Act Two Chapter One - Philadelphia Freedom

“When you first arrived in Tidewater, what was it like?” Dylan asked, as if making small talk.

Michael and Dylan were sitting in the front seat of his Falcon as it drove up Route 13 through Delaware towards Philadelphia. Michael was driving and Dylan was passenger. Julia was squeezed into the back seat, gun in hand, just in case Dylan tried something shady. Guns were not typically much of a threat to kindred, fired center-of-mass in a chaotic firefight. But a heavy pistol round fired point-blank to the head, a not very difficult feat in the confines of a car, was a one-way ticket to torpor-ville.

Solomon and even Mitch had suggested leaving the Philadelphia vampire shackled, but Michael had argued against it, wanting a show of good faith. Julia and her gun was the compromise solution, there to ensure Dylan behaved himself with his new-found freedom.

“Fine,” Michael answered, “except for a Prince that seemed determined to let me have it until Ernie scared him straight.”

Dylan chuckled to himself, clearly recognizing the Lazarus he once knew. But then he turned serious again. “Was it really?”

“Well, I was the unknown quantity and everybody wanted something of me. There were times when that was fun, and times when it wasn’t.”

“I’m going to guess the times when it wasn’t were in large part because you didn’t know who was who and who you could trust and who you shouldn’t and all that. You were the unknown quantity to them, but so were they to you.”

Michael nodded.

“A situation they tried to exploit.”

“And they probably succeeded, to some degree or another. Max got he wanted. Michelle La Croix, much less so. Ernie, almost and I will undoubtedly pay for that one day. Sarah...” Michael realized that she too was like the others, wanting to get something out of a relationship with him. For the others, it was political advantage. For her, it was love, romance, and sex, but was it really all that different?

Still, Michael had in turn gained his own benefits from his relationships with all of them. Ernie’s manipulations had made him strong and powerful. Max had given him political clout, even if after-the-fact he realized he’d given too much. Damian had made him sharp and politically keen. And Michael was happy with Sarah, as happy as he had ever been with anyone, even with all the recent changes. It’s how the game was played. He gave them something, and they gave something else in return. A fair exchange.

Michael continued his thoughts aloud. “...well, in truth though, I got as much if not more out of them as they got out of me.”

“And you can expect the same in Philadelphia. If anything, it’s already begun. You and I are traveling there together because, let us be blunt, I intend to use you to bolster my Prince’s standing in the face of a new and largely unknown threat. You, in turn, intend to use my need of you to carve out your own little niche in a new city after being chased out of the last one. There is nothing wrong with what either one of us wants, although many might say it unbecoming to name it aloud. Still, let’s not mince words...”

Dylan looked back at the road and paused before continuing. “In order to make the best use of you, I am however required to do something that was not done for you when you came to Tidewater. I need to tell you what to expect when you arrive in the city.

“First off, understand that the dynamics of Philadelphia are largely the same as most any other city, just larger and more intricate. Tidewater, at its peak, played host to perhaps two dozen kindred and another two dozen various other supernatural persons. Philadelphia, on the other hand, is home to over twice that number of kindred and, at least, an additional 100 various supernatural entities: lupines, wizards, changelings, and whatever else. Not terribly surprising for a city whose mortal population is five times that of all the cities of Tidewater combined.

“Vampires do not dominate in Philadelphia. If anything, there is something of an even balance of power between the vampires, the mages, and the changelings. We outnumber each of those groups, but in their smaller numbers they are far more unified.”

“So the kindred community is divided.” added Michael. “No great surprise there.”

“We do pose a great threat to those other groups. Understand that we don’t like each other. Mage vs. kindred. Changeling vs. mage. And so forth. The only group that seems to get along with everyone are the werewolves, who largely survive in the city by selling themselves out as muscle anytime conflict between the others flares up into bloodshed. And it does flare up from time to time. For instance, some twenty years ago, there was huge war between the kindred and the changelings. We started it, for reasons I’m not entirely sure. We killed some of them. They killed some of us. They hired werewolves to help them, as did we. But then it all came to a stop because another party intervened. The same party that always intervenes when things flare up like that.”

“Hunters.” guessed Michael.

“Precisely.” said Dylan. “Philadelphia is not just a city divided among the various supernatural peoples, it is also a city of hunters. And when we get out of control, the hunters move in. Five million humans, even in a city as diverse as Philadelphia, do not much like blood in the streets. An occasional burst of violence is one thing; crime is a constant there, but the big stuff is another thing entirely. Thralls, kindred, changelings, werewolves dying nightly. Bodies being found everywhere. People get scared. They call in the police, the national guard, and the hunters go to work in the midst of the chaos. And they have proven very good at what they do. They don’t care who started what. They don’t care who is right and who is wrong. They’ll kill us all if they can. Vampire, wolf, fae, you name it. We fear them perhaps more than anything else.”

“I understand why.” said Michael, remembering his own brushes with them in Tidewater.

“So that’s the general overview of the city. We live in fear, of hunters, of other denizens of the night, and, of course, of each other. There are seven major coteries of kindred in the city, representing all five covenants and the unaligned. You and your allies will likely form an eighth, making things even more interesting. Within those coteries are dozens of smaller groups, alliances of convenience, necessity, or desire. It would take me forever to account for all of them, but I can give you the big picture.

“At the top of the pyramid is the College or the Curia, depending on who you ask. Yes, the allusion to Roman Catholicism is deliberate. This is my coterie, the ruling elite. We are largely Lancea Sanctum and we are heavily aligned with the mortal Roman Catholic church. Those who are not Lancea in the coterie are Invictus allies of the two Princes.”

“Tell me about them. The Princes, that is.”

“At the present time, the city is ruled by Prince Elias Walsh, childe of Thomas Monroe. This was arranged back in the 40s when Monroe knew he would soon need to enter the Sleep of the Ages to thin his blood to manageable levels. Monroe entered torpor in 1949 and was expected to rise again in 1974. He did not, so Walsh continued his rule. Interestingly enough, he launched his big offensive against the Lost of the city not long after Monroe’s expected awakening.”

“You think he blamed the changelings for Monroe remaining asleep?”

“It is said that some changelings can manipulate dreams and sleep, so I suppose it’s possible. Others have speculated as much as well, but no one really knows why Prince Walsh did what he did. More likely it was politics or territorialism. Some have even claimed his romantic advances were spurned by Tatiania, the Faerie Queen of Philadelphia, who it is said is beautiful beyond words. Who knows?

“But Monroe did awaken, quite recently. He has returned, but he is not yet himself and it will be sometime before he regains his lost strength and before he adjusts to the new world he’s entered.”

“Now you’ve made clear, at least to me, that you serve Monroe, but not Walsh.”

“Officially, I serve the city. But, yes, my loyalty is to Thomas Monroe, not to his childe. That does cause plenty of tension between me and the Prince. Most every position of authority in the city is part of the College and Walsh has stacked these positions with kindred loyal to himself.”

“If this has been going on for a long time, it sounds like everything is ready for Walsh to strike. Why wait until Monroe awakens?”

“Because it’s not black and white. I am loyal to Monroe rather fanatically. There is a tiny handful of the other officers of the city who are likewise fanatical to Walsh, but most folks are in the middle with divided loyalties between the two. If Walsh moves too quickly or too impulsively, he will likely find much of the Curia turning against him. But make no mistake, he does hold the advantage. Hence my need of you. Monroe, like any ancient kindred, is never more vulnerable than when he awakens from torpor. I’ve recruited you, for lack of a better term, to bring some balance back to the scales and to hopefully make Walsh even more hesitant to act.”

“Walsh will know that’s your intention. You’ve put a big bulls-eye on me and mine.”

“And you knew that before you agreed to this. You knew and yet you’re here anyway, because you understand the prize is worth the risk.”

“So who’s in second place after the College?” Michael asked.

“Well, before I get to them, let me tell you of the Sangiovanni. Allies to the College, but not a part of them. They are a single family, three kindred and their mortal retainers, who rule portions of South Philadelphia and most of Montgomery county. They are few in number, but vastly powerful in their influence and wealth. The major conflict between the coteries can be laid at their feet, for these Lancea Sanctum vampires used to be a part of the Ordo Dracul covenant until Monroe convinced them to jump ship.”

“And the Ordo never forgave him.” added Michael.

“Correct. The Ordo are represented by the Dragon’s Pupils covenant, led by one Erik Bellerose. Erik’s an odd bird, a Nosferatu with a flair for the dramatic. Now, you’re not going to believe me when I tell you this, but I’m sure you’ve been a part of our world long enough to know that not all legends are untrue. Some years ago, before he came to the United States and settled in Philadelphia, there was a book written about Erik by a mortal author. A book that was very popular, was made into several films, and even into a very popular Broadway musical.”

“You’re kidding. The Phantom of the Opera is real?”

“As much as I would like to believe him simply a deluded fool, there’s too much evidence to the contrary. Erik leads the Dragon’s Pupils in their efforts to find self-salvation; his technique is through music and performance. Others pour over dusty tombs of arcane and esoteric knowledge. Still others, a not insignificant number, believe they will find it through political power. The Dragon’s Pupils used to have another leader, one long missing. Her name was Antoinette Devonshire and she was Prince of the city before Monroe deposed her.”

“Missing, but not dead.” Michael noted. “Torpor, I’m guessing.”

“There are those who would see Devonshire awaken and reclaim the throne. They work tirelessly to undermine Walsh and Monroe in preparation for that day. Losing the Sangiovanni trio was a huge blow to their efforts and in their desperation they have even grown bolder. Erik has few political ambitions, concerned mostly for his own research and his music, and he believes the coterie should do likewise. So he often tries to rein the others in, but he’s not always successful.

“Another former Prince drives the ambitions of our fourth coterie. They don’t have any official name. Most of us just refer to them as Mostrom’s Rebellion. Felicia Mostrom is their leader; she is the childe of Prince Cecil Baird. Baird was a puppet Prince that Monroe installed after defeating Devonshire and he ruled for most of the 19th century. He grew too ambitious for his own good and turned on Monroe. For that, he was deposed and sent into torpor, imprisoned deep in the vaults on Monroe’s private island. He would have remained there, trapped in the Sleep of the Ages for eternity, had Mostrom and her followers not stolen his body away some decades ago. Walsh does not know where he is or even if he remains in torpor. Mostrom and her followers are too powerful to be easily punished for that transgression, so they remain and are the coterie of choice for Invictus vampires who refuse to serve under a Lancea Prince.

“Next are the Core, the representatives of the Carthian movement. They are led by Tiberius the Scandalmonger, a disgusting-looking Nosferatu with a penchant for sticking what would be his nose if he had one into other people’s business. He’s a master spy; childe, I believe, to your friend Maximilian. His ability to blackmail and subvert the minions of others is near legendary. But outside of him, the rest are a band of misfits and misanthropes.

“And speaking of misfits, the last group of note are Jimmy’s Boys. Jimmy Dunn is an unaligned kindred; he claims no covenant. He and a bunch of like-minded kindred have carved out their own little fiefdom around the sports complex in South Philly. They keep to themselves, but they do not tolerate incursions into that valuable hunting ground. Walsh generally leaves them alone.”

Michael ran a quick count in his head. “You mentioned six groups: the College, the Sangiovanni, the Dragon’s Pupils, the Rebellion, the Core, and Jimmy’s Boys. Who’s the seventh?”

“The followers of the Crone are few in number and influence, as might be expected in a Lancea city. They gain the privilege of prestige as they do represent one of the major covenants, but their impact on the city is not of consequence. You will walk in the door at Walsh’s court in a few days and by virtue of your name and experience will likely grant more influence to your lover Sarah, who is Circle of the Crone, than the rest of her covenant-mates combined.

“Those are the seven coteries. Each one carves out a chunk of territory in the city. The College claims nearly all the city west of Schuylkill River. The Dragons have northeast Philadelphia, while the Sangiovanni rule portions of south Philly as well as MontCo. The Carthians claim north Philly, Jimmy’s Boys have that chunk of south Philly near the Sports Complex as I said. The rest of the city, including as I’m sure you’ve noted, Center City, is open territory. Either it’s controlled by someone else or is considered neutral ground.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling I will need to know the difference between those.”

Dylan chuckled. “Yes, it would not do for you to accidentally alienate our oh-so-friendly neighbors. First the mages. Two major factions among them: The Consilium and the Dark Brotherhood. The Consilium are your typical wizards, fascinated with unlocking the deep secrets of reality. Most of them keep to themselves in and around the campus of Temple University, right in the middle of Carthian turf. The kindred avoid Temple’s campus as a result. Their leader is an old Chinese wizard named Thadius Zao.

“The Dark Brotherhood are something else entirely. They are conspiracy theorist wet dream come to life, a secret society that operates out of University City. It is said that they are devil worshippers and infernalists. Regardless, no one trifles with them. Not us, not any of the other supernatural factions. They’re the monsters that even monsters fear.”

“That’s Curia turf, right?”

“Very perceptive. It is. But, as I said, we leave each other alone.”

“So even within kindred territory, there are exceptions.”

“Yes. Mostly around universities and other institutions of higher learning. The mages have a good lock on those.”

“Great hunting grounds.” lamented Michael.

“It’s no mystery why we and the mages tend not to get along. They control some very enviable territory.”

“So, stay away from University City and Temple. Got it.”

“And Villanova and Haverford and any number of other college campuses in the Philly area. There are a lot of them.”

“Alright, what about the werewolves?”

“The werewolves are scattered. Most living in or around the major parks of the city. That’s actually a major sticking point for them. They once held a good portion of Fairmount Park, until the last hunter surge drove them out. They’re still smarting from that one.”

“The hunters didn’t leave?”

“No, they set up shop. Some group called the Ashwood Abbey or something to that effect. Some sort of elite club of bored rich people who hunt us for the hell of it. They built their headquarters, their clubhouse, on former lupine territory and the werewolves have yet to eject them.”

“Surprised they don’t call in a few favors from all the other factions they’ve been working for.”

“Smart money says that’s exactly what they’re going to do. They just haven’t done it yet for whatever reason.”

“Changelings?”

“Where there’s money, there’s changelings. Much of Center City is theirs, but only the commercial/business aspect of it. For whatever reason, Queen Tatiana and her court have been buying up retail property all over the city for decades. King of Prussia mall, Franklin Mills, the Galleria, all theirs. The only outlier is Plymouth Meeting mall, which the Sangiovanni control, something the changelings are constantly trying to change. Animosity between the Sangiovanni and the changeling court goes back at least a century, if not longer. Well before they switched covenants. In fact, it is said that Monroe convinced the Sangiovanni to switch sides by promising aid against the fae-touched. The fight over Plymouth Meeting is just the latest manifestation of this ancient rivalry.”

“So this has been going on a very long time.”

“Correct. Changelings, though mortal, can sometimes have unnaturally long lifespans. It is said that Tatiana is as old as the city itself, although you wouldn’t know it from looking at her. I don’t know if I buy that, but she is quite the formidable opponent. She has to be to stand up to Monroe the way she has all these decades.

“There is one other group I need to tell you about. They’re called the Secret Keepers. They’re mages, but we don’t know how many there are or what territory they control, if any. They only come around when a group or individual is making too much of a scene. They show up when the Masquerade or whatever the equivalent the other supernaturals have is being broken. And they fix the problem, whether the leaders of the kindred, changelings, werewolves, or mages like it or not. I guess they see themselves as the last line of defense against another hunter surge. As such, we don’t mess with them and we definitely don’t want to ever see them if we can avoid it.”

“So, if they show up, I’m in deep shit.”

“Pretty much.”

“So I suppose I owe you for revealing all these secrets to me.”

“Just help me ensure that Monroe returns to power as he is meant to and I’ll account any of these small debts paid.”

“I get the feeling that’s a scheduled event.”

“January 1, 2000. New Years Day.”

“Roughly 14 months from now. That’s a long time to fend Walsh off.”

“And that’s presuming it’s him alone. As I pointed out, Monstrom, various members of the Dragon’s Pupils, and certainly the Carthians would all like to see both Walsh and Monroe disposed of. They are, without a doubt, making their own schemes.”

“But you’re not as worried about them.”

“I’m not. Power is like gravity. It draws more of itself to itself. Walsh has ruled the city as a proxy prince for 50 years and he has accumulated a great deal of power over that time. It is unlikely, regardless of whatever loyalty he might have once borne his sire, that he will surrender it willingly as was arranged. He is easily the greatest threat Monroe faces.”

“You are putting a lot of trust in me. You are fully aware that my little group of kindred is going to tip the balance of power in some fashion, but you have no guarantees that I will tip it in your favor.”

“Of course not. I don’t believe that you would be so politically savvy to claim a primogeniture under Maximilian and not have your own ambitions in mind in coming along on this expedition. And yes, I do know how much influence Ernie had in setting all that up, but even he is not fool enough to do so without preparing you for the job. So your arrival will shake things up no matter what course of action you choose. You see, I am counting on two things. One, you will not align with Walsh. Even if you were so inclined, the Prince would not welcome your aid. He will see you as a threat and will without any doubt come after you in some fashion upon arrival. Two, there is no other outcome that does not in some fashion benefit Prince Monroe. Even if you turn on me and decide to align with the Rebellion or the Carthians or whoever, you will still be enough of a distraction to help undermine Walsh and elevate Monroe. I win no matter what you do. Your presence is what really matters, not your loyalty.

“Although,” Dylan added after a short pause. “I would recommend that you delay any intended betrayal until after you have some semblance of establishment in the city. All the factions I just mentioned have no more reason to trust you than I do. You’ll need to make an impact to make any of them to see you as anything but a threat or a nuisance. An impact requires legitimacy and legitimacy is something only I can give you at the moment. Remember that.”

“Legitimacy is going to require the Prince's permission to reside in the city and the way you talk, you make it sound like it’s entirely likely Prince Walsh will outright refuse me and mine. I hope, you have a solution to that.”

“I do and it’s another reason you should consider your loyalties carefully. Yes, it is likely that Walsh will not want any wild cards in the city this close to the moment when whatever scheme he has planned will hatch. He will likely refuse you entry. Monroe however can countermand him and I intend to ensure that he will.”

“Monroe has no official authority.”

“No, but Walsh isn’t about to make his rift with his sire public prematurely. Remember all I said about the College’s divided loyalties. He’ll go along, grudgingly, and look for a moment to eliminate you later. That’ll give you your window to wreak whatever havoc you intend. But do keep in mind you’ll come into the city owing a debt to Prince Monroe.”

“A debt that I will have to repay, with either allegiance or treachery.” Michael mused aloud. “I suppose you’re also about to remind me that allegiance, even if not necessary to your aims, does carry with it certain benefits.”

“Of course it does. I know that better than most. After all, you know my sire. You know his nature, his passions, his dedication. All things he sought to instill in me, successfully I might add. What do you suppose Monroe offered me that would make me turn my back on all my previous ideals? He’ll offer you much the same. And given what I've heard about you, Michael Allens, I can assure you that you will find his generosity very much to your liking.”

---

The convoy of cars came to a stop at a series of cottages roughly a block north of the banks of the Delaware. The roar of aircraft taking off was loud and distracting; Michael could see the airport not even a half mile distant. Southward, Michael could see Little Tinicum Island in the middle of the river.

Michael looked about. This was not a part of Philadelphia he recognized. His paternal grandparents had lived north of the city until their passing, so he had spent many a summer vacation trip in Philadelphia, but he’d never ventured south of Center City that he could remember. Maybe that Phillies game at the Vet, but that was so long ago. Was that down here or elsewhere in the city? He couldn’t remember. He was 5 when he went to that game.

“We stay here tonight. These cottages are property of Thomas Monroe.” said Dylan.

“Seems like prime real estate here.” Julia observed.

“It is.” admitted Dylan. “These cottages are ‘abandoned’ because they’re to be torn down to build another yacht club for the rich of the city. A project that is not scheduled to begin until next summer. Presumably, you’ll be in less temporary housing by then.”

Michael filled in the blanks. “Hunting grounds. These are hunting grounds for Monroe and the College.” Michael pointed to Little Tinicum. “And that’s Monroe’s island, isn’t it?”

Dylan smiled, but gave no verbal response.

“We’re living right in his shadow.” mused Boar.

“Which affords you some protection.” emphasized Dylan. “None of the College venture this far south without business with the Prince. The only Kindred who hunt here are Monroe and myself.” He paused. “And, for the time being, yourselves.”

Dylan allowed the group a few moments to fully take in their surroundings. “Come, we have much to unpack before the sun rises.”

---

Dylan flipped the switch to turn on the power to the cottage he had offered to Michael, Sarah, and Julia. “I tell you what I told Boar and Mitch. Let’s keep a low profile. No lights after dark. I’m turning this on primarily so we can use computers, charge mobile phones, and so forth. I don’t want any odd questions about your presence here until I can speak to Monroe. Once he is informed of your presence, we can relax a little, but it would still be better that we not tip off Walsh any earlier than we must.”

“Fair enough.” said Michael, pushing Sarah’s coffin into place on the far side of the basement. “I’d rather avoid meddling with the city sheriff myself.”

“Tiberius probably already knows you’re here, but he won’t go squealing to the Prince. Until then, it’s sit tight until the 17th when Walsh next holds court. There, you’ll be introduced and welcomed into the city.”

“Welcomed?” Michael grunted sarcastically.

“Perhaps not enthusiastically.” admitted Dylan. “But I can convince Monroe to speak up on your behalf. Walsh will not contradict his sire publicly. He would never give even the slightest hint to anyone, especially not Monroe himself, that there is any division between them.”

“His scheming works in our favor.”

“For now. Dawn comes. I’m off to my own haven. Get some rest and I’ll see you at dusk tomorrow.”

---

Michael moved through the bustling crowd. For a Sunday night, things were busy at the nightclub, one of a handful along the riverbank near his new haven. It reminded him greatly of The Fox Club, only classier, more expensive, and geared towards a “more mature” crowd. If anything, Michael felt rather out of place with his baby face among the middle-aged professionals that made up the business’s clientele.

A few days had passed and Michael and the others had begun to settle in. It was still several days before Walsh's court, so there was little to do but hang out and wait. Or hunt, as Michael had chosen to do this Sunday night.

The TVs over the bar were going on about the Eagles game that afternoon, their first win of the season. Seeing that it was mid-October, that didn’t bode well for the franchise’s hopes this season. But a win was a win and the crowd seemed energized and excited by the news. Michael’s fondness for sports was largely limited to international competition like the Olympics and to Virginia Tech, so he had little to offer in terms of commentary on the day’s events. But then, he wasn’t here for conversation. 

Michael ordered a drink and sat down at a table. A cocktail waitress came over. “Would you like a menu?” she asked.

Michael shrugged. “Sure. I could use a bite.”

“Meeting someone?” asked the waitress flirtatiously. It was obvious from her tone that she hoped the answer would be “no.”

Michael gave her a good long look. She was about his age, early 20s at the oldest, and was quite attractive, with sharp facial features. Buxom, which was a plus, but tall, which was not. Her hair was more than brunette; nearly pitch black it was so dark. It matched her eyes, the darkest blue eyes he'd ever seen. Pinned to her prim black-and-white uniform was a name tag that said “Angela.”

“Yeah.” said Michael playfully. “Her name’s Angela.”

The waitress giggled at him. “Then it’s not me, because you got it wrong.”

“Oh?”

“It’s pronounced An-JAY-la.” She said, smiling the whole time.

“My mistake.” Michael admitted. As Michael usually found, seduction was an inexact science. What was stupid or erroneous or a faux pas in one situation might work in another. Failing to get a non-standard pronunciation of a name didn’t seem to have hurt his chances.

“I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.” she turned and headed off. Michael watched her go, admiring the sway of her ass.

Michael watched the crowd with disinterest. Angela was the only woman in the place that seemed to be interested in him and was not attached at the hip to a husband or boyfriend. He caught a few glances from bored housewives who were desperately trying to tolerate their husbands’ fascination with the afternoon’s game. Meddling publicly with people’s relationships, while fun at times, was not exactly abiding by Dylan’s instruction to keep a low profile. So Angela it was to be. Poor girl. Did she even suspect she was to become food for a hungry monster?

Of course, it then occurred to Michael, that these were the hunting haunts of the ancient Prince of the city and his major domo. The odds of a beautiful young woman not crossing the paths of one of those two vampires was pretty slim, even if neither Dylan nor Monroe used seduction as a hunting technique. Many of these here gathered were likely part of Dylan’s herd and maybe the beginnings of Monroe’s new one (Any old thralls of Monroe likely having died out over his 50 year slumber.) Some probably knew what Michael was. But did she and would it matter?

When Angela returned to take Michael’s order, he found no answers. She was just as flirty and friendly as before; perhaps more so, since she came around beside him to take his food order, well within his “personal space.” If she knew what he was, it appeared not to matter.

As Angela walked away again, Dylan walked into the room. He spotted Michael and came over to sit down.

“Don’t take this personally, Dylan, but I’m off-duty right now. I’m trying to score with this cute waitress and you’re in my space.” Michael griped.

“Where’s Solomon?” demanded Dylan. “We’ve been here two nights now and he’s not checked in since we arrived.”

“You know him as well as, if not better, than I do.” retorted Michael. “He’s an old nomad and is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Hell, I know he’s visited Philly before...”

“Not often, if ever.” interjected Dylan. “I’d have known.”

"No, Solomon said he'd been here and since he knew you were also here, he likely avoided contact with you like the plague." Michael answered in his mind. "Regardless," he then said aloud. "his reputation precedes him. Kindred of the city who see him are not going to assume anything about our little arrangement. Even if they run to Walsh, all they’ll tell him is that there’s a new nomad in town. Hardly newsworthy.”

“Until Alexandros is sent to fetch him and he blabs to Walsh about how he’s part of our group.”

“You’re being paranoid. One, Solomon wouldn’t do that and two, even if he did, what difference would it make?”

“Walsh might move against us in force before we’ve got Monroe on our side.”

“You and I both know he’d never survive on the throne for 50 years if he were that impulsive. Chill the fuck out.”

“I don’t like leaving things to chance. I especially don’t like leaving things to the good graces of a temporary Prince I fear is acting deliberately and methodically against my master.”

“Key word is ‘methodically.’ Big plans and big schemes don’t veer off course easily. For someone that you’ve stated is determined to keep his intentions private from everyone including Monroe, do you really think he’d launch an assault of some sort on Monroe’s personal turf?”

“He would if he told Monroe that he’s moving against a group of invaders who have occupied his ‘personal turf’ without permission.”

“And it’s your job to ensure that won’t happen. Two nights since we arrived and you haven’t gone over to the island yet.”

“There’s a protocol to follow that even I won’t violate. I need Monroe’s permission to set foot on the island. I didn’t come over here to argue with you. I came to get my answer to my request for a private audience.”

Angela returned with a plate of nacho chips smothered in cheese, meat, beans, olives, and salsa. Michael’s eyes got big at his feast, a pleasure of the senses alone since his vampire body gained no sustenance from normal food. But then he got a surprise.

“Hello, Angela.” said Dylan. He pronounced the name properly.

“Dylan. I have your answer. You may visit tomorrow night.”

“You two know each other?” interjected Michael.

“We do.” said Angela, giving Michael a satisfied look, like she knew she’d pulled one over on him.

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. “Now I feel foolish.” he muttered after a few seconds.

“Oh, please don’t.” said Angela. “You were well on your way to getting everything you wanted tonight. The fact that I knew you were kindred changed none of that.”

“And then you would have promptly told Monroe that I was here.”

“Of course. But now I know you are with Dylan. That changes things.”

“Still think I’m being paranoid?” interjected Dylan angrily. “The first slut you try to hook up with is one of Monroe’s most devoted servants. Things aren’t always what they appear to be, Michael, especially here.”

Michael felt himself getting hot with anger. He did indeed feel foolish and he also felt he’d been set up by Dylan and Angela together to embarrass him. Another “lesson” in how naive he could be.

“I’ll take that to go.” he growled at Angela, pulling out a handful of money to pay his bill.

Angela frowned. “So, no date?”

---

Michael marched back towards his cottage as a light rain began to fall, his nachos stuffed into a to-go box under his arm. Dylan’s game-playing had soured his mood.

From practically the very start, Michael had to admit he had a game of his own: Undeterred confidence was his weapon. It had gained him the faith of allies and the fear of enemies, both of which often presumed he was capable of much more damage than he was. He had striven to live up to the lofty expectations of his reputation and to a large degree had succeeded. But the emperor wore no clothes and Dylan knew it. His little experiment with Angela proved that he knew it.

Dylan jogged to catch up to him. “Angela was genuinely disappointed you didn’t take her home with you.”

“She can blame you for that.” grumbled Michael. “Humiliation isn’t much of an aphrodisiac, at least not for me.”

“You wear your emotions too openly. Walsh will...”

“Alright, let’s get something straight.” snarled Michael, his temper at its limits. “I need you to get me into the city and you need me to play distraction for Walsh. You brought me here to run interference for you and micromanaging me and my people is not going to accomplish that. What Walsh is going to do or not do with my emotions or my behavior or Solomon running about is not your concern so long as his attention is on me and mine. If anything, the ‘mistakes of my youth’ that you’re about to lecture me about help your purposes by making me look vulnerable. But let me tell you something, prior to my little misadventure with Max, every kindred who tried to take advantage of my supposed vulnerability regretted it. So you play the game your way, and I’ll play it mine.”

Michael paused to let his anger settle. “I will bring down Walsh or he will bring me down. Either way, you will get what you want.”

Dylan glared at Michael intensely for several seconds, but then glanced down. “Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll back off. But don’t fuck this up. The stakes are too high for...”

“You’re an old woman in the guise of a vampire.” said Michael insultingly. “You worry too damn much.”

“Do I? Why is there a Comcast van next to your cottage?”

Michael looked and saw what Dylan had spotted. Indeed, there was a Comcast repair van parked near Michael’s new haven. “That’s a good question. It’s awfully late for a service call, even if we had placed one.”

Michael rushed to the front door. It had clearly been picked open and he could hear voices within.

“You take upstairs and I’ll hit the basement.”

Michael wrapped himself in shadows and stepped inside. The two burglars had already gone off to their respective floors. Michael headed after the basement guy. He was not about to trust sleeping Sarah to the good graces of a criminal.

Michael found him by the fuse box. As best he could tell, these guys had to be scavengers, probably here to loot the house of copper wire and whatever else they could salvage before the places were to be torn down.

“Woah!” said the basement burglar to himself. “The power’s on.” He flipped the switch off. “Hope Paul didn’t start pulling wire yet or he just got the surprise of his life.”

Michael smiled and rushed out of the shadows. He grabbed the burglar by the back of his neck and flung him one-handed across the room. “How’s this for surprises?” Michael couldn’t resist the cheesy one-liner.

The burglar was stunned, staggering to his feet. Michael lunged at him and wrapped him up in a bear hug. He extended his fangs and bit down hard on the interloper’s neck.

The burglar yelped for a half-second and then ceased his struggle. Michael drained him dry, venting all of his remaining frustration and anger into this poor hapless mortal. A mortal who just happened to be way too close to the most valuable thing in Michael’s life at that moment. The burglar twitched as he died and Michael dropped him to the floor.

“That almost makes up for not getting to fuck Angela.” he thought to himself, his frustration flowing out of him just as quickly as his prey’s life. “Although in hindsight, probably better I fed from him than her. I haven’t fed in days. Been cock-blocked twice in the past week.”

He turned his attentions to Sarah’s coffin. It was still as it was when they’d moved in. The burglar had not had time enough to do much more than flip a switch and die. Perhaps she was never in any real danger, but then again, what would a curious intruder say about the corpse of a young girl in a coffin in the basement of an abandoned cottage? The kill may have been an act of impulse, but Michael also felt it the better course than to let the intruder live.

He grabbed the dead burglar by the collar and dragged his corpse up the stairs. He dumped the body near the front door and then went after Dylan. Michael found him in an upstairs room.

The second burglar twitched on the floor; he was not dying, but was instead clearly in the throes of a vampiric embrace. He was turning to darkness. Dylan had chosen to make this intruder his childe, rather than murder him outright.

Michael had never seen a vampire of another clan turn before. The Gangrel had a reputation for being feral and bestial and that was what Michael witnessed happen in gruesome detail. His skin alternated between scales, fur, and human as he convulsed through the transformation process. It was a far uglier and horrific scene than what he’d seen in embracing Daeva vampires.

After a long moment, the burglar stopped twitching and he lay still. Then, the hunger took him and he bolted upright, his eyes yellow like an animal and filled with the desperate rage of a staving Beast.

“No,” said Dylan quietly but forcefully. “Not now.”

The burglar locked eyes with Dylan and the Beast that drove him body and soul seemed to listen to Dylan’s words. Michael had heard rumors that some Gangrel could sooth the Beasts of other kindred, but this was the first time he’d seen that power in use. “You will feed soon enough.” Dylan continued.

Michael had about a dozen things he wanted to yell at his partner in that moment. He was angry that Dylan had chosen to turn instead of kill, an act that had, regardless of reason, complicated things immensely. But he chose to hold his tongue, mindful of a virgin vampire barely in control of his own mind and body. Dylan seemed to have him under control, at least for the moment. Michael was not about to meddle and ruin that.

“What is your name, boy?” Dylan asked.

“Paul,” the burglar replied. “Paul Miller. What have you done to me?”

“I have made you into something that until tonight you did not believe existed. You are now a vampire.”

Next chapter

Act One Chapter Nine - The End is the Beginning is the End

Michael pulled the Falcon to a stop outside the Fox Club. Sarah’s inconsolable grief had continued nearly the entire journey, but as they pulled into the club’s parking lot, it changed. Her sobbing stopped and her eyes regained their glint of madness.

“Fuck!” Michael thought to himself. “Bad enough for her to lose all those people that she loved, but now this…” Michael figured it was a defense mechanism, her mind trying desperately to shield itself from the onslaught of emotion.

“No, no, no!” Sarah repeated. “Go away. No! It’s not my fault.” She swatted at the air, as if trying to chase off a nuisance fly. Michael knew it was no insect that tormented her, but likely another phantasm of her schizophrenic mind. He decided to intervene.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. Her attention focused on him. “Sarah,” he said forcefully, but compassionately. “Stay with me. Look at me and stay with me.”

“The voices!” she said, her tone desperate and fearful. “I hear them. I hear them all. I hear them crying out from the grave. They say I did this. I killed them. I killed them all.”

“No!” Michael responded strongly. “Max did this and him alone. Don’t listen to their lies.”

“I can’t.” Sarah half-sobbed.

Mitch and Boar emerged together from the club and came over to the car. It was obvious to them something was amiss. “We need to get you inside.” Michael said, opening the car door and stepping out.

Mitch was right there as Michael disembarked. “We saw the news.” He said.

“She’s in the middle of a psychotic episode.” Michael explained quickly. “Help me get her inside.”

Boar opened Sarah’s car door and took hold of her. She began to fight him, scratching and struggling against him. Boar was a big guy, but in human form, his only advantage on Sarah was that of leverage. She was far stronger and proving a handful. He shifted into wolfman form to even the odds.

Michael moved around the car to join them. He took Sarah’s face in his hands as she continued to struggle against Boar’s now vice-like hands. “Sarah, it’s Boar. He won’t hurt you. We need to get you inside.”

“No, not in there. Not where they died.” She continued to struggle.

Mitch tapped Michael on the shoulder. “It’s entirely possible, given her perceptions, that she is, in fact, seeing some sort of Twilight spirit.”

“You mean, actual ghosts might be haunting her?”

“It’s possible.”

“But we can’t leave her out here. Boar, get her inside as best you can.”

Boar hoisted her off the ground and marched her inside, with Sarah kicking and struggling the whole time. The moment she crossed the threshold however, she went limp in his arms. Her voice went silent.

“She’s gone all catatonic.” Said Mitch.

“Take her downstairs.” Michael asked. “Don’t put her in the room Sammy and Angelica died in though.”

“I already figured that was a bad idea.” Boar half-growled in his wolf voice.

As Boar marched the limp Sarah downstairs, Michael turned to Mitch. “I asked you to get the coven out of there. Did you?”

“I warned them, as you asked. They refused to leave. They wouldn’t abandon her.”

“Damned thrall-bond. Loyal even unto death.” Michael pulled out a bar stool and sat down.

“You look tired.” Said Mitch. “I didn’t think you vampires could feel that way.”

“Physically, we can’t. But this isn’t fatigue. It’s world-weariness. I’m tired of getting my ass kicked.” Michael rubbed his forehead, as if trying to ward off a headache. “Stupid.” He growled. “I should have seen this coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“None of this is anything new. It’s the same strategy Max used to undermine Michelle. Kill all the thralls. Hell, we were the ones who did it for him back in the day. The tactics are different. He used brute strength with us. Now he’s got stealth and invisibility in these two new goons. I should have seen it coming. I counted too much on fear of Francois to hold Max in check. Should’ve known he’d eventually do something to take Francois out to give himself the free reign he needed.”

“We need to take back the initiative.” Said Mitch. “Problem is how.”

“Sarah and I had a plan, since she can see through their invisibility. But if she’s gone all batshit on us, that plan is useless now. Damnit,” Michael swore again. “it’s like he has a counter for every move we try to make.”

“He has been doing this for a lot longer than we have.”

“Ernie.” Said Michael bitterly. Mitch looked at him with a puzzled look. “Ernie rigged my whole rise to power. He toyed around behind the scenes, removed obstacles, thwarted my enemies’ plans. The whole game was rigged, all so he could offer me what he thought would make me happy. And when I didn’t want to pay his price, I tossed him away, not realizing how much of a buffer he was between me and my enemies. Without him, I’m just a child playing an adult game, full of delusions of grandeur. People have died for my hubris, Mitch. Virgil, the harem girls. You and Boar are next on Max’s hit list.”

“Don’t you go all defeatist on us now.” Mitch grumbled. “You’ve got us. Solomon. Julia. Maybe Drake too. We’re not licked yet.”

“All brute force.” Critiqued Michael. “Good in a stand up fight. Superior in fact, to the forces Max can rally, but no good against his stealth.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. Max can’t hide every ally.” A sly smile crossed Mitch’s face. “Think about it. We were told that Max stacked the deck of the primogen council with a bunch of sycophants, loyal to him. Valentine still has his seat, as does Damian. The rest are fair game. Remember, Francois is gone. The door is open for all-out war. Max has killed your thralls. You start killing his kindred. Start Hiroshi’ing their asses. Kill enough of them quickly enough and Max’s power base will erode. Show the kindred of the city they should be more afraid of you than of him and they'll turn on him in a heartbeat.”

Michael rubbed his forehead. “What is it with you people giving me kicks in the ass when I need them?” Michael sighed. “Maybe a better question is to ask why you all follow me when it’s clear I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing?”

“You know more than you think you do. You are stronger than you believe. Max is not stupid. He’s frightened of you, Michael, if you hadn’t already guessed. That’s why he’s hitting so hard. It’s time to hit back.”

Michael nodded, his resolve returning. “And I know where we can start. Come on. I have a little present out in the car.”

Mitch followed Michael out to the Falcon. Michael popped the trunk and grabbed the body bag within. “One staked kindred ally of Max coming up. TFV found him snooping where he shouldn’t have been and was kind enough to deliver him to me for ‘justice.’ This could be fun.” Michael’s last statement had a sinister edge to it that Mitch found mildly disconcerting, but he said nothing.

Michael had just reached the door back inside when Solomon pulled up on his motorcycle with Julia behind him. “You’re just in time.” Called out Michael.

“Saw the news.” Said Julia. “Was guessing that was Sarah’s place.”

“They said it was a suicide cult. Burned their own house down with everyone inside, just like Waco.” Added Solomon. “With all this Y2K apocalyptic bullshit, that won’t surprise anyone. But we know better. Max hit us again.”

“Virgil’s dead too.” Said Michael. “Found his butchered corpse at Nightstyles earlier.”

“How’s Sarah?” Julia asked.

Michael paused to find the right word. “Broken” was what he came up with. “She had a breakdown when she found out. Her mind is a mess right now.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But I do know I can hit Max back and I intend to. We start with this guy.”

They walked inside as a group. Boar was at the bar waiting for them, back to his usual human self.

“How is she?” Michael asked, dumping the body bag onto the floor.

“Same as when I brought her in. Just…” He waved his hand in front of his own eyes to demonstrate her catatonic state. “At least, she’s manageable that way.”

“No telling how long she’ll stay that way.”

“We are in serious violation of Max’s edicts right now. A mage, a werewolf, and four kindred together.” Said Julia. “If Max finds out…His spy could be here right now and none of us know it.”

“Five kindred. You miscounted, dear Julia.” Said Damian Drake, walking inside.

“One of these days, you are going to have to tell me how you do that. Popping in with a grand entrance at just the right moment.”  said Michael. “Let me guess…”

“Like pretty much anyone up at this hour, I heard about the fire.” Explained Drake. “Didn’t take much to guess Max had made another move against our august fellowship. Not to be so bold as to tell you what to do with yourself, Michael, but I think it’s time we hit back.”

Michael looked at Mitch. “Funny you should mention that. But I’m curious, Damian. The last time Max hit us, you suggested I run.”

“Run or fight.” Said Damian coldly. “Your choice. What you can’t do is stand here and do nothing as he picks you apart piece by piece. Hesitancy is the worst mistake you can make.”

“Agreed.” Said Michael. He turned to Julia. “And if Max’s minions are spying on us gathered together right now, he’ll see how serious we’ve become.”

“I have something to offer.” Interjected Damian. He motioned for them to come outside. They gathered on the porch. Parked next to Michael’s Falcon was a black Dodge van. Two men in black paramilitary uniforms stood outside, each wielding a futuristic-looking assault rifle.

“TFV.” Michael guessed.

“Indeed.” Said Damian.

“Are those the same folks that brought me our friend in the bag?”

“They are not.” Said Damian. “I made some inquiries after your phone call the other night. Turns out there was a second unit assigned to the area regarding the incidents at Langley. These are my people, and separate from your visitors at Nightstyles. Still, they are equipped with the latest and greatest that TFV’s minds can come up with. Those rifles use a special scope that will ping if it detects an obfuscated kindred. Gentlemen…and lady, we have a new weapon against Max’s minions.”

“Where can we get some?”

“The XM-8 rifles and the anti-vampire scope are state of the art. But the scope is a standard mount. It can be used on most any modern weapon and I can probably get them more easily than I can the guns.”

“Good.” Michael gave Damian a grateful pat on the shoulder. “I’m going to guess your offer comes with strings.”

“As it was last time I came to your rescue, let’s just say I’ll ask for favors to be named later.”

Michael wasn’t entirely sure any of his previous debts to Damian had been paid, but he kept his mouth shut. Damian gave him a devilish grin which soured Michael’s mood all the more. “Let’s see this fellow TFV was so kind to provide for you.” Said Damian.

The group headed back inside. Michael went to the bag and unzipped it, revealing its occupant to all of them.

“So is that…The Spy?” asked Julia.

“I don’t think so. Sarah didn’t recognize…”

“It’s not the Spy.” Said Solomon definitively. His face was a grim mask, a look Michael had never seen on him before.

“Do you know this kindred?”

“Dylan Green.” Said Solomon. “My one and only.”

“Your childe? Why, Solomon, I didn’t think you ever had one.” Said Damian.

“I pretend I don’t.” Solomon growled. He looked at Michael. “He’s not one of Max’s.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he belongs to Thomas Monroe. He’s the Hound of Philadelphia.”

“Hound?” Julia asked. They all remembered Solomon’s mention of that title at Nightstyles during Max’s last court: an officer of a Prince that does the dirty work the Sheriff can’t. “Why would the Hound of Philadelphia be here?”

“Perhaps you should ask him.” Said Damian. He walked over and yanked out the stake with a solid tug.

Life and vigor flowed back into Dylan’s face and body. He struggled briefly with the iron shackles before realizing that was futility. His eyes darted to each of them in turn, lingering longest on Solomon, before locking onto Michael.

“Michael Allens, I presume.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“Ernie’s toy. Wen Zhang’s childe. Grand-childe of Lucy Bonneville. Former primogen of Hampton. Slayer of the Mad Bishop and The Djinn. Yeah, you have a reputation that precedes you.”

“I wasn’t aware my pedigree was as renowned as my deeds.”

“Among some.” Dylan replied.

“Why are you here?”

Dylan’s eyes darted among the assembled again. He did not answer for a long time. “Body bags aren’t sound proof. And while I was unable to move while I was staked, I am fully aware of what you were just conversing. Drake gave you a choice, and yes, I know of him too. Fight Max or run from him. I can offer you a place to run to.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“No, but the reason I am here is because someone in my city has taken an interest in particular part of yours. Namely the Langley NASA research center in Hampton Roads.”

“So you weren’t on the base. You were at the NASA Center.” Said Michael. “That may explain TFV’s touchiness.”

“I don’t know precisely what the interested parties in Philadelphia are after down here. My personal explorations of the Center proved largely fruitless and got me taken prisoner to boot. But I can guess a few things. Whatever it is, it’s big. Big enough to involve a Federal agency and risk the wrath of TFV. Big enough to involve two cities.”

“Big enough to take down the third and final Great Elder.” Added Solomon.

“Yes.”

“And why would we want to stop that?”

“Because you need a place to run. Prince Maximilian has the lot of you by the balls and he knows it.”

“We have a place to run.” Said Michael.

“Back to Roanoke? That hardly seems fitting for kindred of your vaunted ambitions. Prove yourself to Prince Monroe and you’ll have glory, prestige, and power the likes of which Tidewater could never offer you. Even if you usurped Maximilian, you’d only have a tenth what you could have in Philadelphia.”

Michael looked at his allies in turn. Damian and Solomon seemed unconvinced. Julia, Boar, and Mitch were neutral, likely waiting to follow Michael’s lead. The offer WAS tempting. Philadelphia had a lot more to offer, and Monroe was either still in torpor or vulnerable as one newly awoken. Dylan might want to save his Prince, but Michael could try to finish him off.

To be not just primogen but Prince and prince of a city five times the size of Tidewater. Now that would be something.

But was that hubris again? Max had shown himself very much so the superior strategist. Wouldn’t Monroe or even his enemies be the same? Dylan was clearly buttering Michael up with all that supposed awe at Michael’s pedigree and deeds, no doubt for his own ends. Mitch, on the other hand, had spoken from the heart about Michael’s strength and skill, but both were seemingly in agreement. It was not overreach for them to believe Michael could handle and perhaps thrive in a city as large and vicious as Philadelphia. Boar and Julia would follow Michael anywhere. So would Sarah.

But Solomon likely wouldn’t go for it without that ambition. Michael could guess his disgust at Dylan had its origins in a falling-out between them, perhaps decades ago; A falling out between a revolutionary sire and a sell-out childe. As long as that reality overshadowed things, Solomon wasn’t going to buy anything Dylan was selling. But double-crossing Dylan as Solomon himself was likely once double-crossed by Dylan might make the case.

Damian, on the other hand, was a wild card. No telling what he was thinking. After all, he had TFV and the means to take the fight to Maximilian even without Michael’s help. That might be his choice, a choice that might be all the better for him, if Michael left without him. But he was also ambitious and no doubt he too saw the opportunity Dylan was offering.

Michael was about to speak his mind when a sharp pain shot through his head. It was as if something was attacking his mind, a psychic scream sent via telepathy. He’d never experienced anything like it and it staggered him right off his feet. He pitched forward to the floor, holding his head in agony. Then it faded nearly as fast as it came.

The others rushed to his aid, but as Michael came back to himself, he had only one thought on his mind: SARAH! He bolted for the basement door, launching himself from the floor like a track runner and willing the blood to give him haste.

He bounded down the steps, taking them three or four at a time. He hit the basement floor and rushed to the first door he could find. Empty. That was the room Angelica and Sammy died in. In the next, he found Sarah.

She was naked on the bed, her clothes torn to shreds about the room. Her body bloody and ravaged, in much the same way as Virgil or Terra or the others. But it was no intruder who had done this to her. In her hand was Michael’s wakizashi, its blade red with her own blood.

“Sarah!” Michael called out to her.

“Must. Silence. Them.” She gasped out before plunging the blade into her chest, right into her own heart. She drew it out again and a spurt of blood followed. She pitched back onto the mattress and lay still. Michael rushed to her. Her body went cold and her color ashen.

“My God.” Said Mitch in shock. “Is she?”

“No,” said Michael quietly. “No, we can’t die this way. She drove herself into torpor.” He took the blade from her hand. “We shouldn’t have left her alone.”

“There are easier ways to go into torpor.” Said Damian. “Aged kindred simply will it to happen. Why the bloody dramatics?”

“Guilt.” Answered Michael. “She holds herself responsible for the deaths of her coven.”

“When will she awaken?” asked Boar.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Said Michael grimly. “Weeks. Months. Maybe never. The last torpor she experienced drove her half-mad. What will this one do?”

“I’m sorry” was all Boar could answer.

Michael made no sound for a long moment. Then he spoke. “My decision is made. I’m going to Philadelphia with Dylan.”

“You’re being impulsive.” Said Solomon.

“Maybe I am.” Michael’s eyes were suddenly drawn back to the blood soaked bed. Next to Sarah’s body was a small stack of tarot cards. He flipped them face up, only to discover the exact cards of his earlier reading: The King of Wands, the Knight of Pentacles, and so forth. “Or maybe this is fate.”

He slid out the King of Wands. “I remake the world as I see fit.” He slid out the Knight. “Change comes through the arrival of one unexpected. He’s upstairs, bound in chains.” The Lovers was next, but he gave no explanation. In his mind, he remembered: Rebecca.

“You place way too much faith in a folk superstition.” Solomon continued to argue.

“And what do I have left to keep me here? Nightstyles is sold. Virgil and the harem girls dead. Sarah’s whole coven burned to death. Yes, I could fight. I could take Damian’s guns and start blasting Max’s allies to death one by one. But I’d still be one step behind him, still reacting to his moves rather than making my own. Better perhaps to start fresh.”

“Maybe so, but you have no idea what you’re facing. Tidewater, Roanoke, all of Virginia reflected and still reflects Mathias. Strict, legalistic, judgmental, the Nosferatu elder ran things tight and efficient. Max and his successors have done the same, even Deborah in her own fashion. But Monroe is nothing like Mathias.”

“He’s Lancea.”

“Yes, but he and Mathias have hated one another from the very start. Mathias, in spite of his various hypocrisies, was a true believer. Monroe is like a televangelist. Religion is a means to an end for him. Doubt he believes a single word of it. He’ll use it and anything else to expand his power. There’s a reason he’s considered the equal to Mathias and Ernie who are both at least twice his age. His schemes and plots make Mathias’s and Max’s seem like child’s play. As you yourself once observed, the domain reflects the leader. Everyone in Philly has their own agenda. Everyone has a plan and a scheme to obtain it. You think the kindred here are evil? Imagine these here without a single one of Mathias’ imposed moral imperatives. I know you’re ambitious, Michael, but you’re not ready for a place like that. It will eat you alive.”

“The others believe in me. Even your childe seems to think I have a place there.”

“And you’re going to take his word when it’s so obvious his ulterior motives?”

“I am not running back to Roanoke and there’s little left for me here to fight for.” He looked back at Sarah bitterly. “Not even her.”

“Whatever you decide,” Boar interjected. “We’re with you, Michael.”

“I am grateful for that.” Michael replied. He turned back to Solomon. “Solomon, I can ask you to join us, but you will make your own choice and I cannot force you to choose one way or the other. But consider for a moment the opportunity we have here. Mathias is dead. Ernie has been driven off and no one, not even you and other nomads, have heard word of him for years. There’s only one left. Imagine the kindred of the East Coast free of the Elders at last.”

“If we succeed…” Solomon replied incredulously.

“We?” Michael picked that up.

“Alone, you’ll only get yourself killed. I’ve been to Philly a few times and while I likely don’t know it nearly as well as Dylan, it’ll help.”

“Damian?”

“Well, I could certainly join you on this little adventure. One of the largest and most influential cities on the continent surely has more to offer than this little tourist trap here. And there’s also no question Maximilian’s gunning for me as much as he is you, perhaps even more so, since it’s likely he’s been planning this strategy for far longer than the tiny handful of weeks since your return. But I’m not one to back down from a fight and I stand to gain a great deal if I win. Prince Damian Drake has a nice ring to it. That’s a lot easier if you ain’t in the way either.”

Michael wasn’t convinced Damian was being completely honest. After all, the scheming Tremere had always shown a preference for being the power behind the throne rather than the person seated on it. But still, Michael WAS leaving and that opened Damian up to usurp Maximilian on his own and claim all the glory and power for himself.

“Well, your call.” Replied Michael. He moved to Sarah’s side. “I’m going to take her down to the water. Get her washed up. There should still be a coffin in the emergency haven in my office.”

“We’ll go fetch it.” Said Mitch. He motioned to Boar. They had just left the room when the tell-tale staccato of automatic weapons fire could be heard.

“My agents!” said Damian. He reached under his coat to draw his Old West Colt army revolver and dashed for the stairs.

Michael picked up the wakizashi and followed after. The rest of the group followed behind.

Damian paused when he hit the porch. The two soldiers were down, but no enemy could be seen. Michael and Julia shoved past Damian and went to their side.

The two were out, but not badly injured. Whatever had hit them had merely knocked them out.

“It’s the Spy.” Said Julia. “The Brute would have knifed them to death.”

“He must have been trying to sneak up on us to learn something and he set off one of the…” Michael grabbed up the assault rifle next to him and began to scan about with it.

The gun-sight chirped each time he passed the weapon over someone. Damian, Solomon, over each one the weapon registered the presence of a human form and chirped. Michael scanned about. If the Spy had been there, he was likely taken off guard by the weapon’s capabilities. If he was halfway decent at his job, he would want to know what that weapon could do. If he wasn’t, he’d be on the run, but how far would he get?

Michael scanned the road south. The weapon chirped again, only this time there was no one to be seen. Michael squeezed the trigger.

A long burst of fire ripped down the road and hit something. After a few impacts, the Spy lost his concentration and his stealth broke, revealing him to everyone. Michael willed the blood to his limbs, demanding preternatural haste, and he rushed up the road.

The Spy saw him coming and drew a machete. With a quick and skillful blow, Michael knocked the blade aside with his rifle. He tossed the gun away and grabbed the Spy by the throat. Sarah’s description of him was accurate. He looked like a tiny emaciated cancer child. Michael imagined the character Gollum in the Lord of the Rings books was probably not that far removed from the diminutive Nosferatu he now held fast in his hand.

“You!” said Michael, lifting his prey off the ground. The Spy struggled against Michael’s vice-grip. “You will be my messenger.” With his free hand, he drew the wakizashi from where he’d tucked it into his belt.

“This is for Terra.” He rammed it into the Spy’s gut. He drew it out again.

“For Angelica.” He plunged it in again.

“For Virgil.” Again.

“For Sammy.” He rammed it into the Spy’s crotch, likely castrating him.

“And this, this is for Sarah and her people.” He slid the blade under his thumb into the Spy’s throat. He cut to the left, then turning the blade and cutting right. The Spy’s head came off and he turned to dust as he hit the ground.

“Take the dust, put it in a box, and deliver it to Nightstyles.” Michael ordered to Mitch. “Leave it on the office desk. Write Max a note and tell him this is payback for all the suffering he’s brought upon us.”

“That’s half his new weapon.” Said Julia, stating the obvious. “We just scored a victory.” She paused. “Does this change…”

“No.” said Michael. “We are going to Philadelphia.” Michael looked at Damian. “You’re welcome. One fewer obstacle. Let’s see Max rule with an iron fist when one of his best weapons is ash.”

Damian smiled. “I may just consider one of your outstanding debts paid, my friend. May I do the honors of delivering this message?”

“Be my guest.”

“I am almost disappointed that you are going to miss all the excitement this little development will bring.” Said Damian. “Almost. Best of luck.” With that, the Tremere headed back to fetch his box.

-End of Act One-

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