Chapter Ten
Rat was curled up at her computer, looking for all the world like she was simply idly surfing the Internet. The skinny man who came up behind her, however, wasn't fooled.
"Still nothing?"
"No," Rat made a disgusted noise in her throat. "If someone is manipulating this Bishop race, they're doing a really good job of hiding it. No one in the Nos Net has a single clue."
The skinny man hooked a chair over with his leg and sat down. "I don't suppose it's possible that you're imagining things? That there's nothing behind all of this?"
Rat shot him a withering look. "Comments like that, Fraise, will get you demoted from being a Nos."
Fraise grinned and held up his hands peacefully. "Ok, ok. Point taken." He rubbed his chin for a moment. "All right, go through the signs again."
Rat sighed. "We've been through them eight times already."
"Humour me," Fraise encouraged his reluctant packleader. "Please?"
"Don't beg," Rat punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Sabbat don't beg and Nosferatu especially don't beg."
Fraise chuckled. "All right. The signs. I'll start. Billy's slaughter of Rod."
Rat nodded. "Basil and Selina dropping their Masks and getting phosphorous rounds loaded into them."
Fraise steepled his fingers together. "Brujah-Boy's decimation of Christine's pack."
"That was expected," Rat pointed out. "It was the fact that he didn't immediately go down and take out Shelley that was weird. Sources say that he and his pack were barely touched so he should have continued on and wiped out Shelley as well."
"Yeah, she only had herself and Kieran, plus a bunch of newly made Childer. She would have been a piece of cake to take out."
Rat frowned. "Why didn't he do it then? Why did he back off and leave her?"
Fraise shook his head. "That's what we have to figure out. Another thing is who released Vince's pet dragon?"
Rat thumped a hand down on her desk in frustration. "Damn it, I know that Vince had strong spells on that thing! Only the release code would have done it and even I couldn't find that out!"
"Somebody must have," Fraise pointed out. "Because somebody released him and now Vince and his whole pack are dead."
"Save for Gervais," Rat added.
"True, although I wouldn't be surprised if the dragon-thing is hunting him down now."
Rat barked a laugh. "Wouldn't that be a great way to get rid of that annoying Tremere?"
Fraise grinned. "What have you got against Gervais anyway?"
Rat sobered. "He wronged one of ours a long time ago and we Nos never forget."
Fraise cocked his head but Rat didn't elaborate. Fraise shrugged and continued. "All right, so a lot of those signs point to subtle interference from an outside source. They could also be coincidence."
"Explain," Rat demanded.
"Billy's slaughter of Rod," Fraise began. "Could easily have been Billy frenzying. He's had a grudge against Ysabel's pack forever anyway and with the heightened emotions of the Bishop race, it could have been enough to turn the tide. Billy is already unstable, it probably wouldn't take much."
Rat mused on that for a moment. "All right, I can accept that. Basil and Selina?"
"They were enjoying some time off and some nutcase decided to fry them."
"Flaw in your idea, Fraise," Rat pointed out. "Basil and Selina dropped their Masks in the middle of the dance floor. On that cue, the gunman opened fire with phosphorous rounds."
"Lots of people were killed," Fraise mentioned. "Not just Basil and Selina. We have no evidence that he was aiming for them in particular."
"The phosphorous rounds?"
"Coincidence?"
Rat chuckled. "Fraise, you've been a Nosferatu for how many years now?"
"About a hundred and fifty."
"Then you know that there's no such thing as coincidence. Everything can be eventually explained."
"Ok, ok," Fraise grumbled. "It still could have just happened, you know."
"Agreed," Rat shrugged. "Explain Brujah-Boy ignoring an easy target like Shelley."
"He didn't know that Shelley was an easy target?"
"Don't be stupid, Fraise," Rat punched him again. "Everyone heard about her attack on Drake and her pack being decimated. Hell, Jez was crowing all over the Toreador Link about it." She tapped her fingers on the desk. "Not to mention that it was in the Nos Net and Brujah-Boy's Nos, Mal, keeps up to date on it. They would have known."
Fraise thought for a moment. "Maybe he wasn't ready to attack more than Christine?"
"Brujah-Boy is always ready to fight," Rat reminded him. "You know how hard it is to get into his territory."
Fraise grumbled. "It's still not indicative of outside interference."
"All right, what about Vince and his pet dragon then?"
Fraise had a sudden illuminating thought. "Maybe it was Gervais who let him loose?"
Rat sat up, startled. "That would explain why Gervais wasn't killed. And why we haven't heard from him yet. He may have released the dragon then gone into hiding."
Fraise grinned. "Hah! I finally got one on you!"
"Don't rub it in," Rat warned him. "Doesn't happen often."
"But it does and it did, and I did it!"
"Keep on about it and I'll find another Templar."
Fraise grinned still. "You wouldn't dare. I'm your best fighter and you know it."
Rat shook her head and grinned back finally. "All right, all right. So maybe Gervais released the dragon. Let's do some research into that and see what we can come up with."
Fraise nodded. "And the rest?"
Rat began typing on her computer. "I still think there's outside interference, but I'm willing to accept the minute possibility that there isn't."
"Then my work here is done," Fraise climbed to his feet and sauntered away, turning back only once to his packleader. "Oh, and Rat?"
"What?"
"Told you so."
Rat threw a shoe at him.
Spiral and most of his pack were out at the edge of their territory in farm country. Ostensibly, they were out for a Nature Walk. That was where they caught as many things in nature as they could and dragged them behind them. This included people, animals, trees, rocks, and anything that could be made a pet, even for a moment.
In reality, however, they were looking for one of their pack who had wandered off earlier that evening muttering something about wanting a new toy. If it had been any of the pack save this one, Spiral probably would have just let him have his fun and figured he'd be back the next night. Unfortunately, this particular packmember was the Templar and Spiral needed What's Yours' fighting knowledge tonight.
"You sure you know where he went?" Spiral inquired of his priest, a short chubby Malkavian named, appropriately, Mumbo Jumbo.
"Me have pretty good idea," Mumbo Jumbo replied in his guttural caveman speech. It was annoying, but he was a pretty good priest and, after all, one of Spiral's goals in life was to annoy the Camarilla. Having an annoyance in the pack was a small price to pay when he was routinely unleashed on the Camarilla and you could hear the screams of anguish ten miles away.
"Where then?"
"He gone to farm," Mumbo Jumbo replied with authority.
Spiral rolled his eyes. "Yes, I gathered that. Which farm?"
"How should I know?" Mumbo Jumbo's speech turned high class British for a moment before a glazed look rolled over his face and he straightened. "Behold! Among the lights of the yard, a lone figure appears! He summons the Chosen One and all will be revealed there!"
Spiral blinked then threw back his head and howled. The rest of his pack enthusiastically joined him, including the two Nosferatu who ran with them. Having done the Vaulderie with the Malkavians so often, Candide and Aloysius tended to be half insane anyways.
"Cool," Spiral patted Mumbo Jumbo on the shoulder when the howling was done. "Well done. Good job. Bravo. Encore."
"No thanks, I'm not thirsty."
Spiral grinned and continued leading the way towards the nearest farm. The lights were still on in the yard and Spiral figured it was as good a place as any to start searching. What's Yours was generally pretty good about staying with the pack, but when he got an idea in his head, he had to follow through regardless of how inconvenient it was for his packleader.
They reached the farm and one of pack casually ate the barking farm dog that appeared. This particular farm had a high turnover rate of dogs for some reason.
Well, for a very good reason actually. Spiral licked his lips and grinned.
The pack fanned out, the better to search the outlying buildings and fields. Spiral stayed in the yard and began his own search. Naturally, he was the one who found the Malkavian Templar.
In the cow barn.
"What's Yours?" Spiral inquired, coming up behind the small, skinny figure that was whispering in the ear of a curious black and white heifer.
"Hallo?" What's Yours turned his brown sparking eyes in Spiral's direction. "Oh, Spiral. Me and Bessie here were just having a conversation."
"Is it a good one?" Spiral inquired.
"Oh, yes!" What's Yours nodded enthusiastically. "I was inviting her to become my Childe!"
Spiral blinked but shrugged. "Ok, why?"
What's Yours looked around conspiratorially. "I don't know if I should tell you."
Spiral whapped his Templar up the back of his head. "I'm your packleader. You have to tell me."
"Good point." What's Yours rubbed his head thoughtfully. "Well, you know all the problems they were having in Britain these last few years?"
Spiral cocked his head. "Yeah, so?"
"Well, I figured it wasn't fair for them to have all the fun."
Spiral slowly grinned. "So you think we should introduce a little of their culture into ours?"
"Yeah!" What's Yours bounced on his toes with excitement. "And who better to introduce Mad Cow disease than a Malkavian?"
Spiral laughed and summoned the rest of the pack. The Bishop race could wait. There were cows to be driven mad and only Spiral was up to doing it!
The shadows swirled around the room, with more agitation and excitement than had been show before. When the vampire approached, he was nearly knocked off of his feet by the rapidly moving shadows.
"Did you see?" the guttural voice came out of the black centre of the shadows, almost animated. "They have done beautifully, those two northern packs!"
"Yes, they've been wiped out completely," the vampire replied, admiration in his tone. "Jesse killed Ysabel, then Christine took out Jesse. Total annihilation."
"Almost, yes," the shadows settled a little, although smaller outer ones still twitched. "We are coming to the crunch now, oh yes. The final forces are moving together and soon we shall have the outcome we desire."
"And what might that be?" the vampire humble dared to ask.
"The positioning of my chosen in the ranks I need them in," the shadows replied. "Tell me now who is left as packleaders in the fair city of Toronto."
The vampire organized his thoughts. "Drake. Christine. Eugene. Shelley. Alleyne. Rat. Spiral. Windsor." He stopped, frowning. "Oh, and Genevieve."
"And who is fighting still?"
"Only four," the vampire nodded sharply. "Drake, Christine, Eugene and Shelley. The others have no interest in fighting. Or as in Windsor's case, they are under orders not to get involved."
"Yes, he is a nuisance, that one," the guttural voice growled a little. "He should not have left Christine's pack. He must be taken care of. But how, that is the question indeed."
The vampire waited, knowing that to speak would be dangerous, no matter what cleverness he may come up with. The shadows preferred to come up with their own plans.
"Ah yes, I have it. A little practice for someone I've been keeping an eye on. Yes, oh yes, just a little nudge and Windsor shall be problem no more." A shadow stroked over the clear surface before it. "Let us see where he is, shall we?"
The vampire nodded and edged forwards just enough to look into the watching globe.
Salem and Shannon were out on the town, keeping a low profile with Salem's judicious use of Cloaking them both invisible. It meant that Shannon had to be in contact with him – and Salem made sure that the contact was under his arm and with her arm wrapped around his waist – but it was the best way to give his protégé a taste of Sabbat life. Salem was really, really liking Shannon and was determined to keep her alive. Even if that meant staking her and stashing her somewhere until after Drake was safely Bishop.
Not sporting? Perhaps. But Shannon was learning Obtenebration extremely quickly and Salem liked her even more than the faithful, puppyish Ariel. Let Drake take over Ariel's training – he, Salem, was going to concentrate on his spitfire.
"You're going to love Maggie, Shannon," Salem told her. "She's a lot like you only without quite so many thorns."
"What thorns?" Shannon cracked a smile at him. They had been getting along a lot better with one on one training and she had softened considerably towards him. The Vaulderie that he performed privately with all of his Childer tempered the blood that Salem fed her, but there was true friendship growing between them.
"So where are we going?" Shannon inquired after awhile. She had been told they were going out to play, but not how.
"Up to one of my favourite clubs," Salem smiled back, running his hand along her upper arm. He'd persuaded her to wear a black silk tank top that strained over her chest and her bare, cold skin felt really good beneath his hand. "It's in what used to be Christine's territory, but since she's no longer using it, it should be safe enough."
"Should be?"
"Hey, the element of risk is what makes it so exciting," Salem winked at her and was rewarded with a laugh. Oh, yes, he liked this Childe of his! "Seriously though, it's run by an Anarch Brujah who kissed up to Meer so much that she granted him the bar as his exclusive territory."
"Meer is the Arch Bishop, right?" Shannon screwed up her face remembering. "Lasombra, like us."
"Yes, exactly," Salem nodded. "My Sire, like I am yours."
"So she's my Grandma?" Shannon's eyes twinkled.
Salem whooped a laugh. "I dare you to call her that to her face! Be ready to run though."
"I think I'll pass," Shannon chuckled. "I'd like to live a little longer. This is a lot more exciting than music history."
"Is that what you were studying in University?" Salem cocked his head. "Maggie will like you even more. She's a musician too. Singer. I think she plays some instruments too, but she mostly just sings now."
"She's Lasombra too?"
"No, didn't I mention it?" Salem shook his head. "She's of the Clan Nosferatu. We haven't got any in the pack right now, not since Shadow left. I keep hoping he and Damian will come back." Salem's voice turned dejected. "I liked that Malk."
"Malk?"
Salem gave her a rundown of the Clans that he could remember as they continued along their way. When Maggie returned from Nova Scotia, he'd ask her to continue Shannon's education. Salem just knew that Maggie would like her. He hoped she would. He also hoped that Maggie would be interested in a three way Kiss.
The club was hopping with Toronto nightlife when they arrived. Dropping the Cloak, Salem bypassed the line, ignoring the muttering from those anxiously waiting, and stopped in front of the bouncer who barred his way.
"End of the line, Goth boy," the bouncer said in a bored tone.
"I don't think so," Salem replied, smiling with his fangs in full view.
The bouncer blinked, his eyes widening before he stepped aside and waved them through. The mortals waiting in the line protested, but Shannon heard nothing once they got past the front door.
Inside, it was huge and dark, with flashing lights speeding over the dance floor, pulsing in time to the music. Salem heightened his eyes a little, enough to see in the darkness, not enough to be blinded by the lights. Holding Shannon's hand tightly, he wove in and around the crowds of people arriving finally at one of the several counters spaced throughout the big building.
"Do you want a drink?" Salem yelled into Shannon's ear over the heavy bass they could feel right into their bones.
Shannon looked startled and Salem winked at her. "Sure."
Salem rapped on the bar and a pretty girl in a skin-tight outfit glided over and smiled at them. "Two Brujah specials."
The girl nodded and moved to a single tap under the counter off by itself. A thick dark liquid cascaded into two plastic cups and when they were filled, the girl set them in front of Salem and Shannon. "Two fifty each."
Salem dug a ten dollar bill out of his jeans and pushed it at her. "Keep the change, doll."
The girl smiled and moved away while Shannon and Salem settled onto barstools, their backs to the counter.
"This is a neat place," Shannon commented.
"When times were quieter, we used to hang out here a lot," Salem replied, feeling hunger stirring in him at the sight of the masses of bodies gyrating to the music. They'd eaten along the way, but there was always room in Salem's stomach for more. He took a sip of his drink. Lukewarm. Ah well.
Shannon sipped at her drink as well and made a face. "I really prefer it hot."
"As do I," Salem drained his and set the plastic, stained cup on the counter. "Wanna dance?"
"Thought you'd never ask," Shannon grinned, sliding off her stool.
They moved onto the dance floor and Salem began proving that regardless of how old he was, he still knew how to dance. Shannon followed his lead and soon the two were happily bouncing off other people and enjoying themselves tremendously.
Salem had just copped a feel of a very young teenager when he felt a hand descend upon and clasp his shoulder with brutal strength. Salem frowned and his hand flashed up to grip the wrist while he spun to break the contact.
The lean, dangerous face close to his wasn't wearing a very friendly expression.
"Salem," the man spat.
"Windsor," Salem replied in kind.
"What are you doing here?" Windsor inquired, steel in his tone.
"Dancing, asshole, what do you think?" Salem inquired. He looked around to sneak a peek at Shannon and saw her with her arms being held by Jenni and Frieda, the two others who had left the Blood Ravens with Windsor. His eyes went flat. "Let her go."
"Why? She's a tasty morsel and will feed Jenni well." Windsor licked his lips. "And you'll feed me equally well."
Salem let a grin spread over his face. "You honestly think you can stand up to me, Windsor? God, you're pathetic."
Windsor snarled. "You're the pathetic one, Salem! Hanging on the coat tails of a fucking useless Nosferatu; do you lick up her slime when she tells you to? You're even more pathetic than she is."
Salem's grin never faded. "You aren't worthy to lick up her slime, you mucous-laden piece of sheep shit. And do you know what happens when you insult Maggie?"
"I think of a better insult and do it again?" Windsor laughed.
"No," Salem laughed gently. "You die."
His hand still gripping Windsor's wrist, Salem brought it down swiftly and his knee up at the same time. The audible crack of Windsor's forearm couldn't be heard by anyone but the two of them over the music.
Windsor managed not to yelp and Salem felt shadows gripping his ankles and yanking. He tried to keep his balance, but they pulled him down and Salem landed in the crowd of dancers. Most turned to look, then most moved away when Windsor snarled at them.
Salem's hold on the other Lasombra's wrist was broken, but there was nothing wrong with his feet. Scissoring them, he toppled Windsor to the ground with him then kip-upped to his feet. Whistling a happy tune, Salem stomped down towards Windsor's chest.
Windsor spun on the ground out of the way and leapt to his feet. Murderous intent on his face, he started towards Salem when the music suddenly stopped and a voice came over the speakers.
"I know who you two are and if you don't take this outside immediately, I'll eat you myself."
"Whoops," Salem looked around, but saw only a shadowy figure in the DJ's booth. "I'll see you later, Windsor. Dead of course, but later."
"No, I'm hungry now," Windsor snarled back. "Fuck that stupid Brujah! I'm taking you down, Salem!"
Salem held up his hands, darting glances towards the shadowed Brujah. "Windsor, he's Anarch. And even Meer is respectful to him. You really want to risk pissing him off even more?"
"I could have taken Meer," Windsor growled. "I should have taken Meer instead of just leaving."
Salem stared at him and couldn't help laughing. "Have you gone completely insane? You couldn't take Meer if you had another three hundred years in your age!"
"I could take Meer," Windsor insisted, circling Salem who was keeping an eye on him, but keeping his hands up where the Brujah could see them. "And I will take you and celebrate with a blood orgy in this bar! This is my territory now that Christine is dead! Mine! I claim the rights of the Blood Ravens and I will be Bishop! I will reign supreme!"
Salem shook his head sadly. "You been lunching on Malkavians all night? Damn, you're freakin' me out here. I always thought you were a fairly sensible member of the Clan."
"You're going to die, Salem," Windsor hissed between his teeth. "And I'm going to enjoy sucking every last fucking drop out of you."
Salem sighed and looked helplessly at the Brujah. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want to piss off the powerful Anarch. Salem was a good fighter, a strong fighter, but he was, when it came down to it, only sixty years a vampire. He was pretty certain that he could take Windsor, but the Anarch? Probably not.
Lure him to the back room, a voice sounded suddenly in Salem's head. It wasn't a voice that he recognized, but it was one he was happy to obey.
Thanks, kemo sabe!
Salem turned and darted through the crowd, heading towards the back room that he knew would be empty. It was usually used as a gathering place for those who were not mortal, and Salem had been there for a few rousing parties with the Blood Ravens once upon a time. Not any more, of course.
Which reminded him of how stupid this whole Bishop fight was.
Salem shook his head, using shadows pulled up behind him unobtrusively along the floor to keep Windsor's more blatant shadows at bay. He made it to the back room and a second later, Windsor was there as well.
Salem turned to face him. "All right, dickhead. Let's party."
Salem and Windsor circled, feeling each other out, waiting for an opening. Shadows moved and writhed along the floor, reaching for their opponents and being subdued by their enemies. Salem's shadows were more powerful; he knew that from the feel of Windsor's. But Windsor could control more at one time and Salem's concentration was being diverted trying to keep them from snaring him again.
"So, Windsor, what's new?" Salem inquired, figuring that diversions could work in other ways.
"Other than that I'm about to kill you, not much," Windsor replied.
Salem shrugged. "All righty then."
Windsor made the first physical attack, slashing at Salem with a knife that appeared from his sleeve. Salem, who was unarmed, jumped back, barely missing getting cut. Windsor swore and lunged again. Salem ducked under his guard and slammed a Potence-backed fist into the other Lasombra's stomach. Windsor went reeling backwards.
Salem sent blood burning through his legs and whirled, sending one lightning fast foot out to catch Windsor's ankle. Windsor went down in a tumble, flat on his back.
Before he could get up, Salem sent the blood singing through his body again and leapt on top of the fallen Lasombra, snatching the knife from Windsor's stunned fingers.
"Don't ever insult my lady again," Salem told him before he drew the knife firmly across Windsor's throat, decapitating him in one swift movement.
Windsor's body shivered between Salem's legs then collapsed into dust. Salem heaved an unnecessary breath into his withered lungs, then stood up. Turning to go back to the dance floor to deal with the other two, he walked smack into the barrel chest of a man who towered over him by almost a foot.
"Oof," Salem grunted, back pedaling a few steps. Looking up, he tried a cocky grin. "Howdy! Nice place."
"I warned you not to kill in my club," the pale-faced Brujah Anarch growled at him.
"Um, no, actually, you said that if we didn't take it outside, you'd eat us," Salem's photographic memory came in handy sometimes. "We brought it into this room like you asked me to."
"I never asked you to bring it here," the Brujah informed him, his huge fists clenching a little.
Salem's eyebrows did a fast climb to his hairline. "Excuse me? You talked in my head, told me to take it back here."
"I never asked you to bring it here," the Brujah repeated and took a menacing step towards Salem. "Now you will die like the other one for violating my club!"
Salem yelped and did the only thing that came to mind. Barrelling forwards, he rammed straight into the Brujah with all the Potent strength he could manage.
He bounced off. The Brujah didn't seem to have noticed. One hand reached out and grabbed Salem by the throat, lifting him up off his feet.
Salem's eyes widened and before his vocal cords were completely cut off, he managed to cry out, "SLEEP!"
The Brujah dropped like a stone, letting go of Salem's neck in the process.
Salem managed to stay standing and stared down at the Brujah in shock. "Caine on a pogo stick, it actually worked."
He looked around. "Ok, I think it's time to borrow a phrase from one of my favourite cartoon animals."
He lifted his leg in front of him into the classic stance. "Exit, stage left."
Out on the dance floor, Salem knew he had about ten minutes to find Shannon and the other two before the Brujah woke up. He personally wanted to be well away from this place by then. Closing his eyes for a moment, he concentrated on the Vaulderie link that he had with Shannon.
There was nothing there.
Frowning, Salem began an urgent search of the room and it took him less than a minute to find what he was looking for.
Shannon was stretched out on the bar and both Jenni and Frieda had their fangs buried into her, draining her to a very dead, white husk.
Salem's Beast roared out of its cage and the club was bathed in the blood of not only a lot of mortals, but two young, terrified vampires as well.
