At the Prince's Behest
Daedalus rose quickly from the Conclave table and hurried from the room. He did not storm like Eddie, he scurried. He passed the Prince in the hall bent over an open file folder; the Prince looked stricken in a way that Daedalus had never seen. He hurried on past and headed for his Haven. Daedalus lived in a large basement apartment under the Prince's manor. One of the conditions of Nosferatu support to his claim to the throne was that he improve the lot of the small cadre of Nosferatu that called the city home. This he had done, at great personal expense, and from it he and Daedalus had reaped the reward, peace in New Haven. Now that was all like to be shattered.
Daedalus was cataloguing his possessions in his mind, what did he have time to collect? What priceless treasures must he leave behind? Who was mad enough to do this? Daedalus had not even begun to pack when there was a buzz on his intercom. Daedalus closed his eyes, relief; madmen in Frenzy don't use intercoms.
"Yes?"
"Daedalus, I need to speak with you."
It was the Prince's normal flat monotone voice.
Could he be so far gone as to be unmoved even by this? Surely not.
"You are most welcome Sire," he said as be pressed the button that unlocked his door.
The Prince made his way down the stairs and into the main room of Daedalus' apartment; it was furnished in opulence, but with superb taste. Everywhere there were beautiful things, statuary, paintings and sculpture. In a small alcove there stood an easel where Daedalus would sometimes sit and compose original works of art. A canvas bearing the portrait of a beautiful woman sat completed, but never to be displayed, for as with all of his own works, Daedalus had slashed the painting and bits of canvas now hung mournfully from the frame.
Daedalus offered the Prince a seat in a large over stuffed leather chair, which he accepted, then without preamble the Prince handed Daedalus the folder that he had been looking over earlier. Without a word Daedalus picked it up and began to thumb through its contents. Mainly reports, the photos showed a man in his mid forties with sandy blonde hair sprawled out on the floor of a magnificent kitchen, the man's throat had been torn out and his vacant eyes bulged and his mouth was frozen open in what must have been a cry of terror and pain. Lying beside him was a woman, likely of an age with him though it was difficult to tell as she laid prone, her rich mahogany hair spread out like a dark halo around her head. A youth of seventeen, according to the reports, had, it seemed, come into the kitchen during the attack because mere inches away from his open hand was a fire poker, perhaps the youth had died trying to save his parents. His valiance had cost him his head which was found several feet from the rest of his body. To Daedalus the saddest picture was of the twins, thirteen years old they had left the world as they had come into it, together, Daedalus looked away from that photograph a thick red tear formed at the corner of one of his eyes then rolled sluggishly down his cheek. Despite the gruesome nature of the pictures, the thing that struck Daedalus was the lack of blood on the scene. Horrific as these deaths had been they had also been neat. Daedalus wondered what the Prince had wanted him to glean from this file, and then it struck him.
Wait! He thought, as he quickly counted the dead, Father, Mother, three sons. Where was the girl?
"What do you think?"
"I think someone was sending you a message."
"What is the message?" The Prince asked.
"I'm coming for you." Was Daedalus' reply.
"But you see how they failed?"
"Yes, the girl escaped."
"That is why I have come to you, I need you to imbue a letter that I have written with a charm to compel her to do as the letter suggests, namely get on the first available plane to New Haven."
"Do you think that wise Sire? This is the work of an Assamite, when he had learned that he failed he will be back for her."
"She is the last Daedalus."
"How long have you followed them?"
"Near enough to five hundred years as makes no matter. She is the last, I must have her here."
The Price's translucent gray eyes flashed suddenly scarlet, and Daedalus could see the effort he was exerting not to Frenzy, the Beast was so near the surface, clawing at the vampire in front of him, fighting for control. Still the Prince sat still as the statue replica of Rodin's Caryatid that stood only feet away.
"Surely Sire you will see her at the funeral, why not bring her here yourself?"
"Daedalus, I will not risk the first peace that has lasted in this city since the gold rush merely to soothe my aching heart."
Daedalus was horrified by the lie, there was rage in the too soft tones of the Prince's unnaturally calm voice, but there was no pain, Daedalus shuddered internally.
"Very well," Daedalus rose and after several long minutes of preparation he handed the Prince back his letter and instructed him to sign it using his real name, this was the seal for the charm he explained, and it bound the recipient to the sender's will until the terms of the letter had been full filled.
"Thank you Daedalus."
"I am at your service Sire," Daedalus answered, all the while noticing as the Prince's eyes, which had resumed their usual nearly colorless state, flick back and forth to a large steel door at the other end of the room. This door was the kind normally reserved for bank vaults, the kind that required energy on the order of megatons to dent.
"Sire do you intend to visit the wine cellar tonight?"
"I have one more thing to wrap up," the Prince leaned forward and pushed the buzzer on the intercom that was supposed to bring up one of the Butlers.
"At your service Primogen," came the prompt response.
"Amos, has Richard arrived home yet?" The Prince asked, referencing Amos Butlers eldest son. Daedalus had heard the Prince say with the casual assurance of all slave masters throughout history that his servants would never betray him, Richard, like his father before him, he said had drunk from his wrist before sucking at his mother's teat. This did ensure loyalty, but Daedalus was offended by slavery, and that was the essence of the blood bond. It was utter servitude, and at this point emancipation would mean death from the pain of withdrawal for both father and son.
"Yes Sire he arrived home only minutes ago."
"Send him to Daedalus' apartment, I have news for him."
"Yes Sire immediately."
Several minutes passed as they waited, Daedalus, sitting behind his desk began typing at his keyboard. The genius of the internet never ceased to amaze him. After centuries of darkness and solitude he was now connected to the entire world by the mere click of a mouse. How extraordinary, and how it eased the loneliness to connect with the living.
Richard Butler arrived, he was a tall slender young man of twenty eight, he had dark hair, green eyes, and a vapid childlike expression on his otherwise handsome face. He was dressed in Armani slacks an off white silk shirt and grey damask vest. He looked, Daedalus thought, as though he should be going to the prom. The boy bowed to the Prince not noticing Daedalus.
"Richard, I have found you a wife."
"Yes Sir?"
"Her name is Sasha, and she is the last of my living descendants."
"I am honored Sir, when is this to take place?"
"As soon as you can contrive to win her consent, she arrives tomorrow night by plane."
"Shall I pick her up at the airport Sir?"
The slavish look of devotion that hung on the boy's eager face disgusted Daedalus and what was more he could see that it disgusted the Prince as well.
"No I shall have one of us pick her up," the Prince indicated that "us" meant one of the infinitely more powerful undead, rather than this barely weaned pup of a human.
"Yes Sir, thank you sir."
The Prince waived a dismissal and the boy bowed and ran up the stairs taking them two at a time, he had won the favor of his master and was being rewarded.
"If one of my own children ever looked at me the way he does I would tear off his head," said the Prince again assuming his dead monotone. As he said this he held out one of his alabaster hands into which Daedalus placed a small silver key.
Strange, mused Daedalus, such a small key for such a large door. Then he returned to the screen before him.
The Prince rose and walked to the massive door and inserted the key into a tiny lock, it turned with ease. He paused for a moment to remove his gray Armani jacket, fold it neatly and throw it over a nearby statue. He undid the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them exposing his blue veined forearms. Then in a massive burst of strength he hauled open the door by hand.
Daedalus tried to ignore the stale odor of musk and sweat the billowed for the open portal, he could not ignore the sound of metal scraping on stone, he looked over for a moment, the Prince, always so neat looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Some of his slicked blond hair had spilled over his face. An obscene smile twisted his usually impassive features. A thin high pitched whining came for somewhere beyond the door. Daedalus closed his eyes as blood suffused the colorless eyes of the Prince, who's pupils now looked like shiny pools of ink against a blood red backdrop, they seemed almost to glow as he turned and stepped into the chamber beyond.
Daedalus walked over to the door and pushed it closed, then returned to the discussion he had been having with a professor in Venezuela about the merits and disadvantages of the Socratic method of argumentation.