Timothy lay very still, trying to clinch himself into a knot from the eyebrows down. He drew his covers up to his chin and over his lips like a makeshift gag. He didn’t want the man in his room to think he was awake. If he lay very still, like a dead person, the man would think he was asleep, and he would go away.

It was hard to keep from crying. He wanted to, but every tiny twitch made him feel like one of the little plastic jigs his dad used when he went fishing. Every time he moved, the man moved. Timothy didn’t know how long the man had been there or how close he had gotten to the edge of the bed, but it felt like he’d been awake for a few hours at least. It was so late the crickets had stopped singing, but the birds hadn’t started yet.

His back started trembling, and the floor creaked behind him. The man had taken a step. A big one. His shoe touched the leg of the bed. Timothy crammed himself into a tighter ball, barely holding in a whine. A hot tear rolled on his nose, but he couldn’t move to blink it away.

The first time he’d heard the man had been two weeks ago. He’d heard the floorboards in his room creaking, and he’d turned over sleepily to see what the noise was. He thought it was his dad, coming in late to check on him. He usually pretended to be asleep when his dad came to check on him at night, but he always loved it when the big guy came to peek in. It was like having a knight or a fireman standing guard outside the door. But that night, he didn’t see his father. Instead, a tall, thin man wearing black and white had been standing in the center of the room, holding out one hand toward the bed. Timothy had bolted upright, huddling against the wall behind his bed, but before he could shout for his dad, the thin man was gone.

A week later, Timothy had heard the noises again. He’d rolled over very slowly, trying to make it look like he was still asleep. When he finally managed to force his eyes open, the same thin man was kneeling down beside his bed with one hand on the pillow. His short brown hair hung just tickling his ears, and his long nose tilted to the left at the very end. He smiled, but he looked a little disappointed.

“You’ve stopped, ” the man had whispered then. He sounded like the new James Bond in the movies. “I suppose you win again. ”

Timothy sat paralyzed, unable to even breathe.

The man stood, his long fingers sliding off the pillowcase. They sounded really loud when he did that. “In a week then, Timothy, ” he said. He turned and faced the door, his head tilted to the side, and took a long step over the creaky part of the floor.

Timothy had instantly huddled into a ball, and he didn’t open his eyes until his dad came to wake him for school. He'd slept poorly all week, curled against the wall on the far side of the bed, trying to get to sleep, but trying hard to stay awake too. He didn’t say anything to his dad about what he’d seen either. The big guy was tough and smart (and muscled like the old Action Bill toys he used to have), but he’d only say Timothy was having nightmares or making it all up. It’s just what parents did. Even when his dad came to check on him at night, creaking the door open as quietly as he could, Timothy pretended to be asleep. He was practicing for when the thin man showed up again. He tried to fool his dad so maybe it would fool the other man too.

Now the week was over, and the floorboards were squeaking again. The thin man was back. Timothy felt himself shaking, but he couldn’t stop. He had to go to the bathroom. He wanted to cry. He could feel something, like an old wind blowing out of his mouth from all the way down in his stomach. It sounded like a noise dogs or rabbits make when they’re hurt, and he couldn’t stop it. It kept getting louder, and it wouldn't stop. He heard joints popping quietly as the thin man knelt down by the bed. He heard the pillowcase rustling, and he knew that long pale fingers were reaching for him. Sliding along his pillow. The rabbit sound kept coming out of his mouth, and he felt even more tears lining up on his nose and falling one by one.

“God, Tim, what’s the matter? ” his dad said as he jerked the door open across the room. Timothy sat up and cut the sound off. Had it been that loud? Had his dad heard it all the way in his room? “Tim, are you okay? Tim? ”

His dad flicked the light on, and Timothy could see red through his tight eyelids. Finally, dad was here. He’d do something about the thin man. He’d call the police. He’d beat him up. Some—... Why wasn’t he doing it already?

“Timothy, I know you’re awake, ” his dad said in a tired, I’m-getting-angry voice. “Look over here and tell me what's the matter. Are you having another nightmare? ”

A nightmare, Timothy thought. That had to be it. The same one, maybe, but now his dad was here to get him back to sleep. Maybe he’d even share his big, waterbed for the night. Timothy relaxed his cramping, wiry muscles and rolled over very slowly to ask.

When he opened his eyes, the thin man was still kneeling ri^it in front of him, holding a long, spindly finger in front of his lips.

“What, Tim? ” his dad said, still standing on the opposite side of the room in his pajamas. “It’s okay, boy; you’re awake now. ” He took another step into the room, not looking at the thin man at all.

Timothy couldn’t breathe. The thin man didn’t turn around or say anything. He put one cold, dry hand on Timothy’s leg beneath the covers and kept the other finger across his gray-white lips, warning Timothy to remain silent. Timothy’s leg jerked at the thin man’s touch, and his dad took another step into the room. As tall as he was, the three steps put his dad right next to the thin man at the side of the bed. Neither one looked at the other.

“Dad, ” Timothy breathed, hardly able to make any noise at all. “Dad, somebody... my leg... ”

Each word took a separate breath, and Timothy thought he might suffocate trying to speak. Worse, the thin man had started frowning. The expression made deep black lines on his face. Timothy was moving. He was making noise. The thin man would apparently move only when Timothy did. That’s why he’d said that Timothy won last time. The thin man’s eyes narrowed, and the lines on his forehead got so deep and dark that they looked drawn on.

“Tim, what is it? ” his dad said, kneeling down next to the thin man. “You can tell me. Really. I know your mother is usually the one who did this before, but I want you to be able to talk to me too. Especially now that we’re—”

The thin man’s eyes cut to the right, and he started turning his head toward Timothy’s dad. Now his dad was moving. Now his dad was making noise.

“Dad, stop, " Timothy said suddenly, startling the big guy. “Don’t say anything else. ” The tears were still coming.

"What? ” his dad said, sitting back like Timothy had tried to bite him. “Why can’t I—”

“Please, ” Timothy said desperately. “Don’t talk any more, Dad. Please. ”

“Tim, I know this is hard, ” his dad said, looking puzzled and hurt at the same time, “but it’s okay to talk to me. I’m just trying to help you. ”

The thin man glanced back at Timothy for a second, and then put his free hand (the one in front of his mouth) on the leg of Timothy’s dad. The big guy jumped, said one of those words and half fell over on the floor.

“Who the hell are you I" he demanded, getting his hands under him again. “How did you get in my son’s room? ” “Hush, ” the thin man said, still scowling, still keeping a hand on Timothy. “Stand up and keep quiet. ”

Timothy’s dad blinked heavily, as if he might be going back to sleep, and then stood up. He still looked puzzled and a little hurt, but the anger was already gone.

“Your son doesn’t love you any more, ” the thin man said calmly as he stood up too. He put a hand on the shoulder of Timothy’s dad and turned him toward the door back into the hallway. They two began to walk toward that door. “You have been a terrible father. You were a worse husband. Why do you think your wife left you? ”

“Dad, ” Timothy called, too shocked to realize he was speaking aloud. “Dad! ”

His dad turned back toward the bed briefly, but the thin man kept pulling him along. When the two of them reached the hallway, the thin man pulled the door shut behind them. Right before it closed, Timothy heard the thin man say, “How can you stand what you’ve done to your family? How can you live with yourself, Mister Barnes? ” Shocked (or in shock), Timothy lay where he was, feeling the heat return to the spot on his leg where the thin man had touched him. Where was his dad? What was the thin man doing to him? Why couldn't he hear anything? Minutes later, the door opened again and Timothy sat up straight. “Dad? ”

“If you wish, ” the James Bond voice said. “But not tonight. Get dressed and come find me downstairs. ”

Timothy’s jaw locked in the spot right next to his ears. He had to throw up.

“Where’s my dad? ” he whispered.

“Do as I told you, ” the thin man said. “Now. ”

Timothy didn’t want to obey. He wanted to run into his dad’s room. But even that little defiant part of him was too scared. He didn’t want to know what he would see if he did go into his dad’s room right now. Instead, he found himself putting on tomorrow’s school clothes and tying his shoes. He watched his body doing these things, knowing that he didn’t want to do them, but he couldn’t stop. He grabbed up his black and green Outdoorsman backpack by rote and moved silently out into the hallway. The thin man motioned to him from the far end by the kitchen door. His dad’s room lay at the other end, right next to where he was standing. The door was closed, but he could hear sounds inside even with the door closed. He heard mostly scratching, as if his dad was writing a long letter very quickly.

“Come along, Timothy, " the thin man said. “I won’t ask you again. ”

As surely as if the thin man were pulling on the hall carpet, Timothy turned away from his dad’s door.

Kyle Williams leaned back against the chain-link fence and let it hold him like an old hammock as he waited for Laura and Jason to come meet him. He had a story for them and introductions to make. It was what Lionel wanted;

Lionel always got what he wanted. But while he relaxed, wishing he could see stars to count through the night's thick coat of clouds, Kyle leaned there pretending that he’d set this whole thing up. He let himself think he was in control. He relaxed against the sagging, rusted fence, staring up between the squat factory buildings and wondered when the last time was that that had actually been the case.

A sharp bop on the stomach brought him around, and he got back to his feet, making the fence groan in protest. Jason Parks, his old high school buddy and a commensurate asshole, danced out of his reach and pretended to hide behind his younger sister, Laura.

“Catch you sleeping? ” Jason said over the girl’s shoulder. “Ass. ”

“How’s it been, Kyle? ” Laura asked, giving her brother a mostly playful nudge in the ribs. “We haven’t seen you around the shop lately. Did you get a new job or something? ” Kyle took a moment to answer. Laura was two years younger than he was and a little puffy around the cheeks, but she was curvy where it counted. She wasn’t anything like the girls who hung around Lionel all the time. “Y-yeah, ” he said at last. “Something like that. ” “Yeah, Kegels here’s too good for the honest, hard-work -ing hardware-selling crowd, ” Jason said, jogging Kyle on the shoulder. Kyle didn’t flinch.

“Honest and hard working? ” he said instead, leaning stiffly back against the fence. “I wouldn’t know. I never met any. ” “Hey, ” Jason said in mock pain, “I earn my five-twenty-five an hour, thank you. ”

“As long as I do all the heavy lifting, ” Laura chimed in, leaning against the fence as well, so Kyle stood between her and Jason.

“My own sister, ladies and gentlemen, ” Jason said, looking up into the sky and holding his arms out.

Laura rolled her eyes, and Kyle held her gaze for a moment when she looked back at him. Her pupils dilated a bit like she didn’t know if she should expect a kiss or bad news.

Kyle didn’t know either. With their gazes locked, it was certainly nice to let his imagination go. It didn’t have to be bad news. He’d only invited them out here because—

“So what’s so important? ” Jason said, thumping Kyle in the center of the back. “What’d you want us to hop a bus and go all the way across town ‘right after work’ in such a hurry for? ” Laura jumped, looking at her brother, and the moment between she and Kyle crashed like glass. He’d actually been leaning closer to kiss her. From the strained tone in Jason’s voice, it was possible he’d figured as much. Kyle rolled back against the fence again, bending it back under his weight. The buttons on his jacket dinged and jangled harshly against the rusty links.

“I’ve got somebody I want you to meet, ” Kyle said, looking out at the sky between the two buildings across the street. “Somebody who wants to meet you. ” He looked over at Laura subtly. “I’ve told him a lot about you. ”

“You trying to fix us up or something? ” Jason smirked. “I can get my own dates, Kegels. ”

“Like you can find ’em, ” Laura said quietly. Her flush from the chill in the air deepened just enough to where Kyle could see it in the dim streetlight.

“What? ”

“I’m not trying to fix you up, wiseass, ” Kyle said. “I want you guys to meet the guy I work for now. I think you’d like him. And I’ve told him a lot about you. Both of you. Did I say that already? ”

“Yeah, ” Jason said. He rubbed a hand over his tight, brown crewcut, warming his scalp. “So who is this guy? Sounds like a drug dealer or something. ”

“I beg your pardon, ” Kyle snapped. Nobody talked that way about Lionel.

“Well, you won’t tell us where you work, you’re gone three nights a week, you’re more tense than I’ve ever seen you, and you’re wearing a new jacket that looks pretty expensive, ” Jason said, counting the points off on his fingers. “You selling crack on the side, Kegels? if so, you should come back to the hardware store. Much better market over there in that neighborhood. ”

Laura’s eyes tried to hide a slightly disappointed look, and Kyle stepped up in Jason’s face.

“I’m not into drugs, asshole, ” he said. “And I hate it when you call me Kegels. ”

Despite being taller and having many years of teasing experience on his friend, Jason flinched back a step before recovering his standard mien. “Whoa there, Trigger, " he said, putting on a smile that didn’t quirk up quite as high as it should have. “Just poking at you. ”

Kyle relaxed slowly and backed down.

“So what’s this guy do? ” Laura asked, breaking up the knot of tension in the air. “What’s his name? ”

“It’s Lionel, ” Kyle said, standing in front of Laura and Jason. “He’s actually into recording. Music and stuff like that. He goes around some of the clubs in the Great Lakes area scouting local bands. If they’re any good, he makes them an offer with a label in New York. He tells me he’s going into Detroit for a while to do some scouting there soon. He’s a great guy. ”

“That’s a big if, ” Jason said. “Great guy or not, you’ve got to be pretty damn generous to give some of the garage bands around here a shot. Especially in New York. Saginaw, Michigan isn’t exactly Seattle. Hell, it isn’t even on a level with Athens these days. ”

“Kid Rock’s from Michigan, ” Laura said. “I think KISS is Coo. ” “Yep, ” Kyle answered.

“KISS?” Jason asked. “I didn’t know that. ”

“That’s why this Lionel works for a record company and you lug Dad’s nuts at the store. ”

“Indeed it is, my dear, ” a clear, loud voice said from just behind Kyle. The three turned, and the tension drained from Kyle’s shoulders instantly. Lionel had arrived.

“Guys, ” Kyle said, holding out a hand to the older man like a game show hostess, “this is Lionel Braughton. He works with—’’

“Charmed, ” Lionel said, stepping past Kyle and extending a hand to Laura smoothly. “You must be Laura Parks. ” He kissed the hand she offered and looked into her eyes.

Laura froze. She'd never seen a man so handsome. His hair was thick but not overlong, waving in the light breeze in a way that wasn’t quite messed up but still wasn’t annoyingly immaculate. His skin was flawless, and his dark blue eyes sparkled with some hidden amusement. His kiss even felt strong through the light fabric of her gloves.

“Jason’s sister, ” Kyle said. “This is Jason here. ”

Lionel looked over his shoulder at Kyle a moment, grinning thinly at Kyle’s reaction. He extended a pale hand toward Jason.

“Nice to meet you, Jason, ” Lionel said, taking Jason’s hand firmly in his. Dressed in slacks, expensive shoes, a finely tailored wool greatcoat and a silk scarf, Lionel stood in perfect contrast to tall, lanky Jason who always seemed to buy clothes just one season out of style.

“Yeah, ” Jason said. He stood with his arm completely extended, keeping one foot back, like he was trying to keep Lionel as far away as possible. Kyle remembered feeling that way himself when he’d first met the man. He didn’t remember what it had actually felt like, but he remembered the sensation academically.

“So has Kyle let you both in on the plan for the evening? ” Lionel said, turning back to look down into Laura’s eyes. Laura’s breath quickened a bit, and Kyle felt the same knot in his stomach that he’d been feeling all night. He’d been afraid Lionel would pick Laura over Jason.

“Nah, what’s that? ” Jason said, taking as step closer to Kyle, so the two of them were facing Lionel’s back together. He stood up a little straighter, given confidence by being closer to his friend than the stranger. “Kyle just said you wanted to meet us. ” Lionel turned halfway back around at that, keeping most of his body toward Laura. “Just one of you, ” he said. “Why don’t you go home, Jason? l’m taking Kyle and your sister with me to some of the local music clubs. I’ll bet it doesn’t sound like much fun. That and I can only get two extra people in under my company’s expenses. ”

“It doesn’t sound like much fun at all, really, " Jason said thickly. “Especially if I have to pay my own way. ”

“I could spot you, ” Kyle said, gripping Jason’s arm sharply just above the elbow. Jason winced and looked at Kyle. “At least for a few places. "

Lionel coughed quietly, and Kyle darted a look at him. The faint line between the man's eyebrows had started to tighten up a bit — a sign that Lionel was displeased. Kyle let go of Jason’s arm.

“Go ahead and catch a bus, Jason, ” Lionel purred. “I’ll have Kyle and your sister back at a reasonable hour, or my name’s not Lionel Braughton. ”

“Sure, ” Jason said, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging. “I’ll catch you guys later. ”

“Bye, Jason, ” Laura said softly behind Lionel.

It seemed so obvious to Kyle when Lionel was manipulating people, that he wondered how the people in question didn’t notice it. Were they just blind? He wanted to grab Jason by the back of his windbreaker and say, “Are you really going to leave your sister alone with a total stranger? ” but he couldn’t. Lionel wouldn’t have been very happy with him if he did that. It was one thing to disagree with Lionel, he’d learned; it was something entirely different to show it in front of people Lionel had just met.

“Yeah, take care, guys, ” Jason said again as he walked away. “Keep an eye on Laura. No dings or scratches, and fill her tank before you bring her back. ”

“Very funny, ” Laura said distractedly. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Lionel since he’d arrived.

In a few steps, Jason was out of sight around a comer, and Lionel offered Laura his elbow. Laura put her hand through the space and leaned in closer than Kyle thought she should. “Come along, Kyle, ” Lionel said. “Keep your eyes open. ” Kyle followed obediently along behind Lionel and Laura in the opposite direction from which Jason had left. Laura hung from Lionel’s arm like a homy tramp in a movie, and Kyle jammed his hands into his jacket’s pockets. Why did Lionel have to pick her? Laura was bigger than the girls Lionel usually liked. He never really seemed to like anybody but skinny girls. Jason was skinnier than Laura, and Jason was an asshole. Why didn’t Lionel pick him? He could obviously tell how much Kyle liked Laura and didn't like Jason; it was as if Lionel was doing it on purpose.

“—just around this comer and through this pass, ” Lionel was saying to Laura ahead. He stopped at the mouth of a narrow alley and turned to Kyle. “Isn’t it this way? ” Kyle blinked, almost forgetting his part — the routine he and Lionel had gone over time and again. “I think it’s this way, ” he said woodenly, pointing along the sidewalk a way farther. The stench of garbage and waste drifted up from the alley, but it was empty of vagrants.

“Hmm... ” Lionel said, sounding genuinely confused, just as he always did. “I don’t think so. Laura? ”

“Whichever, ” Laura said, staring breathlessly into Lionel’s eyes.

She’s more of a sucker than her brother, Kyle thought. “Good, ” Lionel said. He tipped Laura a wink casually and said, “We'll try this way. You can go ahead around the other side of the building if you want, Kyle. ”

“It’s this way, I tell you, ” Kyle said, barely making the line believable. He walked away from the alley and watted for the sound of Lionel and Laura’s footsteps to enter the alley. When they had moved off, he came back to the corner and leaned against it trying to look casual. He scanned the sidewalk up and down on both sides of the street, but nobody was out in this part of town after dark. Lionel could get on with his business in peace. Kyle kept his eyes open.

Not long after, Kyle heard Lionel’s footsteps scuttle to the side of the alley and a sound like the two strollers thumping against the wall. Kyle waited for the shocked scream — there was usually one at this point, even if it was short — but Laura didn’t scream. In fact, he heard what sounded like mumbled laughter. Both Lionel’s and Laura’s. It sounded like they were making out in there. That was a new one. A kiss, a nibble on the ear, a caress on the neck...

Kyle shook his head and balled his fists. This was Laura he was talking about. He’d known her since junior high. She had better judgment than to kiss some guy she’d just met. Except that that guy was Lionel, and the two of them were both more interested in each other than either one was in Kyle. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, and he crushed his hands into even tighter knots in his pockets. Someone could have walked up right then, and he didn’t know if he would even give the warning signal or not.

At the next set of sounds, Kyle almost turned around, despite all of Lionel’s warnings not to do so unless it was really important. Laura sounded like she was moaning. Not in fear—he’d heard others make that sound, and this wasn’t it. She sounded like she was enjoying herself. And she wasn’t moaning in one long breath either, it was rhythmic... animal. What the hell was Lionel doing in there? He wasn’t supposed to even be able to do anything like that. Kyle edged closer to the mouth of the alley.

The sounds within got louder and faster quickly, and Kyle ripped the seam of one of his jacket pockets. Lionel wouldn’t do this to him; he’d told the man how he felt for Laura. Lionel was nicer to him and treated him better than anybody else, but how could he be doing what it sounded like he was doing? He never did this with any of the others. He just took what he needed and left them alone. But Laura was only a virgin — an 18-year-old one on top of that. And they’d just met. Lionel couldn’t do this. Not with somebody Kyle felt this way about.

Without thinking about it, Kyle slammed his fist into the bricks behind him and clenched his eyes shut. It wasn’t fair.

At the sound, the noises in the alley stopped, and a thick dribble of plaster and dust drifted down from the shallow crater his hand had made in the wall. Kyle rubbed his uninjured hand and looked around to see if anyone had noticed the noise. When he completed his scan, Lionel stood beside him. Kyle hadn’t even heard him approach.

“What’s the trouble? ” the man said quietly, his eyes darting from shadow to dark doorway to boarded window. “Did you hear something? ”

Lionel’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open just slightly. His nostrils flared, and his skin looked more flushed than usual. His expression was one of an excited man who should be breathing very fast, except that no white puffs floated away into the chill air. After a moment, his excitement faded as well. Only the ruddy flush remained.

“I didn’t hear anything, ” Kyle said, trying to shrink into the coat Lionel had bought for him and disappear. He couldn’t believe he’d disturbed Lionel. “I’m sorry. I—” Lionel glared for a second, his pupils focusing down to laser points, and then laughed out loud. The abrupt change jarred Kyle, and he looked around nervously. Nobody responded to that sound either.

“It happens, boy, ” the man said, wiping a drying fleck away from his lips with a manicured nail. “Once. It doesn’t happen twice though. Understand? ”

“Yessir, ” Kyle said, nodding rapidly.

“Good. Now go on in there and look after your girl, ” Lionel said, nodding into the alley with liquid mirth in his cold eyes. “She should still be ready. ”

“What? ”

“For tonight’s lesson, " Lionel said, gesturing offhandedly. “The big dog eats first. Then the little dog gets what’s left. That’s the lesson. ”

“What do—” Kyle stammered. “I can’t— I’m not—” “Not like me, boy, ” Lionel said, rolling his eyes impatiently. “We’ve got different hungers, you and 1. I filled mine; you go fill yours. " With a curt shove, he propelled Kyle on down the alley a short distance.

Without a word, Kyle walked the last few steps and found Laura sitting against one wall of the alley. She smiled lazily at the sound of footsteps, but she didn’t open her eyes. Her blonde hair was mussed and the first few buttons of her blouse were open beneath her jacket, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Kyle squatted next to her and tilted her chin to the left; Lionel liked the right side of the neck. Aside from a few dark spots, however, he didn’t see any marks. Only the smooth curve of her neck. Kyle leaned in a little closer, convincing himself that he only wanted a closer look. When he still saw no marks, he glanced back down the alley. Lionel stood around the comer, only the edge of his coat visible from this angle. Kyle had Laura all to himself.

Glancing around nervously, he lifted the edge of her shirt, popping the last few buttons with a snap of his fingers. Laura shifted a bit, brushing against his shaking finger. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he couldn’t believe that he’d never thought of it either. Working for Lionel had made him a lot stronger, but he felt emotions much more strongly as well. Especially around Laura. She acted like she felt the same way about him most of the time too.

Except tonight when she’d met Lionel, of course. “Laura, wake up, ” he said, easing her onto her back on a small bed of discarded newspapers. He put her arms over her head and cradled both of her wrists with one hand. “Laura. ” Laura stirred a bit more and her eyes fluttered half open. She tried to focus and smiled sleepily up at him. “Lionel? ” she mumbled breathlessly. “That was great. What did you do to me? ’ Kyle felt his jaw clench into a hard line, and he tightened his grip around Laura’s wrists. Here he was trying to be gentle, to show her that he wasn’t going to abuse her like Lionel had, and she actually had to gall to like it? She liked being taken advantage of?

“Ow, Lionel, ” Laura moaned, growing a bit more coherent. “My hands. ”

Kyle closed his hand a little tighter and put his face right in front of Laura’s. “I don’t care, ” he said through clenched teeth, white wisps of breath huffing into her face like steam from a furnace, “l’m not Lionel. "

Laura’s eyes opened wide momentarily, and Kyle pressed his mouth roughly over hers to stifle any further sound. When she tried to move, he forced her legs apart with his knees and started to move his free hand.

Somewhere behind him, he heard footsteps and quiet laughter moving toward him down the alley. It was Lionel’s voice, so he didn’t stop what he was doing. Lionel would watch him for a change. The big dog had already eaten; it was the little dog’s turn now. Frankly, Kyle didn’t much care as long as Lionel didn’t try to stop him.

Which Lionel didn’t.

***

Father George Stinson slid the confessional’s wooden partition aside and regarded the silhouette cast on the thin lattice screen. He didn’t usually take confession so late at night, but he’d just received an urgent phone call begging his assistance.

“Help me, Father, ” the person in the adjoining booth said after a moment’s hesitation. “I have sinned. ”

Father Stinson didn’t recognize the voice any better now that he heard it in person, but he could place the accent a little more easily. It had the back-of-the-mouth, nasal quality particular to Boston. The man sounded a little like a Kennedy.

“How long has it been since your last confession? ” he asked, trying to keep a long yawn out of his voice.

“About two weeks, ” the man said. “I was here then for the same sin, Father. ”

“Are you one of my parishioners? ” Stinson asked in undisguised suspicion. He knew this person wasn’t actually one of the Kennedy’s, but he would have remembered someone who sounded so much like one of them.

“You’re not supposed to ask. Father, ” the man said politely. Father Stinson rubbed his eyes. “I apologize, my son. The hour steals my tact. I don’t recognize your voice. ”

“It’s all right, Father, ” the voice said with a hint of wry amusement. He leaned closer to the screen, tightening his silhouette down. “You never do. ”

After a pause, Stinson decided to leave that cryptic statement be. “What did you need to speak to me about, my son? ” “I came here, ” the man said, “because I’ve done it again. And you’re the only one who makes me feel better. ”

“Go on. ”

Neither man said anything for a moment.

“What did you do, again? ” Stinson said a bit gruffly.

“You don’t—” the man began angrily. “No, of course. Forgive me again. I’m an idiot. ”

“You’re no idiot, son, " Stinson said. “Take it slowly. And from the beginning. Take as much time as you need. ” The man in the other side of the booth put a hand against the screen and leaned his head on it, bowing the thin lattice toward the priest.

“I couldn’t control myself again, Father, ” he sighed disappointedly. “I couldn’t stop myself. ”

“Couldn’t stop yourself from doing what? ” Stinson asked, leaning forward. “What did you dor “Remember, this doesn’t leave this booth, ” the man said, still leaning on the lattice.

“The act of Confession is sacred, my son, ” Stinson assured him. “Not even the courts can touch it. Go on. ” The confessor snorted derisively at the mention of the legal system, but he still sounded relieved.

“It’s supposed to be so easy for us, Father, ” he said several moments later. “But I just can’t do it. ”

“Yes... ”

“The ones we take are supposed to like what we do to them, right? ”

Father Stinson knew what the man was driving at, but he wanted to hear the man say so aloud. It would make his actual confession easier.

“What do you mean? ” he said, leaning forward even more. “What are you referring to? ”

“You know, Father, ” the man replied, irritated. “Well, maybe not, but I don’t have to say it for you to get the picture. ” The man sat back against the back of the booth, removing his silhouette from the screen.

“Tell me everything, my son, " Stinson urged.

“Yeah, all right, ” the man said, sighing again. “Sorry. Yeah, anyhow, regardless of what I just said, people don’t like it when I... ”

“When you do what, son? ”

“When I do what I have to do, ” the man said haltingly. “You know. "

“I think I understand, ” Stinson said. He had moved so that his face hovered only a few inches from the screen.

“Yeah, ” the man said. “Well, I don’t know if l’m not doing something right, or what, because people can’t really handle it when I do it. ”

“What do you mean? ” Stinson asked. His voice seemed a little thick to him, so he crossed himself and promised to say a few quick Hail Marys once this visitor had left.

“They squirm, ” the man said, his voice shaking. “None of them hold still. They don’t even close their eyes. Some of them even scream and try to push me away. One got a fingernail in my eye once; I couldn’t see right for a week. ” “I see, ” Stinson said, growing uncomfortable but unwilling to cut the confession short.

“The others all say it’s so easy, Father, but it isn’t. They say their people like it. Their people get really still, even try to pull them in tighter. I’ve watched them sometimes, and they’re not doing anything different than I do. Why do I have such a hard time? "

“You said it happened again? ” Father Stinson said after the speaker’s pause dragged out. It was all he could think of.

“Yeah, ” the man said, gaining a second wind. “I tried it again last night. It’d been so long since the last time that I couldn't wait any more. I felt like I was going to go crazy. I wait longer every time, but it gets worse the longer I wait. ” “I understand. Of all people, I do. ”

“You don’t understand shit, Father, ” the man snapped. He cursed again, this time to himself, and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Go on, son, ” Stinson said. “It’s all right. ”

“Yeah well, it happened again last night, like I said. I was walking trying to clear my head when I saw this whore out in front of this book shop near where I live. I live out in Lansing. We have a lot of whores there for some reason. At least downtown. I don’t even know why. I guess it’s because there’s nothing else to do out there. ”

“Perhaps, son, ” Stinson said. He couldn’t help but wonder why this man had driven all the way into Iron Rapids if he had committed his sin in a different city.

“So I saw her, and I walked up before I even knew what I was thinking. I walked up right behind her and put my nose in the curly hair she had combed over her neck. I sniffed her like a dog, I was buzzing so hard. ”

"You were intoxicated? ”

“No man, just buzzing. Hungry, you know? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out. I think it was two weeks, but I’m not sure. Definitely more than one. ”

“I see. So what happened? ” Stinson noticed with some shame that his breath had quickened. He added a few Our Fathers to the Hail Marys he already had coming.

“Well, I put a hand on her shoulder, and she whipped around all fast, ’cause I’d startled her. I thought she was going to hit me at first, or pepper-gas me or something. Luckily it was dark, and she couldn’t see my expression too well. ”

“I would think someone like—”

“So without letting go of her, I gave her some fake name and told her to come with me. She nodded okay, like they always do — like whores — but really, I don’t know how I even got two coherent sentences out. I was hurting so bad. I just stuffed a wad of bills in her hand from out of my pocket — didn’t even count ’em — and pulled her through this alley to a set-back doorway on a back street. ”

“I see, ” Stinson said. His breathing had increased to match the pace of the speaker’s words, but neither one of them noticed. “What happened, Elliot? ”

“The same thing that always happens, Father, ” the speaker said, slapping the inside of the booth with a sharp bang. “I started to take her, but she didn’t hold still. First, she started trying to nudge my mouth away with her chin, and then she started trying to scrunch her neck up so I couldn’t get at it. Then she started trying to push me away with her hands. She was wearing this plastic red jacket, so I held on to that and pushed her against the wall of the recess we were in. She even started trying to kick me in the back of the knee with one of her high heels.

“When she did that, her other heel broke, and both of us ended up half in, half out of the little doorway. I landed on top of her. After that, she lay there for a second with her eyes really wide open. ”

A long pause ticked by until Father Stinson said, ‘Then what? " “Well, ” the man said, gathering steam again, “I grabbed her up by the coat and took her over back into the darkness again, first of all. When I did, she made this little bat-shriek noise and started taking these short breaths. Her skin was getting gray too; I think she hit the edge of one of the steps when we fell. And her knees kept wobbling. She couldn’t stand up. She did something to her back. ”

Stinson knew where this was going, but the man had to say it in his own words. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a real confession. “So what did you do? "

“What do you think I did? ” the man snapped. “It’d been a week — maybe two. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to have it right then and right there. I just held her there up against the wall and took her. Even then, the bitch kept trying to fight me. She tried to hit me. She pulled out some of my hair. She kept whining and moaning as if somebody was killing her. She wouldn’t shut up, so finally, I just rammed my crotch into hers so hard that it slammed her back up against the concrete. She passed out after that. ” “And you... ”

“I didn’t stop, if that’s what you’re asking, Father, ” the man said. He sounded amused at that part. “Not until I was done and the buzzing went away. ”

“What happened to the girl? "  Stinson asked. He noticed that his hand was shaking, and he clamped it around his rosary.

“I left her, ” the man said, his voice turning suddenly unsteady. “I left her there in the doorway still holding all that money. Her eyes were open, but they’d rolled back. She was still muttering something, but I didn’t stay around to listen. ” The excitement started washing away, and the man put his hand against his side of the screen. “I took off and I hid. Then tonight, I called you. I had to talk to you, Father. You’re the only one who helps me with this. ”

Stinson ignored that last and said, “What exactly did you want to tell me, son? ”

“When I was standing there, right before I ran away, I realized something, ” the man said. His voice rasped, drained of all emotion. “I realized I was blaming the girl for what was going wrong with me. And I blame the others for telling me how easy this is supposed to be. For lying about it. ” “What else, son? ”

"Well, mainly, I felt — feel — envious of them. This comes so easily to them, but I can’t do it right. I’ve never been able to. Worst, I feel like it’s everybody else’s problem but mine. ” The man paused for a long time. “It’s like I can’t believe that I could possibly have problems. It’s got to be someone else’s fault. It can’t have anything to do with me. ” “Go on. ”

“Sorry, Father, ” the man said at last. “It’s hard to admit the sin of pride sometimes, even when it’s right there in your face. But it makes me angry, and when my anger gets the best of me, I can’t even think. Let alone confess properly. ” “Pride? ” Stinson asked.

The dent in the lattice screen vanished again, and the man said, “Of course. That’s what I always confess about when I come here. That and envy. ”

Stinson’s mouth worked, searching for words.

“What did you think I was here for? ” the man asked. “Cause you’re such a fucking great conversationalist? ” "Calm down, son, ” Father Stinson said shakily. “Let’s just keep talking. ”

“Keep talking? ” the man said, his voice taking on a tone that made Father Stinson cringe unconsciously. “What else do we have to talk about? What fucking else? This is where you forgive me, damn it! ”

“I don’t understand your anger, son, ” Stinson said, shrinking back against the far wall of the booth. The man’s voice no longer sounded entirely cultured and Bostonian.

The Father heard a distinctly deeper and feral tone overlapping the original sound.

“You said my fucking name, ” the man said, standing up in the booth and leaning against the adjoining wall. “I thought I’d made you forget, but you said my fucking name. You telling me you don’t remember the rest? The rest is the good stuff, remember!? I know how much you like to hear the good stuff. ”

Stinson tried to shrink farther away from the enraged voice, but something the insane man was shouting caught his attention. He’d called the man Elliot. How did he know that name? He’d never heard the voice (or such a story) before. The name had just come out of his mouth unbidden.

“Is that what you’re saying? ” the voice bellowed. The man slammed his hands against the adjoining wall twice, hard enough to shake the entire confessional booth. “Answer me! "

“I— I thought you’d come here to confess about your sexual dysfunction, ” Stinson stammered. “About your deviant behavior..

“M} what!? "

Stinson froze, and the man in the booth hit the wall again. The lattice screen jiggled loose of its frame and slid halfway down before catching a comer. Stinson thought for a second that the man would knock the screen the rest of the way out and reach through the window for him. He stared at the triangle-shaped gap at the top of the window, transfixed like a bird before a snake. He couldn’t even lift his hands to try to close the flimsy wooden partition.

With a jerk, the man in the confessional moved, and Stinson could see his eyes clearly above the displaced screen. They were a dark green, shot through with bright veins of red, and they strained open, showing white all the way around the outside. Stinson crossed himself without even thinking about it. The eyes bulged, burning with an intensity Stinson had never seen or felt in all his life. But some incongruity about the eyes plagued him. It took the priest a moment to realize that the eyes weren’t moving up and down at all. People this excited usually breathed faster or panted, and that made their eyes bob in rhythm. This man’s eyes weren’t doing that.

“Look here, Father, ” the man said, pulling the screen down from where it hung. “I’m sorry. Now listen to me. ” The man’s face was clean-shaven and small, but still attractive. His hair was slicked back in a pony tail, which made his ears stick out. His lips were thin; his mediumsized nose was straight. Except for his eyes. Those didn’t change, even when his voice calmed back down.

“Listen carefully, Father Stinson, ” the man said, leaning into the booth with him. “Don’t say anything. I was wrong to come here so soon after the last time. It just brings it all back up when I do that. I shouldn’t do that to you. Just forget about this, okay? Forget I called you. Forget I came by. ”

“I can’t do that, my son, ” Stinson said, still cowering. His voice cracked over the last words. “You n-need help. I can talk to counselors, psychologists. I’ll see who—”

“I said forget it, Father, " the man said, leaning farther into booth. His head loomed only a foot away from Stinson’s face. His eyes still glowed deep green, although the angry red lines were beginning to fade. “I was being an idiot. You can’t help me- This isn’t really your problem anyway. You need to go back to bed and forget that any of this happened, from the time I first called you tonight. You understand? ”

“Yes, ” Stinson said, slumping against the side of the booth like an empty bag. His eyes closed heavily, just as the man leaned back and started trying to right the lattice screen.

Scene One 

Michael Luther sat quietly in Prince Marion Adrock’s Elysium in Iron Rapids, Michigan, looking around at the others of his kind who had gathered there. Some stood on the fringes, staying near the outer wall so they could see everyone within the circular room. Others were more casual in their paranoia, reclining on one of the many couches or piles of cushions. The seated ones peered around only occasionally. Michael noticed, however, that they never chose seats behind which any of the former were standing. It would have been funny if the very thought had not brought on an undeniable urge to glance behind himself as well. He’d chosen the seat facing away from the outer door, and something scared and feral inside him mewled at him to make sure that no one was sneaking up on him. Michael forced a deep, empty breath in and back out, trying to clear his head.

Instead of turning, he kept his gaze focused on the brass and mahogany door opposite him. The door led deeper into the building, and it would be through that portal that Prince Adrock himself entered. Doubtless, the prince’s gaze would take in each of the assembled Kindred in the room, but he would see Michael first. Michael smiled slightly to himself and kept looking around, steadfastly ignoring the outer door behind him.

Few Kindred in the room had engaged in conversation, and those who did kept their words innocuous. The most notable exception was a young-looking woman named Clare who sat beside one of the three black porcelain incense braziers that dominated the room’s decor. At the moment, Clare sat alone, speaking aloud to no one. After each sentence, she leaned over the brazier and sniffed deeply. Michael watched her childish indulgence and listened to her with half of his attention.

“This one’s sandalwood, Jeremey, ” she said, sounding delighted and sad by turns. “Masculine. The other is jasmine, and the third is lilac. Essence of lilac. You’d like this one best. Sandalwood can be very relaxing. ”

Michael kept listening to the woman, watching to see how any of the other Kindred in the room reacted to her.

Most tried disdainfully to ignore her, but one or two glanced from her to the ornate incense burners.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that, ” one of the younger Kindred mumbled from his chair against the wall. Michael couldn’t remember his name, but he knew his face well enough. The social butterfly’s skin had long ago become desiccated and ashen, pulling against his skull like a victim of starvation. As he talked, he ran his hand across the top of his bald, scabrous head, and Michael could see that the ring and pinkie finger had fused together as one gnarled mass. Michael didn’t particularly care what the disgusting creature called itself. “It’s bad enough she don’t shut up. ”

Michael minded Clare’s distraction much less than the affront of having to look at the lout’s face, but he refrained from speaking up. The last thing he needed was to be drawn into an argument with the ugly, uncouth thing. The act would tell everyone that the speaker was not, in fact, beneath him. Instead, he went on listening to Clare.

“Be well, Jeremey, ” she said. “Be well and return before the sandalwood is gone. You’d like it, I think. ”

A pang of sympathy erased Michael’s bemused expression, and he found himself staring at Clare. Her sponsor, Jeremey, had been gone for more than a month along with the rest of his coterie, and all communication with the group had been severed for the past two weeks. The group had stolen into Sabbat-occupied Detroit to gather intelligence against the forces arrayed there, and no one expected the group to return whole. The four vampires had gone to the city with an older escort who had plenty of experience operating undetected in hostile territory, but even he had expressed his belief that they would not be able to operate completely undetected. Clare's anxiety over her sponsor’s safe return was certainly well founded.

Michael understood the feeling as well; his own childe had accompanied the group. Clare had spoken to him on the subject once since the coterie had left, and he had found her intelligent, understanding and thoughtful. He had meant to continue their conversation at some point later, but the opportunity had not come up again.

According to rumor, however, the prince now had some news of the coterie’s progress, and he had called his domain’s denizens together in Iron Rapids to divulge that news. Regrettably, no one in the room chose to speculate on the matter, so Michael could not tell how likely a possibility it was that the rumor was true. He counted himself lucky on that front, however. As long as he didn’t hear anyone speculating about the coterie, he didn't have to speculate about his childe’s safety. He didn’t have to question the good judgment he had completely abandoned when he had sent Darien off with Jeremey Talbot. Darien had begged Michael to allow him to go, arguing that until he distinguished himself as an individual, he would always be nothing more than the childe of the childe of the prince's seneschal. Unable to deny his childe anything, Michael had eventually given in, trusting in the other members of the coterie to keep Darien safe.

Yet, as time had dragged on without word, Michael had had to force himself more and more often not to think of Darien. He focused his energy and attention on the jewelry shop he operated for his own sire, churning out trinket after trinket in an effort to distract himself. When that failed to suffice, he wandered the streets of his hunting territory in the nearby city of Pontiac, canvassing pawnshops and second-hand jewelry retailers looking for pieces of jewelry he had created long ago. That activity served the double purpose of showing Michael what examples of his work were not perennially popular, while distracting him from his worry about Darien.

However, even his long solitary walks took up only the first hours of the night, after which he was on his own. He had devoted the rest of his time to social events such as this one. Unfortunately, his worry caught up to him even then, making his frequent trips to Elysium little more than exercises in futility. When not performing some function for his sire or making polite noncommittal conversation with the attending harpies, he found himself sitting alone, watching idly the auras that surrounded those who attended Elysium and wondering if Darien would be back soon.

As an hour passed thus in silent waiting, Michael began to take note of who had not yet arrived this evening. Of course, Prince Adrock was still absent, as was his seneschal, Calvin Bainbridge. Adrock’s childe, David Ellsworth, was missing as well, but he never came to Elysium on weeknights when there was business to attend to. Ellsworth practically ran both Iron Rapids’ and Flint’s automobile manufacturing industry, and concerns of that nature usually kept him far removed from the social dynamic of Adrock’s court. Adrock’s young grandchilde, Elliot, had gone with Jeremey's coterie.

Likely, the area’s token clanless resident, Lisa Noble, had not even been invited. Frankly, Michael had no idea why Adrock even tolerated the woman’s presence in his city or anywhere else in his domain. In all, however, none who were missing were vital to the governance of Michigan, nor were any of them important enough for their absence to be considered an insult. The prince’s harpies — Villanova, Byrd and Samuelson — would make a note of who was not present and advise the prince accordingly.

After another quarter of an hour, the interior door of the Elysium parlor finally opened, admitting the prince’s seneschal. Bainbridge, Michael’s sire, was dressed immaculately in a modem, dark-gray business suit, wearing silver-rimmed spectacles with flat lenses. He entered grandly, sweeping the assembled with a gaze that should have been welcoming, but which struck Michael as merely calculating. His gaze fell on Michael first, and Michael raised an eyebrow in a careful show of curiosity. A glimmer of bored disinterest tinged the shifting colors of the aura that surrounded Bainbridge, and he finished looking around the room. Michael resumed his neutral expression, repressing his annoyance at the dismissal in Bainbridge’s eyes.

“Assembled Kindred of Michigan, ” Bainbridge began, “I speak on behalf of our prince in his absence. He regrets that his duties detain him and make him unable to address you himself with such fortunate news. ”

Michael’s eyes flicked toward Villanova who murmured a quiet, “Hm. ” Sitting casually at opposing points of a rough triangle, Byrd and Samuelson glanced around the room critically. Some of the younger Kindred by the back door murmured at Bainbridge’s first announcement, prodded by Villanova’s intentional show of surprised interest. The other two harpies noted who took the bait and what they said, then turned their full attention back to Bainbridge. Michael couldn’t read anything in their auras on so quick an inspection, other than smugness and suspicion. Looking more closely at someone’s aura took a greater effort and ran a higher risk of being noticed, and he didn’t want the harpies prying into why he was looking at them thus.

“As you know, ” Bainbridge continued, ignoring the harpies, “our brave Kindred cousins residing in the eastern coastal states of this country have been hard pressed by the ravages of our rival sect. We have entered anew a state of war. ”

Michael didn’t roll his eyes or tap his fingers, as several of the other Kindred in the room did. Calvin had a knack for droning on when important information lurked. Michael wanted to know about Darien; he didn’t care about what was going on along the coast. However, he knew that if he indulged his growing anxiety, Bainbridge would never forgive the insult.

“In our effort to forestall the invasion of our own refuge and to capitalize on the situation for the good of our own sect, Jeremey Talbot volunteered to lead his coterie into occupied Detroit over two months ago. Under Prince Adrock’s supervision, the three Kindred of his coterie and my own grandchilde entered the city hoping to find some avenue of opportunity to move against our rivals. Early this week, my fellows, those Kindred returned home along with their guide, Christopher Flynne. While the news they bring is not ideal, they have escaped safely with valuable information in these dangerous times. Soon, Prince Adrock will engineer a grand advance into Detroit, placing that city at our disposal at long last. Jeremey Talbot’s coterie has brought that eventuality one step closer to becoming a reality. ”

Michael doubted that. The insane, vicious monsters of the Sabbat sect had occupied Detroit since before Michael had been embraced. Numerous attempts to gain a foothold in Detroit had met with only limited success in the past, despite the fact that vampires of Michael’s own sect occupied most of the rest of Michigan. This latest “grand advance” was likely just the next in a line of pointless forays against the Sabbat’s defenses. The only reason this one made a difference to Michael at all was the fact that his own childe had been a part of it.

“And I am pleased to announce that friend Talbot’s coterie is here this evening, fellow Kindred, " Bainbridge concluded. “Make them welcome to their homes. ”

No one clapped or made noise, even after the instant of surprise had worn off. Instead, everyone stood and moved forward to gather in a rough semicircle around Bainbridge. The silent reception had been a tradition in Michigan since Iron Rapids’ earliest nights, when secrecy had been upheld much more strictly. Luther could just barely make out the sound of the others’ footsteps on the carpet. Being one of the oldest Kindred present, Michael moved to the front of the group near Bainbridge and Laurence Maxwell, the city’s Kindred sheriff.

At the signal, the figures in the next room filed into the circular chamber one by one. Jeremey entered first, dressed in a plain white shirt and black slacks. He kept the collar buttoned, but he wore no tie. He swept his rather short brown hair back with a flick of his head and stepped in front of Bainbridge. The two Kindred laid a hand on each other’s chest as if feeling for a heartbeat. After standing a moment thus, Bainbridge welcomed him home with a nod and stepped aside. Jeremey greeted the closest Kindred the same way, solemnly, one by one. Some shrank from him visibly; others barely glanced at him before looking back toward the door. When Jeremey came around to him, Michael extended his hand as was customary. Jeremey did the same, but only after a moment’s hesitation.

“Hello, Michael, " the Englishman said in a tone just below a whisper, which caught the harpies’ attention immediately. Of the rest of the crowd, few others could have even heard the sound.

Michael nodded distractedly. He could have sworn Jeremey’s hand shook slightly before touching his chest, although less perceptive Kindred might not have noticed. Jeremey’s clipped accent revealed no clue as what he might be feeling, however, and his aura was the same swirling, unreadable mess that it had always been. Surprised by Jeremey’s familiarity, and curious about his odd behavior, Michael mouthed the words, “Welcome home, Jeremey. ” Before the moment could stretch on any longer, Jeremey moved on to greet the others. He did not stop at the tier of those Michael's age, as Michael would have. Rather, he greeted everyone in the room. The last he approached was Clare who took one look at his solemn, reserved face and threw her arms around him. Several watchers flinched at the sudden movement, but Jeremey retained his composure. He led her to one of the couches near the sandalwood incense burner and sat her down. She took a seat, and he remained standing with a hand on her shoulder.

Christopher Flynne came into the room next, walking to Bainbridge like only they two existed. Flynne had come to Michigan in response to a call Adrock had sent out. Consequently, Flynne had led Jeremey Talbot’s coterie into Detroit. Rumors had flown fast and thick since Flynne’s first appearance in Adrock’s domain, and the way many of the Kindred in the room shifted and looked at each other when he entered testified to that.

Flynne and Bainbridge repeated the silent greeting, and Michael looked Flynne over. He was roughly equal to Michael’s sire in real and apparent age, as rumor had it, and he seemed completely at ease at the center of attention. He loomed half a foot over Bainbridge, and his thick blonde hair was well kept enough to appear to be a wig. His shoulders were broad, his hips slim, and his build appeared as if modeled after a professional athlete. The only incongruity that spoiled his appearance was a dark blue eye patch over his left eye. The patch complemented his clothing adequately, but it threw off the symmetry of his face.

“Welcome back to our city, brother, ” Bainbridge mouthed, nodding up at Flynne. “Prince Adrock welcomes you to stay until duty calls you away. ”

“I will, " Flynne replied equally silently. Michael saw a calm, reserved ease in Flynne’s aura.

After the formality, Flynne greeted the harpies and Maxwell. He then came around to Michael and stared down at him. Part of Michael’s mind rolled back, pulled itself away, crying at the rational half to put some distance between himself and the larger Kindred. Instead, Michael put his hand on Flynne’s chest and acknowledged him with a nod. Flynne did the same, if a bit stiffly, and moved over to stand beside Jeremey. As Calvin Bainbridge’s childe, Michael was technically the youngest of the “important” Kindred in the domain. No one else had any real authority, so one was not obliged to pay them any notice. Flynne didn’t.

Lionel Braughton, the newest member of Jeremey’s coterie, entered the room next, sweeping a charming grin toward the assembled. It was an expression one wielded like a flashlight beam, playing it across whomever happened to be closest. Michael noted with some amusement that Lionel, although associated with the worst of the city’s rabble, had dressed in clothing more expensive, more modem and better tailored than what Bainbridge was wearing. In fact, he looked better than even Marcus Villanova, which set the harpies staring at him and back and forth at each other in consternation. They seemed on the point of speaking among themselves, even during the greeting when such things just were not done.

Lionel breezed gracefully up to Bainbridge and waited to be acknowledged. Bainbridge quirked an eyebrow at him but greeted him with the same civility he’d shown the previous two arrivals. Next, Lionel looked around quickly and moved from Byrd to Samuelson to Villanova in short order. Villanova and Samuelson paid him only what attention was required of their position and stepped away from him in cultured haste. Marie Byrd lingered a moment longer, then backed off as well. He then nodded over to the city’s sheriff, his sire. The two Kindred exchanged a rapid series of hand signals before engaging in the traditional welcome. Without saying anything aloud, the two smiled and moved apart. Lionel greeted Michael with perfunctory courtesy, but hesitation and caution showed in his aura. However, he moved to stand near a pack of rabble on the outside of the gathering before Michael had a chance to see anything more. The members of that group had been standing along the wall before Bainbridge’s arrival, and now that Lionel had joined them, they moved back a step or two from the rest of the crowd. They all began to exchange hand signs rapidly, paying the rest of the proceedings no heed.

Wondering about both Jeremey’s and Lionel’s strange behavior, Michael almost completely ignored Elliot Damascus’ entrance. The man strode right up to Bainbridge, closing the heavy door behind him. He looked around at the watching Kindred as if they’d all gathered just to see him, and he waved to them all. His expression was very much one of an exultant hero returning home.

Although making a show of paying attention to the ceremony, Michael couldn’t help but glance at Byrd, Samuelson and Villanova. The three harpies avoided looking at each other, lest each one reveal to the others the distasteful expression that seeing Elliot Damascus in action brought on. Instead, they looked all around at the assembled Kindred for damning tidbits of gossip any of them might give away in how they reacted to the prince’s grandchilde.

If the harpies found any such tidbit, Michael did not notice. His eyes kept flicking from Elliot to the closed brass and mahogany door. He noted idly that Elliot skipped the harpies altogether in the silent greeting, but his mind was elsewhere. When the young Kindred moved from Bainbridge to the sheriff to him, he only barely managed to force the proper mix of deference and condescension into his body language. Although Elliot’s standing far surpassed his own, Michael could not let one so obviously inexperienced get under his skin. In fact, it was all Michael could do not to knock Elliot’s hand away when it pressed against his chest with a too-familiar roughness. The feral, ever-present part of his mind wailed at him to get away from this walking bonfire of energy and foolish indiscretion, but social concerns dictated that he remain and act jovial. They demanded that he treat Elliot with the respect reserved for Prince Adrock himself. Otherwise, news of the slight would get back to Adrock.

Michael could not even break decorum of the silent greeting to ask why Darien had not entered the room with the others. He could not take a moment to confirm the suspicion that had been growing since the evening had started. Jeremey’s coterie had returned, but Darien, his own childe, was no longer with them. The dictates of his society stated that Michael could not react. This was, after all, a celebration of a triumphant return.

He watched Elliot circle through the crowd touching chests, squeezing shoulders and nodding, and the smiling fool sickened him. The only thing that would have been worse would be to have had to listen to Elliot’s smug, nasal voice throughout the welcome. Many Kindred claimed to find Elliot’s vivacious personality refreshing and invigorating, but Michael found it only annoying. Yet, he had to pretend to hang on the fool’s every action while no indication of what had happened to his own childe seemed at all forthcoming.

At the back of the crowd, Elliot made his last greeting and began murmuring to the Kindred gathered around him. The long silence broke at last, and everyone else began talking amongst themselves. Almost at once, they spread back out into their cliques and coteries, unwilling to stand close together any longer. The colors of the auras of those around him tinged, almost universally, with relief. The Kindred seemed glad that the coterie had escaped Detroit safely. That, or they were glad not to have to stand so close to one another any longer.

As the noise level rose and the crowd grew less dense, Michael found himself standing alone and quiet, looking at the brass and mahogany door. In the faces of those around him, he saw the same property: avoidance. Some of the others looked at the door expectantly, but no one else came through it. When Michael caught them looking from the door to him, they looked away quickly in mute denial. That denial was the only funerary custom Michigan Kindred seemed to have. Perhaps if they did not acknowledge the facts, they seemed to think, those facts would not officially be true.

Standing there staring at the door, Michael wished that were the case.

Scene Two 

Adrift with a blank expression on his face, Michael looked at each member of Jeremey’s coterie, hoping for some answer to the question that didn’t bear asking. Elliot gave him a cavalier wave before walking over to the far side of the room. Lionel stood with his back to Michael, but Michael could tell that the other was engaged in what seemed a heated sign-language exchange with his sire. Chris Flynne nodded once, gave him a sad smile and turned to leave. Of the four who had returned so recently from Detroit, only Jeremey returned his gaze.

They two stared at each other without expression for several moments, in fact. Michael stood alone, Jeremey carried on a conversation with Clare, and neither man took his eyes off the other. After several moments thus, Michael made up his mind to speak with Jeremey. If no one was going to acknowledge publicly that something had happened to Darien, Michael could at least find it out for certain from Jeremey. He would talk to Calvin later about why he withheld the information from Michael in the first place.

“You have the look of a lost man, ” Marcus Villanova, the Elysium’s eldest harpy, said, gliding in front of Michael effortlessly before he could take a step. “What troubles your mind, childe of the prince’s seneschal? ”

Michael moved to step around the Kindred socialite, but he found himself flanked by Villanova’s childer, Byrd and Samuelson, on either side. Part of him cried out to escape before he was cornered, but he ignored it and held his position. Ignoring a harpy was bad enough; snubbing three harpies who obviously wanted to talk was asking for a social stigma, seneschal’s childe or not.

“I expected something a bit different, ” he said, looking at each without giving away his wariness.

“Indeed, ” Marie Byrd said on his left. She toyed idly with one of the immaculate dyed-blonde curls of her hair and leaned forward as she talked. Another might have found her mannerisms seductive and been unable to take his eyes off so beautiful creature as she. Michael found Byrd’s actions nothing more than seductive took, although he appreciated the utility they must provide her in dealing with ones more susceptible to them. At least, he told himself he did.

“You have the look of someone who doesn’t know what to expect, ” she cooed.

“I suppose—”

“I rather expected Prince Adrock to be here himself, ” Villanova interrupted, staring off into the distance, as was his usual practice when talking to everyone but the other harpies. “It’s disappointing really, considering the fact that his own grandchilde was making a return appearance. Did he not want to see him, do you think? ”

“I doubt that, ” Michael said, bristling at Villanova’s interruption. ‘Talbot’s coterie probably arrived several nights ago and approached Prince Adrock themselves directly. Those were their orders, after all, if I remember correctly. ” “We like to say, ‘Those were the terms of the agreement they reached with the prince, ’” Byrd corrected.

“True, ” Michael said with forced politeness. “But it means that our prince and his grandchilde likely have already spoken since then. The rest of the time after their arrival would have been best served in debriefing and recuperating from their hardships. ”

Without showing it, Michael berated himself for carrying on so. Something about being surrounded by these three made him just want to talk and talk. If he kept it up, he knew he’d end up babbling. His responsibility to see that the reigning hierarchy was portrayed in the best possible way battled with his desire to be finished with this conversation and rid of the harpies.

“That does stand to reason, ” Samuelson replied with a thin smile. His heavily made-up face seemed not only hopelessly out of date, but a satirical caricature of itself when he did so. “Did you also make arrangements with your own childe to be absent, Michael? We notice that he is not here. ” Michael blinked and remained silent for seconds longer than he should have while surrounded thus. “I was not aware that he had returned. ”

“So you’ve spoken to none of the coterie. ⁷” Byrd chimed in. Her artificial smile seemed intended to mimic allure and enigmatic coyness. “Odd that no one would tell you if your own childe had returned safely. ”

“Odd that, yes, ” Villanova said, glancing across the top of Michael’s head to a point just beyond his shoulder. “Why would no one tell you that he had returned? I suppose he hasn’t returned, has he? ”

Michael stood frozen, his eyes unfocussed. The three had actually been giving him hope that Darien was fine somewhere. Now, the distant, removed part of his brain had begun to sing a song much different from its earlier paranoid clamor. This song was one of fury and grief. No one had ever attacked a harpy in Prince Adrock’s domain, but to Michael’s knowledge, the harpies had never been so intentionally cruel to anyone before. Didn’t they realize that his childe was gone? Didn’t they understand what that meant?

“That does seem rather important, as gossip goes, ” Villanova said, taking a step closer to Michael. “I wonder whose decision it was to withhold that information from you. ” “None of the others knew they had returned, ” Michael said, trying to salvage some presence of mind. He had to struggle to keep his hands from knotting into fists, despite the heat he felt in every muscle. His jaw ached as he choked out the next words in a civil tone. “Apparently, this was to be a social event. Bad news would have spoiled the effect. ” “Among the others, perhaps, " Byrd said, tightening the semicircle of bodies by leaning in conspiratorially. “But surely you deserved to know that your own childe had not come back. ” Michael looked directly at the shorter woman, and she retreated a step with an amused look on her face. Michael thought she actually looked aroused.

“Surely, ” Villanova concurred, smiling and looking at no one. “I wonder as well who decided you didn’t need to know that. ”

Unbidden, Michael’s eyes sought and found Calvin Bainbridge, who had stopped Christopher Flynne at the room’s outer door. Bainbridge didn’t see his childe looking at him, but the three harpies all noticed where Michael’s gaze had gone. Glancing back and forth between themselves, they fell back a step, leaving Michael in an empty space once again.

“We offer our grief over your loss, " Byrd said, tilting her chin and arching her back just slightly as if her evening gown was half a size too small. Her slender frame shifted in calculating, feline sensuality, but her face wore a mask of sardonic cruelty.

Before Michael could say anything, the three of them went back in their separate directions, confident that they had gotten from Michael whatever they had been after. Michael stood alone, staring straight ahead, letting his anger and shame from the harpies playing him for a fool drain away. He knew he was out of his league dealing with Villanova, Byrd and Samuelson, but knowing as much made their treatment no more bearable.

When Michael finally looked back at Talbot, he found that Jeremey and Clare had already slipped into a conversation with Elliot. Elliot did not seem comfortable in the alleged madman’s presence, and Michael caught him glancing fearfully at Clare as well. The three of them shifted their weight and glanced around uneasily, giving Michael the impression that the they were arguing about something while trying not to let anyone see it Michael could not hear their conversation, but he could tell that his own chance to speak with Jeremey had passed.

Instead, his eyes turned back to his sire, Calvin. The older Kindred’s gray hair matched the gray undertones in his suit, bringing out the striking blue of his eyes. Bainbridge heightened the effect by tucking his silver-rimmed spectacles into a pocket as he spoke with Christopher Flynne. Despite the fact that Flynne towered over Bainbridge by a foot, the shorter man seemed perfectly at ease.

Acting as Prince Adrock’s right hand had given Bainbridge an outlet for his self-importance and sense of authority, Michael reflected. When the Kindred population of the area had to be addressed, half the time Bainbridge did the honors. When decisions important for the greater good of the Kindred had to be made on the spur of the moment, Bainbridge often did those honors as well. The building in which the Kindred held court belonged to Bainbridge, and from the corporate offices upstairs, he directed a guiding majority of the urban development that had kept Iron Rapids’ local economy afloat. Hie revenues Calvin’s influence generated rivaled those of the prince’s childe, Ellsworth. Calvin seemed to put more effort into Iron Rapids than he did into his own hunting territory in Grand Rapids in the opposite comer of the state. In fact, Bainbridge appeared to run the nightly affairs of the domain in all but name.

Michael knew better than to assume that to be the case, of course. He had met Prince Adrock on more than one occasion. Next to Adrock, Bainbridge was nothing more than a strutting peacock. While Calvin had great influence in Michigan’s mortal affairs, keeping Iron Rapids economically viable in Detroit’s shadow, Marion Adrock alone presided over Kindred affairs. He punished offenders of Kindred law, he granted the right to create new vampires, and he alone had the authority to destroy any vampire in his domain. Michael had never known Adrock to exercise that last aspect of his power, but the threat was very real. Had it not been for Calvin, Michael would have faced it himself.

Yet, despite his lack of outright Kindred authority, Bainbridge had Adrock’s ear, which made him even more influential. In fact, Michael’s own position of respect and responsibility derived from the fact that he was Calvin’s childe. Most of the Michigan Kindred accepted that his will was that of the seneschal, which indirectly represented the will of the prince. Reasonably, Michael’s enemies, were the enemies of Calvin and Prince Adrock. That status had garnered Michael greater leeway to strain the bounds of Kindred convention than some would receive. It also made it possible for him to go about his business unmolested by those in the city beneath him in age and station. As long as he performed the occasional social duty required of him, he could live relatively free of care.

The only hitch in his executive favor had come when he had created Darien. Camarilla vampires were not to create other vampires without a prince’s express permission, but Michael had done just that. In a moment of passion, he had made Darien a vampire after finding in him something worth preserving. The punishment for taking such a liberty with Adrock’s authority, however, was death, and Michael had come trembling and terrified to Calvin, begging him for help. Realizing that had the knowledge that the seneschal’s own childe had eschewed the laws of Kindred society become public, that knowledge might have undermined the Kindred’s respect for Calvin and Adrock’s authority, Calvin had agreed to help him. He had covered up Darien’s existence until he could obtain the proper permission from Prince Adrock for Michael to create a childe, thus sparing Michael the punishment he deserved.

Calvin himself had punished Michael ceaselessly, thereafter. The extravagant indulgences he had allowed Michael up until that point dried up one by one. The money and the clothes and the expensive townhouse apartment Calvin had provided all disappeared. Calvin reduced Michael, in the end, to living in the basement of the jewelry repair and retail shop he owned in Pontiac, Michigan. While Michael’s skill for the craft (for which Calvin had originally decided to embrace him) generated significant revenue and kept the store in business, the lifestyle Calvin had forced him to lead was inferior to the one to which he had become accustomed.

The only positive results of the situation were that he and Darien had been happy living and hunting in the same territory, and the fact that Calvin had taken an interest in Darien as well. Where Calvin turned his back on Michael, he offered Darien business opportunities and helped him expand the chain of pawnshops he had managed before Michael came along. Calvin had even helped Darien climb in status in mortal society, increasing his pull with the Kindred. In fact, sending Darien along with Jeremey Talbot’s coterie into Detroit had been Calvin’s idea as much as it had been Darien’s idea.

“Of course, that’s the problem, isn’t it? ” Michael murmured, barely aware that he had done so. The move had been intended to cement Darien as a public Kindred figure, but it had apparently gotten him killed. Now, despite how events had turned out, Calvin insisted on calling the results a success, without even acknowledging Michael’s loss.

Steeling himself, he walked up to where Calvin conversed with Christopher Flynne and stood a respectful distance off to one side. He did not interfere in their conversation, but he made sure to be close enough to overhear what they were talking about. He also kept close enough that Bainbridge would have to make an effort to ignore him, which would set the harpies gossiping even more.

It was Flynne, however, who brought Michael into the conversation. Clipping what he had been saying to Bainbridge short with a smooth obscurity, he turned a shoulder to Michael and opened his stance slightly. Michael realized that he’d approached on Flynne’s blind side, and he hoped that the larger man hadn’t taken it as some sort of insult or threat.

“Welcome, Michael, ” Flynne said with a gracious nod. “I’m sorry we didn’t get much chance to speak before the mission into Detroit. ”

“I’m sure you would have had tales to tell, ” Michael said, keeping a positive expression visible on his face, rather than the accusatory one he wanted to show his sire. “Calvin tells me you’ve had an exciting career leading efforts against our rival sect. ” Flynne smiled and cocked his uncovered eyebrow. “Calvin knows more than politeness would allow him to admit, I’d bet. He and I have known each other for a long time. ” Michael glanced at Bainbridge, trying to force his way uphill through the social niceties. He wished Flynne would hurry up and leave already.

“It is true, ” Calvin acknowledged. “Our respective parents were influential in establishing this area as a center of industry on this continent. ”

Michael mimicked rapt attention, but he had heard Calvin’s recitation of his “family” history countless times. At Calvin’s command, he had learned their Kindred lineage all the way back to its obviously apocryphal roots. The lineage was important to some, Calvin insisted, so Michael had learned it. Having done so, however, had not relieved him of the necessity of paying attention to Calvin when the elder Kindred began to speak of it yet again. Even before his transgression and punishment, Michael had been subjected to long dissertations on exactly what Calvin’s sire had done for this region before her return to Europe. Fortunately, Calvin didn’t expound any further this time.

“So you’re from this area originally, ” Michael said to Flynne before an uncomfortable pause could stretch out. The blond Kindred didn't seem predisposed to leave anymore, for some reason. “I wouldn’t have guessed from your accent. ”

Flynne, in fact, lacked an accent.

“l’m not from here at all, " Flynne corrected, “but the years away from home tend to wash an accent out, no matter where it developed. "

“I suppose so, ” Michael demurred. Why was this taking so long?

“I understand you have a thriving jewelry franchise in Pontiac, Michael, ” Flynne said after a moment. “Do you still produce pieces? I’d love to see examples of the work that caught the eye of one so discerning as I know Calvin to be. "

Michael’s jewelry work had indeed been what had garnered him Calvin’s attention so many years ago, but hearing Flynne mention it so casually made him uncomfortable. For years, he had been under the impression that it was not polite to discuss one’s reasons for embracing a childe. Such was apparently not the case between Calvin and Flynne, but Michael was beginning to wonder exactly why the visitor was paying him so much attention. And why Calvin hadn’t ever spoken of this Kindred with whom he had obviously shared much. And why Flynne didn’t leave so Michael could talk to Calvin about Darien.

“On occasion, ” he answered distractedly. “I haven’t felt particularly inspired of late. Not since Darien left for Detroit. I may give it up for a while after tonight. "

The soft, friendly lines of Flynne’s face hardened into a mask. Calvin stiffened as well, and Michael bit the inside of his lip.

“I understand how worry can be distracting, ” Flynne said, appearing jovial and open in all but the tone of his voice. His aura revealed a strong, insulted annoyance.

“Indeed, ” Calvin said, glancing at Michael with a disapproving expression. “Although one can hardly say that you were not distracted before Darien left, can one, Michael? The quality of your work had been showing a significant downturn in the time since you brought him into our family. Where your work was infrequent before, it was still of high quality. After Darien came along, your work became far less careful. I dare say that the only reason it continued to sell as it did was due to Darien’s acumen for finding buyers and patrons who appreciated your particular... style. ” Michael said nothing. He could feel the floor spinning beneath him.

“What distracts me, ” Calvin continued, “is my concern for whether your work will become infrequent and remain at its disappointing level of mediocrity now that it sells so well, or if you will strive to return your work to the quality of which I remember you to be capable. You do so little for the domain already, it would be a shame if what little service you provided were to cease to exist altogether. ” Michael glanced at Flynne looking for some assistance, although he did not know what kind he should reasonably expect. After all, Calvin was saying these things in hopes of making up for the perceived insult Michael had laid against Flynne in the first place.

“Maybe after the evening’s final announcement, ” Flynne said with no expression, “you and I could talk about this matter in private, Michael. We could talk about inspiration and ways you could keep it up as time goes on. I find that it’s a subject someone my age knows a lot about. What say I meet you at your workshop after this is all over? ” Michael nodded numbly. He’d had no intention of bringing Flynne into this, but one did not refuse an invitation from one’s elder, even if that elder had invited himself to be a guest in your home. He looked back at Calvin, who was smiling again.

“I would like to speak to you myself, Michael, ” he said quietly. “Meet me in my office once this gathering is over. I have things to discuss with you that would not behoove you to have relayed in public. Even among such distinguished guests as Mister Flynne. ”

“As you wish, ” Michael said. Considering what he had just done, he no longer wanted to talk to Calvin. The accusatory fire had gone out within him, and he foresaw only trouble and humiliation in his near future.

“I’ll speak to you after that, ” Flynne said, stepping back and nodding in farewell. “I’ll be waiting. ”

Michael thought about apologizing for his implied slight, but then decided against it. The best he could hope for now was that Flynne would think that the implied accusation had been unintentional. Any apology he might force himself to make would give that impression the lie. He kept his mouth shut instead.

Flynne nodded again to Bainbridge and walked around the two Kindred through the door. When he was gone, silence fell over Michael and Calvin.

“After the gathering, Michael, ” Calvin said at last. “You will be the last to leave, then you will come to my office to discuss this evening’s events. Am I understood? ”

“Yes, Calvin, ” Michael answered weakly. He should have known better than to let his upset feelings get away from him. That lack of self-control had done enough damage between he and Calvin in the past; one would think he would have learned his lesson. However, Darien was gone.

“Now I have announcements to make of interest to our community, ” Calvin said, still wearing a pleased smile. “Go take your place. ”

“Yes, Calvin. ”

Calvin walked back the way he had come in earlier, drawing the attention of the Kindred who had remained after the silent greeting. Michael moved away from the door and sat down heavily. Already, he could feel the harpies’ eyes on him. They had been watching the entire exchange, he was certain, and he had surely just reinforced the impression of him in their mind that he was still little better than a neonate with a bad temper. He avoided eye contact with them, yet he was still visible to them. Byrd began gliding around knots of leering younger Kindred and took a seat where she had a clear, unobstructed view of him. He glanced her way dully then directed his attention back toward Calvin, hoping he looked every bit the patient, interested childe he was supposed to be. In lieu of feeling that way, it was the best he could do.

Scene Three

“Good Kindred guests, allow me to prevail upon your attention once more, ” Calvin said once he was sure all eyes had turned his way. Jeremey, Elliot and Lionel all stood together not far from him. Clare sat by herself trying not to be noticed. “Thank you all for staying. ”

Michael looked around the room at the assembled Kindred, as did the harpies, taking mental note of who had already left. Aside from Christopher Flynne, the early absentees were all relatively young Kindred, unschooled in the etiquette of social gatherings of this nature. Most of them had no particular cities in which to hunt and set down a stable haven. They floated between numerous Michigan cities that were too small to support even a single Kindred on their own. Aside from the annoyance they would suffer at the next gathering and the social stigma the harpies attached to the inexperienced, Michael almost envied those who had made their exits.

“Mister Talbot, ” Calvin went on, extending a hand toward Jeremey, “your coterie has performed a service to Prince Adrock, to this domain, and to our entire sect. Without the information you collected on our vicious enemies in Detroit, our advance against them would surely suffer. We hold this gathering not only to celebrate your return, but also to celebrate your accomplishment. Prince Adrock has authorized me to convey to you his most sincere gratitude and to grant you certain rights on his behalf in appreciation. ”

In spite of his anxiety, Michael still had to suppress a bored roll of his eyes. Something about speaking in front of people really brought out the ham in Calvin. And yet, the other Kindred sat rapt watching him. Michael didn’t think he personally could stand so much attention. Of course, he wouldn’t stand in front of the assembled Kindred population of Michigan talking like a caricature of a Harvard professor either, which was something.

“Jeremey Talbot, what would you have in return for your service to this domain and Prince Adrock? ” Calvin asked him.

Jeremey stepped forward, looking into Calvin’s eyes. He stood at parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart and his chin up. Clare, Michael noticed, shifted her position on her couch so that one leg rested over the sofa’s arm.

“I ask for an expansion of my hunting grounds and the prince’s permission to impress a ghoul, ” Jeremey said. He looked straight ahead.

Michael wasn’t surprised with the request, as modest as it seemed. Ever since Jeremey had adopted Clare over a decade ago, they had been sharing the entirety of Jeremey’s hunting grounds in Ann Arbor to the south of Iron Rapids. Doubling up thus was dangerous — as it doubled the chances of some unwitting mortal discovering die hunter at his work — but Jeremey had maintained his and Clare’s secrecy with little incident. The request to create a mortal servant was unusual, only in that the asking was a formality with which most Kindred wouldn’t have bothered. It was considered polite to let at least the seneschal know that you had inducted a mortal into your service, but no one really bothered to ask any more.

“Your expansion is granted, " Calvin said. “Your request for a new servant is also granted. Present him to me by midnight one week from tonight for registration. These privileges Prince Adrock grants freely. It is the least of what you are due. ” Michael’s eyes narrowed. The only hunting ground that abutted Jeremey and Clare’s current territory was that which belonged to him and Darien, extending between the cities of Pontiac and Jackson. Even though offered his own grounds after his embrace, Darien and Michael had shared their combined territory freely. Now, if Jeremey’s territory was to expand, it would do so in one logical direction. Michael was glad that neither the harpies nor Calvin happened to be looking at him right then.

“I thank you, sir, ” Jeremey said. He stepped back to stand with his coterie.

“Elliot Damascus, ” Calvin said, "grandchilde of Prince Adrock, childe of David Ellsworth, what would you have in return for your service to this domain and Prince Adrock? ” Elliot took two self-important steps forward and looked out over the watching Kindred. His eyes came to rest on Calvin, and he smiled as if they two were old friends. Calvin returned the expression with admirable restraint. Only Michael and Villanova had the ability to read the contempt and mockery that came alight in Calvin’s aura.

“I don’t ask for much, Mister Bainbridge, ” Elliot said, “l’m only asking for things that’ll help the community and do further service to this domain. ”

“And what would you have in order to do so? " Calvin asked. Watching Elliot's performance, Michael amused himself by imagining Calvin storming off into his offices without completing the rest of the reward ceremony. Of course, that annoyance would most surely spill over into the interview Calvin intended to have with Michael afterward, which made the image far less amusing.

“License to assume some business titles in town, ” Elliot began. “I also need some zoning laws in my Lansing territory looked into and potentially changed. I also need police activity diverted from the residential districts that border my shipping warehouses on the riverfront. I also.

As Elliot went on, Michael watched Calvin. Calvin already knew what Elliot would ask — these requests and negotiations would have been worked out well in advance — but the effort he had to maintain to appear interested and attentive must have been great. The fact that Elliot could ask for such latitude in a city that was not specifically his territory spoke to his status as the prince’s newest grandchilde, but his requests still seemed excessive. In addition, it seemed that nothing he asked had any real benefit in mind, short of increasing Elliot Damascus’ own holdings in the area. Elliot oversaw the transportation and distribution of Iron Rapids’, Lansing's and Hint’s automobile export, and he had done a great deal of work making sure that the cars those cities’ factories produced had places to go. Of course, the fact that Elliot’s methods of doing business were not entire legitimate from a mortal point of view made his efforts even more effective. His ruthless manner of getting things done had inspired Ellsworth to include him in Michigan’s Kindred society, according to rumor, but it also made him quite wealthy in a way that did not benefit the domain at all. Considering the status Elliot’s sire and grandsire afforded the young Kindred, Michael didn’t feel that Elliot had any right to ask for more.

“Your requests are granted, Elliot, ” Calvin said when the younger Kindred finally wound down. “These requests Prince Adrock grants freely. It is the least of what you are due. ”

To his credit, only Calvin’s aura revealed his opinion of what Elliot was due. Michael noted that Villanova had noticed what Calvin was hiding as well.

Elliot smiled again and stepped back to his place. His pale face shone with pride and the faraway look of someone contemplating a favorable future. At his side, Lionel Braughton unconsciously adjusted the lines of his clothes and shook his thick brown hair into the perfectly immaculate near-mess it always was.

“Lionel Braughton, ” Calvin said with a more genuine-looking smile on his face. “What would you have in return for your service to the domain and Prince Adrock? ”

Lionel stepped forward smoothly, stopping a respectful distance away as if guided by a mark on the floor. He angled his body just enough that he still seemed to be addressing Calvin directly while allowing his voice to carry out over the room in a rich baritone. Lionel had been a popular local musician before his embrace. He had become so well known and connected among the underground entertainment community that Laurence Maxwell had considered him a valuable asset. Maxwell had made him a vampire and “deputized” him, in order to have a set of eyes and ears in a culture with which he himself would never have meshed. Setting his childe up as a musician who had “made it, " Maxwell had begun training Lionel as his replacement for the position of Kindred sheriff. The theory for why he had done so was that Maxwell was to be part of Adrock’s advance into Detroit, as far as Michael had heard. According to Darien, Lionel believed that to be the case as well, and he looked forward to the night when he assumed Maxwell’s position. Michael wondered if perhaps Lionel’s request might have something to do with that.

“I ask for the right of progeny, sir, ” Lionel said casually.

Silence welcomed the statement, followed by a round of murmurs that radiated outward from Villanova, Samuelson and Byrd. Michael sat frozen. Doubtless, Lionel had already made the request to Prince Adrock, so Calvin’s response was a foregone conclusion. But why make it on the same night as that on which everyone had discovered the fact that Darien was gone? Why would Calvin allow such a request to be made when he hadn’t even said anything about the death of a member of their society? Was this some intentional insult to Darien’s memory? Michael hadn’t even been aware that Lionel was looking for a childe.

“You have spoken of your desire privately with Prince Adrock T Calvin asked as the murmuring began to taper off.

“I have, sir. ”

“Have you discussed this matter with your prospective progeny? ”

“I have not, sir. ”

It was customary in Adrock’s domain to keep your desire to create a progeny from your intended victim until after permission had been given for you to do so. Even Michael had upheld that custom, if only by default.

“Are you prepared to face the consequences of this potential childe’s actions until he is determined to be worthy of his independence? ”

“I am, sir, ” Lionel said solemnly.

“Then your request is granted, ” Calvin said. “You will be granted the right of progeny under the domain of Prince Adrock. This request Prince Adrock grants, as is his right. He has deemed it your due for your service. ”

The murmuring started again, and Michael remained silent. He could feel half the eyes in the room directed his way, and he imagined that he heard his name whispered more than once. He dared not look at Villanova, Byrd or Samuelson. He dared not look at Calvin. The whispering voices crowded in around him, sounding like a symphony of breaking glass and gnashing teeth to his preternaturally sharpened sense of hearing. If he could bring himself to close his eyes, he knew he would see faces dancing before him, whispering about him and trying to be nonchalant. He’d see them pointing, hear them asking him questions he could not answer. Cruelty, curiosity and concern would swirl around in equal measure in the faces he would see, and he knew that he could stomach none of it. He would lose control if he had to face such a vision, be it real or imagined.

“Thank you, sir, " Lionel said, gliding back to his place with the others. When his eyes passed over Michael’s, he paused as if trying to communicate something. Distracted by the last murmurs of gossip and a sudden urge to tear his way through the crowd and disappear through the outer door, Michael failed to decipher it. In his pain, Michael could not read the colors of Lionel’s aura either.

“Fellow Kindred, ” Calvin said, smiling distantly, rolling his gaze back and forth across the crowd and landing on Michael more than once. “Such are the rewards for service to prince, domain and sect. Now I present your brothers in service, returned to us this night in health and fellowship. May their example lead us all to the nights of our lives. This gathering is at an end. In the name of Prince Adrock, I bid you all good evening. ”

With no further ceremony, Calvin made his way to the Elysium’s inner door. He paused briefly to speak with Sheriff Maxwell then went back to his offices within the building proper.

As soon as the heavy brass-worked mahogany door closed behind him, conversations broke out all over the room. This time, Michael was sure that he heard his name and Lionel’s mentioned in the susurration. He also noticed several Kindred moving to congratulate the honored coterie. The scene was a mirror of the one that had taken place when the coterie had volunteered to go to Detroit in the first place, except that Darien was not standing with the other three. Michael folded his hands in his lap and stared at the door through which Calvin had left. He tried ineffectually to ignore the sounds all around him. He did, however, manage to hone his field of view down to a blurry tunnel between himself and the door. As soon as everyone was gone, he would follow Calvin. As soon as the honored heroes finished holding court with the commoners, he would seek out his sire. Thoughts of that nature swirled around within, trying to push the rest of the world away.

He blocked out the rest of his surroundings so well, in feet, that he let himself be surrounded. Shapes moved into his field of vision, cutting off his view of the door and hemming him in dangerously closely. Cagey fear and territorial anger surged to the surface, but Michael caught it before it got any further than his expression. He blinked once to clear his vision and found Jeremey’s coterie arrayed before him. For an instant, he saw Darien behind Jeremey, but he realized that it was only Clare. The stench of sandalwood rolled off her in waves, and she beamed with distant good humor. On the other side of Jeremey, Elliot looked everywhere but at Michael. Lionel nodded to him once, much as Flynne had, and kept his own eyes down.

“Michael, ” Jeremey said, taking yet another step closer. Were Michael to stand, he and Talbot would have been nose to nose. “There are formalities to be observed. "

Michael raised an eyebrow, biting back the sardonic reply that his face made evident. Calvin had already passed up the opportunity to observe the proper formalities. Calvin should have waited to dispense these three vampires' rewards. Before giving Lionel the right of progeny, Calvin should have made sure that Darien had returned home. If it was not necessary to observe those formalities, what was one more? “Not now, ” he said quietly.

“Soon, ” Lionel said just as quietly.

Michael’s eyes rolled slowly in the proud new parent-to-be’s direction. “I said not now. ”

Lionel let it go, a faint tinge of shame rolling through his aura. He bowed his head. Elliot, however, perked up in affected good humor. To Michael’s surprise, Elliot’s aura actually showed annoyance at the fact that Michael wanted to be left alone.

“Well, don’t keep us waiting too long, " he said, trying to force jovial camaraderie into his voice. Apparently, Elliot joked around with his comrades by giving them orders. “We all need to talk. How about soon, huh? ”

Michael made a derisive sound decidedly unlike a laugh and answered without looking at Elliot. “I’ll talk to you once I’ve seen to my own responsibilities, prince’s grandchilde, " he said.

“Well and good, ” Jeremey said, backing off a step and turning away. “When you’re ready. ”

He walked away, and the rest of his coterie fell into step behind him. Clare stood a moment longer than the rest and gave him a wave goodbye. Her aura was as unreadable as Jeremey’s, but sympathetic concern showed on her face. Of all the faces that wore that mask tonight, hers actually felt sympathetic. At the very least, Michael had no cues to go on other than those her face showed. If the reality was different, he could not tell. With a sad smile of her own, Clare moved away and followed Jeremey.

Behind him, Michael heard the coterie exit, cueing a substantial portion of the remaining Kindred to leave as well. One by one, he heard the harpies exit, shooing out the few stragglers who hung around for no discernible reason. Byrd was the last of them out, and she strolled just at the edge of Michael’s peripheral vision, stretching her legs with every step and tilting her chin away from him in a mock gesture of submission.

“Won’t you be leaving too, Michael. ⁷” she whispered. Michael ignored her, balling his folded hands into two cold, delicate fists.

“It’s not good for you to spend so many nights alone, ” she said, moving away. Michael could hear the laughter just below the surface of her sultry voice. “You should find some companionship. ”

For his own good and hers, Michael remained seated until Byrd had left. The edges of his field of vision turned red and started collapsing, but he clenched his hands into tighter knots until the joints ached. Even after Byrd was gone, he did not move, for fear of losing himself. After many long, uncounted minutes, Michael finally managed to stand and take his first step toward the Elysium’s inner door.

“Business, I assume? ” a voice said from the opposite door. Michael whipped around to see the city’s Kindred sheriff leaning casually against the door. “Is Mister Bainbridge expecting you this evening, Michael? You don’t look like you’re making a social call. ”

“He asked me to come see him after everyone else left, ” Michael said. His tone rode the line where apology, belligerence and carelessness overlapped. While he owed Maxwell no explanations, the elder Kindred’s experience, age and status demanded more than a cursory dismissal. The man was, after all, only half a step removed from Calvin in Kindred authority. He was, however, Lionel’s sire, which drove some of Michael’s respect for him away.

“I see, ” Maxwell said, his hands moving in conjunction with the words. Michael recognized the practiced motions of sign language, but he couldn’t decipher the signals. “What he wants you for is none of my business. "

Michael didn’t thank him for the courtesy. He turned to go again.

“But let me ask you something. ”

Michael flinched but turned back around. Maxwell merely leaned against the door, his hairy arms and rough hands moving fluidly in complement to his words.

“Ask. ”

“You’ve never known a vampire who’s died the Final Death, have you? ” he asked, an inscrutable expression on his face. His aura gave nothing away either. “Except for tonight. ” Michael couldn’t tell what the sheriff was getting at with this line of questions, and he didn’t care. He turned back toward the Elysium’s inner door and started walking.

“I understand, Michael, ” Maxwell said flatly. “We’re not supposed to die. When one of us does, it shakes the rest of us up like—”

Michael didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. He pulled the brass and mahogany door shut behind him. Before going in search of Calvin, he leaned heavily against the door and put his head in his hands. Maxwell was right about him. He hadn’t ever seen a vampire die. He hadn’t heard of such a thing in all his long existence. The fact that it was possible had occurred to him, but never in any real, tangible way. Even in his panic after he had created Darien, he had misted Calvin to make everything turn out all right. He had never even so much as hurt himself since his embrace. Vampires just weren’t supposed to die. Immortality was supposed to mean something. Darien wasn’t supposed to be gone.

The thought drained all emotion out of Michael, and he leaned there a while longer without moving. Calvin was waiting, but Michael didn’t care. For the first time in decades, he just wanted to be alone.

Scene Four 

When Michael entered Calvin’s office, Calvin sat behind his impressive gray-and-black slate desk looking right at him. Michael had hoped to catch Calvin distracted by other concerns, but he was not so lucky. Most likely, Calvin had heard his footsteps clicking on the cold tile in the hallway and known he was coming, but the impression that his sire had been sitting there waiting patiently since his exit from the gathering downstairs unnerved him. What was worse, Calvin had not turned on his desk lamp or his office’s overhead lights. He appeared to be working by the dingy, yellowish reflected streetlights coming in the window behind his desk. The window looked out over Iron Rapids like a despot’s parapet.

“Sit down, Michael, ” Calvin said without preamble. He steepled his fingers on the desk and remained seated with his back straight.

Michael did as he was told, dragging a chair from Calvin’s computer desk in the comer of the room. He noticed that the door leading into the adjoining office was open a crack. Maybe Calvin had been working in there instead. Adding further distraction, the computer’s screen on the desk drew idle geometric shapes when the machine wasn’t in use, and Michael had to force himself not to start gazing at the fascinating automatic display. Instead, he positioned the chair directly across the desk from Calvin and sat down. The hydraulic strut on the bottom of the chair was too low when he sat, and Michael found himself looking up at his sire, despite the slight height advantage he enjoyed when they both stood. He wondered if Calvin had adjusted the chair’s height on purpose.

“You obviously have questions you would like answered, Michael, ” Calvin began, not moving an inch or revealing anything in his expression. “You may do so now. ”

Michael saw rigid expectation and smoldering disappointment in Calvin’s aura, which told him that this was not the time to ask about Darien. Instead, he said, “You asked me to your office, sir. I would rather you begin with what you intended to speak with me about. ”

“I told you to ask me your questions, Michael, ” Calvin said, leaning forward. His voice dropped in timbre. “You embarrassed yourself this evening in front of an important guest. You tried to make me look like a fool for allowing you to speak thus. Are you mocking me now? ”

Michael blinked, shocked. He had to stop trying to anticipate Calvin’s conversational traps and concentrate. He’d fallen into that snare before.

“No sir, ” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the slate desktop. Except for a phone, a lamp and a gray blotter, the surface was empty. It reminded Michael vaguely of an expensive billiard table. Calvin had had it shipped here from a factory he owned in Grand Rapids.

“See that you do not, ” Calvin said. “Now ask your question. ” Michael only stared, unsure of where to begin. “Sir? ” Calvin’s eyes narrowed. “You embarrassed us tonight because of your ignorance, Michael. You spoke without knowing the facts behind your accusations, and you insulted an honored guest of Prince Adrock and myself. Now ask your question and satisfy your ignorance. ”

Michael blinked deliberately, and tried to work out an intelligent question. He had expected a lecture. He had expected Calvin to berate him on his conduct. Having Calvin demand Michael ask questions Michael thought he would have to demand the answers to caught him completely flat-footed. What was Calvin’s game? Was he ready to tell him about why he had withheld the information about Darien’s death after all?

“Why wasn’t I told about Darien? ” he began tentatively. “Wrong, Michael, ” Calvin snapped. “Wrong question. " “What... happened to Darien? ” Michael asked, growing uneasy.

“No, ” Calvin snapped again. His face remained placid, bored, but his voice belied a growing anger. That anger was beginning to surge in his aura as well. “Ask again. Concentrate on what you did wrong. ”

Michael paused, trying not to fidget. If Calvin was trying to teach him a lesson about ignorance, the irony was apparently lost on him. “Who can tell me what happened to Darien? ”

Calvin slapped his palms down onto the slate desktop. The ferocity and speed of the motion startled Michael, and the slap of the silver ring on his right hand echoed like a gunshot in the otherwise silent office.

“No! ” Michael flinched, sure for a fleeting moment that Calvin would come over the desk if he said one more wrong word. He had never known Calvin to do any such thing, but facing his sire’s wrath made it difficult to keep that in mind.

“What should I ask?” Michael asked very quietly, not looking Calvin in the eye. A long silence passed. When he finally summoned the courage to look up, he saw Calvin leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled in front of his face.

“You know what you should ask, Michael, ” Calvin said, no longer looking at him. He touched his index fingers to his bottom lip. “Answer this: To whom should you ask it? ” “To you, ” Michael guessed, almost making it a question. “And to whom else? ”

At last, Michael thought he saw what his sire was driving at. “And to Christopher Flynne, ” he said with a little more certainty. The anger was beginning to die back down in Calvin’s aura.

Calvin lowered his fingers, keeping the tips together. “Indeed. And what would you ask me? ”

Michael’s first instinct was to mention Darien again, but he swallowed it. What hopes he had had that Calvin would be straightforward with him died unspoken in the back of his throat.

“I would ask you, ” he began, “to forgive me for making you look like a fool at Elysium. ”

Calvin’s eyebrow arched like the muscles of a panther that was ready to leap on its prey. “I looked like a fool at Elysium? ” “No sir, ” he backtracked. “I ask you to forgive me for making myself look like a fool in a way and at a time that reflected on you. ”

‘“Could have reflected, ”’ Calvin corrected. Michael repeated his request with Calvin’s addition. “And what would you ask Mister Flynne, Michael? ”

“I would ask he forgive me as well, ” Michael said.

“For what? ”

“For implying—”

“What would you ask? " Calvin interrupted.

Michael collected his wits and began again. He had no choice but to do so. “I would ask Mister Flynne to forgive me for implying that I blamed him for not—”

“Stop. ” Michael did. “What would you ask? "

“I would ask Mister Flynne, ” he began once more, “to forgive me for making an implication that insulted him. "

‘“An untoward implication, ’” Calvin added.

Michael added the phrase and spoke again.

“And for making yourself look foolish in a way that could have reflected on me in Elysium, ” Calvin finished. Michael ran through the entire emasculating admission one final time. Each word made his cool flesh tingle with barely suppressed anger. Both the slip and the implication had been a result of his being surprised by the revelation that Darien had not returned from Detroit. Had Calvin informed him ahead of time, the slip would never have occurred. However, pointing that fact out would net him only further retribution. There was no guessing what Calvin intended to take away from him because of the damage he had already done; he saw no sense in pushing his luck.

“Is there anything else you wish to ask, Michael? ” Calvin said, rising behind his desk. He turned to peer out over Iron Rapids through the window. Iron River, as the exaggerated Grand River tributary was called, ran far in the distance, splitting the city’s blue-collar residential district from its factory district. It coiled and slithered like a sick, gray snake, its polluted odor warring with the general perfume of industrialization. Michael was glad that the Gideon building, in which he now stood, was so far from that part of town. “You may stand to go. ”

Michael stood but held his position. He could hear the faint sound of cars below.

“As long as you are finished asking questions. Do you have anything else? ”

“No, Calvin. ”

Calvin turned. “You have nothing at all to ask, Michael? ” The sodium lights in the city clashed with their own reflection in the clouds over the city, painting Calvin’s pale face a sickly shade of pink.

“I would ask only that I be allowed to go and speak with Christopher Flynne, ” Michael said, overdoing his veneer of humility just slightly. “I have a request to make of him. ” The smug mirth in Calvin’s smile and his aura told Michael that his sire would have been satisfied with a less overt show.

“Then do so, " Calvin said, turning his back on Michael again. “You’ve already kept him waiting too long. ”

“Yes sir. ” Michael rolled his chair back to its position at the computer desk. He ignored the patterns on the screen. He ignored the partially open door into the next room.

“And Michael... ”

Michael paused on his way out of the office, but he didn’t turn. The two Kindred faced away from one another in silence. “Sir? ”

“We should discuss Darien soon, ” Calvin said. “We must see to the dispensation of his assets and hunting grounds, you and I. This must be done as soon as you have the time. ”

Michael nodded numbly, knowing that Calvin would see the gesture in the window’s dim reflection. “As soon as you have the time” actually meant “as soon as possible” when Calvin said it. What was worse, the monetary punishment Calvin intended to inflict for this evening’s breach of etiquette would likely come when they spoke next.

“Tomorrow evening? ” he said quietly.

“The night after, ” Calvin said magnanimously. “Fust thing. ”

“Yes sir, ” Michael said, keeping his eyes on the door. “Thank you. "

“Good night, Michael. ”

Michael nodded again. When no further words seemed forthcoming, he left the office and hurried to the elevator at the end of the hall. The echoes of his footsteps on the tile chased him, shooing him out of this building back to his home. Onward to his meeting with an insulted vampire at least equal in status to Calvin, but Michael with less reason to be civil.

Scene Five 

The elevator opened right away, and Michael rode down to the lobby of the building in the middle of the car. The walls leaned in toward him and the hum of the mechanism above him murmured gossip and supposition about how he must be feeling. He looked up at the ceiling and the gossiping came to a halt, keeping secrets from him. The doors opened with a ding, and Michael walked out.

He made his way across the parlor where he had spent most of the evening, and he left through the back door. Before the door had even shut and locked behind him, Michael found Clare standing outside waiting for him.

“What do you want? ” he growled. Without the watchful eye of the harpies to scrutinize his actions, he felt no inclination to play the civil, sociable role Calvin had chosen him to play so many years ago.

“To talk, ” Clare said. “Lionel went to find his new childe, and Jeremey and Elliot went somewhere to talk business. You’re the only other interesting person right now. ” “I don't want to talk, ” Michael said, still not moving. He certainly did not appreciate Clare’s interest, all things considered. “I’ve got a meeting to go to. ”

“That meeting’s not important to you, ” Clare said. She looked down at the pastel-colored housedress she wore, but she refused to give Michael any ground. “Not like Darien was important to you. ”

“Clare—”

“He was important to Jeremey too. He worked with Jeremey a lot before they left. Jeremey won’t say it, but he’s upset. ” Michael couldn’t bring himself to respond to that at any volume lower than a scream, so he refrained altogether.

“And I know Elliot’s going to make him even more upset, ” Clare went on, as if she were speaking to herself. “They don’t get along. ”

Michael knew that as well as he knew any other piece of gossip that got aired at Elysium. Elliot's brash personality had clashed with Jeremey's more stoic nature on more than one occasion, as rumor had it. Those same rumors held that Elliot had been allowed to become a part of Jeremey’s coterie and accompany that group to Detroit only as a favor to the prince and David Ellsworth. Darien had confessed to Michael that the others only tolerated Elliot at all because they feared the consequences of doing otherwise. At the moment, however, Michael did not care about that particular social dynamic, and he told Clare as much.

“You will, ” the woman said, looking Michael in the eye. “Why r Michael spat. If he had to put up with this much longer, he was just going to bowl Clare over and continue on his way. He didn’t know why he had even stayed this long.

“Because it’ll make Jeremey your ally, ” she said. “Especially against a common enemy. ”

“I don’t care about Elliot Damascus, ” Michael said. It wasn’t exactly a lie either. Other than being a smug, brazen neonate with more social status than he deserved, Elliot was not an intrinsically reprehensible being. Some Kindred whispered that he was a bit too cavalier when he fed, but the prince had never found it enough of a threat to the Masquerade of secrecy to punish his grandchilde. In another fifty or sixty years, Elliot might even be tolerable. Darien had been able to get along with the Ventrue on a limited basis, so he couldn’t have been entirely without redeeming qualities. Even the fact that Elliot had spent most of his mortal life as a criminal did not cast too dark a pallor over him. “I don’t give a damn about him at all. ”

“You will, ” Clare said again. “Talk to Jeremey; you’ll see. ” Michael intended to do no such thing. He didn’t care about Jeremey’s problems with the prince’s grandchilde any more than he cared about that grandchilde himself.

“Get out of my way, Clare, ” he said, pushing past her at last. “Don’t come talk to me any more. Just leave me alone. ” “You’ll see, ” she said as he retreated. “Ask him about Darien. You’ve got common ground. ”

Michael kept walking without looking back. Common ground be damned, he thought.

Scene Six 

Calvin Bainbridge watched pensively as his childe crossed the street below, no doubt heading for the bus station two blocks away. He folded his arms and shook his head slightly. He made a note to hire Michael a driver for these nights when the Kindred gathered in Iron Rapids. Michael could certainly defend himself from any luckless criminal that might choose to prey on him, but the thought did not derive from a concern over the childe’s safety. Appearances had to be maintained around the other Kindred. A man whom other men chauffeured commanded respect. Such a man seemed important, even if the illusion outstripped the man’s actual importance. Having a vehicle and driver provided for him might convince Michael that he had not fallen entirely from his sire’s good graces. More importantly, it would show the younger Kindred that serving Calvin Bainbridge generated tangible rewards. If he served no other purpose, Michael’s very existence showed the other Kindred of Michigan that much.

The air shifted noticeably as the door into his adjoining office swung open, and Bainbridge checked the visitor’s identity in the window’s reflection before him. The tall, angular Kindred who had been waiting just beyond the threshold to the office entered.

“You witnessed the conversation. ⁷” Bainbridge asked without turning.

“I did. ”

“And what was your impression? " Bainbridge asked, turning half way around to put a hand on his side of the desk. “Will he go along with my intentions? ”

“It’s difficult to say with our kind, " Marcus Villanova said, folding gracefully into the chair Michael had so recently moved. He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee and draped his hands over the arms of the chair. His eyes focused on the crystal sculpture that stood in the office’s other comer by the door. “Especially with one such as Michael. He thinks about things too much for one of his young age. ”

“What impression did you get from him, Marcus? ”

“Again, it is difficult to say, ” Villanova repeated, looking out the window at the hazy outline of the buildings across the thin Iron River. “From my vantage point, I had only a dim view of Michael. "

Bainbridge elected to take that statement at face value. “What did you see? ”

“I could feel a very strong sense of self, ” Villanova began. “The entire time he spoke to you, he seemed only concerned with what he should say, what he was thinking, and how your actions affected him. He showed little concern for what or how you were thinking. Rather, he cared for only what you seemed to want to hear, as it would benefit him to say it. ”

“I see, ” Bainbridge said evenly. “Go on. ”

“He showed worry quite distinctly as well, ” Villanova said. “The implications of tonight’s events have already started to gnaw at him. I got this impression very strongly when you ordered him to meet you again so soon. ”

Bainbridge had noticed that much himself. “What of Darien? What did you see when the childe’s name came up? ” “Anger, ” Villanova said, shifting his attention to the foot of Bainbridge’s desk languidly. “Resentment. Of course, I saw sadness as well, but not as strongly as the other two. I could not tell if he was directing those feelings toward the situation itself or some more specific aspect of it. Like Jeremey Talbot, for instance. ”

“Neither is a pleasant possibility. ”

“Indeed, ” Villanova said, smiling distractedly. "Yet there is something potentially more destructive at work. Regardless of where he directs his anger, Michael holds you responsible for his childe’s death. "

“Judging from the results of my experiment, ” Bainbridge said, “he blames Flynne. ”

Villanova didn’t say anything, but a casual roll of his eyes spoke volumes.

“Flynne is the most obvious outlet for Michael’s impotent frustration, " Bainbridge pressed on against the non-supportive silence. “Flynne was with Darien when Darien died.

He has experience in dangerous situations. He had accepted responsibility for the safety of Talbot’s coterie before the five of them left for Detroit. The Kindred of this domain were supposed to blame Flynne if something like this happened. That was the reason I convinced Adrock to contact him in the first place, rather than letting the coterie go on its own. If Flynne ‘let’ something like this happen, it was to cast aspersions against Adrock’s judgment. We discussed this. ”

“We did, ” Villanova said, toying with the lapel of his jacket with a long white finger. “And I intend to see that the seeds for those doubts get planted as soon as I leave here. However, Calvin, when my childer and I approached Michael this evening, he indicated that he blames you for Darien’s death. If nothing else, he holds you accountable for his own behavior tonight. ”

Bainbridge frowned. “We discussed the implications of my decision to maintain absolute secrecy when Talbot’s coterie left ” “I remember, but it does not change the facts. You are the authority figure to whom Michael is forced to defer to on a regular basis. He respects your ability to lead and command. He expects you to have control over every situation in which you are involved. If such a situation falls to ruin, he blames you for letting it do so. ”

“Even you must realize how unreasonable that position is, ” Bainbridge said.

“Oh, I assure you that his blame and expectation is purely subconscious, ” Villanova said. He began to rotate the chair back and forth slightly with his toe. Bainbridge could hear the squeak of the chair’s undercarriage from all the way across the room. “If asked, Michael might even admit to a resentment of that authority you wield over his life. ”

Now the harpy was getting to the heart of why Bainbridge had asked for his insight.

“If he resents it—” he began.

“He resents it, but he depends on it, ” Villanova said, waving a hand idly for silence. “Your authority defined his world when you embraced him. You established yourself in Michael’s new world-view as a commanding figure to whom he could turn for answers and results. Such behavior is common among the progeny of vampires of our generation. Marie suggests that it resembles the ‘imprinting’ behavior of newly hatched birds. I have yet to engage her in a proper discussion of the matter. ” “If he resists my authority on a subconscious level, ” Bainbridge asked, desperate to pin the harpy down now that he was giving him what he wanted, “what will he do when it becomes absolute V’

“If it does, ” Villanova said. “If you can keep Adrock interested in Detroit long enough. ”

“What will Michael do then? ’ Bainbridge snapped, bristling. He had all but made his goal of ascendancy over Adrock’s domain a reality. By campaigning for constant thrusts against the Sabbat in Detroit, Bainbridge had kept Prince Adrock’s attention distracted long enough to whittle away the old Ventrue’s base of support from the inside. While Adrock and his childe directed their efforts toward expanding Iron Rapids’, Hint’s and Lansing’s assets in Detroit’s direction, taking on the holdings of the Sabbat there, Bainbridge had done the same throughout the rest of the state and within those cities as well. For every asset Adrock and Ellsworth gained in their struggle against the Sabbat, Bainbridge took steps to make those assets his. The fact that Adrock entrusted Bainbridge with the management of those assets only made it easier. When Adrock made his next “grand advance” into Detroit, Bainbridge intended to snatch Iron Rapids right out from under him. While Iron Rapids was no prize in comparison with Detroit itself, it was safe and it would support him just fine while Adrock threw his dwindling resources against the defenses of the Sabbat. From the seat of Adrock’s erstwhile power, Bainbridge would then assert his influence over the rest of the domain of Michigan, just as Adrock had done for so long.

“There is no sure way to know what Michael would do in those circumstances, ” Villanova responded. “He is potentially inclined to resist your efforts, but his current frame of mind makes that observation highly subjective. He shows a high level of sensitivity to suggestion and persuasion. A careful play against that sensitivity could yield the results you are looking for. ”

Bainbridge smiled at that. That observation was what actually attracted Bainbridge to Michael in the first place. Certainly attracted to that more so than his childe’s second-rate jewelry craftsmanship. Michael was certainly useful when pointed in the right direction.

“So he can be convinced to go along with my aims? " he asked.

“Potentially, ” Villanova cautioned him. “It may take even more time to win him over than it took you to win over Jeremey Talbot, however. I don’t know that your projected time-line allows for the kind of in-depth persuasion it would take to do so. Especially considering the complication of Michael’s childe’s death. "

“I don’t have the time, ” Bainbridge agreed, a bitter smile cutting the edges of his lips. “I would have preferred the time to encourage another excursion into Detroit before I moved ahead. ” “Death is damnably inconvenient, ” Villanova said, staring blankly at the automated graphics program on Bainbridge’s computer.

“So it is your opinion, then, ” Bainbridge said, “that Michael cannot be convinced to agree with my goals in a short time? ” “Unfortunately that is most likely the case. ”

“So what does one in my position do? Can I expect him to sit idly by, regardless of his lack of direct support? Will his resentment disappear or increase ten-fold when my authority over this domain becomes absolute? ”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, ” Villanova said, smiling sardonically and looking through the door into the adjoining office. “You haven’t accomplished any such goal yet. Worry first about whether Michael will oppose you directly as you strive to accomplish your goals. If you actually begin to strive thus in the near future, that is. ”

“Will he? ” Bainbridge asked, tactfully ignoring Villanova’s expressed lack of faith.

“Not as far as I could tell, ” Villanova replied with a small, knowing smile. “Certainly not in the short term. If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t even told him about your eventual goals, have you? ”

“No, ” Bainbridge said. “But I know that Darien was interested in seeing me in power. He was aware of the differences Michael and I have had over him, but he may have mentioned that interest to Michael nonetheless. ”

“If Darien did tell Michael, ” Villanova said, “and you have triggered some nascent rebelliousness in Michael’s character, what’s to stop Michael from letting slip the secret? ” Bainbridge thought about that possibility in silence for a while. It was a good point, but he had not pushed Michael into open acts of rebellion yet. Furthermore, Michael lacked the authority to recoup any form of “justice” on him, and he lacked the status to approach anyone who did have said authority. Besides, Bainbridge knew that those Kindred authority figures his childe could approach, should he disavow any sense of Kindred social propriety, either supported his goals or didn’t like Michael to begin with.

Talbot and Villanova both stood by him in ideals. Michael would not be allowed to show his face in Adrock’s presence without a chaperone of significant standing. Maxwell could bring the matter to Adrock, but he had made no secret of his distaste for Michael. Should Michael come to the sheriff with accusations, Maxwell would never believe him. Should the sheriff engage in an investigation, however, Bainbridge had more than enough contingencies in place to allay suspicion. At that point, it would be a matter of Bainbridge’s word against Michael’s, with Villanova supporting him. Bainbridge had nothing to fear from his childe’s resistance that he hadn’t thought of and discarded numerous times.

“That isn’t a concern, ” he said. •

Villanova looked up at Bainbridge more closely than he usually looked at another Kindred who was not a fellow harpy. His cold, distant eyes rested on Bainbridge’s tie, just short of his neck.

“And if Michael doesn’t know about your plans, ” he began, “will you enlighten him? ”

“Not just yet, ” Bainbridge answered smoothly. “I may not enlighten him at all, for that matter. Perhaps he should find out when everyone else does. ”

“And when Marion Adrock does, ” Villanova mused, rising to his feet gracefully.

“Yes. "

“To be safe, ” the harpy said, “you had best vet out what Michael knows before you decide what to do about him. ” “I’ll have Jeremey speak to him, ” Bainbridge said. “He might elicit a more frank admission from Michael than I would. ” “Reasonable, ” Villanova said, opening the door. “My childer and I remain at your disposal. ”

“Good evening, Marcus. ”

The door closed, leaving Bainbridge truly alone for the first time. He rose from the slate gray desk and made his way into his private office. He had to tell Talbot about what he wanted from him concerning Michael. He also needed to see if the Englishman had made any progress on their mutual aim to unseat Elliot Damascus from his prominence in Michigan’s shipping arena.

Scene Seven 

“Isn't that just the most gaudy piece of crap you've ever seen? ” the cocky young man behind the pawnshop's counter said. He came around the edge of the counter, lifting the scarred wooden partition and leaving it standing up.

“I beg your pardon, ” Michael asked, glaring at the man indignantly. “Crap? "

“Oh yeah, " the man said, coming to stand beside Michael as if doing so llias the most natural thing in his life. “Let me see that dung. "

Fascinated by the man’s audacity, Michael did as he said. The “thing" was a golden brooch inset with garnets that were arranged in the shape of the letters E and T. It took up less than one quarter of Michael's palm, but the intricately worked gold and the numerous stones made it actually quite heavy fat an object of its size. Michael dropped it into the shopkeeper’s hand.

The pawnbroker let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking when I gave this baby a home, " he said, smiling conspiratorially at Michael. “It’s not going to sell in a million years. "

Michael didn’t move even though the broker stood too close to him for comfort. “Why not? ”

Although Michael crafted his tone to convey the utmost in superior annoyance, the man did not seem to pick up on it. He held out the brooch to Michael and pointed at different parts of it while he spoke, as if Michael wasn’t already more than familiar with the piece.

“Well, the most obvious thing, " he began, “is the fact that it’s got initials on it. Garnets by themselves — not so bad. Garnets spelling out initials shared by maybe one hundred people in the city — not so good. Out of those hundred, a grand total of one might walk into my store looking for jewelry. Maybe. "

“I see, ” Michael said, letting the wave of words wash over him. His expression remained impassive, although his temper rose with every sentence.

“Second, look at all this detail work on the gold, " the broker u>ent on. “Not bad stuff — hell, it’s more intricate than the background work on the border of a dollar bill, frankly — but it’s a little too much. It's overdone, you know. And you know it’s got to be a bitch to keep this thing clean and sparkling unless you've got one of those vibrating water tank deals jewelers use to clean their stuff. How many old women have one of those on hand to keep their jewelry clean. "

Michael blinked deliberately, making a point not to open his mouth. He wondered how far into this hole that the human would dig himself. The man leaned back against the counter, holding the brooch out between the two of them with no regard for whom he might be talking to. He seemed to like the sound of his own voice.

“And take a look at this pin setting here on the back, ” he went on, turning the piece over to show Michael the golden mounting there. “I don’t know my jewelry as well as, say, the athletic equipment back there, but this design looks pretty clunky to me. This brooch wouldn’t lie flat against a fabric unless you really wadded that fabric underneath. From what I've seen, brooches look pretty crappy if they're not lying flat on the piece of clothing they’re being worn against. Especially if you’re shorter than the person looking at it. ”

Michael cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Hey, l’m sorry man, ” the broker said a moment later, taking stock of where he was, as if for the first time. “I don’t get many customers after seven these days. Not in this neighborhood. I was about to close down before you came in. My name s Darien Salway. I run this place weekdays and half a day on Saturday. Is there something you want me to show you1”

“I came to look at your jewelry selection, " Michael said, eyeing the brooch in Darien’s hand as well as the several similar tacky pieces kept in the shadow box atop the glass jewelry showcase. The piece hadn’t even been locked up with the ones in the actual showcase itself. “I’m a collector. ”

“Hm, ” Darien said, giving it only the briefest thought. His round, handsome face clouded over before a more jovial expression returned. He ran a hand through his sand-colored hair and dropped the brooch back into the shadow box with a clatter. “I keep these pieces on top here mostly for scrap, to be honest. Shoplifters don’t even want them. The ones under the glass are the more expensive ones. I sell those shadow box ones mostly to amateur jewelers. They can cast them for practice or melt them down for the raw materials. You could probably get a nice wedding ring set out of this guy here and use the garnets for a petulant. Or a much more reasonable brooch. If you clean the stones up, you could probably even sell them to a jewelry store, if you wanted. "

“I suppose that’s possible, " Michael said. A pan of him found this Darien Salway’s charm amusing. Even if only in the way the antics of a mouse are amusing to an owl.

“Are you a jeweler yourself, sir? " the human continued, going back to his side of the counter and standing opposite Michael. “You’ve got the hands for it. And the way you scrunched up your right eye when you looked at the brooch a second ago sure looked an awful lot like you’re used to holding a jeweler's loupe there. ” “You’re very observant, Mister Salway, " Michael said. He approached the counter and put his hands on the surface alongside the shadow box display. His left hand came down on the glass top of the showcase to be lit from underneath by the subtle lights in the sides of the case.

Darien smiled proudly. “I can usually tell what people do for a living when they come in here, " he said. “All kinds of people come in here for all kinds of reasons, and you learn how to tell these things. It's pretty helpful sometimes. So, are you interested in my little ‘ET’ brooch there! "

Michael's expression softened into the suggestion of a sardonic smirk. “Although I didn’t know it before I came in, " he said softly, “I believe I was looking for it. ”

“Wow. Now, that’s a story-opener if ever I've heard one, " the broker said, producing a spiral-bound notepad from beneath the counter. He smiled like a prospector who had just discovered gold completely by accident. “Mind if I jot it down! ’’ He scratched the words down without waiting for a reply then smiled crookedly and shrugged. “Writer. " In his mind, the word apparently explained everything. “You could probably tell. ”

“You’re an artist, Mister Salway! "

“Well, " Darien said, replacing the brooch on the counter top where Michael had first put it down to examine it. “Wouldn’t know it to look at me, huh! I’m still trying to publish, frankly. I used to live m Detroit, but the COL got too high for an unpublished writer's salary. "

“And you work in a pawn shop now! ” Michael asked smugly. “Only for now, " Darien said. “I help manage a few like it in town. The guy who owns the place works m Iron Rapids down outside of Pontiac, and he doesn't get out here to Jackson much. What’s good about it is that I get to meet plenty of interesting people who all have some kind of story to tell. That and I pretty much get to make my own hours. I practically own this place, what with the owner never showing up or really taking an interest. ”

Michael knew who really owned the shop, but he wasn’t inclined to comment. Calvin kept his interests to himself.

“Hey, if you stand there listening tome, l’m just going to keep on talking all night, " Darien said, smiling and looking away sheepishly. “Nobody wants that. How about we look at this brooch and talk price instead? That’s always the ugly part, I know, but we both look like busy men. I'll let you take the thing home for the straight-up market value of the gold per gram, plus another twenty-five dollars to cover the garnets and the craftsmanship. I won’t tell you it’s a steal, but it’s more than fair to both of us. Especially if you're just going to melt it down and make something good out of it. "

“Vom realize, " Michael said, “that that price doesn’t begin to cover this piece’s actual value? ”

Darien shook his head apologetically. “In a pawn shop in this part of town? Friend, frankly, I’m crazy not to just melt the thing down myself and take what I can get. Look at this thing. ” He thumped the brooch with fingernail, tipping it over on its awkward pin setting.

“This piece was an original, ” Michael said. “And one of a kind. It’s the only one made by this particular craftsman in your entire collection, as far as I see. "

"I think that’s its problem, ” Darien said, not at all affected by Michael's somber tone or expression. “The jeweler obviously thought better after he made this guy. He didn't make any more. That, or the mold felt so guilty it broke itself. ”

Michael flexed his fingers against the glass and wood surfaces beneath his hands.

“Like I was going to tell you before, though, ” Darien went on, “the only reason I picked this piece up in the first place was chat I liked the story that came with it. " When Michael didn’t respond, Darien took the silence as a cue to continue.

“Apparently, it belonged to this woman named Elisabeth Thurston before die Depression. It’d been m the family bouncing from mother to mother until it ended up in the hands of Mrs. Thurston’s great granddaughter, about ten years ago. Well, her house got robbed while she was on vacation, and she had this thing stuck away in her jewelry box. The burglars cook everything — even her satin pillowcases, this lady says — but they left this sitting right there in plain view. Apparently, they took it out of the jewelry box with the rest of her valuables, but they left it there. She didn’t have much left until the insurance started paying off, so she came in here saying that if even desperate criminals didn’t want this thing, neither did she. Hell with tradition, hell with it being an heirloom; she didn’t want to see the tacky thing for one more day. I won't say what I gave her for it, but I made it dear that I was paying for the story idea rather than the piece. That being the case, I think what I’m asking's completely fair. ”

“It’s not enough, ” Michael said, letting his frustration and injured pride begin to show through. No amount of amusing conversation was worth this.

This time, it was the broker’s turn to blink and say nothing. “We'll, ” he managed at last, “I can’t say I exacted to ever hear that about this thing, Mister... ”

“Luther, " Michael said, leaning forward on his hands so that his face was even with Darien's. “Michael Luther. ”

“You know, that’s a weird coincidence, '' Darien began. “Because if you look here on the back of this brooch in the center, you see—” “‘Michael Luther: 1928, ’” Michael said, without looking. “I know what it says. ”

“You did say you were a collector, ” Darien mused. “Is this guy an ancestor or something? ”

Michael leaned so close to Darien that he could have kissed him if he'd wanted. “No, " he said quietly. “I know what it says because I engraved it there myself. And you see, all of my work has more sentimental value than the raw materials' market value plus twenty-five dollars, Mister Salway. ”

To his credit, the shopkeeper did not so much as blink. Michael admired that. The man may lack tact, but he kept his head.

“What then, ” he asked with a straight face, “tiwe you thinking when you made this1" A moment later, he broke into a big grin, showing teeth shaded faintly in brown and gold from smoking or drinking too much coffee.

“No, really, ” he said a moment later. “Are you actually related to—*

Michael smiled then as well, showing the broker all of his teeth. The opinionated man didn't have so much to say then.

Michael cleared the counter in one graceful vault, using the second half of the arc to drag the shopkeeper to the floor out of line of sight of the shop's front window. Suddenly caught tip in the heady rush of the attack, he did not even pause to close the store.

That scene rolled over and over in Michael’s mind as the bus meandered its way back through Iron Rapids toward his jewelry shop in Pontiac. That indiscretion, he remembered had very nearly jeopardized the careful veil of secrecy under which he and the rest of his kind operated. One was not supposed to feed in uncontrolled conditions, especially somewhere where one was likely to be caught in the act It was also frowned upon in Adrock’s domain to actually kill a mortal when feeding, but Michael remembered that he could not help himself. While he was not particularly hungry, it had felt good to sate himself fully, regardless. It had also reaffirmed in his mind his superiority over the average human. Especially over opinionated, tactless humans who didn’t know when to shut up.

Yet, despite the relatively minor infractions of his society’s laws that he had already committed, what he did next appalled him.

He sat up quickly, slinging the last life’s blood from the broker’s neck in a thin arc through the air. Blood dripped from Michael's lower lip onto the shopkeeper’s face, and he smeared it on the dead man's cheek like rouge. What was wrong with him? He was giddy, almost high. He hadn't felt this way in all the decades since his embrace. Never had he taken a mortal with such abandon.

“What have you done'” Michael asked the still man. He had been excited to take this man. Dragging him down made him feel more alive. More powerful. Until now, he had only fed on those with whom Calvin had set him up. Those affairs had always been sterile and regimented means to an end. The victims were often married people who believed they had been set up with a young artist for an illicit extramarital tryst, but this u>as completely different. In these few moments, no one had existed in the world except Michael and Darien. For just this one time, the act of feeding was a sublime experience. Something beautiful instead of something monstrous.

Michael had gone cruising the pawnshops in his hunting territory looking for cast-off examples of his past work in hopes of rekindling his flagging inspiration. And yet this man had shown him something beyond his imagination. This man who had insulted him and actually gotten him excited by showing him absolutely no fear and speaking to him like an equal. This man, who observed people and absorbed their stories for his own entertainment, had given him a gift that none among his own kind had even hinted at being possible.

And Michael had killed him.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Michael found himself slicing open the inside of his wrist with one of his stiletto fangs. He lifted Darien’s cold body like the body of a child and pressed his wrist to the man's pale lips. One was supposed to ask permission Prince Adrock before doing this, but there was no choice. The spark within this man of what had moved Michael would be gone if he waited. So he squeezed and massaged his arm, /arcing his blood back into the shopkeeper’s body. After one long, agonizing moment, Darien stirred and gripped Michael’s wrist with both hands. Michael let him drink only a little, then simply held him while the first changes overtook him. They lay together in each other’s arms for hours.

“Mister Solway! " a voice asked from the other side of the counter some time later. Startled, and suddenly ashamed, Michael jumped to his feet, leaving Darien squirming on the ground. He came face to face with a middle-aged woman who clutched her jacket around her and took a step back. “Why is the store still open? Where's Mister Salway? ”

Michael opened the counter partition to his left and came to stand directly in front of the woman. No one else had come into the store, and no one seemed to be waiting outside. This concerned citizen had stopped in alone to check on Darien. It was sweet in a human way.

The woman backed away a step as Michael approached, realizing that Michael had blood on his mouth Michael wiped the smear off absently and grabbed the woman by her wrist. She cried to pull back as panic lit her eyes, but Michael held her fast. In one smooth jerk, he pulled her down across the top of the counter. Unable to scream, she started kicking the counter’s front spasmodically.

“Mister Solway is fine, * Michael said.

The woman finally managed to gasp, but she couldn't move. Michael held her down by the back of the neck and reached down carefully to lift Darien to his feet. Darien blinked and sneered like an animal dragged out of its hole, which was not an altogether inappropriate description. At Michael's urging, the new vampire grabbed the woman by the hair and lifted her face up roughly. The woman drew a deep breath to scream at last, but Darien clamped his teeth down roughly on either side of windpipe. Her blood ran down his face, and the scream died unborn. Michael let her go. As Darien began to slurp and suck at the unfortunate woman's ruined throat, Michael jogged to the front of the store and locked the front door. He turned the sign in the glass to “Closed” and pulled down the inner shades. The folding iron security fence remained open outside, but Michael would see to that detail on his way out. Satisfied that they wouldn't be interrupted again, he went back to see to Darien.

Just watching his childe feed for the first time filled Michael with the same elation he had felt moments ago. Darien closed his eyes and let the blood run down his face in rivers. He stood to his full height, arching his back in his rapture, and he jerked the woman off the counter. Her limbs dangled and twitched, and Darien hugged her tight to hold her up. Watching Darien enjoy the woman’s blood, Michael couldn't control himself. He grabbed one of the woman’s wrists and bit into it as well, drinking as deeply as Darien did. He had never felt so alive.

Michael could still taste the woman’s blood on his lips sometimes when he thought back to that night. Whenever he created jewelry now he could taste it. Whenever he and Darien argued he could taste it. The night Darien had volunteered to go with Jeremey Talbot’s coterie to Detroit, Michael had tasted it like a fire. Tonight, that fire had gone out. Tonight, his lips ran cold, as if the blood of that first sublime experience had turned into mud or human waste.

Michael got off the bus at his usual stop, but he was lost in his tracks. He was adrift for the second time that night. Christopher Flynne was waiting for him. Calvin expected him to meet the older Kindred and make his apologies for what he had said at Elysium. Paying proper deference to one’s elders was important in Kindred society. One did not blame one’s faults on one’s elders, especially at Elysium in the presence of one’s sire. Most especially when one’s sire was not only the keeper of said Elysium, but the right hand of the prince as well. Michael had a duty to make the proper offer of contrition.

Right then, however, he did not feel like doing any such thing. Let Flynne wait all night if he had to; Michael was not going home. He turned, instead, toward a pay phone and called a taxi to take him into Jackson. He knew of some apartment property near the Grand River that was low-rent, but not so much as to force one to live with the immigrant blue-collars or the drug-dealers. The part of town Michael was headed for had been nicknamed the Shallows for reasons unknown, and it marked the northernmost border of Darien’s hunting grounds. Darien had kept an apartment in that area, Michael knew, and it was toward that apartment that he made his way. He realized that he would very likely lose this territory when Calvin reorganized his assets, but he had not lost it yet. He would sleep in Darien’s apartment and hope to wake from this nightmare the following evening.

Scene Eight 

Kyle sat very still, looking at Lionel as if the man had lost his mind. The sound of the music filtering into this secluded room from outside the locked door took on a discordant, jarring quality that was no fault of the band performing on the club’s stage. It had turned into some alien dirge in Kyle’s ears. Maybe he was the one who had lost his mind.

Lionel lounged on the sofa opposite Kyle and stretched his left arm out along its back. His eyes sparkled with amusement and eagerness. He seemed really excited and completely serious. And he just sat there expectantly.

“Do I have to decide right now? ” Kyle stammered. He had always entertained the notion that Lionel might one night offer to make him a vampire, but the idea had always been a speculative fantasy and nothing more.

“I’d prefer it, son, " Lionel said. He had not yet cut his hair this evening, and he curled a long lock of it around his right middle finger idly at his shoulder. “You’ve had plenty of time to think about it. Ever since you’ve been working for me, I’ve been getting you ready. ”

Kyle stood up, and the smell of old cigarettes and spilled alcohol whooshed after him out of the fabric of the chair he’d been sitting in. This room had hosted after-concert parties for the bands that performed at this club, but it was one of the rooms where Lionel went to feed when he had chosen to do so indoors. Kyle had stationed himself outside the door to this room more times than he could count, but he had never been inside alone with Lionel before.

“It just seems so soon, ” he said, measuring the length between himself and the door. “It’s only been three years since we met. ”

“Three years, twenty years or a hundred; it doesn’t matter, ” Lionel said. “This is the opportunity. We’ve got a place for you in the domain, but if you don’t take it, someone else is going to. ”

“I don’t think I can, ” Kyle said. “I’ve seen what you have to do. I don’t think I can do it. ”

“Bullshit, ” Lionel said. “I know you, Kyle. You’ve got it in you to do what I do. You proved it before I left for Detroit. What was that girl’s name? Laura? ”

Kyle stopped his pacing and shut his eyes tight. He remembered that night with photographic clarity. He’d seen Laura’s face over and over in his every nightmare since. The rational side of his brain told him that he wasn’t himself when he’d done what he had done. It told him that the blood Lionel gave him for his services had been responsible for how he had hurt Laura. The blood made him strong and quick, his rational brain told him, but it made him a little crazy too. Lionel had told him the blood would make him strong, but he had never warned him about what else it might do.

“I hear she's even out of the hospital now, ” Lionel said casually. “Is it true? Have you gone to see her since then? ” Bright roses of anger bloomed on Kyle’s cheeks, and his breath started whistling through his teeth. “You shut the fuck up about her, ” he snarled.

Amusement danced in Lionel’s eyes. “Easy, Kyle. ” “You saw what I did, ” Kyle said, spitting the words out. “You knew how I felt about her, and you let me do that to her. Why did you let me do that? ”

It sounded absurd to blame Lionel for what had happened, Kyle knew, but blaming Lionel was easier than blaming himself. After all, what if the blood hadn’t made him crazy at all?

“I had to know if you could, ” Lionel said. “If you can rape somebody, giving somebody the Kiss is easy. And if you can do it to somebody you seemed to care so much about, you can feed from some nameless human with no problem. Eventually, that is. ” He shifted his weight on the couch and stretched his long legs. “It was really the last test I needed. ”

Kyle rounded on Lionel and actually took two angry steps toward him. “Fuck you and your tests! Why are you talking to me like this? You made me put Laura in the hospital, Lionel! I’ve known her since I was five, and I put her in the hospital. And you’re just going to sit there and tell me I passed a test? ”

“I don’t suppose it’s as reassuring now as it will be, ” Lionel said with a shrug. “It takes getting used to. I’m still getting used to it. ”

“I don’t want to get used to this! ” Kyle shrieked. “I hate what I did! I threw up every night after that, until I couldn’t even move. My parents thought I had malaria. ” Lionel’s amused smile widened.

“When you left, I started thinking about killing myself, ” Kyle went on, beginning to pace again. “I tried. I climbed up to the roof of my building and stood there trying to jump off. You know why I couldn’t? You! I didn’t want to disappoint you! I can’t do a damn thing without wondering if you'll approve. I knew you’d be upset if you came back and found me dead. God damn it, Lionel, I don’t even like you! ”

When Kyle finished, Lionel laughed aloud, and the rich, deep sound filled the room. The vampire stood up and shook his long hair back over his shoulder, laughing even as he did so.

“This is why I picked you, kid, ” he said, still smiling. “You’ve got the same heart I did at your age. ”

“Fuck you, ” Kyle said, turning away. Why did it feel like his emotions were the ones in charge around here? He’d gone from scared to furious almost between breaths. Now he felt like he was about to start bawling. “I wasn’t kidding. I think you’re a son of a bitch. ”

“You’ll get over that, ” Lionel said, coming closer. He laid a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “You’ll be over it tonight, even. ” Kyle reached up to knock Lionel’s hand away. Maybe Lionel could survive taking what he wanted from people and not caring, but Kyle knew that he couldn’t. Regardless of what he had done to Laura, he was not that kind of monster. The fact that Lionel could see that kind of monster in him pissed him off. He only wondered why it hadn’t pissed him off sooner. He wondered why he hadn’t told Lionel what he really thought a long time ago. At first, he had been terrified of the man, but that had changed in only the first few months. Lionel’s blood must have made him crazy. “Leave me al—”

When Kyle’s hand hit Lionel’s wrist to disengage his grip, nothing happened. His hand connected with Lionel, then just stopped. He may as well have been trying to brush away a statue’s hand. He looked up at Lionel and saw on his face an expression he had never beheld directly. What he had mistaken for amusement was really the look of hunger. Lionel wanted blood, and he had a marble-hard grip on Kyle’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, ” Lionel said, grabbing Kyle's jaw and forcing his chin to the left. The large man’s teeth elongated, adding a whispery sibilance to his words. “You’ll like this. ” Unable to move, unable to make himself scream for help, Kyle shut his eyes and tried to brace himself. A part of him thought about what Lionel had said and realized that it was true. He probably would like this. He had seen Lionel bite people; they seemed to like it. But Lionel’s words and his acceptance referred to more than just that, Kyle knew. The part of him that had liked hurting Laura would be stronger when this was done. And he would be even stronger than he was now. His body would turn the blood he took into the same stuff that was inside Lionel. In time, Kyle realized, he would indeed like this.

That part scared him.

Interlude One

Of all the things Timothy thought he might miss if they were taken from him, taking baths was the last on his list. He almost couldn’t remember what it felt like to soak in warm water. He hated all the scrubbing and lathering and rinsing and having to use a washcloth and all that, but just the lying there in the warm water soaking wasn’t all that bad. If his dad would just let him lie there long enough, he’d get clean eventually. It was being told what to do that he really didn’t like.

He wasn’t clean any more. He hadn’t taken a bath in a month. Maybe more. He didn’t even have a bathroom, just a dirty comer on the other side of the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken either. It had been so long, his lips felt stuck together. He used to hold his mouth shut for so long that his lips got stuck together, and then he’d peel them open slowly like he was a mummy rising from its tomb. His dad didn’t get why that was so much fun.

He hadn’t seen his dad in more than a month either. He used to wonder why his dad didn’t break down the door and get him out of here. He sat there the first few days, watching the sunbeam from the room’s one window sweeping across the floor, imagining that it was his dad’s big black flashlight looking for him. He stood in the beam all day, moving across the floor slowly, and he waited for his dad to get there and take him home. There was even a week when Timothy started hating his dad for not coming to get him, but he got over that. He saw a movie on TV once where a girl had been kidnapped, and her dad hadn’t found her for more than a year. It had only been a month for him.

At night, though, he was the dad. He’d been a kid the first few times, back when the thin Englishman was around. The Englishman and the pale woman, Clare, would stay up all night talking to him, trying to get him to play, but he didn’t want to play. He’d cried a lot the first few nights. He’d cried so hard one night that the pale woman had taken off her shirt and tried to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay once he had something to eat and gotten some sleep. She kept saying she was going to feed him.

Timothy had never seen a woman’s breasts before except on TV. He used to sneak into the living room early on Saturday mornings when and flip to channel 90 before the cartoons came on. Channel 90 showed things in die early morning that Timothy wasn’t supposed to watch. He kept the sound all the way down, but he saw some really weird stuff.

Clare wasn’t like the Channel 90 women. She was just pale and thin and cold. Timothy remembered that the Englishman’s hand had been cold too. He hadn’t seen the Englishman in almost a month. Clare came in once every other night to bring him food, but the Englishman never came around.

He knew when the Englishman had left too. One night, Clare had come into his room alone. She was wearing a long blue dress with tiny white dots all over it, and she was carrying his green Outdoorsman backpack in one hand.

“Good evening, honey, ” she’d said, laying the backpack down beside the door. “How was your day? ”

Timothy hadn’t said anything. He thought about making up something about school so Clare wouldn’t get mad, but he couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t remember exactly what school was like. Thinking about it made him want to start crying, but he didn’t cry. He knew that if he started crying, Clare would try to make him feel better again. She’d try to feed him like a baby, as she did before.

‘Traffic was just hell, ” Clare had gone on, not even waiting for him to try to lie. “And my boss is such an ass. I caught him looking down my dress again today. Can you believe the nerve? ”

Timothy had just stood there. Clare had walked over to Timothy’s low bed and sat on it. She’d kicked off her shoes and stretched.

“Come sit down, dear, ” she’d said, patting the bed. Timothy had done so very slowly. He’d sat on the edge, several inches away from her fingers.

“Oh, that Calvin is such a pill, ” she’d sighed. “I can’t exactly say, ‘Hey, what are you looking at, buster? ’ can I? I mean, he might fire me. "

Timothy remembered how he’d just sat there looking from his backpack to the window and back again. His stomach had been growling all day too. He hadn’t eaten all that day or the day before.

“What should I do, honey? ” Clare had asked. “I can’t talk to anyone at work, obviously. They all think Calvin is the best thing to happen to the company since we incorporated. Who would believe me? ”

Timothy’s stomach had growled again just then, loud enough for Clare to hear.

“Oh, l’m sorry, dear, ” she’d said in a funny voice. “Are you hungry? ”

Timothy wished he hadn’t nodded.

Clare had sat still for a few seconds, and some of her uncombed brown hair had trailed down in front of one eye. She’d brushed it away slowly then stood up. She’d stepped over in front of Timothy and leaned down in front of him.

“You haven’t been listening to me, have you? ” she’d asked. She’d looked surprised and angry. “You’ve just been thinking about your damn stomach. Why don’t you ever listen to me? ” She’d seemed to want an answer, so Timothy had said, “I was listening. ”

“You were not! You’re hungry. I know how you get when you’re hungry. You just sit there nodding, waiting for me to shut up. Then all through dinner, you just sit there while I yap away, waiting for me to shut up so you can take me upstairs and fuck me! ”

Timothy still didn’t know what that word meant, but it sounded vile when Clare shouted it at him like that.

“I didn’t—”

“God damn it, Timothy, don’t talk to me right now, ” she’d shouted, starting to pace back and forth erratically. “You’re just going to give me more of your lies! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of it any more. You’ll lie, I’ll believe you, and you’ll try to get me into bed again. Why do I let you do that to me? ”

Timothy vaguely remembered shaking his head at that point. “No, stop! ” she’d shouted. Every time she shouted something, she waved her arms like she was trying to gulp in all the air in the room with her hands. “Just don’t! ”

“What’s happening? ” He’d said it in a very small voice. It had just come out. He said it like he talked in his dreams when he was trying to scream but only a tiny squeak came out.

Clare had stopped and looked directly into his eyes. The look had felt like she was clawing him Clawing at his eyes with here.

“That’s what I wonder sometimes too, Timothy, ” she’d said very quietly. She’d almost sounded sad. Like she’d lost something. “What has happened to us? ”

Timothy hadn’t said anything. If he had, he might have started crying again. He didn’t know what would happen if he’d cried in front of Clare just then.

“I can’t take this any more, ” she’d whispered. “I have to get out of here. I have to think. ”

After a long minute, she’d walked back to the door of the room and opened it. She’d stood in the doorway and turned back around. “I’m going to talk to a lawyer, Timothy, ” she’d said. “This has gone on too long between us. I’m sorry. ” At that, she’d left, leaving the backpack on the floor. She’d locked the door behind her and stomped off down the hallway. Timothy had crept over to the pack after about an hour, and opened it. He’d been afraid that Clare would come back for it, but it didn’t seem like she was going to come back at all. He’d found apples and bananas and an orange inside the pack. Clare had brought him food.

None of the nights since then had been quite that bad, but the Englishman hadn’t come back either. When anyone came to check on him at all, it was Clare, and she was never happy. She talked to him like he was a dad and she was his wife. She’d talked to him about times they’d had together — except they hadn’t — even talking about sex and wanting to have a baby. Timothy never said anything back. Eventually, Clare would get mad and start yelling at him, accusing him of being horrible. She even hit him once. It wasn’t a hard hit, but his chest burned where she did it. He’d fallen down and started crying then, curling up in a ball. He didn’t care if Clare saw it. He couldn’t help it.

Luckily, Clare hadn’t tried to make him feel better. Instead, she’d made a sound like a snort and stopped yelling. She hadn’t said anything else except to tell him that she was going to her mother’s. The next night, she’d come in just long enough to tell him she was going to a hotel. Two nights later, she’d stuck her head in to tell him she was going to stay with someone named Jeremey. Each night she’d brought him a plate of food, although she didn’t even seem to remember doing so.

Timothy hated those nights more than he had when Clare had treated him like a baby. When she talked to him, she asked him questions he was too young to answer, then told him he was being immature and got mad. Only this guy named Jeremey seemed to make her feel better, as she told it. She started coming in every night for a few nights in a row, telling him how much better a person Jeremey was than him and how she just might be moving in with him instead. Timothy didn’t know whom Jeremey was, but after a week of hearing about him, Timothy had started wishing the Englishman would come back. If they wouldn’t let him go, at least Clare was nice to him when the Englishman was around. She hadn’t treated him like the adult he wasn’t. She hadn’t talked to him like his mom had talked to his dad before she’d left.

The door lock clicked, and Timothy looked up suddenly. He was in the comer with his knees hugged up to his chin. That was where he sat when the sunbeam faded away. He didn’t move as the doorknob turned, and he remained equally still as the door swung open slowly. He really had no way to brace himself for what Clare would say or do to him.

“Timothy r Clare said, stepping into the room wearing blue jeans and a white shirt that was too big for her. She flipped on the lights and opened the door all the way.

Timothy blinked in the harsh 100-watt light and huddled a little tighter. Something was wrong with her voice.

“Timothy? ” Clare said again. Her voice was happy and light. He almost didn’t recognize it. “Oh, there you are. Stand up, baby. Guess who’s here to see you. "

Timothy put his knees down, but he didn’t stand up.

“It’s okay, sweetie, ” Clare said. “Come on. Jeremey’s here. "

As soon as she said it, the Englishman walked in past her. He wore black pants and a white shirt that he’d buttoned all the way up. He wrinkled his nose and glanced at the comer where Timothy used the bathroom. With a grimace of disgust, he then looked down at Timothy and extended a pale, thin hand. Timothy took the hand and stood shakily to his feet.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten 7’ the Englishman, Jeremey, asked him.

Timothy couldn’t look away from his eyes. He couldn’t remember the answer to his question either.

“A while, I’d wager, ” Jeremey said. He turned to Clare. “Go downstairs and fix the boy a sandwich. What kind of sandwich do you want, Timothy? ”

Timothy just stared. His eyes were starting to bum. He felt his bottom lip moving like a worm on his face.

“Do you like grilled cheese? " Clare asked him, crouching down to eye level at Jeremey’s side. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup, maybe? Would you like that? ”

“Answer her, Timothy, ” Jeremey said. His smooth, cultured voice felt like warm water on his skin.

“Yes ma’am, ” he whispered.

“Go on, Clare, ” Jeremey said. “Cut it into even quarters. Diagonally. ” Clare hopped up and left the room happily. She looked like she would start skipping in a minute.

Jeremey closed the door behind her and moved back in front of Timothy. He put a hand on Timothy’s shoulder. Timothy felt like he’d started levitating and that only Jeremey’s hand was keeping him on the floor. Jeremey looked him up and down and leaned over to sniff at him. His nose wrinkled slightly.

“You need a bath too, ” he said stoically.

Timothy couldn't help it any more. He collapsed against Jeremey and threw his arms around him. Tears poured out of his eyes, and he heard himself croaking and crying against the thin man’s chest. Jeremey put his arms around Timothy’s back, holding him awkwardly. He patted his head and patted his shoulder. “What is it, son? ”

“I want my daddy. "

***

Christopher Flynne sat staring at the bathroom mirror, slowly counting to one hundred. At twenty-five, he opened his left eye wide, pushing back his eyelashes and stretching back the skin around the glistening orb. At forty-five, he turned on the water in the black-porcelain sink. Steam wafted up into his face and he inhaled it ritualistically, counting up to sixty. At sixty, he pulled his thick blonde hair into a ponytail and held it with his left hand. At seventy-five, he unfolded his lock-blade knife with a practiced flip of his right wrist. The oiled Boker blade snapped straight like a talon unfolding from a cat’s paw. Chris closed his right eye and counted eighty, still pulling the hot white steam in and out of his long-dormant lungs. At eighty, he leaned over the steaming basin murmuring, “For Darien, for Sean, for the others left behind. ” The mantra continued until Chris reached one hundred in his mind. On the final word, he plunged the knife into his left eye, staring the blade down, daring it to bend and break.

White-hot fire shot backward through his skull, and he had to fight to keep his head over the sink. Over the splash of hot water, he heard the ruined mess dribble from his socket into the basin to be washed away. Slowly, precisely, he twisted the knife one-quarter turn to the left and pulled it free. Inside his skull, he heard his eye wrench free, tearing loose like a back-alley abortion. He gritted his teeth, tasting his own blood rolling down his nose in the steam to the edge of his mouth. The knife clattered into the sink, and he cupped his hands under the scalding stream. Spitting out his blood, he splashed a hot double-handful of water onto his face. It screamed against his nerves, clawing him even while it soothed. He threw his head back to stifle a scream. This never got any easier, no matter how many times he did it.

Flynne’s gnarled and corded knuckles stood out like the roots of a tree as he clutched at the rim of the sink. He held on until the pain became bearable.

The hot water washed the last of the blood down onto his shoulders, and he reached for a white towel on the rack over the toilet. He’d have to throw the towel away once he was finished with it, but no one would ask questions about a missing hotel towel, even in a place as nice as this in which Calvin Bainbridge had set him up. He held the towel under the steaming water then wiped away the worst of the mess from his face. Dropping it into the sink to soak, he opened his right eye. He wiped away a swath of condensation from the mirror and looked at his face. His hair hung down like a ragged halo, but he hadn’t gotten any blood on it. Even through the lingering sting, he allowed himself a half smile at the work he’d done. It would do for another night.

At that thought, his smile turned sad. He did this every night not because his work impressed him so, but because of his responsibility. “For Darien, ” he whispered, “for Sean, and for all the others left behind. "

Scene One 

Michael didn't know what to think when the dark blue sedan arrived at the doorstep of Darien’s former home. His first impression was that Christopher Flynne had come around to collect him now that he had returned home, so he stood just inside his door looking out. Flynne was Calvin’s equal in age and generation, and the man had made a name for himself running messages and messengers safely through Sabbat territory for the last fifty years. It was rumored that Flynne had even killed two vampires in the course of his work. That being the case, Michael was not too thrilled with the prospect of facing him in the first place. His trepidation multiplied as he considered the fact that he had not only insulted Flynne inadvertently at Elysium, but he had intentionally avoided him the rest of that night and the next.

Fortunately, the man who stepped out of the vehicle was just one of the many servants in Calvin Bainbridge’s employ. Michael had actually seen this man before, driving various cars from Calvin’s fleet. The tall, muscular man rushed from the car door to the bottom step that led into Michael’s workshop. He pulled off his cap and bowed quickly. Michael raised an eyebrow. This driver was the one Calvin had drive visiting guests and important players in the city’s social games around.

“Sir, ” the large man said gallantly, “You have an appointment with Master Bainbridge in Iron Rapids this evening. ” Michael was well aware of that fact; he had been on his way to the bus station when the car arrived. Calvin had always had a knack for telling him to do something just as he was already beginning to do it.

“And he sent you to collect me? ” Michael asked, pulling on his suit jacket. He straightened the collar in the cool fall air and rolled his shoulder-length black hair out over it. It never hurt to be well dressed when speaking with Calvin about matters of assets and holdings. Especially if he intended to retain any of the same. “How thoughtful. ”

“Yes sir, ” the servant said quickly, ignoring the thinly veiled sarcasm gracefully. “Master Bainbridge has assigned my services to you from now on. ”

"Really? ” Michael asked, stepping outside and locking the door behind him. That was a new one. Since Darien’s embrace, Calvin had never so much as offered him a driver before, much less one with his own car attached. Michael had always been content to walk when he had needed to roam about. In times when driving had been required, Darien had been more than happy to do it. Otherwise, Michael had always relied on taxicabs and busses. “Let’s move along then. ”

“Yes sir. ”

The servant minded his own business rather than engaging Michael in conversation during the drive into Iron Rapids. If nothing else, Calvin had trained him well. His presence, however, set Michael to brooding. Why this sudden generosity? Calvin was obviously trying to make some point, but what was it? He never made an overt show of any sort without it meaning something. Was Calvin trying to replace Darien function by function? Was Calvin trying to exert an even greater force on Michael’s nightly activities? What was his game?

And how had Calvin known to send the driver here rather than to Michael’s jewelry shop in Pontiac?

Before any answer occurred to him, however, the ride ended. He instructed the servant to wait by the front steps, not entirely sure if the driver would do so. The man only nodded and shut off the car’s engine, sitting quietly and looking at the road.

“Do you have a book or something? ”

“I think I’ll be fine, sir. ”

Without saying anything more, Michael turned and climbed the Gideon building’s steps. Calvin waited inside, and it would do Michael no good to eschew two summons from elder Kindred in the space of a week. Were he to do so, he might as well withdraw from Michigan’s Kindred society altogether. He even toyed with that very idea in the elevator, having to resist the urge to press the button for the second floor and jump out there before he reached the top floor. The notion was obviously ludicrous — where on Earth would he go? — but it was an endearing fantasy. Instead, he waited a moment after the doors opened before stepping out into the cold tile hallway. At the end of the hall, he found Calvin’s office open.

Inside, Calvin sat at his desk with a large sheet of paper open on his desktop. He had already rolled the computer desk’s chair to the opposite side of his desk, and the overhead lights glared on the sparse room. Other than the two desks and the geometrical sculpture his own sire had made for him on a pedestal in the far comer of the room, the office was bare. Michael knew from experience that Calvin's adjoining office was much more cluttered, but his first impression upon entering this room was always that the room needed more detail. He remembered that Calvin even kept a display case of what he considered Michael’s best pieces of jewelry work in the other room. Considering that that room was the one in which Calvin did most of his actual work when he was alone, Michael had taken the presence of the display as an offhand compliment.

“Sit down, Michael, " Calvin said, glancing up from his work. He made a final mark with his pen and folded his hands across what he was working on.

Michael took the chair opposite his sire, rolling it to face him directly and adjusting the seat’s height at the same time. He folded one foot under himself and sat down so that his eyes were level with Calvin’s. He noticed that the paper Calvin was working with was not an architectural blueprint, as he had assumed it would be, but a map of Michigan. Calvin had outlined three sections of the map in the southeastern portion of the state in yellow, red and blue. Even upside down and half covered by his sire’s hands, Michael could tell that the two contiguous sections farthest to the south, the blue and red ones, included the cities of Pontiac, Jackson and Ann Arbor in which were his and Jeremey's hunting grounds. The yellow section marked off the no-man’s land between Michael’s section of the state and Elliot’s territory in Lansing. The last time Michael had seen this map had been twenty-five years ago when Calvin had expanded his territory into Jackson to accommodate Darien. The no-man’s land had been much smaller, as had Jeremey’s grounds. From his estimate, Michael saw that his territory was almost the same size as the no-man’s land itself and that Jeremey’s land now cut at least seven blocks into the suburban neighborhoods south of Jackson. That area was little better than low-income housing, to be sure, but it was his territory. Darien had been particularly fond of feeding there.

“We can discuss my alterations in a moment, ” Calvin said, laying his hands flat on the map before him. “I want to talk about what happened between yourself and Christopher Flynne first. ”

Michael blinked once and kept his expression neutral. “Yes, Calvin. ”

“He told me, " Calvin began, “that you took your time in arriving. ”

To say the least, Michael thought. He was glad that he could not grow more pale even under the harsh lights.

“I am most disappointed that you did not do your best to arrive in haste. "

Michael opened his mouth to speak. He had no idea what he might say, but he hoped inspiration would strike.

“Don’t say anything, Michael, ” Calvin said, sitting back in his chair. “Christopher told me enough. He told me about what you said. ”

Michael couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at that. Calvin’s aura betrayed no sense of anger.

“You acquitted yourself well enough, Michael, ” Calvin said, “but do not let your pride run away with you. According to Christopher, you came across not at all as if I had forced you to go speak to him. ”

Not completely flat-footed, Michael said, “I didn’t feel as if you forced me. ”

“Naturally, it must have been obvious that I told you what to say, ” Calvin said, “but Christopher showed utmost grace in saying what he did. ”

“Indeed, ” Michael murmured. What in the world was happening here? “He is very kind. ”

“Sometimes I worry about you, Michael, ” Calvin said, apropos of nothing. “In others, you make me proud. ”

Michael had no idea how to respond to such a statement. “I have assured Christopher that your ill behavior will not be repeated for the duration of his stay, ” Calvin said. “See that you uphold that assurance. ”

“Yes Calvin, " Michael said, bowing his head to hide his surprise. Had Calvin possessed the same capacity for supernatural perception that Michael did, he would surely have seen the confusion and relief that swirled around Michael like living haloes. Fortunately, only one other Kindred in Adrock’s domain possessed that capacity, and he was not here.

“And for how long will Mister Flynne remain in Michigan? ” Michael said, trying to change the subject without looking like he was trying to.

Calvin arched an eyebrow, and Michael noticed for the first time how much like Calvin he must look when he did the same thing.

“He will remain until he decides to leave, ” Calvin said coldly, “or until his duty calls him back to the conflict on the coast. Until then, he has earned his rest here. ”

“Yes, Calvin, ” he said. He wondered if maybe Flynne was pan of Adrock’s advance into Detroit. That didn’t seem very likely, if Flynne was supposed to be resting.

In the short, uncomfortable silence that followed, Michael reflected on how different these conversations he had with Calvin were from the ones he had often had with Darien. Rather than being filled with remorse or horror at his condition upon being embraced, Darien had reveled in his newfound state. As such, he had looked up to Michael and asked him question after question. Whenever Michael had asked Calvin questions during his decades as a neonate in Kindred society, his answers had ranged from terse to nonexistent.

“That being said, ” Calvin began, uncovering the map in front of him, “let us proceed. As you recall, the combined territory you and Darien shared took up the area between your jewelry workshop on the eastern side of Pontiac and the factories on the western side of the Grand River in Jackson. When you embraced Darien, I had to extend that territory from what you were originally allotted in Pontiac alone. ”

Michael hated the way Calvin used every opportunity at his disposal to take credit for Darien’s well being, but he had long since learned how to dodge the potential snare of calling him on it. Calvin had concealed Darien’s existence from Prince Adrock. Calvin had made sacrifices to gain Michael the right of progeny. Calvin had introduced Darien to Kindred society, smoothing potential ripples and stemming the tides of gossip before they could begin. Calvin had even put Darien in charge of a chain of antique and retail dealerships that he owned secretly throughout Michigan. Calvin had done this and more. And Calvin made sure Michael remembered all he had done.

"However, with Darien’s disappearance, you have no need for so much territory. ”

He said the words with no expression, hardly looking up at Michael at all. Michael flinched.

“That being the case, I have excised this area of your Jackson territory and devoted them to Jeremey Talbot and Clare. As he has been supporting Clare all this time in his limited space in Ann Arbor, the move is only reasonable. Furthermore, I have shortened this section of your territory—” he pointed at the edge of Michael’s territory that bordered the no-man’s land, “— for future consideration. If, for instance, Mister Ellsworth decides to extend Elliot’s territory further between Lansing and Hint, that territory will cover this area as well. ”

Michael looked up from the map, a puzzled expression on his face. “Calvin? ”

Calvin’s eyes rolled up from the map slowly, over the edge of his silver-framed spectacles. “Yes? ”

“Why again did you feel it necessary to expand Jeremey’s territory? ”

Calvin collected his thoughts very slowly and put on a long-suffering expression. Impatience speckled his aura.

“Jeremey Talbot voluntarily put himself in danger and he brought back information vital to Prince Adrock’s campaign to seize Detroit in the name of our sect. ”

“I understand that he deserves to be rewarded, ” Michael began, shifting in his chair. He hated it when Calvin talked to him like a child. It infuriated him that Calvin thought that maybe Michael didn’t understand what was going on around him. Especially when Calvin was the one who didn’t understand the question. “But why reward him with more territory V’ “It is what he asked for, ” Calvin said, folding his hands again. “But was it necessary T Michael pressed on. “The information he brought back can’t have been so important that—” “That what, Michael? ” Calvin cut in. Michael had been about to say, “That Darien had to die for it. ”

“That Jeremey deserves more territory for bringing it, ” Michael amended lamely. “Could it? What was it? ”

“That is not your concern, Michael, ” Calvin said. “That information is for Prince Adrock’s ears and my own. He and I are in charge of planning the advance into Detroit. ” “I understand that, Calvin, ” Michael said desperately, “but I don’t know that Jeremey even needs more territory, really. He and Clare have been doing fine, haven’t they? ” “It is obvious to me that Jeremey does need more space in which to feed, Michael. He and that woman he sponsors have been sharing space made for one ever since he took her in. ” “Well, that’s what I’m saying, ” Michael said, leaning forward in his chair to put his hands against Calvin’s desk, “jeremey and Clare have been doing fine in Jeremey’s territory all this time. Frankly, I don’t think Clare should really even be left alone in a territory by herself. "

“I am not granting Clare her own territory, Michael, ” Calvin said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I am expanding Jeremey’s territory. ”

“But why after all this time? ” Michael said. “Jeremey has set up a routine in his territory. Won’t changing things around on him only upset him? You know how he is about his routines. ” “Neither the time frame nor Jeremey Talbot’s routines are relevant in this matter, Michael, ” Calvin said, raising his voice slightly. He also leaned forward against his desk, keeping his eyes higher than his childe’s. “As you recall, I offered Darien his own hunting grounds as soon as you created him. I expanded your hunting range to encompass an area almost as large as that of the prince’s own childe. Now the situation has changed, and Jeremey Talbot and his ward are more deserving of the space. It is within my authority to arrange matters thus, and so have I done. "

So that was that. Michael sat back heavily in his chair, no longer making eye contact with Calvin.

“This matter is not up for discussion, Michael, ” Calvin said after only a short pause. Michael caught a vague glimmer of deception in that statement, indicating that he could possibly have negotiated to recoup some of his territory from the no-man’s land into which it had been subsumed. His nagging questions had obviously cost him any such chance now. “And I would thank you to mind your manners even in my private presence. You are being unreasonable. "

“l’m sorry, Calvin, ” Michael said, glad again that Calvin did not possess his perceptive capabilities. He tried to say more, but all that came out was, “I humbly apologize. ”

“It is understandable that you are confused and distraught, Michael, ” Calvin said with a superior tone. “You have incurred quite a loss. ” The way he said it so blandly, Michael could not tell if Calvin was referring to Darien or his former hunting grounds. “However, there are other concerns at work here than merely yours. You have never sufficiently grasped the fact that Kindred society in this region does not revolve around your convenience. Darien is gone, Michael, and we must adapt to fill his ecological niche, lest we upset the balance we work so hard to maintain. Jeremey understands as much, which is why he accepted responsibility over that territory. ”

Michael said nothing. Jeremey had accepted responsibility? Had Calvin offered it to him, rather than having Jeremey ask him for it?

“What we must consider now, ” Calvin went on before Michael could recover fully, “is the dispensation of Darien’s holdings. Had Darien discussed with you the extent of his assets? ” The question insulted Michael, but he did not let it show. As if Darien would keep secrets from him.

“He told me about the stores he ran for you, ” he said, his voice listless. “The antique dealerships, the chain of jewelry stores, the assistant directorship he held at the museum, the illegal fencing operation he and Elliot had set up on the border of this yellow-outlined region here on the map..

“Yes, ” Calvin said, waving the list to an end. “As you may be aware, E>arien participated in these ventures in return for the opportunities I provided him. ”

Michael was well aware that Calvin had introduced Darien to a great many of his contacts in the publishing industry, in return for Darien putting his surprising business acumen to work. Those contacts had allowed Darien to pursue his love of writing over the years. It was those selfsame business ventures that had put Darien into contact with a great many jewelry brokets across the country, which had given Michael’s work the greatest exposure to an audience that it had ever had.

Michael had never really thought of it thus before. Calvin had taught him the rules and traps of Kindred society, even if he had done so mostly by letting him fall into them. Calvin had seen to his finances and found buyers for his work in one fashion or another. Calvin had found food for him when he had been reluctant to hunt. Calvin had cleaned up his messes. Calvin had even protected both he and Darien when they most needed it. For as long as he had been a vampire, Calvin had looked out for Michael. He had done the same for Darien when Michael had not.

“That being the case, ” Calvin continued, “many of his assets are already in my name. At the very least, power of attorney transfers back to mortal retainers in my employ. ” “So what does that mean? ” Michael asked, although he already had a fair idea.

“That means, Michael, that I now own most of what one would consider to have been Darien’s assets, ” Calvin said. And mine as well, Michael thought.

“As such, I am suspending the operations on which Darien had the most direct influence until I can have the appropriate details seen to that will transfer the resources to the mutual control of our clan entire. ”

Michael waited several seconds before speaking. “You’re making Darien’s holdings clan assets? ” he asked, trying to remain calm. By all rights those resources should be his and his alone. He was Darien’s sire. He had created Darien. He had been Darien’s best friend. Of course, he had no real means of arguing Calvin’s decision either. Calvin’s lawyers had total sway over the mortal paperwork, and Michael had no concept of the Byzantine structure of the legal system himself. What was mote, Calvin had more status in Kindred circles than every other vampire in the area save Prince Adrock. Michael could not argue his case with anyone possessed of the authority to countermand Calvin’s decision, even if he did have a compelling case. Who was he to even consider such a thing?

“Yes, Michael. You remember the access codes for the clan accounts and the protocols that are associated with using them, I presume? ”

Michael nodded. The clan included not only he and Calvin, but also Villanova, Samuelson, Byrd. Why should he have to share with any of them what Darien had worked so hard for so many years to keep in such good fiscal condition? “Is that acceptable to you, Michael? ”

“I accept it, Calvin, ” Michael said. He knew he really had no choice. “But I don’t understand it. ”

Calvin sat quietly a moment, but he deigned to explain his motives. “By rights, Michael, ” he began, “these assets belong solely to me. However, instead of hoarding them all to myself, I am making them available to everyone in our extended family. Even Christopher Flynne will have limited access while he remains in town. ”

Michael had not been aware that Flynne was a clanmate. The work Flynne did was not exactly the type one would normally attribute to a clan otherwise known as the Clan of the Rose.

“In doing so, ” he went on, “I give everyone an opportunity to take part in the effort to maintain the economic well being of the state, rather than shouldering the burden myself and coming across as either a tyrant or a self-promoting martyr. ”

The speech struck Michael as Calvin's personal race to see which of his purposes he could defeat first. But, as old and canny as he was, Calvin must have some reason for speaking thus.

“Now, ” Calvin said, rolling up the map, “if you have nothing more, Michael, I have a request to make of your time this evening. ”

“May I ask a question? ”

Calvin stared at Michael a moment, letting him know that any answer would come only at the behest of his utmost patience. “Yes. ”

“Why didn’t you tell me Darien was dead? ” When he asked, he concentrated all of his supernatural perception on Calvin’s face. Likely unaware of just how keen that perception was, the older vampire made no effort to conceal the wash of pale colors and emotions the question raised. Calvin had spent the greatest portion of his time since his embrace building his personal assets and holdings, rather than developing the supernatural abilities others of his kind put so much stock in.

“I was unsure of how it might affect you, Michael, ” he said. “I did not know what your reaction would be. "

Michael digested the nonverbal cues that came along with the answer and determined that Calvin was indeed telling the truth. And yet, knowing Calvin as he did, he knew that the answer was not complete by any stretch of the imagination. He could no more believe that his sire cared about his feelings than he could take a day trip to Windsor Park.

“I see, ” he mumbled. There would be no more discussion. Calvin would not say another word on the subject. “What is it you would like me to dor Calvin rolled two elastic bands of the same make and color onto the rolled-up map and slid the paper into a compact cardboard tube that had been sitting on the floor beside his desk. He then snapped a plastic end cap into place in the tube and handed the package to Michael.

“Jeremey Talbot will be expecting you in Ann Arbor this evening, ” he said. “I want you to take this map to him and explain to him the boundaries of his new territory. I want you to tell him how you and I discussed these boundaries and how you graciously agreed to the changes that have been wrought. ” “Yes Calvin, ” Michael said glumly. He did not even have the energy to be angry this time. His anger had dulled in the two nights since he had found out that Darien was dead, leaving only bitter resentment.

“I want you to show Jeremey the same respect you showed Christopher Flynne, Michael, ” Calvin added.

Michael debated doing just that, but he kept the smile that went along with the notion hidden.

“And don't forget about attending Prince Adrock’s gather four nights hence, ” Calvin said. “We will both expect you to be present for the confirmation of Lionel Braughton’s progeny. ”

Michael had forgotten all about the fact that he actually had a job in official gatherings of his kind. Ever since he had discovered the extent of Michael’s capacity for supernatural perception, Calvin had impressed Michael into service at court. Using his supernatural sight on demand was the only responsibility Michael had to the prince, but the thought of using it for Lionel’s benefit sickened him. He and Lionel had always gotten along well enough, but Michael knew that such could never be the case again.

“I have informed your driver of your most pressing engagements, ” Calvin concluded. “I believe he is waiting for you downstairs. ”

Michael nodded again and stood. He held the cardboard tube at his side and bowed stiffly.

“And Michael, ” Calvin added as Michael turned to go. “Don’t keep Mister Talbot waiting. His status has increased five-fold since his return from Detroit. ”

“Yes Calvin, ” Michael said. Hearing his own name coming from Calvin’s mouth had begun to sound like a hammer-blow against an anvil. He had to get out of this office. “I’ll go there immediately. ”

“Do that. Good evening, Michael. ”

Michael did not answer. He opened the door and fled.

Scene Two 

Villanova emerged from the adjoining office a moment later, toying with some golden nick-nack Michael had crafted no more than five years ago. Marcus had obviously picked it up from Bainbridge’s personal display case. He rolled the chair on the opposite side of Bainbridge’s desk back to its position by the computer desk and sat in it. The trinket flashed in his long fingers. The trinket was, Bainbridge noticed, a stylized ankh pendant inset with a fine outline of diamond chips around the edge. The piece would likely cut glass if called upon to do so. That utility outweighed its sentimental value, as for as Bainbridge was concerned.

“ObservationsF Bainbridge asked. He made a mental note to take an inventory of his office’s display cases after Villanova left.

“Darien gave you this, ” Marcus said, gazing fixedly at the ankh. “I would have thought that Michael made it. ” “He did, ” Bainbridge said, not looking up. “He created it after the last Olympic Games in Atlanta. ”

“But I sense a much stronger tie to Darien in this piece. How did he get it? ”

“It came through one of the jewelry shops Darien ran on my behalf, ” Bainbridge said offhandedly. “The seller was trying to get rid of it. Apparently it was to be melted down in the back of the shop rather than sold as it is. ”

“And Darien brought it to you? ” Villanova asked, still staring at it with an unbroken stare. “What about those other pieces in your collection? ”

“The same, ” Bainbridge said, looking up at last. Even at this distance, he could see how glassy Villanova’s eyes seemed. “Did Darien give them all to you? ’’

“Yes. ”

“Amazing, ” Villanova said, turning the piece over and over in his hand. “Did he say why? ”

“He said he did it to keep them out of pawn shops, ” Bainbridge said, growing slightly uncomfortable. “He told me that he knew that Michael sometimes visited pawn shops to see what people had recently turned in. I believe Michael considered that activity a sort of retrograde market research. ” “Examples of what not to do, ” Marcus murmured with a wry smile. “But why bring them to you? ”

“Darien felt it would make Michael feel more supported by me if I displayed his work in my private offices, ” Bainbridge said. “Darien felt that it might make Michael more amenable to our goals. ” He shrugged. “What is your impression of how effective the tactic has been? ”

Villanova put the tip of his small finger through the loop in the ankh and held it up, never taking his eyes off it.

“I think it’s going to take a great deal more than a case of gaudy cast-off jewelry to convince Michael to go along with you at this point. ”

“With us, ” Bainbridge said. “This coup is not entirely my idea. ”

Villanova shrugged.

“Fair enough. The point is that trying to recruit Michael is probably a lost cause now. I believe he was lying to you about what transpired between himself and our runner from out of state. ”

Bainbridge mulled that over without responding. Villanova changed the subject.

“Has Jeremey made any progress with the Milliners? ” “Apparently, ” Bainbridge said. “Before his sojourn to Detroit, he made contact with a woman of that family named Lia. He arranged a meeting. Talbot believes that Miss Milliner may be willing to cast her lot with us and challenge Elliot’s transportation holdings. ”

“And if she’s discovered? ” Villanova asked. “How are you prepared to answer to Prince Adrock if he finds out about her before you make your coup. ”

“It won’t matter, ” Bainbridge assured him. “Even should the worst happen, Milliner is an independent. It should be no trouble convincing Adrock that she undertook to usurp Elliot’s position in our society on her own merit. Should that not be an option, I can make it seem as if Jeremey acted on his own in inviting her here. I have contingencies based on both necessities. ”

Villanova tilted his head in surprise but continued to look at the ankh in his hand.

“You would sell Talbot out? ”

“If needs be. ”

“And me, Calvin? ” Villanova asked. “Have you and Jeremey constructed ‘contingency plans’ against me? ”

“I don’t think that such a drastic measure would be necessary, " Bainbridge said, taking off his glasses and looking directly at Villanova’s eyes, even though Villanova didn’t return the look. “Should the worst circumstances arise, I will simply tell Marion Adrock the truth about your part in this. ” “In hopes of what? Leniency? ”

“Hardly, ” Bainbridge snorted.

“Then what? ”

“Satisfaction. ”

Villanova smiled distantly. “Then let us hope that it doesn’t come to that. ”

Scene Three 

Timothy liked his new room much better than the old. This room had its own bathroom and a ceiling fan and a closet larger than the hall bathroom at his dad’s house. This room, he was sure, was larger than his dad’s room back home. In this room, he could adjust the speed of the ceiling fan to just the perfect temperature. He could hang up the clothes Jeremey and Clare bought him in just the way he liked them hung. He could take a shower every night after he woke up. Everything worked like he liked it, which was the best he could hope for these days.

It had been strange waking up later and later since Jeremey had first taken him away, but he was used to it. He now woke up just an hour before Jeremey and Clare, and he had the entire room to himself. He could take a bath or a shower, put on clean clothes, clean up his room, fold his dirty clothes into a plastic laundry bag and drop them down the laundry chute hole in the back of his huge closet. Once the sun went down, Jeremey and Clare would come for him, and they would all have a long breakfast-dinner where he would eat scrambled eggs and ham, and they would have wine or tomato soup. Then Jeremey would leave Clare alone to play with him or talk to him like he was her son for a few hours. Then Jeremey would come back and tell him stories. The stories were so simple that Timothy could guess the endings a mile away, but it was nice enough to hear Jeremey tell them. The stories helped him stay calm. They helped him get used to living with Jeremey and Clare. They helped him forget about his dad and school and everything that had come before.

After the stories, Timothy had an hour or two to himself to look around the house or read quietly in his room before Clare would come to lock him in. The same had been happening for a week or so, and Timothy found the routine easy to lapse into. He didn’t even get scared when Jeremey left him alone with Clare any more. Sure, Clare treated him like her baby, which was still pretty weird, but she didn’t get really crazy. He was adjusting to his new circumstances more and more easily now that Jeremey was a constant figure in his life. He didn’t even think of it as kidnapping any more.

He’d been adopted. In time, Jeremey had promised him, they might even get to start taking a nightly walk. Timothy didn’t think it was safe to go walking at night, but it would be nice to get out of the house finally.

Timothy sat around thinking of how nice it would be until Clare came to summon him. She unlocked the door to his room and peeked in. She found him sitting on the edge of his made-up bed adjusting his clip-on tie and making sure that the starched edges of his collar were straight. Jeremey liked it when he looked “ship shape. ” He looked up at Clare, expecting her to say, “Wake up, sweetie, " just like she always did. Instead, she stepped in and closed the door behind her. “Timothy, ” she said, glancing around nervously. Her cheeks seemed flushed, and her hair was just slightly messed up, like she’d hurried up here from downstairs where she and Jeremey slept. “Good, you’re awake. ”

“Yes, ma’am, ” Timothy said quietly. She liked it when he showed her respect. He hoped doing so would keep her from doing something weird.

“Jeremey’s going to be busy tonight, Timothy, ” she said, crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. “He’s having a business meeting with a man from Pontiac. He won’t be home until late. And you know what that means. ” Timothy actually had no idea. He shrank back from her, his eyes wide like a rabbit’s. All last month, when Clare wasn’t talking to him like his mom had talked to his dad before she’d moved out, she’d talked to him like this. That voice gave him a wormy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hearing it made his face bum like he had a fever.

“Jeremey got ready for his meeting early, so I drove right over here, ” Clare said, unbuttoning the top button of her blouse. Timothy had heard no car engines outside, which didn’t make a difference anyway, because Clare slept right downstairs with Jeremey. Where was Jeremey? Had Clare done something to him? She wouldn’t be acting this way unless he was gone. Where had he gone?

“Isn't Jeremey making dinner? " Timothy asked. H is stomach felt hollow, like he was going to collapse from the inside.

“Not tonight, ” Clare said, giving him a wink and a smile that made his skin squirm and run cold. “I’ve got you all to myself. And he’ll never know as long as you don’t come around the house when he’s there. ” She actually giggled at that, covering her smiling mouth with a hand. Timothy felt like he was going to throw up. How had this happened? What was happening? “Now help me get out of this blouse, Timothy. I want to do something naughty, and I don’t want to waste any time. You never know if Jeremey might try to surprise us. ”

She leaned over him and pushed him onto his back on the bed.

Scene Four 

Jeremey Talbot’s house was not extraordinarily large as homes go, Michael decided, but it was quite a display of wealth as far as homes in this part of Ann Arbor, Michigan were concerned. That being the case, the housing areas with which Jeremey surrounded his residence were not exactly of the quality Michael would have expected. Unlike many ambitious Michigan Kindred, Jeremey did not keep a second haven in Iron Rapids itself. For whatever reason, Jeremey didn’t particularly seem to relish the idea of leaving his hunting grounds at all, except to visit Elysium when summoned.

Michael supposed that Jeremey’s reclusive tendency was one of the reasons so many Michigan Kindred labeled Talbot mad, but he couldn’t say that he particularly held against Jeremey the desire to see to his own affairs.

The fear with which the Kindred beheld Jeremey and members of his clan made no sense to Michael, however. Calvin had tried to explain to him once how each and every member of Jeremey’s clan had been cursed with insanity in the Kindred’s earliest nights on Earth, but Michael did not fancy himself one to make generalizations based on rumor. He would generalize based on status or appearance, he readily admitted, but he had seen no indication that Jeremey was mad, so he steadfastly held to the impression that saying so was merely exaggeration. Granted, most of what he knew of Jeremey came second-hand from Darien, but Michael trusted Darien’s word as much as he trusted his own observations. Darien had found Jeremey thoughtful, reasonable, fastidious and capable as a leader, so Michael believed it of him. It had been on those grounds that Darien had chosen to volunteer to accompany Jeremey's coterie into Detroit, and it had been on those grounds that Michael had held Jeremey in his esteem.

Now, at least, Michael could not take that esteem as read. As the head of his coterie, Jeremey was ultimately responsible for Darien’s death, and Michael had yet to determine how he felt about that. His preconceptions about Talbot’s leadership ability had begun to flake and peel away since the night before last, and he had not yet decided what feelings belonged in their place. And yet, he still found himself unwilling to generalize. He had come to Jeremey’s haven this evening as much to get a reading of the man as to deliver the information Calvin had asked him to.

The appearance of the house, at least, bore Darien’s impressions out. It stood three stories tall at the bottom of the hill along which its unevenly paved street reclined. The other houses up and down the street mirrored this one in design, but not in scope. They lay closer to one another with smaller yards and fewer trees growing therein. Only two trees grew in the front yard of Jeremey’s home, but the back property seemed to be full of them. Remarkably, however, no leaves cluttered the yard of Jeremey’s home. In defiance of the onset of autumn, Jeremey had had the yard raked clean and the grass trimmed to resemble a pristine carpet. The six-foot-tall privacy fence around the side and back borders of his property even served to keep the leaves from his neighbors’ few trees in their own yards.

“Sir, ” Michael’s driver said from inside the still-idling car at the curb. Michael turned around quickly. He’d all but forgotten the car was there. “Your package, sir. "

The servant handed the cardboard tube out through the window, and Michael took it.

“Thank you... What’s your name? I didn’t ask before. ”

“Richard, sir, " the driver said.

Michael tucked the tube under his arm. “Then thank you, Richard. Now, I’d like you to be here waiting when I am ready to go home, but it doesn’t look like you’re allowed to park on the street in this neighborhood. "

Michael glanced up and down the street in either direction and saw that indeed, no one had parked a car on the street. No one seemed to have parked in a driveway either. Any cars that belonged to residents of the neighborhood had been pulled into garages against the encroaching cold of winter. Oddly enough, every mailbox lining the road was the same make and color. The dug-in garbage bins at the edge of every yard were closed and painted the same color. Even the sparse streetlights glared with exactly the same color and intensity. Michael never came to the suburbs; the ugly, molded regularity of the residences jarred him.

“I’ll circle, sir, ” Richard said, looking straight ahead out the windshield. “I’ll leave the car phone on in case you need an emergency pickup. ”

“Emergency pickup?” Michael couldn’t help but ask with a curl of his lip. “How dramatic. Did you use to work for a rush-taxicab service before coming to work for Calvin?” “I drove ambulances, sir, ” Richard answered. “And I work for you now. ”

Michael stood up straight. “Just be here when I come out. " Richard nodded once and pulled away slowly to circle the neighborhood. Michael hoped no one called the police on him, suspecting that he was casing the residences for a burglary. Straightening out that particular misconception might take more time than Michael cared to spend away from his territory for one night.

Having run out of excuses to stall this meeting any farther, Michael went to the front door of Jeremey’s home. As Darien had warned him many times in the past, he knocked quickly three times, once again, then three more times. This simple code let the servant answering the door know that the person knocking was a member of Jeremey’s society and was to be treated with the utmost respect. Michael was of the opinion that a well-trained servant would treat every visitor with said respect, but he was not here to criticize the way Jeremey ran his affairs in his own home.

After a short pause, the door swung open slowly. A young, healthy looking Caucasian woman greeted him and ushered him inside.

“Welcome, Mister Luther, ” the woman said, speaking with a heavy British accent. Michael didn’t know anything about the quality of British accents, but this servant’s voice sounded crisply regal, as if her family had been serving royalty for generations. “My name is Susan Rainsford; I tend Mister Talbot’s house during his indisposed hours. ”

“How’s your bed, Rainsford? ” Michael asked with a flat expression.

“That’s very amusing, ” Rainsford said smoothly, flashing Michael a mask of amusement. “I believe your childe, Mister Salway, made the same bon mot when he last visited. ”

That remark withered Michael’s attempt to force him into lighter spirits, and he remained silent as Rainsford led him down a long hall to a sitting room. It seemed like the ghoul had mentioned Darien on purpose, just to get under his skin. Without pressing the issue, however, Rainsford bowed and shut Michael alone in the room.

Michael took a deep, cushioned chair opposite the door and looked around. The carpet in the room was a deep brown that blended nicely with the molding along the floor. The walls themselves were all wooden paneling, although they had been stained and sanded over to such a degree that one could no longer detect the pattern of the grain. Bookshelves lined the two opposing walk that did not have doors, and Michael took note of a wide range of books arranged by genre, author, and then alphabetically by tide. An electric brass chandelier illuminated the room, as did one matching brass lamp in each comer of the room. An individual dimmer switch, obviously designed to allow readers in different parts of the room to adjust the light level in their own comers as necessary, controlled each lamp. All the lights had been set at the same level recently, so the effect was such that the room remained fairly dim, but no shadow fell anywhere except directly beneath the wooden coffee tables and the room’s selection of eight chairs. Looking at the chairs themselves, Michael noticed that each one had a twin opposite, one of four identical coffee tables, and that they all complimented not only each other but the walk, carpet, bookshelves and lamps as well.

The room breathed a homey sort of familiarity that Michael found both sane and comfortable. The only aesthetic foible the room showed off lay in the fact that the small coffee tables had been arranged parallel to one another and the walk in the room’s rough center. The arrangement quartered the large room, making it seem more like a hotel conference room or a public library than an informal sitting room. In all, however, what he had seen of the house’s interior and exterior gave Michael the impression that a retired schoolteacher lived here, rather than any fearsome madman. To see how people shied away from Jeremey and Clare, even as a subject of conversation, one would think the two vampires decorated their home with the intestines of children and sacrificial lambs or some such.

Ten minutes after Michael arrived, Jeremey entered the room with two short, dark green glass tumblers and a dark green bottle without a label. Without a word, he sat in the chair opposite Michael and put the bottle and glasses down on the coffee table. In the dim light, even the glass blended with the rest of the decor. Jeremey himself made the only contrast, dressed in a starched white shirt that was buttoned at the neck and wrists, and solid black slacks and shoes. Darien's assertions that this man looked like a particular English television and cinema actor came back to him, and Michael had to admit that the resemblance was indeed strong.

“Welcome to my home, ” Jeremey said at last. “I trust you didn’t have any trouble finding me. "

“None, ” Michael replied, leaning back casually. “My driver knew the place. ”

“A new driver? ” Jeremey asked, remaining perfectly still in his chair. “A present from your sire? ”

Michael felt his relaxed expression turn into a mask. He nodded.

“Very nice of him. Drink? ”

Michael glanced at the bottle and nodded again. He noticed that the bottle showed no condensation and that a thick film of liquid clung to the inside where it had sloshed around in Jeremey’s hand. As Jeremey poured an equal amount into each glass, Michael could smell how warm the bottle’s contents were. It smelled fresh. His eyes narrowed in hunger, and he watched every precise, measured movement of Jeremey’s hands in rapt attention.

“Saucepan, ” Jeremey said, handing Michael a glass and taking one himself. Michael frowned. “I heated it in a saucepan over the electric stove before pouring it into that bottle. I don’t own a microwave oven. ”

Michael felt die liquid’s warmth through the cool side of the glass, and he sniffed it again. This close, the smell made the muscles in the roof of his mouth above his canine teeth twitch. He sipped, and the sip turned into a full-throated gulp. Jeremey, he noticed, enjoyed just as deep a draught. Michael had to force himself to put the glass back down on the arm of his chair. The taste didn’t excite him the way the deep arterial pulsation of fresh blood did, but it was heady nonetheless. All the blood in his glass lacked was the emotional subtext a frightened or ecstatic human body lent it, and Darien to share in the flavor.

“Is that for me? ” Jeremey asked, nodding toward the cardboard tube lying beside Michael’s chair. “Calvin mentioned that you had a delivery. ”

“Yes, ” Michael said, picking up the tube and setting his glass reluctantly on the coffee table. Apparently, Jeremey’s two attempts to enjoin him in small talk were all he was going to get. “A map of our new territories. ”

Michael put the tube in Jeremey’s outstretched hand, and the Englishman opened it. Jeremey unrolled the map, rolled it backward to straighten out the curl in the paper, and then laid it out flat on the table.

“Explain, ” he said, his eyes roving across the map from left to right like he was reading each street name and grid coordinate.

“Your old territory, ” Michael began, tracing a section of the map that radiated out from the location of this house, “took up this area to this boundary. Thanks to what you did in Detroit, Calvin moved the boundary out to here. ” He laid his finger on the border between his territory and Jeremey’s. “This used to be Darien’s territory. He had the run of the shops along these streets here. His old pawnshop is right here on the edge where his territory and mine overlapped. He used to go back there every once in a while after he started working for Calvin, just to stay connected to his old neighborhood. Calvin had him working some of the higher-class establishments on the other side of Iron Rapids and Grand Rapids, but Darien still liked to come back into Jackson here. I don’t think Calvin even knew that. ” Michael looked up from the map to find Jeremey staring at him like a curious raven.

“I was thinking of you at Elysium two nights ago, ” the Englishman said. “You caught my eye when Marcus and his childer surrounded you. "

Michael withdrew slightly and clutched his glass defensively. “That’s why this happens, " Jeremey went on. “It is why you said to them more than you intended. And why you’re doing it now. ”

Michael frowned. “Why ‘this’ happens? "

“This, ” Jeremey said, waving a hand in the air as if to indicate the flurry of words Michael had just loosed there. “I don’t know why, but when I concentrate on someone I can get at what they’re feeling. Sometimes, what I’m feeling gets at them, however, so I must apologize. I was curious about Darien just now, I admit. I appreciate you assuaging my curiosity, but I felt it appropriate to tell you why you had done so. It seems you have some unspoken wish to talk about him as well. ” Michael nearly dropped his glass on the map. He heard almost passively the words he had been saying. What was wrong with him? He certainly hadn’t come here to bare his soul.

“Don’t be alarmed, Michael, " Jeremey said. “I can control it with an effort. Would that make you more comfortable? ” “Yes, " Michael said. “Please. ” He’d done it again. Calvin had told him numerous times that telling another Kindred exactly what was on your mind was a bad idea, and yet he had just done it twice.

Jeremey frowned a moment, throwing the lines on his face into sharp relief, and he appeared to concentrate. As he did so, Michael felt a wet, web-like haze lift from his thoughts that he had not even realized was there. His mind cleared by degrees until he felt he could control his tongue. A smoky miasma still hovered around his emotional centers, however, which made Michael suddenly anxious to leave this place.

“I do apologize, again” Jeremey repeated, after a short silence. His face retained its standard good nature, except for two faint vertical lines between his eyebrows. “If you would like, you may ask me one personal question to which I will give you a candid answer. ”

Dozens of questions formed and dissipated in Michael’s brain at the same time, many of which stirred the inky stain in his mind that Jeremey’s presence had somehow cast there. Too many of those questions would have made him feel weak, however, so he picked an innocuous one to prove to himself that he was speaking entirely of his own accord. “Will you share your new territory with your ward? ” Jeremey seemed puzzled by the question for an instant before he answered.

“You mean Clare, ” he said. “She isn’t my ward, Michael. I sponsor her because I consider her an equal. I admit a certain responsibility for her, but only because I chose to sponsor her. She may even be as old as I am. ”

“You don’t know? ” Michael asked, amazed. Calvin had also advised him never to allow a vampire of unknown capabilities too close to you. The idea that Jeremey would do so fascinated him.

“Regrettably not, ” Jeremey said. “She and I are of the same generation, and we both belong to Clan Malkavian, but I know precious little else about the circumstances of her creation. Nor does she remember them. Even hypnosis and a trance brought on by drugged blood failed to get at those memories in her mind. Her existence begins some time after she saw her last sunrise. ”

“How did you find her? ” Michael asked. The questions took his mind off Darien and Calvin and Christopher Flynne and receding territorial boundaries for a while. He hoped that the answers would give him insight into what kind of man Jeremey Talbot was.

“We found each other, ” Jeremey answered. “We discovered that we had become mutually enlightened as had many others of our kind. I drove out of the city and found her walking to meet me. I brought her back so that we might study our enlightenment together here where it was safe. ” Michael knew that Jeremey believed the words he was speaking, because the Englishman had said the same when he had first introduced Clare at Elysium. He decided not to press the issue of their “enlightenment” any further.

“But to answer your question, ” Jeremey said, “yes. I do intend to share my new territory with Clare. I need only impress upon her the exact new boundaries detailed here. However, she comes and goes as she pleases. She neither requires nor receives my permission for her activities. As I said, I consider her an equal. ”

The only reason Michael had asked was that he had always thought of Clare as Jeremey’s childe or his responsibility. She had not gotten herself into trouble or endangered the Masquerade, but Michael had always been sure that Jeremey was the force responsible for her good behavior.

“Much as I considered Darien an equal, ” Jeremey added. “Did he ever tell you that he and I worked together on numerous projects here and in Iron Rap ids? ”

“He talked about you a little, ” Michael said “He admired you. ” “And I him, " Jeremey said. “For one of his age, Darien worked hard. A very stable individual. "

“He and I did not discuss the work he did, ” Michael admitted. “I wish I had thought to bring it up more often. ” “He had ambition, did Darien, ” Jeremey went on. “He and Calvin and I were in the middle of a plan to buy up the car dealerships in Iron Rapids as well as the ones flanking the interstates that Iron Rapids’ factories supply. Darien did a great deal of the negotiating with the dealers himself. He could be very persuasive. ”

Michael didn’t know if Jeremey was indulging his curiosity about the work Darien had done in the city or ignoring the fact that he even had a guest. Regardless, what Jeremey was saying gave Michael pause. As far as he knew, Prince Adrock and David Ellsworth were the Kindred in charge of seeing to the distribution of the cars Michigan’s factories outside of Detroit produced. Jeremey was making it sound like he, Darien and Calvin had attempted to establish themselves in that arena as well.

“How did it turn out? " Michael asked.

“We did not get the chance to find out, " Jeremey said from behind his glass. “Circumstances did not permit us to continue negotiations. ”

“What about Calvin? ” Michael continued. “Did he go on with the negotiations? Maybe while you were away in Detroit? ” “Perhaps, ” Jeremey said cautiously. The inscrutable phantasmagoria of his aura shifted slightly when he did so. “It did not occur to me to find out. ”

“Is that the cause of your problems with Elliot Damascus? ” Jeremey’s eyes clouded when Michael asked that, and he lowered his glass. “What makes you think I have problems with Elliot? ”

Michael considered telling him what Clare had said, but he hesitated. For some reason, Michael felt that divulging that information seemed like a breach of Clare’s trust. Instead, he said, “I saw the two of you talking at Elysium. You didn’t seem comfortable with each other, even considering what you must have gone through together in Detroit. ” “Ah that, ” Jeremey murmured. “Yes, he and I disagreed. What you saw was an extension of an older problem that I had thought settled. I suppose that it had not actually been settled at all. But to answer your question, no. The conflicts between my personality and Elliot’s are more personal in nature. Matters have come to something of a head recently. "

Before Michael could form a coherent question that would let him get at just what Jeremey had meant by that, the Englishman changed tacks.

“I wonder, ” he said, the lines on his brow growing deep. “You shared your hunting territory with Darien, did you not? ” “I did, ” Michael answered warily.

“And yet your sire did not share his territory in Grand Rapids with you, did her Michael did not like at all the direction in which these questions had suddenly turned. He would have much preferred to get back to what had renewed the overt tension between Jeremey and Elliot. The event must have occurred while the coterie was away in Detroit, but what could it have been? Now that he had changed the subject, Jeremey didn’t seem likely to tell him.

“No, ” Michael answered, his thoughts racing. “Calvin gave me my own territory after my Embrace. It was a little small, he said, but it was close to Iron Rapids and Elysium. ” “Would it surprise you to learn, Michael, that Calvin often shared his territory with Darien? ”

Michael had to remind himself to hold onto the glass in his hand. The blood in it had long since turned cold.

“I didn’t know that. ”

“It is true, ” Jeremey said. “Did you ever question the fact that Calvin provided so much for Darien while he only ever made sure that you were tucked away in Pontiac and Jackson? ” Michael couldn’t believe Jeremey was saying these things. “What do you want from me, Jeremey. ⁷” he asked, suspicion clouding his mind like stirred silt in a pond. “What are you hoping I’ll give you here? ”

“Candor, ” Jeremey said, apparently unaware of Michael’s discomfort. He seemed, in fact, to be talking to someone else about him, for all the sympathy he showed. “Your impressions of both your childe and sire interest me. Much is happening, and the way you react could affect events. At least as I see them. Call it the desire of an enlightened mind to observe every detail of what affects it. ” Michael put his glass on the coffee table and stood up. He’d had enough of this. If Clare had expected Jeremey to reveal something to Michael, she had been wrong. All the Englishman had revealed was the true reason people always seemed so uncomfortable around him.

“Do stay, Michael, ” Jeremey said, standing as well. “We’ve only begun to learn about one another tonight. I had an impression of you from Darien and Calvin’s descriptions, but the fullness of the truth still waits to be revealed. Tell me more. ” Michael moved around the coffee table as casually as he could while suspicion wailed inside his mind. At the same time, a burning, insatiable curiosity pervaded his mind, urging him to ask questions of Jeremey and learn the truth about him as well. The curiosity was not his own, but it melded with his desires as if it belonged there. Part of Jeremey’s mind was trying to attach to his, groping at his consciousness like a dirty, pox-riddled finger. It violated Michael’s consciousness, pushing other concerns to the side. It was all he could do to walk.

“I have to get home, ” he said, tasting every word as it filed out of his mouth in interminable procession. “I have to leave. ” He had intended the words as a means to excuse himself, but they sounded more like desperate pleas for escape.

“If you must, ” Jeremey said, moving to open the sitting room door. “I will not keep you against your will. "

Michael felt an incongruously sharp pang of disappointment that Jeremey was letting him go so easily, but he kept moving. The more he got up and moved around, the less strongly Jeremey’s thoughts crawled in and out of his own.

“Shall I have a servant lead you out? ” Jeremey asked, stepping aside so Michael could exit the room.

“I remember the way, ” Michael said, all but leaping past Jeremey out into the hallway. The book-lined passage stretched to infinity for an instant then returned to its normal length.

“As you wish, ” Jeremey said. “Good night. ”

Michael didn’t answer. As soon as he could do so and still remain marginally within the bounds of civil decency, he headed for the front door. When he stepped outside into the brisk night air, the suspicion, curiosity and disappointment that he felt melted away as if they had never been there. The sticky web over his emotions had lifted as well, although that part of Michael’s brain felt like the tender, wet flesh beneath a scab. Jeremey had been influencing him the entire time, whether the Englishman had realized it or not. Michael understood why people grew so uncomfortable talking to Jeremey. One never knew if his reactions and feelings were truly his own or those Jeremey imposed. Or worse, Jeremey might be broadcasting his own emotions onto whomever he was talking to. If such was the case tonight, however, what did Jeremey have to be suspicious or curious about that concerned Michael’s most private thoughts?

After less than a minute, Michael’s car approached, and he met it at the edge of Jeremey’s driveway. Without a word of greeting, he got in and ordered the driver to take him home.

Scene Five 

Stopping what she was doing at last, Clare sat up from where she knelt at the edge of Timothy’s bed. She kissed Timothy on his pale, trembling thigh and stood up. As Timothy lay still, eyes wide and staring, clenching his bottom lip tightly in his teeth, Clare went to the window and looked out. She stood there and buttoned her blouse up. Below on the street, Michael’s car sped away toward his territory north of Ann Arbor. Clare shook her head.

“I don’t think he gets it, ” she said to no one in particular. “Jeremey didn’t tell him. ”

She turned back around and looked at Timothy. The boy still lay on his back, gripping the bed covers, his knees locked over the edge of the bed. His chest rose and fell erratically. Clare crossed back to him and pulled his pants back into their place. She zipped his trousers and pulled him to a rigid sitting position. When she did so, a trickle of blood ran from the boy’s lip where he’d bitten into it. His eyes remained unfocussed, staring straight ahead. Clare caught the end of the red line with her finger and touched the cold pad to her tongue.

“Come on, Timothy, ” she said, pulling the boy to his feet. “Daddy’s home now. Let’s go give him his first hug of the day. ” Timothy followed her, but she had to pull him every step. Something was wrong with him. He’d gone somewhere in his mind again, like he had when she and her last husband had been fighting. The boy hadn’t reacted too well to that. She’d hoped coming to live with Jeremey would have made everything better with Timothy, but something had happened. Maybe Jeremey wasn’t spending enough time with the boy.

“Come along, sweetheart, ” Clare said, forcing cheer into her voice although Timothy did not respond to it. “Let’s go do something with Jeremey. We’ll worry about Mister Luther later. ”

Scene Six 

Father George Stinson slid the confessional’s wooden partition aside and regarded the silhouette cast on the thin lattice screen. He didn’t usually take confession so late at night, but he’d received an urgent phone call begging his assistance.

“Help me, Father, ” the person in the adjoining booth said after a moment’s hesitation. “I have sinned. ”

Father Stinson didn’t recognize the voice any better now that he heard it in person, but he could place the accent a little more easily. It had the back-of-the-mouth, nasal quality particular to Boston. The man sounded like a Kennedy.

“How long has it been since your last confession? ” he asked, trying to keep a long yawn out of his voice.

“A little more than a month, ” the voice said. “Maybe longer. My days are starting to slip. ”

“What do you wish to confess to? ” Father Stinson asked. “My problem, ” the speaker said, “is that I don’t know if what I’m talking about is a sin, exactly. I guess I really didn’t ‘do unto others, ’ but that whole bit in the Bible isn’t a commandment, is it? ”

Stinson untangled the question and said, “The words of Christ are meant to lead us by example, son. In striving to live as he lived, we come closer to God. But Christ’s words are not commandments in and of themselves, no. ” “That’s what I thought, ” the speaker said with less relief than cocky self-assurance. “Yeah, I figured. Thanks. ” Stinson heard a scrape of the speaker’s shoes on the other side of the confessional booth, as if the man was leaving. “Wait, ” he called.

“Yes, Father? ” the voice said. Stinson could hear a smirk in the sound, although he couldn’t see the speaker’s face.

“Son, you obviously called me because something is bothering you, ” Stinson began. He didn’t know why, but he felt an affinity for this nameless man. He wanted to make this man feel better about whatever it was that had brought him here so late at night. “Even if it isn’t technically a sin by the letter of the Bible, it could ease your heart to tell me about it. ”

“That’s it exactly, ” the man answered. “I did what I had to. I mean, I’d probably want to kick some ass if somebody tried that shit with me, but I had to do it. Not exactly Golden Rule, you know. I just don’t feel bad about it. ” “But a part of you feels as if you should, " Stinson said, finishing the hanging thought.

“A small part, " the man said, leaning his back against the dividing wall. “Is there something fucked up about that? I couldn’t figure out if that’s a sin or not. I mean, yeah it’s fucked up that Darien got killed, but the rest of us got out okay. Even Legs is up and walking around now. ”

The last part gave Stinson pause. Didn’t the man say that this had occurred only two weeks ago?

“So am I going to Hell for that, or what? ” the man said, breaking Stinson’s contemplative silence. “I mean, I’ll probably go anyway, but I’d like to know what’s on my docket before I get there. ”

“Making decisions on which lives depend does not lend itself to simple distinctions of right and wrong, ” the priest said, speaking before he could think. It disturbed him that he was so taken with the stranger’s story that no relevant scripture sprang immediately to mind. “Your friend died so that the rest of you might live. "

“So he gets to go to Heaven, ” the man said. “What about me? I think I did the right thing. That was the way it had to be, right? "

“What you must do, my son, is examine the motives that put you and your friends in such a hazardous situation in the first place. If the cause for which your friend, Darien, died was noble and just, you may console yourself with that knowledge. Otherwise, your lack of any remorse may indicate something indeed lacking in yourself. ”

“You’re usually a lot more helpful, Father, " the man said after thinking that over. “You usually at least give me an answer. These past months, you’ve really been throwing gutter-balls. ” “I’m sorry, my son, ” Father Stinson said, flustered. Why was this criminal acting like he knew him? “Perhaps if I knew more of what happened that night. For instance, were those from whom you sought to escape police officers or another criminal gang? ”

A long silence followed, during which George Stinson sat chewing his lip nervously. Had he said too much? Had he damaged the trust this stranger had placed in him? He thought the man would not answer at all. When the voice returned, however, the intensity had left it entirely. In its place, Stinson heard the familiar cocky amusement.

“Are you feeling me up for information, padre? ” the voice asked, punctuating the sentences with a short laugh. “You planning to turn state’s evidence on me? You wearing a wire? ” “Absolutely not! ” Stinson said, sitting bolt upright on his stool. “Were I to tell anything you said to anyone else, I would be betraying not only you, but the very tenets of my faith. The sacrament of confession is inviolate. A court order could not even compel it. ”

“Heh, yeah, ” the voice said. “I think I remember you mentioning that once. Now sit tight, Father Stinson. You’ve said pretty much all I could have expected you to say tonight. Now it’s time for me to tell you something to your face. ”

***

Clare looked up from her chipped, well used rosary as the door to the confessional opened. A moment later, Elliot Damascus piled out of the booth, supporting a weak, staggering George Stinson. Elliot looked around with a bored sort of annoyance on his thin face, and began to drag Stinson in a shambling stumble down a hall that led away from the sanctuary.

Elliot’s presence here was no real surprise to Clare. She had seen him come to confession several times, although he had never seen her. Elliot came in, made a confession then led the priest off down the back hallway for a while. Sometimes Clare listened to the confessions; sometimes she listened to what went on in the priest’s bedroom afterward. From what she heard, she could tell that Elliot wasn’t all that good of a Catholic. Fortunately, Father Stinson wasn’t that good of a priest either. The two fit well together.

As for herself, Clare never spoke to the priest. She had considered herself a good Catholic once, but she had long since “At that point, I decided it was time to get the fuck out and call the whole thing off, ” the man said. “Our people were waiting for us back home, and the locals were looking to catch us up before we could get out. And let me tell you, Father, if they’d caught us, we’d have envied the kid. We were completely screwed. The kid knew the area and the back roads; the guy with the broken legs knew how the sons of bitches who were trying to catch us thought. Either one of them could have helped the rest of us get out of there, but neither one was in any shape to go anywhere. ” “What happened? ”

“Well, another partner of mine, ” the speaker went on, “decided that he was going to play hero. He doesn’t care that we’ve got assholes bearing right down on us. He packs Legs in the car all by himself and starts trying to load the kid in too. ” “My, ” Stinson breathed.

“Right, ” the man said, gaining intensity with every word. “Fucking stupidest thing you’ve ever heard of, yeah? So I tell the guy that he’s got to get himself in the damn car already, or he’s going to get all of us caught. No way I was going to let that happen. Well, son of a bitch gets in my face, and I laid it down for him. I was in charge, and he’d do what I told him, and that was that. I told him to leave the kid, and we’d bring Legs with us. Legs was older and more experienced, and he’d be able to get us past the bastards trying to catch us. Besides, we all knew the kid wasn’t going to make it. He couldn’t even keep quiet. He really wasn’t going anywhere. He’d bring the bloodthirsty bastards down on us before we even got to the city limits, much less made it back where it’s safe. ”

“So you ordered you friend to leave your younger... partner to be captured. ”

“Killed, man, ” the speaker said. “If he wasn’t dead already by the time they found him. I sure hope he was, anyway. ” “And if I understand you correctly, you feel no guilt over your decision, ” Stinson said, fascinated. He had never taken the confession of an actual criminal before. He had spoken with white-collar charlatans and the occasional adulterer, but he had never been exposed to something like this. “Is that correct? ”

“You never did know when to quit, did you, Father? ” the speaker said.

Father Stinson decided to let that cryptic statement be. It would not do to press the man too hard in such a fragile moment. A long pause passed, and the confessor spoke again. “Hell, I guess you’re right, ” he said. “Wouldn’t do to have this hanging around forever, would it? ”

“No, son, ” Stinson said. “It wouldn’t. What did you want to tell me? ”

“I think I feel bad, ” the man said, sitting back down. “But not because I did something. I think I feel bad because I don't feel bad about something I did. You know what I mean V' “I’m not sure, son, ” Stinson said. “What did you do? ” “Not so fast, padre, ” the man said. “I’ll get to it. Just let me do it my way. ”

From the brash, self-assured tone of the speaker’s voice, Stinson guessed that he was fairly young. However, the acoustics in the small wooden enclosure lent the voice an ageless flatness that Stinson found disconcerting.

“It’s like this, " the man went on, “I was doing this job with some of my partners a couple of weeks ago. ”

“What sort of job? ”

“That isn’t important. ”

“I understand, ” Stinson said knowingly.

“Yeah, well, the job went sour when we were halfway done, and it got royally fucked up, " the man continued. “Sony. Language. But yeah, it got all screwed up, and my partners and I were in a real bad way. The guy who was running the show had both his legs broken, and he was too weak to go on. My other partner got hurt, and none of us even thought he was going to make it. He had half his guts tom out, and I think his back might have been broken too. He looked like a truck hit him. We were trying to make our way home, and the poor kid just kept crying and moaning for his daddy. ” Stinson leaned forward, fascinated. Most of his regular parishioners’ confessions were so... ordinary. Not that they were any less sacred for being mundane, of course.

given up the faith. The church provided a sanctuary still, but it was more of a selfish one than it had been. This was where she came to get away from her husband and their whiny brat when she just couldn’t take it any more. When the pressures of running their entire household by herself got to be too much, Clare came here, sat in her usual spot, and counted her rosary beads until she had calmed down. She didn’t go in for the trappings of the Church any more, but her routine was still relaxing in its way. When Elliot came in, she just kept her head down and made herself unobtrusive. She didn’t like talking to anybody right after a confession anyway. Something about confession convinced a man he was a better person, even if he was just going to go right back out again and commit the same sin he’d just confessed to. Or worse, the man had no idea why what he had confessed to was wrong, and he’d just made the confession by rote. That, Clare decided, was Elliot’s problem. Everything she had ever heard him say in that booth was either hypocritical or just ridiculously misguided.

No, he wasn’t a good Catholic at all.

^

Father George Stinson sat up and glanced around his bedroom in confusion. He could have sworn he’d heard the phone ringing. The sound had woken him up, but the phone wasn’t ringing now. He’d either imagined the sound, or whomever it was had decided to bother him at a more reasonable hour. He rolled over and went back to sleep, rubbing absently at the crick he’d managed to work into his neck.

Scene Seven 

One week after discovering that his childe was dead, Michael returned to Iron Rapids to witness the introduction of Lionel Braughton’s new progeny. Prince Adrock and Calvin had already gone over the human’s past and made provisions for his removal from that life, but the boy still had yet to be put on public display. This ceremony was the first time the new childe would see Kindred other than Lionel, and Michael had a specific role to play in the proceedings. He had one duty in Kindred society, and he had no choice but to attend these ceremonies when that duty was called for. Tonight, however, he would much rather have stayed in his appropriated apartment in Jackson. The last thing he needed right now was to see the new childe that Darien’s death had given birth to.

What few Kindred had already arrived sat at varying distances from the three incense burners in the room’s center, maintaining discreet distances between each other. Jeremey Talbot sat in the chair Michael had taken last time, facing the door that ted into the building. Clare had not elected to come with him, which was not altogether unusual. After what she had said to him after the last gathering, and after what had happened at Talbot’s house, he was in no mood to see her anyway. She seemed intent on enjoining Michael’s sympathy in her grudge against Elliot Damascus lately, and Michael didn’t think he could take that just now.

Marcus Villanova sat opposite Michael, his eyes following Marie Byrd around die room. The lovely female harpy drifted between the scattered other visitors, chatting with them idly in a voice too low for Michael to make out. The only person beside whom Byrd did not perch was Lisa Noble, the court’s token clanless vampire. Byrd made a point to walk next to die red-haired, rather squat woman with her nose inclined a few degrees in the air.

When Byrd passed, Michael’s eyes caught Noble’s. The caitiff smirked, then tilted her head toward the harpy with a shrug. What a jerk, the look said. She gave Michael a friendly smile.

Michael looked at Noble as he thought a bored cat might look at a friendly mouse. He slowly cocked one eyebrow and continued to stare, neither smiling nor frowning. Just looking. The caitiff dropped her gaze and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The woman’s gall knew some boundary, at least.

Looking around at the others in the room, Michael saw Laurence Maxwell sitting next to one of Maxwell’s clanmates whose name Michael thought might be Thomas. Or Thompson. The young brute’s cap and collar were soaked with the rain that had begun sometime before sundown, and his wet rain jacket lay in a pile beside the chair he had chosen to flop down in. He wore a denim shirt with the words “Robert’s Garage” embroidered on the pocket, and his blue jeans bore smudges on both thighs from where the former blue-collar automobile repairman had wiped his dirty hands. The others of Maxwell’s clan sat in similar states of indignity behind them, talking and signing among themselves.

Michael regarded them with little more respect than he had given the Noble woman. Most of them were nomadic “floaters” without a city large enough for them to settle in. They dressed the part as well. Although Noble was a floater herself, she had at least put some effort into her second-rate burgundy skin and suit-coat outfit. Of course, the Brujah floaters could trace their lineage backward to the mythical "first vampire" if called upon to do so, whereas Lisa could likely only draw her ancestry back one or two generations before losing the obviously diluted trail. The more his attention wandered to thoughts of the caitiff woman, the more Michael wondered exactly who had invited her to Elysium tonight.

What interested Michael more, however, was the list of those who had not chosen to show up. Among the missing were David Ellsworth, Clare, Lewis Samuelson, the four-fingered Nosferatu monster, Theodore (the eldest monster of that twisted, hideous clan) and Elliot Damascus. Calvin and Prince Adrock were in the building somewhere already, Ellsworth likely had more important duties to take care of in Hint, Samuelson could conceivably been busy as well, and who cared what festering pit the Nosferatu themselves had hidden in? — But Elliot’s absence was unexpected. While Elliot was abrasive and cocky, he usually had the good graces to make public appearances in such high-profile circumstances. Perhaps the rumors of the existence of bad blood between Elliot and the members of his coterie had some substance after all. Regardless, those rumors would certainly take on new life once Villanova and Byrd got their claws into them.

If tonight’s guest of honor took note of Elliot’s snub, however, he showed no sign of it. Lionel sat on a couch on the room’s center-most ring of them next to a child who could not have been more than twenty years old. Both of them were dressed immaculately in matching Brooks Brothers suits, speaking to no one and watching the doors through which Calvin and Prince Adrock would enter. Languid contentment coiled in Lionel’s aura, rolling off of him in waves. Michael saw pride there as well. The childe, however, showed no such calm. He fidgeted, folding his hands one way, then another and rubbing them on his pants subconsciously. He also kept glancing around furtively at the others in the room. The sickly pall of fear suffused his aura, broken only marginally by a tight knot of wonder deep in the middle. Whenever he found one of the other Kindred in the room looking his way, the pall deepened in color, suppressing the wonder even further. When the parlor’s interior door swung open at last, the fear color blotted out the wonder altogether.

After only a momentary pause, Calvin came through the door, eyeing first Jeremey then Villanova then Michael. Calvin walked with the steady, measured grace he employed only when in the company of his betters. His aura radiated the same steely control Michael saw around Maxwell, but it was shot through with rigid veins of concentration. Calvin was not just in utter control of himself; he was forcing himself to remain so for all he was worth. After the barest pause, Michael and the other Kindred saw why. Only one Kindred in the state would qualify as one of Calvin Bainbridge’s betters in Calvin’s own mind.

“Fellow Kindred, ” Calvin said, the veins of concentration pulsing even brighter, “rise and be welcomed. ”

On a cue that had been practiced and repeated countless times for decades, Marion Adrock, the prince of Michigan stepped into the Elysium chamber. The steel gray in his thick mane of hair matched the pillars of concentration in Calvin’s aura. His flat, ancient eyes matched the color of calm self-control. Michael, Villanova and Maxwell moved first to stand. Before they had gained their feet fully, the others stood as well. They congregated just inside the room’s loose, inner ring of chairs and stood more than arm’s length apart. By long local tradition, the young vampire beside Lionel remained seated. Michael spared him a brief glance to see that the sickly color of dread had suffused him entirely. The young vampire’s very skin paled by a shade.

The prince stood a head taller than Calvin, and in one stride, he had cleared the door by enough space for Calvin to shut it behind him. He swept a flat, languorous gaze around the room once then let his eyes fall back to center. Those eyes seemed unfocused when the prince held them thus, but Michael was more than positive that Adrock could see everyone in the room perfectly clearly.

“Kindred, " the prince said. His voice seemed to pour upward from deep within the earth. It resonated. The prince’s accent sounded to Michael as if the man had learned the English language many times over during his unlife, and each relearning carried with it an echo of the last. “You share in my domain. You gather tonight in my hunting territory. ”

Having so spoken, the prince approached the nearest of the Kindred in the small group before him, Marie Byrd. Rather than looking up at the much larger vampire, Byrd averted her eyes and tilted her head to one side, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. By custom, the prince would either lay his hand on her neck to bestow his continued welcome, or he would sink his fangs in and destroy the unlucky vampire where he or she stood. With no hesitation, Prince Adrock laid his left hand alongside Byrd’s neck and moved on. He did the same to Lionel, Maxwell, Thomas (or Thompson), Villanova and Noble, and then came to stand in front of Michael. Michael did not look into Adrock’s eyes, but he could feel the weight of them on his own. He could feel the weight of the ancient vampire’s presence tugging on him like a waterfall or an open well over which he was suspended. The prince all but hummed with a repressed, predatory energy that made the wailing survival-instinct voice in Michael’s mind gibber and shriek mindlessly. Standing this close, Michael saw in the prince the image of an enormous crocodile, frozen in the instant before it snapped up its prey.

Michael tilted his head woodenly, feeling the blood he had last drunk surging into his muscles in preparation for what would be an ultimately fruitless act. If the prince did anything other than touch his neck, he knew, he would panic and bite, claw and tear his way free of the Kindred’s reach. He wouldn’t get far, he knew, but such a concern would be moot to him in that state. The fear, so close to the surface already, would have him, and he would be just as lost for control as he was when he fed with Darien. That fear had clung to him ever since he had first met the prince, and it had only increased the last time he had had a private audience with the elder vampire. That time had been shortly after he had created Darien. Michael had been sure that the prince intended to destroy him, despite Calvin’s assurances to the contrary. That time, he hadn’t been sure the prince wouldn't just sink his fangs into his neck.

This time, Michael’s tension almost got the better of him anyway. As Prince Adrock laid his hand aside Michael’s throat, Michael had to force himself not to flinch, despite all the building potential energy of the boiling blood in his system. He stood rigid, sure that the prince could feel the tension, and he kept his eyes on the floor. A long, torturous moment later, the prince moved away from him and continued his circuit around the room. When he was finished, he stepped back into the center of the room in front of Lionel and his new young charge.

Michael felt as if the prince had been standing in front of him for hours. What had he wanted? What had Adrock been looking for? Too many years of failing to drive the vampires of the Sabbat sect out of Detroit — as the prince had vowed to do long ago — had made the prince cagey and suspicious, and he did not study anyone for so long without good reason. Had Michael given the prince such a reason? Was that it, or did time just stretch as it always seemed to when Michael had his blood up? There was no way to know.

“Be seated, ” Calvin said, still beside the door. “Know you are welcome in this domain by the grace of Prince Marion Adrock. ”

When everyone sat down, Lionel’s childe stood up, moving like he had been jolted by electricity. He peered up at the prince, being very careful not to look the older vam-pire in the eyes. He laid his head stiffly to one side and closed his eyes. Adrock looked at the boy’s neck and spoke.

“Who is this childer he said with the fluid cadence of long-practiced ritual.

“My name is Kyle Aaron Williams, ” the boy said in a voice little louder than a squeak.

“By whom was this childe created? " Adrock asked. “Lionel Braughton of Clan Brujah is my sire, ” Kyle said, his voice quavering subtly.

“And what is this childe’s lineage? ” Adrock intoned, still looking at the boy’s tense, pale neck. The childe quietly recited a list of names that began with Lionel and became more and nt¥xe outdated until they crossed into the territory of mythology. He stumbled over the older names, mangling the pronunciation so badly that Michael had to wonder if Lionel had known the names well enough himself when he had taught them to the boy. Darien had done a much better job when he had been in this position That thought set Michael on a path he did not relish, however, so he paid more attention to what was happening.

“Rise, Lionel Braughton of Clan Brujah, ” the prince was saying, “and answer for your progeny. ”

Lionel rose from his seat and stood one step behind and to the side of his childe. Prince Adrock never took his flat blue eyes from Kyle's neck. The boy had started to tremble. “Who is this childe? ” Adrock asked again.

“He is Kyle Aaron Williams, ” Lionel answered. “My progeny. Blood of my blood. Child of my clan. ”

“Has he been taught the Traditions by which we live? ” “He has, my prince. ”

“Do you honor those Traditions, Lionel Braughton of Clan Brujah? ” Adrock asked. “Are you prepared to answer for your childe’s actions under the Tradition of Accounting? "

Under the tenets of that Tradition, Lionel would face equal or greater culpability for any transgressions his childe might commit against Kindred society than would the childe himself. The system made sure that every Kindred’s sire kept his progeny in line “I am, my prince, " Lionel said.

“And who will vouch for your good faith?” Adrock asked.

At this cue, Marcus Villanova stood, looking at the prince’s shoulder. “I will, my prince, ” he said, as was custom and his duty. “Every word is true. ”

Such was Villanova’s job as a harpy. He possessed the same extraordinarily keen senses as Michael, and the Kindred of Prince Adrock’s domain trusted his word. He appeared at every political function that took place at Elysium, verifying the truthfulness of every speaker’s words. The harpy had also been a psychologist before his Embrace, and the insight that profession provided him was likely most enlightening as well. As far as the Kindred of Michigan were concerned, no word said as part of a public ceremony was true until Marcus Villanova confirmed it so.

The prince’s eyes cut from Villanova to Michael, and Michael played his own pan in this ceremony. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on Villanova. Had he disagreed with Villanova’s assessment of the situation or had his interpretation of Lionel’s aura and nonverbal cues revealed any kind of duplicity, he would have looked at Adrock himself. None in the city other than Adrock knew of Michael’s capacity for supernatural perception, so the prince’s glance at him was brief and subtle. Michael’s position in the city was that of Villanova’s unofficial back up. He also served as a check, should Villanova ever prove untrustworthy. Villanova had never done so to Michael’s knowledge, but the prince would continue to rely on his contingencies nonetheless. Finding Villanova’s judgment confirmed, however, his instantaneous glance turned to Lionel’s childe once again.

“You are welcome in my domain, Kyle Aaron Williams of Clan Brujah, ” Adrock said. He laid his hand on the boy’s neck and held it there.

The boy had no flair for the drama of the moment. He jumped when Adrock’s hand touched him, and the fear in his aura swirled into a tense maelstrom that pulsed and ran like storm clouds. He even sucked in a quick, reflexive gasp. Displaying little patience, Prince Adrock stepped back and ordered Lionel and Kyle to sit He did not look at either one of them, or at any of the other Kindred. His gaze had centered again.

The newly welcomed Brujah sat down, relief washing through him in colorful tides, and Lionel sat next to him.

Byrd who had found herself without a better seat than the one between Noble and Thomas after Prince Adrock’s entrance, smoothed a wrinkle on her immaculate evening gown and tried not to look in Lionel’s direction.

“You are all welcome in my domain, ” Adrock said again, making a gesture that took in the entire room. “Kyle Williams receives my protection and my hospitality this night. Bear that in mind and tell those who are absent. ”

With no further word, the prince turned and made his way briskly toward the interior door. Calvin swept it open smoothly, and followed the prince out. The ceremony was over, as far as Kindred society was concerned. Prince Adrock had accepted the boy, and that was that.

Now, with Adrock and Calvin gone, most of the tension left the room as well. Michael saw the sickly, coiled tendrils of worry and dismay breaking up in everyone, and he felt somewhat better himself. Of course, he realized, his relief stemmed from the fact that this later-generation ruffian had just passed a test designed to vet out his worthiness for accepting the responsibility for the actions of another Kindred. The way he had won that responsibility, Michael mused, was by letting Darien die alone somewhere in Detroit The bitter irony of that fact was not lost on Michael, and he made his way to the Elysium’s outer door. Somehow, he did not find the idea of congratulating Lionel on passing his test particularly appealing just then.

Before anyone could say anything to him, he slipped exit the door opposite the one through which Calvin and Prince Adrock had gone, pulling the door shut behind him. Villanova and Byrd would notice that he had left early, of course, but he actually enjoyed that aspect of his departure. The harpies would make it known that Michael had snubbed Lionel and his neonate, and no thinking, rational Kindred would fail to understand the reason why. No, he felt neither pride for Lionel or gratitude for the service he had apparently provided in the name of the Camarilla while he was in Detroit. All he felt was cold inside. Emptiness rolled inside of him like he hadn’t eaten in a month.

He felt hollow, like the empty space behind the counter of Darien’s old pawnshop.

Scene Eight 

Four cars idled in the late-fell rain behind the Gideon building, and Michael found that his was at the head of the line. The middle two cars belonged to Lisa Noble and Laurence Maxwell respectively, and the last belonged to Jeremey Talbot. Michael moved toward his car when he heard one of the doors on the fourth car open and close. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Clare coming toward him, holding closed a rain-slicked trench coat that was fraying at every edge and seam. A battered-looking rosary wound around the hand that held the jacket closed as well. She turned up the collar of the jacket and jogged underneath the short awning beneath which Michael stood. His driver, Richard, turned on the car’s lights and waited patiently less than twenty feet away.

“Michael, ” Clare said, shaking water from her mousy brown hair. “Here we find ourselves again. ”

Michael flinched and stepped back away from the spray, “l’m glad you’re alone, ” Clare continued, ignoring the look on Michael’s face. “You need something I have. ” Distractedly, Michael noticed that Clare still held her coat closed, even though she was no longer standing in the rain. He could see pale skin between the jacket’s flaps. The woman had nothing else on.

“What is it that I need? ” he asked, humoring her, but keeping his distance nonetheless.

The woman took a step closer, and the lower half of her coat flared open. Michael caught a flash of the smooth, alabaster skin beneath. “My help, ” she said. “Something is happening in your life right now that’s a secret. I told you about it before. I told you to look out for it. When you visited Jeremey, you didn’t get it. When you called me his ward. ” Michael froze, unable to move, even though the madwoman was less than a foot from him. How much of that conversation had she heard? Had she taken offense? Had she and Jeremey been playing at some mad game with him? After thinking incorrectly of the two of them as harmless, sane eccentrics for so long, Michael found that he had no idea what to expect from them now that he understood the truth.

“You could do something about it, ” Clare said, leaning even closer. Michael could smell in Clare’s hair the pollution that the rain leached from Iron River. It clung to her like a rotting perfume. Michael could smell it in his own hair too, from when the unexpected rain shower had caught him outside without his umbrella earlier in the evening. “You want to. You're due. ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ” Michael said, not altogether sure that that was the truth. He took a step back and heard the rain falling just behind him like a living wall. The drops thundered on the awning above them.

“You’re hungry, ” Clare said. “You haven’t been eating properly. You can’t anymore. Elliot took that away from you. ” Michael clamped his jaws shut tight. He couldn’t feel Clare's presence in his mind like he had felt Jeremey's emotions, but the woman’s words were too close to what had been gnawing at Michael’s mind, except the part about Elliot. Why was she so determined to create an enmity between himself and the young Ventrue?

“I can give you back some of what you want, ” Clare said. When she did so, the wind lifted her jacket again. When the wet gust peeled the fabric from her legs, Michael could see that she was, indeed, naked from the waist down. Staring at the woman’s pale, marble-like skin, he fought the urge to back right out into the rain.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Clare, " he said in very calm, even tones.

Clare pulled the lower half of her jacket closed with her other hand and shook her head. “Not like that, you patronizing ass. ” The venom in those words startled Michael, and he actually did inch a step backward. Water splashed down into the heels of his shoes, but he paid it no mind. Clare continued.

“This is for my date tonight, ” she said, nodding down at her body. Despite his relief, Michael couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor bastard who'd caught Clare’s eye. “What I have for you is insight. I was praying for it tonight, and it came to me. I prayed to find out a way to give you what you needed so badly when you came to talk to Jeremey and called me his ward. ”

The rain had started to catch and pull at the back of his hair, but Michael held still.

“I can give you back something so you’ll be able to eat right again, Michael, ” Clare said, moving a final step closer. Michael teetered on the edge of eschewing personal dignity and fleeing through the rain to his car. “You want answers about why your childe was taken from you, Michael. You want to know who’s responsible. You want to know who’s to blame. And you want a reckoning. ”

U| M

“I can see it, ” Clare said. Her voice bled with such sincere gravity that Michael could not argue. In a sense, he realized, it was even true. No one had acknowledged Darien's death except to gain what benefit from it that they could. Those who had let him die were being rewarded. Soon, Adrock would send more Kindred into Detroit in his grand advance, and no one cared that Darien was gone. Darien’s death had not changed a thing in anyone’s existence but Michael’s.

“It’s going to change, ” Clare said. “It’s already begun. "

When she said that, a blinding radiance exploded from her like a halo. Michael threw up a hand to shield his eyes — already strained and sensitive from watching the emotional colors of the Kindred at Elysium — but pain lanced through his skull just the same. He stumbled backward a step into the rain, sure that he would scream. The pain wiped every thought from his mind but one: Darien’s death would mean something. He would make sure it did.

Scene Nine 

Greasy rainwater slopped over the side of the awning onto his face, and Michael stepped forward immediately, rubbing his eyes. Hair stuck to his face in strands, and water rolled into his mouth, tasting like the Iron River looked. He spit it out, shook the hair back behind his small, flat ears and rubbed his face with his long hands. Despite the taste and the smell, the cold water washed the pain out of his eyes and helped Michael dear his head. The first thing he realized when that happened was that the lights that had blinded him were the headlights of a car that had pulled up to the rear entrance of the Gideon building. The second thing he realized was that Clare was gone, Jeremey's car was empty as well.

The new fifth car in line splashed to a halt, sending a shower of dirty water over the curb. After a moment, its lights went out, its engine stopped, and its driver-side door opened. Michael did not know cars by make or model, but the vehicle was long, gray and rounded at the edges like a bullet with two seats. It looked expensive. As the door opened, an umbrella popped out first, opening to protect both the man and the upholstery. As the driver stepped out and approached the awning, Michael recognized him.

“Michael, ” the man’s nasal, Bostonian voice called over the rain. “Am I later “Later “Yeah, " Elliot said, shaking his umbrella dry by pointing it away from Michael and snapping it open and closed. “For the confirmation. You know, Lionel’s boy. ”

“Yes, ” Michael said at last, wiping his face a final time. “It just ended. They’re probably finishing the silent greeting inside right now. ”

“Damn, " Elliot said. “Is Marion still inside? ”

“Probably not anymore, ” Michael said, keeping a casual distance between Elliot and himself. Clare’s words had set him on edge. He had no actual reason to dislike Elliot, he told himself. Clare was only a madwoman, after all. But even as cryptic as it was, what she said had felt so right. It had made sense, even without any supporting proof. Was it Clare’s influence that made him so sure, or did some part of him already think that Elliot was responsible for Darien’s death. ⁷

“Ellsworthr Elliot said, rolling his umbrella into a tight wand and snapping a band around it to hold it in place.

Michael hadn’t actually seen that particular Kindred in person for several months. Ellsworth had been instrumental in the conversion of Iron Rapids’ steel milling and mining industry into one supported by auto manufacture when the iron mines south of the city had run dry. He had also helped the automobile manufacturers north of Iron Rapids in Hint, Michigan survive the Depression and the successive recession in recent decades. Now, according to Darien, the towns’ automobile industry had fallen on difficult times itself, and his speculation was that Ellsworth would not be making many public appearances until he had normalized the economic situation again. The industry was one of the weapons Prince Adrock wielded against the Sabbat in Detroit.

“He’s not inside either, ” Michael said. “I haven’t seen him lately. "

“Working, I guess, ” Elliot said with a dismissive shrug. “He’s been busy since I’ve known him. Hey, Michael, are you okay? You look like hell. ”

Michael bit back his first response.

“I haven't been eating well, " he said instead.

The admission made Elliot’s bright green eyes light up. “You should come with us, then, " he said, taking an aggressive step in Michael’s direction. He planted the tip of his umbrella on the doormat between them like the flag of a Conquistador. “Lionel’s taking the kid and me and some others to his clubs around the bay. The good ones, you know. We’re going to grab something at one of them. Lionel’s got all of his dolls in the state socked away for us. We’re finally celebrating being back and being all safe. We’re taking the sheriff's other Brujah kid with us, too. ”

As Elliot talked, Michael noticed dried brownish flecks caught between his canines and the teeth on either side. His color was better than usual as well. Elliot was in such high spirits because he had already indulged himself this evening. No wonder he’d been late arriving from Lansing.

“I don’t think that would be very good for me right now, ” Michael managed to say. He thought he might double over and start retching up old wet air if he had to speak to Elliot any longer. Darien had died so that this... punk... could go celebrate? And Elliot hadn’t even bothered to attend the ceremony that Darien’s death had made possible? Michael had to get out of here before the screaming beast in the back of his mind became the dominant force and left his rational, confused voice receded into the back. Elliot was closer to Adrock in generation than Michael, but he was much, much younger than Michael. And he certainly wouldn’t be expecting...

“I’m going, ” he said slowly, tasting each word like ashes. “I’m going to feed on my own grounds in my own territory. ” Then, from somewhere deep inside, beyond the beast or his rising anger, Michael added, "But I’ll remember the invitation. I’ll come back for you later. "

“Sure, Michael, ” Elliot said, dismissing the older vampire from his mind and turning toward the door leading inside. “Some other time. ”

“Soon, ” Michael said. He was sure of it. As Elliot went inside to meet his friends and begin their celebration, Michael headed into the rain for his waiting car.

Scene Ten 

Calvin Bainbridge sat alone in the public half of his office clenching and unclenching his fists. He had to get himself under control before his meeting. The words Marion Adrock had shared with him before leaving, however, made that extremely difficult.

The two of them had come back to Bainbridge’s office after Lionel’s new childe’s ceremony, and Adrock had ordered him to sit. Maintaining the appearance of obedience, though lacking the heart for it, Bainbridge had done so.

“There is a traitor in m> domain, ” Adrock said without preamble, closing and locking the office's door.

“My prince?” Bainbridge said. He didn't choke on the words, but surprise showed on his face nonetheless. He hoped that the expression appeared to pertain to the existence of the information itself, rather than the fact that Adrock had chosen to reveal it.

“I have suspected as much for some time, " Adrock went on, coming to stand beside Bainbridge’s desk and look out the window. He laid his fingertips on the desk, and his hard, ancient fingernails scraped audibly against the slate. "Darien Salway’s death in Detroit confirmed that suspicion. "

Bainbridge's mind whirled, trying to follow Adrock's logic. "A traitor against us to the Sabbat? " he asked. He feared that the relief in his voice was all too evident. Adrock lacked Villanova’s gift for supernatural perception, but the Kindred was older than Iron Rapids and older than this fledgling country altogether. Surely, so much time had granted him enough experience to detect the subtlety.

“More specifically, " Adrock said, “a leak. The Detroit Sabbat were waiting for Jeremey Talbot’s coterie. They knew he u>as coming. They knew why he was coming, and they kept ahead of him while his coterie did its work. There is no other explanation. "

Bainbridge thought quietly. Adrock stood less than five feet away, staring out the window over the rain-blurred city. He did not seem to have tumbled to the impending coup, but the subject he had brought up was just as touchy. Should Bainbridge say the wrong thing, Adrock would direct his suspicion in most inconvenient directions, and the entire plan would fall apart without ever having been uncovered.

“Whom do you suspect! ” Bainbridge asked.

“Everyone, of course, " Adrock said with a thin, humorless smile. The prince had joked that same joke since time out of mind. “But none so much as those closest to me. ”

“Naturally, sir, ” Bainbridge replied. When a suitable period had passed, he said, “What should we do? ”

“I have already done it, ” Adrock said, turning away from the window at last. In the room's low light, the prince’s eyes seemed entirely black from edge to edge.

“Sir? ”

“I sent Jeremey Talbot's coterie into Detroit to test my suspicion, " Adrock said. “The fact that it was intercepted and chased away bore that suspicion out. The loss of our contacts in Detroit is regrettable, but the experiment itself served its purpose. "

“So only those who knew about the coterie's departure beforehand could have tipped off the Sabbat, ” Bainbridge said. “So one of those who knew is the leak. ”

‘Yes. "

“Who makes up that group? " Bainbridge asked. “Other than Jeremey, Lionel, Elliot and Darien, that is. "

“You and I and David Ellsworth, ” Adrock began. “Marcus Villanova and Laurence Maxwell knew as well. They helped plan the venture, as you recall. "

“Jeremey’s guest, Clare likely knew too, ” Bainbridge offered. “Lionel could have made arrangements with his new progeny before leaving. My own childe probably knew. But after the arrangements had been made, we had the coterie announce its intentions to a gathering of the entire city. Any one of—”

“Not enough time, ” Adrock said. “The Sabbat strike against the coterie was too organized. We made the announcement the same night the coterie left. The Sabbat were ready and waiting when the coterie arrived. They could not have mobilized so effectively on less than one night's notice. That also rules out your acquaintance, Christopher Flynne. "

“Yes sir, ” Bainbridge said. He had had Adrock call Flynne one night before the coterie was to depart, and Flynne had arrived just before dye ceremony in which Talbot’s coterie had declared its mien-tion to sneak into Detroit. If Adrock did not suspect Flynne. Bainbridge reflected, he was off the hook as far as being the Kindred who had recommended Flynne be concerned. “Unfortunately, that leaves the entire hierarchy of the domain. That is not entirely refreshing. ”

Adrock agreed with a nod and continued to look at Bainbridge silently. Bainbridge knew that to look away first was to admit to untrus[worthiness — in Adrock’s eyes — but he feared to stare too long, lest it seem a challenge.

“Now that you know for sure that there is an information leak, Prince Adrock, " he said at last, “how should we go about flushing it out'"

“I have begun circulating information to each individual I suspect, " Adrock said, still staring into Bainbridge’s eyes. “Should I find that information used against me, I will know whom to hold responsible. "

“That seems like a reasonable solution, " Bainbridge said. He could feel his muscles trying to squirm under Adrock’s unwavering glare, but he knew he could not indulge the urge.

“Thank you, ” Adrock said. The words came out flat and unremarkable, but Bainbridge knew sarcasm when he heard it. “Now listen carefully. This is the information I want to spread through you. "

When the prince said that, warning sirens exploded in Bainbridge's mind. One obviously did not carry out such a plan thus. One certainly did not earmark such information. If Bainbridge were the leak, he would surely disregard the information given thus.

“It has come to my attention, ” Adrock said, “that the leak in my domain might be involved in a conspiracy against me even now. I believe that he or she is planning a coup designed to remove me from the seat of my authority. If lam not mistaken, this coup hinged on me gaining a foothold in Detroit, relocating there to continue the effort, and then cutting off my base of support while I was away. ” Bainbridge froze.

“A rumor such as this would be of untold value to the Sabbat, as it would give them inroads to spread dissent among the very hierarchy of my domain. ”

“That it would, indeed, " Bainbridge said, remaining calm despite his every bestial instinct that told him to run now before the prince said anything more.

“Such a coup would undoubtedly have a better-than-average chance to succeed, " Adrock went on. "Except, however, for the fact that it has set back my plans to move against Detroit m the first place. ” “Sir? ” Bainbridge said.

“That is the appearance of the truth I want you to disseminate, " Adrock said. "The informant may assume that I have set back the effort because of Darien Solway's death. Should the Sabbat assume that to be the case, they may remain complacent in Detroit, fortifying their defenses against our next eventual advance. " “But if they are acting under the assumption that dissension exists here, " Bainbridge said, “they may attempt to capitalize on it. "

“Exactly, ” Adrock said. He had not budged since he put his hand on Bainbridge's desk. Only his mouth moved, and Bainbridge felt that if he sat still any longer, he would fall into it. Or into the black, lightless pits of the prince’s eyes.

“To whom should I spread this information? ” Bainbridge asked. "Whom do you suspect? ”

“Marcus Villanova, ” Adrock said, the faint shadow of a smile appearing on his flat, white lips. "And Jeremey Talbot. I would have suggested Darien Solway as well, but he is no longer a concern of mine. Is he! "

“No, my prince. Darien is dead. ”

“Yes, " Adrock said. “That was an unfortunate result of a maneuver that was to be nothing more than an illustrative feint. Wouldn't you say? ”

“Yes sir. "

Nothing further seemed forthcoming, but Prince Adrock refused to move. He simply stood like a steel statue, staring down at Bainbridge without blinking. Bainbridge’s mind spun. Adrock knew everything- the plan involved and the timetable. And yet he had done nothing. Nothing except send Jeremey Talbot’s coterie on a doomed foray against the entrenched forces of the Sabbat for no other reason than to test an unrelated theory.

“Any questions? ” Adrock said.

“Just one, my prince, ” Bainbridge forced himself to say. He had to make himself adopt a business-as-usual tone, lest he confirm what the prince had so overtly hinted at. “What will we do about the contacts we lost in Detroit? "

“Nothing, ” Adrock said, turning away at last. “There is nothing we can do until this situation has been resolved. With an informant among us, any infiltrators we send against the Sabbat would be doomed. ”

Adrock had left not long afterward, and Bainbridge had sat still ever since, trying to maintain control of himself. Prince Adrock had implied his threats clearly enough, but he had taken no decisive action yet. As well as Bainbridge knew Adrock's operating style, he knew that Adrock had no definitive proof against him. Unlike some older Kindred in positions of power, Marion Adrock would make no administrative move unless he was sure that it was both the right move based on the facts, and the move most likely to be successful. Proof supporting the former condition did not have to be incontrovertible, but Adrock had to be convinced. By some grace of fortune, he was not yet entirely convinced that Bainbridge, Villanova and Jeremey were conspiring against him. The fact that he suspected at all was problematic enough in its own right, but it was not the worst case. For any case but the worst, Bainbridge had contingencies in mind.

Scene Eleven 

“Mister Talbot has arrived, sir, ” Bainbridge’s servant’s voice told him some time later. The tinny sound emanated from the translucent electronic receiver he wore behind his left ear under his gray hair. “He has three guests with him. They’re in the elevator now. "

“Describe them, ” Bainbridge murmured into the electronic transmitter that protruded slightly from the cuff of his suit jacket. Talbot had already provided a meticulous description of his foremost guest when he had set up this meeting, but hearing the exact details in his servant’s words would make the description more immediate. That immediacy would help him feel more in control of himself throughout the meeting, and considering the new direction this meeting now had to take, he needed every edge at his disposal. For that reason, he had not invited Marcus Villanova to bear witness tonight.

Having Villanova so close by normally assured him of the veracity of what his guests were saying and provided valuable insight on their states of mind, but he did not need those assurances against Jeremey Talbot. He had ensured Talbot’s support by convincing him that the coup would provide a more organized, stabilizing force for the domain of Michigan in the long run than Marion Adrock. In pledging his support, Talbot had committed himself wholly with his utmost faith. In his way, Talbot was more trustworthy than Villanova or even Darien.

“Two males, ” the servant said. “Average weight: one-hundred seventy-five pounds. Average height: five feet, nine inches. Olive complexion, crew cut hair, wide-set eyes. Charcoal-gray blazers over black Dockers slacks. Black turtleneck shirts. "

Bainbridge liked the way this servant grouped his guest’s two escorts into a discrete entity. “Armed? ” he asked.

“According to the lobby metal detector, sir. ”

“And the other visitor? "

“Female Caucasian, ” the security person said. “She appears to be in her early thirties. Chanel business suit, charcoal gray, matching her escorts in color. No purse, no briefcase. Pallid complexion, Sicilian extraction. No makeup. She’s standing in front of her escort between Mister Talbot and the elevator door. Should I let them in, sir? ”

Bainbridge nodded, glancing at the partially open door leading into his private office from this antechamber. If Talbot’s information about the Sicilian-looking woman proved as reliable as his information always did, Bainbridge would not need Villanova in the other room. Talbot would not betray him. Talbot would not bring someone else into the operation who would be likely to betray him. “Open the door. ”

As the ghoul in the security room released the lock on the elevator and his guests walked down the hallway toward his office, Bainbridge straightened the office supplies on his slate gray desk. He made sure that the edges of the blotter ran parallel to the edges of his desk. He straightened his lamp and centered the few loose papers into a tidy stack in the center of the beam the lamp shone. If these details were not just so, Jeremey Talbot would notice, and he would be distracted. If Talbot grew distracted, the others would be distracted as well, and this meeting would degenerate into frivolity.

Too much depended on this meeting for Bainbridge to allow that to happen. While Talbot was reliable, he was exceedingly particular about details. Should the Malkavian notice a detail out of place, he would get his wind up, and Bainbridge’s entire contingency would be a bust. However, as long as every detail appeared to be in place, Talbot would assume that all was running according to plan.

When the average amount of time it took someone to walk from the elevator to the door of his office had passed, Bainbridge folded his hands and sat looking at the door. It opened a moment later, and Jeremey Talbot stood framed in the center of the arch, dressed in what looked like the same white shirt and black pants he always wore. He clasped a brown cardboard tube in both hands behind his back and paused. The tube, Bainbridge reflected, most likely contained the same Michigan territory map Michael had brought to Ann Arbor so recently.

“May my guests and I enter? " Talbot asked. He always asked.

“Enter and be welcome, ” Bainbridge said. He had discovered many years ago that no other response would motivate Talbot to move.

Talbot took a step forward then one to the side to make way for the woman Bainbridge’s servant had described. The woman took one step into the room as well, standing beside Talbot and looking indecisive as to what to do next.

“You may enter as well, ” Bainbridge said to her with a gracious nod. “But your servants will have to wait outside. I only have accommodations for two guests. ” He held out his hands to the two matching chairs seated opposite his desk.

The woman turned to the side and said over her shoulder, “Stay in die hallway. ” Without a word, her two stocky escorts moved to positions on either side of the door and pulled it shut behind their mistress. Bainbridge admired their efficiency. “Sit. "

Talbot moved first, turning the chair on Bainbridge’s left inward slightly and taking the woman’s hand as she sat in it. He then sat in the other chair, his back straight, facing Bainbridge straightaway. The woman slouched and glanced from Bainbridge to Talbot waiting for one of them to speak.

“Welcome to Iron Rapids, Michigan, ” Bainbridge said calmly. He could feel the anxiety Talbot did not show, and it clawed at his mind, threatening to become his own. With all that Prince Adrock has said and implied this evening, that threat was all the more real. “My name is Calvin Bainbridge, seneschal to Prince Marion Adrock. ”

“Uh-huh, ” the woman said, clearly unimpressed. “My name’s Lia Milliner. I thank you for your hospitality, Calvin. I understand you have a business proposition for me. ⁷” “Yes, ” Talbot said. “A unique opportunity. ”

“Jeremey informs me, ” Bainbridge began, “that you are a recent entrant in the interstate shipping industry in New England, and that you may be interested in expanding your family’s enterprise into Detroit in the near future. ”

"All true, ” Milliner said with a wary look. She crossed her legs and flexed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “I just bought a new fleet of trucks, half of which are car-carriers. Jeremey tells me that your people are interested in ‘expanding’ into Detroit too. I take it you want to combine our resources. Your money, your goods, my trucks. Something like that? ” Bainbridge decided that he did not at all like the forward way Milliner presented herself. Technically, her clan was independent of the Camarilla and the Sabbat — so she owed Bainbridge no established tribute of respect — but she could not have been more than twenty-five years embraced. That fact, combined with the ignominious history of her clan, should have inspired a show of more discipline. Bainbridge wondered how Talbot could stand the woman.

“Nothing so vulgar, ” Bainbridge said. “We have no intention of incorporating your aid in our campaign against those in Detroit. That responsibility belongs only to Prince Adrock and those he chooses to involve. ”

“So why am I here. ⁷” the woman said, sitting forward in her chair and looking Bainbridge in the eye. “What’s this proposition all about? ”

“Jeremey? ” Bainbridge said.

“The economic ecology of this city and state has been somewhat upset recently, ” Talbot explained, turning his chair to face the woman. “Our shipping sector is lagging, and the resources we are having to divert to shore it up are resources that could be better directed toward our efforts to reclaim territory in Detroit. ”

“I’ve heard all that, ” the woman said, still looking at Bainbridge. “Keep talking. ”

“We attract humans to this region by competing with automobile manufacturers in Detroit, ” Talbot began. “When the city was founded, for instance, our staple export was the steel we refined from the mines east of the Iron River. When Detroit grew into the industrial power it is, guided by the influence of Prince Adrock and his sire, this town lived symbiotically, processing steel and shipping it there. When the Sabbat rose to power in Detroit, those of us who could regrouped here. We managed to bolster the town’s economy through long-held industrial connections, but the Sabbat severed those links one by one. At the end of the Second World War, however, the mines had all but exhausted themselves, leaving us to rely on our manufacturing concerns. Our automotive factories compete with similar locations in Detroit and the surrounding areas for contracts, and we absorb the run-off when we are able to shut down a factory in Detroit proper. ”

“I know all this, " Milliner said. Bainbridge believed it. He had instructed Talbot to inform some representative from Milliner’s family and clan of the exact state of Iron Rapids’ economic situation. “And I can guess where I’m supposed to fit in. ” “And that is? ”

“The shipping aspect, obviously, ” Milliner said. “Here, let me give you the twos I’ve been adding together. You’ve got products you need moved. I’ve got new trucks that are gassed up and empty of cargo. Jeremey’s given me all the hints since he first found me. It doesn’t take a mastermind of economics to figure out what you want from me. What I can’t see is how I’m supposed to benefit whatever moves your people are making against Detroit. ”

“You are not supposed to, ” Talbot said. “Our interest in you is purely local. Your ability to supplement the transport of our products will remove from us the necessity to rely on outside distributors. Your position beyond the sects also removes you from the conflict that has erupted along the coast east of us. ” “So you’re not asking me to help out with Detroit at all? " Milliner asked. “So what’s to keep me from taking my business and my trucks and making a deal with one of the players in Detroit? ”

“We no longer have contacts in Detroit, ” Talbot said solemnly. Milliner turned to look at him for the first time since she had sat down. Bainbridge appreciated the calculating ferocity in her eyes. She may not have been tactful or particularly intelligent, but Milliner was most certainly shrewd.

“Who’s to say, ” she said quietly, “that I would be making a deal with one of your people? ”

“You couldn’t mean that you would make a deal with the Sabbat, ” Talbot said, scandalized.

“And what if I do mean it? ” Milliner asked defiantly. “They know the family’s not in your war. What would they have to lose by making a deal with me? Or I with them? ” “Security, ” Bainbridge said. “The Sabbat respect only their own kind. Should they incorporate you into their city then undergo a change of heart, you would most assuredly suffer. In a city such as this one, or any of ours, you would not be in such dire straits. Should we determine that your presence here is no longer profitable to us, we would give you proper warning and allow you to leave gracefully. Those in Detroit would not give you that luxury. ”

“And besides, ” Talbot put in with a small smile, “the city is getting ready to change hands. You wouldn’t want to become part of the power structure, only to get swept away when the new management takes over. Independent status or no, our new hierarchy would not appreciate the fact that you had chosen to side with our enemy. ”

Milliner laughed out loud at that, which made Talbot blink in surprise. Bainbridge felt Talbot’s confidence grow through the bridge that linked their emotions inadvertently.

“You’re so sure your people are going to win out and take over? ” Milliner asked, a light smile still clinging to her thin, bloodless lips.

“Absolutely, ” Talbot said. "It’s only a matter of time. But you would do well to ally with us while you can. Establish yourself before the coup, as it were. ”

“And what would be my catch? ” Milliner asked. “I know you wouldn’t offer some independent you hardly know a place in your city even if you are on the eve of making some great gains. There’s a catch, right? ”

Bainbridge nodded but said nothing. He had said all he intended to say for the moment. While valuable as a potential asset and a motivator in his contingency plan, it was all he could do to tolerate this abrasive woman.

“The catch, ” Talbot said, “is that someone else already occupies the niche we are offering you. His name is Elliot Damascus, the grandchilde of the prince. He is young, despite his generation, but his influence in the transportation industry in this state is without compare. Without him and without the efforts of his sire, this town would have long since died. He also has a strong base of operations in Lansing, where he hunts. ” Milliner sat unmoving in an attitude of confusion for a moment. “If you already have someone sitting on that pot, why do you need me here? ”

“We would prefer an independent to our current prince’s grandchilde, ” Talbot said. “Elliot is often a random element, despite his utility to the domain. He does not always contribute to our collective stability. And if you moved in and began to assist filling the role he undertakes, he would likely perceive it as an attack. Should that occur, we would have chaos. ” A look of understanding spread across Milliner's young face. She looked at Bainbridge and smiled with the same cunning ferocity she had showed moments ago. Bainbridge smiled too, although for a different reason. He had long ago wired his office with electronic listening devices. The tapes recorded over one another anew each night unless he ordered his security personnel to save a portion of each one for some reason. Tonight, he would give that order.

“Current prince...I" Lia said. “This isn't entirely about Detroit, is it? " she asked.

“No, Lia, ” Talbot said, exchanging a grave, significant look with Bainbridge, then glancing at the door leading into Bainbridge’s private office. “I’m referring to something much more local. ”

Scene Twelve 

The pride of Michael’s hunting grounds was the palatial Central Cinema. The place had grown from an underground “speakeasy” to a little-known vaudeville theater into a more respectable theater of performing arts when this territory had belonged to Calvin and the domain of Michigan was young. Years after transferring the territory to Michael, Calvin had decided that live theater was too high brow for the blue-collar working class that made up the greatest percentage of Pontiac, Michigan’s citizens. He arranged to replace the theater with a more modem movie house, hoping to appeal to the citizens’ more base entertainment expectations. After Darien’s embrace, he and Calvin then negotiated a deal with out-of-town developer to replace the original “Steel Reels Cinema” with the much larger, even more modem, nationally incorporated Central Cinema. Michael had marked the change over the years, somewhat insulted by the fact that both his childe and sire had left him out of the proverbial loop while they toyed with his territory.

Now, as his driver stopped the car in front of the theater after his retreat from Elysium, Michael realized that the two of them had done him quite a favor. The building sat in the middle of its parking lot like die stronghold of some ancient barony in the center of its white-lined, asphalt land. Every space in the sprawling lot had a car in it, and numerous other cars crawled desperately this way and that looking for somewhere to stop. People clogged the sidewalk outside the theater’s front door, pushing and jostling a little as they waited for their turn to spend too much money for an eventual disappointment of special effects, poor writing and bad acting.

As Darien had explained to him when they had first come to this place, this time of year was the one in which the summer movie season was winding down but the “sweeps” on television had not yet begun. Therefore, many of the people who filled the theater apparently had nothing better to do than throw their money away packing themselves like cattle into twenty-four dark rooms where they would watch projections not much unlike the ones they had seen at this time last season. Despite Darien’s explanations, Michael had never understood the attraction.

However, he did understand the attraction this place held for one of his kind. The large building seethed with life. Large strips of colored light shone on the patrons, blending them together into one shifting mass. Posters and cardboard displays proclaimed the advent of coming features in bold, bright letters. Smells of popped com and human sweat mixed together in an aroma Michael found appealing in a base way. Above it all, the excited babble of children, teenagers and young adults mingled with the purr of car engines outside and the amplified announcements projected from within the glass-sealed ticket booth. Michael’s own car added its sound to the backdrop of noise as it pulled away, leaving Michael standing alone in front of the row of immaculately polished glass doors.

The rain had all but let up in this part of town earlier in the evening, leaving everything outside slicked down and oily-looking. Michael spared the enormous marquis board only a momentary’ glance then walked into the theater past the long, distended line of gabbling men and women. The young child positioned just inside the doors to collect tickets and direct patrons toward their screening rooms raised a bored hand, waiting for Michael to hand over his ticket. Michael idly debated the idea of biting the child’s hand and tearing it loose from his wrist, watching the look of astonishment wail over the boy’s spotted face before the reality of what had happened set in. Instead, he produced one of several plastic cards he and Darien had had made when the theater had been built. The boy glanced dully at the card then waved Michael forward, already reaching out for the tickets of the next person. Michael passed him by, dropping the card back into his pocket.

Inside the lobby, Michael felt the pulse and pull of moving bodies all around him. People made lines from the ticket-taker and streamed from the concession counter down the four opposing hallways to their screening rooms. More people came into the lobby from those hallways, making separate lines back out of the theater. The Central Cinema patrons flowed and ebbed like blood vessels in a healthy heart, Michael mused, rubbing his left upper canine tooth with his tongue. Taking a position by one of the bleeping, squawking electronic games near the restrooms, Michael stood and waited for an appropriate vessel to pass him by on its way down one of the four main hallways.

Before one presented itself, someone found Michael instead.

“I thought you might come if I waited long enough, ” a male voice without a regional accent said right beside him. “This place is prime territory. ”

With a jerk, Michael looked to his left. Christopher Flynne stood at the video game beside which Michael waited, pointing a large plastic pistol at the screen. The blond vampire pulled the garish weapon’s trigger several times, making it click like a typewriter. On the screen, shambling undead creatures staggered under an enfilade of imaginary bullets. Flynne turned his head slightly to the left, and the black patch he wore regarded Michael like the independent eye of a chameleon. He kept his good eye on the screen, still pulling his toy trigger again and again.

“I waited at your place all night last week, ” he said before Michael could move or think of anything to say. “You never showed up. You ditched me. ”

Michael still stood stunned. How could he have missed Flynne standing there? He wasn’t yet so hungry that he should have failed to notice another Kindred right next to him.

“What’re you doing here? ” Flynne asked, still firing away, pointing his gun straight up after every sixth shot and pulling the trigger. Michael stared, tom between a fascination with how well the pictures on the screen had been tendered and the paralyzing urge not to simply run rather than answer Flynne’s question.

“I came to find someone, ” Michael said at last, “l’m hungry. " Flynne nodded and finished his game. With three final blasts, he shot the letters C, A, and F that had appeared on the screen with the rest of the alphabet. The initials appeared at the top rank of a listing beside his score on the next screen. The other nine listings that appeared on that screen had been taken by “CAP as well. Apparently, the vampire had been practicing while he waited. His curly blonde hair and his Hathaway shirt were dry as well, leading Michael to believe that Flynne had been practicing for quite a while that evening.

Flynne turned to Michael very slowly until his remaining eye fell on him. “That’s as good a reason as any, ” he said gravely, without expression. “Do you have an equally good one for ignoring me and the urging of your own sire one week ago when you should have come and apologized to me? ” Flynne tone was so like Calvin’s that Michael’s shoulders sagged. Did every aged vampire talk that way? Did they all assume that the young would always do as instructed, lest punishments and sanctions follow? Did they all treat those below them as less than... human?

“I did not come to you, Mister Flynne, ” Michael said with a tired look of resignation, “because I just couldn’t so soon after finding out about Darien’s death. I’d had too much for one night. ” Flynne blinked in surprise then leaned a slim, tall hip against the electronic game with the large plastic guns. “Chris, ” he said after a long moment.

This time, Michael was the one who was surprised. “That was really the only answer I wanted, Michael, ” Flynne said. “And you can call me Chris. "

“Chris, ” Michael repeated, hardly understanding the word in his sudden perplexity. For some reason, this vampire was not angry with him for so obvious and intentional a slight. He actually seemed to understand that Michael had suffered a loss and had needed time to deal with it. To get over the shock. Michael just stared, not knowing what to make of it.

“Good, ” Flynne said, letting the trace of a faint smile touch the side of him mouth under his patch. “Now let’s get out of here. You and I do actually need to talk. Just not in front of the heid” He tipped his chin out to indicate the people milling about in the theater lobby, and his smile got a little brighter. “Don't want to spook them, right! ” As Flynne talked, Michael heard for the first time a long-repressed accent that only seemed to come out when he smiled. Flynne rounded off his sharp letters and dragged out the soft ones like a native of the southern United States. Michael couldn’t make out any more than that, but he was sure of the region at least He watched Flynne closely as he spoke, and he saw the pale colors that shifted in Flynne’s aura. The older Kindred’s mindset was calm and friendly, without a trace of deception or agitation. The offer to talk, it seemed, was just that. Flynne didn’t even seem to want anything from him, as was usually the case when he spoke with his elders. Michael had never met an older vampire who acted this way.

“All right, ” Michael said. “I’ll call my driver. ”

“Don’t worry about it, ” Flynne said, smiling again. “I’ll drive. My car’s outside. ”

Taken with the old vampire’s relaxed charm, Michael followed him back out into the night.

Scene Thirteen 

Flynne’s vehicle was a well-kept, blue-black monstrosity that growled like a bear when it moved. Yet despite its size and unspoken power, it weaved through traffic as nimbly as a motorcycle or a man on foot. Trying to maintain a casual demeanor despite the speed-blurred panorama whizzing by outside, Michael gripped the door-mounted armrest wondering just how Flynne was able to maneuver through traffic in the drizzling rain safely without any depth-perception.

“You’re probably wondering right now, " Flynne said, not glancing away from the windshield, “why Calvin didn’t come down on you the night after you found out Darien was dead. ” Michael remembered his confusion that night when he’d returned to speak with Calvin. “What happened? ”

“I lied to him, " Flynne said without hesitation. “While I was waiting, I figured out what was probably keeping you. At about four, I called Calvin and told him you’d been late, but I made you sound like the perfect little supplicant after that. As far as he knows, you showed up, gave me some scripted apology, and I left. All very above-board and exactly what Calvin wanted to hear. After that, I took a guess on where you were probably staying, and I told Calvin you’d told me you were going to your childe’s old place. ” “Calvin believed you, ” Michael said, stunned. He had never considered the possibility of lying to Calvin. The older vampire’s long life had honed his instincts for that sort of thing. The very idea that someone could not only lie to his sire but could do so successfully astounded him.

“Of course he did, ” Flynne said, swerving around a car that was going too slowly. Michael elected to ignore the frightened face he could see through the window that was less than two feet from his own face. “He didn’t know he had a reason not to. Learn something from that, Michael. You get around us cagey older types by telling us what we want to hear. You understand that? ”

“I sure do, Chris, ” Michael said, putting the advice to work immediately. Flynne smirked but remained silent.

“Chris, ” Michael said after several minutes of silence. “How do you know Calvin? ”

“Our sires knew each other before the expansion west, " Flynne said. Michael wasn’t sure whether Flynne was referring to the American expression of its Manifest Destiny or the first perilous voyages to the New World themselves. “We were first introduced when the Sabbat stopped killing each other and started trying to kill everybody else. We met again when Marion Adrock declared his intentions to ‘reclaim the industrial livelihood of Detroit for the good of the Camarilla. ”’ “Did you live in Michigan then? ”

“Nope. By the time this city had been founded, Calvin was a politician and I’d already taken my job as a runner. ” Michael nodded. Calvin had described Flynne’s exploits in vague detail when Flynne had first come to lead Jeremey Talbot’s coterie into Detroit. The fact that Flynne had never lived in the domain helped explain his cavalier attitude toward the rules and strictures by which its inhabitants led their unlives. Spending all of one’s time moving from domain to domain would likely distance anyone from the particulars of the average vampire’s nightly existence.

“I guess it’s actually more like I’m a courier, ” Flynne explained when Michael didn’t say anything. “I connect the safe cities in this country to one another when phones and faxes and modems and the mail aren’t secure enough. Or in cases like what just happened here in town. I know how to avoid Lupines. I know how to get around the Sabbat. Sometimes, I get ordered to take people with me. ”

Michael found Flynne exceedingly easy to talk to, but that realization made him uneasy. No vampire older than him had ever so much as spoken to him when not doing so in the course of some duty, yet Flynne was open and even amiable. While Michael found the overtures refreshing, he also found them suspect. What was his motive? Did he expect some favor in return for his comradeship?

“A little more than a month ago, ” Flynne went on, oblivious to Michael’s internal dissension, “I got word from Adrock that he was planning a major push into Detroit. He wanted me to come up and lead some scouts into the Sabbat territory there, to help get that push started. That’s how I work. Somebody who knows my name and my skills drops word to somebody with connections, and that word eventually gets to me. If it’s a big enough job, I stop my usual circuit of the States and go take care of business. ”

“And the foray into Detroit was a big enough job? ” Michael asked evenly.

“Calvin thought so, ” Flynne answered. “He convinced me it would be worth my while once Adrock got me into town. That, and Talbot made a pretty good case. He spelled it all out nicely, giving me the pros and cons and Ps and Qs ’til I couldn’t really argue with him. He made it sound to me like the four of them would all die if I didn’t go with them and get them past the locals. ”

Michael stiffened at that, and said, “I think I’ve realized something, Chris. ”

“What’s that? ”

“I’ve discovered that you must do a great deal of your work alone, ” Michael said. “And I don’t think you get to talk to people much. ”

Flynne smirked and shook his head slightly. “Point taken. Sorry. I guess you owed me that. ”

Those words sent a thrill through Michael that he hadn’t felt since the first time he had fed with Darien. One of his “betters” had actually considered his feelings, apologized for hurting them, and refused to mete out any sort of recrimination for having been told of the hurt in the first place. The simple statement did much to ease the suspicion in Michael’s mind. After a few moments, however, he felt a little guilty for the triumph he felt in forcing the apology. Looking out his window at the blur of lights and scurrying people on the side of the toad, he spoke.

“I am sorry about what happened at Elysium. ”

“For what? ” Flynne said, with a strange expression on his face. “What did you do wrong? Or better yet, what do you think Calvin thinks you did wrong? ”

“He thinks I insulted you by implying that you failed in your job and ruined my sense of artistic inspiration. ”

“Is that what you were actually thinking! " Flynne asked, flicking his eye away from the road a moment to catch Michael’s eyes.

Michael remained silent. He still didn’t know enough about what had happened in Detroit to make a judgment on that matter. If nothing else, Flynne at least seemed willing to talk about what had happened.

“It sure didn’t look like it, ” Flynne said, looking back at the road as he drove. “That’s why I lied for you. I didn’t feel like you really owed me an apology. ”

“So you were just humoring Calvin before you left that night? ” Michael asked.

“For the most part. I did want to talk to you, though. About Detroit. About Darien. About what happened — as much of it as I remember clearly. I was talking to Calvin about telling you when you walked up to us that night. I have to admit, I led you into that whole insult trap looking for an excuse to get you to come talk with me. Calvin wasn’t going to tell you. ”

Michael found the fact that Flynne had engineered a chastisement and a rather too-harsh restructuring of his hunting grounds all to have a talk about information he should have been given in the first place particularly annoying. It was not as bad, however, as the fact that Calvin had apparently had no intention of telling him anything. Or that Elliot had still been well and relaxed enough to go celebrate afterward. Or that Lionel had been given permission to sire a new childe or that Jeremey had made no effort to tell him what had happened, even though more than a week had passed. “So what did you want to tell me? ” Michael asked. “As much as I can, ” Flynne said. “Even though I don’t know all the details myself. I got pretty badly hurt. ”

Before Flynne could get started, Michael interrupted him. “Why are you going to tell me this? " he asked. ‘Calvin’s known me since the beginning, and you just met me. What makes you think you know better than he does what’s best for me? ” “Learn something from this, Michael, ” Flynne said, turning the air between them suddenly cold. His face hardened again, and Michael saw the face of the man he thought he had insulted in front of Calvin one week ago. “I don’t give a shit what’s best for you. I just want you to know what happened. It’s important to me. Something happened out there that I swore I would never let happen again, and if I don’t do something about it, I’m never going to sleep peacefully again. ”

“I see, ” Michael said, letting out the first response that didn’t sound like an attack or a self-abasement. “I shouldn’t have asked. " He clamped down the fact that he saw die blood-on-water diffusion of deception in Flynne’s aura. It had happened when Flynne had said that he didn’t care what was best for Michael.

As Flynne’s car approached the Iron River bridge for the second time since the ride had started, Michael realized that the car wasn’t going anywhere in particular. The two of them were just riding around aimlessly.

“The last thing I remember, ” Flynne said, “is thinking that we’d all failed and it was all my fault. ” He shook his head, and Michael heard the whine of the engine pick up as the vehicle accelerated. “Darien was still alive at that point, though, and that was something. ”

Flynne continued the story without any cues or prompting from Michael. The five Kindred had sneaked into Detroit via a safe route through the city of Dearborn. Flynne had then led them to a safe haven from which they would make their move the following night. Prince Adrock had supplied them with a list of three names, corresponding to the last three known sect-loyal Kindred to have disappeared into Detroit. These Kindred had severed all ties to the Camarilla and one another, hoping to establish safe footholds in the Sabbat territory and gather intelligence on the strength and number of Sabbat vampires in Detroit. The Kindred of Talbot’s coterie were to find these disparate Kindred, then get them and the information they’d collected back to Iron Rapids.

Michael couldn’t even begin to imagine what those three Kindred must have felt in the years before Talbot’s coterie came for them. Cut off from every friendly face in their homes, surrounded by maniacs who cared less for them than for the Traditions by which all Camarilla vampires lived, never to be sure of respite or rescue. Had Michael been in their place, he didn’t think he would have been able to even leave his haven to feed. Looking over his shoulder constantly, all but assured that one lapse in his attention would be the end of him, would have driven him mad. Assuming, of course, that he didn’t simply try to run back to where it was safe. Assuming that the Sabbat vampires didn’t find him first. Or the Lupines.

“For the whole first week, all we did was research, ” Flynne said. “We stayed in our safe house trying to track down the names. Talbot did most of the work there, poring over records and misappropriated files that Lionel, Damascus and I gathered for them. Elliot helped out with the computer aspect of the job. Lionel and I did mostly surveillance. We brought back the occasional snack to share around too. ”

“What about Darien? ” Michael asked.

“He didn’t do so much at first, ” Flynne said, picking the thread back up without showing agitation at being interrupted. “He helped out more after that, but in that first week, it was Talbot who was busiest. He’s actually got a great head for detective work. He ferreted out two of the three contacts’ names in the first three nights. By the end of the sixth, he had the third pretty much figured out too. Word is he used to work for Scotland Yard before he got mixed up with our kind. It showed. ” “So what did Darien do? " Michael asked. From what Flynne. was saying, he feared that his childe had been little more than an extra wheel.

“Well, ” Flynne said. A bit more agitation began to color his aura now that Michael had interrupted him again. The needle on the car’s speedometer edged even farther to the right as well. “Once we tracked where the plants were supposedly hiding and what cover they were using, it was Darien who helped us actually sniff them out. " Michael frowned in confusion.

“See, ” Flynne explained, “there’s a difference between knowing that a pattern of overlapping police patrol routes and a network of overlapping neighborhood watch areas signifies that one of us lives in the neighborhood where the ‘safe’ zones all overlay; it’s another to know the neighborhood itself. Darien knew the neighborhoods. We wouldn’t have been able to move through the city nearly as quickly without him. He’d lived in the city all his life before you came along. He knew it like he knew his own name. ”

“I remember, ” Michael said, looking into the past with his mind’s eye. “He told me he used to want to be a city councilman there after he finished his first novel. ” Unfortunately, Michael reflected, that first novel had never found a willing publisher, and Darien had retreated to the city of Jackson in defeat “He might have even been good at it, ” Flynne said. “Nothing fazed that kid. I never saw him shaken all the time we were there. ” The blood on water appeared in Flynne’s aura again.

“So what then? ” Michael asked. The car’s speed had started to push Michael subtly back against his seat, and he was thankful when he noticed that Flynne had opted to take Highway 38. The road circled the rough perimeter of Iron Rapids, and despite the ever-present traffic, it was free of sharp turns and traffic lights. “What happened V'

Flynne smiled a sardonic, humorless smile. “We got found out” “How? ”

“If I could figure that out, I wouldn’t have let it happen in the first place, Michael. My guess is that we weren’t careful enough. The Sabbat had had a long time to set up their operations in Detroit. They probably had their eyes in all the same places we looked when we started trying to find our Camarilla contacts. They’d probably been trying to find them all this time as well. My guess is that they saw what information we were looking at, decided to look at it themselves, drew their own conclusions and beat us to the punch. ”

“But how would they know where to look? ” Michael asked, dividing his attention between Flynne and the cars on the highway all around them. “How would they even know that you were in town looking? ”

Again, he regretted speaking before thinking. Flynne’s aura clamped down like a shell and disappeared, and this time, he actually did seem upset, rather than the act he had put on at Elysium. Michael knew the signs of when someone was hiding shame, however, and he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.

“You don’t want to know what I think about that, ” Flynne said very quietly.

Michael thought about apologizing for his misstep, but decided against it. Flynne seemed to be getting a handle on his emotions, and pointing out what had stirred them up thus would be ill-advised, to say the least. Not to mention the fact that Flynne had entered a more heavily traveled section of the highway and Michael did not want to distract him. This part of Highway 38 fed into a clover leaf interchange with two larger interstates, and 18-wheel tractor trailers had packed tightly around the bottlenecked exit.

“We should have known that something was wrong the night we went to find our first contact, ” Flynne said after slaloming between a truck that had decided to change lanes and the concrete dividing wall in the center of the highway. The driver of the truck had to swerve to keep from clipping the tail of Flynne’ car, and he blew his horn furiously as the vehicle pulled away. Flynne didn’t seem to notice.

“Jeremey had found him hiding in a house in the suburbs surrounding downtown Detroit, so Lionel, Darien and I went out to pick him up. Elliot and Jeremey stayed behind to monitor the police band and pin down our third contact for certain. When we got to the first guy’s place, though, his car was still in his driveway, and the porch lights were off outside. All the inside lights were off too. ”

“You should have known something was wrong from that? I don’t understand. ”

“There were no guards, ” Flynne said. “No lookouts either. Nobody tried to stop us. We drove right up to his driveway, and nobody so much as looked at us funny. That’s when I should have known something was really screwed up. I should have turned the car around, picked up the rest of Jeremey’s coterie and gotten us the hell out of Detroit right then. ” Michael caught a glimpse of the car’s speedometer. The needle was nosing past one hundred and five miles per hour, and Flynne wasn’t slowing down. Michael wondered if Flynne even realized it. He also wondered why no police officers had tried to pull the vehicle over yet.

“But I didn’t. I didn’t even suspect, ” Flynne went on. “The three of us got out and went in the house. When we found the front door unlocked, then we started to realize something was wrong. The house was quiet. The central air wasn’t on, the guy’s answering machine wasn’t turned on, there wasn’t an alarm blaring the fact that intruders had come in uninvited. Nothing. ”

“Your contact wasn’t there? "

“I wish, ” Flynne said. “We’d split up, each of us stomping around on the guy's hardwood floors, and Lionel took the top floor. I was right underneath him when I heard his footsteps just stop. All of a sudden. One minute, he was in full stride; the next minute, he was in silence. Darien heard it too right before he was about to go check the house’s basement. The two erf us went to check it out at the same time, and we met on the steps. We found Lionel upstairs in the master bedroom. "

“What had happened? ’

“He was just standing there in the doorway with one foot forward, staring into the room. He just froze. Darien tried to push past him to see what he was looking at, but Lionel’s strong as a marble post. He actually held your boy back, like he didn’t want him to see. I looked over his shoulder, and I wanted to freeze too. I heard Darien gasp. ”

“What was it? "

“Our contact, ” Flynne said. “Most of him. He was in bed, but only just barely. The bed was one of those big four-poster canopy ones, and he’d been tied arms and legs to the posts with old barbed wire. Somebody’d even laid the top sheet of the canopy down over him. He was tied so tight he was actually suspended over the covers. [ could see scratches on the post where the wire had rubbed off die varnish. He’d have to have been kicking and pulling on the wires to make those kind of scratches.

“I don’t know how many seconds we stood there, but it wasn’t all that long. Once the shock wore off, I slipped in past Lionel, and he came in right behind me like I’d hit his ON switch. Darien followed him and pointed out what the two of us had already missed. Somebody had broken out all the glass in the guy’s wall mirror. When we pulled back the canopy sheet, we saw where it had gone. Somebody had broken it up into long splinters and stabbed them through the poor bastard into the mattress underneath him. They’d stuffed the pieces that were too short into the guy’s mouth and down his throat. A lot of the pieces that poked out under him were broken off, leaving this glittery layer of shiny, red trash on the sheets under him. That should tell you something, if you think about it. ”

It did, Michael realized. If the contact’s attackers had pushed the glass shards through his body after he had died, while he still hung suspended from the bedposts, the shards would have remained unbroken.

“How long had he... ” Michael began unsteadily. The lights of the stationary cars Flynne passed blurred into a dirty red and white line outside the window. “How long had he been there? ”

“The son of a bitch was falling apart right there while we looked at him, ” Flynne said. “Inch by inch, this rot was creeping out from every scrape, cut and wound on his body at the same time. It rolled out around his neck like watching a fire from the inside, and we heard little bits of glass frilling on the mattress as his body decomposed in fast-motion right in front of us. I’ve seen vampires die before, and the older ones always go like that when they go off. But before it was always fast. Once the blood was gone and the spirit had drifted off, the body always decomposes on the spot. Only this was happening right in front of us. "

Michael realized what Flynne meant just before the older vampire continued.

“Lionel and I looked up at each other at the same time, and we both looked at Darien. Neither of the two of them had ever seen another one of our kind die, but they knew what they were looking at. At least Lionel knew right away. It took Darien a second before he looked up at the two of us and said, ‘How long does it take for a vampire’s body to fall apart after it dies for real? ’ That’s when things got shitty.

“While the three of us were standing there, something happened downstairs. It sounded like something knocked the refrigerator over, and the noise was like a bomb in that silent house. The three of us turned at the same time, and a figure was right there in the doorway. Before we could get a look at it, it snatched the door shut and started laughing. Loud. Hysterically. It was a noise that made you want to go crazy listening to it. I wanted to go lock the door, to keep that laughing figure outside, but I didn’t want to get any closer either. I had this feeling like something would just reach right underneath and pull me right out.

“Then, all of a sudden, there was light everywhere, and a racket like a nightmare. The overhead lights blared on all at the same time, the phones all started ringing, the alarm clock by the bed started blinking 12: 00 with its alarm going off full blast, and the security system’s alarm went off all at once. Even the lights outside were blinking and going crazy. I thought I was going to go crazy. And all the while, that laughing was going on in the hallway. Except now it wasn’t just one voice; there were at least four. All right outside the door.

“Quick as lightning, Lionel slammed the heavy, empty bureau closet down in front of the door, and Darien smashed the window out with his bare hands. We were all panicking. Darien started yelling for us to jump out the window, but Lionel said we had to help him hold the door before the laughing bastards outside started trying to break it in. Standing there between them, I saw something moving under the bureau. I shouted over the racket for him to look out, and he jumped away before this shadowy murk rolled out of the shadows and coiled into these two twining, jet-black tentacles. Looked a lot like your hair looks right now. ”

Michael’s hair still hung in limp, wavy strings from where the early-evening rain had played havoc with it. He put a hand to the side of his head absently and brushed the strands back behind his ear.

“So these two arms curled up into the air right where Darien had been standing, lay flat against the bureau and start to squeeze while someone started turning the doorknob slowly back and forth. The three of us decided not to wait any more. We all three piled out that window and jumped as far as we could. Right before I went out, I heard the bureau crack open and the door explode inward. After that, I was in the air.

“We were only on the second floor, but Lionel made the only good landing. He got a good push off, and he sailed all the way to the center of the front yard, subtlety be damned. Darien and I didn’t do quite so well. I jumped like shit, and I came down hard on my knees on the driveway. I rolled and came up all at once, but I couldn’t get my feet under me. My left knee wanted to bend the wrong way, the right wanted to fold my foot up somewhere toward the side of my hip, and no amount of convincing made either one want to do right. Like an asshole, I hadn’t fed that night, so I was seriously screwed. I tried to will my legs into the proper shape to get me out of there, but just taking the edge off the pain made thick black spots swim in front of my eyes. ”

“What about Darien? ” Michael asked. Flynne’s description of how seriously he’d been hurt meant nothing to him. Michael hadn’t so much as bit his tongue since his embrace. The only wound he had suffered had, in fact, been the hole he had punched in his own wrist when he had created Darien.

Flynne shook his head and didn't say anything. Michael thought Flynne wouldn’t answer at all, until he said, “He was gone. I thought at first that he’d figured out how we move so fast, but he hadn’t. Lionel was only just getting his feet under him, and I knew Darien couldn’t move faster than Lionel. Lionel’s as fast as I am, and I knew Darien wouldn’t be moving faster than me. Especially that night. But he wasn’t on the ground with either of us.

‘Then I heard this shriek above us. Lionel looked at me then up at where the sound had come from, and he stopped cold. I looked up too, and I tell you, Michael, I’ve never seen a sight like that. Darien was up there, his back facing the window, looking at whatever was in the room with him. And something had to be in there with him, because he had his arms up, and he was trying to back away. He didn’t have anywhere to go but down, but he just stopped at the window holding his arms up. I sat up, and this shadow fell over him from inside. I couldn’t make out what was in there, with the outside lights blaring and flashing, but whoever it was was big. Bigger than me, bigger than Lionel, bigger even than Adrock. What I could see of the shadow was almost twice Darien’s size. It closed in and hit him in the chest so hard he flopped out through the window and hung there on the last few teeth of glass left in the frame. ”

Michael felt die door-mounted armrest beginning to separate from the door in his hand, and he forced himself to let it go.

“The look on his face, Michael... No matter how hurt I was or how long I live, I’m never going to forget that. He looked right at me as he hung there and reached one hand out to me like he wanted me to pull him the rest of the way out onto the lawn. The people I drink from don’t even look at me like that. The two vampires I’ve killed didn’t look at me like that. Darien knew he was dying, but he was hanging in there fighting, and that fact scared him. It scared him so bad that he called out for you. He wanted to let go and just escape everything, but he couldn’t. He knew it, and that's why he had that look on his face. That’s what the look said to me. I think he’d figured out what it really means to be a vampire right then, and it terrified him. He knew that no matter what the Sabbat inside the house were about to do to him, he couldn’t escape it. His body would make him suffer through every second of it until it couldn’t take any more. He couldn’t just let go and drift away like a human would have. He was going to try to stay alive no matter what. He saw just how strong he was, and he knew just what that meant in the worst possible way.

“Lucky for him, though, Lionel wasn't just sitting there staring. Zipping around just fast enough for me to have trouble seeing him, he came over next to me and plunged his hand into the driveway. It looked like he was dipping his hand into fresh wax. Boy’s strong. He scooped me up with his other hand and put me on his shoulder. Then, he stood up with a chunk of driveway in his hand and hurled it into the window as hard as he could. It knocked the big joker who'd hurt Darien backward into the room. Darien sloughed out the window and landed in a heap in the bushes next to the house. He made two sounds when he hit—one for his body, one for the stuff that got dragged out of him by the shards of window glass rammed through his back — but Lionel was already moving. He grabbed Darien around the waist and dragged us both to the car.

“I could smell Darien’s blood, Michael, and it was all I could do not to start tearing into him myself. He was covered in it, and wet gobs bulged over both sides of Lionel’s arm. Lionel was the only thing holding Darien together, and I was so hungry. Lionel kicked the back window in and tossed Darien in the back of the car, and I couldn’t help it. I went a little crazy from the pain and the hunger. I started snarling and snapping and trying to get through the window after Darien. It was all my mind could hear. I didn’t care about the Sabbat coming up the yard behind us. I didn’t care about our mission. I just felt the hunger roaring. I was so cold, and Darien was the only warmth left in the whole world. Hell, you’ve got to know what I’m talking about. "

Michael didn’t respond.

“The last thing I remember was Lionel lifting me up by the hair and ramming my head against the roof of the car once so hard that the hunger went away. He knew what was happening, and he did the right thing. He told me later that he broke open the trunk, tossed me in, and drove us the hell out of there and back to the safe house. We left that night, and I came to my senses lying on top of some middle-aged woman beside the highway about a quarter of the way from Detroit between there and Iron Rapids. She screamed when she saw what I was, but I clamped down and didn’t let her go until I could move my legs the right way. We drove the corpse’s car into a ditch with her in it, and then got in my car for the rest of the journey. Even that part’s blurry to me. The others told me that Darien hadn’t made it. We dodged the Sabbat and came back home. I helped them navigate back, but I hardly remember it. We kissed the sun good morning coming in, making sure those pieces of shit didn’t tail us back to Elysium, and we slept in the basement of the building like vagrants. After that, Adrock, Calvin, Ellsworth and Maxwell were at us every night for the next week drilling us for what we’d found out, what we’d learned, the circumstances of Darien’s death, everything. ”

“What did you tell them? ”

“All of it, ” Flynne replied. Now that his story was winding down, he seemed to realize how fast he was driving. He backed off the accelerator and exited the perimeter highway, heading back into Michael’s Pontiac hunting grounds again. “We told them how we’d tracked down the three Camarilla loyalists. We told them about how the Sabbat had apparently been keeping an eye on us and had learned what we did. We told them about the Sabbat beating us to our first contact and doing what they did to him. I gave them my guess that the other two were dead as well. Other than secretive, ‘heretical’ sympathizers within the Sabbat or interested independents, the Camarilla had no direct, willing supporters in the city of Detroit. ”

Michael folded his long hands into pale, ungainly fists in his lap and kept his eyes focused on them. He could guess the rest of the story. The prince and other elders had been grateful for the coterie’s brave efforts and heroic escape. They had congratulated the survivors on returning with information vital to the planning of Adrock's vaunted push into Detroit, even if such information had proven to be all bad. They had worked out with the survivors what reward best suited die sacrifice each had put forward.

For Elliot, who had helped gather the information on Detroit from which the others had drawn conclusions in order to find their compatriots, the best he could hope for was some minor conveniences and internal city matters to be adjusted in his favor on a temporary basis. Jeremey, who had been instrumental in tracking down the Camarilla vampires under the terms of the mission, had received expanded hunting grounds and the privileges of sharing said land with a new companion of his choosing. Flynne had been given leave to stay in Michigan as a floater with the thanks of a grateful domain for returning the popular coterie safely home. And Lionel, who had saved a life and tried to save a second, had earned the greatest right any Kindred could be granted. He had been allowed to create another of his kind.

Michael had created Darien in a fugue of inspired insanity, and the two of them had been allowed to live because Michael’s own sire was well connected. Lionel had earned the right to make a childe because he had put his own unlife at risk for the sake of two others. And yet, now Michael’s childe was dead before the childe whose creation he had inspired had even been created.

“What happened, ” Michael asked, still not looking up, “after you left the house? Between when Lionel put you in the trunk and when you next fed. Have any of them told you? When did Darien die? Where was it? ”

“No, ” Flynne said. “I don’t know, and the others don’t talk about it. ” Streaks of deception hit Flynne’s aura in thick, fat drops. Michael caught it out of the comer of his eye.

“That’s not true, ” Michael said quietly.

“No, not exactly, ” Flynne admitted. “But I don’t have it clear enough in my mind to get it all right. I remember some, but not everything. If you need to hear more, you’ll have to talk to one of the others. Lionel maybe. Or Elliot would know too.

“I’ve tried talking to Jeremey about it, but he flat out refuses. That was what I was thinking of when I answered your question the first time. It’s not modesty either. When I brought it up, he took a step toward me like he was going to try and hit me. I don’t know what it is, but his book’s closed on the subject. I understand from Marcus Villanova that you’ve already spoken to Jeremey Talbot. I think if he’d mentioned anything about it, you wouldn’t be asking me now. "

Michael nodded his agreement with that statement, annoyed with how fast seemingly private information traveled from the real world to a harpy’s mouth to an eager ear. He just wondered who had told Villanova about his meeting with Talbot.

“If you want to know what happened, Michael, " Flynne said, pulling the car to a stop and idling, “ask Lionel. ” Flynne had pulled back onto the street on which Michael’s jewelry shop stood, and he wasn’t going anywhere. Apparently, the interview was at an end.

“Chris, tell me something, ” Michael said, looking out the window but making no effort to get out of the car. “You said something earlier that I didn’t understand. You said something happened that you didn’t want to ever see happen again. ” Flynne’s expression darkened. “What did that mean? ” Flynne sat quietly for a moment before speaking. He stared ahead watching the windshield wipers flick back and forth, listening to the splash of the rain and the thrum of the car’s motor. His knuckles stood out brightly against his pale flesh where he gripped the steering wheel.

“I didn’t think I wanted to tell you, ” he said at last. “But I wouldn’t have brought it up, would I? ”

“That was my impression. ”

“When I was still pretty young, I didn’t do all this, ” Flynne said. “I had a life, such as it was. I had friends, I attended court, I did everything the young are supposed to do. It wasn’t all that unlike how you spend your nights. I had a good buddy at the time named Sean. We spent most of our time together. We were friends; we were happy. ” “What happened. ⁷”

“Same story. We lived in what the Sabbat must have thought was prime territory. Lots of people, plenty of space to get lost in, enough room for them to settle and keep expanding. We had it, and they wanted it, so they came to take it.

“It was a lot like what’s happening on the coast right now that night. All over town, the Sabbat found us and flushed us out. A lot of the war parties were using fire. "

Michael shuddered.

“Sean and I were together when they came around for us. We were at Sean’s place playing cards, if you believe that. One minute, I was cheating at Blackjack; next thing I know, the windows and doors are breaking in, and the Sabbat are coming in screaming and waving torches. As far as fighting went back then, Sean and I were great card sharps. We ran.

“If nothing else, we had speed on our side right at first. We got the jump on the Sabbat and got out away from the ones with the torches. I rode a motorcycle then, and we broke for it while the Sabbat were still coming in. We were so fucking stupid. We actually took the time to start up the bike and ride away instead of just running. If we hadn’t done that, we might have made it on foot. "

“But you didn't. ”

“Not the ‘we’ part, ” Flynne confirmed. “I crashed the bike out the glass back door of the garage I’d parked it in. I got out on the street. I even got a good way down the block. By that point, though, the war party had recovered. The Sabbat caught us up and tried to pull us off the bike. They just ran up along side us and started clawing us down. They pulled Sean over, and that flipped the bike and threw me. I got up tasting blood, and half of everything was gone. I took a piece of gravel or a fingernail or maybe one of my teeth through my eye. But I could still move. I got my feet under me and started running. I looked over my shoulder once before I got going. I know I shouldn’t have looked back, but you know what they say about hindsight. "

It’s 20, Michael thought uncharitably.

“When I glanced back, I saw the Sabbat moving in around Sean, ” Flynne went on. “He’d done something to his knee, and he couldn’t get away. He was easy prey, and they all wanted a piece of him. Some of them looked at me, but I was already moving by that point. I only glanced back, but I didn’t stop. I

ran. I left Sean lying there, knowing that the Sabbat would go after the easy prey rather than chasing me down. It’s how they work. They’re like wolves. I understood that about them, so I ran away. I escaped, and I lived without another scratch. ” “But your eye never healed, " Michael said. His tone made the statement resemble a question.

“Of course it healed, ” Flynne said, turning toward him at last The patterns of pink-orange light coming in through the rain-slicked windshield made Flynne’s face look like its skin was melting. “It always heals. It heals every night before I wake up. I don’t. I keep this to remind me of what I did to stay alive. I keep it to remind me of Sean every night when I wake up whole and well. ”

“So the patch is just an... affectation? ” Michael asked, disappointed.

“Yeah, ” Flynne said, lifting the edge of the patch. Even in the dim light, Michael could see the flesh beneath the black shadows. A fresh red and black crescent bisected the orb, turning it into a twisted min. “Fuck you and your affectation. ” Michael’s hand tightened on the door handle, but he did not move. Flynne reset the patch and resumed his stare out the front window.

“And that’s what happened, ” Michael said cautiously when nothing more seemed forthcoming, “that wasn’t supposed to ever happen again? "

“Somebody died so I could live, ” Flynne said softly. “And they didn’t do it willingly. Sean died because I left him behind. I abandoned him. I swore I’d never do it again. I swore I’d never let anyone die because I left them to their (ate while I ran away. ” Except that he had.

“In Detroit, ” he said before Michael could say anything, “Jeremey Talbot’s coterie took that promise away from me. The last thing I remember was that Darien was still holding on. He had not passed on yet. But the others took me away and left him there. By the time I had any say in the matter, it was already too late. I’d broken my promise, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it” “I still don’t get it then, ” Michael said. “Why tell me? Why risk letting that get back to the harpies by telling anybody at all? Why tell me anything about what happened? ”

“Because Darien was your childe, ” Flynne said, “and no body but me and you cares that he’s dead. Talbot’s people took something from both of us, and it was really all we had. We both know that. They took something that we can’t get back. ” Michael sat silent thinking that over. Yet, whenever his mind touched the subject, the beast in his mind sprang to life. It had been reined back tightly, but now it wanted to be free. It wanted to be let loose.

"So what are you going to do? ” he asked Flynne.

“Not a thing, ” Flynne said. “There’s nothing I can do to these people. I don’t know them; I don’t know how they operate. AH I can do is leave this dying, pisshole city. I may go back down the Mississippi. Let the Sabbat bum this whole fucking place down for all I care. I’m never coming back. ” “I do know how they operate, ” Michael said. “I do know the Kindred of this domain. I may leave too, but I’m going to get something back before I go. And somebody’s going to remember Darien when I get it. ”

“You’re wasting your time, Michael, ” Flynne said. “Whatever you want, it’s not going to be enough. ”

“If you believed that, ” Michael said, “you wouldn’t have told me any of this in the first place. You wouldn’t have stayed so long trying to find a reason or excuse to tell me. You’d have just run away again. You could have, but you didn’t do that. ” This time, Michael knew he had overstepped his bounds, but he’d done it on purpose. However, rather than display the anger that blossomed and swirled in his aura, Flynne merely reached across Michael’s half of the car and unlocked the door.

“Get out, ” he said in a voice almost too soft to hear against the rain. “And if you do leave Michigan, don’t wind up in the same place I am. ”

Michael stepped out of the car in silence and stood on the sidewalk. As soon as the car door slammed shut, Flynne drove away, spinning his car’s wide back tires wildly on the slick, wet road. When the noise from the engine had died away and the car was gone, Michael turned toward the front wall of the outside of his jewelry shop. City noises filtered through the rain all around him, sounding like the thoughts filtering past the noises the Beast made in his mind.

First Clare and now Flynne had both seen something in him that he had been ignoring. They could both tell that at least his subconscious was up to something, even if he did not realize it Even now, he only had a vague idea of what that something might be. If he thought about it hard enough, he would figure it out, but his thoughts buzzed and spun riotously in his head. He was hungry and upset and tired, and nothing made sense, no matter how hard he tried to clear his head. Revenge played on his mind, as did the fact that he had just alienated the only soul in town whom he could reasonably call “kindred. ” He owed no one left in town any favors or esteem, but he did not know to whom he owed his actual enmity, except perhaps Jeremey Talbot. Possibly Elliot Damascus. Lionel Braughton, almost certainly. But how had they actually contributed to Darien’s death? There was no way to know without trying one last time to talk to one of them. Even considering what Flynne had told him, he owed the friendship Darien had shared with those Kindred that one last courtesy.

And yet they had let Darien die. They had held their tongues about it They had helped smooth the incident over so that none of the other Kindred could panic over the fact that the coterie had failed. In his condition, Michael could not see a dear path of action that led anywhere but to the conclusion that he needed to hear the story of Darien’s last hours or minutes from one of the three Kindred who had witnessed it for themselves.

Instead of wrestling with the subject any longer, he just stared at his reflection in the large plate glass window of his shop. The words “Luther Fine Jewelry” had been stenciled there in burgundy letters outlined with white, but they had been painted on an arch that framed his image on either side. No one else was on the street at this hour, and wisps of fog had begun drift in. Sympathetic mist rose from the leftover rainwater on the streets as well in pathetic streamers and tufts. These vapid displays of lethargy combined with the ambient sickly, pink-orange sodium light and the dark, overcast sky to make his reflection positively ghastly. His clothes hung on him, and his hair groped at his cheekbones and neck with no life left in it. As he stared, a memory came forward, helping him focus his thoughts.

“You used to love coming here, ” he said aloud, his voice an echo from inside a hollow man. His face regarded the reflection in the window; his eyes looked into the past. “You would watch while jewelry came to life in my hands under my tools. Inspired pieces better than any I’d ever made. You’d just sit quietly while it happened, watching me enjoy myself. And I so enjoyed myself. Almost as much as when you and I fed together. In those times, nothing else existed on Earth. Not you, not me, not Calvin and his rules and warnings. Just the hunger and the sweet warmth that gave it peace. ”

A runnel of water still trickled in the gutter behind him, and Michael listened to it sliding into the storm drain nearby. He walked right up to the glass and put his palms flat against it. He stood so close, he could see the streaks the wind-blown rain had left near the bottom. He could also see inside the shop. Three display cases formed a U-shaped counter in the showroom, and a dark door led back to his actual workshop. A door beyond that led down into the foundation of the building where the sun never penetrated. One of Calvin’s servants ran the store during the day, and two jewelers worked part time then as well, doing the minor repairs, resizing and cleaning that keep a jewelry shop in business. This place was die safe haven Calvin had allowed him to keep after Darien’s Embrace. Every cent the shop earned in profit went into Calvin’s pocket. Every effort Michael put into the shop now fed an account that any vampire of his bloodline could access.

“You’re not going to come here any more, ” he said quietly. “And the blood is never going to taste the same again. I thought for a while that I could enjoy it, but I never did. It was you I enjoyed. Reveling in the blood with you. And that revelry’s been taken from me. And nobody cares. ”

After another moment or two of looking beyond the glass and saying words he had never said to another living or unliving soul, Michael’s head snapped up and he backed away a step. The more he talked, the clearer his whirring thoughts became. He had never talked to anyone like this. Only Darien would have listened without rooting around for some advantage anyway.

“Chris doesn’t understand what this is all about, ” he said in a tone of quiet, horrified wonder. “I know why you really called out to me that night. ”

His blood forced strength into his unliving muscles, and Michael drove his fist through his shop’s front window. The plate glass shattered, raining jagged shards onto his exposed, delicate hands. The shards scored deep marks on his flesh that he hardly even felt. He welcomed the lacerations and the faint stinging pain. This was what Darien had been trying to tell him the night he died. Pain and fear were sensations the two of them had never experienced, even though they had shared everything else. The sharing had connected them, making them both feel alive when nothing else did. What they shared reminded them of what it had been like to be human. To be needed and to need another kindred soul.

And yet Darien had experienced something so much more intense in those last moments than anything he and Michael had shared. He had known he was dying — he had to have known — but the only thought in his mind had been that he could not share the experience with Michael. He had died in that sublime terror and agony, but he had also known that he had never experienced anything so intense in all his nights with Michael. He had died cut off from the one person with whom he had shared so much.

And no one with any authority in Iron Rapids had had any intention of telling Michael how Darien had spent his last minutes. None of them had understood, and they had tried to keep this last revelation, this last pitiful moment of connection, from him.

The harsh ding of the burglar alarm sounded as the last of the shards of the window fell, but Michael tarried a moment longer. He would seek out Lionel Braughton and put the end of Darien’s story to sleep. He would find out what else was being kept from him and recoup whatever last connection Darien had tried make with him. Then, having achieved that final closure, he would decide where to direct his vengeance. Only in losing that which made them human would those who deserved it know how Michael had been made to suffer. He needed only determine who deserved it. Once he did, he would show them what it meant to suffer a loss as he had. Then, he would decide what to do with the rest of his existence. If there was, in fact, to be one.

Interlude Two 

Jason slumped in the chair beside his sister Laura’s bed and folded his hands. He had sat this vigil every night since Laura had been attacked, but he still found himself unable to pray. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to visualize God so he could talk to Him. He tried to ask God to help his sister recover from her concussion and cracked ribs. He tried to ask God to help Laura come through this without being afraid of men forever after. He even tried to ask God to forgive him for leaving his sister alone in the middle of the night, which seemed like so long ago. God, however, refused to make Himself available. As had happened so many nights in a row, Jason just couldn’t bring himself to face God. He’d been raised a Christian, but these days, he couldn’t bring himself to think like one.

“I’ll kill him, Sis, ” he whispered instead, still huddled in an aspect of prayer. “As soon as you remember who did this to you, I’ll fucking kill him. ”

Jason said these words to her every night in one form or another. He waited until she was asleep and after he’d locked her window and checked in her closets and under her bed, then he sat down beside her in her chair and made the same promise. She would laugh at him if she heard him say it while she was awake, so he waited until she was asleep. That way, maybe some parts of her dreaming brain would pick up on it and understand what it meant. While she was awake, she just couldn’t seem to take anything seriously anymore.

Every night, Jason whispered to her, hoping she would believe it and maybe forgive him for letting this happen to her. The bruise under his ear testified to the fact that his father had done no such thing. His mother had stopped speaking to anyone except the police. Unfortunately, the fact that they hadn’t called in two weeks had leached the hope from her, and she hadn’t said a word since. Laura seemed almost happy, though, which was doubtless just a warped defense mechanism kicking in. Every night, Jason sat by her and made her promises he didn’t know if he could keep. Each night, Laura lay still, ignoring him until he drifted off to sleep.

Tonight, however, she stirred. He didn’t know if she had heard him, but Jason put a hand on her shoulder and murmured, “Go back to sleep, Laura. ” As far as he knew, Laura had no idea that he came in here at night. He always woke up before her and crept back to his room as the sun came up and shined in her window.

“Null, " Laura whispered, sitting up slightly. Jason tried to lie her back down without hurting her. Her eyes were still closed, and she moved like one in the throes of a nightmare. The muscles of her face swam under her skin and settled in a frown.

Before he could calm her all the way down, Jason heard footsteps outside in the hallway. They were heavy steps, spaced more than a second apart. His parents, however, had long since gone to bed, and no one else lived in the house. Whoever was out there was tall, large and moving casually. Jason froze with one hand on Laura’s shoulder, gripping just a bit too hard in his sudden anxiety. She squirmed under his hand and murmured, “Null, ” again.

Jason blinked once, and the footsteps outside stopped in front of Laura’s door. Laura’s door opened and closed. The posters on her wall rattled in a gust of wind. He blinked one more time, and a man stood at his side, looking down over Laura. Laura’s eyes popped open, and she lifted her arms stiffly. “Li-null, ” she said, barely above a whisper. “Lionel. ” Jason shook his head to clear it. How had this guy gotten in here? The room had been empty save for them; now this stranger stood there. Who the—

“—fuck are you? ”

The tall man turned and glared down at Jason, before letting a lupine smile break across his face. “What? ”

Jason didn’t realize he’d even spoken aloud. He slouched back in his chair, keeping as much distance between himself and the stranger as he could. The taller man was broad-shouldered and handsome in a way that seemed artificial. He seemed perfect. Awesome. He was an Adonis in a Brooks Brothers wool coat. His silk scarf was the same color as his thick, almost-messy brown hair.

“Who are you? ” Jason asked, hoping it sounded a little more respectful.

“You don't remember me, Jason, ” Lionel said, putting a hand on the side of Laura's face. Against the backdrop of Laura’s bruised cheek, his pale hand nearly glowed. “We met a little more than a month ago. My name’s Lionel Braughton. ” “I remember, ” Jason said slowly, like a child. “I met you the night Laura was attacked. ” With each word he said, Jason’s indignation returned. He vaguely remembered seeing this man hitting on Laura that night. They two had gone club hopping alone together. He’d claimed to be some sort of record executive or promoter. Laura had been acting like a freshman kid with a crush on the captain of the football team, he remembered. It had been annoying at the time. Until she came stumbling in at dawn with blood in her hair, blood on her jeans, blood in her mouth. Dear God, how could he have forgotten that? How could Laura have?

“She was with you, ” he said, his voice growing louder and more passionate with each word. “You did this to her. ” Ready to explode in a red fury, Jason grabbed the sleeve of Lionel’s jacket to pull the larger man’s hand away from Laura’s face. He wasn’t sure what happened next, exactly, but it was not the desired result. He found himself sitting back down in front of Lionel with his arm stretched out and locked tight in Lionel’s free hand. Jason hadn’t even seen the man move. Worse, his shoulder felt... wrong, and that hand wouldn’t move. The palm, it seemed, was facing the wrong way in Lionel’s grip. When he tried to move it, the blood drained from his face, and he let out a gasp.

“It’s not broken, Jason, ” Lionel said, addressing his most immediate concern. “Yet. I’ve only popped your shoulder out. It used to happen to me all the time. I know how to deal with it. In fact, if you keep quiet, I’ll put it back right where it’s supposed to be. You won’t even need a sling. Are you going to be quiet? ”

Gaping in pain, Jason glanced back at Laura. Lionel still hadn’t taken his other hand away from her face.

“Answer me, Jason, " Lionel said, twisting Jason’s arm again.

Cold sweat started rolling into his eyes, and he nodded. He couldn’t move.

“Good. Now, listen very carefully, and look right at me when I’m speaking to you. You ready, Jason? ”

Jason lifted his head to nod, biting his lip to ignore the pain that worked its way up and down his arm. It didn’t hurt as long as he remained absolutely still.

“Good. ” Lionel relaxed his hold just enough to allow Jason to look up at him. “Now, about your sister. You think she was beaten and raped the night we three met, right? ” Jason nodded again. It might have been his imagination, but he was sure he could hear dislocated bones grating against each other right beside his ear.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jason, ” Lionel said. He knelt down to look Jason in the eye, while keeping his twisted arm at a high angle. “Look at me. Laura told you about what happened that night. She told you about asking you to leave her alone with me because she’d been seeing me for a few weeks by that point. Do you remember that? ”

Something felt wrong about what Lionel was saying, but Jason couldn’t grasp what it was. The words made sense if he said them to himself as Lionel said them aloud. “Yes. I remember. ” Apropos of nothing, he wished Kyle was around right now.

“When she came home that morning, she looked like hell, ” Lionel continued. ‘You thought she’d been beaten and raped. You woke your parents and rushed her to the city hospital. "

Jason remembered that clearly enough. They’d spent a harrowing three hours packed into a dingy waiting area at the emergency room with drug-addicts, gunshot victims and a man who seemed to have half of his skull caved in above his left eye.

“You helped her fill out the police reports and the hospital reports, and she claimed that she didn’t remember anything about what had happened. ”

“Concussion, ” Jason filled in helpfully. “She had a concussion. ”

“Yes, " Lionel said. “She hid behind that excuse for days. She even says the same to your parents. But concussions don’t cause amnesia. She confessed something to you after you got her home. Do you remember what that was? ”

Jason remembered no such thing. But everything else Lionel was saying made so much sense that this pan had to be true as well. “She told you about me, Jason, ” Lionel said, leaning even closer, twisting his own shoulder at an awkward angle to keep Jason’s arm out of place. “She told you what she and I like to do when we’re alone. She told you about the alleyway where we got together after we ditched you. She told you what we did there and how rough it got. ”

Lionel turned to Laura and said, "You told him all this, didn’t you, sweetheart? ” Laura nodded, shuddering in remembered ecstasy.

“She likes telling you about us, ” Lionel went on. “She gets off remembering the sounds she makes when we’re done. She shows you the bruises sometimes, and she scrapes them with a fingernail to remember what it’s like to be with me. ” Jason shook his head less in disbelief than disgust. How could Laura like that shit? His own sister!

“You remember, don’t you, Jason? You remember seeing her play with the abraded skin on her back. You remember her asking you to squeeze one of her breasts until she couldn’t stand it any more, don’t you? ”

Jason closed his eyes in shame, blinking back tears. He wouldn’t have remembered these things at all if Lionel hadn’t brought them up. He’d been hiding behind his own warped defense mechanism. It was easier to believe someone had raped her than to believe she had brought this on herself.

“That’s why you come in here every night, Jason, ” he went on. “You hate what you see your sister turning into, and you come in here while she’s sleeping to try to remember her as a little girl. You don’t like to think of her as a slut who needs to get hurt to get off. ”

Jason’s head sagged, chipping at his shoulder like a fistful of glass. Dear God, what had his sister become? She would probably even like it if Lionel were to do this to her!

“But I’ll bet that’s not all, ” Lionel said, lifting Jason’s face up to meet his. “I bet there’s a part of you that wants to be the best man in your sister’s life again. You remember the days when you were the one she looked up to, and you know it wasn’t so far in the past. Now, she's telling you about me and how she loves it when I hurt her and take advantage of her. She gets off telling you how I’m the best man in her life now. You don’t like that, do you, Jason? ”

Jason shook his head minutely.

“There’s a part of you that comes in here at night thinking how easy it would be to hurt her, isn’t there? A pan that wants to be the best man again. A part that thinks she betrayed you by coming to me. That’s partly why you come in here at night, isn’t it, Jason? You tell yourself it’s because you want to protect her, but that’s not it at all. You want to get her away from me. ” Jason didn’t say anything. Cold sweat sheathed his face, mingling with warm tears at his cheeks.

“It’s not going to happen, Jason, ” Lionel said, hauling him to his feet by the collar. With a subtle twist, he let Jason’s shoulder practically fall back into the socket. He grabbed the wounded joint in one hand feeling to make sure everything had gone back to its place. Jason tried to wilt from the sudden shock of relocation, but Lionel held him up.

“You’re not going to get her away from me, Jason, ” he said, leaning so close that Jason could smell Lionel’s heavily minted breath. He smelled like he’d been chewing Altoids all night. “She likes what I do to her too much. Your parents know it, she knows it, and now you know it too. Don’t forget it. ” Jason nodded, unable to speak. His own sister was a freak who liked... He couldn’t even finish the thought. He sat down heavily in the chair by her bed, looking at her like she’d just stepped down from a spaceship.

“He knows everything, sweetheart, ” Lionel said, turning back to Laura. “And your parents do too. You don’t have to keep us a secret any more. You can tell them any detail you want about what sex between you and me is like. "

A frown crossed Laura’s face at the mention of her parents, but Jason paid it no mind.

“I’ve got to get back to work now, ” Lionel said to either or both of them. "You be good and get some rest. " He leaned down to kiss Laura, and he squeezed her bandaged side with one hand. Laura squirmed and moaned, but she pulled Lionel down to kiss her neck with a look of rapture on her face. Jason turned away from the display with a sour taste in his mouth. He walked past Lionel to the door of Laura’s bedroom. With a dour grimace, he looked back at Laura over the top of Lionel’s shaggy head. With her eyes rolled back half way in her skull, she reached out to him with one hand while clutching Lionel’s neck with the other. Come join us, her look said. Help Lionel hurt me. Let him hurt both of us. Disgusted, Jason turned away. His own sister!

***

Kyle jumped to his feet as Lionel came down the steps of Laura’s building, looked at his sire expectantly. He idly rubbed his hands together in the chill air. They didn’t get any warmer.

“How is she, Lionel? ” he asked. Lionel walked past him, and Kyle fell into step alongside him.

“Better now, ” Lionel said, wiping the comer of his mouth with his thumb. “Still a little weak, but she’ll be okay. " “How about Jason? Did you see him? ”

“Yeah, ” Lionel said. “I saw him. ”

“How is he? Is he still an asshole? ”

“Yeah. Still an asshole. ”

“You think I can go see him sometime? Would that be okay if I did that, or would you rather I stayed away from people I used to know? ”

“No, ” Lionel said, never slowing down. “You can go see him if you want. It may be tough though. ”

“What do you mean, Lionel? ”

“It’s awkward talking to people you know after the embrace. It’s hard to keep the secret around people who know you well. Especially in the beginning. ”

“Oh, ” Kyle said, frowning and putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "I guess you’re right. If you don’t think it’s a good idea, I won’t do it. ”

“l’m not stopping you, Kyle, ” Lionel said. “I just want you to be prepared. "

“No, that’s okay, ” Kyle said. “You’re right. I’ll skip it until I get the hang of being what I am a little more. Thanks for the advice. ”

Lionel kept walking without looking at Kyle.

“Sure, kid. "

***

Lewis Samuelson squinted and snapped another picture of the scene below him. Tractor trailers and car-carrying eighteen-wheelers filled the back lot of a set of warehouses that had been empty since the 1970s. Someone was moving a business into the warehouses in the middle of the night. That same someone had forged a business license and bought up most of the property in this neighborhood. A great deal of money had changed hands over the past months, and someone had become the proud owner of a row of warehouses bordering Iron River. One of Samuelson’s informants who worked in the Iron Rapids Chamber of Commerce had alerted him to the transactions and to the fact that those selfsame transactions had been summarily swept under the proverbial rug by the exchange of yet another large sum of money. Despite the informant’s investigation into the affair, and Samuelson’s own, however, no names could be found to associate with the venture.

Normally, Samuelson would not have bothered to investigate further. He was not arrogant enough to assume that he knew of every secretive maneuver of Michigan’s Kindred community. Events in the business sectors rarely interested him anyway. This case, however, had a particular appeal. The warehouses that had been purchased so clandestinely lay in Prince Adrock’s own feeding territory. Again, that information alone might not have aroused his suspicion, except for the fact that the business venture in question seemed to revolve around transportation and distribution, as far as Samuelson’s informant had been able to gather, which was Elliot’s specialty in the city. By all appearances, Elliot had merely extended his operation into this part of his grandsire’s territory. He might even have done so at Adrock’s request. There was, after all, no prohibition against Michigan Kindred letting their enterprises range where they may. As long as they restricted their feeding to their own parts of Michigan, Adrock never admonished the Kindred for how their businesses expanded.

And yet, Samuelson knew Elliot’s style when it came to hiding his exploits from mortal investigation. Elliot was sloppy and careless. He left holes that his sire had to fill. While gaps did exist in the cover that was intended to hide this operation, they were not nearly as glaring as those Elliot was known to leave. The prince’s childe never left evidence of his maneuvering at all, which ruled him out as the responsible party as well.

Which meant, as far as Samuelson could tell, that someone else had established a beachhead in the prince’s own territory in order to attack his grandchilde^ holdings. Should word of such an attack come to Elliot's ears before it could be made, Elliot would owe a debt even one of his insignificant age would recognize. Of course, there were still protocols to be followed before Samuelson could tell Elliot of what he had learned, but those would take no time at all. He had to alert his sire, so that the elder harpy could bear witness to the boon Elliot would owe. He also had to get his film developed in order to have ready proof of the bold upstart’s move. Once he took care of all that, he might even return to try to catch the offending Kindred in the act. If said upstart was actually another vampire who was feeding in Prince Adrock’s territory, and Samuelson was the one to discover it, the prince himself would owe quite a boon.

But he had done enough work for the time being, the young harpy decided. He capped the lens of his camera, dropped the camera back into his handbag and stole away back toward his own territory in Calhoun County. His darkroom awaited.

Scene One 

The doorman outside Club Lazarus, on the outskirts of Lionel’s Saginaw territory, was the largest black man Michael had ever seen. He towered over every other man and woman who had lined up outside the club to wait their turn to get in. While the visitors jangled and twitched in time with the muffled music that filtered out to the street from inside, the black man remained perfectly still, staring at them impassively. The man and the line brought to Michael’s mind an image of what a snake would look like if someone had driven a thick, black spike through its tail and left it to die. Michael walked alongside the writhing snake, making his way to the head of the line on the wrong side of the chain that had been strung up to keep it in place on the side of the dirty brick building. When he reached the thick, black peg, he stopped and waited to be noticed.

The doorman looked from the driver’s license he had in his hand to Michael with a slow, bored turn of his head. His voice carried over the noise from inside and the chattering of the people in line.

“You start at the other end if you want to get in, ’’ he said, looking down at Michael. His breath huffed out in thin white clouds.

“Is Lionel Braughton here? ” Michael asked, unfazed. The mortal patron at the head of the line shifted his weight impatiently, reaching for the driver’s license in the doorman’s hand. “He and I have to talk. ”

“He’ll be here when you get back to the beginning of the line, ” the doorman boomed.

Michael reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdrew a thick wad of money. He laid it on top of the club-visitor’s license in the doorman’s hand. “He and I have to talk now. ”

The large man looked at the folded bills and blinked in that slow, ponderous way that was a trademark of the truly dense. The outside bill had the number 100 printed on it. The other twenty-nine in the stack did as well.

“Go tell Lionel that he has a visitor, ” Michael said. “I’ll wait here. "

Without another word, the doorman pocketed the money and went into the club. He shut the door behind him, leaving the line of patrons unattended. The young man at the head of the line stood still a moment, looking at the closed door, and then went over to pound on it.

“Hey, ” he shouted after the doorman, “give me back my license! ”

When his protestations did him no good, he rounded on Michael.

“Damn it, ” he said, pressing against the draped queue chain so that his acne-scarred face was less than one foot from Michael’s. “That was my license. Shit man, couldn't you wait ’til I was inside? What’s your problem? ”

“If I give you a thousand dollars, ” Michael said, still looking at the door, “will you mind your own business? ”

The young man’s mouth dropped open, and a puff of breath escaped. “Hey, fuck you, ” he said.

Michael turned to him then, saying nothing. Several moments passed in silence before the young man realized that although his own breath clouded the air between them, Michael’s did not. The boy’s eyes grew wide, and he fell back a step against the next club patron in line who had moved forward to take his place in line.

“Thank you, ” Michael said turning back toward the door.

A moment later, the large black doorman reappeared. His eyes danced with what appeared to be a mixture of fear and awe. The vibrant, rich colors of his aura showed the same contrast. His hands were empty, and a steaming sweat had beaded on his smooth, bald head.

“Come with me, ” he said, unhooking the chain in front of Michael. “Mister Braughton is waiting. ”

Michael stepped past the young man at the head of the line and followed the doorman. As the two of them entered the club, another doorman passed them going the other way to take the first one’s place. Just before the door closed behind him, Michael heard the young man outside raising his voice, demanding the return of his driver’s license.

The noise that had been muffled and flat outside the club echoed and thundered inside like a tornado. Pulsing, monotonous shrieks blared from enormous speakers at the far end of the compact room, making Michael’s eardrums pound in counterpoint. Harsh, clashing lights of random colors flashed in the smoky, stale air providing the club's only illumination. The entire space seethed with humans in various states of undress and differing stages chemical brain damage, and their voices crashed into the noise from the speakers, turning the entire racket from merely discordant to monstrous and painful. The mass of partying youths appeared to be dancing, but they looked to Michael like a pack of epileptics who had been lured into this hellish room to share in a mass seizure. No one had much room to move, and the slightest press against the crowd earned an equal and opposite reaction from everyone nearby. Disturbances in this pool of humanity created ripples that propagated inward.

The doorman led Michael around the greater mass of people to the wall opposite the speakers. Michael followed the black man past the mass at the packed bar to a set of steps that led up. The only illumination on those steps came from the hallway at the top. Judging from the smell of urine and old vomit on those steps, Michael was glad he couldn’t make out exact details in the dim light.

“He’s upstairs, ” the doorman told Michael, having to shout over the crowd. “It’s the only door on the left. The ones on the other side are the bathrooms. ”

Without acknowledgment, Michael passed the doorman and climbed the steps. The smell in this part of the building was worse than the stairwell itself. He made his way to the door quickly and opened it without knocking. He doubted that anyone inside would have heard him knocking, and he knew that he wouldn't have been able to hear any response they might give if they did hear him. When the door shut behind him, it dulled the noise back to a muffled, pounding thump. It did nothing for the smell, however.

“Michael, ” Lionel Braughton said. “Come on in. "

The room was ill appointed to one of Lionel’s wealth, Michael reflected. A thin coat of pale blue paint covered the stacked cinder blocks that made up the wall, and the the proper shape to get me out of there, but just taking the edge off the pain made thick black spots swim in front of my eyes. ”

“What about Darien? ” Michael asked. Flynne’s description of how seriously he’d been hurt meant nothing to him. Michael hadn’t so much as bit his tongue since his embrace. The only wound he had suffered had, in fact, been the hole he had punched in his own wrist when he had created Darien.

Flynne shook his head and didn’t say anything. Michael thought Flynne wouldn’t answer at all, until he said, “He was gone. I thought at first that he’d figured out how we move so fast, but he hadn’t. Lionel was only just getting his feet under him, and I knew Darien couldn’t move faster than Lionel. Lionel’s as fast as I am, and I knew Darien wouldn’t be moving faster than me. Especially that night. But he wasn’t on the ground with either of us.

“Then I heard this shriek above us. Lionel looked at me then up at where the sound had come from, and he stopped cold. I looked up too, and I tell you, Michael, I’ve never seen a sight like that. Darien was up there, his back facing the window, looking at whatever was in the room with him. And something had to be in there with him, because he had his arms up, and he was trying to back away. He didn’t have anywhere to go but down, but he just stopped at the window holding his arms up. I sat up, and this shadow fell over him from inside. I couldn’t make out what was in there, with the outside lights blaring and flashing, but whoever it was was big. Bigger than me, bigger than Lionel, bigger even than Adrock. What I could see of the shadow was almost twice Darien’s size. It closed in and hit him in the chest so hard he flopped out through the window and hung there on the last few teeth of glass left in the frame. ”

Michael felt the door-mounted armrest beginning to separate from the door in his hand, and he forced himself to let it go.

“The look on his face, Michael... No matter how hurt I was or how long I live, I’m never going to forget that. He looked right at me as he hung there and reached one hand out to me like he wanted me to pull him the rest of the way out onto the lawn. The people I drink from don’t even look at me like that. The two vampires I’ve killed didn’t look at me like that. Darien knew he was dying, but he was hanging in there fighting, and that fact scared him. It scared him so bad that he called out for you. He wanted to let go and just escape everything, but he couldn’t. He knew it, and that’s why he had that look on his face. That’s what the look said to me. I think he’d figured out what it really means to be a vampire right then, and it terrified him. He knew that no matter what the Sabbat inside the house were about to do to him, he couldn’t escape it. His body would make him suffer through every second of it until it couldn’t take any more. He couldn’t just let go and drift away like a human would have. He was going to try to stay alive no matter what. He saw just how strong he was, and he knew just what that meant in the worst possible way.

“Lucky for him, though, Lionel wasn't just sitting there staring. Zipping around just fast enough for me to have trouble seeing him, he came over next to me and plunged his hand into the driveway. It looked like he was dipping his hand into fresh wax. Boy’s strong. He scooped me up with his other hand and put me on his shoulder. Then, he stood up with a chunk of driveway in his hand and hurled it into the window as hard as he could. It knocked the big joker who’d hurt Darien backward into the room. Darien sloughed out the window and landed in a heap in the bushes next to the house. He made two sounds when he hit—one for his body, one for the stuff that got dragged out of him by the shards of window glass rammed through his back — but Lionel was already moving. He grabbed Darien around the waist and dragged us both to the car.

“I could smell Darien's blood, Michael, and it was all I could do not to start tearing into him myself. He was covered in it, and wet gobs bulged over both sides of Lionel’s arm. Lionel was the only thing holding Darien together, and I was so hungry. Lionel kicked the back window in and tossed Darien in the back of the car, and I couldn’t help it. I went a little crazy from the pain and the hunger. I started snarling and snapping and trying to get through the window after Darien. It was all my mind could hear. I didn’t care about the Sabbat coming up the yard behind us. I didn’t care about our mission. I just felt the hunger roaring. I was so cold, and Darien was the only warmth left in the whole world. Hell, you’ve got to know what I’m talking about. ” room smelled of sex, sweat and tobacco. Those scents waned with those filtering in from outside the door. Lionel lounged on a threadbare sofa from which the yellow padding was trying to escape at the seams. No pictures adorned the walls, and a single fluorescent light fixture burned overhead.

Lionel himself, however, had dressed immaculately. He wore a white Cardigan sweater over tan slacks, and a long leather overcoat lay folded beside him. His hair relaxed in the same almost-messy way that Michael recognized with a mixture of admiration and envious disgust. The contrast between the setting and Lionel himself stopped Michael cold for a moment.

“It’s not my only club in Michigan, ” Lionel said, setting down the book he had been reading. “The one where I usually feed is much nicer. Of course, that begs the question of how you found me so early in the night. ”

“Marie Byrd told me where you might be, ” Michael said, remaining by the door. “I spoke with her at Elysium last night. ” Lionel smiled at that, and Michael was taken by how utterly charming a smile it was.

“I used to play here before I was embraced, ” he said. “After Maxwell found me, Byrd followed me around all the time. Apparently, I was supposed to be hers, but Laurence pulled some sort of a fast one on her. After about a year of her stalking me, I got fed up. Laurence helped me buy this place, and I invited Byrd to join me for an evening here to sample modem youth culture. ”

“Marie Byrd actually showed her face here? ” Michael asked despite himself.

“Once, ” Lionel said, flashing his smile again. “She stayed as long as I wanted her to, but even Marcus couldn’t get her back in here now. I come to this place when I want some peace. I’ll bet she hasn’t even been back to the city since. ” judging by the sounds, smells and the looks of the place, Michael had no problem imagining the place as a haven from Byrd’s attentions. He had a little more trouble imagining it as a place where one might find peace.

“But that’s why you’re here too, isn’t it? ” Lionel said. “You’re looking for peace. ” He stood up and took a few steps away from both Michael and the couch. He gestured for Michael to sit down in the spot he had just vacated.

“Why don’t you sit down, ” he said. “Are you thirs— hungr— Hell, what do you call it? ”

“I’m not, " Michael said. “But I will sit. Thank you. ” He lowered himself carefully onto the couch, expecting it to crumble to rubbish beneath him. When the sofa held him up with only a groan of protest, he laid his ankle across his opposite knee, trying to adopt a pose of casual confidence just as Lionel had. Now that their positions were reversed, however, Michael could see signs of self-doubt and discomfort in Lionel’s aura. The only outward sign the handsome Brujah showed of his internal conflict was the fact that the comer of his mouth twitched at the beginning of his smile. Even that small note boosted Michael's confidence, making it easier to bring up what he needed to speak to Lionel about. “What do you want to know? ” Lionel asked him.

“You were with Darien when he died, ” Michael said. Acknowledging his childe’s death grew easier each time he voiced it aloud, and the thought disturbed him. “You were with Christopher Flynne as well. I’ve been speaking to him about what happened. But his information stops short. ” Lionel nodded. The more Michael spoke, the more Lionel’s aura clouded with discomfort.

“I guess it does. ”

“Flynne has told me about what happened when the five of you were intercepted by the Sabbat in Detroit. He told me he was hurt trying to escape them. He told me that you had to stop him from trying to drink Darien’s blood. ” “That’s all true, ” Lionel said, leaning against the door with his hands in his pockets. He avoided Michael’s eyes. “Flynne was out of control. He said he hadn’t fed enough before we left. Old as he is, I don’t know what he was thinking. But yes, I had to stop him. ”

"Then what happened? What happened between when you left that house and when you arrived back in Iron Rapids’" “Are you sure you want to hear this? ” Lionel asked. “You think you’ve already heard the worst part, probably, but you haven’t. ”

“I just want someone to tell me, ” Michael said, letting his shoulders sag. “I’ve been trying to find out long enough. ” “I don’t suppose it matters that Prince Adrock told us not to talk about what happened, does it? "

“Just tell me. ”

Lionel nodded, and the noise from downstairs rolled on in the background as he gathered his thoughts. While he worked out how to get his story started, Michael watched his aura. The discomfort remained, and a subtle hue of embarrassment had crept in as well.

“If Chris told you everything, ” the Brujah said, “then you can probably guess that I was getting close to losing control myself. I’d just packed Darien and Chris in the car and gotten it started when the Sabbat started coming out of the house. They were waiting for us in there. They’d killed the vampire we were coming to meet They must have done it right before—”

“Flynne told me. I know this part already. ”

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s see, I had the engine cranked up, and I gunned it. I thought the thing was going to stall, but it got us out of there fine. One of the Sabbat took off after us and caught up. I had to clip him with the rear wheels before he fell back. It only slowed him down anyway, really. He fell back a bit, and the others were farther on behind him following us. I just kept on driving.

“Of course, I didn’t know where the hell I was going, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t slow for red lights, I swerved over the yellow line like it wasn’t there, and I passed a police car like it was standing still. I pretty much plowed into the heart of Detroit trying to find a place to hide. I was hoping that even the Sabbat wouldn’t come out and rip us apart in front of crowds of people. ” “It’s my understanding, ” Michael said, “that vampires of the Sabbat don’t care about the Masquerade. ”

“They don’t, as far as I know, ” Lionel said. “But still, there’s such a thing as shitting where you eat. ”

Michael nodded. “So it worked. You escaped them. ” “For a little while, ” Lionel said. “Them and the cop car even. Except I was lost. It may not have been too bright of me, but once I got in the clear for a while, I parked the car in an alley and gave Darien a little of my blood. I couldn’t spare him much, but I gave him as much as I could. It brought him around enough to talk to me, even if he couldn’t put himself back together all the way. "

“You needed him to direct you back, ” Michael said coldly. “Yeah, ” Lionel said. “I mean, I didn’t want him to die, though. I was worried about him. I thought he was dead already. Really dead. ”

Lionel’s aura made clear that that worry had not likely been very important at the time.

“So I woke him up and held him up, and he told me pretty much how to get back to Jeremey and Elliot. He kept saying your name though. ”

“What happened when you got back? ” Michael asked, ignoring what seemed an obvious play on his emotions.

“Well, I still had to drive around for a while before I figured out Darien’s directions exactly. I just about got lost again. It was really late when I finally got back to the safe house. Jeremey and Elliot both came outside, expecting to find us and the guy we went to get. Instead, they saw me getting out of the car with Darien and no Chris. When they saw Darien, they more or less figured out what had happened. ”

“Darien was still alive by this point? ” Michael asked. “Such as we are, ” Lionel said. He had completely eschewed eye contact by this point. The embarrassment remained strong in his aura, and a few spots of anger had begun to appear as well. “But yeah, he was okay. If we’d been able to get him out of town, he would have been fine. ” “Why didn’t your “I couldn’t, ” Lionel said. The anger flared brightly, and carried over into his voice. “As soon as I got out of the car with him, Jeremey and Elliot started demanding to know what had happened. I told them the Sabbat were waiting for us, and Jeremey decided we were getting the hell out of Detroit right that minute. He went to start up our other car. Chris’ car. Elliot stayed behind to find out what had happened to Chris. I said he was in the trunk, and Elliot opened it up. He started trying to drag Chris out by himself.

“Elliot’s a small guy, so I put Darien in his arms and picked Flynne up myself. He was light to me. I took him over to the other car and told Elliot to bring Darien along. ” “Elliot, ” Michael said quietly. Lionel didn’t seem to hear. “I got Chris stowed away in his own trunk, and I saw Elliot still struggling to hold Darien together, " the Brujah went on. “I started going back to help him when one of the other Sabbat from the house showed up. Maybe he picked up the trail while I was on the way back, or maybe he’d been following us the whole time; I don’t know. It was just the five of us out there, and then there was this Sabbat crouching down on top of the car I’d been driving around all night. He wasn’t the one I hit earlier, but I did remember him. He started laughing at us. He’d been doing that in the house too. ” “Flynne mentioned it. ”

“Elliot was closest when the laughing started back up, and I think it scared the shit out of him. It did me too, but I didn’t panic. Elliot did. He let go of Darien and ran right at me, screaming at me to get in the car. He told me to get in then jumped in past me. When I got in, Jeremey floored it. ” “You just got in and rode away, ” Michael said in disgust. The words were supposed to be a question, but the didn’t come out that way. He had to force his hands to unclench. He put his foot back on the ground and leaned forward, drawing another groan from the couch. “You just left Darien lying there. ” “You don’t understand, Michael, ” Lionel said. “Elliot told me to get in the car. He made me. When he said it, I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t even realize I’d done it until after we were already driving away. ”

“Why didn’t you try to do something?” Michael asked, feeling irrationality creeping in. “Why didn’t you go back for him? ” “I tried, ” Lionel said. His embarrassment had given over almost completely to anger, and his gestures became more forceful and choppy. “I even opened up the door to jump back out. When I opened it, though, Elliot grabbed me and told me to stay right where I was and shut the door. I had to.

“Out the back window, I saw black tentacles reaching out from under the car where the Sabbat vampire was still sitting. They grabbed Darien and pulled him under the car before we went around the first comer. He was still awake from the blood I’d given him, Michael. He reached out for us. He was screaming. I heard him saying your name.... ” "Elliot told you to stay in the car? ” Michael said, somewhat dazed. “He made you stay? "

“Yeah, " Lionel said, still looking at the ground. “It’s even a trick he taught me. He’s just a lot better at it. God damn it, Michael, I’m s—”

“What about Jeremey r Michael asked, cutting Lionel off. “What about him? ” Lionel stammered, regrouping after the interruption. “He just drove. He didn’t say anything to me. ” “No, did Elliot say anything to him? ” Michael said, leaning farther forward. “Did Elliot make him keep going, or did Jeremey try to go back for Darien too? ”

“Neither, ” Lionel said. “He had the car running already, and he just took off. Elliot didn’t have to tell him. ”

“He should have, ” Michael murmured. If Lionel heard, he gave no indication. “Lionel, do you think you could have saved Darien? If you’d gone back for him, could you have brought him home? ”

“Yes, ” Lionel said a bit too quickly, looking up for the first time in several minutes. Deception diffused through his aura like blood on water.

“Do you really believe that? ’ Michael asked with a grave frown. Realizing he’d been caught in a lie, Lionel said, “I don’t know. Maybe not. I don’t know how old or how strong that Sabbat was. I didn’t know how many more of them there were. I don’t know if he was the one making the black tentacles or not. I’m still not even sure exactly what the tentacles were. Chris tried to explain it, but... ” He shook his head. “Maybe I wouldn’t have made it, but I thought I might at the time. I was going to try. ”

Michael sat back against the sofa. Now, Lionel was telling the truth again.

“Do you think Elliot did the right thing? " Michael asked quietly. His expression remained blank.

“I tell myself he did, ” Lionel said. “Jeremey says that if Elliot hadn’t done what he did, we might all be dead. Prince Adrock even congratulated him when we got back and told the story. The popular consensus seems to be that he did the right thing. And in the car, he just kept saying, ‘I’m doing the right thing. This has to be the way it is. ’ He sounded like he believed it, I guess. ”

Michael closed his eyes and put his fingertips to his temples. “But honestly, ” Lionel continued, “I don’t think he was thinking of it like that. He wanted in that car, and I think I was in his way. ”

A red roar overwhelmed Michael’s ears, and he was on his feet before he knew it. He took a step toward the door, curling his upper lip in a snarl. Tenuous control returned before he got any farther, but only with incredible effort. The roar still sang to him just beyond the range of his hearing, threatening to rise up again at any moment. Even over the music from downstairs, Michael could hear it whispering Elliot’s name.

“Michael? ” Lionel said, taking a step toward him in concern. “Are you all right? No, stupid question. Is there something I can do? ”

“No, ” Michael said, waving him back. “Not now. You did all you could already. ”

“Michael, I’m so sorry about what happened, " Lionel said. He ran a hand through his hair, shuffling it from carefully arranged disarray to actually unattractive disarray. “I wanted—” “No more, " Michael said, walking past Lionel to the door. “I don’t want to hear anymore, Lionel. "

Lionel closed his mouth and slumped. He looked like he might actually fall over.

“But, " Michael said as he opened the door, “thank you. " Michael could not tell if Lionel heard him over the noise that washed into the room through the open door.

Scene Two 

On his way back to where Richard and his car waited, Michael ran into Kyle Williams, Lionel’s new progeny. Neither of them had been paying attention to where he was going, and they stopped short face to face. Kyle recovered first, putting on a jovial, innocent smile. Taunted by thoughts of Elliot and the fact that the Ventrue had actually caused Darien’s death, and Jeremey Talbot had allowed it to happen without doing anything, Michael only stared.

“Hi, Mister Luther, ” Kyle said deferentially. “I didn’t know you were in town. Are you visiting Lionel T

Considering the fact that no other Kindred had hunting territory in Saginaw, Michael wondered just what else this childe thought he might have been doing here.

“l’m going back home now, ” he said instead.

“Are you okay? ” Kyle said. “You look a little upset. ”

“I got some bad news, ” Michael answered.

“Is there anything I can dor the childe asked. “Lionel told me that your prodigy died last month. ”

Michael closed his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Progeny. ”

“I was sorry to hear about it, ” Kyle said. “If there’s anything I can do... ”

Michael opened his eyes and leaned close to Kyle. The Brujah childe flinched but did not step back. “Don’t talk to me about what you can do, child, ” he said. “Your sympathy for my childe’s death will always be the last thing I’ll ever want. If you offer it again, I’ll forget who your sire is and make you sorry you ever tasted his blood. ”

Kyle’s eyes grew wide at that, and Michael walked away from him. His car waited. His driver waited. His own territory in Pontiac waited. And although she did not realize it, Clare waited as well. Michael thought he might give her a call when he returned home. She had offered her assistance more than once since Michael had learned of Darien’s death. He had finally decided to take her up on those offers.

Scene Three 

“Father Stinson, ” a young, female voice said. “Wake up. ” Stinson sat up, fully awake and clutched his sheets to himself. He’d left his bedroom door locked, yet someone was inside.

“Who’s there? ” he called out in no little fear. He’d been having nightmares lately. In those dreams, a demon with eyes of green fire tempted him and tested his faith.

‘Turn it on, ” the female voice said. A harsh white light blazed in the pitch-black room, and Stinson had to hold up a hand to keep from being blinded. A woman with short brown hair wearing a dowdy, pink housedress crouched in the middle of his bedroom. The light, which came from die top of what looked like a metal tripod, cast a garish halo around her head, throwing her face into shadow. Someone stood behind the tripod as well.

“Who are you? ” Stinson asked. He kept the covers bunched tightly in one hand while the other shielded his face. “I’m just a messenger, ” the woman said. “You’re the message. ” Sweat broke out on Stinson’s balding scalp. His undershirt began to stick to him.

“What do you want? How did you get in here? ” “People always ask the same questions, ” the woman said, looking back over her shoulder toward the light and the person behind it. In profile, she was not unattractive, if somewhat plain. “Don’t start rolling until I get going, Timothy. ” Stinson did not catch “Timothy’s” mumbled reply, but it seemed to satisfy the woman. She turned back toward the priest and knelt down at the foot of his bed. With detached amusement, she pulled the bedcovers loose and tossed them away. Stinson still clung to the opposite end, and the sheets billowed ungracefully to one side. Stinson’s bare legs jerked spasmodically away from the woman.

“You don’t run much, do you? ” the woman asked, looking down at the priest’s legs. A thin coat of curly gray hairs covered his thighs and calves, and his bony knees had started shaking in fear and in the cold.

“Leave me alone, ” Stinson said in a small voice devoid of force. His eyes had taken on the wide, darting aspect of a lamb. “Get out”

The woman grabbed one of Stinson’s socked feet and pulled his leg toward her. He yelped at her cold touch, but he could not pull his ankle loose. Despite her slender frame, the woman was strong. Stinson debated kicking the woman in the face with his other foot, smashing his heel into her pert, upturned nose, but fear paralyzed him. What would this Timothy do if the woman was hurt? What would the woman do? 1o further decide the issue, the woman took something out of one of die pockets on her dress. Severe, gray metal reflected in the bright light, and the woman lifted her hand to where Stinson could see in perfect clarity what she held there. The woman had not only brought a pistol into the house of God, but into George Stinson’s very bedroom.

“Now don’t move or make a sound, ” the woman said quietly, without a hint of anger or malice in her voice. She crawled forward onto the bed with Stinson and pushed the cold metal tip of the pistol’s barrel between his legs. She jabbed the tender flesh behind his testicles, and Stinson felt his muscles lock in panic. “This won't be so bad in just a few seconds, Father Stinson. If this works right, I’ll even let you forget. First, do you have anything to confess? ” Stinson made a low, inhuman sound and shook his head. “Good, ” the woman said. She turned back toward her accomplice and said, “Go ahead and get it started, Timothy. Make sure you can’t see the. 38 in the shot. And get his face. Elliot’s got to recognize him. ”

Even through the fog of paralyzing terror, the name caught something in Stinson’s mind. He saw a brief flash of green eyes rimmed in bright lines of red.

“Now, don’t panic, ” the woman said, untucking Stinson’s undershin from his boxer shorts. “I’m only a little hungry. Just don’t make my hand twitch. And remember not to move. ” The woman pulled his shorts down just far enough to expose the highest line of his thick scruff of gray pubic hair, and pressed her cold lips to the flesh below his navel. Father George Stinson had just begun to pray for deliverance, when he was suddenly transported to a world of pain, emptiness and trembling weakness. And bliss.

Scene Four 

Michael stood in the elevator of the Gideon building, waiting at the top floor for the doors to open. Word had finally made it back to Calvin that someone had broken the front window of Michael’s jewelry shop in Pontiac, and Calvin had summoned him here to discuss the situation. When the door finally opened, Michael headed down the tiled hallway toward Calvin s office without hesitation. When he reached the office, he went straight in without knocking. The fact that he found Calvin looking over a sheaf of papers rather than looking expectantly at the door was strangely gratifying.

“Come in, Michael, ” Calvin said. “Sit down. ” Without breaking stride, Michael grabbed the chair by the computer desk and wheeled it over to face Calvin's desk. He adjusted the height to his satisfaction then sat down, folding a foot under him as he did so.

“Let’s talk, ” he said.

“Yes, ” Calvin said, somewhat disturbed by Michael’s manner. “Let’s talk. For our first order of business, I understand you’ve had a break-in at Luther Fine Jewelry. ”

“Someone smashed in the front window, ” Michael said. “I don’t know how much was taken specifically. The building was pretty much cleaned out when I arrived. ”

"Arrived? ” Calvin asked, looking up from his work at last. “What do you mean? Weren’t you working there when it happened? ”

“No. "

“I see. What did you tell the police about what had happened? ”

“Nothing, ” Michael said. “I didn’t talk to them. I let the day servants take care of all of that. I told them to tell the police I was out of town. ”

Calvin bristled. Michael was not supposed to give the servants orders.

“And the insurance claims adjuster? ” Calvin pressed on. “Have you been in contact with her? I told her to get your signature on the claim paperwork. ”

“Haven’t seen her, " Michael said. “I haven’t been back to check my messages. If they don’t come through Richard, I don’t get them anymore. ”

“You haven’t been back to the shop since the robbery? ” Calvin asked. Frustration and a subtle tint of anger had begun to play in his features. “It has been several nights, Michael. Where have you been sleeping? ”

Michael paused before answering. Calvin wasn’t going to like this very much.

“I’ve been staying at Darien’s old haven, ” he said. “I haven’t been working. ”

“And yet, ” Calvin said, checking the papers on his desk, “it seems that you’ve made quite a substantial withdrawal from the account I set up for use by the clan. Is that so? ” “Yes. ”

“I had assumed that you did so in order to buy new equipment for the store as soon as possible before the insurance adjuster paid you, Michael, ” Calvin said. “Did you not do so? ” “No. I just needed the money. ”

“Be so kind as to explain why. ”

“If you must know, ” Michael said, leaning forward in an exact mirror-image of the way Calvin was sitting, “I had to bribe a doorman in Saginaw. It didn’t take as much as I was afraid it might, though. Do you want the difference back in cash? ”

The frustration in Calvin’s aura gave way more and more to anger, and he said, “I do not approve of your tone, Michael. Now tell me why you felt it necessary to bribe this doorman. " “That’s my business, " Michael said.

Silence fell, and Calvin’s aura flared.

“The funds I provide you most certainly are my business, Michael, ” Calvin growled “Your actions are my business as well Ever since your indiscretion, your actions have been my business. Show me the proper respect, and tell me what I asked you for. ” “Is it that important what I did with five thousand dollars? ” Michael asked. “Is five thousand dollars worth this? Maybe I should tell you, if it’s so important to you. ” “Michael... ”

“Except, ” Michael went on, ignoring the rising fury in Calvin’s voice, “that that isn’t the way you and I work, is it Calvin? When one of us has information that's important to the other, we keep it secret, don’t we? ”

“Michael, you have five seconds to answer my question, ” Calvin said. His face had taken on a more lifelike hue; his blood was surging. “You have even less time to adopt a more respectful tone with me. ”

“Or what? ” Michael snapped, letting the reins he held on his own anger slip. “You’ll take away something else you gave me? What would you take away, Calvin? I never had anything I cared about anyway. You’ve never given me anything it’s hurt me to lose. ”

Michael blinked, and Calvin moved. In a blur that scattered the papers he had been reading, Michael’s sire darted from his seat to lift Michael into the air by the front of his shirt Calvin plucked him out of his chair, and Michael felt the world spin around him. His back hit the closed door of Calvin’s office, and the chair he’d been sitting in rolled ponderously and slowly into the partially open door that led into Calvin’s private office.

“There is one thing I gave you that I can still take from you, ” Calvin snarled, holding Michael inches above the ground, despite Michael’s height advantage. Michael had never seen Calvin move so fast. He didn’t know it was possible to move so fast. Calvin’s fangs glared like twin white flames. “Every night I grow more tempted. Every time you disappoint me, I reconsider what I gave you. You’ve disgusted me ever since I made you. ”

“So destroy me, ” Michael said. “Put me out of both our miseries. Just make sure not to tell anyone what happened. You’ve got a history of covering up your descendants’ deaths. ” Calvin roared in rage and twirled Michael around again. This time, however, he flung Michael skidding across carpet into the crystalline sculpture his own sire had created for him. The massive geometric structure toppled over, shattering and raining razor-sharp debris down on Michael. Michael rolled to his feet, flinging off the dust and splinters in an iridescent shower. The shoulder he’d landed on stung and hung limp, and he could smell the blood of dozens of cuts on his face and back. His own fangs slid down into place, forcing his lips back into a snarl.

“Do you miss Darien so much, ” Calvin said, standing still in the same spot from which he’d thrown Michael, “that you’re willing to follow him? ”

Michael didn’t move, waiting for Calvin to step closer. The nicks and cuts on his skin closed up, and blood worked its way into his shoulder. His hand burned, then tingled, and then began to relax again. His fangs, however, remained where they were. Should his sire move...

“This is ridiculous, Michael, ” Calvin said. His face had lost its flush, and the rage had gone out of his eyes. He put his hands deliberately into his pockets. “Look what you’ve done. Look what’s become of you. You had such promise. ” “That’s a damned lie, Calvin, ” Michael said. The pain had gone out of his body, and his own anger was beginning to dull in its immediacy. “I never had anything you didn’t give me. Even that promise is something you forced on me. The only thing I ever had was Darien, and you know it. He was the only thing I ever created that was worth anything. ” Calvin shook his head and lowered his eyes. Michael saw only disappointment in his aura. His sire didn’t even fear that Michael would lose his temper and attack him. That blatant dismissal bore into Michael’s gut, and his fangs relaxed. He was only fooling himself anyway.

“You make me sick, Michael, " Calvin said, walking slowly back to his chair. “And you are right. Darien was the only thing that made you worthwhile. But even in that respect, you were a disappointment. Had I not taken care of Darien and seen to his needs, he would be no better than you. I should have let you both die. ”

“All you had to do was tell me, ” Michael said. “All you had to do was tell me Darien was dead as soon as you found out. If you hadn’t tried to keep it a secret, we could have gone on like before. If for one second you had treated me like an equal—”

“You and I were never equal, Michael, ” Calvin said with no trace of his former passion. “I did not create you to be my equal. I never groomed you to be my equal. I created you to serve a purpose. ”

“Forget it, ” Michael said. “You had a chance with Darien to fix your ‘mistake. ’ You don’t have him to hold over my head any more. I don’t have any more money for you to take away. You can’t stop me from feeding. You’ve got nothing left to use against me. I will not be ruled any more. ”

“Michael, ” Calvin said quietly, “you're talking like one of the Sabbat. ”

The words gave Michael pause. He wasn’t aware that the Sabbat had a party line that could be imitated. Other than thinking it was perfectly reasonable to kill humans in plain view and drink each other’s blood.

“Maybe I am, ” he said. “Maybe that’s just one more failure to add to my resume. ”

“You should not say so, Michael, " Calvin said. Remarkably, he had begun to smile. Michael saw something he did not recognize in his sire’s aura. A color he could not identify. “Prince Adrock is convinced that a Sabbat sympathizer hides among us. Should word of what you just said reach his ears, not even I would be able to protect you. Should I even so choose. ”

Michael stood speechless. To defy his sire and face Calvin’s wrath was one thing. Deep down, a part of him knew that Calvin had too much pride to destroy something he had created. But destroying a thing and letting someone else destroy that thing were completely different. The very thought of feeing Marion Adrock under the suspicion of being one of the Sabbat sowed growing panic in with Michael’s anger. Adrock would destroy him.

“I am not Sabbat, ” Michael said. “The Sabbat killed my childe. If the Sabbat has an enemy, I am it. ”

“It’s a bit late for those kind of melodramatics, Michael, ” Calvin said. His calm, controlled arrogance had returned in full force now that he had regained the dominant role in the conversation. “A Sabbat sympathizer would be expected to say such things. ”

Michael’s stomach lurched. Calvin was playing a game with him. Calvin was toying with him in order to make him weak. Calvin wouldn’t dare make such accusations.

“You wouldn’t go to Prince Adrock with this, " he said desperately. He hated himself for his weakness, but he could not stop himself from speaking. “You would look just as guilty. " ‘Oh V Calvin’s smirk made Michael hate himself all the mote. “You lied to the prince. You protected Darien when I made him. ”

“That’s just the sort of lie the prince might expect you to tell, ” Calvin said. He gathered up the papers he had sent into disarray earlier and straightened them into a clean pile. “But would he believe a neonate suspected of allying with the Sabbat, or his own seneschal V’

“Villanova would know you were lying, ” Michael said, grabbing at the first things to occur to him. “He would tell the prince. ” “Whom would Villanova support? ” Calvin said. “You, or one who is his brother and his social better? ”

“You can’t do this, ” Michael said. This meeting was not going at all how he had intended. “You wouldn’t say that about me. About your own childe. It’s not true. "

Calvin smiled again, baring all of his perfect, even teeth. “I will, Michael, ” he said. “If you ever speak to me again as you’ve spoken to me, I will. If you ever cause me to lose my temper with you again, I will see that Prince Adrock is made privy to this conversation. I will see that he is made fully aware that you are the leak buried in his domain. Am I understood? ” Michael stood burning with shame and impotent rage. Calvin would see him destroyed before he allowed him to challenge him. Michael could see the truth of it in Calvin’s aura. And the color he couldn’t recognize earlier had grown steadily stronger. If forced to guess, Michael would have called it the color of triumph.

“Yes, Calvin, ” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper. “I understand you. ”

“That’s very good, Michael, ” Calvin said, the triumph color blazing. “Now go home before I realize just how utterly without respect you have been this night. Go home before I reconsider protecting you, yet again. ”

Unable to face his sire any longer, Michael slunk away.

Scene Five 

“His brother and his social better? " Marcus Villanova asked after a long silence. He had emerged from Bainbridge’s private office after Michael’s departure. “That wasn’t particu—”

“Not now, Marcus. ”

“How long have we known each other? Almost a century now, isn't it? I had hoped you and I would have moved past social distinctions between ourselves. ”

“Not now, Marcus, ” Bainbridge said again. The papers in his hand crinkled and ruffled between his fingertips.

Villanova sat quietly for another moment. He toyed absently with another sparkling nick-nack from Bainbridge’s “collection” of Michael’s work. The sparkle caught Bainbridge’s eye, and the seneschal looked up to see what Villanova was doing.

“What is that you have there? ” he asked tiredly. “Something that should be a glass unicorn, ” Villanova said, staring at the gewgaw absently. “But isn’t. ”

“What? ”

“Never mind. ” He tucked the trinket away into a pocket with a quick flourish. “It’s modem literature. The piece reminded me of it. ”

“Keep it, ” Bainbridge said, shaking his head. “Take the entire collection if you want it. I have no reason to keep any of that tripe. ”

“Not even as mementos of your first childe’s best work? ” Villanova asked, smiling to himself. “No, I suppose not. ” After another few moments of silence, Villanova said, “I’m afraid that you may be slipping, Calvin. ”

Bainbridge put down his papers in resignation and sat up straight. “What? ”

“With Michael, ” Villanova went on. “Ten years ago, you wouldn't have needed to manhandle him in such a vulgar manner. Twenty-five years ago, you wouldn’t have had to resort to such crude threats to keep him in line. Fifty years ago, he wouldn't have even dared talk to you as he did tonight. You’re losing your hold on him. ”

“I may be, ” Bainbridge conceded, “but he is becoming less the albatross around my neck, die farther he pulls away from me. ” Villanova was not the only one who could wield an obscure literary reference. “If nothing else, that display you just witnessed removes the necessity of converting Michael to our goals. He would not support me now. He will just have to accept my eventual rulership along with the rest of the domain. "

“Perhaps, ” Villanova said. “But then again, I suppose that we must all expect trouble from our childer as our unlives draw on. No matter what levels we rise to. ”

Bainbridge did not like the tone that had crept into Villanova’s voice all of a sudden. The harpy’s eyes moved more shiftily than usual.

“What do you mean? ”

“You would have found out within the week, ” the harpy said. “But I thought you would prefer to hear it from me first. ” “You have bad news, " Bainbridge said. He had wondered why Villanova had come to visit unexpectedly this evening. Michael had arrived before the harpy had a chance to speak.

“Not as such, ” Villanova said. “Merely disturbing. I would have preferred to tell you under better circumstances. ” He glanced at the detritus of the shattered crystal sculpture. “Tell me. ”

“It seems, ” Villanova began after only a slight pause, “that my Lewis has made a rather untimely discovery among the warehouses that border the Iron River. ”

“Milliner? ” Bainbridge asked, jumping ahead.

“Yes, unfortunately. The dear boy tumbled to her operation as she was still setting it into motion. I taught him how to investigate suspicious nocturnal activities, and that instruction paid off, perhaps, a touch too well. Lewis detected Ms. Milliner’s influence at the Chamber of Commerce, and he tracked her movements to the warehouses you recommended she occupy in town. The same ones Elliot Damascus had intended to purchase before this month’s end. ”

“That could become problematic, ” Bainbridge said without showing any signs of worry. “Is Samuelson trustworthy? ”

“Without question, ” Villanova said, bristling slightly in indignation. “He is beyond reproach. ”

“Then there may still be time to salvage the situation. Is he loyal? Can he be trusted to go along with us in the future? Will he stand with us against Adrock, if needs be? ” “Those questions are moot, Calvin, ” Villanova said, holding up a hand. “Lewis would stand wherever I deigned to cast my shadow, but it is too late. In seeking his own recognition, he has already told Prince Adrock of his discovery. ”

“Adrock knows? ”

“Yes, " Villanova nodded. “Prince Adrock knows that someone is moving against his grandchilde. That knowledge, coupled with your information that he suspects a leak and suspects us of moving against him, could prove disastrous for us. It most certainly postpones the prospective coup. ”

“Not entirely, ” Bainbridge said, looking up at the hidden directional microphone that was recessed just behind the light mounted above the door to the office. “I have already set in motion a contingency to see to two of those three points. I believe that I may be able to divert the prince’s attention away from us in consideration of his grandchilde^ affairs and the imagined conspiracy against him. ”

“And the leak? ” Villanova asked.

‘The contingency may be enough to cover that area as well. ” “What is this contingency? ”

“The less you know, Marcus, ” Bainbridge said, “the better. Besides, the surprise you show will help to authenticate the news when or if I am forced to announce it. Assuming, of course, that the prince has arranged circumstances at which such might be necessary. ”

“He has, ” Villanova said. “In a week, he wants a general gather called. He wants you, myself, Theodore, Maxwell and Jeremey all in attendance. ”

The fact that Adrock had asked for the eldest members of each clan that had representation in the Michigan domain meant that he intended to host a truly official gathering. The only such kind of gathering that seemed to fit the circumstances was a trial. Bainbridge voiced that realization to Villanova.

“Most probably, ” Villanova said. “I hope that your contingency does as it is supposed to. ”

“It will, ” Bainbridge said, forcing more confidence into his voice than he actually felt.

The two sat in silence for a moment, and Bainbridge wished Villanova would finish his business and leave. The harpy had seen him tonight at the worst low he had fallen to in quite some time. Finally, however, Villanova stood and said, “Calvin, did you believe what you told Michael T “At what point? ”

“When you expressed your belief that I would support you in a lie, should the need arise, ” Villanova said. “Did you honestly believe that you were telling the truth? ”

“I believed it enough to make Michael believe it when I said it, ” Bainbridge said carefully. “Had he not, my already loose grip on him would have become somewhat more slippery. ”

“I see, ” Villanova said, turning to go. And it was true. There in Bainbridge’s aura, he could see the truth. “That is good to know. I’ll see you in a week, Calvin. ”

“At court, ” Bainbridge said. “Good evening, Marcus. ”

Scene Six 

The knock at the door of the low-rent apartment that had once been a secondary haven of Darien’s did not startle Michael. Michael had been expecting the knock. He had been expecting the guest. His gaze had not left the door since he’d awakened this evening. He opened the door and ushered Clare inside.

“You live here? ” Clare said, looking around as she stepped inside. She wore a pink dress that was wrinkled and stained a deep brown on one shoulder. She also wore a brown macram£ purse over the other shoulder. “Honestly, Michael. I thought your family had better taste. ”

The room, Michael admitted, was little better than a gray-painted box with boarded-over windows and a single bed. The water and electricity had long since been shut off to this building, but it was one Calvin owned. Even if it was not pretty inside or out, it was a good place to sleep for a day if one had nowhere else to go.

“It’s temporary, ” Michael said instead.

“I should hope so, ” Clare said with an enigmatic smile. “You’re in my hunting territory now. I would hate to have to call our sheriff to roust out the son of our seneschal. Scandalous. ” Clare spoke in a tone of frivolous, playful coyness, but Michael saw a sharp-edged coldness in her eyes. Reading her aura was useless, so Michael did not know what to make of the duality.

“Not that I would, ” Clare went on. “Turn you in, that is. Or call the sheriff. As long as you don’t hunt here, I don’t care where you live. ”

Michael shut the door and went to sit down on the floral-printed, vinyl couch that had been in the room since long before its last inhabitant had fled.

“I have to ask you something, ” Michael said. “When we spoke after I found out that Darien wasn’t coming home, you said you wanted to help me. Why? ”

“Why then! "

“Please, Clare, ” Michael said, too tired to play any games. “Why did you make the offer? Why do you care about what I’m going through? ”

“Because Jeremey told me about what happened to Darien, ” Clare said. “And about Elliot. I’ve never liked Elliot, but I’ve never had a reason to do anything about it before. ” “So l’m a convenient excuse T

“You’re useful, ” Clare said, taking a bold step toward Michael. Her eyes were alight with an intensity Michael found disquieting. “A useful ally. ”

Michael thought about that one. He didn’t have any allies or friends among the Kindred who gathered in Iron Rapids. Other than Darien, he had never sought out the company of others of his kind. He socialized at Elysium only seldom, although he visited often. The thought that someone actually considered him an ally was a new one.

“So you don’t care about what Elliot did to Darien 7* he asked. He did not add the fact that an equal amount of responsibility belonged to Jeremey for doing nothing at all to save Darien. “You’re just using me to get what you want? Isn’t that what you mean by ‘ally’? ”

“I didn’t know Darien well enough to care, ” Clare said, wandering into the apartment’s grimy, dust-darkened kitchenette. Something scuttled away from her as she approached. “But that doesn’t mean I like what Elliot did. It also doesn’t mean I don’t think he should be punished for it. It’s just not my place to punish him. Because I don't care.

“What I do care about, ” Clare continued, turning back to Michael with anger everywhere on her face except her eyes, “is the fact that Jeremey has to put up with Elliot every night whether he likes it or not. Jeremey’s been working for Adrock for years, and he’s never gotten a single promotion. Then along comes Elliot, and Jeremey has to take him in and train him because David Ellsworth’s too busy. Now Elliot gives Jeremey orders and Jeremey has to take them because Elliot’s Marion’s grandson. It’s not fair, Michael, and it’s tearing Jeremey apart. ”

Michael frowned but did not say anything. Did Clare even truly understand what she was saying?

“Don’t look at me like that, Michael, ” Clare said, coming back to stand in front of his sofa. “I know what you think when you look like that. You're the one who doesn’t understand. Order is everything to Jeremey, and Elliot upsets that order. Jeremey should be in a better position in this city after all of his hard work for Adrock, but Elliot got that position for no better reason than because of who he's related to. It’s not right, and the not-rightness of it is driving Jeremey crazy. ”

The more Clare spoke, the more animated she became. Her arms waved and gesticulated. Her eyes darted toward and away from Michael. Her voice rose and fell without rhythm. Michael shifted on the couch, just in case he had to restrain her. Or flee.

“We've all got something, Michael; Jeremey had order. As long as Elliot’s around, Jeremey doesn’t have it any more. That’s why you and I have a common enemy. It’s not because I liked Darien or I like you so much that I feel your pain. Jeremey had order, but you had Darien. Elliot took him away from you, even though Darien was all you had. ”

Michael felt his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open by a few degrees. Clare was right. Although he hadn’t thought of it as such, Darien had helped keep him strong against the urges of his more primal, instinctual self. The paranoid part of his mind that blared its suspicions and quailing fear around others of his kind never spoke around Darien; Michael could trust him. The bloodthirsty part that purred to him to drink more and more and more whenever he fed was not so insistent either. When he fed with Darien, he formed an uneasy truce with that part of himself. While he did not overindulge, he did not deny himself either. And of course, Darien had never made him angry enough to blind him with rage, as that bestial part of his mind was wont to do. Only now, after Darien’s death, did Michael feel that anger surging against his restraint, threatening to set him off. He had let that restraint slip with Calvin, and he had paid for it. He had never done any such thing when Darien was around. His childe had been more important to his sense of himself than he had yet realized. And Clare was right; Elliot had taken that from him.

“And what about you, Clare? ” Michael said. “What do you have to keep your other side at bay? ”

“Jeremey. He gave me a family all over again when I lost my real one. He tries so hard to take care of me. ”

And in a roundabout manner of thinking, Michael realized, Elliot was taking him away from her too.

“The question, then, becomes, ‘What does Elliot have that makes him human. ⁷’” Michael asked. He no longer looked at Clare or thought about her. He had been offended at the thought that she was using him to forward her own agenda, but the idea didn’t bother him so much any more. Perhaps the two of them could use each other to see both of their ends achieved. When it came right down to it, it made no difference how those ends came about as long as they did. “What can we take away from him that will satisfy us? ” “I’ve already taken the first step on that road, ” Clare said, opening her atrocious purse and removing a paper-wrapped, rectangular package from inside. “I know what Elliot has. Validation. He likes it when someone tells him he’s a good person. ” “Like Adrock or Ellsworth? ”

Clare shook her head. “Elliot’s too smart for that. And too proud. He wouldn’t look for somebody above him to validate him. Somebody like that might not give him what he wants. No, he looks around at his equals or people he already thinks are below him. ”

“Like Jeremey, ” Michael said. “Or like Lionel. ”

“He lords his station over them, ” Clare said, “but he doesn’t go looking to them for validation. For that, he goes to a Catholic priest. "

“A priest? ”

“One in Iron Rapids, ” Clare confirmed. “He’s the only one Elliot talks to when he needs someone to distract him with thoughts of his own self-importance. He’s been doing it since his embrace, as far as I could tell. ” She waved the brown package in her hand and held it out to Michael. “Unfortunately, I caught that particular priest doing something very naughty, on this tape. It was a shame too. I liked that priest. ” Michael constructed the rest of Clare’s idea in his head and said, “I see. When Elliot sees this and sees whatever it was the priest was doing, he’ll see that the one person he’s been turning to as a ‘good’ person isn't really all that good after all. And if that person’s word turns out to be worthless because of it, what’ll that say about Elliot himself? ”

“Something like that, " Clare said. “Granted, it’s a small step, but it’s the only thing I know of that Elliot has that reminds him of being human. And it wasn’t all that long ago that he was turned. If you want, we could wait and see what else he has. Maybe give it a few years... ”

“I don’t want to wait a few years, ” Michael said, standing and putting a hand on the package. Clare did not take her hand from her end of it. “I’m sick of waiting. I've always waited and weighed options and considered consequences, and I never act when the time is right. I say we take this away from Elliot now while it’s still important to him. I want to do this while he still remembers what he did to Darien. And I want this to happen before Elliot gets any more powerful in the city. If there’s more to be taken away, we’ll take it away from him later. But we’ll start now, with this. ”

“Agreed, ” Clare said, letting the tape go. “The only problem now is getting it out to Elliot in Lansing and making sure he watches it. ”

“While not being around to witness his initial reaction, ” Michael said, “which will probably be... messy for whomever the messenger turns out to be. " Clare nodded.

“You know, ” Michael said a moment later. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I have just the man for the job. ”

Scene Seven 

Lewis Samuelson stared at Elliot, trying to imagine what must be going through the young Ventrue’s mind. Samuelson had just given him the news about what he had discovered in Iron Rapids, but Elliot had not yet responded. The young harpy studied Elliot, looking for any telltale nuance in his expression that would indicate what he was thinking. According to Marcus, reading a person got easier the more one did it. The more you looked, the deeper into a person you could see, right up to the limit of his very soul. Right now, however, Elliot’s soul was not being at all forthcoming. He simply continued to stare at the sheaf of pictures on his desk, flipping them over to read Samuelson’s broad, looping handwriting on the back, and then setting them aside.

“Do you understand what those pictures signify? ” Samuelson asked at last. “I took those in Iron Rapids just outside—”

Elliot looked up, wrinkling the picture in his hand into a twisted mass. Bright red streaks stood out in contrast to the bright green in his irises. Elliot had beautiful eyes, Samuelson had to admit. Despite the eyeliner and mascara he wore to bring out the color of his own eyes, Samuelson wished he had eyes like Elliot’s. They were beautiful in the same way a snake’s eyes must be beautiful to a bird, of course, but they were striking nonetheless.

“What am I, fucking stupid V' the young man snapped. “You think I don’t know where you took these? I don’t know my own fucking Iron Rapids turf? Maybe I don’t already know some shithead is trying to make a play on my territory. Is that what you were hoping for, asshole? ”

Although Samuelson was farther removed in generation from Prince Adrock than Elliot, he was still older than the Ventrue. One did not talk to one’s elders thus.

“Language, Elliot, ” he chided quietly.

“Fuck you, Lewis! ” Elliot snapped. He grabbed up the photographs on his desktop in both fists and slammed them down in the harpy’s direction. The wadded pictures bounced and flew into Samuelson’s face. “Yeah, I know what these pictures mean. They mean somebody’s moving fucking trucks into my territory and fucking with my shipping yards. I’ve been losing contracts for the past two weeks, and nobody’s telling me where they’re going. My sire’s incognito, Marion doesn't give a shit about anything that isn’t Detroit, and even my own people can’t do a God damned thing to tell me who’s barking at my door. On top of that, some bunch of punks in suits has been chopping down my organized labor like they want a fucking gang war in the middle of Iron Rapids. I’ve got enough problems without you fucking telling me what to fucking do! ” Before Samuelson could respond to Elliot’s effrontery, the Ventrue snatched the phone from his desk and jabbed a button on the side of the console. A moment later, he began shouting at the person who answered.

“What do you mean he’s not there? " he bellowed, holding the phone away from himself like he was shouting at a living thing. He banged the phone down a few times on his desk, scattering the pencils, pens and paper that littered the surface. “Do you hear me right? Hello? I want David right now! ... Well go get him, you piss-ant; tell him his childe is on the line! ” When those words elicited no more helpful information, Elliot slammed the phone down with an enraged shout. “Elliot, " Samuelson began, “perhaps if you—”

“Do you know who’s responsible for this, Lewis? ” Elliot cut in, picking the phone right back up and pressing another speed-dial number. “Did you catch sight of who’s moving in on me, or were you just hoping I’d be so happy you’d sniffed out this little conspiracy that I wouldn’t care who it was? ” Samuelson looked away without answering.

“Just what I fucking thought, ” Elliot sneered. “You fucking Toreador are all the same. You think you’ve got your shit wired, but none of you really know a God damned thing of any fucki—” Elliot’s eyes jerked toward the phone, and he gave the voice on the line his complete attention.

“Yeah, Johnson, what’s your progress? And you’d better not tell me you haven’t made any.... Wait, what’s that coming out of your mouth, Johnson? What did I just tell you? Fuck! ” He slammed the phone down and looked back up at Samuelson. The red streaks had intensified in Elliot’s eyes, and Samuelson flinched.

“God damn it. Lawyers. I should have sucked him dry the first night I met him. ”

“Perhaps we should talk about this another time, ” Samuelson said, standing slowly. “A time when you aren’t so upset. ”

“No, ” Elliot said. “No, I know what you want, and you can forget it. These pictures—” He swept the few that were still on his desk onto the floor at Samuelson’s feet, along with what writing implements and papers were in the way. “—are worthless. I’m not owing you shit, so don’t expect anything. What you should do is find out who it is that’s trying to fuck me in my own grandsire’s hunting grounds. That would actually be useful. ”

“I’ll see what I can find out, ” Samuelson said apologetically. “I’ll discuss it with Marie and see if she’s heard anything. Or Marcus. Maybe he’s—"

“Just go do it, ” Elliot commanded, gazing into Samuelson’s eyes with all the anger and frustration he already felt. “And don’t come back until you have something helpful, you painted freak. ”

Samuelson scuttled away, and Elliot continued making phone calls. He knew it was technically bad form to use his age and the tricks David had taught him to boss other vampires around, but right then it was the most expedient way to get the harpy out of his office. Not to mention the fact that Samuelson hadn’t even seemed to notice. As much as those Toreador pricks prided themselves on being perceptive and sensitive to subtlety, Elliot mused, Lewis had missed the underlying command like a rank neonate.

Even that small victory, however, did not lighten Elliot’s spirits by any measurable amount. The more people he called, the more frustrated he became. His contacts in the Iron Rapids police department had not been able to incarcerate any of the rival drug-runners who had taken up arms against Elliot’s smuggling operations. Neither of the two lawyers under his thumb had been able to uncover exactly who had helped his former clients break the shipping contracts he had made with them. If that help had come from Adrock or Ellsworth, Elliot would have been notified. The fact that no information existed suggested that vampiric manipulation had influenced the deal. Otherwise, Elliot would have been able to find out something. If he could get in touch with Ellsworth, he could put his sire’s resources to bear in his investigation, but no one had seen or heard from David in weeks.

After going around in circles for more than two hours, calling in every favor he could, he threw the phone off his desk into the center of the floor in his office. The plastic base flew into bits, yanking the electric cord from its outlet in the wall. When Elliot’s eyes came up from the destroyed appliance, he found someone standing in the door to his office.

“Now just who the fuck are you? ” he shouted. He had to physically restrain himself from tearing across the desk and ripping the man’s throat out. The man looked familiar from Iron Rapids, but he was no vampire, and he certainly didn’t have an appointment.

“My name is Richard, sir, ” the man said, looking down at the floor like a good servant, with his hands clasped behind his back. “Formerly in service to Calvin Bainbridge. Now in service to Michael Luther. Sir. ”

The last name give Elliot momentary pause. Blood still boiled behind his eyes, but at the moment, he could still see through it.

“And what do you want, Richard? ” he demanded. “You come looking for a better job? Tell you what: If you put a . 357 slug up the ass of the guy who let you in here without telling me first, you can have his job. ”

“Thank you, sir, ” the ghoul said, still looking demurely at the floor. “But I did not come looking for a job. I came because my master wanted me to deliver a message. It concerns a situation in Iron Rapids. ”

Elliot had to roll his eyes at that one. More God damned Toreador trying to be “helpful. ” Did he lack for problems in Iron Rapids that the seneschal’s boy had to bring him another?

“Whatever it is, ” he said, “it can wait. I’ve got too much shit to deal with right now. Tell Michael he’ll have to have the tea party without me. ”

“I can’t do that, sir, ” the ghoul said, growing more tense with every word. “Mister Luther ordered me to give you this message. ”

Elliot did stand up at that point. Very slowly, fighting back the red haze that tried to cloud his vision, he crossed the room to stand in front of Richard. He grabbed the ghoul by the chin and lifted it until they stared each other in the eye.

“Nobody tells me no, ” he whispered, making sure the ghoul could smell the stale, dead air that came out of his mouth with the words. “Least of all some Toreador bitch's brown-nosing errand boy. I know what Michael wants, and I don’t want to talk to him right now. ”

“Sir, ” the ghoul continued, still averting his eyes, “Mister Luther was most insistent that 1—”

Letting blood surge through him like a tidal flow, Elliot tightened his fingers around the ghoul’s neck and pushed him down to his knees. The ghoul’s eyes bulged, but he did not claw at Elliot’s wrist or try to struggle free. He’d been trained pretty well, this ghoul.

“You sound like you’re saying no to me, motherfucker, ” Elliot hissed. The red was getting thicker behind his eyes. “Michael hasn’t said two words to me since I was embraced. If he wants to talk, I told you I already know what it’s about. He wants to know about his childe, but l’m already past that. I’ve made my peace with God at Saint Christopher’s in Iron Rapids. If Michael wants to talk, tell him to go there and talk to the priest. Do you understand me? ”

“It's the priest Michael wanted you to know about, ” the ghoul wheezed, his face turning darker and darker. The light of panic had started to shine in his eyes, and he had begun to shake. Every word he spoke came at great effort. Elliot noticed that the ghoul had a brown paper box in one hand. “He’s discovered something about the priest that he knew you should see. ”

Elliot hesitated a moment then shoved the ghoul over onto the ground. The man sucked in air and did not try to rise. After a moment, however, he held the package in his hand out to Elliot. Elliot took and unwrapped the object, to find that it was an unlabeled video cassette.

“Oh great, ” he said with maniacal good humor. “A home movie from Michael. And how lucky I happen to have a VCR and a TV in my office! Hey, Richard, you want to watch a home movie?”

Still sucking wind and massaging his bruised throat, the ghoul didn’t move. Considering how close Elliot felt to losing it altogether, he figured that that was probably a good idea.

Snatching up the remote control he kept in his desk, Elliot keyed a switch and walked to the far side of his office. As he approached, a section of the wall folded open to reveal a television with a VCR-tape slot inset in its base. He turned on the television and jammed the tape home. The television began playing the tape automatically.

For a long time, Elliot stood transfixed. Whoever had made the tape was obviously an amateur. The room in the shot was completely dark except for the camera’s light. The woman in the shot was all but cropped out from the neck down, so all the viewer could see was the bobbing of her head. There wasn’t even any sound. All that was really clear in the shot was the man being fellated by the bobbing woman.

That man arched his back and bucked, muttering what looked like obscenities mindlessly. His old fingers curled in the woman’s hair, pulling her head down roughly every time it came up. His spindly legs curled down off-screen around the woman’s shoulders. The red behind Elliot’s eyes flowed forward, honing down to a laser point on the man’s face. In the amateur illumination job, he could make out the face clearly. It was impossible to mistake it for anyone else’s. The tape ended and cut to static, but the red tunnel with the single laser point remained. Of all the times for this to come out, Elliot’s rapidly receding rational mind demanded, why did it have to be now? Of all the people it could have been about, why did it have to be George Stinson?

Elliot turned the diminishing laser point in the direction of where Richard sat. Richard flinched.

“Richand, ” Elliot growled in a voice entirely unlike the one he had been using up until that point. “I know you brought a car with you. I’ll make you a deal. If you can get me to Iron Rapids in less than an hour, I won’t make you a pan of my last confession. ”

Scene Eight 

Father George Stinson sat up in his bed, ashamed of the dream he’d been having. The dream had recurred to him several nights in a row now, and no matter how many ablutions he performed, it would not go away. The woman he saw in those dreams, the brown-haired angel with her bright white halo, would not let him rest quietly. At least this time, some sound in the waking world had wakened him before the dream’s inevitable conclusion. As the noise that had woken him up sounded again, Stinson recognized it. Someone was pounding on the door of his bedroom.

“Father, open this door! ” an insistent voice boomed, pronouncing the words, Fathah, open this dah! Stinson did not recognize the voice, although it certainly sounded familiar. The voice sounded like Jack Kennedy’s voice had sounded.

“Just a moment, son, ” Stinson said calmly. He had dealt with many young hothead bulls in his parish over his many years as a priest. He had been awakened many times in the middle of the night as well. Usually, however, his more desperate parishioners tended to call first.

“Now, Father! ” the man outside shouted, banging even harder on the door. Stinson heard the door’s hinges rattling under the onslaught of blows. Putting on a placid, serene face that he hoped would prove partially infectious, the priest stood, wrapped himself in a bathrobe and opened the door.

Before he could pull the door all the way open, the man outside hit it again, sending it crashing against the wall. Stinson jumped back involuntarily, and the man outside stormed in slamming the door behind him. He held a mangled, broken video tape in one hand.

“George, ” the man said, as if he and the priest were good friends, “I want an explanation for this. And I want it right now. ”

“Just who do you think you are? ” Stinson said, standing his ground against the angry young man. “You do not barge into someone’s bedroom in the mi—”

Growling low in his throat, the young man rushed Stinson and lifted him roughly into the air by the arms.

The remnants of the plastic video tape scraped his arm through the terrycloth robe he wore.

“You want to know who I am? ” the young man spat. His breath was awful beyond the worst halitosis. And his eyes... The young man’s eyes were a bright, healthy green, but bright red blood vessels branched out all across the whites like cracks in broken glass. The young man was obviously high on something. “I'm somebody who fucking trusted you. I’m somebody who even looked up to you because you’re a fucking priest. I thought you were better than everybody else. But you’re no better. You’re no better at all! ”

Stinson held tight as the young man shook him back and forth like a doll. The man’s smallish frame belied the strength his drugs had given him.

“Son, I don’t know who you are, ” he said, “but I can get you some help. ”

“Oh no, ” the man said. “I’ve got all the fucking help I can stand from you. I came to you when I needed you, and you turn out to be just as sick as the rest of us. And you do too know me, Father. You know good and God damned well who I am. You probably tell the fucking whores you sleep with all about me, don’t you? ”

Something about his eyes did, indeed make the young man seem familiar, but only for an instant.

“You’re making a mistake, son, ” Stinson said, still trying to maintain composure. “I’m not sure what your story is, or what you hope to get out of this, but I’d be more than willing to sit and talk with you once you’ve calmed down. ” Screaming in rage, the man threw Stinson onto the bed. The priest bounced off the wall at the head of the bed and fell back dazed. Instantly, the younger man jumped onto the bed as well, pinning Stinson at the knees and shoulders.

“You made the fucking mistake, Father, ” the young man said, his face inches from Stinson’s own. “You made it when you threw away your vows. Now I want a God damned explanation right NOW! "

“Please, ” Stinson said, trying to gather his wits again. His last bastion of cool reservation had gone out the window when the man had thrown him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you? ”

“You want to know that. Father? ” the man said, putting his face and his green eyes — now almost completely suffused with red — a mere inch from Stinson’s own. “Think about it. You’ll remember. You’ll remember all those times I came to you for help. You’ll remember all the advice you gave me like some superior moral authority. You’ll remember how I thanked you and put you to bed so you wouldn’t have to carry all that around with you all day while I slept. Look in my eyes and think about it, Father. It’s all in there. ” As the man... Elliot... spoke, Father Stinson realized that he could remember more and more of this man’s actions. He remembered the late-night phone calk. He remembered the insane confessions. He remembered how he himself had loved to hear those confessions because they were so unusual. He remembered this man’s disregard for the teachings of the Bible unless those words fit his twisted concept of Christianity. He remembered this man’s brilliant green eyes, glowing like witchlight over abysmal swamps. He remembered the confessions themselves — nightmarish stories about bloodletting, bribery, callous murder and the death of one of his erstwhile partners.

But most of all, he remembered what this man did to him after every confession. He remembered the pain and the fear as this creature tore into him with jagged teeth that burned and scraped and wrenched at his flesh until he passed out from the shock. Were it not for the fact that this man somehow made him forget the events every time they recurred, George Stinson would have long since gone mad.

“Let me go, ” the priest murmured, unable to make his voice rise higher than a squeak. The other man — the monster —he Id him down, purposefully blowing his rotting breath in Stinson’s face. The red lines were beginning to fill every space in the Bostonian's eyes that was not green. “Please leave me alone. In the name of God, get away from me. ”

Elliot, for that was what the monster called itself, paused when Stinson invoked the Lord’s name, and both he and the priest held still. Nothing happened. When it became obvious that nothing would happen, Elliot shook Stinson by his pinned shoulders.

“It takes faith to drive us away, Father, " he hissed. “If that had worked, I might have changed my mind. But you’ve got no gods. ”

Stinson held up his hands to try to fend the monster off physically, but Elliot was too strong. He clamped one hand over the struggling priest’s mouth, and then sunk his fangs into the old man’s wrinkled neck. Even restrained and muffled, he still managed to raise quite a struggle. He fought Elliot’s grip and began to scream in terrible pain. The continued resistance only infuriated Elliot more, and before he knew it, the red behind his eyes had enveloped him entirely.

Scene Nine 

The phone rang, jarring Lionel from his blissful reverie. He brushed aside the Asian-American woman he was feeding from and rolled her onto her side. Her eyes rolled back languorously, and Lionel slid his tongue over the rough wound he’d made in the right side of her neck. Delirious, she moaned and drifted off toward sleep. Irritated and still somewhat hungry, Lionel sat up in bed and grabbed the phone.

“Braughton, ” he said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he kept in a drawer by the bed.

“Lionel, " the nasal voice on the other end of the line said. “I’ve been trying all your clubs. I need your help. " “What? Who is this? ”

“It’s Elliot, Lionel. Jesus, man, I'm in trouble here. Can you come into Iron Rapids? Tonight? ”

“What the hell? ” Lionel said. The girl stirred, and Lionel covered the receiver with his free hand. “Go on home, lover, " he said to her, winking and pretending to look sleepy. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Go get some rest. ”

The woman smiled and stumbled sleepily out the door back into the night club’s back hallways. When she emerged, the bartender would stop her and call her a taxi. Lionel had trained him to do as much. When the door closed behind her and shut out the club’s noises, Lionel uncovered the phone again.

“Now calm down, Elliot, " he said. “Where are you calling from? ”

“l’m at Saint Christopher’s, " Elliot said. “I fucked up, Lionel. I lost it, and I just did something—”

“Wait, ” Lionel said. The panic coming through the phone was growing infectious. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to collect his thoughts. “Stop; just stop talking for a second. You’re not calling me from your office? ” “Fuck no. I can’t leave here. I’ve got to do something. Oh shit, I fucked up, man. "

“You’re not on a secure line, you asshole, ” Lionel hissed. “Now shut your mouth. ”

“Shit, man, ” Elliot said, almost to himself. “Help me Lionel. Come get me out of this mess. Adrock’s going to hand me my ass for this. "

Lionel sighed theatrically and stood up. Despite what he felt for Elliot, despite everything that had happened between them in Detroit, Elliot was still part of his coterie.

“All right, ” he said. “I heard where you are. Don’t leave. I’ll be there in an hour. ”

“Thanks man, ” Elliot gushed, letting out a sigh of his own. “Really man, thanks. I won’t forget this. Just hurry. Hurry man. A couple of people have already come in. I had to—” Lionel hung up. It would serve Elliot right, he reflected, to leave him to clean up this mess by himself. Elliot needed some hard lessons on fending for himself. Adrock and Ellsworth let their brash charge get away with entirely too much.

The fact of the matter was, however, that he could not leave Elliot hanging. Neither David Ellsworth nor Prince Adrock himself would appreciate that. Or, if word got back to them that Elliot had contacted him and he had let the information fell by the wayside, they might decide that he shared in Elliot’s responsibility. If Elliot had actually done something particularly bad, Lionel certainly didn’t want to be associated with it “Kyle, get in here, ” he bellowed. He had no doubt that the boy was in earshot. The boy was the perpetual streamer of toilet paper on Lionel’s shoe. No more than ten seconds later, the door opened and Kyle’s head poked around the comer into the room.

“Yes, Lionel?” Kyle chirped. “What can I do for you? You ready for another girl? I called a cab for the last one. Charlie was swamped at the bar, so I went ahead and took care of it for you. ”

“Quiet, kid, ” Lionel said. “I’ve got a job for you. You think you can handle it? ”

“Sure, Lionel, ” Kyle said, beaming and sticking his hands proudly into the pockets of his suit jacket. Although the fit and cut of the jacket were perfectly tailored for Kyle’s back and shoulders, Kyle still looked like a fresh-faced kid playing dress-up. “Anything. What is it? ”

Kyle came into the room and sat in the plush chair next to the bed, looking up at Lionel expectantly. Lionel gathered up his own jacket and scarf and put them on as he spoke.

“I just got a call from Saint Christopher’s Cathedral in Iron Rapids, Kyle, ” he said. “Something bad just happened there that the police might be interested in. "

“What happened? ”

“That's not important. What’s important is that if what happened is something the police want to investigate, they’re going to check the cathedral’s phone records. If that happens, they’re going to find this number and we’re going to have to answer some pretty sensitive questions about why somebody called a nightclub in Saginaw from a Catholic church in Iron Rapids, probably not very long after whatever it was that happened happened. I don’t want to have to deal with that. ” “What should I do, Lionel?”

“I want you to get a hold of Laurence and tell him we have a problem. Tell him I want that call from Saint Christopher’s expunged from the church’s phone records as soon as possible. Tell him Prince Adrock and David Ellsworth will probably appreciate it. I can explain the situation to him later, but I need this right now. ”

“Sure, sure, ” Kyle said, his eyes lighting with excitement. “Where is he? Isn’t he patrolling tonight? ”

“Yeah, " Lionel said, heading for the door. He popped a few mints into his mouth from a tin case, and then crunched them around before spitting the pieces back out into a Kleenex. “I don’t know where he is exactly. Just find him, and tell him something’s wrong. Get him to deal with the phone call, and tell him I’ll contact him. ”

“Sure thing, Lionel, ” Kyle said, already picking up the phone. “I’ll start with the secure numbers. ”

Lionel left Kyle alone, distracted by how disappointed he was by the turn the boy’s personality had taken. The fire and indomitable spirit that had been pent up in the boy had made him seem such an ideal progeny. Even despite the thin bond of blood Lionel had held over him while Kyle was still his ghoul, Kyle’s willfulness and strength had shown through. Now, for some reason, that fire had gone out. Of course, Kyle was still a vampire infant, and he would likely adjust to his new state of being, but Lionel hoped that the kid’s embrace hadn’t been a mistake.

Because if his old personality didn’t come back, the distraction may prove to be more trouble than the kid was worth.

Scene Ten 

A little more than forty-five minutes later, Lionel rushed through the doors of Saint Christopher’s Cathedral. He locked the door behind him then made his way in the direction in which he assumed the priest’s chambers would be. The flames of the votive candles flickered in his wake, and the tails of his jacket and scarf whipped out behind him. No one happened to be in the sanctuary at that moment, so he counted himself lucky. The sound of his footsteps rebounded off the room's high ceiling, echoing solemnly in the otherwise silent hall of worship. The figures in the stained-glass windows along the walls frowned down at him for making so much noise.

When he had reached the middle of the room, he saw Elliot peek out from a hallway that led off the sanctuary from the forward left comer. Lionel jogged up to him and said, “Is anyone else here? ”

Elliot shook his head and said, “No. There’s nobody left in the building. ” His bright green eyes darted this way and that as if he expected to be proven wrong at any second. “What happened? ”

“I lost it, " Elliot said, looking at the floor. “I found out something about my priest. He had a whore with him right here in the church. He made a tape of it. I... I went crazy. I came all the way down here from Lansing. I don’t even know what I did. I just came to, and I found... "

“What? ” Lionel said. “What did you find? ”

Elliot’s eyes kept darting around, not making contact with Lionel’s. He backed away a step and kept stammering, unable to put his thoughts into words. Lionel grabbed him by the lapels of his suit.

“What did you do, Elliot I” he demanded.

“It’s in there, ” Elliot said, pointing down the hall to a door that was partially open. ‘That’s where I found myself... afterwards. ” Lionel let Elliot go and headed in that direction. As he got closer, a smell hit him in the face like a fist. The smell was one of blood and human excrement, mingled with the slightly musty smell of the building itself. The darkness down the hallway only made the smell seem more intense. Opening the door Elliot had indicated made a more powerful blast of the stench billow out, and Lionel felt his eyes trying to water. When his vision cleared, he stepped into the room. Elliot came up behind him as he stared at the scene.

“Those two came in afterward, ” Elliot said. “I panicked. ” The “two” were a young man and an older gentleman both dressed as Lionel thought priests would be dressed in the middle of the night. They lay in a tangle inside the room and to the right of the door in a sticky pool of coagulating blood. Tipping one on its side, Lionel saw that blood drenched the front of its outfit as if it had been dragged through the pool on its face. The left side of the man’s face sagged inward and twinkled with dark red blood in the room’s minimal light. The opposite side of the other man’s face had been broken in as well. Elliot had apparently crushed their heads together.

“They heard the screaming, and they came running in, Lionel, ” Elliot said, bending down to drag the bodies farther into the room than he already had. “I stopped them at the door while they were both just standing there. It was the only thing I could think of. ”

“What screaming? " Lionel said. He ground his teeth methodically, trying to ignore the smell. He was hungrier than he thought. All the blood in the room was making it hard to concentrate. He needed to get back into the hallway pretty soon where the smell wasn’t so strong. “Who was screaming?” “Him, ” Elliot said, pointing at the bed in the opposite comer. “The priest. ”

“Is that Stinson? ” Lionel asked, dumbfounded, when he looked where Elliot was pointing. “Did you do that to him? ” The thing on the bed looked mote like a desiccated mummy than the priest about whom Elliot had told his coterie so much. Thin, spider-like arms clung to the mattress and bed sheets like the roots of an ancient tree. Dark stains covered the boxer shorts and the lower half of the T-shirt that hung on the corpse, evidence of where the man had apparently voided himself. The man s neck lay in min, hanging in tatters such that it seemed only providence that kept his head attached at all.

“He deserved it, ” Elliot said, standing back up and licking dried blood off his fingertips. “He did, man. He’s been pre-tending to be this upright, devout man of God, but all this time he’s been making these videos of himself with who knows how many whores and sluts. He’s been lying to me, Lionel. How could I have listened to him for so long? I trusted—” Unable to take the smell or the sound of Elliot’s voice anymore, Lionel spun, grabbed Elliot by the jacket again, lifted him into the air, carried him out into the hall, and slammed him into the wall opposite the door. Elliot hung there stunned before a surprised, hurt look surfaced on his face. As fast as Lionel moved, it took Elliot a moment to even realize what had happened. “Hey, what are you—”

“Shut up, Elliot, ” Lionel hissed. He was too far below Elliot in generation to force him to do as he said by willpower alone, so he bounced the Ventrue’s back against the wall once for effect. Elliot’s teeth rattled from the impact. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Don’t talk about what he deserved. You’ve killed three people. You killed a priest in his own church! Are you crazy?”

“I couldn’t help it, " Elliot said, struggling weakly to dislodge Lionel’s fists. “I told you, I lost it. Come on and help me now. We can make this look like a gang thing. Or we can set a fire or something. Did you bring a car? Maybe if we take them out back to the street—”

Lionel slammed Elliot into the wall again, hard enough to crack the plaster. Elliot was too tough for the blow to break any bones, but his head bounced off the wall and dazed him.

“Are you listening to yourself, Elliot? We can’t cover this up; you’ve killed three priests! ”

“Those other two aren’t—”

Lionel slapped Elliot across the mouth while still holding him up with one hand. The blow might have snapped a human’s neck, but it only startled Elliot into silence for a few seconds.

“Elliot, if you say one more word, I swear I’m going to break your neck and leave you here with the three of them. I doubt anyone would find you, but come morning you’d have your fire all right. ”

“You wouldn’t, ” Elliot whispered. The way his eyes widened and he stopped flailing against Lionel’s grip made it clear that he did not believe his own words.

“Tempt me. ”

“Don’t you know who my sire is? ” Elliot said desperately. Anger tried to work its way into his voice, but fear edged it out. “Or his? You can’t talk to me like this. Do you know what kind of trouble you’re in for? ”

“Not nearly as much as you are, ” Lionel said, leaning closer to Elliot. “I didn’t kill three people in a church in Prince Adrock’s hunting territory. I didn’t threaten the Masquerade in my grandsire’s territory by ‘losing it’ and making a mess I couldn’t clean up. ”

That brought some of the panic back into Elliot’s eyes, and he changed his tone immediately.

“Lionel, come on, ” he wheedled, trying to put on a charming smile while he dangled there against the wall. “Marion doesn’t have to know about this. That’s why I called you. You’re in my coterie. You know me. If we do this right, nobody even has to know I did it. ”

Lionel shook his head.

“Everybody will know, Elliot, ” he said. “Anyone who knows you knows about you coming to town to talk to this priest. Anyone who knows you will know that you wouldn’t have let somebody come kill your pet priest. And they’ll know that none of them had anything to do with it. I might be able to hide this from the humans, but nobody will be able to hide it from the rest of us. We’ll all know. ”

“I guess, ” Elliot said, close to hysteria. “Sure, but just not Adrock, all right. Let’s not let it get back to him. Christ, Lionel, this is his territory. We can’t let him find out about this. Please... ” Lionel shook his head. “You know who my sire is, Elliot. And you know I can’t keep this secret from him. ”

“No, you can. Just this one. I’d owe you big time. ” “No, Elliot, ” Lionel said. “I’m Maxwell’s deputy. ” “Please, Lionel, just help me out. I didn’t actually break the Masquerade if nobody found me out, right? ”

“That’s not the way it works, and you know it, Elliot. We report every incident to the sheriff. Even the ones we cover up. Those are the rules. They’re older than both of us, and we don't break them. ”

When it finally became clear to him that Lionel would not change his mind, Elliot’s panic overtook him. He gave up talking entirely and redoubled his efforts to break free of Lionel’s grip. He kicked and punched and tried to bite; anything to get free and just run. His struggles grew so frantic that he and Lionel actually toppled over. Lionel was faster and stronger, however, and he climbed on top of Elliot, pinning him to the ground.

“Get a hold of yourself, Elliot, ” he said as forcefully as he could manage while still keeping his voice low. “This is getting pathetic. Take some responsibility, God damn it! ” “Let me go, ” Elliot shouted, still struggling. “Get off me! ” Even through the panic, Lionel felt the tug of Elliot’s will against his own in the words. He had to concentrate every iota of his will to overcome the command, but he did so. He had not been strong enough to resist Elliot in Detroit, when Darien Salway’s salvation had been at stake, but now that Elliot’s own future was potentially on the line, he found the means to retain control. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Elliot, ” he said, closing his eyes and holding the Ventrue down. “I know you’re no stranger to making hard choices, so I know you’ll understand why I have to do this. Eventually you’ll even agree. ”

Faster than Elliot could see, Lionel let go of the Ventrue’s arms and grabbed his head. He twisted Elliot’s neck around viciously once to the left then back around to the right. Elliot’s eyes and mouth shot open, and his spine cracked and splintered like an oak that had been struck by lightning. His arms and legs fell limp, and his back arched up in pain and surprise. Elliot’s head lolled to the side, and his mouth quivered as if he was still trying to speak. His legs spasmed and kicked, making Elliot wriggle like a landed fish. Lionel stood up and straightened his disheveled outfit.

“I know you can still hear me, Elliot, ” he said, squatting next to the young vampire. “And I know you have enough blood in you to fix what I just did. ” He stood up. “Now I’m going to see what I can do to take care of this mess you made. While I’m doing that, I want you to think about responsibility. And think about what you’re going to say to Prince Adrock. ”

“Wha— what... you... say? ” Elliot somehow managed to croak. “Look... did to me... bitch. ”

“He’ll understand, ” Lionel said turning his back on Elliot. “I’m doing the right thing. This has to be the way it is. ”

Scene Eleven 

One week after his last meeting with Calvin, Michael returned to the Gideon building. Word had reached him through Calvin and through Richard that Prince Adrock had called a gather to “discuss recent events in the Michigan domain. ” Michael had heard that particular form of summons before, and he knew what it indicated. Someone had committed some transgression against Adrock’s rules, and the prince wished an audience when he dealt with the offender. The summons had not been more specific about who in particular had incurred die prince’s ill attention, but neither had the summons been a general announcement to the Kindred public of the domain. The message had been for him and him alone. That fact meant that either the prince required of Michael his usual public service, or Calvin had indeed made the outrageous accusation he had threatened, and Michael himself was the one on trial. However, the fact that Michael had been merely invited, rather than rounded up by Laurence Maxwell seemed promising.

When he arrived at Elysium, he dismissed Richard and told him to return only when Michael called for him. The ghoul drove away without question, and Michael turned to face the building. The Gideon building was nothing special architecturally, but it was still imposing in its own way. It was the tallest building in Iron Rapids, and the streetlight-tinted clouds above backlit it from Michael’s perspective. The yellowish-pink tint in the sky gave the building a sinister aspect that made Michael all the more reluctant to enter. Eventually, though, he gathered his courage and went inside.

The parlor, he found, had been rearranged since his last visit. Rather than the loose circular arrangement of chairs and couches, the room more resembled an amphitheater. The seats had been grouped much more closely together in a semicircular mass that faced the mahogany and brass door that led into the building proper. The incense burners had been taken away as well. The only remaining hint of informality the room boasted was the fact that the seats did not all match one another. Even the normally subdued lighting had been increased to a harsh glare above everyone’s heads.

Looking around, Michael saw that he would probably be the last to arrive. The eldest members of each clan that took root in the domain of Michigan were in attendance excluding Jared of Clan Gangrel and Theodore of Clan Nosferatu. Their absence did not particularly surprise or sadden Michael. Jared and his ilk had disappeared months ago. Theodore’s absence was a little more odd, but it was entirely possible that Michael simply couldn’t see the hideous vampire. Theodore had an exceptional knack for making himself unobtrusive when the situation called for it.

David Ellsworth, who normally stood for Clan Ventrue was absent as well, but Michael assumed that Prince Adrock himself would serve in the capacity for which Ellsworth was intended. After all, the only reason Adrock called these representative congregations was so that members of each vampire clan in his domain would be informed of official proceedings over which he himself presided. Making a suitable impression over the entire vampire populace of Michigan at once was often unmanageable, but making that same impression on a smaller selection of the domains inhabitants and letting it trickle down to the rest of the Kindred layer-by-layer was much more effective. In the case of the Ventrue, who were all descendants of the prince himself, Marion Adrock could easily make on them any impression he desired.

Those who did not represent their clans, as such, were few, and Michael tried to imagine why each of them had been summoned. While Calvin was the eldest Toreador in Prince Adrock’s domain, Marcus Villanova and Michael himself were also in attendance this evening. The two of them served a purpose in official proceedings such as this, which explained their presence. Lionel sat beside his sire, but he was also a deputy under Sheriff Maxwell, which might give him reason to be here. None of Theodore’s brood was present, nor was Clare, but Elliot Damascus sat near the front of the room looking sullenly at the floor. Michael’s anger surged to see Elliot, but he kept it in check. According to Richard, Elliot had received his and Clare’s message and gone racing off from his offices in Lansing to Saint Christopher’s cathedral downtown. For lack of any other options, Michael wondered if whatever had transpired thereafter was the reason everyone had been called together this evening. That, Michael mused with a self-congratulatory smirk, would be something.

After sending Richard away with the video cassette Clare had made, Michael hadn’t really known what to expect Elliot to do. Kill the messenger, perhaps, knowing Elliot's temper and disposition. Michael hadn’t considered the ramifications at the time. Now that he’d had several nights to think about it, he saw the rash act for what it was, and he wished he’d had more time to work the delivery of the tape into a more elaborate and meaningful scheme. Maybe in a few years he would think of something more effective and worthwhile. Doubtless, spending all that time without Darien would add enough fuel to his passions to inspire him appropriately.

Choosing a seat nearest the door through which he had entered, Michael took in the greater dynamics of those already assembled. No one, he realized was speaking to anyone else. Lionel and Maxwell sat side-by-side in silence, neither speaking nor signing. Calvin sat near Villanova, but they did not even look at each other. Jeremey sat by himself near the front of the room, as did Elliot. Jeremey remained very still, his back ramrod straight, his aura an indecipherable mess. Elliot stole petulant glances at Lionel when Lionel wasn’t looking, which was interesting, and his aura showed nervousness mixed with diluted anger. Lionel’s aura betrayed some sort of internal conflict, although Michael could not tell what had brought it on. Of all the Kindred present, only Laurence Maxwell’s aura showed relaxed confidence in this situation. Even Calvin and Villanova’s auras shimmered with tight veins of self-control. The two of them were ill at ease, although they each made an effort to hide it in their outward expressions.

The fact that Calvin was sitting with the others, rather than ushering Prince Adrock into the room, was an interesting point of note. It seemed that Calvin had been sent for just as had everyone else, rather than he himself doing the summoning. It also seemed that whatever Prince Adrock wanted to discuss this evening was just as much a mystery to Calvin as it was to everyone else. That fact had probably given birth to the steely self-control with which Calvin held his thoughts and emotions at bay. Adrock had surprised him, and Calvin did not like being surprised.

After Michael settled into his chair, several more tense, silent minutes passed. The summons had not been specific on what time the prince wanted to speak with everyone. Michael was just glad that he had managed to arrive before Prince Adrock had started speaking. Trying to sneak in late would have been disastrous. Especially if Calvin pursued his threat to cast Michael as the Sabbat information leak that Adrock apparently feared existed in his domain. His absence in such a case would prove his guilt, regardless of any other facts, if Calvin had any say in the matter. Michael shivered.

When the parlor’s interior door finally opened, everyone stood, and the auras of all present fluttered with nervous expectation. Prince Adrock walked into the center of the room’s open area, letting the door swing closed behind him. He was dressed in a black suit, made in a fashion that had gone out of style during the Great War, and he faced the assembled with an expression of stolid indifference. Adrock’s great age had dulled the colors of his aura almost beyond Michael’s ability to see them, but one band of color stood out above the others. It was a twisting, ragged sash of black that Michael had never seen before. Come to think of it, Michael had never seen that color in any Kindred’s aura before.

“Welcome, ” Adrock said stiffly. “Sit. All of you. ” Prince Adrock only rarely eschewed the formal welcome, and the fact that he did so now only agitated the present Kindred further. It occurred to Michael that he had seen the old Ventrue perform that ceremony only when every Kindred present actually passed his test. He wondered if Adrock skipped the formality when someone in die room wasn’t welcome.

“I have summoned all of you, ” the prince continued in a placid baritone, “because disturbing news has been brought to my attention by perceptive agents within my domain. We gather this night to see justice done in three areas of concern. “Marcus Villanova, take your place. ”

The prince gestured to a spot by the door, and Villanova got to his feet. The harpy rose a bit too quickly and eagerly to hide his nervousness. He walked to the exact spot the prince seemed to be pointing at and turned to face the remaining Kindred. His gaze did not rest on any of them, but his eyes swept across all of them nonetheless. Should any of them be called upon to speak, Villanova was in a prime position to watch their auras for the telltale blood-on-water diffusion of the colors of deception. He, it seemed, was not the subject of the prince’s “disturbing news. ”

“Elliot Damascus, ” Adrock said once Villanova was in place, “childe of my childe, blood of my blood. Rise. "

His eyes wide, Elliot got unsteadily to his feet. Michael needed no help from Elliot’s aura to see the Ventrue’s fear. The young vampire kept one hand on his chair to keep himself steady. He withered under the prince’s placid, inscrutable gaze.

“You killed someone in my territory, Elliot Damascus, ” Adrock went on. “You lost control of yourself, left your own territory, came here to mine and killed someone. Is that entirely correct, Elliot Damascus? ”

“No sir, ” Elliot said. “It isn’t entirely correct. ” His lower lip started trembling, and he began to waver on his feet. “It wasn’t just one person. It was... it was three people. ”

“Three people, ” Adrock said calmly, quietly. “In my territory. Where exactly in my territory did you kill them, Elliot Damascus? ”

“At Saint Christopher’s cathedral, sir, ” Elliot said. The pitch of his voice had gone up considerably, as if his throat was constricting. “In the chambers of Father George Stinson. H-He was sleeping, sir. Two of Father Stinson's... they heard him screaming... "

A thrill unlike anything he had known rose in Michael as Elliot spoke. Michael had expected him to be upset when he saw the tape Clare had made, but this...

“Did you have my permission to kill in my territory? ” the prince continued. His voice had taken on a terrible cadence. “No, sir. ”

“Did you take any precautions to conceal your actions before the fact? ”

Elliot only shook his head. That slight motion seemed to dizzy him. He leaned back against his chair, trembling noticeably.

“Do you know the name of the First Tradition, Elliot Damascus? "

“The Mas-Masquerade, ” Elliot murmured. Michael had to strain to hear him.

“Have you violated the Tradition of the Masquerade, Elliot Damascus? ”

Michael sat silently gloating, waiting for Elliot to damn himself.

“Sir, ” he said after a very long pause, “I don’t think so. " Prince Adrock’s eyebrows tilted slightly. “Explain yourself. ” Michael’s own eyebrow quirked up as well. As he listened, the entire exchange between Elliot and the prince began to seem rehearsed and even somewhat stilted. Elliot’s aura now showed a great deal more shame than fear.

“I made arrangements, sir, ” Elliot said, the shame growing brighter and his stammer flattening out somewhat. “I arranged to have the three victims' deaths look natural. I put them in Father Stinson’s car and drove it into a railroad crossing on the edge of town as a train was coming. I made it look like the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed. The car and the bodies were destroyed. I had a contact at the police department file the report himself. ” As Elliot spoke, Michael noticed that Lionel was becoming more and more angry. The Brujah’s frown deepened until his sire put a hand on his leg to calm him down. Lionel’s expression softened, but the flares in his aura only grew stronger. Under his rising resentment, Michael wondered why Lionel was getting so worked up.

“Who will vouch for your good faith, Elliot Damascus? " the prince asked when Elliot fell silent.

“I will, my prince, " Villanova said. “He speaks the truth. ” Adrock glanced in Michael’s direction, and Michael was too stunned to take his eyes from Marcus Villanova. While everything Elliot said had, indeed, been true, Michael couldn’t believe that Adrock was being so easy with Elliot. Then again, Elliot was the prince’s grandchilde.

“Elliot Damascus, ” Adrock said, satisfied with the confirmation, “you have not violated the First Tradition. Do you know the Second Tradition? ”

“The Domain, " Elliot said after thinking about it a moment. His tone almost made the statement a question. “The Tradition of the Domain. ”

“Yes, Elliot Damascus, ” Adrock said, stepping toward him to stare down into his eyes directly. “Have you violated the Second Tradition? ”

“Y-yes, sir, ” Elliot said, gazing doelike up into his grandsire’s eyes. “I have. ”

“So are you judged, Elliot Damascus, ” Adrock said. “By my authority, I sentence you to branded with hot iron for the period of one month per victim you killed in my hunting territory. You will sleep in the custody of Sheriff Laurence Maxwell, and you will receive the execution of your punishment at midnight of each night hence until your sentence is paid in full. Sit. ”

Elliot practically fell back into his chair, his aura showing grateful relief. The tension in his shoulders sagged away, and the tight knots along the line of his jaw eased as well. His lip no longer trembled, and he even held his chin a few degrees higher than he had when Michael had first seen him.

Yet as Elliot’s spirits rose, the feeling of triumph and righteous justice leaked out of Michael’s body. Had the prince found Elliot guilty of violating the First Tradition, the punishment would have been destruction at the prince’s very hands, rather than the relatively minor punishment of branding Elliot had received. Of course, the line between what constituted a mere threat to the Masquerade and what constituted an actual breach of it was vague and open to interpretation. Adrock, it seemed, had “interpreted” that line such that it left his grandchilde well on the safe side. Once again, the self-important neonate responsible for Darien’s death would escape his just punishment for no better reason than who he was. And who his sire and his sire’s sire were. Michael had no doubt that had he committed the same transgression, his blood would be on Adrock’s hands right now.

Adrock walked back to his original position and turned his attention back on the rest of the crowd. “The Second Tradition is the subject of the gather I have called this evening, ” he said. “The Tradition of the Domain gives a prince utmost authority in the territory he claims, and it demands that he be treated with respect and loyalty by those he welcomes and allows to share in his domain. My domain has been thrice violated, and Elliot Damascus, childe of my childe, blood of my blood, has committed the least of these.

“A more serious violation of my domain has been perpetrated by an uninvited outsider named Lia Milliner. Lia Milliner was an independent vampire of a bloodline of usurpers who thought to challenge my childe’s influence in the city, my grandchilde^ influence in transportation from die city and the very boundaries of my own hunting territory. While Lia Milliner herself has been tried and sentenced for her trespass, she confided that she was not alone in her attempt to seize power in my domain. Someone in my domain turned the resources of my domain to their own ends to secure a place for this interloper. ” Adrock’s eyes turned to lock with his seneschal’s. Michael saw Calvin stiffen, and he watched the colors in his sire’s aura tighten and brace up with steely bands of self-control. “Calvin Bainbridge, ” Adrock continued, “rise. ” Calvin did, although with more grace and aplomb than either Villanova or Elliot had shown.

“Calvin Bainbridge, when I first came to you this evening voicing my concern, you claimed to have evidence regarding this flagrant violation of my domain. Is that correct. ” “My prince, it is, ” Calvin said in a courtly, pleasant voice that dripped with respect. “That selfsame evidence supports my suspicions as to the identity of the Kindred responsible for the third violation of your domain. He whom you have not yet mentioned. "

Michael froze, keeping his face as woodenly neutral as he could.

“The third violation, ” the prince said, partially confirming Michael’s fear, “is more serious than either of the previous two. He who has committed it has transgressed not only against me, but also against the vision and goals of our entire sect. Although I have not yet been able to confirm his identity, I am certain that there exists in my city a spy for the Sabbat. ” Michael froze, unwilling to do anything, lest some wrong move draw the prince’s attention in his direction. Of the eight Kindred present, only Elliot responded aloud to the prince’s statement.

“Fuck me, ” he whispered.

Errant packs of Sabbat vampires and loners who supported the Sabbat’s careless disregard for the six Traditions had wandered into Prince Adrock’s territory from Detroit and from outside Michigan, but never had any attempted anything like what the prince was now suggesting. The thought that a Sabbat had been living among them unknown for any length of time was beyond unthinkable.

“Calvin Bainbridge, ” Adrock said, “are you certain of your evidence V'

“I collected it myself, my prince. ”

“Whom does your evidence call suspect? ”

“My prince, ” Calvin answered, “it calls suspect Jeremey Talbot of Clan Malkavian. ”

All eyes in the room turned on Jeremey with no little shock. Marcus Villanova looked right at Jeremey in his surprise, and Jeremey himself bolted to his feet. Despite the fear that radiated outward from Jeremey in palpable waves, Michael could not help but feel relieved that his sire had not pointed the finger at him.

“Jeremey Talbot, ” Adrock said, putting his massive body between Jeremey and the nearest exit, “you stand accused of conspiring against your prince in his own domain and of disloyalty to your sect. You will not move or speak until the presentation of the body of evidence against you has been completed. ” The last words carried with them the weight of Adrock’s advanced age and generation, and Jeremey had no choice but to obey.

“Sheriff Laurence Maxwell, ” Adrock said, looking over at Lionel’s sire. He gestured in Jeremey’s direction, and the sheriff left his chair to stand beside Jeremey. Lionel, Michael noticed, still sat motionless with shock. In his aura and his expression, Michael could almost read what Lionel must have been thinking. Jeremey had invited Lionel into his coterie. Jeremey had helped plan the incursion into Detroit. How could Jeremey be responsible for the things for which he was accused?

“Calvin Bainbridge, ” the prince said over his shoulder to his seneschal, “present your evidence. "

“Yes, my prince, ” Calvin said. “I came to suspect Mister Talbot of disloyalty only recently. I regret that I did not uncover his duplicity earlier.

“As you well know, my prince. Mister Talbot led a coterie of his peers into Sabbat-occupied Detroit no more than one month ago. The unfortunate result of that foray into enemy territory was the loss of our long-established contacts there and the death of my own grandchilde. ”

Michael flinched to hear Calvin mention that last so casually. “When the coterie returned, and we questioned them on the events that had taken place, the four remaining members all seemed certain that the Sabbat had been prepared for their arrival. The speed with which the Sabbat retaliated against our Kindred’s arrival seemed suspect to me even then. ” Michael raised an eyebrow at that.

“Thinking back, ” Calvin went on, “I have re-examined Mister Talbot’s role in those affairs. When the coterie arrived in Detroit, Jeremey Talbot did most of the work required to locate our Camarilla contacts in that city. When members of the coterie had to leave their temporary base of operations to retrieve some piece of information vital to Mister Talbot's investigation, Jeremey himself remained behind. When the coterie was ambushed on the night they discovered that the first of our contacts had been murdered, Jeremey remained at the safe house. While those facts may seem harmless individually, they have become entirely too suspect the more I have examined them together as a whole. ” Michael watched Calvin as he spoke, unable to respond to what his sire was saying.

“I asked for evidence relating to your claim that Jeremey Talbot incited Lia Milliner to pursue her claims against my domain, Calvin Bainbridge, ” Adrock said, growing impatient with Calvin’s speech-making.

“I diverge so far from the consideration of that violation of your domain, ” Calvin said, “because the evidence that supports my accusations regarding it also supports my accusation regarding the latter, more serious, one, my prince. ”

The rhetorical grandstanding told Michael that Calvin had gotten his confidence back. Had that indicator not been enough, Calvin's aura had also begun brimming with confident superiority. That and another color that diffused throughout his aura like blood on water.

“Then present that evidence, ” Adrock said, “and let it speak for itself. ”

“I shall, my prince, ” Calvin said. “Forthwith.

“Before I could bring forward my growing suspicion to you or to Sheriff Maxwell, Jeremey Talbot approached me with a scheme to usurp control of your domain. He attempted to entice me with promises of becoming prince in your stead. Hoping to gain Mister Talbot’s confidence and discover the extent of his aims, I led him along, knowing that he would damn himself if I let him carry on with his scheme. "

From his vantage point, Michael could just see Jeremey’s face in profile. The Malkavian’s mouth hung slack, and his eyes blazed with anger. His aura swirled furiously, as if it were trying to fly from his very body. Calvin’s aura, however, was much more telling.

“The first aspect of his plan, ” Calvin continued, “as Jeremey explained it to me, was to replace the bases of power you and your descendants hold in this city, Prince Adrock. It was my belief that he sought to attack Mister Damascus’ holdings, then your childe Mister Ellsworth’s, and then move against your own.

“However, in light of comments made by Mister Talbot, I believe that I originally underestimated the boldness of his plans. It is my opinion now, my prince, that Jeremey intended to set up Ms. Milliner in your domain in preparation for a larger invasion by vampires of the Sabbat. I believe he designed his coterie’s expedition into Detroit to flush out our Camarilla contacts there so that none of them could get word to us in time to forestall the invasion he was helping to plan. Had it not been for whatever twist of fate or Mister Talbot’s madness it was that drove him to seek out my help in his plans, he may well have even succeeded. "

Jeremey’s body practically vibrated in his agitation, and Michael could hear a faint whine coming from between the madman’s lips. Talbot was struggling with all of his heart and mind to overcome the prince’s command to be still and silent.

Calvin, on the other hand, stood relaxed and patient, even smiling in self-congratulation. He had painted a very neat, cunning picture of Jeremey as a villain menacing Prince Adrock’s domain from within.

“Jeremey Talbot, ” Prince Adrock said, turning to Jeremey with a scowl that had been deepening since Calvin had started speaking, “you stand accused of crimes against your prince and your sect. You stand accused of harboring an unwelcome vampire within my own hunting territory. You stand accused of plotting against me for the right to rule my domain. You stand accused of endangering the Kindred of this domain by conspiring with the enemies of our sect. Are you guilty of these crimes? You may speak to answer. ”

The words exploded from Jeremey’s mouth all at once. “My prince, these accusations are lies! Calvin himself approached me in conspiracy! He said that your preoccupation with overtaking Detroit would lead this domain to ruin! I did not conspire with the Sabbat! The Sabbat know only chaos! I am loyal! I am loyal, my prince! "

“If I may, my prince, ” Calvin said calmly over the outburst, as steel veins of self-control reasserted themselves in his aura. “I have physical, irrefutable evidence of Mister Talbot s duplicity. He himself spoke the words that confirmed his guilt in my mind when he tried to convince Ms. Milliner to join in his campaign. I lured him to my office in this very building where he said the damning words I have captured. ” “Air them, ” Adrock said to Calvin, without taking his eyes away from Jeremey. Maxwell, Michael noticed, had taken a step closer to Jeremey as well.

On that cue, Calvin withdrew from his pocket a plastic device no larger than a cigarette case. He pressed a button on the device, and Talbot’s voice issued from it. The voice was tinny and small, but it was easily recognizable.

“The city is getting ready to change hands, " Jeremey's voice said. “You wouldn’t want to become part of the power structure, only to get swept away when the new management takes over. Independent status or no, our new hierarchy would not appreciate the fact that you had chosen to side with our enemy. "

Calvin pressed another button on the device, advancing the recording to another point.

“The catch, ” Jeremey’s voice continued, “is that someone else already occupies the niche we are offering you. His name is Elliot Damascus; the grandchilde of the prince. "

Calvin advanced the tape again.

“We would prefer an independent to our current prince’s grandchilde. Elliot is often a random element, despite his utility to the domain. He does not always contribute to our collective stability. And if you moved in and began to assist filling the role he undertakes, he would likely perceive it as an attack and do his best to compete with you. Should that occur, we would have chaos, and that would not suit our purposes at all. ”

Even Michael was shocked at Jeremey’s gall in saying such things, no matter how Calvin had obtained the recording. Prince Adrock, however, did not appear shocked. He stared at the tape recorder in Calvin’s hand like it had come alive, and he stared between it and Jeremey Talbot in rising anger. His lip had twisted into the attitude of a snarl, even though his fangs had not come out just yet.

After a moment of silence, a female voice that Michael assumed belonged to Lia Milliner said from the tape recorder: “Current prince...? This isn't entirely about Detroit, is it? ” “No, Lia, " Jeremey said, one last time before the tape cut out. “l’m referring to something much more local. ”

Jeremey himself broke the stunned silence that followed the sharp click at the end of the tape.

“You recorded that? You tricked me! You invited me to have that meeting! You told me to contact Milliner! You set this up from the beginning! ”

“Jeremey Talbot, be quiet! ” Prince Adrock thundered.

The shout reverberated in Michael’s bones, and he was afraid to move, lest the prince take it as some sort of insult. Calvin blinked at Adrock’s outburst, taken aback by the display. He fumbled putting the tape recorder back into his pocket, nearly dropping it on the floor.

“Your own words condemn you, yet you make denials, ” Adrock went on. His voice dropped in volume, but the ferocity remained. He turned to Calvin and pinned the elder Toreador with his gaze.

“You also stand accused of conspiracy, Calvin Bainbridge, " he said. “Jeremey Talbot proclaims your guilt. You have also made clandestine moves against my holdings in this domain. Are you guilty of those accusations? ”

Calvin hesitated, his confidence failing him, but he did not remain silent long.

“A calculated ruse, my prince, ” he said in a small voice. “They were necessary to lure Jeremey into my confidence. I kept records of the transactions with every intention of turning the holdings over to you once his guilt caught him out. "

The lie bloomed in Calvin’s aura brighter than a full moon through a break in the clouds. So accustomed to reading the auras of others, Michael wondered how even those without the skill could not see it there.

“Who vouches for your good faith? ” the prince asked. His own self-control seemed brittle now that he was so close to rooting out a suspected traitor in his presence. He led the tide of expectant glares that turned in Villanova's direction.

“My prince, ” the harpy said slowly, looking at the prince’s chest, “I will. Calvin speaks the truth. ”

Realization dawned on Michael as he watched a matching lie bloom in Villanova’s aura. The harpy and his sire, Michael saw, were the real conspirators here. Calvin was lying about Jeremey Talbot, and Villanova was protecting him. Calvin had set Jeremey up. The seneschal had somehow tricked Jeremey into making those damning statements then recorded them to use against him should what was very likely his own plan ever be discovered. And in that realization, Michael made a decision.

No sooner had Villanova made that statement then Prince Adrock’s gaze snapped around to take Michael in. Several others noticed where Adrock was looking, and they turned to look at Michael as well. Of all of them, only Prince Adrock knew that Michael possessed the same ability to see auras that Villanova had. Only Prince Adrock knew that Michael was his redundant backup in formal inquisitions such as this. None of the others knew the simple, silent code he and Prince Adrock had developed to test the veracity and good faith of statements Marcus Villanova made in his “official” position during Prince Adrock’s inquisitions. If Michael agreed with Villanova’s impression of a subject of inquiry, he was not to take his eyes away from the harpy when Adrock glanced in his direction. If Michael disagreed, he was to look at Prince Adrock.

In this situation, all he had to do to protect Jeremey was look away from Villanova for the barest of moments. One simple glance would tell the prince that both Calvin and Villanova were lying and that Jeremey Talbot deserved to be spared. That bare, minimal expenditure of effort would save the vampire who had done nothing while Darien died at the hands of the Sabbat in Detroit.

Michael’s eyes did not waver from the blossom of deception in the center of Marcus Villanova’s aura.

“Michael! ” Jeremey shouted, through some supreme act of will. The shriek pierced Michael’s eardrums painfully. “I know you can see the truth! Tell them Calvin is lying! Tell them Marcus is lying! Tell them please, Michael! ”

“Restrain him and take him away! ” Adrock shouted over Jeremey’s protests. “He is guilty! Take him away! ” Maxwell subdued Jeremey roughly and started pulling him in the direction of the Elysium parlor’s interior door. Somehow, Jeremey broke free of Maxwell’s grip—losing a chunk of his flesh and clothing over each elbow — and ran to stand in front of Michael. He clutched at Michael’s sleeves, pulling him to his feet, knocking over the chair Michael was sitting in.

“Please, Michael, ” Jeremey implored him, a rivulet of red running from the comer of his eye. “You have to tell him. Don’t be one of them. Don’t be like Calvin and Marcus, Michael, please, you have to tell him please... ”

With a feral, self-righteous roar that had been welling up inside him since Darien had left far Detroit, Michael freed himself from Jeremey’s grip and shoved the Malkavian backward into Maxwell’s arms. The entire room fell silent, and Michael stood alone in a frozen place in time. Every eye was on him.

“As far as l’m concerned, ” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Calvin and Marcus can go to Hell. But not for what you’ve done. ”

With that, he turned, righted his chair and began walking toward the back door of the parlor. Over his shoulder, he heard Jeremey breaking down into sobs as Maxwell led him in the opposite direction. He also heard Adrock calling the gather to an end with grim satisfaction. Although events had perhaps not played out as he had expected, justice had been done nonetheless.

Scene Twelve 

Bainbridge watched his childe leave the Elysium with surprise and a pride he had never felt for him before. He had certainly had no idea that Michael was capable of reading auras like Marcus. He had not even considered that such a thing was possible. Had he known, he might have done a better job grooming Michael to participate in he and Villanova’s agenda. And yet, without that grooming, Michael had still stood up for him, despite every indication that he would have done no such thing had it been requested of him. The childe’s behavior grew more inexplicable every night.

Anxious to talk to Marcus about this odd turn of events once they both returned west to Grand Rapids, Bainbridge made ready to leave. Before he could exit, however, Prince Adrock put a hand on his shoulder.

“Lionel Braughton, ” Adrock said. “Leave the rest of us. I would speak to these three privately.

Looking past the prince’s shoulder, Bainbridge noted that Adrock had Elliot Damascus and Marcus in tow.

“Yes sir, ” Lionel said, unable to hide his confusion. He put on his scarf and went through the motions of wrapping it to protect himself against the cold weather he did not feel. Before he actually exited the building, he took a white mint from a metal tin in his pocket and crushed it into a fine powder between his teeth. He left alone.

When the door closed behind the Brujah, Elliot was the first to speak. He kept his eyes cast down and his voice low. “What’ll happen to Jeremey, sir? ”

“Do you know what the Sixth Tradition is? ” Adrock answered. “It is the utmost right of a prince. ”

Only silence followed the prince’s words. When a long beat had gone by, Bainbridge spoke.

“About what did you wish to speak with us, my prince? ” “About matters most grave, ” Adrock said, turning to face the three listeners at the same time. “And of dire import to this domain. ”

“Which matters, my prince? ” Villanova asked.

“Matters of service, ” Adrock said. “Service to me, to my domain and to the Camarilla itself. In exposing Jeremey Talbot, the two of you have already performed a great service. Calvin Bainbridge, had you not come forward when you did, I might never have known of the true threat one single Malkavian could pose to my security. Marcus Villanova, your aid and insight doubtless proved invaluable to Calvin Bainbridge’s plan to trick the traitor. I commend you both on the work you have done in the name of my domain. ” Villanova’s eyes ceased their constant wandering, lighting on a spot in the middle of Adrock’s chest. His expression fell. Bainbridge had said nothing in his “testimony” about the harpy helping in the effort. Talbot hadn’t said anything about it either.

“In consideration of this great service, ” Adrock went on, “I have an assignment for which both of you are infinitely suited.

“And you, Elliot Damascus, will be a part of this assignment as well. ”

“Me? ” Elliot said with a blank, uncomprehending expression. He was only just beginning to notice that both Bainbridge and Villanova had gotten very still all of a sudden.

“Yes, childe of my childe, blood of my blood. Your credibility and respectability have been tarnished by numerous indiscretions you have committed since your embrace. You are still young yet, and your lineage grants you more freedom than most. However, your latest careless act has caused more of a problem in my territory than I am willing to allow. You must learn discretion and subtlety, and it would be best for the reputation of our clan if you were removed from die affairs of the domain for a short time. You will accompany Calvin Bainbridge and Marcus Villanova on their assignment in order to accomplish both ends. ” “So what’s the assignment T Elliot asked, looking downtrodden but still more than glad to be given a second chance rather than none. Especially if it meant he didn’t have to be branded every night for three months.

“Detroit, ” Bainbridge said, deflated and defeated. “Your grandsire wants us to go into Detroit. ”

“Indeed, Calvin Bainbridge, ” Adrock said, letting a dry smile touch his lips. “As you are aware, we now lack for contacts within that city. However, if your suppositions are correct, Jeremey Talbot was helping to organize an invasion of my domain by Sabbat forces. If that is the case, I will need advance warning in time to prepare countermeasures. If that should not be the case, I still need estimates of the size, disposition and magnitude of what Sabbat forces occupy Detroit in preparation for our eventual advance into that city.

“The three of you will establish havens within the city separate from each other and capable of operating wholly independently. When I am ready to review the information you have gathered, I will send a coterie of Kindred from this domain to retrieve you. Only in the event of an imminent invasion are you to try to contact me on your own. And under no circumstances are you to return until you are sent for. “Do any of you have any questions? ”

“What if we’re captured? ” Elliot asked. Bainbridge and Marcus flinched from him when he said it. “What if the Sabbat make us talk? Won’t that put you in danger here? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“I have considered that, ” Adrock said, smiling proudly at his grandchilde for bringing up such an astute observation. “Fortunately, you will recall, I have never discussed my plans and defenses against Sabbat incursion with any of you. Fear not. I am not sending you among the enemy with valuable information that could potentially harm our efforts here. To be safe, however, I have agents in place to take on each of your responsibilities in ways different than those with which you are familiar. Practices will change in your absence, so that you cannot endanger us even accidentally. Have no fear. “Now, does anyone else have any questions? ”

No one did.

“Very well, ” Adrock said, letting his dry smile show a bit more brightly. “Good luck. With the three of you in position in Detroit, I know that my domain will have nothing to fear. ”

Michael held on to the folding steel security gate in front of him for support. No one passed him on the sidewalk. No one approached him to see if he was feeling okay. He stood alone, clinging to the steel slats that made up the barrier, hanging his head. He stood thus for quite some time, until a familiar rumbling growl sounded on the street behind him. An automobile pulled up and parked, still idling. A door opened and closed, then footsteps approached. The vampire behind him stopped a respectful distance away and remained silent.

Michael stood up straight, wiped a red line away from the side of his nose and turned around.

“I thought that was you, ” Christopher Flynne said, leaning against a post beneath a flickering streetlight.

“What are you doing here? ” Michael asked. “I thought you were leaving this pisshole domain already. ”

“I was looking for you, " Flynne said. “Darien used to work here, didn’t he? ”

Michael nodded. “It’s been closed since he died. I think Calvin was going to sell the place. ”

“Does that bother you? ”

“It wouldn’t make much difference if it did, ” Michael said passionlessly. “What should I expect? Do you think Calvin should maintain the place indefinitely, like a shrine? ” Flynne folded his arms and didn’t move from where he was leaning. For a few moments, neither Kindred said anything.

“I heard about what happened at Elysium, ” Flynne asked at last. “It’s all the harpies can talk about. Did it help? Or what you did to Elliot? Has it made you feel any better? ” “What do you think? ” Michael asked bitterly. Word did travel fast. “Wasn’t it you who told me not to bother in the first place? Of course none of it helped. There never really was anything I could do to Jeremey or Elliot to make up for Darien’s death. Was there? ”

Flynne smiled sadly and glanced away at his car.

“Not really, ” he said. “But you had to try anyway. It’s part of what makes you still human. We all go through it when we’re young. We all try to prove to ourselves that our lives are under control and that when things go wrong, we can put them back together again if we’re determined enough It doesn’t really matter that it’s all bullshit until after we find out by trying it ourselves. ” “How did you find out? ” Michael asked, looking Flynne directly in the elder vampire’s good eye.

“Running around the Sabbat taught me, ” Flynne said. “After Sean died, I tried to—”

“Not about that, ” Michael said, taking a step toward Flynne. “I mean about Elliot. How did you know I had anything to do with what happened with him J"

“What do you mean? ” Flynne said, standing up straight. “When you and I talked—”

“I hadn’t decided to do anything at that point, ” Michael said. “Not for sure. I was only thinking about it. Who told you I actually did anything to Elliot at all? ”

“Bust-ed, ” a female voice said. “I always told you you talk too much, dear. ”

Michael turned in the direction of Flynne’s car and saw Clare emerging from the vehicle’s back seat.

“What are you doing here? ” he asked her.

“You’re a popular Cainite, Michael, ” Clare said, moving to stand beside Flynne. “I told Chris about Elliot. I also told him some stuff I heard third-hand about you. I’ve been watching what goes on around here for years. ”

“Why? ” Michael asked. This wasn’t right at all. “Because you’re important, ” Flynne said, smirking in wry, embarrassed amusement.

“You’ve got a destructive rebel’s nature, " Clare said. “And you hate all the bullshit your elders dump on you. Jeremey was a good, unwitting source of information, but you’re something else altogether. You can see through all the lies and nepotism, and you know how unfair the system is. It’s pretty rare to find a seneschal’s childe who fits that profile. Especially one so young who’s realized the truth about the elders. ”

Michael took a step back, and Flynne put his hands by his sides.

“What are you talking about? ” Michael whispered. “You don’t know me. What is this? ”

“We know you pretty well, Michael, ” Flynne said. “Clare’s been watching you. Hell, all of us have been watching you. We’ve seen how you react to the way the elders treat you. This whole thing with Darien is just the next in a long string of injustices Calvin and the rest of them have committed against you. Some would even call it the last straw. ” “You’ve been spying on me, ” Michael said, flabbergasted by the revelation. “You both pretended you cared about what I was going through. You said you wanted to help me. ” “That’s not entirely untrue, ” Flynne said, taking a step toward Michael. “Yeah, I fed you some bullshit, but not everything I said was a lie. ”

“You lied to me about Darien, " Michael said, falling back a few steps, “You told me you couldn’t help him in Detroit because you were too hurt. You said you were too weak to heal yourself. Even when you told me, it sounded like a lie. ” “It was part of the act, ” Flynne said with a shrug. He tapped the side of his eye patch. “Just like this is. ”

“The act, ” Michael whispered. “You set it all up. " He looked at Clare in naked shock. “And you’re the leak the prince was after. You’re both Sabbat "

“We have a winner, ” Clare said, clapping her hands. “Goodness, Michael, haven’t we been giving you enough clues? ”

Michael froze, too stunned to speak. His eyes darted around, looking for somewhere to run.

“I mean, really, ” Clare went on. “We’ve been pushing you and prodding you into open acts of rebellion for months. I pointed you at Elliot like a gun. Did it never occur to you that that was the least bit suspicious V'

Michael shook his head slowly.

“I helped you. I’ve gone crazy. I helped the Sabbat. All this time, you just wanted—”

“What? ” Flynne asked, smiling sardonically. “To suck out everyone’s souls? To take your land and enslave you all? To overrun the Earth with bloodthirsty monsters?

“ All that stuff you’ve heard is a pack of lies, Michael. They’re monster stories the elders tell you so you’ll do what they want. None of that shit they say is true. We’re at war because your elders wanted a war. We built our homes in Detroit, and they attacked us. We tried to live in peace, and they sent their soldiers against us. Young, inexperienced soldiers like your friends. Have you ever heard of us attacking cities in Michigan? Why would we? Slit, Michael, we’ve been taking in refugees from the war on the coast who are tired of fighting. ”

“It’s true, Michael, ” Clare said, still standing by the streetlight pole. “We don’t care about enslaving each other like your elders do. We just want to be free. ”

“Like you set Darien free? ” Michael shouted. He had had enough of this. He turned to run.

“Michael, listen to me, ” Flynne said. He grabbed Michael’s collar and spun him around so that the two of them were eye to eye. Michael hadn’t even heard him move. He grabbed Flynne’s arm at the elbow and tried to wrench himself loose. Flynne grabbed both of Michael’s wrists in one hand and held him still.

“Calm down, Michael. Now, I know I haven’t been telling you the whole truth about a lot of things, but I also know that you can see into my heart. You can tell when someone’s lying to you. Watch me when I say this, and tell me if I’m lying: We did not kill Darien. ”

Flynne’s aura revealed all of his agitation and frustration, but no deception diffused through it. Michael stood still and stopped struggling.

“Good, ” Flynne said. He let Michael go and backed away a step.

“What are you talking about? ” Michael asked. “Is Darien still alive? Your story never said he was dead, did it? Lionel didn't actually see him die either. Is Darien in Detroit right now? That’s why you’re both really here tonight, isn’t it. ⁷” Flynne looked down.

“No, Michael, " Clare said, coming to stand beside Flynne again. She was shaking her head. “We tried to convert him, but it didn’t work. He didn’t make it. He was hurt too bad already. I’m sorry. ”

“But you just said you didn't kill him! ” Michael cried desperately.

“The Sabbat didn’t kill him, ” Flynne said. “That’s what I meant. We hurt him and tried to use him to scare the rest of you, but we didn’t send him to Detroit. ”

“What? ”

“Adrock killed Darien, ” Flynne said. “He arranged the advance. He sent Talbot’s coterie into our territory. He knew how inexperienced Lionel and Jeremey and Elliot and Darien all were, and he let them go anyway. He sent them to die. "

“But he had you, " Michael protested, denying the point Flynne was alluding to.

“Icing, ” Clare said.

“As good as my reputation says I am, ” Flynne said, “there’s no way I could shepherd four city boys through occupied territory unnoticed. Nobody’s that good. Adrock knew that. He wrote Talbot’s coterie off. ”

“Why would he do that? ” Michael asked, clinging to the withering shreds of his disbelief.

“Why do they do anything?” Clare said. “Adrock was paranoid. You heard what he was saying about a conspiracy against him? ”

Michael nodded.

“Jeremey and Darien were in on it, ” Clare said. “And he threw them to the wolves. ”

“What about Elliot and Lionel? ”

“Liabilities, ” Flynne said, shaking his head. “They were close to the other two, so Adrock got rid of them too. It makes sense if you think like the elders do. ”

“This is all Sabbat lies, " Michael said lamely.

“It’s true, ” Flynne said, putting his hands on Michael’s shoulders again. This time, Michael did not fight him. “And you know it is. That’s why we’ve kept our eyes on you. That’s why we want you to come with us. ”

“To Detroit?”

“To join us, ” Clare said. “You could really be valuable to us in Detroit. You know how this domain works. You know who’s connected to whom. We could use real insider information like that to help us defend ourselves if Adrock really is planning an advance into our territory. ”

“Join the Sabbat? ” Michael whispered. His head was spinning.

“You’ve got nothing left here, ” Flynne said. “And it’s only a matter of time before Adrock decides that you were too close to Calvin to not be a liability yourself. ”

“I guess I really have no choice, do I? " Michael asked, looking at the two of them in resigned defeat.

“You’ve always got a choice, ” Flynne answered. “But right now, this is the best one. ”

“Then let’s go, ” Michael said. “I don’t ever want to have to see this place again. "

Clare and Flynne exchanged a look as Clare opened the back door of Flynne’s car.

“You won’t have to, Michael, ” the woman said. “You’re going home. ”