Chapter 11

Tyler

The junkie was definitely sketching out. Tyler had seen this kind of scene before; most of his mortal family died of overdose before he got to college on his football scholarship. Based on the body language Fenris was giving off, he could guess she knew this kind of situation all too well, too. This guy was beyond dope sick; it was actually a little surprising he was even remotely coherent. Whoever he was, he'd been courting Madame H for some time. The Setites had messed this poor fool up badly.

"Are you guys going to see the doctor?" he managed to stammer out once he reached them about a block away from the den. Fenris pointed him out as he exited the den, apparently agitated. "You're on way to see Doctor Barrett, right?"

"Yeah, we are," Tyler confirmed. "Is he in?"

"Yeah, he's in," the junkie told them. "But he's being a dick! I've been nothing but a loyal patient since he showed up, and I forget to make an appointment once the whole time and he won't see me! Can you believe that bullshit?"

"What do you mean?" Fenris asked.

The junkie looked at her as if she was out of the loop, and then must have decided she must be new. "To get your prescription, you have to make an appointment. Usually he lets it go, but not tonight. Tonight he's not seeing anybody without an appointment. No exceptions."

"We know that," Tyler bluffed. "What she meant was why the lockdown?"

The junkie shrugged. "Because he's being a dick!" he shouted towards the den.

"I hear you," Fenris said, almost sympathetic. "It doesn't matter much anyway. We have our appointments. Don't we, Tye?"

"You do?" the junkie inquired.

Tyler nodded.

"Do you have your appointment slip? That fucktard at the front desk-cage thing isn't letting anybody by without one."

"Yeah," Tyler said, patting his breast where an inside jacket pocket would be. "We got our slips." Looking at this guy brought back memories he thought were dead and buried forever; it was like watching his baby brother wither away in front of him all over again. Tyler caught a glimpse of Fenris; the Gangrel was actually trembling with some kind of deep-seeded rage. Chances were good the junkie would see her and assume she was just jonesing. Tyler new better; seeing her trembling like that made him nervous. She was getting a little too close to Frenzy for his liking. What disturbed even more was that he could relate; he was getting close, too.

"Hey, do you think you can help me out?" the junkie asked hopefully. "Do you think you could score me? I'll get you back, just ask around and you'll see I'm good for it."

"We'll see." Fenris replied, her voice full of ice. "Come on, Tye; we gotta go now."

They moved past the junkie and down the block towards the den. Tyler knew the place well; this was the place where he took that maniac Plague Bearer Bishop Vick down. Since he already knew the lay of the place, it was probably best if he too point on this operation. The Gangrel didn't seem to show any disagreement. Still, he had to be sure.

"I'll take point." He said, hoping it didn't sound like an order.

"Fine," Fenris said dryly.

Tyler nodded. "You know, you might want to check that beast at the door." He said just as they were about to enter.

Fenris chuckled. "So says the kettle to the pot..."

It was Tyler's turn to be cold. "Fair enough," he said. "Are you ready?"

Fenris nodded. They went in. Inside, they quickly found the desk inside the cage where a ghoul sat waiting. Fastened to the cage just above a cash slot was a sign that read "BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. NO EXCEPTIONS!"

Tyler got to the desk first, Fenris behind and slightly to the right. "Hi," he said to the ghoul. "We're here for our appointment with Doctor Barrett." He was planning on striking a rapport with the ghoul and then giving him a whammy of presence to smooth their way in.

"Is that so?" the ghoul responded, obviously not impressed with the jock and his hipster girlfriend he saw. "Good for you. All we need now is your appointment slip and we can hook you up."

"I have them," Fenris interjected weaving in front of Tyler as she cocked the custom shotgun. She wedged the muzzle into the money slot. "Right here." She said just before pulling the trigger.

Fenris

"Son of a BITCH!" Tyler shouted, whirling around towards the main waiting room to lay cover for them with a burst from his Uzi. He took down three Setites before they could so much as draw their weapons, leaving them as piles of ashes.

Fenris got a grim pleasure out of blowing the ghoul at the front desk away. He reminded her of a John that used her badly in her former life; the life she ran away from before coming to Los Angeles from Chicago. The life she tried to escape before meeting with her sire. The life she abandoned only to die and rise again as a shell of her former self. Within her first few nights, before Lacroix had her sire killed in that mass bloodbath at the Nocturne, Jack told her that blood was her new heroin. He was right. Fenris briefly wondered if Jack knew just how accurate that analogy was in her case; probably, she figured. She probably wasn't all that hard to read.

Two more rather beefy looking Serpents came charging down a nearby staircase, weapons already drawn; one was armed with a pistol, the other a Machete. Fenris called on a swarm of rats she heard scurrying in the walls to attack Pistol, cocked the shotgun and opened fire on Machete. Rats were more a Nosferatu thing, but Fenris learned very early on that you have to work with whatever is available. She guessed the rats were kept as emergency sustenance; now they would get a little bit of payback on these filthy snakes. They swarmed Pistol; not causing much damage but providing a very annoying distraction. Machete jumped to one side, causing her shot blow an almost artful spray pattern of shot into the wall. X might have appreciated it; at the moment Fenris did not.

Forsaking the Uzi, Tyler burst into motion as a blur – it had to be Celerity – and was all over Machete in a blink of an eye. Before Fenris could fully grasp what was happening, Tyler had wrenched the blade from Machete's grasp and sliced into him with three strokes, reducing him to ash. Judging from the fact that the blade was broken when Tyler stopped moving, Fenris guesses that Tyler was probably using Potence as well. By this time, Pistol had shaken the rats off and changed into a form that resembled a perverse hybrid of man and snake. It reared its head back and lashed out with its tongue; snapping it square between Tyler's shoulder blades. Tyler yelped in pain, and the snake-man coiled up and then pounced towards the Brujah. Charging in, Fenris changed her form into a wolf and intercepted the pounce in mid air; crashing into the snake man and pinning it to the floor as she lunged forward in effort to clamp her jaws around what should be its throat. It was quick enough to raise its left arm in her path, causing her to clamp down on its wrist instead; it hissed in agony just the same when she jerked her head back and forth, ripping its hand off. Tossing the hand aside like a piece of unwanted spoiled meat, she lunged again for the throat; this time she didn't miss. In fairly short order, the snake man was ash.

There was a sharp pain in her upper rear right leg; something had bitten her. Yelping, Fenris kicked whatever it was off and saw a large snake slither into a group – at least a dozen – or snakes all similar in size. She reverted back to her original form, and both she and Tyler quickly saw they were surrounded by dozens of the damned things. Tyler handed her a signal flare, and held one himself.

"Are you ready to run?" He asked.

Fenris nodded. She wasn't one who talked much in a fight.

He lit his and tossed it up the stairs. Something that sounded like a window smashing could be heard upstairs as she lit hers and lobbed it into the pile of snakes where the one that bit her slithered into. Tyler had already lit and tossed another one into the room and was in the process of lighting another while making a break for the nearest boarded up window. It was off to the side of the building.

The place was going up. Fenris wasted no time. She activated the full extent of her Fortitude and followed Tyler, only slightly disappointed that they didn't get to meet the 'doctor'. Once outside, Fenris kept running down the side alley away from the building. She hated fire. Tyler was close behind, but obviously stuck back a second or two to toss a couple more lit flares in through the window; just to make sure the place would burn to the ground. The route they were taking would get the Confession, Fenris noted. For a second, she could smell the unmistakable bleach bath stink of Ajax even through the rank odor or char, sickness, death, and shit from the building. Ajax's scent quickly faded, so either it was a lingering hint of his recent presence or he ducked away before anybody would spot him.

As a general rule, Fenris disliked the Clubs, but Confession was usually less offensive than the Last Round or Asylum – which had a distinct stench of lunacy to it – and was often even better than the Pit, so she didn't mind the idea of grabbing a quick bite there. Of the clubs and bars, Vesuvius was the most tolerable. Other than the inevitable smell of coital energy, VV kept the place very clean. Fenris imagined the sex smell was trapped in the place; given it was a strip club. Given that Confession was co-owned by a clean freak in Tyler and another clean freak in Venus, it came as no surprise that it would be among the more tolerable locations. On the way, Tyler mentioned that tonight was scheduled to be a hip-hop night.

"Cool," Fenris said dryly; though she was genuinely glad to hear it. It would be a good change from the seemingly endless stream of gothic, punk, industrial, or trance that just about everywhere else seemed to play. The route Tyler was taking wasn't quite direct; but it made sense to put some distance between them and the fire, so Fenris followed without argument.

They finally stepped out of the alleys and circled around the renovated church. They were just about to step through the gate into the front court in front of the high-arched doors when a dark haired lady with almost hypnotic green eyes that seemed to nearly glow in the dark caught up to them. Fenris immediately noticed something was wrong with her; she seemed to be utterly inhuman, yet in perfect control of herself. What was also odd about her was the complete lack of scent. It was like she wasn't even there. Her grin was both inviting and intimidating as she glided towards them.

"Well," she said. "When I see a pair of youngsters go and burn a snake pit like that down like it's nothing, I just have to know who they are." Her voice was the stuff one only hears in their most erotic dreams; whoever this dark lady was, she could give VV a few pointers. If it wasn't for the bizarre and complete lack of odor, Fenris might well have found her enraptured by this beauty.

Tyler was buying it; completely. "Oh yeah?" he replied, smiling broadly. "Well, in that case, welcome Confession, my club. I'm Tyler, this is Fenris." He stuck out his hand, offering it to the dark visitor.

"Kaila," she said, taking his hand. "So this is your club? Well done, Tyler; I take it then that you're the man in charge around these parts?"

Fenris guffawed. "That'll be the night," she said. "Actually, nobody is really 'in charge' around here."

Kaila turned her gaze to Fenris. "Oh," she cooed. "So this is an Anarch state. That's even better."

Clearing his throat, Tyler interjected. "Yeah, it's pretty cool; I think it might be best if we took this little chat inside." He took Kaila by the hand and led her towards the door.

"Yeah, Tyler," Fenris called from behind. "I'll just grab a quick drink and get back to the Last Round. One of us should make sure Damsel and the others are kept in the loop."

Tyler waved her off, leading his new friend to a table. Wading into the sea of Hip-Hoppers on the dance floor, Fenris pondered on just how Damsel would react to Kaila; and how much she should tell her.

Marko

Sheeeeee's heeere!

A little girl, perhaps five years old, was in the Network now; or at least someone who sounded like a five year old girl. It took everything Mark Oxford had to not audibly ask who was here.

Troubletroubletroubletrouble...

That was someone he knew all too well. Marko called him the worry wart. The worry was always anxious; everything was trouble to him. The aggravating thing was he was usually right. All the same, that was something Marko would have to think about later.

Troubletroubletroubletrouble...

Right now, the Wizard Chantry was locked as tight as a can of Fancy Feast; whatever the Wizard King had to tell his Tabby-cat was for her ears only. Over the years, lots of the Dark Father's children warned him that the Tremere liked their secrets; even the Nosferatu had a hell of a time prying anything important loose from them. Marko and all his voices could agree that this made for good reason to be suspicious of the Warlocks; whom many older vampires called Usurpers. He contemplated trying to break in to sneak a little listen in, but thought better of it; crazy didn't mean stupid, and insane didn't always mean suicidal.

Troubletroubletroubletrouble...

That was when he noticed a fire breaking out a few blocks away; and fire engines blaring away as they raced to the scene. Like any other Kindred, Marko associated fire with trouble, so maybe that was what the worry wart was screaming about. Thinking about trouble often made him think about Janette, so he decided the best thing to do was check to see if she was safe.

He took his phone and dialed Janette; if her phone was on, she would answer. It went to voice mail. Marko hung up. Janette must have turned off the phone and given it back to Therese. He dialed Therese. If they were safe, Therese's phone would be on, and she would answer.
The phone rang once.
The phone rang twice.
The phone rang three times.

"This is Therese Vooreman." She answered just as Marko was starting to get a little worried. "To whom am I speaking?" Always so proper in her etiquette she was; even with the invention of call display.

"My voices and I bid you a good evening, dark daughter!" Marko replied. He added, just to play along with Therese's delusion: "I trust the white princess made it home safe?"

"Good evening, Marko." Therese returned his greeting. "Yes, Janette is quite safe, and entertaining the hedonists downstairs. She tells me there was quite the spectacle at the Last Round tonight. I understand you were involved in the capture of a Setite soldier?"

"This is the truth." Marko confirmed. "Though the larger part of the credit belongs to the Cleaning Agent; then he shot the snake dead after Tabby-Cat did a mind meld. We think the Wizard King gave her a boost."

"Janette said that much," Therese said with a touch of impatience. "She also indicated that the soldier was privy to very little; only that there was a trap laid out. Have you anything to add to that?"

"The Warlocks house is locked up." Marko announced. "Jack pointed out that a good strategist limits the flow of information. They...know...something."

It's all about her.

"Also, Dirty Duckling has one wing in the Ivory Tower and the other wing in the Temple of Set. He's beneath the sheets."

Therese was silent for a moment. Marko was sure he could actually hear the gears of her mind turning and spinning like a finely oiled but incomprehensible machine. His mind's eye could see that thin, sinister grin cross her lips; the very grin that made most of the local Kindred realize that the dark daughter was really the more dangerous head of Gemini.

"None of that comes as a surprise," she said finally with a cold, detached patience that might make the Wizard King blink. "The Tremere will always have their secrets, and Cameron with his schemes is bound to stake himself one of these nights. I think you're done out there for tonight; come back to Santa Monica. Once you're home, go to Vandal. He reports his reserve is running a little thin. Then, first thing tomorrow night, we have a few things to work out."

The tongue wags in the ears of the White Princess.

"By any chance, has the White Princess talked to Bertram, lately?" He asked. He could almost feel Therese scowl at him in frustration.

"That's part of what we have to discuss." She said tersely. "Come home. Help Vandal. Get some rest." Then she hung up.

Putting his phone away, Marko hailed a cab. One came for him immediately, as if waiting specifically for his beckoning call.

"Where to?" the Driver asked, his voice warm and rich with an inky black darkness. Marko recognized the voice of the Driver immediately; the Dark Father. Without a word, he managed to climb into the cab despite his quaking knees. He wondered why the Network didn't warn him; or if this was what the Worry Wart was in a panic about.

He wouldn't let us...

After that, the Network fell dead silent. Inside the cab, all was silence except for what was in the cab. The cab was the entirety of the street, the city, the state, the country, the world, and all of space. There was Marko, the Dark Father, and the Cab. The rest was silence. Is this what sanity was like? If so, Marko wanted out of it right now. The Cab began to move through the Silence.

"We meet again," he said carefully.

"Indeed we do, child of Malkav." the Dark Father acknowledged. "It comes as no real surprise that one of your Clan remembers. It is such a rarity; the young Ventrue recognizes but does not remember, and I have come to suspect that nothing of significance ever escapes the memory of Jack."

"What do you want from me?" Marko asked, straining not to scream in an effort to break the Silence.

"It is not what I want you should concern yourself with, Malkavian," The Dark Father insisted, almost gently. "Think instead on what it is you want."

"You mean besides out of here?" Even before the words were out, Mark Oxford wished he didn't say them. "That came out wrong." He added hastily.

The Dark Father said nothing at all. Marko squirmed. Now the Silence was starting to infiltrate the Cab. The Silence got so loud he was quite certain his ears would start bleeding any moment. He resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears to keep the blood in his head and the Silence out. Still the Dark Father said nothing; he only drove, his eyes hidden behind a pair of shades. His head was angled so he could literally have one eye on the road and one on him in the back seat. Marko shivered. He started to remember the last time they spoke. He warned the path of the Anarch would be endless struggle as one after another others would come to impose their idea of order upon them. He was right, it would seem. Marko sided with the numbered man and his crew anyway, and the Jester was taken down and blown up by a Jack in the box. Now there were snakes in courtyard; poisoning everything. Would this happen in the Ivory Tower? Would the Ivory Tower have handled things any better?

"I don't know what I want." He said plainly. He shrugged; never in two lives had he ever felt so helpless. "Help me."

"A Rose is on the brink of freshening the Ivory Tower, whether it means to or not." The Dark Father spoke finally.

Even without the Network, Marko knew he meant Xavier. He meant that X was getting played, and that much of what he did would determine the outcome of what happened in Los Angeles. He also knew that Therese would be all in favor of a Camarilla resurrection. As far as he knew Janette wouldn't care one way or the other. The problem was that if X did help the Tower, then there was a good chance that all of the Coast would belong to the Hastings Family; though if the snakes were banished that might not be so bad...

"No pressure, X," Marko muttered. "It looks like you're cast as Saint Patrick in this play."

"So now we come once again to a crossroads. Once again you must choose." The Dark Father said. "You tell me, child, where shall I take you?"

Now that Janette and Therese were at peace, Therese really wasn't so terrible. Marko felt he could stay behind her in the Ivory Tower if it came to that. They had spoken of such things over the years; some of her ideas actually made some sense...

"I have a donation to make, first." He said.

"Very well," the Dark Driver said accommodatingly.

Ajax

Fenris and Tyler weren't the only ones who saw the junkie storm away from the Barrett building empty handed and sketching. Ajax watched for a second while the Gangrel and the Brujah pumped for information. He didn't need the review of what he already knew. Barrett was a pusher; it made sense now that he was at least working for the Setites, if not a Setite himself. The Nosferatu used their time with the junkie to work his way around to the back of the building to find a way in. There was, once, a sewer entrance, but that had since been blocked.

Barrett was a Setite, alright; a smart one, too, if he was taking steps to keep the Nos out of his base of operations. Too bad for him it isn't so easy; Ajax would find a way. The next best option he could find was a slot-like window that would drop him into a cellar of some kind. The problem was that Ajax had no idea how deep the drop was, or what was at bottom of the drop. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he slid through the window and landed on a bed of stakes; especially not himself.

He heard the report of a shotgun somewhere inside. This was followed by a burst of rapid fire, and then he could smell smoke. Where there was smoke there was bound to be fire. He was just about to back away; it would be a genuine shame if Tyler and Fenris got caught in a blaze, but self preservation had to come first. That was when there was a crashing of glass high above.

Ajax looked up to see a man in white jumping out of a window, landing in the alley maybe 12 feet away from him. The man in white was a white guy; and that was about all Ajax could tell for sure before the man raced down the alley; his back rapidly shrinking away into the night. The Nosferatu made chase; the man in white turned a corner about a block away. As he was running, it looked to Ajax that he was shifting shape, growing more phallic in shape; more flexible. Was he turning into a literal snake?

Sure enough, the den was going up in flames. Ajax cursed under quietly. He took out his phone and speed dialed Bertram. The man in white would have to wait.

"Good to hear from you, fledgling." Bertram greeted. "What do you need?"

"The Brujah and the Gangrel made a mess." Ajax reported. "I have no doubt the Fire Department is on their way. It might do us all good if their investigation chalks the cause of the fire up to faulty wiring in an old building that should have been torn down ten years ago."

"Where are you?"

"Downtown," Ajax replied, giving the location which was actually quite close to the Last Round.

"I'll get Mitnick on it," Bertram said. "Since I have you, fledgling, I should let you know that I had a little chat with Janette around back of the Asylum tonight."

"Yeah, so what does that have to do with me?"

"Don't get lippy, fledgling. I'm just about to tell you." Bertram warned. "I filled her in on that juicy tidbit you found about Cammie and the Assamites; how it looks like he arranged for the hits on the Barons and set up Skelter while he was at it. Thing is, knowing Janette as well as I do, I still don't know for sure if she told Therese."

Ajax took a guess. "You want me to make sure Therese doesn't find out and that this news stays only with the Anarchs."

"Just the opposite, fledgling; I want you to make sure Therese knows it all. She's currently a Camarilla supporter, and I have no doubt she'll seek to ruin anyone she views as a traitor to her beloved Ivory Tower. I'm willing to bet she'll see exposing a traitor as a way in." Bertram replied.

"You want more support for the Cammies?"

Absolutely, fledgling" Bertram said. He offered up an explanation. "Is the Camarilla perfect? No, but it works. Having a consolidated order is safer for all of us than a scattered bunch of petty kingdoms prone to squabbling with each other. This way, when a douche bag like Cameron comes along, he's easier to isolate. As for Therese; she's a Malkavian lunatic, but she's smart and has her merits. She's already established in the city, and if she's with us we can keep an eye on her."

"I guess..."

"Good," Bertram said. "Get your ass to Santa Monica ASAP. Make sure Therese knows all that you know about Cameron's treachery, and see if you can find out what she's going to do with that information. I'm sure it will be delicious."

Ajax asked if he knew where to find him once it was done, and Bertram told him he did. Ajax hung up and found the nearest sewer grate as he heard the fire engines approach. Even with the shortcuts he knew to Santa Monica, specifically the Asylum, he was going to be cutting it close to daylight. Imalia was going to be even more pissed off than usual. Maybe he could settle her some with a call explaining his new assignment...

...and by the time he was in the alley behind Asylum, it was pretty clear that Imalia was more displeased with Bertram than him, not that her anger would do any good. Whatever the case may be, she agreed to wait for Ajax in the Downtown bolthole haven. With that settled, Ajax slipped through a hidden entrance that led into the beer fridge for the club. Once inside, he obfuscated himself and carefully made his way through the main area of the club and towards the elevator that would take him to the office/haven that Therese and Janette shared. The elevator took him up, and opened to a small hallway where he found a door. At the door, Ajax was about to undo his obfuscate and knock...

"...one of the targets is you, Therese. Why don't you want to warn Skelter and Nines?" Janette's voice could be heard through the door. Ajax held back and placed his oversize ear closer to the door.

"Because, Janette," Therese's voice replied; almost condescending, "Cameron is obviously using the Assamite to scatter the Baronies so his little scheme with the Setites will make him out to be the big hero of the night on behalf of the Camarilla. If I...if we can just get proof of his treachery we can hold it over him so he will have no choice but to abdicate his bid for domain in favor of mine."

Ajax had to hand it to Bertram; he called it right on the nail. This wasn't quite the way Ajax thought he meant it would go down, but it made sense; in a Camarilla sort of way.

Janette's voice spoke. "You mean ours; our bid for domain."

"Of course I do, Janette. You're my sister and I would never leave you out in the cold. Haven't I always taken care of everything for both of us?" Therese reassured.

"Yes..." Janette agreed half-heartedly. "But what could you possibly offer Nines to persuade him to go along with a Camarilla domain after the Assamite is taken out?"

Therese snickered wickedly. "If this all works out the way I plan it to, I won't have to offer Nines Rodriguez anything. I'll be the only Baroness standing by then."

"What? You mean...I can't..." Janette stammered, incredulous. "That's just sick, Therese. I don't know if I can go with that."

Shocked, Ajax found himself agreeing with Janette. It was really true; as buggy as Janette was, Therese was infinitely more dangerous. He had to put a stop to this now. Maintaining his obfuscate, Ajax carefully opened the door. Looking inside, he could hardly believe what he saw. The office room was a large suite, divided in the middle by a pair of vanities back to back. One side of the suite was very austere and ordered, the other a chaotic mess. Therese was sitting in front of the mirror of the vanity on the ordered side, and Janette was nowhere to be found. Therese was talking to her reflection. That could only mean one thing; Therese and Janette was the same person.

"It's the only way, Janette." Therese said to her reflection calmly. "I know that it sounds cruel, but this Barony system is much too fraught with trouble. As little as I like him, Cameron was right to try to have the Barons removed. Now we have the means to ensure not only our survival, but to make incredible gains..." She stopped talking and snapped her head towards the door. Silent, she traded glances from the door to the mirror. Could she see him? Was her Auspex strong enough to pierce his Obfuscate? Slowly, Ajax backed away from the door and into the hallway. He could almost see Therese's mind working in as he watched the contortions of her face in the silence.

Finally, she stood up, looked into the mirror. "I've told you this a hundred times, Janette!" she shouted. "You have to make sure the door is closed tightly when we have our talks!"

"I did!" she shouted again, slightly altering her voice as if speaking as Janette. She pointed towards the door and spoke as Therese again as she stormed across the room towards it.

"Look! Obviously you did not!" She slammed the door on his face.

Still not certain if he was made or not, Ajax retreated; the sound of Therese's voice vacillating between identities growing muffled as he got back to the elevator. He had a lot to tell Bertram. From the nightclub, it was a fairly easy walk through the alleys to get to Bertram's haven. As long as he kept his head down and hood up, he shouldn't even really need to use obfuscate to get there. The hardest part was not moving too quickly; that could attract attention.

Opening the gate to the yard, Ajax silently walked towards and into the ever-aging oil tanker that Bertram called home.

"What have you got, fledgling?" Bertram asked. Ajax had given up on getting anything resembling manners from Tung years ago; it just seemed like that wasn't the old man's way of doing things.

"Therese knows all about Cameron and his connection to the Assamite." Ajax replied. "She figures Cammie the Ventrue means to bump off all the Barons in order to make room for him to claim Domain over Los Angeles on behalf of the Camarilla."

"That's a no brainer."

"She also figures that if she only had proof positive of his part in the matter, she could use it against him and force him to step aside so she can claim Domain herself."

"That's interesting," Bertram said. "I knew was ambitious, but that goes even beyond what I anticipated."

"There's more."

"Oh really" Bertram tilted his slightly. "Do tell, fledgling."

"Therese and Janette Vooreman are not identical twins. Actually they are the same person."

Bertram was silent for a moment; the gears of his brain turning and spinning like a finely oiled machine. He laughed. "I'm surprised I never saw that. They – or she – must have gone to great length to keep that a secret. Now that we know, we have a hell of bargaining chip. Good job, fledgling." He said. "Now we have something we can use. I wonder what Therese and Janette will pay to keep their secret a secret?"

"What do you want me to do next?"

"You go back to Imalia, fledgling." Bertram instructed. "I'll deal with the 'twins'."

Xavier

"Please accept my apologies for all the subterfuge to get you alone, Toreador." Prince Ezekiel Hastings said as the elevator ascended. "Given the delicate nature of my current situation, it was an absolute necessity."

Xavier Vega made no reply; sensing that silence as a tacit acceptance of his apology was the course to take with the Prince. He had the distinct impression that the Ventrue had more to say, and that some kind of deal was forthcoming. It was best if he let his majesty give his pitch, Xavier reasoned.

"I have known, of course, that Cassandra Dumont was no longer a part of my court; and in all probability she has been destroyed and replaced." He continued. "I also know that the Followers of Set have me all but surrounded, largely through the coercion of some of my top agents. The Sheriff and the Seneschal are certainly among them.

Xavier raised an eyebrow. He considered taking out his vaporizer, decided against it. "How did that happen?" he asked.

"One of the Follower's most formidable powers is the ability to remove their internal organs –including their hearts – and store them away. It should go without saying that this ability makes them incredibly difficult to harm. The older, more powerful of their Clan can even do this to other Kindred; in which case they quite literally hold the lives of their targets in their hands."

Xavier saw where this was going. "Let me guess, if I may," he offered. "Your Sheriff and Seneschal had their hearts ripped out, and are effectively under the Setites' thumb. If I were a betting man, I'd wager that you aren't supposed to know that."

The Prince nodded. "So you see where I am going with this." He more stated than asked. "And I trust that you can see why I allowed Jack to escape my City."

That Xavier did not expect. Jack told it like he had difficulty getting out. It took him a minute to process. Jack and Ezekiel were rivals for a long time; respected, but certainly not friends by any means. If Ezekiel could have captured Jack, why didn't he? Surely it would have been a glowing feather in his cap for the Camarilla to apprehend the famous 'Smiling Jack'. The only thing Xavier could think was that Ezekiel was bluffing to save face, expecting word to get out that he got so close... and then turn around and act all tough like he meant for the Brujah pirate to escape as part of a bigger plan. That must be it; unless...

"You respect Jack, but cannot trust him." Xavier replied. "You needed him to get out and send an outside source to check out Cassandra and the coffin; one you could persuade to go and fetch a couple of hearts for you. You then return the hearts to their rightful owners, and gain their unfailing loyalty."

"The Setite Temple is an underground fortress beneath Alcatraz." Ezekiel informed him. "If the hearts are anywhere in the city, that's where they'll be."

"What about Cassandra?"

"As I said; most likely destroyed," Ezekiel said. Xavier heard genuine remorse in the Prince's voice. "She's definitely been replaced; I suspect by a fugitive that has been hunted by both the Followers and by the Camarilla for centuries named Khemintiri." He paused, grieving. "As for the sarcophagus; it's a total humbug. The whole thing is part of an elaborate scheme to lure and trap her. Make no mistake; she's not been able to elude everyone for as long as she had by being stupid. She likely knows it's a trap, but she's also quite mad. The angle being worked is that she will not be able to resist the kind of power the bait has to offer."

Xavier nodded slowly. This was a scheme he'd seen before. It occurred to him that it might not be a bad idea to let the trap go; it worked out pretty good before. Once he got back to LA he could tell VV and the others about it, let the Setites or the Cammies spring their trap, and deal with the fall out. As for helping Ezekiel, Xavier thought he saw a way to turn that around to help keep LA Cammie free.

"If I help you," he started, "how does it benefit me?"

"I have already arranged a room for you in this hotel to rest for the day and prepare yourself." Ezekiel offered, not even showing a hint of a balk. "I will provide you with everything you feel need to complete this mission. Once it's done, you may leave with no interference, and you may keep what you take for the mission."

Xavier pursed his lips, as if he thought this sounded like a pretty sweet deal. "Well, seeing as I am helping you keep your City as you like it, maybe you can help me keep ours as we like it." He countered.

"How do you propose that?"

"It's simple, really." The Toreador said softly. "Cease with all aid to Cameron Hastings, rescind in your campaign to make Los Angeles a part of your Dynasty." Xavier caught the Prince flinching for just a fraction of a second, and then he quickly composed himself. "I save your city, you save ours; that is what I am asking for."

Prince Ezekiel smiled. Xavier read in that smile that Prince suspected Velvet Velour was making moves to claim Domain; which meant he didn't understand Los Angeles at all.

"Very well, Toreador" he conceded. "Have your city. I will not attempt to usurp it. You have my word."

Satisfied, Xavier Vega got off the elevator and found the suite that the Prince had promised him in the Ivory Tower hotel.

Tabetha

Max didn't tell her everything. He told her the truth about the trap that the Setites were setting, and for whom; but when she asked him who precisely this Khemintiri was, he insisted that she must search such answers for herself. She got the distinct impression that Max was holding out in order control the flow of information like Jack said. She wouldn't call Master Strauss by his first name to his face; she wasn't that brave or stupid. Since what took place earlier that night, though, she felt a stronger connection to him than she had anyone, including her now destroyed sire. Their consciousness had become one for a time; that was the most intimate any two could ever be, even more than the most passionate sex. Perhaps that was the point; maybe Max wanted to solidify their bond.

Now sitting the Chantry library, Tabetha shook her head lightly to clear her mind of such thoughts so she could focus on her research. She wanted to know everything there was to know about this Khemintiri; whoever she was.

She started with general texts on Egyptian mythology, which basically amounted to nothing on her subject of interest. From there she went a little more specific, focusing on Sutekh; the storm god that the Followers of Set claim to worship. There she found little more. All she found there were a couple of footnotes naming her as one of his human brides that betrayed him to Horus, son of Osiris. Tabetha supposed that might be enough to make her an enemy of Set's followers, but there had to be more to the tale than that. Max did tell her she was a fugitive being hunted by both the Setites and the Camarilla, so Tabetha reasoned there had to be more about her; some kind of documentation of her crimes, reports on the hunt, anything would suffice.

There was the Red List, she remembered. Max showed it to her once. It occurred to her that if there was anything about Khemintiri, it would probably be there. Tabetha grabbed the oldest volume of the Red List she could find and started leafing through it. What she found was nothing short of terrifying. The acts she committed against the Camarilla over the centuries were some of the worst things imaginable. It shouldn't have been a surprise' given it was thought she was the progeny of Set himself; but still Tabetha was amazed that anyone could do some of the things documented here, even one as apparently deranged as this ancient was thought to be. She was also quite the escape artist, obviously; managing to evade some of the finest Archons and Justicars of the Camarilla as well as her own Clan for centuries on end. It was also said she was a master of disguise- using both conventional methods and a very complete mastery of the Obfuscate discipline. What struck Tabetha most of all was her age, and the fact that as far as anyone knew, she has been active ever since her embrace. It was no wonder that Max was so reluctant to talk about her.

Cervantes, her gargoyle, was tugging at the hem of her dress. At two feet tall, the goblin-like statue was nothing if not loyal. From the mewling sounds he was making, he was worried about something; most likely the hour. He always got like this when she was not in her suite when sunrise was approaching. Since Tabetha often got carried away with her studies; that was part of the reason she made him. She leaned over and scratched behind one of his pointy ears.

"Alright, Cervantes," she soothed. "I'm coming." She got up and put the volume away. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" she asked playfully. She found treating the gargoyle as a beloved pet seemed the most effective way to keep him loyal. "Yes, you are such a good boy..."

The library went dark. Not as if the lights went out, more like all light simply ceased to exist. Cervantes whimpered in a manner that almost sounded like he was saying the words 'oh no' as a complete and true darkness filled the room.

"Take care, Usurper," the Darkness spoke in a voice with a warmth and intensity that was alternately soothing and unnerving in its familiarity. "Wisdom sets limits; even to knowledge."

The Darkness was paraphrasing Nietzsche; Twilight of the Idols, to be precise. There was an irony to that which was not lost on her. Where did she know that voice from? Rather, why did she feel like she knew, but was somehow being blocked from knowing at the same time? She wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come out of her mouth. It was not the first time she had been called a Usurper; and she could only guess as to why. Something to do with the history of her Clan, she supposed.

"Why do you call House and Clan Tremere that?" she finally managed. "And why have you come to our Chantry?"

"Your Clan, by rights, should not be." The Darkness replied. "Your founders stole the gift from the Dragon Clan, and now it is their blood that runs in your veins. I have come with a cautionary note; nothing more."

"What note is that?"

"Take care that the blood you carry does not bite its own tail." The Darkness said.

"I don't understand." Tabetha said. This was completely true. "What does that mean?"

The Darkness emitted what sounded like a chuckle; chilling her bones with its warmth. "It is better if I show you..."

Then the floor, the walls, the ceiling, everything melted away. It was all just gone. Only she and the Darkness remained. Her first instinct was to activate her magic to keep herself in one place; but it quickly became apparent that would do no good. She began to fall. It was impossible to determine which direction she was falling; it was more like tumbling, really. As far as direction was concerned, the truest way to describe the sensation was to say it was less like she was moving, and more like the Darkness was moving around her; like it was carrying her somewhere. With nothing to serve as a reference, she could not determine how far or how long it was before she saw a tiny light in the distance; bright around the edges and dimmer in the middle. As the light drew closer, she saw first that it was a ring, then not a ring but actually seven point of light fairly close together. Closer still, she could see the points of light were fire, but here in the darkness the torches caused no panic for her. The Darkness began to fade as she glided ever closer to the seven torches until she was hovering above them; they were in a room with symbols she recognized from her studies in the Magic Strauss had taught her. The floor was marked with the Clan symbol representing the uniforce of House and Clan. In the centre of the room was an altar, and placed on the altar was some kind of package wrapped in a wet looking substance-black and red. To Tabetha it looked like a bleeding cocoon. Around the altar there were seven robed figures, each standing in perfect alignment with one of the seven torches. They seemed to be studying the cocoon. With their hoods up, she could not tell if they were male or female. She drifted a little bit closer to the altar from above and one of the seven figures – a woman, clearly a vampire – looked up at her. It was apparent she saw Tabetha; though she did not seem pleased at her presence, she did not stop her approach. The woman and the others slowly backed away, and Tabetha hovered directly above the cocoon.

The cocoon was quite huge; as large as a coffin for grown man of six feet tall. Up close it really was some sort of cocoon composed of what certainly seemed like a mix of Blood and a kind of alien black substance; like ink but not ink, like really crude oil from Alberta but not oil at all, like tar but not tar, nor was it any clear combination of all of these. It had an almost papery texture to it, but more organic somehow; less processed, as if like either a leaf or a cloth that had no grain to it. She drew closer still, and sensed that it – or whatever was inside of it – had a clear intelligence that was both human and monstrous. The cocoon rippled when she got within touching distance, and she somehow knew it knew she was there; it was beckoning her. Without even thinking about it, she reached out to put her hand on it and gasped as a tendril shot out from within it. The tendril shot out like a spear or a lance straight into her mouth...

...and Tabetha Toussaint woke in her bed cursing and spitting. She looked around and saw she was in her suite, completely dark though not as dark as the Darkness she experienced in the Library. How did I get here? Where was I? Her curtains were drawn, blocking even the tiniest ray of the sun from spilling into the room, but from how groggy and disoriented she felt she knew it had to be daylight. She itched. Looking at her hands and arms, she saw why. There were black veins traced all through them like spider webs, slowly fading away. Once they were gone, the itching ceased. She took another look around and saw that Cervantes was crouched a ledge near the window, clutching the drawstring to the curtain, regarding her with a nearly panicked expression on his imp-like goblin face. Whatever had happened, her loyal pet got her to her room, in bed, and drew the curtains closed in time to save her life.

She grinned. "Thank you Cervantes," she said to the statue, blowing it a kiss. The expression slowly began to change to one of both relief and a kind of joy or pride over a job well done. Though she wanted to know exactly what happened to her, she had neither the strength nor the will at this hour. She set herself back down and fell asleep quickly.

Cameron

Cameron Hastings was uneasy after his uninvited guest had vanished. His uneasiness was not just about his apparent lack of security, though that was an issue. That could be dealt with easily enough. It was more about what the uninvited guest had said; not the nonsense about the Gangrel, he could care less about that. It was his commentary about the Camarilla and enemies and allies that bothered him.

He was right, of course; the wrong ally was worse than the right enemy. Cameron knew that. The wrong ally would turn on you and stab you from behind with a poisoned dagger if given the chance. At least with right enemy you could be sure of their intent to do you harm. Cameron was sure that Prince Ezekiel in San Francisco and even 'Smiling' Jack with all his cute little tricks would understand that. What truly bothered him was the timing of this caveat. Who was this dark visitor talking about?

Not the Nosferatu, Cameron believed. History would show that the Sewer Rats were never really 'allies' to anyone other than themselves. They made a point of remaining neutral, and as long their prices were met, they betrayed nobody. This was a self preservation tactic that has apparently proven effective for centuries. Begrudgingly, Cameron had to respect that. Cameron also realized that only a fool would fully trust the Tremere, the honorable bastards that they were. None could dispute the contributions they made to the Camarilla and the survival of the Kindred, but their motives were clearly always in their self interest. Cameron respected that, too; admired their ways, even. Respect, admire, but never trust the Tremere; and certainly do not turn your back to them, ever. That was Cameron's motto concerning the Warlocks. That left the Malkavians. None could ever truly predict what they were up to, or what direction their lunacy will go. Marko normally seemed pretty straight forward and up front, but his affair with Janette and loyalty to Therese could cause serious problems; especially Therese. She was both smart and ambitious; add that to her insanity and that made her especially dangerous. Certainly, she had a distinct desire to join the Ivory Tower, and that made her a potential ally. What was uncertain was how high in the ranks of the Camarilla did she want to climb, and what she was willing to do to get where she wanted to be. That made her a possible threat to him personally. She would have to be watched very closely.

The problem was that after that stupid deal he made to gain at least limited access to Santa Monica, he could not safely monitor her movements directly. He could not count on Marko to watch her for him, regardless of what bribes or narratives he provided. Janette clearly disliked him even more than she disliked Therese. That was one of the few things about Janette that actually made sense. Therese was her sister; and family is family no matter what kind of sibling rivalry there might be. He could try to persuade the Nosferatu, but that didn't seem too reliable, either. Word had it that Janette had some kind of hold on Bertram – which produced an image that made Cameron cringe in disgust – that would likely prove costly and difficult to break, if it even could be broken at all.

That left Mercurio. The ghoul wouldn't like it, but he would do it. There was no guarantee that his efforts would amount to much, but Mercurio was good at his job and something was better than nothing. Also, Cameron knew he could trust his ghoul regardless of what the dark visitor might imply.

He picked up the phone and dialled Mercurio. The ghoul picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, I was just about to call you!" Mercurio greeted. "Cutting it a little close, I know, but I got some news for you."

"Go ahead," Cameron replied.

"First thing, I want you to know I heard about Heather. I'm sorry for your loss, for what it's worth, and I have already started putting feelers out for a new hotel manager. Also I was going to call to let you know that your property deal went through without a hitch. You are now the new owner of the Yen-Zen Gardens in Chinatown. Renovations and new management start their work according to your specs next week."

"Excellent!" Cameron said. Both items were very good news. "Well done, Mercurio, you have come through for me once again." This was true; and in the matter of Heather, Mercurio actually managed to anticipate his needs and got ahead of the game.

"Don't I always?"

"Yes, you do," Cameron admitted. "Which brings me to the reason I called; I need you to keep an eye on the twins, especially Therese. I know you don't like dealing with them at all, and I don't blame you for that, but this is important. Watch them carefully, and report anything you find to me directly."

"Alright," Mercurio said. There was a clear sense of reluctant resignation in his voice. "Is there anything else?"

Cameron was pleased to note that the ghoul did not question the task or even ask what it was about.

"No, that will be all for now." He said. "Thank you." He disconnected the call, and decided with that matter settled as well as it could be, it was time to turn in for the day.