Act Two Chapter Ten - Blue Monday

Mitch pulled his Camaro into the parking lot of Michael’s diner. Sitting across from Beaver College, the restaurant chain was something of a staple in the Philadelphia suburbs, but it was nothing terribly fancy. When Trisha had requested that be the venue for their first date, Mitch wondered why. She explained that he had a car. She’d grown up around Jenkintown and preferred to get closer to home rather than Temple’s campus for things such as dates.

Mitch took it all in stride. If this was where his date wanted to go, who was he to argue? Technically, Mitch could have taken her just about anywhere: City Tavern, Bookbinders, the William Penn Inn, or any of dozens of other four and five star establishments around the Philly area. Money was not an object. Mitch had plenty of that, between Michael’s generous access to his own funds and Mitch’s own mastery of luck and fortune. More than a few trips to Atlantic City when he was in Tidewater had netted Mitch a tidy sum. Add to that a couple of lottery wins, even a $10,000 prize from the McDonalds’ Monopoly game, and he was set.

Still, it might have seemed out of character for him to flaunt that so early on. For all appearances, Mitch still looked like the blue collar sloppy pizza-delivering college dropout that he’d been eight years ago when he’d first met Michael. His style had improved somewhat, but he still didn’t quite look the part of dashing young dilettante the way Michael often did.

Michael paused to view his own appearance in the mirrors that lined the interior of the restaurant.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Trisha teased.

“Oh,” Mitch began. “Just thinking I need to style up a bit more. The old grungy look is getting a bit dated.” It was really the first time Mitch was becoming conscious of his age. Michael was a perpetual 18 and Boar’s werewolf metabolism gave him an indeterminate “somewhere in his 20s” look, but Mitch was aging normally and definitely looked like someone just a few years shy of 30.

“I like it.” Trisha admitted.

“Well, I guess it’s still got some life in it yet after all.” said Mitch with a smile. “Two please.” He said to the hostess.

The hostess took them to their table and handed them their menus. Mitch smiled again. “One thing I like about diners.” He confessed. “If I want breakfast at 7pm, I can have breakfast at 7pm.”

“I figured this would be a decent place to eat.” Trisha explained. “Not too expensive. Not stuck in the middle of some of the worst neighborhoods in the city. Better than McDonalds or Taco Bell for food.”

“And here I was thinking it was because we’re across the street from Beaver College.” He said with a sly grin. He often played fast and loose with double entendres, enjoying the benefits his magical luck gave him.

Trisha looked up at him and chuckled to herself. “Aren’t we bold?” she replied.

“Fortune favors the bold.” Said Mitch. His comment hadn’t backfired, so time to take that and run with it.

“You know, I hear they’re looking to change the name.”

“Why is that?”

“All those wonderful little programs schools and parents are installing to keep their kids away from internet porn are also blocking access to the college website. It’s actually causing some issues with admissions over there.”

“That’s funny.” He said with a laugh.

“Well, it shouldn’t surprise anyone. Besides that, what overprotective parent wants to send their daughter to ‘vagina college’ anyway?”

“Good point.”

She paused and gave him a funny look. It was about the third time he’d gotten that same odd look from her since he’d picked her up.

“Alright,” Mitch said. “You keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘I know this guy from somewhere.’ You keep scrunching up your face like you’re trying to figure out where we’ve crossed paths before.”

“There is something familiar about you that I can’t put my finger on. It’s driving me nuts.”

“Prior to moving here two months ago, I have never even visited this city before. I grew up an Army brat. Lived all over. Maryland, Virginia, Georgia, Panama even. But never Pennsylvania. Never Philly.”

“What brought you here then?”

“Friends.” Mitch answered honestly. “And an opportunity to study with Professor Murray.”

“That’s Martin's favorite prof, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Mitch saw another opportunity and ran with it. “I met Martin through him, and then Anna through him, and then you through Anna.” It was a lie, but not much of one.

“And what are you studying?”

“Quantum probability physics.” Said Mitch. That was total bullshit, although probably about as close as the scientifically minded could ever come to describing the magic of luck and destiny. He hoped that mouthful of syllables would chase Trisha off the subject.

“Forget I asked. Sounds complicated.”

“It is.”

“So Martin is a freshman and you’re what? 26? 27? And you’re studying the same thing.”

“Yeah, well,” said Mitch sheepishly. “I wasn’t quite as mature as he is at his age. Spent my early 20s a little too heavily in the party scene. Booze, drugs, a different girl in my bed every night. That sort of thing.”

Trisha gave him a wary look. “And now you’re trying to leave all that behind?”

Mitch shrugged. “Not entirely. I still like to have fun, go to parties, and what not. Just not into the fall-down-drunk part so much anymore. It isn’t as easy when you get to my age. The last party I went to was before Halloween, almost a month ago now.”

“One month in and you get invited to a Halloween party?”

“My friend Michael heard about it on Villanova’s campus. So we checked it out together.”

“In Conshohocken?”

“Yeah, how’d you…know?” The word caught in his throat as now he realized where Trisha had probably seen him before. She remembered him from news reports of his arrest for rape. Worse, in that moment, not only did he realize that’s where she’d seen him before, but so did she. He could read it in her eyes.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath. Time to take the bull by the horns. “You heard about that, didn’t you?”

“So it was you.” Said Trisha, her tone now cold as ice. “The girl who accused you ended up dead a week later.”

“I was in jail. I had nothing to do with that.”

“And what about the first part? The part that put you in jail to begin with.”

“I did not rape that girl.” Said Mitch forcefully. “Yes, I took her to bed. No, she was not drunk or drugged or incapacitated in any way. She consented to everything we did. Why she chose later to accuse me, I don’t know. That’s the truth. And I know nothing about the circumstances of her death other than what everyone else heard on the news. Someone strangled her and they found her body floating in the river. That’s all I know.” Truth intermixed with necessary lies. Mitch couldn’t share what he did know about Amy’s motives, that she was the slave of a vampire lord, and had accused him to embarrass and handicap Michael. He also wasn’t about to share that he also knew that Michael was the one who had killed her.

“But convenient for you.” Said Trisha. “No accuser. No crime. So they let you go.”

“That is kind of how the justice system works.” Said Mitch. “Innocent until proven guilty. Without her accusation and with no other evidence, yes, they released me and dropped all charges.” He paused to gauge her reaction. It was clear none of that mattered to her. Like most sexual crimes, fear and gender politics defined the issue more than hard facts or evidence. So many guilty men used the excuse “She asked for it” that when Mitch uttered it now, even when it was the truth, it rang hollow.

“So what happens now?” He asked. Their date was obviously a bust.

“You are going to sit tight while I call my brother and get the hell out of here.” She reached for her cell phone.

“No, I think I’m going to head to my car and leave before you decide to tell your brother to beat the crap out of me for something I haven’t done…to you or to her.” He stood up and marched out without another word.

---

Martin looked at himself in the mirror. He was not a bad looking fellow, no hunk, but certainly no slouch either. But it was obviously not enough. He frowned.

Mitch was pretty much everything Martin aspired to be. Smooth, handsome, charming, and a skilled mage. He had friends among vampires and werewolves, something almost no mage had ever accomplished. What an opportunity for learning that was. What leverage that could be in the political games of wizard society. It wasn’t any wonder that the moment he’d shown up, Anna's eyes had been for him alone.

Martin had only made it worse. Impulse had driven him to play that little prank with her breasts at the Franklin Institute. Anna and Martin's relationship had been based in large part on humor; They made each other laugh and enjoyed doing things that playfully embarrassed the other. That was almost a necessity. They had to laugh about life or the darkness of the world they’d been plunged into would overwhelm them. But now in hindsight, Martin realized that was not the sort of prank he should have pulled with Mitch involved. He’d given Mitch a reason to look at her that way, to see her as a potential conquest. And with all his roguish good looks and magical accolades, she was more than willing to be conquered.

The big question however was whether she already had been or not.

He’d spent that morning with Zao and Mitch. Mitch was absorbed in his conversation with the Hierarch and didn’t notice how Martin had been watching him. Studying him: his appearance, his mannerisms, his voice. Now, as he stood before the mirror, he began to cast his incantation. His face began to reshape itself. His eyes changed color. His hair reformed into a new style.

He’d done this before. For some sexual roleplay, Martin had once turned himself into Brad Pitt and seduced Anna. That had been fun and a large part of the reason Anna had taught him the spell to begin with. Now, Martin would put it to a different use. Now as he stared back at himself wearing Mitch’s face, he would find out what had really been going on between them.

He double-checked himself in the mirror. It was a good likeness. Close enough that perhaps even Mitch’s closest friends would be fooled. He spoke a random nonsense sentence. The voice sounded a little off. That was always the hardest part, since people always heard their own voice through their head instead of through the air like everyone else. That’s why people always through recordings of their own voice sounded funny. But cadence and style were usually more important than tone when mimicking someone else. It would have to do.

He headed out of his dorm and across campus to Anna's room. A quick spell for a bit of luck as he approached her dorm. Sure enough, it worked. The door monitor was elsewhere when he arrived, so he slipped in unobserved and headed straight to her room.

Anna answered with a look of surprise. “Mitch, I thought you were out with Trisha tonight.”

“That didn’t work out.” Lamented Martin/Mitch.

“Oh,” she said regretfully. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She gave him a nervous smile. “Come on in.”

Martin now knew where Mitch was and he realized there was a risk of his whole scheme coming unraveled if Trisha walked in on them. The sudden arrival of a normal human with knowledge that Mitch could not be in her room would likely cause unbelief to overwhelm his spell and revert his appearance right then and there. That would be a disaster. He hoped his luck would hold out.

“Can I get you anything?” Anna asked. Martin/Mitch asked for some water while his mind began to race. He’d begun a story: Trisha and Mitch’s date had fallen apart. He had to spin that further to explain why he’d come here. He had to lie and it had to be convincing and he had to be smooth about it. The real Mitch was never nervous.

“I’m just so frustrated.” He began as Anna handed him the glass. “I’m not used to having things go that way.”

“I had nothing to do with it.” She admitted.

“But this works out for us.” He said. Anna darkened. Martin recognized that look, a bit of embarrassment at getting caught. Had she lied to him about meddling? No, that was the truth, but she was seeing this as an opportunity. Damn her! She really did want to be with Mitch. All his worst fears were true.

Martin tried to keep his disappointment from showing on his faux-Mitch face. Anna recovered from her lapse. “Yeah, I guess it does.” She leaned in aggressively, pulling him into her arms, and kissing him fiercely on the lips.

Damn, she never kissed him like that. Martin fought to keep his anger at bay. He was playing a part. He was Mitch, at least for now. He could deal with the two of them and their betrayal later. But for now, he had to see this ruse to its end. He returned the kiss. It wasn’t hard for him to pretend to desire her; That wasn’t their problem. He still wanted her as badly as ever. It was now clear to him that she just didn’t want him anymore.

She took the glass of water from his hand and set it on her desk. Her eyes gave him an alluring “come hither” look and she took him by the hand to lead him to her bed.

---

Evangeline presented a problem. It was one thing to dispose of a corpse that had died in your own residence or in your own territory. As a kindred, you had thralls to help with this sort of thing, people who would either look the other way or actively help you stash the body.

But there were no thralls here to help and the staff, however shady and unscrupulous, were not likely to simply look the other way for the asking. So Michael had to solve this problem on his own, something he’d not done for a number of years.

Thankfully, he had some resources at his disposal that he’d not had in those early years of his Requiem. He could cloak himself in an aura of shadows, making himself invisible to most human observers. He’d also mastered the spider-like climbing ability of the vampire race, allowing him to scale vertical surfaces with ease.

Thus, with Evangeline’s limp form flung over his shoulder, Michael scaled down the side of the building via the outside window. Upon reaching the bottom, he drew the shadows around him and made for the streets.

His original thought was to make for the river, but that was dozens of blocks away. More than a mile distant and he would have to cross a portion of the southern section of Fairmount Park, right under the noses of the notorious Ashwood Abbey hunters. If Boar’s reports about their resistance to werewolf Lunacy were true, it was likely they’d also trained their minds to see through a vampire’s stealth.

So instead of going that distance, he kept westward about ten blocks before finding a dark alley similar to the one in which he’d begun this journey. He found a dumpster. Before dropping her body inside, he drew out his wakizashi and cut her throat. Any coroner worth his salt would recognize the bloodless wound as being inflicted post-mortem, but Michael hoped whatever cops eventually found her wouldn’t know any better. That would leave it to Dr. John to sort out in order to protect the Masquerade.

After dumping Evangeline unceremoniously into the pile of trash, he paused to look at her. She was a lovely woman and Michael lamented the whole damned affair. She didn’t deserve to die and she certainly didn’t deserve have her mortal remains dumped in a trash heap for the rats to gnaw on. But there was nothing that could be done about any of that now. He let the lid of the dumpster slam shut and he headed back to the hotel.

In his introspection however, he’d failed to notice that he was being watched. A man in a dark hood across the street watched his every move, unfazed by any supernatural power. As Michael began traveling down the street, the hooded man began to follow.

---

When Michael arrived back at the hotel, he spider-climbed his way back up to his room’s window. When he peeked inside, he noticed the room was empty. That was odd…and alarming. He quickly strategized as he clung to the side of the building. If Sarah had left, where would she go? There were no easy answers to that question, but if she was on the streets he might be able to spot her from the rooftop. So he scaled the rest of the way up in hopes of spying her from afar.

As he cleared the edge of the roof, he saw her immediately. She’d not hit the streets, but had come up to the roof herself. She’d stripped off her remaining clothes after their lovemaking session with Evangeline and stood naked on the edge opposite where Michael climbed up.

“Come no closer!” she barked as she saw him clear the edge.

“Sarah, what are you doing?” said Michael. Something was very wrong. Her mannerisms, her voice, her presence here instead of in their room all spoke volumes that Sarah was not herself.

“They’re calling me a whore. A dirty filthy slut that murders people.” She cried. No question who “they” were. The voices had returned anew, revived by the trauma of Evangeline’s murder.

“Sarah!” Michael pleaded. It was Tidewater all over again. Just as she had when Terra and other harem girls died, she was going to attempt “suicide” to silence the accusing hallucinations. She was going to jump.

“I deserve this.” She said and she stepped off the edge.

Michael willed ever fiber of his blood and being into one massive burst of speed. He tore across that rooftop as fast as he’d ever moved. He overshot the opposite ledge, launching himself in the air over where Sarah had jumped. He twisted himself about to grab her arm, but by doing so, it became impossible for him to catch himself on the building opposite. He slammed hard into the fire escape on that building, denting the metal with his body. And then he began to fall.

Michael rolled as he began to accelerate downward, tucking Sarah to him as he did so. He reached out with his free hand and snagged the next level down on that fire escape. He held fast, but Sarah jerked out away from him by gravity and he just barely held on to her.

For the second time in less than an hour, Michael felt exhaustion, something vampires were supposed to be incapable of. But he now knew it was not a physical malady, but an emotional one. He’d gone to the heights of ecstasy to guilt to pure unmitigated panic, all in less than an hour.

Despite the near miraculous save he’d just made for her, Sarah was having none of his heroics. She clawed at his hand, desperately trying to get him to let go. Michael held fast, despite the fact that she was digging into the skin and flesh of his hand and lower arm. Michael gave her a yank upward, tossing her unceremoniously over his shoulder in much the same way he’d done with Evangeline’s body earlier. Unlike the corpse, which obviously didn’t care one way or the other, Sarah was none too pleased by this. She beat on his back with her fists and kicked at his belly with her feet. To any observer, it might look like the tantrum of a spoiled child, but that child was still a vampire with all their ferocious strength. The blows bruised flesh and crushed bone. They hurt. Michael gritted his teeth and leaped across to the hotel and climbed back up to the rooftop.

He tossed Sarah onto the asphalt. She jumped back to her feet almost immediately and tried to run past him to jump off again, but Michael snagged her and hauled her back. “Let me go!” she demanded. Then Michael did something he never thought he’d ever do.

He slapped her. Hard. As hard as anything she’d done to him over the last few moments, and likely hurt just as much. But to Michael, the agony was in some ways worse. He understood, perhaps better even than they, what his parents meant when they used to tell him “this will hurt me more than it hurts you.”

Sarah staggered back from the blow and fell on her rump. Michael felt himself ready to burst into tears and he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if she got up to try to jump a third time.

“You hit me!” Sarah exclaimed with astonishment. Her voice was normal again. She’d come back to herself. With that revelation, Michael let his emotions overwhelm him.

“Don’t ever make me do that again.” He pleaded between sobs. “Don’t ever try to silence the voices like that again. Come to me. Let me help you against them. Please!”

She didn’t move, but sat there on her rump as she’d fallen. Normally, seeing her in that pose, naked as could be, Michael would have found her arousing. But her nakedness spoke to a different impression in that moment: one of pure vulnerability.

The two of them said nothing to one another for a long time. Then Sarah sat up and reached out to him, touching Michael on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m not always in control…when the voices are that overwhelming.” She looked down, no longer able to meet his eyes. “They all sound like you. It hurts so much when you say those things to me.”

“It’s not me.”

“I know that…now. But in the moment, it’s not so easy.”

“You once spoke of trust. Can you use that as a weapon against them? A defense? You know I’d never deliberately hurt you like that, call you names, level those sorts of accusations at you. Is there a way you can see that for the lie it is?”

“But it’s not a lie.” Said another voice.

Michael jumped up, startled by the new arrival. It was Kathleen. But just as Sarah was not herself earlier, it was also quite obvious Kathleen was not herself. For perhaps the first time, Ernie was making no effort to conceal his possession of her. Her eyes were filled with Ernie’s insane malice, all of it directed at Sarah.

“You are a slut. You are a whore. You are a murderer! He doesn’t deserve you. You are worthless. A liar and betrayer.”

“Stop it.” Pleaded Sarah. She put her hands over her ears and curled up into a fetal ball. “God, Michael, he’s in my head too.”

“Let her go, Ernie.” Michael demanded.

“Or what?” taunted the Malkovian with Kathleen’s voice. “You’ll kill me? Go ahead. Go ahead and murder another innocent tonight!”

That was his plan all along. Had this been Ernie himself, in the flesh, Michael would have torn him limb from limb or at least tried. With all his vaunted reputation as one of the Three Great Elders, Ernie would likely prove to be more than a match in battle. But that was moot, because Ernie wasn’t here in the flesh. His spirit was possessing Kathleen, an unwilling pawn in the game and innocent of her sire’s crimes.

“Now, come to me, Michael!” Ernie/Kathleen commanded.

Michael felt his will fade against the indomitable force of Ernie’s mesmerism. He began to march forward, slowly and methodically towards Kathleen. Michael realized his mistake. He should have triggered his powers of charisma. At its most extreme level was the ability known to vampire scholars as “Sovereignty,” a skill Michael had absorbed by his diablerie of the Mad Bishop. Even Ernie could not resist it, as Michael had seen the night the Mad Bishop died and Max took the throne of Tidewater. It had driven Ernie away then and it might have worked again here, but now it was too late. Now Michael was entranced by Ernie’s powers and there was no breaking free.

“I had you once in this body and I will have you again. How wonderful it will be for your little tramp to watch me ravage you. Now, strip.”

Michael began to remove his clothing. He was like a puppet on strings, having no control or say over his own actions. His mind and thoughts were still his own however and he thought the whole thing so odd. Ernie had always had this flirtatious banter with Michael, but it was always playful and even kind of fun. But underneath it all lay a sinister obsession and when Michael scorned Ernie the night he could have taken Tidewater all for himself, Ernie’s obsession turned vengeful. Now, Ernie would have him whether he wanted it or not.

“You will not have him.” Growled Sarah in a tone of voice Michael had only heard one other time from Sarah’s lips. It was the same tone he’d heard the night the Mad Bishop’s minions had murdered Sarah’s mother. It was a voice of unmitigated rage.

“Stop me.” Taunted Ernie confidently.

“Let. Her. Go.” Sarah commanded, her own mesmeric powers echoing behind every word. The two of them stared each other down for a long moment, neither breaking concentration on one another. Michael was frozen in place, unable to move or act, but only able to watch.

Kathleen suddenly screamed and pitched over. Her body twitched a couple times on the ground and then lay still. Michael felt Ernie’s power evaporate instantly and his body lurched forward suddenly as he came free.

“What the hell did you do?” he asked Sarah, moving to her side.

“Battle of wills. Power to power. Mesmerism to mesmerism and I won. I broke his hold over her and he fled. Just like at the Art Museum, only he was a lot harder to dislodge this time.” She panted out the words, as if she too were now exhausted and spent from the effort.

Michael went over to Kathleen. She was not moving, but lay as if dead. “The shock of being caught between us sent her into torpor.” Sarah explained. “There was no other way.”

“She’ll survive.” Said Michael. “We can be thankful for that.”

“She has Ernie’s tainted blood just as I do. When I went into torpor, that’s when the voices started. She’ll come out of this changed, Michael. That’s almost a guarantee. She’ll start to lose her mind just like I am. Only she doesn’t have someone like you to help hold her together. She has only Ernie.”

“Who will only encourage her madness, just like he did with Shakespeare and the Bishop and all his other childer.” Snarled Michael in disgust. “She doesn’t deserve that. No one does.”

Sarah suddenly cocked her head, as if she heard something far off. “We’re not alone. Three men approach from below.” She said telepathically.

As if on cue, those three men emerged from the access door for the hotel roof. Their clothing was rather odd, being of largely indeterminate origins. It could have passed for traveler’s gear for pretty much any time period in the past four centuries: heavy woolen pseudo-cloak/coats and fedora-like hats. In these more modern times, it seemed very out of place. Each bore a large pectoral cross on their chest, their only identifying marking. They did not appear to be armed.

“Hunters.” Michael whispered ominously, “Church hunters.”

The lead hunter began to mumble some manner of prayer, holding his cross aloft. Michael grinned in spite of himself. “Ignorant hunters,” he mocked. “Ones who don’t realize that story is only folk…” He did not finish his sentence.

“I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions.” The lead hunter commanded, his voice hinting of a slight French accent. As he did so, Michael felt as if his skin were ablaze with holy fire. Every nerve ending burning in agony, but there was no flame. No visible effect whatsoever. He could barely make out Sarah beside him, herself writhing in torture and the source of her torment likewise invisible.

“Depart transgressor. Depart, seducer, full of lies and cunning, foe of virtue, persecutor of the innocent.” The priest-hunter continued. “God the Father commands you; God the Son commands you; God the Holy Spirit commands you. The mystery of the cross commands you. The faith of the holy apostles Peter and Paul and of all the saints commands you. The blood of the martyrs commands you.” With each word, Michael felt the pain intensify. He felt his mind slipping. He heard the Beast within cry out, equally impotent before this onslaught.

But then a sound, the deafening bang of a heavy pistol. Then twice more. The pain vanished as fast as it came and Michael came back to his senses. It was Mitch, his big AMT Hardballer pistol in hand. The three hunters were staggering, but had kept their feet somehow. Body armor. Underneath those archaic clothes, these hunters had made some concession to modern realities; they were wearing body armor.

Still, the impact of Mitch’s shots had broken their concentration and ended whatever invocation had been torturing Michael and Sarah. Taken by surprise by Mitch’s attack, the three hunters ran. Whatever spiritual weapons they bore, Michael presumed they were useless against a normal seeming human with a big gun. They dashed to the edge of the roof and leaped to the building opposite.

Baggy clothing and body armor not withstanding, the three men landed perfectly on the other side. Priests they may be, but these were in top notch physical shape and utterly fearless to have taken that jump. Mitch squeezed off four more rounds, emptying the gun’s magazine. None of them could tell if any of his shots hit home; the hunters did not slow their retreat in the slightest. Soon they were gone.

“Who the fuck were those guys?” Michael managed to stammer out.

“Malleus Mallificarum.” Said Mitch. “The Roman Catholic church’s answer to supernatural threats. The Inquisition’s secret descendants.”

“I was always told the whole cross and crucifix weakness of vampires was nothing but myth.”

“For most, it is. Not for them. From what I understand, some hunter groups have a form of hedge magic they use to hunt monsters. I’m guessing theirs takes the form of prayer and ritual, all the trappings of the classic Van Helsing-like church inquisitor. Their powers are probably useless against mundane threats, but conversely very powerful against the likes of us. Let’s be thankful that I both caught them by surprise and they did not realize I was a mage. Otherwise I’d have joined you in whatever torment they were inflicting.” Mitch ejected the mag from the pistol and swapped it out for a fresh one.

Mitch looked the two of them over. “Alright, next question.” He said as he holstered the pistol. “Why are the two of you naked and why is Kathleen here?”

“It’s been a very long night.”

Michael explained all that had happened as they made their way back to their room, with Michael carrying the still torpid Kathleen with them. He began with Evangeline, then moved on to Sarah’s psychotic episode, Ernie’s attack in the body of Kathleen, and then to the Malleus ambush.

“Somewhere along the way, they found you.” Observed Mitch. “Zao warned me the Malleus was in the pocket of the College vampires, but I didn’t think they’d move so quickly or find you so easily. I should have said something the moment you awoke tonight, but I was too worried about getting to Trisha on time.”

“Probably just rotten luck.” Said Michael. “They may have spotted me while I was disposing of Evangeline.”

“Or somehow Ernie led them to you. He’s had his hands in church affairs before as well.” Grumbled Mitch. “But, regardless, what it means is this hotel is no longer safe.”

“No, it is not. But it is also nearly dawn and we cannot move until the sun sets again.” Said Michael. “I need you to go fetch the Falcon for me.”

“No,” Mitch said adamantly. “That can wait. I won’t leave the three of you alone while you slumber. Not when the Malleus knows where you are.”

“You did land those first three shots.”

“Center of mass. Right into their armored vests.”

“Still, those bruised ribs ought to keep them out of action for at least one day.”

“I’m not gambling your lives on that. Not with the luck we’ve been having and not when those three managed a jump Jackie Chan would be proud of while so injured. I’m staying and standing guard and that’s final.”

---

Forbidden Drive was so called because it was the one road in Philadelphia that it was “forbidden” to drive on. It snaked its way through Fairmount Park and was a popular path for joggers, walkers, and other park visitors. Janice’s crush had used it for his running with great frequency. By tracking him as a wolf, she knew his routine, his route; She knew the precise circumstances with which to intercept him.

Which is why she was so frustrated that he didn’t seem to be here today as she jogged the path herself. There were any number of reasons why that was so. Perhaps he’d been delayed. Perhaps he was taking a break. Perhaps a meteor had come down out of the sky and killed him.

Okay, Janice had to admit the last one was a bit of a stretch, a thought born out of anxiety and nerves. She’d woken up that morning with determination to finally catch this guy, to finally talk to him as a human, and to hopefully, God willing, ask him out. But all that determination was now fading as she jogged along with no sign of him.

She stopped, her disappointment getting the better of her. She looked around her. There was a serenity to the park and she understood why the werewolves coveted it so. Even in late-November, with the leaves now off the trees, there was also a certain beauty to it. She smiled. Perhaps there was merit to all this even if she didn’t see him today. She could get used to this calm. She might even do these runs for her own benefit in the future.

The tell-tale “thump-thump” of a runner on the path brought her out of her thoughts. She glanced down the path the way she’d come and smiled. There he was.

Now what?

Ok, of all the scenarios of how she was going to introduce herself, what was now happening was nowhere in her playbook. Should she let him pass and then catch up to him? Should she flag him down and ask him…what? Should she unzip her jacket and give him a show like Boar had suggested? Should she “accidentally” run into him, knock him down, and then use that as an excuse to talk to him like some bad romance story?

He suddenly began to slow his pace as he drew near, but he didn’t look at her. She was invisible as she ever was, or so it seemed. He passed by her, but slowed to a walk only a few feet beyond her.

“Hey,” she called out, drawing his attention.

He used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Hey.” He replied.

“I’ve seen you run through here before. You’re a student at Chestnut Hill, right?”

“Yeah.” He said. He was panting, trying to catch his breath after a hard run. “I haven’t seen you before.” He admitted.

“I live near here.” She admitted. “Just started running. Good exercise.”

“It is.” He said. “I’m Kyle.”

“Janice.” She said with a smile. Ok, she knew his name finally. She played with her zipper nervously, jerking it up and down. Kyle’s eyes were drawn to what she was doing and she suddenly realized she was giving him that show after all. Embarrassed, she stopped. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He continued pacing, slowly winding down from his run. “You seem to be in good shape.”

“No such thing as a fat werewolf.” Janice thought. “I’d like to be in better.” She told him aloud.

“Well, you need to be careful not to do too much too soon.”

“I’m starting with jogging. Trying to pace myself.” Okay, time to take the plunge. “But I could probably use some tips.”

Kyle smiled and it was like the most heavenly thing Janice had ever laid eyes upon. “I could go for a Wawa run. Get something to drink. Care to join me? There’s one not far from here.”

Jackpot! “Sure.”

---

Solomon pulled up to the curb and killed the engine on the bike. Julia disembarked from behind him and took in a breath of the night air. Downtown York wasn’t quite as exciting as Philadelphia, but it was a city and had a life of its own.

“So where should we start?” Solomon asked.

“So many victims, so little time.” Julia grinned with faux malice. “Perhaps a better question is how are we hunting tonight? You want to ambush some poor soul in a dark alley like usual or you in the mood for something more subtle and sexual?”

“Or perhaps both? Just because I’m no good at the sexy stuff doesn’t mean I can’t snatch someone in the dark while you enjoy a little nookie on the side.”

“You won’t be jealous, will you?”

“I’ve been around Daeva most of my unlife. No, I won’t be jealous. I know when it means something and when it doesn’t.”

“That makes you smarter than most of the Daeva I know.” Julia commented sarcastically.

“My dear, I think being away from Michael has done you some good. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a critique of your sire.”

“Maybe it was.” She conceded. “I love him, but he’s not always smart about the consequences of where he puts his dick.”

Solomon laughed heartily. “I’ve been warning him about that since practically the first night he arose as kindred. But enough about him and his mistakes. Tonight is ours and this city is our plaything. No competition. No territories. Nothing standing between us and a feast.”

“There’s a nice looking café a block or so down. Let’s head that way.” Suggested Julia.

“Lead on.”

Julia took the lead as they headed down Philadelphia Street. As they walked, they came upon a bit of scaffolding from construction and the fiberboard barriers that kept the pedestrians away from the work. Various locals had used the barriers to advertise various aspects of the nightlife of York: bands, bars, and so forth. Julia paused to look over the flyers. Several were for bands play live that weekend, others were for concerts already passed. But at least a quarter of them were blue flyers advertising the “Church of the Eternal Truth.”

Julia shrugged and moved on. As they passed the barriers and moved beyond the construction, they came to the corner opposite the café to which they were heading. At the intersection of Beaver Street and Philadelphia, a young woman in a white religious robe was handing out flyers and talking to people on the street.

“This feels more like New York than York.” Solomon commented. “This sort of street proselytizing is what I expect in a much larger city. York’s pretty conservative and doesn’t go for this sort of thing.”

“We could do them a favor and rid them of her.” Said Julia with a sinister grin. She headed over to the street preacher.

The young woman turned to Julia and handed her one of the flyers. It was nearly identical to the ones she’d seen posted on the barriers, blue paper advertising the Church of Eternal Truth. The only difference was this one had some further information about the leadership of the church.

“Grace and peace to you, friend.” Said the sickeningly cheerful woman.

“So what’s this about?” Julia asked, turning on the charm. Solomon moved up behind her and read the flyer over her shoulder.

“We are the Church of Eternal Truth. All people want peace and joy in their lives. We can provide that to you by connecting you to the fundamental truths of the universe in which we live.”

“We’re not interested.” Said Solomon abruptly. He grabbed Julia’s arm and half pulled her across the street.

“What was that about?” protested Julia as they walked inside the café. “She could have been tasty.”

“She’s claimed by another.” Said Solomon curtly. He pointed to the flyer. The name of the lead clergyman was listed on it: Dr. Ernesto Malenkov.

“Is that who I think it is?” Julia asked.

“Without a doubt. This city is no longer unoccupied. Ernie is here and he’s rebuilding his cult. This is where he’s been hiding.”

Next Chapter