Act Three Chapter Fifteen - Crazy

In many ways, it reminded Michael of the Christmas party at the Navy Yards some eight months earlier. It was one of the largest gatherings of kindred and thralls since that day: Francois, Damian, Sarah, Michael, Darrel, and the newly awakened Solomon. Michael was overjoyed to see a familiar Harley motorcycle pull up in front of the Fox Club.

"Francois found you." said Michael, admitting the obvious.

"I'm still a little hazy." Solomon replied. "But I'm awake and gunning for a certain delusional Malkovian and a former samurai with delusions of grandeur."

"Did he not tell you? They both met Final Death now. Shakespeare at the hands of his Prince and Hiroshi by me."

"You?"

Michael nodded. "Your teachings came in handy."

Solomon laughed. "What became of the novice I once knew?" He gave Michael an affectionate slap on the back. "Let me show you something. A little toy I ordered a while back when I figured things were going to turn ugly."

He reached down on his bike and pulled free a rifle case. He opened it up to reveal a bullpup assault rifle of a design Michael had never seen before.

"What is that?"

"The latest in Russian military technology: the Dragunov SVU automatic sniper rifle. I still have a few friends among the Russian kindred, including one who sends me a few toys every now and then." He picked up the rifle and gave it an affectionate stroke. "Fully automatic and can drop a target at 800 meters."

"I don't think we'll need that."

"We might."

Damian stepped out onto the porch. "Michael, Solomon, we're all here and ready."

"Alright, let's see what plan you've come up with for us."

Damian brought the kindred over to the bar. He motioned Boar and Mitch to join them. "Here, this is the street layout around Nightstyles or the Seaside Church or whatever you want to call it. As best we know, the Bishop had holed himself up there with his Disciple captives and a virtual army of his cultists."

"Ernie's cultists. Bet he didn't see that coming." mused Michael.

"Either way, they stand between us and our prey."

"Nightstyles had an arsenal in its basement to fend off any who would dare threaten the Prince and his retinue when they were there." said Darrel. "I'm sure the cult has taken advantage of it."

"Indeed." said Francois. "And not just guns. Swords, blades, some even made of silver and cold iron in case the local lupines or changelings became a threat."

Michael glanced over at Boar, who returned the glance. "They're prepared for anything." he said.

"Yes, but so are we." said Damian. "In order to preserve the Masquerade, we must make this attack look above board. Legitimate and legal. To that end, I have already given instruction to my allies in the FBI and ATF. To them, this church is a front for a powerful Columbian drug ring that has recently moved into Virginia Beach. They will cordon off the city in a three block radius around church tomorrow night, August 1. That should put them mostly out of range of any 'toys' like the one Solomon has over his back at the moment. We who will be a part of this attack will go in disguised as a special SWAT team. I have uniforms and the like. Firearms will be easily explained but we'll need to keep our melee weapons hidden until we're out of sight of the mortal authorities."

"Alright, I'm going." said Michael. "Who is with me tomorrow?"

"I'll hang back and coordinate things with the mortal police." said Damian. "So I'll be there, but I can't storm the castle with you."

"We'll go." said Boar and Mitch together. "We've stuck with you this long."

"I'm in." said Solomon.

"As am I." said Francois.

"I've never been a fighter." confessed Darrel. "I wouldn't be much help."

Michael looked at Sarah, who had not yet spoken. She smiled at him. "I'm not either and you'd probably kill me yourself if I put my neck on the line tomorrow."

"Not quite, but I'd be rather put out." admitted Michael.

"Then it's decided." said Damian. "We meet here tomorrow. I will not be here, so do not wait for me. But I will be at the perimeter when you arrive."

"Thank you, Damian." said Michael. "Your plan is flawless."

"Of course, it is. Just don't you fail me when the bullets start flying."

"Are you really worried about that?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

---

After the meeting broke up, Sarah and Michael returned to the library. As they pulled into the garage, Michael let out a long sigh.

"Have you made your decision yet?"

"No. I wasn't expecting to have to decide so soon. This has all happened so fast."

"If you don't take the throne, Max will."

"Over my dead body perhaps?"

"No, that he can't do. He'd never get away with it. You have too many allies. Too many friends loyal to you."

"But not enough. Not everyone in that room is there because of me. Some are only there to stop the Prince from destroying the Disciples. Others out of self-preservation. Damian, God knows what his motives are."

"He's on the winning team. Just like he wanted." said Sarah. "But do those you mentioned really matter? Whatever you decide, you will still have Solomon. You will still have Boar and Mitch. And you will still have me. None of us will abandon you if you decide to give the throne to Max in the end. None of us will abandon you if you decide to claim it for yourself."

"You wouldn't be disappointed if I don't?"

"Some decisions in life others can't make for you, Michael." She chuckled for a moment. "Sometimes, I forget your not much more than 20 in mortal years."

"Neither are you."

"True. We're both young, maybe a little foolish, and the world is about to be handed to us on a platter."

"Scary, huh?"

"A little, but imagine what we could do with it."

"You once told me you didn't care for politics." teased Michael.

"That's true."

"Sarah..." Michael began slowly. "It could go badly tomorrow. A thrall gets a lucky shot. The Bishop has already become stronger than we thought. Darrel or Damian either one could betray us. Any number of random things could happen when this goes down."

"I know. Remember what I said. This moment is all that matters."

"I haven't forgotten. Which is why I want to spend all the moments between now and tomorrow naked in your arms."

"I was hoping you'd say something like that."

---

Dawn came and then after that dusk. Michael got up and went out to his truck. He opened up the back and took stock of his weapons. He dressed in the borrowed uniform Damian had given him, including the armored vest with the letters ATF on the back. He holstered his Beretta. For his primary weapon, he debated between the AK-47 and a newly acquired (from Hiroshi's dead mercs) SPAS-12 shotgun, the very weapon he was so disappointed to not find in Solomon's stash. He chose the SPAS.

To the firearms, he added the wakisashi he'd used so effectively against Michelle's minions that first night at Aegyptus. He also pulled out Hiroshi's red katana. It was a fine blade, the likes of which were very rare in the modern world.

Sarah came to the door of the garage and stood their watching him. She had not bothered to dress, but stood before him nude as the day she was born.

He'd seen her that way so many times before, yet tonight was if he was seeing it for the first time all over again. "Is that supposed to inspire me to return?" He commented almost breathlessly.

She gave a quiet laugh. "If it works. I just find it funny that you once thought me hideous."

"I thought you a child."

"No more."

Michael shook his head. "No, definitely not."

"I won't ask you to promise me the impossible. I know there's no way of knowing what will happen when the shooting starts. But when it's all said and done, I will find you and I will stand with you no matter what." She walked over, playfully boosted herself up on the truck tire, and gave him a passionate kiss. "Good luck. I love you."

"Thanks. I love you too." He closed the truck bed, got in the cab, and drove off.

---

The perimeter had been established exactly as Damian had said it would be. Dozens of local cops, FBI, and ATF had surrounded the place much as they had the Waco compound of the Branch Dividians four months earlier. They established the perimeter and waited for the "special" SWAT team their commander had told them to expect.

It was not long in coming. An armored van soon arrived and deployed a team of five men, all armed to the teeth and clearly ready for action.

Michael, Solomon, Boar, Mitch, and Francois came out of the van and surveyed their surroundings. Damian quickly made his way to them.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes." said Michael.

"Alright, the cops and Feds will hold the perimeter. They are under specific instruction to not intervene unless they are fired upon themselves. Inside, it's all you and whatever you choose to do."

Michael recognized the subtext of what Damian was saying. They could slaughter the cultists or even all the captive Disciples and make up whatever story they wished. There would be no one to refute their claims. Michael looked at Francois and Solomon, two kindred who prided themselves on their sense of honor and fairness, and he concluded that this would be no slaughter. No, ideally, the only one to die tonight would be the Prince, but Michael was not so naive to think they would meet that ideal.

"Let's go." He picked up a large satchel and flung over his shoulder. Within it were his blades and Francois' own sword, hidden from the curious eyes of police who would wonder at the presence of such archaic weaponry. He took the lead and the others fell in behind them.

"Do they know we're coming?" asked Boar after they'd dashed half a block. He, like the others, was curious as to why they'd not be fired upon.

"We're still out of range." said Mitch.

Several bursts of gunfire whizzed past them, shattering the windows of the storefront next to them.

"Not anymore." said Solomon drolly. He raised his Dragunov and fired off a burst of his own. "Go, there's a machine gun nest on the roof top. I'll keep him pinned while you advance. I'll catch up."

They moved ahead as Solomon gave them cover fire. Boar darted to the side into a alleyway. "Enough of this human crap." he said, yanking off the vest and uniform. "My regular clothes will shift with me, but not these." He morphed into a large feral wolf a moment later. He gave a half playful half sinister snarl at Michael.

"Alright, let's keep going." As they advanced again, a small group of cultists came out from a storefront and opened fire. Behind them still, on the front steps of the club were more, who joined in.

They dove behind a car for cover. Mitch pulled out his dice. He tossed them gingerly into the air, invoking the powers of fate as he did so. He scooped them up, convinced his incantation had taken effect, and jumped out of cover. He squeezed off two rounds with his long barreled .45 and dropped one of the forward cultists.

Not to be outdone, Boar suddenly dashed out from behind the car, scrambling along the pavement on his four paws. The cultists turned their weapons on what they believed was an attack dog, only to quickly discover that their normal bullets had no effect.

"Werewolf..." one of them called out, just a half second before Boar leaped up and took him by the throat. His companion scrambled to switch clips on his assault rifle, stumbling into the open in his panic. Michael's shotgun made it so he did not live to regret his error.

"Move!" Michael barked. Francois heard the order and came out from behind the car, firing a pistol as he did so. It was obvious this was not his usual weapon, but accuracy was not needed. His random rapid fire had their opponents diving for cover.

Michael unzipped the satchel and pulled out their blades. He quickly tucked the katana and wakisashi into his belt and kept Francois' broadsword in hand. He invoked the power of his vampiric blood, drawing upon it for speed. He came out from cover and almost immediately caught up with Francois.

"Here!" He offered the sword. Francois took it in hand, drew it with a flourish, and smiled.

"Now to show you why I was so feared a foe." he said with pride. He ran towards the front door of Nightstyles.

With a mighty leap, he was in the midst of the four cultists. They turned to face him, but none were as quick as the vampire templar. He cut them down, all four in less than a second. As they hit the pavement, he kicked in the door. Michael sprinted to his side.

"Up or down?" asked Francois, cleaving through another cultist stupid enough to rush him as he entered.

"You go down. I'll go up." said Michael, emptying his shotgun into another batch of cultists. He tossed the weapon aside and drew his own blades.

"Oui!" Francois headed for the stairs to the secret chambers below, where they all suspected the captives would be held. Michael, on the other hand, headed for the stairs in the back that led up to the office and eventually to the roof. That's where he figured to find the Prince-Bishop.

Michael cut through the two cultists who tried to bar his way and made it to the top of the stairs in two short bounds. The office was his first stop. He dashed over and kicked in the door.

He stepped inside, expecting resistance. There was none. Had they exhausted the cult of its members already or were they even now coming up behind him? Michael turned to check his path. None came up the steps. He could hear the din of distant battle below from Francois and the tell-tale sound of gunfire outside, so he knew they hadn't taken them all out, but none it seemed remained here.

Michael headed to the door at the back of the office. Beyond it, he found a latter to the roof. He climbed and came out on top.

Michael immediately looked to his sides. There he found two make-shift machine gun nests, each with two cultists and an M-60 machine gun. The rightmost spotted him and opened fire, but Michael turned to the leftmost and was upon them in an instant. It was a calculated gamble and it paid off. As the rightmost group turned, they exposed themselves to Solomon below. He head the Dragunov speak with two quick bursts and that's all he needed to hear. The leftmost did not survive long the whirling of his blades.

He then turned to survey the rest of the roof behind him. The Bishop was there, consuming the blood of a staked vampire, desperately trying to absorb his power in the scant few seconds he would have before Michael could reach him. It was Ernie in his arms.

"Oh, no, you don't." Michael rushed him.

The Bishop dropped Ernie, his task unfinished. "You think I am not without powers of my own, you heathen!" He stood upright and a wave of vampiric charisma washed over him, much as it had the night Michael had seen Michelle die. Only now it was far more powerful. Michael found he could not approach further.

"You cannot resist my sovereign power, given to me as protection from heathen scum such as yourself. Did you truly think you could defeat me?"

Michael felt the weight of the Bishop's personality as if it were a literal stone upon him, bending him low. He could not even look at the Bishop. In all his experiences, he'd never felt such a power.

The Bishop took up his crozier. "Now, you are mine to toy with. And you will learn why I am the Prince of this city this night and all nights hence forth." He swung the heavy wooden crozier and smashed Michael across the jaw, a blow powerful enough to shatter bone. Michael hurled sidelong and landed in a heap.

Michael sat up and tried to face his opponent again, his broken jaw stitching whole in the power of his blood. But he still could not overcome the Bishop's majestic countenance. "If I don't do something," Michael thought, "He'll beat me into torpor with that stick and then drain me!”

“I am the eldest of Ernie’s childer.” The Bishop boasted. “I have seen three centuries of life. The likes of you will not best me.” The crozier swung again and Michael took another hammer blow to the face.

Michael tried to clear his mind, tried to channel his willpower against the Bishop’s power. It was much the same technique he’d been taught by Ernie to shield his mind against Mathias’ probes. “Think! Focus! Remember what you are here for!”

Images came bidden to his mind. Sarah’s smile and the taste of her kiss as he departed from her earlier. Deborah being tortured by Mathias and The Djinn on the floor of the chapel in Roanoke. Kris dying in his arms...

Wham! The crozier struck again. Michael ignored the pain, both of the impact and of being hurled across the roof again. He focused further, channeling his will. He saw Raoul dying by Shakespeare’s shotgun, then the deaths of Michelle and Sarah’s mother. He saw Prince Lazarus incinerate.

Wham! Again, Michael continued to ignore it.

“Aren’t you dead yet?” mocked the Bishop. “You soon will be.”

Rebecca’s face came next, lost and alone in an alien world. Then Leigh, her butchered body lying a pool of blood. He saw the bookstore burn, and then a vision of Sarah in the arms of the Bishop, being drained herself in his mad quest for more power.

Michael’s eyes came open. The crozier was hurling towards his head again, only this time he caught it and tore it from the Bishop’s grasp.

“No!” exclaimed the Bishop, but Michael was on him. Michael’s blades were gone, his pistol forgotten. There was only one weapon left to him: his fangs. They found the Bishop’s neck. He drank deep and deeper still. Another flood of images came into his head. Pictures alien to him, the Bishop’s memories. But then another set of images, all the more alien still.

Shakespeare’s memories.

Michael saw a meeting of the primogen. He saw Michelle and Max through Shakespeare’s eyes. “The Prince must die.” said Max, “and the time has come.” He saw Shakespeare speak to Ernie about that meeting, and he saw Ernie give his blessing for Shakes to be a part of the conspiracy. He watched through Shakes’ eyes as Michelle climbed the gantry at the Naval yards. He saw her override the controls and bring down the molten steel on the Prince’s unsuspecting head. He saw it all.

Then, he felt power. Unbelieveable power rush into his mind, his body, even his heart. He heard...no, he more felt the Bishop scream out a plea for him to stop. And he could have, but instead, Michael took one more gulp.

The connection between them broke like an overextended rubber band. Michael was almost launched backwards or so it seemed to him. He saw the Bishop turn to ash and he felt the rush of power. But along with it was a sickening sense of guilt. The Beast within him seemed to bellow out a roar of victory.

Michael tried to take to his feet, but it seemed nothing wanted to work. He felt as though he was at war with his own body. He again tried to focus his will and forced his limbs to respond to him. He could not stand, only bring himself around into a crawl. He found himself panting with exertion, a strange affectation given Michael had no need to breathe.

Hands came upon him and pulled him to his feet. “Michael!” he heard his name, remembered it was his, and turned to the speaker. It was Mitch. Boar was there as well, still in wolf form.

“Are you alright?”

Michael nodded, but gave no verbal answer. He staggered over to Ernie’s corpse-like body. He gave the stake a yank and pulled it free. Movement came again to Ernie.

“It is done then.” said Ernie, pleased with himself despite the near miss he had just had.

Michael again nodded without a word.

“It’s yours. All you need do now is reach out for it and claim it.”

A bat landed on the roof nearby and transformed in a puff of smoke into Max. “Is it now?”

Michael gave Max a cold look. He knew. He knew who it was that had truly killed the old Prince. He knew it was Max, behind it all from the very start. He knew he’d recruited Michelle and Shakespeare into his conspiracy, making promises to them he’d never intended to keep.

Then Michael saw something he’d never thought he’d see. He saw fear in Max’s eyes. Fear of Michael. Fear of what he was about to decide. Michael smiled.

“No.” said Michael slowly. The words came from his mouth, but in one sense they seemed alien, as if he was just learning to speak again. “No,” he repeated as he grew more comfortable with himself. “I will not take the throne.”

“You must!” begged Ernie.

“No!” Michael barked and it seemed a flash of light went forth from him. All around him, Max, Boar, Mitch, even Ernie seemed cowed before his presence. Michael smiled. The Bishop’s power was now his. He calmed his fury, and spoke more softly. “I know I have power enought to claim it and no one could stop me, not even you, Max. You know it too, but you also know that I am not nearly seasoned enough to hold onto it. Not against a schemer like you.”

“Then kill him and be done with it.” said Ernie. “He’s the only one who will challenge you. End him now.”

“No!” Michael barked again. “There has been enough blood shed this night and all these nights prior. I am sick of the violence and the killing. No, I will not claim the throne only to have Max come to murder me as he has others.”

Max’s face grew cold at that and the fear in his eyes grew more pronounced.

“You know, don’t you? I knew you’d figure it out.” commented Ernie.

“Yes, I know.” said Michael, half to Ernie and half to Max. “Guess what? You won, Max. The throne is yours. You see, in the midst of this, I haven’t forgotten. I still have a job to do. Allies to find who will fight for my cause in Roanoke against Mathias. My quarrel is not with you, Max. It never was, but don’t make it so.”

“You will never get another chance like this, Michael. Strike him down.” said Ernie.

“No, no, a thousand times no. If for no other reason than because it is what you want.”

“You must!” Ernie came to his feet.

“Do not test your power against mine, Ernie!” Michael said with all the rage and power he could muster. Ernie curled up like a chastened child. “No, this time I will tell you what to do. You will go forth from this place and you will leave this city and you will never return so long as I am here. Is that clear?”

Ernie came to his feet, taking every fiber of his will to do so against Michael’s new powers. “You will come to regret this night.”

“Go!” Michael ordered. Ernie took flight.

“I could live a thousand years and never see something like that again. A Great Elder cowering before a rank novice like you.” said Max.

“The cities are yours, Max.” said Michael.

“And what’s to stop you from yanking them out from under me if you decide to change your mind?”

“I don’t know. What’s to stop you from doing to me what you did to Lazarus?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Yes. Well then, I suppose you’re in a bit of a quandary. I could withdraw my offer, kill you or send you into exile as I did Ernie. Take the throne for myself or you could accept what I’m giving you.”

“With you and what you know as a Sword of Damocles over my head. A devil’s choice.”

“Indeed it is. Something I learned from Ernie.”

The two vampires stared at one another for a long moment without saying a word. As they did, others arrived on the roof top: Francois, Solomon, Damian, and Sarah.

Michael made an exaggerated bow. “My prince, what do you command?”

Max paused briefly before speaking. “We gather here tomorrow. All kindred of all coteries, of all covenants and clans. And we will decide how to rebuild our city.”

Michael looked at Francois and the others. “Send forth word. You heard him.”

Francois nodded. “As you wish, mi’lord.” he said to Max.

Michael walked over and pulled Sarah into his arms. “It is done. Let’s go home.”

---

The next night seemed festive. The war was over. The terror ended. Vampires that had laid low for months came forth to Nightstyles.

The mortals were none the wiser for what had happened. The papers told the story of daring raid against a drug cartel, ending in many arrests and a few killed. Damian had done his work well.

Sarah sat by Michael’s side, watching the kindred come and go. Mitch and Boar sat on his other side, welcome at the festivities despite their non-vampire nature. “Valentin!” Sarah suddenly exclaimed. “You survived.”

The former stage magician and member of the Servants of Typhon turned at Sarah’s exclamation. “Exile spared me.” he admitted. “One of the few of the Servants who could say that.”

Two familiar young women came out from behind him. “Well, we meet again.” said Michael to Nikki and Felicia. He could sense a certain change in them. “So, now another mystery is solved. Let me guess. You turned our bit of fun into a rationale for Damian to raid the Fox Club.”

“Did I never tell you that?” said Damian, coming up behind. “Valentin, good to see you well.”

“Past history.” Michael admitted. “A lesson learned.”

Damian smiled at that. “You were a good student. Although I still think you mad that you did not claim the throne yourself.”

“And leave myself open to an expert like you to usurp me? I don’t think so.”

Damian found that amusing and he laughed. “Touche, my boy.

“Max isn’t here yet.” Sarah observed.

“Soon enough, our liege will make his appearance.” said Damian.

As if on cue, Max came down from the upper floor to the landing. He called for silence with a booming voice Michael did not think him capable of.

“We have all awoken from a great nightmare.” said Max. “I am not one for speeches or flowery words, so let me be brief. I am the Prince, as I once was. I am the law of this city. Now that may sound like the opening words of a reign of tyranny and terror, but you know me. I have dealt fairly and honestly with all of you in our dealings in the past. It is not my intent to be a tyrant, but there will be order in our cities. Chaos such as we’ve had these past months will not happen again.” He punched those last words with great emphasis.

Michael applauded and the rest joined in. That he was the first to do so likely escaped no one’s notice, but Michael did not care. He was glad to be free; free of Ernie’s scheming at last.

Max called for silence again. “In the midst of what has happened, many of the great offices of our society have gone vacant. Many have died, some have fled. But we have need of great kindred who will rule alongside me in these times ahead. First, we name Damian Drake as primogen of Williamsburg.

Applause followed. “Valentin Thompson is the new primogen of Chesepeake.”

More applause. “Austin Finch is now primogen of Newport News.”

Still more applause. “Ben Cervantes is given the primogeniture of Portsmouth”

“Francois du Bois is once more sheriff and herald of the cities.” Michael clapped loudly at that announcement.

“And lastly, Michael Allens is now primogen of Hampton and Master of our Elysium here at Nightstyles. I order him to reopen this club and make it neutral ground where we may all gather to resolve our disputes and to hunt amidst the mortal kine of Virginia Beach.”

At Michael’s naming, the applause grew almost deafening. “I didn’t realize I was this popular.” he commented.

“Half of them are probably scared of you. The other half probably know that Max is scared of you.” guessed Mitch.

“True.”

“So, Primogen of Hampton?” said Sarah. “So much for getting out of politics.”

“Indeed. A new chapter opens.” Michael raised a glass of chilled blood to Max. “The game is now afoot.”

Act Four