Whatever network Sebastian had running was becoming slightly visible to Patrica. They didn't exit the conclave the same way they came in. The building may not have been selected for its beauty, or comfort, or really anything that had to do with throwing a party. But it had been excellently selected for escape. There was a network of tunnels by which Laurie led Sebastian and Patricia through. Caldur had decided to take the more scenic view, and headed up to the roof. Patricia didn't know exactly what that entailed, but judging by the grin he'd had on his face, she wasn't going to put flying very far down on the list of possibilities. She had no idea what Caldur was capable of. He moved too quickly to keep track of, and was apparently impossibly strong. For that matter, so was Sebastian.

The tunnels led out into a maintenance room which connected to the PATH under the streets. The thirty kilometers of tunnels and pedestrian access underneath Toronto. This was where Laurie left them for the time being. With a wink, he vanished into the darkness, and they were alone.

Patrica turned to Sebastian. He was alert for dangers. Though he maintained his head-held-high regality, he was obviously poised for someone to make a move. He led them out underneath Richmond street, and headed north, finding his way to the City Hall parking structure. There, Kimberly was waiting, leaned up against the door of a limo. She bowed smartly, and opened the door for them. Sebastian nodded his satisfaction, and entered the vehicle. Patricia waited exactly two seconds to make sure that she was supposed to follow suit before climbing in, so as no to embarrass herself. The door was closed sharply behind her. Kimberly's footsteps echoed off the concrete as she walked to the driver's seat.

"When we're safe again..." mumbled Patricia, the thought weighing on her so heavily she forgot to censor it.

"I shall explain more when we're on safe ground," agreed Sebastian. His voice was dark, and weighted. Like there was something rather large on his mind. He turned to Patrica, and looked her over.

She wasn't sure how to feel. Scared? There had just been an assassination attempt on the Prince's life. That felt like perhaps it was a big deal. It hadn't been intended for her, although she probably would have fallen under the category of 'collateral damage,' had this attempt been more successful. Sebastian had enemies, it seemed. And he still controlled whether Patricia lived or died within the Camarilla. Her mind was a buzzing flurry of what ifs, and half-formed plans. But her understanding of what was going on was murky at best. She felt like a child among ancients. Which, as it happened, was exactly what she was. She needed Sebastian.

He was looking at her with almost a maternal expression. A kind of soft smile, that hides underneath other masks of his face. His icy blue eyes had thawed somewhat. He beckoned her to lean towards him. She blinked, and swallowed hard, but did so. She needed him, which meant she needed to be the perfect childe for him. She couldn't have protected herself against whoever that assassin was. Which meant that ward or not, she had to keep Sebastian favouring her, or she wasn't long for this world.

With her head leaned towards him, Patricia felt his long, thin fingertips coil around a rebellious lock of her hair. He pulled it right, brushed it down with the flat of his hands, and tucked it neatly back into place with the others in the plastic claw. Gently, he pushed her back up to a full seated position. His smile was more pronounced now.

"There," he sighed. "Now you look every bit the part of someone who was unphased by your first Sabbat attack," he said. "How are you doing, little one?"

"...Why would the Sabbat want you dead?" asked Patricia.

"There are many reasons," he said, his smile pinching into distaste as the sweetness of the moment was soured by her question. "Tell me, how much do you know about the clans?"

"I read the papers Kimberly brought me," said Patricia.

"Excellent start. Tell me what you understood from them."

Patricia paused, and tried to gather her thoughts. She glanced out the window for a moment, suddenly feeling very trapped in this small space. There were two windows, on one each side of the car. There were two panes of glass in each window. There was a fifth pane separating them from Kimberly in the driver's seat. There were two benches to sit in, facing each other. Each one had three seat belts. Patrica let out a long, slow breath, sufficiently calmed by her check. Five panes of glass. A good sign.

"There are two major factions of vampires," said Patricia. "Kindred," she corrected quickly. "The Camarilla and the Sabbat. There are also smaller independent clans who don't operate in this area. As well, there's the Anarch movement, which while it isn't a major faction, is still a large enough organization to warrant recognition."

"Very good. I see you've taken the top-down approach to learning this," he said. He shook his head wryly. "But you won't ever be dealing with the top down. At least not for a long, long time, my dear. Tell me what you learned of the Camarilla," said Sebastian. He steepled his fingers and watched her over the top of them. She felt his scrutiny like she was strapped to a spinning target, and he was about to start throwing knives. She cleared her throat, and continued despite this. If he wanted to kill her, she reasoned, he could have already done so, and could continue to do so. It was time to start acting like that wasn't his intention.

"The Camarilla is largely composed of seven clans. Toreador, Ventrue, Nosferatu, Tremere, Malkavian, Brujah, and Gangrel."

"Parfait. But what do you know about these clans?" he asked her.

"...The Toreador..." began Patricia hesitantly. Sebastian settled in, ready to patiently listen to her. Again, Patricia glanced out the window. They were just driving around at street level. They didn't appear to be heading anywhere in particular. It made a certain amount of sense, she supposed. No one was likely to try anything right in the heart of downtown where they were very visible.

"The Toreador are known... They're known to be the lovers of art. The muses, the artists, the seekers of beauty and hedonism. They embrace those who see the same light," said Patricia. She glanced to Sebastian for confirmation, but his face was perfectly impassive. If she were too wrong, or becoming annoying, surely he would tell her to stop. So she plunged onward, revealing her imperfect understanding in all its glory. As I am given to understand, Tornto has many Toreadors residing in it. Though I've only met Helena Perry.

"The Ventrue are organized, efficient, and hierarchical. They're the holders of a great deal of power within the ranks of the Camarilla. They were instrumental in the creation of the oragnization, and as such has grasped at the reins better than many clans. The City's prominent Ventru include Tattiyana and Nadia Lermontov. I don't know of any others as yet.

"Nosferatu are physicially twisted, hideous creatures, whose very appearance violates the Masquerade. As such, they operate in the shadows. They do, however, have a vast network of information gathering. How they accomplish so much, and know so many secrets is something of a mystery, and that's probably the way they prefer it. The City's Nosferatu that I know of only includes Peter Laurie, but I understand there are many of them around where I wouldn't see them.

"The Gangrel are a more distant clan. Usually less interested in kindred politics, and usually less interested in human—kine—affairs than many. They tend to prefer the wilderness to the cities, but even they have need for clusters of kine nearby. Mike is the only Gangrel I've met so far.

"The Brujah are widely known for their hot-headedness, and passion. It's from their ranks that most of the Anarch movement came. They're a group more concerned with high ideals than practical application. They involve themselves in Camarilla politics often enough, but their vehemence is usually reserved for issues of the organization's moral compass. Toronto has many Brujah, though I've only met Caldur Fable and ...Serge.

"The Malkavians are..." Patricia began finally, though her voice began to tremble. She fought it, but knew she hadn't hidden it. Her hands instinctively grasped each other, and she fell involuntarily silent. She'd just described five clans, and it should be easy to talk about the sixth. But she couldn't seem to summon her voice.

"Yes. The Malkavians," said Sebastian smoothly. He laced his fingers together finally, and shifted into a more conversational posture. "I wonder that you haven't mentioned anything about the Tremere," he mused, moving the subject along. Patrica rallied magnificently.

"The Tremere. Yes. There aren't any in Toronto," she said.

"And why do you think that is?" asked Sebastian.

"I don't know. I was told this was a ruling you made as Prince of Toronto."

"Tell me what you know of the Tremere."

"They're... Well... They're..." she began. She glanced out the window again. It was dark outside, and the reflections on the glass were very visible. Patricia swallowed again, and adjusted herself so she wouldn't be able to see herself in the glass. She started to feel a bit exposed again. And also trapped. But there were five panes of glass. And that meant she was fine. She didn't need to be thinking about this.

"The Tremere are... I didn't really understand. Wizards?"

"Not far off," admitted Sebastian. "But not entirely accurate."

"They started off as wizards. Or... Magi? Or something. And they made themselves into kindred. This makes them both the youngest clan in the Camarilla, and one of the most unique. They have a great many clan secrets, and they have the strictest hierarchy of any clan. They all live within Chantries, which are essentially dormitories for the Tremere. They all answer to their superiors, and operate like... Almost like a military cult."

"Well studied, if a bit incomplete," nodded Sebastian approvingly. "Now. Which clan am I?"

Patricia opened her mouth.

She shut if again.

She blinked.

"I don't know."

"What clan do I most seem like to you?" he asked leadningly. Patricia narrowed her eyes at him.

"You could just tell me," she said. He smiled innocently.

"I could," he conceded. "But then what would you learn? Certainly not how to deduce these things yourself. All these others told you who and what they were."

Patricia frowned, and fell silent. She studied him. She would have guessed Ventrue, had Nadia not practically told her that he wasn't.

"...An unchained Tremere?" she hazarded.

Sebastian laughed.

"No, my dear. And I very much expect that if you had said that within earshot of most Tremere, the implication would have been most offensive. Not merely because of who I am, but also because the very idea of an unchained Tremere is, well," he chuckled again. "Laughable. But you're a great deal closer than I would have anticipated."

She looked out the window, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Think out loud," he instructed. She bit her lip.

"I'd rather not," she said. But when she looked to him, his stare made it quite clear to her that it had been an order.

"I doubt very much you're thinking nothing, little one," he said warningly. Patricia squeezed shut her eyes, and blurted out her thoughts as quickly as they could form.

"I can right out dismiss Nosferatu."

"Hah, excellent deduction. Or can you?"

Patricia stopped dead. "Why couldn't I?"

"The night hides many things, miss Brosnen," answered Sebastian. Patricia could think of no way he could have been more cryptic.

"Are you saying the Nosferatu can... hide their forms?" she asked.

"As I understand it, they can. It's an ability of their blood. One which your blood shares, I gather," he explained languidly.

The limo stopped at a red light. Bright, garish colours filled the limo's cabin as a neon sign bubbling beer flashed its message into the night. There were a great many cars parked in this area. In the distance a vague thumping sound could be heard. They were heading into areas where they were sure there were witnesses, Patricia deduced.

Something caught her eye as she looked out the window. She could see the bench seat across from her reflected in the mirror. She saw it warp, and bend as if it had weight on it. But it was clearly vacant.

"Miss Brosnen," said Sebastian.

Patricia snapped back to attention. She looked across from her at the Prince, the move so jarring that vertigo set in.

No, no. It wasn't vertigo. Hadn't she just seen...?

She looked back at the window. The bench seat directly across from her, empty.

She looked at Sebastian, sitting in the bench seat directly across from her.

Suddenly the lack of mirrors in Sebastian's immaculate tower made sense.

The thumping of the base was rhythmic and soothing. A beat in four four time, at nearly dead on one hundred beats per minute. She couldn't make out most of it, but the bass was loud. She felt it vibrating in her toes. It was almost like having a heartbeat again.

"Miss Brosnen," repeated Sebastian, his voice growing impatient. "Am I boring you?"

"I was... Somewhere else," she answered, startled back to reality. His expression hardened.

"Ah. I see." He shifted uncomfortably. "Welcome back, I suppose," he said, and cleared his throat. Patricia blinked a few times, unsure of what to make of that response.

The light turned green, and the limo began to move again. The percussive thumping left behind. She watched Sebastian watching her. It was a tense sort of silence. She felt vaguely aware that at this point, she might investigate what was around to eat or drink in a limo like this. But... well, neither of them ate or drank. It made that a useless effort. And she had yet to find a suitable replacement for kindred affairs. In her experience, long, tense silences just tended to continue until someone took a hammer to them.

"Do you know what it is I'm doing here?" asked Sebastian. The question seemed to come from a very long way away, much farther than the space of the cabin actually afforded. Patricia blinked.

"Caldur said something about annexing for the Camarilla..." said Patricia. Sebastian smiled wearily.

"Yes. Yes, annexing," he nodded. "Most of Canada has been Sabbat territory for quite some time. Helena, Caldur, and I, have been working tirelessly to expand Camarilla holdings. This is the latest venture."

"You are Prince of other cities?"

"Was, for a time. Before Toronto it was Vancouver. Before that, Portland. And on, and on. We come in, and stabilize a city," he said. "Since we do so within, or so close to enemy territory, our task is complicated. We need to attract a group of highly skilled kindred together, establish a balance of power within a city, secure the borders, and gradually allow the city to become more and more self-sufficient. Then it's time to move on."

"How long does that usually take?" asked Patricia.

"Roughly fifty years, give or take. Although Toronto is proving more troublesome. Not only am I to be fending off the Sabbat, I'm also fighting of Anarch insurgency from Ottowa. The Baron there has not been able to control his rabble. And like children, they lash out at anything vulnerable," he sneered.

"...How many years have you been stabilizing Toronto?"

"Fourty," spat Sebastian.

"F-fuh..." stammered Patricia. She swallowed hard, and looked to the panes of glass. There were five panes of glass in the limo. She had to twist around to see the one behind her. Oh, but if she looked at the one behind her-!

Not directly behind, because then she'd see-

"Hello Patricia," said Dr. Ames.

.

..

...

Author's note:

I want to give a big thanks to my readers. You know who you are. Thank you so much. This project is a labour of love, and it's always easier to pour love into something when you know there are other people enjoying your work too. So thank you. For stopping by, for reading, or for reviewing. Thank you. I hope you keep enjoying!

-Gideon