Act Three Chapter Twelve - Cuts You Up

Damian made good on his word. The next night he showed up with a half dozen men. They wore the same sort of military grade police uniforms usually used by SWAT teams and other special units. They were armed with MP5 submachine guns and a variety of pistols.

“Despite their uniforms,” Damian explained, “they are not what they appear. While I certainly have access to real police and FBI teams, these are my own personal soldiers. Loyal only to me and to those whom I assign them.”

“Is that loyalty bought with money or with blood?” asked Michael directly.

Damian sensed his intent. “Oh, these are thralls, bound to me by the power of our cursed blood. I would not trust your personal well-being to just anyone. But do treat them with care. Subverted TFV agents are hard to come by.”

“TFV?”

“Task Force Valkyrie. The government agency tasked with dealing with supernatural threats such as ourselves.”

“So the government does know about us?”

“Sort of. TFV is one of many various black ops groups hidden throughout the American government, paid for in secret and known only to a few. Even the President probably does not know of all of them. These are well-trained in techniques to bring down enemies with special immunities and vulnerabilities. Werewolves with silver bullets. Vampires with fire and sunlight. Cold iron for changelings. And so forth...”

“We should send them after the Prince-Bishop.”

“A waste of resources.” admitted Damian. “Despite their training and equipment, they are still mortals. If the Prince sends his Sheriff after you, these will prove a time-consuming nuisance, but little more. Enough of one however to grant you an escape or a fighting chance. Given your injuries, I recommend the former.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I hope you recognize my commitment to our cause here.” said Damian emphatically. “I do not bring in these soldiers unless absolutely necessary. They are among my most valuable of assets.”

“Another lesson?” replied Michael. “Use no more force than necessary?”

“Something like that. Consider for a moment where we’d be if I’d pulled out these guys earlier in the game. If they had been here when I raided this club, Boar and Mitch would both be dead. These would not have disobeyed my orders and would not have fallen prey to their ignorance about what your friends are. Where would we be now if I had succeeded then?”

“What was a failure is now a success.” observed Michael.

“A good lesson to take with us as we move forward from here. Lie low and heal. Soon, we will have our moment to take on the Prince-Bishop.”

---

Michael winced. Over the past few days, the wound had begun to heal and was no longer impeding him in any way, but it was still quite tender to the touch. It was still just as gruesome looking as it had ever been.

Sarah’s grimace gave truth to that reality. “Is it really that bad?” asked Michael.

“Let’s just say it’s about the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. Thank the goddess first that I am incapable of vomiting, secondly that it’s starting to heal.” She began to wrap Michael’s chest in a bandage, a precaution more ornamental than medical. Michael didn’t complain about the moot effort; He wasn’t any more fond of looking at his injury than anyone else.

“Quite the mood killer, isn’t it?” queried Michael.

Sarah gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, it pretty much is. Sorry, but I doubt there’s much that would dry up my privates faster than looking at your blackened ribs and lungs.”

“Guess I need to get used to chastity for the near future at least.”

“Sorry.” repeated Sarah.

“You keep apologizing. I’m the one who got tagged by a mage’s death-to-vampires spell.”

“Yeah, but I know your wants and needs. It’s been nearly a week since I had you inside me. More than a week since either of us has hunted. So we’re both suffering a bit of the chaste curse for the time being.”

“Speaking of that, our supplies of refrigerated blood are growing low. We’re going to need to hunt soon.”

“That means going out. Out where they can find us.”

“They can do that any...” Michael was cut off by a loud thump from downstairs. “What the hell was that?”

It came again, another thump like someone had dropped something very heavy onto a very solid floor. Michael and Sarah listened as it came a third time.

“Your emergency haven.” said Sarah.

“Francois!” Michael bolted to his feet and ran downstairs.

“He’ll be in frenzy. He hasn’t fed since he went under.” reminded Sarah. “What are we going to do about that?”

“I don’t know.” said Michael, flipping the switch to open the door.

The steel security door flung open with a bang and out came the emaciated form of Francois. His eyes were wild with the Beast’s hunger, but the instinct that ruled the Beast must have made two quick conclusions about Michael. One, that he wasn’t food and two, that he was far stronger than it was. It glared at him for the briefest of seconds and then tore up the stairs to the bar.

“Why didn’t he attack us?”

“Lions don’t hunt elephants.” said Michael.

Sarah understood the metaphor. “No, but they do hunt zebra and there’s three of them standing guard outside.”

Michael and Sarah dashed upstairs and outside, only to find Francois on top of one of the TFV agents. Blood sprayed everywhere as Francois lapped it up in his desperate hunger. The dead agent’s two partners came running, their weapons drawn and ready.

“Stand down!” Michael barked and he immediately moved between them and Francois.

“What the hell?”

“He’s one of ours and not in his right mind.”

“He just killed Neil.” The agent raised his weapon again.

“I said stand down!” bellowed Michael. “Or you’ll join him.” The agent glared at Michael, and for a moment it seemed he might still act, but he blinked first and lowered his gun.

Francois stepped back, the Beast receding now that it was sated. He glared at his own hands, as if not believing the blood upon them. “Ou suis-je?” he said in French.

Michael didn’t know enough of the language, despite two years of it in high school, to understand him. “Francois,” he said, hoping the name would trigger something. “You’re safe. You’re in Hampton. At the Fox Club.”

Francois looked at Michael quizzically, as if not comprehending a single word. He then shook his head. “Anglais...English, you speak English.”

“So do you.”

“Yes, I...remember.”

“You’ve just awoken from torpor. Your memories are muddled.” said Sarah.

“How...how long?”

“A month? Two maybe.” said Michael. He couldn’t remember himself exactly.

“What has happened?”

“A lot.” said Michael. “Come inside. We’ll talk.”

---

The TFV guards resumed their post, undoubtedly calling into Damian to report what had happened. Francois went back inside, his body now filling out and returning to a somewhat normal appearance. He sat down and gave Michael an expectant look.

Michael proceeded to fill Francois in on all that had transpired over the past two months: the arrival of Damian, Guy, and the Bishop, the attack on Solomon, the war between the Servants and the Old Guard, and the destruction of the Servants by the Bishop, who now claimed the title of Prince.

Francois listened intently to Michael’s narrative. When Michael finished, Francois looked down, as if lost in thought. He looked up after a few seconds, “So, you were not lying when you said much had happened. The whole city has changed in what for our kind feels like the blink of an eye.” He paused again. “Phase one...phase two..” he muttered aloud, still lost in his speculations.

“Excuse me?” asked Michael.

“The haste with which this plan was implemented reveals that this was long in planning.” admitted Francois. “No single Kindred in the city, not Maximilian, not Michelle, not even Ernie, has all the influence needed to put this plan in motion. There had to be more than one culprit. A conspiracy, an alliance kept secret from all, but with a single purpose. Depose the Prince and replace him.”

“And Phase One?”

“Kill Prince Lazarus. Simple enough. The Prince was notorious for his theatrics when exercising his power. His grandiose execution of the twins probably gave our assassins their perfect moment.”

“Phase Two?”

“Eliminate me.”

“Why would that be so important?”

“Number one, I’m not part of this conspiracy. That will become more important as you follow my train of logic. Number two, my lauded sense of honor and duty. They knew I would pursue an investigation into the Prince’s death and would seek some measure of justice against his murderers. Three, they’re all afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Of you? Why?”

Francois smiled. “Let me answer you with a question of my own. Tell me, Michael, what do you fear?”

Michael thought for a second. “Not much I suppose.” He rubbed his chest and felt the pain of his still healing wound. “Mages that can summon sunlight, I suppose. But not much else.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve fought mortals, other kindred, werewolves, and now a mage. I’ve bested each one, either alone or with allies.”

Francois nodded. “You are among the rarest of kindred, Michael: A warrior. One who is expert in blade and firearm. Our kind are not common, and therefore we are both valued and feared.”

“I’ve been a vampire only a couple of years. Who then am I to be valued and feared by those who’ve had decades more practice than I?”

“You’re operating off a false assumption. Most Kindred don’t bother with combat skills. Such dedication is pointless to them. Most mortals are no match for them regardless, and few if any conflicts in the Kindred community are ever resolved with actual bloodshed. Usually when things degenerate to that point, it is both an indication that things have spiraled out of control and an opportunity for kindred such as ourselves to shine.”

Michael slammed his fist into his hand, as if an epiphany had come upon him. “And that’s precisely why things degenerated to this point.”

Now it was Francois’ turn to be confused. “Excuse me?”

“Ernie.” said Michael. “Now I don’t know if he’s a part of your conspiracy theory or not, but I do know he’s been playing off of the turmoil here since we arrived. His goal, for whatever sick reason, is to ‘help’ me. If this is an environment in which kindred like you and me thrive, then you can bet Ernie has rigged the game in such a way to make that so.”

“To what end?”

Sarah interjected into the conversation for the first time. “That’s easy. To make Michael Prince.”

“Then perhaps it is you I should kill to avenge my Prince.” Said Francois.

Michael glared back at Francois in return. “You are welcome to try.” Threatened Michael boldly. “But I hope you realize I am as much a pawn in Ernie’s mad schemes as anyone. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t come to the Tidewater to take over. All I wanted here was to find allies who could help me back home.”

“What remains for you there?” asked Francois.

Michael paused to think about his answer. “Redemption.” He said quietly. “A chance to make up for my greatest sin.”

Francois looked at Michael intently, as if those words touched something deep within. “I was born in 1270 in the south of France. My father was a hedge knight; my mother a tavern wench. I was a twin, my brother Tomas was born a scant few moments before I. As such, when we came of age, my father entrusted him with his arms and armor, made him his squire, and I was left behind at the tavern. During a bout of plague, my mother passed away and I was left in the care of a local monastery made up of Knights Templar. They raised me, taught me to read, to count, and to fight. But how well do you know your history, Michael?”

“I know the Templars were destroyed at one point.”

“Indeed they were. In 1305, I was made a vampire by a traveling monk who was, in secret, a kindred of the Ventrue clan. He raised me, taught me the secrets of kindred society. But if your memory holds, you know that was a dangerous time for the Templar order. The king of France was eager to claim the order’s riches. Two years later he made good on his threat, sending in his soldiers to arrest the knights and kill any who resisted. I could have stopped them. I was a seasoned soldier, a powerful warrior, with the strength and stamina of fifty men. But my sire held me back. From that day, I pledged I would never again fail anyone to whom I had pledged an oath to protect. And I kept that oath, through the centuries between then and now, until eight months ago.”

“Then I think we understand one another.” Said Michael.

“If what you say is true, Michael Allens, I will not hinder your quest. I trust you will not hinder mine.”

“So you’re as ancient as Ernie? We had no idea.” Said Sarah.

“I spent many of the centuries between my failure at the monastery and the French Revolution in torpor. So I have not the potency of his blood nor his experience and I am not accounted the prestige of an ancient kindred. I came to America with Guy du Savoy, Raoul, and Michelle La Croix, fleeing as they did the chaos of Robespierre. It wasn’t much better for kindred than it was for mortals.”

Boar poked his head in. “We have company.”

“Damian.” Guessed Michael. His speculation proved accurate when Damian walked inside a moment later.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise? I suppose I should have guessed when my men told me one of them was jumped by a frenzied vampire. Michael would never have done that to someone I’d told him to take such good care of.” Michael didn’t like the implications of that last line. The generous repentant Damian was now gone and he was clearly back to his old games.

“I might have guessed slime such as you would show up once things went south here in Tidewater.” Said Francois.

“Along with slime such as Guy and our Lord and Savior himself, the Bishop of Lynchburg.” Retorted Damian. “You might have been better off staying asleep.”

“Well, regardless, here I am.” Francois looked over at Michael. “And I’m going to guess my return will not remain secret for much longer. I’d best make my presence known to our new Prince lest someone else beat me to it.”

---

The Bishop made ready to say mass, putting on his robes and making a few quick prayers in the name of Longinus. Darrel Mills poked his head in.

“Your grace, your attention is needed downstairs.”

“Whatever for?”

“We have a visitor. Someone unexpected.”

Curious, the Bishop left what he was doing and followed Darrel out of the former office of Nightstyles and down the stairs. A strange kindred was standing in the middle of what was once the dance floor of the nightclub. A haughty looking man with dark hair and fair skin.

“And who would you be?” demanded the Bishop.

“Are we playing coy, your grace, or are you truly unaware of the identity of our guest?” interjected another voice. Maximilian appeared from behind a nearby pillar and walked to the stranger's side. “I am surprised to see you, Francois.”

“Francey!” came the loud exclamation of Ernie. “You're alive.”

Francois took it all in stride, ignoring the reactions his arrival caused in the assembled kindred to focus entirely on the new Prince before him.

“Your grace, I have recently awoken from a brief torpor. Although it seems much has happened while I was away.”

“Mikey let you out of your cage. How wonderful!” exclaimed Ernie in the same excited childish tone.

“Mikey?” said the Bishop. “As in Michael Allens?”

Francois's face was unreadable and he said nothing for a long moment. “What would that matter? The novice found me and kept watch over me while I slumbered. Nothing more.”

“Let us hope you speak the truth then.” said the Bishop. “Michael Allens is no friend of our rightful rule. He defies us at every turn.”

“He's done me no ill. If anything, I owe him a boon.”

The Bishop frowned. “Your loyalty is demanded, Francois. Will you abide by our rule and our decisions or will your debts bind you to the seditious and disloyal?”

“My word is my bond and my honor unquestioned. You will have my loyalty as my rightful prince, but I will not neglect the debt I owe to one who showed me a kindness unbidden.”

“And what good is your word and your honor?” asked Hiroshi, stepping forward and stopping right before Francois. “You pledged to protect Prince Lazarus. You gave your word. And what happened? You failed.”

Francois's face hardened. “Mind your tongue, Hiroshi. I will not suffer insults from the likes of you.”

“I am the sheriff of these cities. I serve in the role you once held, given to me because of your failure. Do not pretend at superiority, Francois. You're nothing. Your services no longer needed. Your rights and privileges under the previous regime forfeit. Renounce the novice and you might get some of it back.”

“What is his crime?”

“He harbors a fugitive, a heretic, blapsphemer, and witch by the name of Sarah Cobbler.” announced the Bishop.

“That is all?”

“Heresy, blasphemy, and witchcraft are the most grave of sins.”

“Yes, and I remember well how they were once used falsely against my order by villains such as yourself. I see no crime in either of them. I will not renounce Allens for such specious charges.”

“You play a dangerous game with us.” said the Bishop. “Your next words could make us your enemy. And if that is so, there will be consequences.”

“First you insult me, then you threaten me.” said Francois in anger. “No, the one playing a dangerous game is you, my prince.” He turned to Hiroshi. “You think yourself my better with a blade? That's a test I'd welcome.” Francois watched Hiroshi intently, half expecting him to draw the katana upon his belt. The two vampires stared at one another for a long moment, before the Bishop spoke again.

“Be gone then. You have made your intent plain. Do not grace us with your presence again.”

Francois's eyes darted to the Bishop for a quick moment. He then turned and left.

“Damn this neonate. A mere childe defies me!  He is as the devil himself, luring the righteous into his counsel and keeping. Lord Maximilian!” The Bishop howled the Nosferatu's name in rage. “You are the master of secrets and whispers in this domain. Where hides he?”

Max looked at the Prince incredulously. “Can you not guess on your own?”

“I will burn his haven to the ground.”

“You will never get close enough. Michael's allies protect him well.”

“You among them.” accused the Prince-Bishop.

“A direct approach is unwise, your grace.” said Ernie. The change in his voice indicated a shift in personality.

“And what would you counsel then?”

“Not all his allies are as strong as Francois.” Ernie continued. “Yes, he has a werewolf. Yes, he has a mage at his beck and call. But he also has mortals. Some are out of your reach, friends of mortal days that live in the domains of other great lords. But there is one, a lovely little morsel by the name of Leigh. Hostage her or make example and you may find Michael singing a different tune.”

“Find this one and bring me word.”

---

With Francois off to visit the Prince-Bishop at Nightstyles, Michael felt a certain freedom to come out of hiding for a night. While the battle against the lich and its aftermath had provided a welcome change of pace, Michael still wearied of his isolation. But he knew where he could find a solution.

And so his truck pulled up before Leigh's town house. As he looked over the front of the building as he had so many times before, a sudden anxiety struck him. What would she say? What would she think about seeing him again? He dismissed those thoughts quickly, knowing the strength of his thrall-bond would allow one response to his arrival: utter joy. There would be no need for apologies. No need for explanations. All would set itself right of its own accord.

And that bothered Michael. He felt he had amends to make. He felt he had wronged her in the way he had sent her away. His intentions had been good and he knew the risk being with him at this time posed. But still he felt he owed her an apology and an explanation and all those things she would never dare demand of him.

He got out, went to the door, and rang the doorbell. He expected either Leigh or Tori to answer, but it was another face, one unexpected, who appeared when the door swung open.

“Virgil?” Michael was genuinely surprised.

“Michael?” Virgil's face immediately turned to abject horror. “What...what are you doing here?”

“Making amends. And you?”

“Um...um, well, I thought that...you know when you sent her away...” he stammered.

Michael began to laugh. “Dude, you've done nothing wrong. She's more than enough for us to share. Besides, it's not like we haven't before.”

Virgil's countenance moved from fear to relief to happy remembrance as his mind cast itself back to the night of the five way with Leigh, Michael, himself, and those two minxes in the catgirl get-up.

“Still,” Michael continued. “you have a story to tell me. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” stuttered Virgil as he recovered. He opened the door and led Michael inside. “You know, I just thought...”

“Since you seem determined to explain and apologize for your actions,” interrupted Michael. “why don't you weave it into your own story. Last I saw you, you were being hauled off to jail.”

“Yeah, they charged all of us as accessories to rape and illegal pornography and all sorts of crimes. They had me on tape, they said. And the prosecutors offered us a deal. Testify against the owner and we could get off with a slap on the wrist. Well, some of us took that deal. I didn't.”

“Of course not. Your bound to me just as Leigh is and would never betray me.” Michael thought. “And yet you're here?”

“Yeah, well that's the part I don't quite get myself. About a week or so ago, they let me go. Said all charges were dropped. No idea why or what.”

“Damian.” Michael thought to himself. The timing was about right, matching up with the Tremere's change of heart.

“I didn't know where you were, so I came to Leigh's place, thinking she might lead me to you. She was all upset and distraught, crying and all that. Said you'd told her to leave. I sat down with her and tried to calm her down. One thing led to another...I didn't know you were going to come back. If I had...”

“Relax, Virgil.” repeated Michael. “The truth is I did what I did because the people who are after me might use her against me. Truth is, that true of you as well. I figured you were safe in jail, but Leigh was out in the open. Vulnerable. I had to make it look like things were over between us. That I'd walked away. That I didn't care anymore. It was the right thing to do.”

“Then why are you here now?”

Michael frowned. “Because it nearly killed me to do it. The look on her face, the way her voice cracked when she pleaded with me to not send her away. Tore me up and it's been tearing me up ever since. You're probably right. It was dumb of me to come here. But my enemies are distracted for the moment. Their eyes are elsewhere.”

“You sure of that?”

Michael nodded. “I know you care about her. You want her safe as much as I. In fact, I feel better knowing you're around. But Virgil, I want you to understand something. If they come for you or for her, don't stand and fight. Run. Get her out. Get yourself out.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“So then....where is she?”

“In the shower. Can't you hear?”

Michael could, of course, hear the shower down the hall with his vampire hearing, but he wasn't about to presume it was Leigh. “And Tori?”

“Out with the kids. Chuck-E-Cheese birthday party or some such.”

“Ah. If you'll excuse me...” With that, Michael took his leave of Virgil. He tiptoed down the hallway and quietly slipped into the bathroom. The sound of running water masked his approach. A quick peek determined that Leigh was looking forward, her back to the rear of the tub. Michael quickly undressed and stepped in.

He reached around her to cup her breasts in his hands. Leigh shivered. “Back for more?” she teased playfully, clearly thinking her intruder was Virgil.

“I’m here for what he had.” Said Michael.

Hearing his voice, Leigh spun about, let out a squeal of delight, and threw her arms around Michael’s neck. She yanked him down and showered kisses on his face and neck. “Oh, my God, Michael!” she squealed again.

A wave of emotion cascaded over Michael as he looked into her eyes. “God, I missed you. I didn’t want to do what I did, but…” He didn’t get to finish before she covered his mouth with her own. “I can’t stay.” He said after she finished the kiss. “It’s still dangerous for you to be associated with me.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “You’re here now and if you aren’t inside me in five seconds, I’ll scream.”

---

“I'm a little surprised the Frenchman didn't tear Hiroshi's head off right there.” concluded Max, as he reported to Michael what he had witnessed at Nightstyles a few hours before.

“That I would like to have seen.” It was a few hours before dawn. Michael had returned from his visit to Leigh to find Max waiting for him.

“The Prince demanded that Francois renounce you. He refused, owing to the fact that you kept watch over him while in his torpor.”

“He's a kindred of honor. Like Solomon.”

“Still, you can imagine that didn't go over well with the Prince. The piece I don't understand is how you managed to keep him hidden without my knowing it. I'm not surprised in the least he survived whatever happened to him. But that you had him the whole time...”

“I'm getting better at this, Max.”

“So I've noticed.”

“I know you sense an opportunity here, Max. Francois may be a Disciple. He may be of the Lancea Sanctum. He may be all these things, but he is also no friend to the current regime or they to him. That much is very clear now. We might offer him a deal. His help in exchange for prime hunting grounds or some such. Paid once the Prince-Bishop is deposed.”

“Aren't we getting bold? Speaking so openly of deposition and rebellion?”

“Don't play coy, Max. We both know you wanted that throne when Lazarus died. We both know my current conflict with the Prince will only end when one of us has ended the other.”

“And if he ends you? Don't underestimate what Hiroshi can do. Francois may be able to stand up to him, but you are not Francois. Nor are you Solomon, no matter how well he may have trained you.”

“I know, but the Bishop's whole world is centered on me at the moment. Let's consider the way the board is set, shall we? You as the black king. The Prince-Bishop as the white. But who are the most powerful pieces remaining on the board? Francois, but he's a rogue. Neutral, taking neither side. Hiroshi, allied with the white. Me, allied with the black. Seems a stalemate. But with the Bishop's attention on me alone...” Michael let the word linger in the air, hoping Max was seeing what he was.

Not unexpectedly, Max played with his cards close. He left Michael hanging and went off on an observation of his own. “There's also Ernie to consider and whose strings he's pulling.”

“When you say that are you referring to the Bishop or to me?”

Max chuckled to himself. “Two months ago you were little more than a naïve child in the midst of wolves. This crisis has been good to you, Michael. You've come to realize your own power. You're now aware of how you're being used and manipulated by Ernie. You seem to recognize that the Prince is also being so manipulated. You've figured out the puzzle of our times. The question is what are you going to do with it?”

“And that question frightens you, doesn't it?”

Max frowned. “You may have grown wiser. You may have grown strong by this crisis. But make no mistake, Michael. Damian's raid here was a mere taste of what we could do to you if we so choose. If I ever have cause to question your dedication to my ascendancy, it’s not the Bishop you’ll need fear. I'll end you myself.”

---

After the sun set the next night, Michael and Sarah emerged from their sanctum (one of the old “private rooms” at the Fox Club) to see an old friend had returned.

“So, how is Charlottesville?” asked Michael of Mitch. “And your mentor?”

“Not quite himself, as the lich had tapped into some of the power of his soul, but I am told he will make a full recovery in time.”

“Thank God then. Damian’s aid proved of great value.”

“Surprising, but yes. I’ve noticed no ill effects outside of some very bad dreams. But those too, I’m told, will pass in time.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Mitchell.” Said a shadowy figure as it stepped into the doorway. It was Ernie and it was not. The voice was right, but the posture was off. One of his alternate personalities was dominant.

Michael looked over at Sarah and Mitch. “If you’ll excuse us…”

Sarah took Mitch outside. Michael looked at Ernie. “It’s been a while. You’ve been keeping company with our new Prince, I hear.”

“Indeed, I have.” Came the cold droll response.

“Max tells me you told the Bishop I had been keeping Francois while he was in torpor. You knew all along I had him, didn’t you?”

“Of course. It was my intent that you find him first.”

“To what end? Why, Ernie?”

“Mind your place, Michael. I am Father Ernest Malenkov!”

Michael’s lip curled into a snarl, revealing his impatience with Ernie's games. “So you’re now a priest in our Bishop’s unholy church, is that it?  Should I curtsey or bow? Tell me, Father, did you give your pledge before he burned Michelle at the stake, sometime after, or that very night as you watched her roast?”

“So you were there?”

Michael nodded. “Saw the whole thing. Saw her die. Saw your cult ‘repent’ of the error of their ways and pledge themselves to him. Yeah, I was there. So who pulls whose strings in that relationship?”

“Don’t play the fool, Michael. You know who I am. As to your question about Francois, yes, his arrival here that night was no accident. It was my cultists who attacked him, my flock who sent him into torpor. He needed to be here, to emerge at the proper time.”

That seemed a little too calculated to Michael, too perfect to be plausible. Worried now that he was heading down the road of one of Ernie’s more elaborate delusions, Michael frowned. “To what end?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t it be obvious? You’re not normally this obtuse, Michael. Look at this place! An abandoned nightclub. You live among the rats, hiding out amidst the dust and ruin of it all. You should be in a palace. Why live like this? You are a god even among the kindred. All that I have done is to make you see your birthright! I’ve given you allies to make it happen. Engineered events to bring out your potential. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to awaken your power and to give you what should be yours.”

"And the price is to give you what you want." said Michael angrily. "All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me." He quoted.

"I see you haven't completely forgotten your Sunday School lessons." replied Ernie with a bit of mirth.

"The Almighty and I might not be on the best of terms right now, but I do know his book, the lessons it teaches, and the warnings they sometimes contain. Your gift comes with a great price. One I am not willing to pay."

"Do you see me as the devil? Funny that. You keep such august company with murderers and witches."

"All vampires are murderers, or have you forgotten that?"

"Only a vegetarian sees eating meat as murder. Why should we think of killing our food as such? No, the murderers I refer to are those who kill their own kind. Vampires who slay vampires."

"As I have done. Twice."

"Soldiers killing in war and people killing to defend themselves from harm are not usually accounted as murderers."

Michael frowned. "Fine. To whom do you refer then? Sarah is the witch, I get that. But the murderer is whom?"

"Do you not yet know? How many clues have I given you thus far to the identity of Lazarus' murderer? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body. You've let that one under your radar undetected as well."

"The lich is dead." Michael guessed at Ernie's meaning.

"Is he now? For such a remarkable creature, you can be so remarkably dense. You should know these things already. You should have figured them out. You are smarter than this."

"If you know who the assassin is, then say it. Tell Francois and let him have his vengeance."

"No, it must be you who reveals that mystery. And to convince Francois and others, you must put the pieces together yourself. You have enough to solve the mystery! Bring justice to this town and claim what should be yours.”

"I'm not here for that."

"It does not matter. What you want is growing less relevant by the night. Your enemies are growing in number and their fear of you grows as well. Soon, it will come down to either you or them and you know what they can do. This place, what happened here, was a warning salvo. Michelle using Damian to tip you off to their true power, but your foes are not done. Soon the Prince will turn against you and will seek to destroy you. He will start with those you hold most dear. Don't think for a second you've fooled anyone with your dismissal of that chubby little waitress you are so fond of. She'll be first and it may already be too late."

Michael tore past Ernie and out the front door. As he ran for his truck, he bolted past Sarah and Mitch, who were talking in the moonlight with Boar.

"What the hell?" muttered Boar in astonishment.

"Leigh's in danger." said Michael. Boar and Mitch looked at one another for the briefest of moments before jumping into the truck after him.

---

Michael slammed on the breaks and killed the engine. He jumped out of the truck without bothering to close the door behind him. The front door to Leigh's apartment was ajar; not a good sign.

Michael was about to bolt inside when Boar's grip on his shoulder brought him up short. “Blood,” said his werewolf friend, sniffing the air. “And enough of it that I can't tell who else might still be around.”

Mitch came up behind them and pulled back the slide on his long barreled .45 to chamber a round. “Boar's right. Could be a trap.”

“No,” said Michael grimly. “It's not me they're after. Not yet.” He moved into the house.

Boar's lycanthrope senses proved true. Lying just inside the door was Tori, Leigh's roommate. She was covered in blood; a massive gash from collarbone to hip was cut across her torso. Only the blow of a supremely sharp blade or an immensely strong arm could make a cut like that. Michael guessed it was both. She'd undoubtedly been cut down as she naively opened the door to her own murderers.

If Tori's fate was brutal, her little girl's was worse. Ladonna had apparently run to her mother as she fell and was the next to face their attacker's blade. The strength that had nearly cleaved her mother in two had finished the job on the toddler. Ladonna's torso lay near her dead mother. Her legs were a few feet further down the hall.

"Dear God in heaven..." muttered Boar behind Michael. Mitch followed that up with the sound of his gagging.

Michael stepped over the corpses of Tori and Ladonna and moved further into the townhouse. "Michael, if this..." Boar began.

"I know" whispered Michael. "But I have to see it for myself."

Michael took two more strides down the hallway and turned to his right. He was now in the threshold of Matthew and Ladonna's room. Here, he found the little boy, decapitated and brutalized just like the others.

"To do this to children..." said Mitch.

"Not all monsters are alike." mused Boar. "Some of us have lines we won't cross. Others do not."

"And now we know which kind the Disciples are." said Michael. He advanced down the hall to the final room on the right: Leigh's bedroom.

His worst fears were immediately realized.

Unlike the other three, whose gory deaths also appeared to be quick and relatively painless, the Disciples goons had taken their time on Leigh. Blood and gore was everywhere, the floor, the walls, the ceiling. She was above the bed, pinned to the very wall by a sword. Or, at least, what was left of her anyway. They'd cut her to pieces; her arms, legs all amputated and lying strewn about the room. They'd flayed the skin off her body, leaving only her head intact. Her face was a grimace of terror and agony. Left there for Michael to find as a warning, the price of defiance against the new Prince.

Michael paused, standing there still as his eyes traced over the awful scene before him. He felt nothing, which surprised him. The shock of it all perhaps? He reached out and took the sword in hand. With a violent jerk yanked it free. Leigh's body slid down the wall and landed rather unceremoniously on the bed. Michael paid it no heed. It could not bear to look at it any longer.

"This is the price I am to pay for the choices I've made." He muttered aloud. "To see those I care about suffer and die at the hands of my enemies." He heard Mitch and Boar behind him, but he did not turn to face them. Instead, he looked at the sword. It was a katana, a cheap novelty store knock-off more than a real weapon. It was left behind as a message, the calling card of the butcher who had done all this.

"The solution is simple." Michael said, raising his voice so his friends could hear him. "If this is the world we now live then, then so be it. If this is the sort of thing our enemies do to us, then we must remind them that we too are monsters. I care not whether they are centuries old, wealthy beyond measure, or skilled beyond imagining.” The dull numbness he’d been feeling now gave way to a new emotion: cold ferocious rage. His next words he spoke through clenched teeth, his whole body shaking with fury. “I will make every one of them pay for what they have done this night. If Francois says our kind are feared, then I will remind them of why. I'll begin with this one." Michael brandished the katana so his friends could see. "He's left us his invitation. I suggest we take him up on it. You in?"

"Nothing that butchers children like this deserves to live." said Boar. "Damn right we are."

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