chest was wooden stake.

Vincent reached to pull out the stake. "No!" cried Braden, but it was too late.

As the stake came loose, the corpse came to life. It leaped onto Vincent, its fangs at his throat. The girl drank deep, her flesh slowly taking on the facsimile of life again.

Braden ran.

Sarah Cobbler dropped the corpse of Vincent to the ground, her frenzy of starvation passing from her. She looked at the corpse of her devoted follower in horror, felt the hot blood on her lips. She saw her tattered clothes, the remnants of her wedding gown. The open grave behind her.

"Where's Michael?" she asked.

-- Here ends Virginia by Night --

But the Requiem of Michael Allens continues in Philadelphia by Night