A Crypt in Shoreditch, England, 1923

Herrick was nervous. It wasn't like him, but then, he'd never been so sure that something very bad was about to happen. Hetty had been angry with him for months, and the attack at the ballroom had only made her angrier.

As he sat facing Hetty and four other Old Ones, he felt like a criminal on trial. And, in essence, he was. Hetty had to make things as dramatic as possible, pull other Old Ones from all over Europe into it as if this minor setback was any of their concern. Judging him with Hetty were Delledonna, the head of the Italian base; the Austrian Frau Wilhelm; the Dane Astrith; and Madame Boucher, who came from France. Women, all of them.

"We have a problem, Herrick," Hetty said sternly, smoke billowing out of her long cigarette holder.

"I know," he said. "I know. And I told you, I'm taking care of everything. Nothing like this will happen again."

"They're calling it eine Symphonie des Grauens," said Frau Wilhelm, in a thick German accent. "Like the picture. They think the picture has come real in Britain."

Herrick looked at her blankly.

"A Symphony of Horror," said Wilhelm, leaning forward. "Nosferatu? Don't you know, they're making moving pictures about us now? People believe what they see in the pictures."

"Only if we give them reason to believe it's real," said Hetty. She took a drag from her cigarette and looked at Herrick. "I didn't care for it," she said. "Portraying us like we're disgusting, beady-eyed creatures with bald heads and claws. It's a slap in the face, really."

"Be that as it may," said Delledonna, "He's brought attention to us again, because you can't control him."

"He's still young," said Herrick.

Hetty was unfazed. "You've been saying that for seven years."

Herrick shook his head. "You blamed it on the criminal underground," he said. "They don't know, it's been covered up..."

"That's not good enough," said Hetty. "He's a loose cannon, and we can't have that."

"He's learned his lesson," Herrick said. "Please. If you'll only give him one more chance -"

"He's used up his last chance," said Hetty. She stamped out her cigarette. "We've voted," she said, glancing at the others. "And we've decided on execution."

Herrick looked from Hetty to the others in disbelief. He expected punishment, but not this. "No," he said, rising to his feet. "I won't let you..."

Hetty looked at Delledonna. "Why is he talking as if this is a matter for debate?" she asked.

"Once he's harnessed, he could be the greatest asset we've ever had," said Herrick. "He's got the potential. You've said it yourself, Hetty!"

"We're done cleaning up his messes," said Madame Boucher. "He's a danger to us all."

Herrick scanned the five Old Ones. "If you execute him," he said, "You'll have to execute me, too."

"I don't think that's a problem," said Wilhelm.

Hetty flinched. "That's not for you to decide," she said, glaring at Wilhelm. "I turned Herrick, what happens to him is my decision."

Herrick nodded. "Then what happens to Mitchell is my decision."

"That isn't how it works," Hetty said. She slid another cigarette into the holder and lit it.

He approached her, and looked her straight in the eye. "Then you'll have to execute me," he said to Hetty. "You have to do it."

She stared back at him. "Don't think I won't."

Herrick knew better. "Or we could leave," he said. "We'll leave Britain, leave Europe."

Hetty kept her eyes on Herrick, and leaned back. "So your boy can expose us on another continent?"

"No. You'll see," Herrick said, "It won't happen again."

"The decision is made," Wilhelm said, waving her hand.

"The decision," Hetty said, facing her, "was not to execute the both of them."

"So you'd send him to Cobbs?" Asked Astrith, referring to the oldest vampire in North America. "Cobbs doesn't want them."

"Cobbs is barely 150 years old," Hetty said. "Cobbs will take what I give him."

"Not without another vote, he won't," said Delledonna.

Herrick walked out into the hall, still shaken.

Mitchell was sitting on the floor, against a stone wall, his arms resting on his knees. He looked up at him. "What did they want?" he asked.

"They want your head on a platter," Herrick said angrily.

"Why?"

"I told you," Herrick said, grabbing Mitchell by the collar and pulling him to his feet. "I told you, you can't go around leaving piles of bodies out in the open. I've told you again and again, Mitchell -"

"Oh, is this about the ballroom?" Mitchell asked, "because that bloke disrespected me-"

"And the other twelve?"

Mitchell shrugged. "They were there." Herrick released him in disgust. "Look, Herrick, what's the point if you have to follow rules?"

"The point is, if the humans find out about us, it's all over. There's a protocol-"

"Oh, fuck protocol," Mitchell said, straightening his shirt.

Herrick glared at him. "They wanted to execute you, you know."

Mitchell blinked. "For what, doing what we do? I didn't ask for this. You can't... turn me into an animal and then get mad when I act like one..."

"Animals," Herrick said, "need to be tamed."

"Fine, execute me," Mitchell said. "I don't care."

"Nobody's executing anyone," Herrick said. "We're going to America."