Home. I froze up as I looked up at the light and glitz that tried to take attention from the smut and drugs. Sluts in silk dresses grasped the trembling hands of over indulged models. Everyone tried to play young and pretty regardless of the steep cost.

There on the left, The Asp Hole, where I had started a conga line to liven up the place. Ash had been cross, I think he was just jealous he couldn't get the street dogs to dance with him. Out of sight down a long strip of road to the left were the studios for the low budget movies. After Kent had cruelly thrown out my pet stone Bobbit because he had mistook his eye for bird poop he had taken me there as an apology and helped me build sandcastles on a fake beach. Down the hills was a romantic pond hidden by a cluster of trees where Romero and I often did the horizontal dance and occasionally a vertical one against the trees, and a damp doggy styled one in the pond. It was the site of the unsolved murders of teenagers two years ago, which kept it all the more private for us. Not far from where we stood was the cinema that played old movies exclusively, nothing newer than the 1950s. Isaac and I had shared many a date there, feeding on college students forced to come for studies whilst we debated whether Casablanca or Planet 9 was the best movie made.

"Ariadne?" Isaac's deep, smooth voice called to me curiously. Ariadne, the mad girl who had found home here. Sarah's home had been by the beach for a time in Santa Monica where the Janus sisters held supremacy.

Ariadne, Sarah, slave, young one. I twitched, too many identities and I did not have the space for them anymore, the Malkavian had the web to spread the madness on but I had only my small shell and it was already quite crowded.

"Just kill yourself," the voice commented sullenly, "and see us both free." It was blunt for the voice, the joy was fading for anger.

"Home?" I wondered aloud. I wanted a home and an identity. "I miss home."

"You mean Santa Monica?" Rob queried softly. He stepped beside me and looked at me curiously.

I stared up at him and smiled sadly. "I miss riding bikes by the beach and daddy trying to fly kites, great birds in the sky to peck out the children's eyes. I smell mother making bad soup in the kitchen, red soup, bloody soup."

Rob sighed. "You almost had me there," he grumbled. "Dad flew a kite with us once because your goldfish died and mum insisted he did something about it but otherwise that man was never fun, he was serious, a businessman through and through and mum..." He paused and looked confused for a moment. "Bloody soup, ah shit I get it now, the Bloody Mary punch she made one night." He smiled and shook his head. "That's right, stupid kid you did think it was soup and you took a huge gulp of it. You were so sick."

Kent snickered softly at this.

"I missed tinsel town," I murmured, "walking the zombies, and playing hide and seek with Ash, and treasure hunting in the volcano and...and..."

"The way of the king that led to the key and the cripplings."

"Mutilation and betrayal," I murmured quietly. "Then it was rejection to the tall towers and the jester prince. So many abodes but no home."

Kent slung his right arm over my shoulders and drew me close. "Kid home is with us," he assured me, "sure we fell out but family do that. Come on, I kept your button collection safe."

I glanced up at him curiously. "What about the turquoise one with the ruby enamel?"

Kent looked down at me scornfully. "For the last time kid that's not ruby it's a bloodstain and the silver one is just an ordinary button wrapped in tinfoil but yes, they're safe."

"Where? I hid them well!"

Kent started marching me up the street with him. "Kid putting them in Ash's boots is not hiding them."

"Goblin thieves would not look in smelly vampire boots," I pointed out.

We walked part of the way together as an odd group before Damsel and Rob dismissed themselves to feed and seek sanctuary in their rented accommodation. It was a modest apartment Isaac paid the bill for, kept purposefully for guests. Until my liberation the rebel redhead and my canine brother had spent their time Downtown trying to build an unlife together as Anarchs.

"Where are we going?" Yukie queried nervously. The young would be warrior had come at my insistence and Kent's blunt comment that she was liable to get herself killed if she stayed in Chinatown. She was known to the Tzimisce now and I feared torture by association for her if we left her behind.

Yukie limped, laboured by wounds and had rejected Kent's offer of blood to heal her, adamant that the medicinal herbs she had picked up from The White Cloud before leaving would do the job. I didn't blame her, who wanted to be forced into an infatuation with Kent?

"Ooh shiny things!" I enthused as we reached The Golden Age Jewellery. I pulled Kent up to the shop front windows of the jeweller's and eyed the latest treasures. They advertised being inspired by the myth of Theseus. There were bracelets with bull heads at the end of them, necklaces with pendants with mazes carved into them, and tiaras fashioned to be as Ariadne's coronet. It was a tasteful display with paintings of the princess and her trustful ball of string, paintings that looked oddly familiar.

"I had them commissioned," Isaac informed me quietly, "based on my memories of you."

"Ah history turned into fanciful myth," Beckett remarked in his typical dour tone, "fairytales for those who can't appreciate the truth."

"Poor Asterion," I mused, "locked in the labyrinth to moo forever."

"Yes...moo," Kent commented sardonically. "Hey Beckett what's your take on the half-man, half-cow?"

"Fiction," Beckett answered bluntly.

"Not so," I chirped up happily, "you can still hear his sad moos on the Cretan seas at night."
"Can we go inside already?" Romero grumbled. "It's cold out here."

He was right, it was and only at his words did I realise I was suffering the mortal side effects of chilly weather- goosebumps. I looked at my bare arms curiously and began to count the tiny bumps budding there. "One little bumpy, two little bumpy, three little bumpy."

"Christ let's go," Kent grumbled before he tugged me down the alleyway to the side door.

Isaac did the honours of unlocking it and granting us entry to his office. He led the way through to the living dead area behind it.

"My snowglobes!" I enthused as I broke from Kent to run to the snowglobe collection on the wooden shelving standing against the wall near the television.

"Is she to stay with you?" Beckett queried curiously.

I looked over to Beckett with a curious expression as I fondled with a snowglobe of a tortoise with sunglasses. "But master wolf cannot stray!" I exclaimed. I wanted to be with Isaac again but I couldn't lose master. I stepped forward, torn and conflicted as I looked from one to the other.

"You can both stay," Isaac offered. "It will be safer staying together, we do not know the depths of the Sabbat threat."

"If Sascha is involved he won't relent," Beckett murmured.

I shuddered. "Mind melder, mind raper, wants to steal the thoughts of the resting ancient."

Beckett gave me an odd look. "A story I wouldn't mind hearing."

"Story?" I looked at him hopefully.

Beckett gave me a tight, sardonic smile and shook his head. "Not tonight. I will go and find a suitable Kine to grant me the nourishment we all depend upon for substance and then I shall return here."

"In other words you need to feed," Kent sneered at him.

"You're terribly blunt for a Toreador," Beckett scorned him.

"And you're terribly boring for a Gangrel," Kent argued back.

"Not so, master wolf tells very interesting stories," I snapped defensively.

Kent glowered back at me. "Look at you all loved up with blood. Beckett knows he's a boring bastard, don't worry, he's happiest reading dull facts about dead kings."

I let out a feral snarl in anger. "He knows about dinosaurs, dinosaurs are never boring!"

Beckett let out a low snicker at this. "Alright young one, I do not need you to defend me. It's quaint the Toreador puts the effort into insulting me when I think he is worth no effort at all."

Kent looked at Beckett in confusion before wrinkling his brow slightly. He knew he had been offended he just did not know how.

"Go find a bookworm, scholar," Kent grumbled sullenly.

"I'm sure that one stung Kent," Romero taunted.

Kent glowered over at him and I saw an intense spark burn in Kent's grey gaze as he met the grave guard's olive stare. Romero kept his expression impassive as his mouth twitched, fighting back a small smile.

"I think I shall," Beckett murmured. He looked at me calmly. "Be good young one and don't go far."

I nodded enthusiastically. "I will sit and wait for master's return. Bring biscuits."

Beckett nodded before he exited from the building, bypassing the curious Yukie who was glancing around the room taking in every detail.

"Where can I sleep?" Yukie queried.

"With Heather," Kent retorted.

"Now there's an image," Romero blurted out before he could help himself.

Kent grinned at this and nodded. "Quite the image," he mused, "but not what I meant."

"Must you lower yourselves to petty perversion?" Isaac lamented as he glowered from one to the other.

"Who's Heather?" Yukie quipped as she folded her arms and looked at Kent quizzically.

"My ghoul," he answered with a hint of pride.

"Could have been mine, now we are of the same species," I murmured woefully. "Fiery hued daughter of the morbid poet. Where is the purple shrub?"

"In my apartment probably," Kent answered.

"Your apartment?" Yukie repeated with a look of disgust. "Iie! I am not staying in the home of shi!"

Kent shrugged. "Sleep on the streets for all I care."

"Kent," Isaac scorned him with a golden glower. He turned a calm, polite look on Yukie. "I am Baron here and while you are in my domain you will be safe and you will have good accommodations."

"Best not the hatter's home," I mused, "misfortunes and canines often linger under that star."

"Yeah one of those canines was your brother," Kent scorned. "Anyway, I need to go and feed before sunrise so I bid you all a goodnight. Yukie if you change your mind it's the apartment block opposite the Luckee Star Motel, second floor, 202b, just knock twice."

Yukie raised her hands to her hips and frowned at the poet. "I do not play perversions with demons."

"So you play perversions?" Romero quipped unwisely. He raised his hands in mock self-defence at the look of burning ire Yukie gave him and Isaac's gaze of scorn. "Sorry, just a question."

Kent laughed. "You're a little young for me and Heather scratches every itch I have quite satisfactorily." His grey gaze darted to Romero again before he gave a smug nod. "Kid," he addressed me brightly, "stay good for one night. I'll see you all tomorrow." Without waiting for a reply he hastened from the building in a blur.

It took Yukie half an hour before she dismissed herself to seek sanctuary. She grudgingly accepted a mobile phone from Isaac, alluded to considering sleep near Kent's apartment, and promised to unite with us tomorrow evening. That left Isaac, Romero and myselves.

"Morning draws near," the Baron mused.

Romero glanced tiredly at his watch. "Couple of hours, so where am I staying?" he quipped. He looked from the Baron to me and then back to the Baron. His olive gaze was weary but curious and I felt the conflict of emotions in it. How very Toreador...but then he was the ghoul of one, poor grave guard, slave to the emotional clan.

"Here if you desire," Isaac retorted softly, "or your shack if you wish or..." He paused and glanced at me delicately. "Or wherever you would go," he concluded carefully. "All I require is a feed before you depart."

Romero sighed. "Alright, do I get a taste in return?" He looked at Isaac hopefully.

I felt odd seeing the fanged smile Isaac answered with as he moved forward. The Baron was swift, gentle but without charm or seduction. He took the grave guard by his shoulders before sinking his teeth hard in the left side of Romero's neck.

I turned away in revulsion. Once I had been predator just as the Baron was but now I was prey like Romero, worse we were blood-bound prey, a blood doll, a slave, an ever serving, willing donation to the wolf master should he howl for it.

Romero gave a low moan of pleasure and I knew he was receiving his thanks. Blood for blood. It caused a growl to escape from me. I was mortal but still bound to the call of blood and yet they all wondered why I was still mad. I thought of the ruby droplets linking the historian and I, and I thirsted. I wanted a taste too, I wanted to feel that heat and power, to feel Beckett and his feral clan roll through me, to feel a part of the blood chain again. I shuddered, no I wanted free did I not? Free of the blood bonds and the masters and the dark world of Kindred! Then I might be alone...without the voices, the tormentor on the web...without Isaac, Beckett, Romero, Rob, Kent and the others.

"Ariadne?"

I flinched at Isaac's fingertips brushing away a tear, they were warm with Romero's blood. I looked past him to Romero. The grave guardian was slumped on a couch in a happy delirium, he would not be fit for guarding for another few minutes.

"I do not want to be eaten," I murmured fearfully.

Isaac followed my gaze before he looked back at me with a tender concern. "I will never feed on you," he vowed, "unless you wish it."

"Because it can be a pleasure," I recalled, "bloody kisses on the lips."

Isaac stiffened slightly, he was easily flustered by vulgar or sexual talk, ironic given his closest companions were a former drug addict who ran a night club, and the mistress of a strip club. "You're mortal now, it will be different," he remarked calmly, "but we will figure it out."
"For how long?" I pondered. "This one ages, crone like soon whilst the Baron stays unchanging."

Isaac chortled at this, disguising his worry through laughter. "You are young still Ariadne with many years ahead of you, let us not worry about any of that now." He embraced me close, kissed me lightly on the brow and then gripped my right hand lightly in his own. "Let us go to sleep, it's been too long since I embraced you in a slumber."

I eyed his fangs warily. "No sleep eating," I warned.

He looked at me, puzzled for a moment before he smiled again and nodded. "It is not a habit I am prone to," he assured. "Now you are...mortal, should we attempt a bed?"

I had never been held by Isaac in a bed, he was a traditionalist and kept to a coffin in the basement. Alright, it was a modified basement of red velvet carpet, expensive paintings adorning the walls and false electric torches in scones between them and the coffin was larger than necessary and lined inside with plump velvet and silk cushions. I thought of it, it should have terrified me but it meant security, hidden away, sealed away, safely secured with Isaac, a place no one should look for a lowly ghoul and if they did find me there they could not take me without the Baron noticing.

"No," I answered, "your coffin is safe."

Isaac's smile brightened as he led me to the basement.


Four sarcophagi. Four sandcastles. Dead in the desert. Build homes for the bones. I crouched in the shadows of the ancient stone prisons and shuffled the sand into place. Without a bucket and spade it was difficult. Take the bucket and spade, if you build a nice enough one I'll leave you alone. Wasn't that what he said? No chicken it's not quite big enough, you owe me a kiss. Nope, not tall enough, let me hold your hand. Now remember little chick, no squawking about this or I'll break your spades. You forgot the shells, tut, tut, what do we owe for that?

I awoke in darkness. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. I turned and felt a terrible coldness beside me, a form stiff and silent, a body! My throat tightened and I reached up, fumbling through darkness for salvation. My hands met wood suddenly and I realised I was trapped. No, trapped, strapped, waiting for the injections. Daddy I'm not mad, I'm not! Take me to the beach Rob, I don't care if it's raining, the beach is safe, he watches but he does not come. The beach is fun. The wolf watched on the beach. The wolf saw the lost princess even before he was master. Always watching, always observing, always studying and learning.

BANG! BANG! BANG! I thumped hard at the wood. Over and over with both my fists until the wood splintered and my hands bled. It shuddered twice and I glimpsed a crack of light. BANG! BANG! It rose up at last and I with it, forcing it further up and back until it, a coffin lid, was swinging free on one side.

My chest was tight and I struggled for breath as I swung my legs over the edge of the coffin and stumbled to the carpeted floor. I staggered for the stairs, gasping as I started to run up them.

The door above swung open when I was only halfway up.

"Jesus Christ what's going on?" Romero's voice called down tiredly. He let out a soft 'whoomph' noise when I collided with him with a sob. "Shit Sarah what happened?" he queried as he struggled to steady me against him.

"Sandcastles in the dead desert, never big enough, no shells in the desert, he won't be satisfied, he won't!"

"Alright, I have no idea what that means so I'm going to assume you either had a nightmare or are suffering one of your usual bouts of craziness, either way it's over now so just take a deep breath."

He rubbed his hand up and down my spine gently whilst his other hand burrowed in my tangled ebony locks and pressed my head against his chest. He was warm unlike the other, alive and breathing. The other...

"Baron," I murmured worriedly. "No, the sun!" I tried to pull away from Romero but he restrained me.

"Easy crazy cat," he chided me, "there are no windows down there so the Baron and wolfman are fine."

Wolfman. I turned my head away to peer back down to the basement. I spied poor Isaac exposed to the world, unconscious and still as a statue. Opposite his coffin was another still sealed up, smaller and plainer, it was one of four reserved for guests. I peered at it curiously and felt a faint tug from within. Yes, master wolf was there and probably dreaming of sheep.

Romero held me a few seconds longer until my heartbeats slowed and my breathing steadied. "Alright, you go to the living room," Romero advised, "and I'll go shut Isaac's coffin, otherwise he'll wake up cranky." He released me and began his descent to the basement.

I found my lips dry and licked them twice before I headed to the living room. In the room the edges of the windows were golden as the morning light tried to intrude. The curtains were thick and heavy keeping the room mostly in twilight and I found myself unable to make out the time of the clock on the wall. I contemplated hitting a light but resisted the urge, instead I stumbled to the three seated couch and sat on the edge. The couch was warm and indented, evidently the grave guardian had been sleeping here.

He entered moments later and flicked on the dreaded light.

I let out a snarl of revulsion as my eyes squinted at him hostilely.

"You've really got to work on the growling," Romero chided tiredly. He gave a yawn and strode into the room before pausing to inspect me. He folded his arms and frowned. "You're bleeding crazy cat, think maybe you should wash that up?"

I looked down at my bloodstained hands and wiped them on my trouser legs. "Only a prickling," I grumbled.

"Yeah, only a prickling until someone with a dramatic flair sees and scolds me for a potential fatal injury," Romero commented sardonically. "Come on, up you get, we're going to the kitchen." He gestured an up motion with his right hand.

I snarled again before complying reluctantly. I stomped into the kitchen behind Romero, letting him feel my crankiness with heavy footsteps and a laboured breathing.

"Seriously that Gangrel temper is annoying," he chided me when we reached the kitchen. He hunted through a cupboard for medical supplies and then shuffled me over to the kitchen sink. There he soaked my hands under the tap before splashing some antiseptic liquid on the wounds that drew squeals of pain from me.

"Shrieking like I've stabbed you," Romero chided, "and yet I'm the one with Toreador influence." He tutted and shook his head before wrapping gauze about my wounds.

"Charmed by a poet's tongue," I teased as I smiled at the bandages. "Did it taste as sweet as it sounded?"

"Er...can we not," Romero answered awkwardly. He released my hands and I extended them happily, proud of their new decorations.

"Ugh...argh I want pharaoh brains!"

Romero frowned at me and arched a dark eyebrow. "So mummies are Egyptian zombies now?" he quipped sarcastically. "Isn't that a little racist?"

"Well then I want organs to resurrect dead princesses!"

"Um...okay..." Romero tidied up the medic supplies before striding over to the large, double doored fridge/freezer combo.

Isaac's kitchen was large, modern and full of expensive, underused equipment and utensils. Like everything Toreador it was more about appearance than practicality.

"Are you hungry crazy cat?" Romero queried.

I paused as I contemplated the notion. "Yes," I decided. Feeding was an odd notion for me, perhaps because hunger was something I had rarely been allowed to indulge and I ate from necessity not desire. "Are there pancakes?" I queried hopefully.

"Ever since Isaac learned they were your favourite." Romero shut the fridge and moved to a large cupboard, tugging it open to show numerous stacks of sealed up pancakes in many varieties- blueberry, chocolate chip, white chocolate chip, maple syrup infused, buttermilk based, strawberry, apple, cinnamon and vanilla. "And every topping imaginable to go with them," Romero scorned. "Oh and batter mix and eggs and flour and milk and butter in case you preferred them home made." He sighed and shook his head. "Toreadors, never do things by halves do they. For your information I don't bake, best I can do is chuck a couple in the toaster for you."

"Can I have ice-cream with them?" I queried eagerly with a hopeful stare.

"If you must."

I nodded eagerly.

Romero opened a stack of chocolate chip pancakes at my request and put four into the toaster before hunting out vanilla ice-cream. He served two, slightly burnt at the edges, pancakes for each of us along with a mediocre scoop of ice-cream as the scoop would not comply with the frozen solid dessert.

He carried the plates and cutlery into the living room and we occupied the couch together. Romero offered my plate to me before resting his on the coffee table along side an abandoned cup of coffee with two cigarettes stubbed out in it.

"Don't tell him I smoked in here," he said as he picked up the television remote.

I nodded as I tucked into breakfast. Once satiated I snuggled up beside the grave guard to watch a low budget black and white zombie film.

"They always get the wails wrong," Romero complained as he tugged the turquoise blanket from the back of the couch and drew it up over us, "it's never so drawn out."

"They think we are lunatics that eat flies and birds," I murmured.

"Well you are a lunatic," he retorted before kissing the crown of my head and wrapping his arms about my torso, "and Beckett might well eat birds. I suspect your brother's good for eating cats too," he joked.

"The Sabbat do it," I remarked darkly. "Dead master would pull their wings off and leave me their chirping bodies for food if I was good. If I was bad, squished maggots."

Romero squeezed me gently. "Yeah they're mean fucks," he said candidly. "Let's watch the movie."

I slept in the grave guardian's gentle grasp until sundown when the inane chatter of the proud vain vampires of Hollywood awoke me. I stirred, startled at the noises until the warm arms of Romero gave me a soft squeeze of reassurance. We were on the couch, a point of interest to the bickering Toreadors who crowded the living room.

"Isaac I'm glad for you that you found her," V.V's sympathetic voice rang out, "but surely in this...condition she is a danger to us."

V.V, Velvet Velour, her name came in a rush to me, false like her voice and her hair and her body, all unnatural. Susan, that was the true nature, like a daughter to the Baron, she wore the facade of a tough stripper but inside she was as simpering and emotional as the majority of her clan. What she lacked in physical strength she made up for in manipulation, using her body and voice to seduce and bewitch.

"Condition?" Kent scoffed. "She's not pregnant V.V." He paused and I sensed him shudder in revulsion. "Fuck there's an image," he groaned.

There was a loud bang as a door was forced open dramatically. I tensed against Romero, ever wary of intruders.

"Dead phoenix comes to see the miracle," I murmured quietly.

"Is it true?! Where is she?! How is it possible?!"

There was a blur before us, a cry of protests and suddenly I was snatched up from Romero without warning and forced against a wall. I let out a squeal of protest and felt myself quake with a sudden fear.

"Christ Ash what are you doing?" Kent complained.

I blinked and realised that it was not a Tzimisce that held me but the woeful Toreador, Ash Rivers instead. I should have felt relief but the intensity of his dark blue eyes kept me afraid. Ash was the failed child of Isaac, drugs drove him to an early mortal death that Isaac sought to save him from with damnation. Ash had returned the gift of immortality with loathing and rejection.

He grasped at my chin with an icy hand and jerked my head about until I was dizzy with the effort. "How did you do it?!" he snapped in a fury. "How?! Why you?! Why the hell is it always you?! You don't deserve it! You never wanted it! TELL ME HOW DAMN IT!"

Ash was wrenched back from me and thrown across the room ungracefully.

Beckett occupied Ash's space, flattened the collar of his tan coat and shook his head scornfully at Ash's groaning form. "Do not harm my ghoul again," Beckett said calmly.

"Your ghoul," Ash groaned as he sat up and shook his head, all the while glaring heatedly at me. "Well that explains the stench of wet dog."

I let out a snarl at the insult whilst Beckett chuckled. "Timber wolf actually," he corrected in his usual sardonic tone, "and it is a more pleasant odour than the stench of cheap alcohol and shame that clings to you, young Toreador."

Isaac stepped in between the two just as Ash prepared to snap back an insult. "Alright, that's enough." He turned his attention to Ash, reaching to help him from the floor.

As expected, Ash rejected the help and stood up himself. He dusted down his navy suit and glowered at us all again. "She's still a freak then," he snarled, "and an undeserving bitch. Why is she human Isaac? Why?"

I stepped away from the wall and looked past Beckett to the fallen phoenix. There were tears budding in his eyes. "I'm sorry," I said weakly. It was the wrong thing to say.