A Snake In The Shadows

by Thor

Another tale of Detroit, the sheriff has some snake problems. Intrique and violence ensue. But is this the real threat?

Greetings and salutations to thee, my perky pack of peering periodical perusers....I am THOR, feel free to worship. As a matter of warning this story contains violence, adult language, and Settites. (viewer discretion is advised and insisted upon, unless you are bigger then me. In which case read what you wish!) I have based my works in the World of Darkness and White Wolf product lines, (though I do take liberties with some facts, powers, locations, ect. This is fiction, cope with it.) However I do not own them, nor do I wish to challenge White Wolf's rights. I am making no money, send no large thugs to beat my head in. Yes this is yet (ye gods!)another part of my ever growing collection of Detroit tales. This installment features the dread sheriff of Detroit. He is a Lasombra elder who left the Sabbat to join with the Camarilla defenders of Detroit. If you would like to know more about him, the defection, or just about anything else in Detroit (I could even send you my full write up of the city, the locales, and the supernaturals who dwell there. p.s. Don't ask for this unless you would like a huge pile of files [around 6MB] if that fills you with fear you could request no pictures [pure text is only 316kB], no locales, no changlings, no vampires ect...I have little in the way of a life other then pleasing the readers who can look at my work for free.....hmmm, that is fairly pathetic.) or have questions, comments, rants, or ideas I can be contacted at arcanloth@hotmail .com. I do not read my mail every day, but I do always respond. Now, before you drop dead from boredom. Put on your knee-highs, cause there are snakes loose on the streets of Detroit.

Snake in the Shadows: A Tale of Detroit

	Octavian lit his cigarette as he looked around the apartment. It 
was a small place, bedroom, and bathroom, nothing else. The two windows 
were both covered by a layer of black plastic and tape. The bedroom 
contained a desk and three shelves crammed with books and papers. A small 
dresser was backed against the far wall, and clothes stuck haphazardly 
from it. The bathroom contained no cleaning products, no toilet paper, 
no toothbrush. The bathtub was filled with about three centimeters of ash. 
Octavian nodded, it was definitely a Kindred residence, no one else would 
keep the windows barricaded and not have a bed or toothbrush. Detective 
Mazzo trailed Octavian into the room. 
	"The boys found the place like this, the 911 call was placed by 
the landlady when she heard a brief struggle. We dusted for prints and 
found only the vaguest traces. All of the prints seem to come from the 
same hands, so it looks like the perp left us jack."
	Mazzo watched as Octavian slowly walked up to the desk and began 
sifting through the papers there. Mazzo disliked Octavian, the jerk had no 
record, nor did he seem to have a badge. But whenever a strange case like 
this happened then all of a sudden Captain Franklin would tell Mazzo to 
hang tight and wait for Octavian. Mazzo watched as Octavian picked up one 
of the pieces of paper and looked at the writing on it. 
	"We tried to figure out what that was, since it might be a clue, 
problem is it's written in some foreign language, like German or 
something."
	"Sumerian."
	"Huh?"
	"The dialect is a slight bastardization of Sumerian."
	"Oh, right, Sumerian, why didn't I think of that." Mazzo muttered. 
	He watched as Octavian folded up the paper and put it in his coat. 
	"Hey, wait a minute that's removing evidence from the scene of 
the crime!" protested Mazzo "I may put up with some other weird shit you 
and the captain do but" his voice trailed off as he looked into 
Octavian's dark eyes.
	"This crime scene turned out to be a bust, there was no evidence 
of foul play, no poison sample taken out of the rug. You will file it 
under another annoying event in your annoying life. I was never here, 
you never called me. Now go." 
	Octavian watched the detective turn and wander out of the room. He 
pulled out his cell phone and contacted his childe and deputy Michael, he 
gave instructions that Michael was to head to the police station, collect 
the evidence, and leave the same cover story. Octavian then turned and 
marched into the bathroom. 
	"Let's see what news you hide" He murmured as he plunged his hand 
into the dust and concentrated
	He was writing down his translation of the paper he had received. 
It was late and he rubbed his sore neck. Of course his neck wasn't sore, 
and rubbing it just a habit from his living days. As he stretched a 
burning pain erupted in his side. He twisted towards the attacker baring 
his fangs when
	Octavian frowned as he let the dust trickle out of his hand. 
Nothing that pointed to the real identity of the killer. Also it bothered 
him that the killer had gone through the bother of cleaning up the 
remains, only to dump them in this tub a few feet from the murder site. 
Steven wasn't going to be pleased. As Octavian walked back towards his car 
a figure seemed to drift from the shadows nearby, Octavian tensed and 
reached for the sword he hadn't bothered to grab on his way out of his 
club. He cursed to himself, but then shrugged he was far from helpless, 
even unarmed. The figure drifted slowly into the circle of illumination 
cast by the street light. A pale thin man dressed in tattered blue and 
black rags, a single bloody tear tattoo on his right cheek. His white hair 
blew about in the soft night breeze. Octavian relaxed,
	"Hey Sad Man, how's it going?" he asked.
	"Beware in the shadows the snake, strikes soon it does and city 
the shall tremble it when." Octavian blinked as he tried to decipher the 
addled prophets warning.
	"There's a snake in the shadows, and when it strikes the city will 
tremble?"
	The Sad Man nodded, content Octavian had the message, and quickly 
turned and started down the street. 
	"Hey wait a minute!" shouted Octavian at the retreating back, "who 
the hell is the snake!?!" But by then the Malkavian had disappeared. "Great, 
just great," muttered Octavian as he got in his car. 

	Thirty minutes later Octavian pulled up in front of the 
Renaissance Center, where the prince of the city held court. He nodded at 
the eight guards he passed in the lobby, and stepped into the elevator. 
Moments later he exited onto the 113th floor, a floor that according to 
the building's design didn't exist. He marched into the massive boardroom 
where the prince was currently meeting with some visitors from out of town. 
Octavian waited patiently for the prince to finish, while he stood in the 
corner Eric, seneschal to the prince, sidled up next to him.
	"Tell me, what brings you here again so quickly Octavian?" Eric 
asked. 
	Octavian glanced at Eric, from his black suit, to cane, to slicked 
back hair and trimmed beard Eric was a near duplicate of the prince. Of 
course he wasn't half the man Steven was.
	"Business with Steven," Octavian replied.
	"I'm sure you could tell me all about it, after all I am his 
seneschal."
	"And I'm sure that if he wants you to know he'll tell you himself, 
it's not my job to predict the prince's whims." Octavian answered. 
	Then seeing Steven had finished welcoming the visitors he motioned 
to him, and headed towards a side room. As soon as they entered it Octavian 
found himself flanked by two of The Honor Guard, Steven's personal ghoul 
bodyguards and killers. The other two stood around Steven.
	"What news of the murder scene?" asked Steven, immediately 
surmising Octavian's purpose. Octavian quickly related the strange 
findings, the poison, the unusual treatment of the body, and the 
untranslated paper.
	"This is what he was working on before he died," Octavian said 
showing Steven the paper, "Do you know of anyone in the city that could 
translate strange Sumerian quickly?"
	"If I were you, I'd try one of the Tremere, they usually have to 
memorize a score or so of odd languages," Steven replied, "In any case I 
want this situation resolved quickly, it would appear sloppy to my guests 
if I allowed unsanctioned final deaths to take place in my city," With that 
Steven quickly turned and left the room, leaving Octavian with his concerns. 

	Eric bowed deeply as he was introduced to each of the visitors. 
Steven guided him up to the last one, "This is Chantille, she is a neonate 
of Ventrue's blood, childe of Haronsvelt, childe of Jessily, childe of 
Johans the Brave" 
	Steven's voice seemed to fade away to Eric as he gazed at the 
stunning creature before him, her shining blue eyes seemed to be pools a 
man could drown in, and her long blonde hair hung in billowing curls down 
to her waist. She smiled sweetly at him and gently curtsied. Eric came back 
to his senses,
	"What was that?" he stammered.
	"I said, why don't you offer to show this young one around our 
city while I speak with her elders," repeated Steven, annoyed at the 
foolishness shown by Eric. 
	Eric quickly nodded acceptance and offered Chantille his arm. She 
took it happily and Eric lead her out. From the shadows across the room 
Octavian watched the proceedings. Odd, it wasn't like Eric to get so 
flustered. He paused one of the passing servants and had him repeat the 
names of the visitors. He then departed the gathering. 

	Aleksander was busy organizing the night's reports when Octavian 
stormed into the back room of The Black Sun, a club he operated when not 
cleaning up the city's messes.
	"Greetings sire," said Aleksander bowing slightly, "I trust the 
evening was fruitful.
	"Aleksander," nodded Octavian, "Has Michael called in with the 
report on that poison found in the apartment yet?" 
	Aleksander shook his head as he shoved another paper on the top of 
Octavian's "to look at" pile. 
	"Also," Octavian continued, "find out where Dalaris is at the 
moment, and contact the Nosferatu, I need a meeting." 
	Aleksander nodded and began to type on his computer. Octavian 
walked over to a nearby wardrobe, opening it he pulled off his gray suit 
and put on a pair of tan slacks, a white button-up shirt, and his tan 
trenchcoat.
	"I take it you are heading out again sire, do you expect trouble?" 
asked Aleksander. Octavian looked at him while he pulled a shining 
broadsword out and placed it in a built in sheath in the coat. 
	"No more then usual." 

	"So where would you like to go first my dear, the Art Institute, 
the Historical museum?"
	"How about a big hangout, like a club," was Chantille's reply. 
Eric smiled softly at her innocently bright face,
	"It might be somewhat risky to take you there," he began, fully 
intending to tell her no.
	"But I'll have you there to protect me," she said earnestly, 
leaning forward and clutching Eric's hand. "You would protect me, 
wouldn't you Eric?" she asked demurely. Eric felt his pride swell at the 
faith this small creature placed in him.
	"Of course I would," he turned to rap on the glass, "driver, take 
us to The Crypt!"
	"The Crypt?"
	"Oh yes," laughed Eric, "It is a rather charming little club, all 
bedecked like a graveyard, actually run by a Toreador I do believe."
	"Then it sounds perfect," said Chantille, smiling. 

	Octavian stood over Dalaris' shoulder while the young Tremere 
struggled over the paper in his hands. 
	"So can you read it?" asked Octavian.
	"Uhmm, well, it is a very obscure sub-dialect," muttered Dalaris 
pushing his glasses up on his nose. "And it appears to be written in the 
post Gilgamesh era, yet before Hammurabi"
	"That's great, but can you read it?"
	"Well..sure," Octavian waited a few moments, then rolled his eyes 
at the slowness of the neonate.
	"Could you start now?" Dalaris glanced around the dusty library, 
the only other visible occupant was the night librarian.
	"Sure, I guess," Dalaris cleared his throat, "It seems to be a 
description of an ancient rite, or magical spell of some sort. The basic 
purpose seems to be creating a potion that grants to the user near 
superhuman strength and resistance to pain." "Octavian's eyes widened,
	"Sounds like a pretty potent spell." Octavian said, Dalaris nodded,
	"Thing is there seems to be some problems with it,"
	"Like what?"
	"Well.seems to be a warning that once used the spell becomes 
highly addictive, and that soon the user couldn't operate without the 
potion. Second it says it would only work on humans." 
	Octavian frowned, who would kill some old scholar over a spell 
that was only good for humans, and was highly addictive. 
	"Sounds a lot like the blood bond to me, why would a Kindred 
bother to kill for it? Octavian asked. Dalaris smiled at him and pointed 
to a small inscription,
	"Well according to this it's easy to mass produce, and you only 
need to give them a new dose once a week, pretty convenient if you need a 
huge horde of ultra-violent ghouls quick." 
	Octavian thought over the info, Assamites like to hand pick their 
ghouls, the Sabbat likes to transform theirs into monsters. No sane 
Camarilla would want to bother with addicting violent humans to their 
cause. But who would wantThen it hit him.
	"Thanks Dalaris," he said grabbing the paper, "I have to get 
going, see you around" Dalaris watched him rush out. 

	Octavian sped down the street back towards the murder site, he 
picked up his cell phone and quickly dialed a number. On the other end 
Michael picked up.
	"Hello?"
	"Michael, it's me, did you get those results on the poison 
analysis?"
	"Yeah, I sent a copy to Alexander,"
	"Never mind that, just tell me what you found out,"
	"Wellit was kinda technical, but the analyst figured that the 
poison was some kind of concentrated neuro-toxin."
	"A neuro-toxin, does it come from Egypt or that general area?"
	"Not really, I hear tell it's a big thing that snakes and spiders 
generate,"
	"Close enough, get together some of the boys and meet me at Black 
Sun in one hour," Octavian closed the phone and pulled up outside the 
apartment complex. "Snake in the shadows," he whispered to himself as he 
gripped his blade and headed inside. 

	Inside the building Thomas "The Sickener" was rooting through the 
piles of paper on the desk. Thomas wore loose brown robes, and his black 
hair was all shaved save for one clump on the side twisted into a braid. 
His kohl covered blue eyes darted about the papers on the desk as he 
furiously flipped through them.
	"Looking for this?" Thomas spun around to see Octavian standing 
in the doorway to the room holding a folded piece of paper. "And here I 
thought we'd managed to burn the last of you sick snakes out of my town."
	"You should just give me that paper pal," Thomas said crouching 
slightly as his hands slid into the sleeves of his robe. "Otherwise I'm 
gonna hurt ya, I'll hurt ya real bad." 
	Octavian shook his head, "Sorry, but I need to capture you to 
learn where your pals are hiding out." 
	Suddenly Thomas sprang across the room, his flesh seeming to 
change to scales as his mouth opened incredibly wide. Octavian swung out 
his arm, and a tendril of shadow burst from under the desk and grabbed the 
Setite's leg. Thomas slammed to the floor even as Octavian drew his blade, 
Thomas quickly spun around, a dagger whipping into his hand, as he slashed 
the tendril apart. He then rolled backwards, just avoiding Octavian's 
downward swing by scant moments. Thomas came up hurling two knives at 
Octavian's face, Octavian deftly knocked them aside with his sword, only 
to be slammed into as Thomas grabbed him around the waist.
	Thomas' arms seemed to lack bones as they wrapped around Octavian, 
his mouth opened and he lunged for the Lasombra's throat! Abruptly he was 
torn back, as two tendrils snaked from his own shadow and wrapped around 
his face, Octavian grunted as he attempted to force the Setite's arms 
loose. Octavian was more then capable of bending steel, but he had to exert 
some blood to his arms to give him enough strength to tear free. As he 
rolled back Thomas finished ripping apart the shadow tentacles.
	"O.K. bitch," hissed Thomas, "It's payback time!" 
	He snapped his wrist and a small automatic whipped out of his 
sleeve and into his hand, Octavian growled and charged forward, accepting 
three bullets to the chest as he slammed his blade down on the Setite's 
shoulder, to his amazement the arm failed to sever, though it did drop to 
Thomas' side, dead for the moment. The Setite head butted him in the face 
and then kicked him back. Octavian stumbled even as the Setite leapt on 
him, going with the motion Octavian planted his foot on the Setite's 
chest. He dropped to the floor while rolling back and pushing out with 
all his strength, catapulting Thomas over his head and through the window 
behind him. There was a crash and a yell of surprise from Thomas as he 
fell to the pavement below. Octavian scooped up his blade and rushed to 
the window. He watched the Setite leap back to his feet and dash off 
into a nearby alley. Octavian shook his head in disgust, then spun around 
as he heard a soft noise behind him Another Setite was picking up the 
fallen paper from where Octavian had dropped it.
	"Shit, so there were two of you," growled Octavian. 
	The second Setite was darker in features, but wore similar garb 
to the first, and also had a braid of hair hanging down his back. He 
looked up at Octavian as he drew a khopesh out from under his robes.
	"Correct, two, a student, and a master," the Setite answered. 
	Octavian sighed as he called to his blood to summon shadows 
behind the Setite.
	"What are my chances that you're the student?" The Setite smirked 
and then rushed in. Their swords met in a flurry of steel, Octavian 
defensively backing up while the Setite swung at him from every 
direction. Meanwhile the tentacles took form and readied themselves. 
Octavian smiled and switched to a more offensive posture. He used his 
heavier and longer blade in huge sweeping arcs, slowly forcing the Setite 
closer to the tendrils of shadow. Without warning the Setite lashed out 
hard in an overhand chop, Octavian blocked it. However the Setite had 
struck with the outward curve of his blade, and thus he easily allowed 
it to slide off Octavian's sword to pause directly between them. 
Octavian's eyes widened in shock at the careful move but before he could 
down parry the Setite sent his blade plunging into Octavian's side, at 
the same instant a coiled chain lashed from the Setite's other hand and 
wrapped around Octavian's legs. With a jerk the Setite sent him to the 
floor and raised his sword for the death blow. 
	Suddenly three tendrils of living shadow lashed around his arm, 
holding him fast. The Setite glanced up in annoyance, his tongue, forked 
like a snake's, extended over a foot from his mouth, and he used it's 
razor edge to slash apart the ropy darkness. As he turned back towards 
Octavian he watched as the Sheriff's form seemed to darken and flatten 
out, suddenly appearing as little more then another shadow on the floor. 
The Setite's chain fell harmlessly through the shadow as it slipped under 
him and out the door. The Setite cursed, put away his weapons and 
followed his student out the window. 

	Octavian collapsed weakly into his car and started it up, he 
couldn't recall the last time one opponent had come so close to killing 
him. He growled as he started the motor and pulled onto the street. He 
threw his blade onto the passenger seat and reached for the cell phone, 
as he glanced up he caught a reflection in the rear view mirror (one he 
would have missed had his own reflection been there to get in the way), 
that of the first Setite rising up behind him! Octavian lurched to the 
side as a shotgun went off where his head would have been, his Lincoln 
Continental screeched into the opposing lane of traffic as Thomas hurled 
himself forward and latched onto Octavian's head. With a laugh Thomas 
pulled back, listening to the satisfying crack as one of Octavian's bones 
gave way. Octavian flailed his right hand, trying to reach his blade, his 
other hand desperately attempted to drive his car around the oncoming 
traffic.
	"Careful there pal, that truck almost got us, whatsa matter, you 
never driven with a man trying to pull your head off?" laughed the Setite 
as one of his hands gouged at Octavian's eye. 
	Octavian growled and pulled the car up onto a sidewalk, at the 
same moment hitting the brakes as hard as he could while ducking forward. 
With a screech the car slammed to a stop against the side of a building, 
Thomas was flung through the remains of the windshield and slammed 
against the building. Octavian reached back and grabbed the shotgun, as 
Thomas pulled himself off onto the passenger side of the car. Pointing 
the muzzle through the side window Octavian emptied the other barrel 
into the Setite, Thomas was blasted back eight feet to slam against a 
dumpster. Octavian grabbed his sword and kicked the passenger door off 
the car as he climbed out.
	Thomas hissed as he pulled himself slowly to his feet, without 
warning he leapt into the nearby darkened street. Octavian sprang 
forward, but when he looked within the alley he failed to see the Setite. 
Off in the distance he could now hear the vague sounds of sirens. Cursing 
he walked back to his car while sheathing his blade. 

	"So, you want to explain that one again Octavian?" chuckled Mazzo 
as he questioned Octavian on his accident. 
	Octavian sat exhausted on the hood of his car, low on blood, and 
quickly running out of patience.
	"Look detective," he began.
	"No, you look Octavian," interrupted Mazzo, "I might buy the 
whole fell asleep at the wheel story, but that doesn't explain the spent 
shotgun casings, nor the bullet holes in your suit." Octavian sighed and 
looked deep into Mazzo's eyes
	"There were no shotguns, or bullet holes, or bloodstains. This 
was just crazy old Octavian doing something dumb, now go write your damn 
little report like a good boy." Octavian watched as Mazzo wandered off 
and started to collect the other officers on the scene. He glanced up as 
a taxi cab pulled up on the corner.
	"Hey buddy, ya seem to be short on wheels, ya wanna lift?" the 
cabby asked.
	"Fuck off," growled Octavian as he pulled himself to his feet.
	"Sorry, I just heard that you were a kindred soul who needed a 
lift." 
	Octavian looked up at the smug cabby. Did he just? Octavian 
shrugged, why not, it's not like it could make the night any worse.
	"All right, take me to The Black Sun." 
	As the cab got under way Octavian realized that he wasn't the 
only occupant. Sitting across from him was a gaunt figure in smelly rags. 
Octavian glanced up at Weston, second in command of the Detroit 
Nosferatu. Weston grinned at him with a mouthful of needle-like teeth.
	"Hey Octavian, I heard you wanted to speak to us," said Weston, 
Octavian nodded, 
	"Yeah, I don't suppose you have any spare blood on you?"
	Weston grinned and held up one skinny wrist, Octavian shook his 
head sharply.
	"Hell no, I'm not that desperate" 
	"Fine then, I guess this'll have to do." 
	Weston reached into his rags and produced two squirming rats. 
Octavian twisted his face in disgust, but his hunger got the best of him 
and he drained the rodents dry. 
	"Down to business Octavian," hissed Weston, "what do you need to 
know?"
	"First, do you happen to know of any Setites still in town?"
	"One or two," Weston shrugged, "But you can't expect them all to 
be dead."
	"Fine, then here's your payment information, at least two of 
their warrior cast are still active and working in Detroit." Weston 
scowled, realizing that with pre-payment Octavian was automatically 
denying him haggling time, typical Lasombra.
	"Fine, what do you want to learn for that wonderful news?"
	"Tell me all you know about the visitors that arrived today."
	"Oh yes, the visitors. Their names are Haronsvelt, Greg Thames, 
and Chantille. All are Ventrue, Haronsvelt is of the tenth generation, 
Thames and Chantille are his childer. Haronsvelt has traveled in Europe 
for the past two hundred years, this is his first visit to America, or 
Detroit. He embraced Thames around fifty years ago in England, and we 
have proof they have traveled together all that time.
	"And Chantille?" Octavian pressed.
	"Yes, Chantille," Weston ran his hand over his dry bald head, 
"Strangely we are unsure of when or where Haronsvelt embraced her, though 
her name seems to suggest France, but he hasn't been through there since 
1873, shortly after his own embrace. Of course she could easily have 
traveled to England or Germany"
	"Tell me Weston, what other Chantille's do you know of, that 
have been embraced at any time, by any clan?"
	"This is a new question, thus a new price"
	"We'll discuss it all on the way." 

	"Dammit Aleksander, how much longer are we gonna have to wait?" 
growled Derek, a Brujah bruiser that Octavian kept on as a deputy. 
Aleksander just shrugged his shoulders and continued to shuffle his paper 
stacks. Derek watched the response and snorted in annoyance."Fuck man, 
I got better things to be doing then sitting here jerking off." Derek 
spun around towards the exit only to see Octavian enter the office.
	"So tell me Derek," asked Octavian, "exactly what is it you have 
to be doing?"
	"Hey, no worries," stammered the Brujah, "I was just worried 
cause you were so late." 
	Octavian nodded at him and walked over towards a large map of 
the city that sat pinned to the wall. He picked up a nearby red pin and 
poked it into the map at the location of the murder scene. He turned 
around to look at the five deputies who sat waiting around the room.
	"I have found proof that the Setites are still active in our 
city, and have reason to believe they may be trying to build some sort 
of human shock troop." He scowled at the few chuckles around the room, 
"Silence!" The deputies immediately fell silent. "Now I want you to 
spread out around this area, keep your eyes and ears open. Try to locate 
where the Setites have set up shop. When you locate it get back and 
phone me with the location. Any questions?" Silence. "In that case get 
going." 
	The men quickly grabbed their gear and departed the back office. 
Octavian looked over at Aleksander, "Do we have any reports as to where 
Eric and Chantille are?" 

	Anne Arbor, Black Hand warrior and commander, crouched on the 
roof of a warehouse peering down through the skylight. Her full black 
leather body suit, and armored black coat served to easily conceal her 
on the dark rooftop. She had been on a scouting run through Detroit when 
she had happened to spot a battle of two kindred in a car. One had been 
the sheriff, the other a Setite. When he had fled into the alley Anne 
had found it easy to track his clumsy movements of stealth and evasion. 
She had figured that whatever would make a Setite assault the sheriff 
would be important. She reached up and pushed some of her long black hair 
back out of her face as she continued to watch, inside the Setites had 
erected a mesh wire holding cell, it currently contained at least twenty 
frightened humans. Near the cage door sat a chair where another human 
was strapped into it. Standing over him was a tall woman dressed in a 
black slacks, red vest combo. The woman's long brown hair had been 
pulled back and braided down her back. She was currently holding a vial 
and eyedropper, she would carefully take a few drops from the vial and 
drip them into the human's mouth.
	After a while the human would stop struggling, the woman would 
say some things to him and then he would be released from the chair and 
escorted by two brown robed men over to the far end of the warehouse. 
Then the process would repeat itself. Anne was curious what exactly the 
Setites were doing, it didn't make sense to have a mind control drug, 
after all any Cainite would be able to overwhelm a mere human with a 
taste of his blood, or a brief application of his mental prowess. Anne 
shifted slightly to get a better view of the after dropper humans. They 
stood around, seeming highly agitated, and were being armed with stakes 
and sharpened pipes. Anne leaned back from the skylight. She tapped one 
of her leather clad fingers slowly against her pouting lips, curiouser 
and curiouser. She paused when she heard some footsteps echoing faintly 
from a nearby alley. Shifting her weight slowly Anne moved to see down 
off the edge of the building. Approaching the warehouse came a large 
black man in jeans and a leather jacket, she recognized him as one of 
the sheriff's men. Anne smiled softly to herself as she leaned down to 
pick up some gravel from the roof. 

	Derek walked slowly through the back alleys. Nothing so far, he 
shook his head, hell nothing at all out here. As he turned to depart 
there was a soft ping behind him. He spun in a blur his hand whipping out 
the magnum concealed in his jacket. Nothing. He glanced suspiciously at 
the warehouse the sound had seemed to emanate from. Derek slowly walked 
towards it and glanced up at the window that was thirteen feet off the 
ground. Derek glanced behind himself at the dumpster that was at the far 
end of the alley. 

	Anne shook her head in shock at the horrendous amount of noise 
generated by the Brujah draging the dumpster across the alley towards the 
window. She heard a soft click behind her and quickly ducked down behind 
an A/C unit that hummed softly in the night. She pulled out a small 
mirror and used it to glance around the edge of the unit. A brown robed 
Setite with his eyes darkened by black make-up was slowly coming onto the 
roof through the door that lead down into the interior of the warehouse. 
He glanced about to ascertain the source of the racket, and then quickly 
made his way to the edge of the roof. He passed by Anne's hiding spot 
without seeing her, for she had drawn the shadows in amongst her and was 
nigh unto invisible.
	The Setite glanced over the edge at the Brujah who was now 
positioning the dumpster directly under the window. He snarled and 
began to head back to warn the others. Anne stepped out in front of him, 
	"Sorry, but I think I want him to discover what you snakes are 
up to," she said softly. 
The Setite's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at the slight figure in 
black before him.
"Ya shoulda stuck to the shadows girlie, cause now I'm going to open a 
can on your sorry ass," 
So saying he whipped out two butterfly knives and swished them in 
whirling arcs, that ended with them snapping into place, blades ready. 
Anne smiled at him and dropped into a slightly crouched position, 
keeping her weight on the balls of her feet. The Setite sprang forward, 
the knives whizzing through the air, Anne stepped in towards him, 
bringing herself inside the sweep of the knives. Her arms snapped out in 
knife-edge blocks that halted the inrush of the blades. She promptly 
butted heads with the Setite, staggering him back slightly, as he fell 
back she allowed her hands to run along his arms, when she reached his 
wrists she tightened her hold, stopping his movement back. The Setite 
raised his head, just in time to receive a brutal kick to the face. Anne 
continued to hold his wrists while repeatedly snapping out her steel-toed 
boots into his head. 
	The Setite grunted in annoyance, and with a hiss seemed to slip 
from her fingers. He slid down and rolled between her legs, slashing each 
as he did so, then sprang up behind her. He spun in a tight arc and 
lashed out for her back. Anne however had quickly dropped to the ground, 
and now lashed out with a sweep of her leg that sent the Setite crashing 
down as well. 

	Meanwhile, Derek had seen all he needed to of the warehouse, he 
was dashing back to his Harley while frantically dialing his cell phone. 

	Anne allowed the blood in her legs to quickly patch up the 
slashes as she rose to her feet. The Setite had quickly leapt to his as 
well, and again charged in with a blur of robes and knives. Anne twisted 
her wrists to a certain angle and two short steel rods slid out of her 
gloves and into her hands. She dashed in towards the Setite, and met his 
charge head on. Her first swings knocked back his knives, allowing her 
to pivot on her left leg and hit him with a spin kick with the right. 
He staggered but quickly attacked back. Anne blocked his left blade, but 
his right was obscured by his wildly swinging robe. Suddenly the robe 
lashed inward as the knife cut through it to jam into her left shoulder, 
the force of the blow drove Anne to one knee. The Setite immediately 
swept his left blade up to catch her under the chin, the slash whipped 
her head to one side while brutally tearing open the soft white flesh of 
her throat. Anne was knocked onto her back as the Setite stood over her 
in triumph.
	As he leaned in to finish the job she pressed two studs on her 
rods as she drove them upwards. The spring loaded spikes drove deeply 
into his chest, and the Setite howled as he felt the wounds seem to burn 
and inflict more damage upon him. He staggered back clutching the wounds 
as Anne poured healing vitae towards her neck wound. She rolled onto her 
feet again, only to be slammed into as the Setite leaped on to her. As 
she reached behind to try to get a grip on him she felt his fangs sink 
into her shoulder. The Setite grinned as he felt the young woman whimper 
in fear, Anne could feel the calming and pleasurable feelings flowing 
out from the bite, attempting to make her cease struggling. Already her 
arms were drooping, one falling to her side while the other rested on 
the Setites head, pushing and urging him to drink deeper of her life. 
The Setite chuckled as he felt her slip against him, pressing her body 
to his, she was defeated!
	However as he drank he started to notice an odd flavor to the 
blood, suddenly his insides exploded in pain and agony! With a howl he 
shoved her off him as he staggered back, clutching at his burning 
abdomen. He collapsed to his knees and began coughing up thick acidic 
blood from his bowels, he gagged as the blood melted his tongue, and 
burnt at his teeth. Anne weakly pushed herself up, she glanced at the 
gasping Setite and thanked all the gods she knew that she always kept 
some spare blood in its acidic form inside her. She retracted her 
steel rods and pulled out a gleaming saber from inside her coat. She 
stood slowly and approached the downed Setite, however even as she 
raised the blade the roof door was opened by another robed Setite. 
Anne cursed as the other one pulled out a gleaming khopesh. She turned 
and quickly dashed towards the edge of the roof, without a moments 
pause she flung herself off and into the alley below.
	Abram dashed towards the roof edge and warily glanced over it. 
He saw no signs of the dark clothed woman. He turned towards the other 
figure, who still sat on his knees gagging out blood. 
	"Thomas, how foolish is he that sucks the blood of a cobra, 
only to choose to swallow it?" 
	The second Setite looked up darkly from where he lay, a 
churning pain still evident from inside him, "please spare me the 
fucking parables," he hissed at Abram. 
	The older Setite shook his head at the impudence of youth, 
as he grabbed Thomas and carried him down into the warehouse. As the 
door closed there was a grunt as Anne pulled herself back over the edge, 
she slipped her climbing claws back into her robe and turned towards the 
roof door.
	"Don't think this is over yet boys, I tend to feel that we have 
unfinished business." 

	Octavian nodded his head, "good job Derek, just stay put and 
we'll be there in a few minutes." He slammed down the receiver, "Call 
the boys and send them over to the warehouses near Allied Chemicals," 
he ordered Aleksander, Octavian then grabbed up his coat and sword and 
dashed out the back door. A moment later he shoved his head back inside, 
"by the way, can I borrow your car?" 

	Derek and Michael were waiting when Octavian pulled up in 
Aleksander's Mercedes. "What's the word," demanded Octavian as he hopped 
out.
	"A whole passel of humans up on the drug, as well as at least 
three Setites," Michael replied. "Though when I last peeked in on them 
it appeared as though one of the warriors had gotten busted up pretty 
good."
	"The punk white one or the Egyptian one?" Octavian asked.
	"Punk white,"
	"Damn, In any case we better get ready, we're gonna go in and 
clean sweep the building. Keep an eye out for the pieces of paper that 
contain the notes on how to make that crap they're shoving down those 
human's throats." The two deputies nodded and began to gird themselves 
for battle, as the other three deputies arrived they were given the same 
instructions. "All right," said Octavian, "let's go bag us some snakes!" 

	Abram handed the next drugged human a pair of stakes and corralled 
him in towards the others. He glanced up at Sadistica, the commander for 
this operation, as she tauntingly picked out the next kine to receive the 
drug. "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe," she said while lazily waving her hand 
back and forth before the cage. Abram shook his head at her pointless 
wasting of time. Thomas stood near the cage waiting to grab the next 
human, normally he would also have called for haste, however he was still 
weak and tired from his rooftop battle. "I pick you," hissed Sadistica 
pointing towards a young teenage male. He whimpered in fear as Thomas 
ordered him to the gate.
	"Listen fuck-head, you really don't want to make me come in after 
you," growled Thomas as he opened the gate slowly. 
	Then with a great crash the doors to the warehouse were kicked in, 
bursting in one side came four large brutes armed with shotguns. The other 
door was kicked in by Octavian, who was followed by a young man dressed in 
black and holding two automatics.
	"Freeze and we might let you live," demanded Octavian in a tone of 
deep authority. 
	Abram easily shook off the subtle mental enforcement of the 
command, Sadistica smirked as she did the same.
	"My, my," she hissed, "this looks like a perfect chance to test 
our new toys." She turned to the pack of armed humans while pointing at 
both groups of Camarilla, "kill them!" 
	The drug crazed humans roared as they charged out en masse towards 
the surprised kindred. Michael shrugged and began rattling off bullets 
into the eight humans charging him and Octavian. To his surprise only one 
of them dropped despite the fact he hadn't missed one shot.
	"It appears this just became more troublesome," said Octavian as 
he whipped out his blade, Michael nodded as he dropped his first two 
pistols and snatched out two more. 
	Octavian easily ducked the first wild swing, and stabbed the 
attacker through a lung. The human howled and swung again, Octavian 
back-stepped only to be hit from behind by a second attacker. Octavian was 
thrown to the ground by the massive force behind the swing, soon dozens of 
blows began raining down on him. Michael yelled in concern and emptied his 
pistols into the kine around his sire, he then jumped forward planning to 
drag them off. As he did so a blade slashed across the back of his legs, 
Michael dropped to the ground, as the blade sank into his back. 
	"I say we let the kids have their fun!" laughed Thomas as he 
raised his knife for another stab into Michael. 

	Derek blasted his shotgun into the face of another human, the man 
was thrown back headless but another kine grabbed the gun and wrestled it 
from Derek's grasp. He glanced over towards the other deputies hoping for 
some help, but saw they were all still busy fighting for their own lives. 
He hissed in pain as a sharpened pipe impaled him in the shoulder, Derek 
kicked with all his strength into the pipe holder and heard the satisfying 
crack of his ribcage. Derek then grabbed the pipe and ripped it out of 
him, gripping it tightly he swung it backhand into the punk who had taken 
his shotgun, the metal pipe cracked open the human's skull and sent him 
slamming into a wall. Derek threw the pole at his attackers and grabbed 
his "special" shovel off the strap it hung from on his back. He had cut 
up one of its sides and sharpened it in order to create a make-shift 
battle axe, he had also cut the handle in half for ease of handling in 
closed quarters combat. He now held it in his good arm, and swung it in 
mighty arcs. It severed limbs, and tore into bone. Whenever it became 
stuck Derek would just wrench it with his superhuman strength, and rip 
apart the bones it had wedged into.
	Finally it seemed the drugged kine were all dead, Derek looked up 
as the dark-skinned Setite in a brown robe charged the deputies. The 
Setite whipped out his blade and quickly decapitated the deputy who rose 
to face him. Derek roared in anger and charged in towards the battle. The 
Setite easily ducked Derek's wild blow, and sliced open his exposed gut 
in reply. Derek grunted and doubled over, however Brandon, another deputy, 
had drawn his own sword and attacked, preventing the Setite from finishing 
Derek. Derek quickly began to heal the wound and stand back up. The Setite 
was far superior in blades then Brandon, however Brandon was burning up 
blood quickly to heighten his reflexes and enhance his speed. In his 
whirling blur he almost got through the Setite's defenses. Seeing his 
chance Brandon became a frenzied whirlwind of blows that drove the Setite 
down to one knee, as Brandon's heavy broadsword slammed again and again 
into his curved khopesh. But the Setite suddenly lashed out his tongue 
into Brandon's unprotected leg. The stunned warrior screamed and grabbed 
the brutal wound. The Setite promptly grabbed a stake from the ground and 
slammed it up into Brandons chest, he suddenly froze in mid scream and 
dropped to the ground. 

	Octavian tried to stand, but was smashed down again by the 
repeated beating from the pipes and bats. He couldn't even concentrate 
enough to summon the shadows, and he began to feel bones giving way 
beneath the assault. Suddenly a black cloaked figure dropped down amongst 
the humans, in a wild blur it lashed out with two steel rods held in its 
hands. The figure didn't bother trying to kill the humans, instead it 
shattered knees, and dislocated elbows. In effect removing them from the 
fight without the terrible injury it would normally take to make them 
stop. Thomas hissed in annoyance and quickly turned to run from the 
return of his rooftop foe.
	"Where you going so fast?" Called Anne as she ran after him. 
Octavian slowly rolled over and tried to sit up. As he did so he was 
suddenly kicked down by Sadistica, she smiled as she raised a sharpened 
spear over him. Octavian grimaced and closed his eyes. Sadistica grinned 
at his surrender to fate, but suddenly paused in her downward thrust. She 
gagged, and staggered back as someone choked her from behind. She thrust 
backwards with her spear but could find no target to connect with. 
Twisting in desperation she looked over her shoulder, and paused in horror. 
Her own shadow seemed to have been drawn up off the ground, and now it's 
spidery black fingers were latched around her throat! Octavian stood up 
in front of her grinning, he jammed his blade into her belly, twisting 
to impale her to the hilt. He then kicked her off of it and stooped down 
to check her pockets. Sure enough the papers where located there, 
Octavian quickly jammed them into his coat. 

	Derek swung down with his shovel, but the Setite easily 
sidestepped the blow and slashed Derek's side. Derek spun around and 
brought the shovel within inches of his opponent's face, only to be 
rewarded by another brutal thrust of the blade. Derek collapsed, his 
body exhausted, his blood dribbling out of multiple wounds. He glanced 
up, expecting the death blow, instead the Setite quickly saluted him and 
turned to dash away. Derek made a noise of surprise and collapsed 
face-first into a pool of his own blood. 

	Abram charged quickly towards Octavian, the sheriff saw him 
approach and stood, quickly bringing his sword to bear. Abram slid to 
a stop and raised his own blade, he swung it slowly, and then left a 
perfect opening for Octavian. Suspecting it was a trap, but refusing to 
pass up the opportunity, Octavian thrust his blade in. Abram quickly 
slapped it with the flat of his blade, and then hooked the khopesh's 
point so that it rested on the opposite side of Octavian's broadsword. 
With Abram having trapped their swords together the two slowly circled 
around, waiting for the other's move. Octavian started to pull suddenly 
on his blade, and was shocked when Abram suddenly pushed in fully with 
his. Caught off-balance, Octavian staggered back and dropped to the 
floor, he quickly rolled backwards and came up facingnothing. Abram 
had grabbed Sadistica and was bounding up the stairs with her limp body. 
Octavian grabbed Abram's discarded khopesh and dashed out after them, 
bellowing to the just recovering Michael to start sweeping the human's 
minds. 

	Thomas quickly leaped off the warehouse and onto another 
building, he dashed a few steps and then glanced behind him, Anne was 
there and closing fast. He growled and turned to meet her, "careful 
girl, I might just forget I'm a gentleman," he hissed as she stopped 
twenty paces from him.
	"I'm counting on it," she said smiling as she drew forth her 
saber, now shining with a thin coat of blood. 
	Thomas' eyes widened in fear at the implication, he couldn't 
survive much more of her acid blood, and he knew it, he slowly dragged 
his hands up into his robe.
	"Let's get started, cause I'm looking forward to draining away 
the rest of your hot warm blood," he chuckled as he wantonly licked his 
lips. 
	He watched her shining green eyes narrow in rage. That's right, 
he thought, get angry, get stupid. Anne started to charge straight at 
him, Thomas smiled. He whipped out his arms and released a half dozen 
poisoned darts. She suddenly blurred forward, leaping up she propelled 
herself off a nearby vent pipe. Anne spun in mid air and lashed downward 
with her blade, slicing deep into Thomas' neck. He grunted and fell to 
his knees as she landed behind him, she quickly spun around and slashed 
deep across his back. Thomas pitched forward, he felt his control of his 
muscles slipping away, leaving him weak and helpless. Anne sheathed her 
blade,
	"Now let's you and I talk a little," she said as she slammed her 
foot down on the neck wound she had inflicted. 
	Thomas whimpered and tried to raise his arms to ward her off. 
	"It's not very nice to start sucking a girl's blood," she 
growled, accenting each word with a brutal kick to the whining Setite. 
"As a matter of fact, I really, really, hate it when someone does it to 
me," more kicks, "do you understand? Do you! Do you! Do you!" 
	Suddenly Anne was slammed back by a dark figure that leaped into 
her, she staggered and fell off the edge of the roof. Abram quickly 
grabbed his beaten childe and swung him over his other shoulder, he then 
set off across the rooftops at a breakneck pace. Octavian and Anne saw 
his flight, both realized single pursuit would be unwise.
	"Damn," they both said, neither noticing the other. 

	"So come on Octavian, I'm sure there's a great reason why 
you're here with some biker nutball," here Mazzo pointed at Derek, 
"whose lugging around a ghetto axe and covered in blood!" The detective 
glared at each of the men in Octavian's group. Brandon shook his head as 
he sat healing the hole in his chest,
	"You wanna do him chief or should I?"
	"Do me? I'm glad you guys are into that sorta thing, cause where 
you're going I hear it's real popular," Mazzo growled.
	"I got it," said Octavian, "the rest of you worry about the guys 
investigating the battle site." He turned towards Mazzo and locked gazes 
with him, "Now listen to me very carefully Mazzo." 

	Octavian walked back to where he had parked while he spoke with 
Aleksander on the phone, "so you hear that Eric is sitting around down 
at The Crypt? Great, I'm heading over there to have a little talk with 
someone. What? Oh yeah we dealt with the snakes, and their shadows. 
What? Oh, nothing just a little warning, I'll tell you about it when I 
get back" 
	He hung up the phone as he pulled out the list Weston had made. 
It appeared that "Chantille" was more then likely really Fransisca, a 
9th generation Toreador who had been feuding with Haronsvelt for the 
past hundred years. She was known for her bizarre manipulations, and 
described as young and breathtaking. But she had disappeared from 
England eight months ago, the exact same time Chantille appeared. Also 
her lower generation would explain why she was so good at manipulating 
others, like Eric. Octavian looked up as he approached Aleksander's 
Mercedes, yet, as an expensive car left in a bad part of town, it had 
been broken into, smashed with bats, and had graffiti painted on it. 
Octavian noticed that one of the tires had even been stolen. 
	"Great," he muttered. 

	Octavian hopped out of the taxi and paid the driver the 
ridiculous sum he claimed was the fare. Octavian then turned to regard 
The Crypt, located in the sub-level of a local office building the club 
was quickly becoming a favored hangout of local licks. Octavian walked 
past the line and nodded at the bouncer, the bruiser made as if to halt 
him but was stopped by the doorman who recognized Octavian for what he 
was. Inside Octavian passed through hanging black lace and into what 
appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a graveyard. The walls 
were painted black with spots of fluorescent paint to mimic the 
appearance of stars. Mist generators left the floor invisible and the 
staff all wore make-up, in order to appear like the dead. Octavian 
scanned the large dark room, he spotted what appeared to be Eric sitting 
in one of the corner booths.
	"Eric, how's it going," asked Octavian as he approached the 
seneschal.
	"She left me, can you believe that?"
	"Who left you?" Octavian asked.
	"Chantille," replied Eric, "she said I was boring her and 
shouldn't come back for a while!" Octavian could see that the seneschal 
was practically shaking, "then she went and decided to hang out with 
some of those Toreador fops!" Eric waved his hand towards the private 
area in the back of the club.
	"Maybe you should head home Eric," said Octavian, "I think 
you've had too much excitement tonight." 
	Eric nodded and stood up slowly, he turned to look at Octavian, 
"I would have died again for her," he confided. 
	Octavian nodded as Eric slowly stumbled out of the club. 
Octavian turned and headed for the back room, opening a door that seemed 
to be an entrance to a mausoleum he walked into the "private" party. 
More specifically, a kindred only party. Decorated much like the front 
of the club, the only difference being the drinks that were served, 
Octavian slowly wound his way towards a small cluster of Toreador and 
Brujah. A loud song about cutting off arms and legs, and love played as 
Octavian approached the group. Sitting in the middle of the cluster was 
Raymond, owner of this and many other clubs in Detroit. His perfect smile 
flashed as he talked to his listeners about some of his latest 
politicking in Detroit. Octavian thought it odd that Raymond would so 
openly discuss his business. Off to the side of the group, yet still 
seeming to be at its center, sat Chantille. Her lacy dress was gone, 
now she wore a dirty baseball cap, torn jeans, and a Steelers jersey. 
But for some reason she seemed just as beautiful and charismatic, 
perhaps more so since now she had opted to step off her pedestal and 
become reachable by us mere mortals.
	Octavian shook his head to clear his thoughts, shocked that 
despite the fact he expected something he had still fallen under her 
spell. 
	He cleared his throat, "pardon me for interrupting gentlemen, 
but I'm afraid that I have to speak with Ms. Chantille privately for a 
moment."
	He gripped her by the arm and quickly lead her away, she didn't 
even resist. He noticed that as soon as she left the strange gathering 
it seemed to lose focus and also quickly dispersed, though many of the 
members kept one eye on Chantille, waiting for Octavian to leave her a
gain. He dragged the small teenage girl towards a quiet corner and shoved 
her into a seat at a small table. 
	"Okay it's time for some answers, and I want them now!"
	"Whatever do you mean sir?" She asked quietly and innocently. 
	Octavian almost forgot what he was there for, he suddenly felt 
the urge to sit with her and simply be near her. He shook his head.
	"I mean, you're not the childe of Haronsvelt, as a matter of 
fact I suspect you brainwashed him into thinking he was your sire." She 
seemed shocked at the notion. "Though I'm still not sure exactly who you 
are, I want to know why the hell you're trying to sneak into my city as 
an 11th generation neonate, when I know you have to be a lower 
generation, and probably older then that." 
	Octavian finished, feeling exhausted after getting the 
information out. He looked up at Chantille, expecting to see her worried 
by his sudden knowledge of her true nature. Instead she was smiling 
softly at him. He leaned back in shock as she slowly bent in over the 
table towards him.
	"My, my, you are as good as your reputation states. Dear, dear 
Octavian," she leaned in closer, her eyes seeming to engulf his own, 
"The truth is that I am so much more then what even you suspect, of 
course you probably were well on your way to guessing that." 
	Octavian felt like he was nothing more then a small speck of 
dust floating in the bottomless depths of those crystal blue eyes. 
	"And the truth of the matter is, I am hardly concerned about 
whether or not you know all about me." 
	She smiled fully, and his existence became only her shining 
face, like an angel descended from heaven only now opting to speak with 
him.
	"Let's play a little game you and I. I'll allow you to know what 
I am up to, try to tell anyone else and I will know, and quickly remove 
the knowledge from their minds."
	Octavian reeled, could she be that powerful? To use those powers 
like he did on humans would mean.
	"In return I shall have the pleasure of watching you try to stop 
me." She laughed, and it was like the bells of heaven ringing, "Now, GO."
	Octavian leapt out of his chair, slamming it back, and smashing 
himself into the back wall. He ricocheted off of it and staggered through 
the club, slamming into tables, and dashing up the stairs towards the 
human section. He ran out into the street and slammed into a passing car. 
He rolled on the ground and came up quickly diving into an alley and 
collapsing in shock. He gasped in great lungfulls of air, despite the 
fact he didn't need to breathe. She had done it! She had overwhelmed his 
iron clad mind as easily as he directed Mazzo's! Octavian shivered in 
fear of the possible power coursing through the innocently laughing angel 
who now dwelt in his city. A snake in the shadows.