Gehenna

by Nevermore

Epidode 6 (following 'The Final Death'): Kindred are dropping like flies, and the cause is either a new, never-before seen threat, or something so old as to be forgotten... (Complete)

2. Gehenna, Part 2

Spelling Television, Inc. (a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment group, Inc) owns the characters of Julian, Cameron, Daedalus, Lillie, Sasha, Cash, Eddie Fiori, Sonny, and any others from the Kindred: The Embraced TV show that I may have forgotten to mention. Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights.

Other disclaimers are contained at the beginning of Part 1. If you really get off on reading disclaimers, then check it out there.

Gehenna, Part 2

by

Nevermore

CHAPTER 3

I

"What's the matter?" Julian Luna asked into the telephone. It was a rare occurrence for Sonny to call his sire at the mansion while in the middle of his shift. Generally, matters were never so major that they could not wait a few hours. The fact that Sonny had felt a need to reach Julian immediately spoke volumes of whatever situation was developing within San Francisco.

"You know how you've had me poking around all over the place lately?" Sonny asked.

"Yes," Julian replied as he gestured for Toby to join him in the living room. "No one has noticed anything unusual in your behavior, have they?" Julian knew even as he asked the question what the answer would be. If anyone had found Sonny's behavior strange, the younger Ventrue would certainly have been able to deal with the situation on his own. He would certainly not have gone to his sire to straighten things out. No, this would have to do with a far more pressing matter.

"As a matter of fact, people have been noticing my interest in anything that seems out of the ordinary," Sonny replied. "It's because of that that I received a phone call about an hour ago." Sonny paused a few moments before continuing, and Julian could only guess that his childe was choosing his words carefully, making sure that he quickly summed up everything that he needed to say. That Sonny was being so careful with his words was another sign to the prince that a difficult situation had arisen.

"A friend of mine just transferred over to Oakland about six months ago," Sonny finally continued. "Just after sundown tonight the police in Oakland received a report of what sounded like a firefight in a brownstone in Lakeside." Sonny's last phrase immediately grabbed Julian's attention. As it happened, he knew someone that owned a brownstone in Lakeside. "That's generally a safe neighborhood," Sonny added. "That definitely counted as unusual. When the police arrived a few minutes later, they found something that goes well beyond unusual and headed straight for shocking."

"What?" Julian asked, feeling his stomach bottom out as he spoke. He could only imagine what had happened in the city across the bay, but every possibility was far more than disconcerting.

"The entire place was shot up," Sonny replied. "I'm out here now, Julian. I came out as soon as I heard, so that I could help cover things up." The fact that Sonny would have to cover anything up confirmed all of the prince's fears. That would have been necessary only to protect the Masquerade. As he had feared, it appeared that Basil's home, the home of the prince of Oakland, had been attacked earlier that evening.

"Has Basil been cooperative in concealing what happened?" Julian asked, allowing his childe to know that he fully understood the situation. The silence that followed, however, told Julian that perhaps he did not understand as much as he thought he did.

"Basil's not here," Sonny replied. "He's missing, along with all of his people."

"What?" Julian asked, wondering if he had in fact heard his childe correctly. "You have no idea where he went?"

"There's no sign of any of them," Sonny replied. The place looks like the inside of a slaughterhouse, Julian. There're bullet holes everywhere, and lots of blood, but no bodies." Silence followed for a few moments as Sonny seemed to be finished speaking, and Julian did not know what to say. "You can't imagine what it looks like, Julian," Sonny added after almost a minute of silence. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone came in here, butchered the lot of them, and threw bucketfuls of their blood against the wall. It's that bad."

"Do you have any idea who could have done it?" Julian asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. The prince had been thrown into a state of utter shock. He tried to think of anyone in the area that would have been able to commit such an act. Beyond the sheer strength that one had to have possessed, there was also the question of who would have been able to carry out the assault before the authorities arrived. After that, there was also the matter of who could have been so brutal in their methods. Of course, the Sabbat would have been both powerful and brutal enough to have carried out the attack, but Julian doubted that a Sabbat pack large enough to have succeeded in the assault would also have been able to escape without being seen.

"Right now, other than the Manson family, I can't imagine anyone that could do something like this," Sonny replied, knowing even as he spoke that the levity he injected into the conversation was far less than welcome.

"Call me back when you find out anything," Julian instructed as he hung up the telephone. He immediately turned to the Toreador guard that had been standing by silently during the entire conversation. "Call the primogen, including Cash, and tell them there's going to be a meeting tonight," Julian said evenly. "Make certain that their attendance is required."

"What if any of them resist?" Toby asked, knowing that Julian understood he was referring primarily to Cash.

"Simply make certain that they are all aware that I will be extremely displeased if they do not show up," Julian replied. "There may be denial of certain requests, such as permission to add to the ranks of one's clan, and the right to ask for protection should things get out of hand." Toby's eyes went wide as the prince spoke. Suddenly, the Toreador began to understand that Julian felt there may be a need for the primogen to ask for protection from their prince. If that were the case, then there would have to be a significant threat within the city. Toby wondered exactly what the phone call had been about. All he knew for sure was that it had concerned Basil, and that Oakland's prince seemed to have skipped out on his responsibilities.

"Is that all?" Toby asked, noting that Julian's posture indicated that he had other things on his mind as well.

"Call them all first," Julian instructed. "Then meet me in my study upstairs." Toby nodded, and then walked quickly toward the phone. The Toreador had never been asked to undertake a chore as significant as the one he had just been given – calling a meeting of the primogen. The prospect thrilled him.

Staying behind in the living room for a moment, Julian Luna was less thrilled than the young kindred he had just sent on his way. Basil Romanov, for all of his faults, had thus far, at the very least, been a stabilizing influence within Oakland. With him across the bay, the anarchs that had been attacking all of the Camarilla cities in California were suddenly faced with a new enemy. They had been forced to stop concentrating solely on bringing about the fall of San Francisco. This had given Julian the time he had needed to rebuild his position after the Sabbat siege of a couple years earlier, and the Brujah civil war that had erupted shortly thereafter.

Basil Romanov had excelled as an enemy of the anarchs. His enforcers, all of them his blood-bound childer, had executed any interlopers within two days of entering the city. Basil's childer, Julian mused. The youngest of them was as old as Julian himself was. The oldest was over five hundred years old. Basil himself was over eight hundred years old. Julian Luna was well aware of the strength he had gained during the hundred years since his embrace. The differences were like light and day. He could only imagine how much stronger one of his kind would be after eight hundred years. Compared to a mortal, such a kindred would be akin to a god. Julian had only seen Basil in combat once – against Rayce. The now-deceased Brujah primogen had proven to be more than Julian had ever thought him to be. Indeed, the prince of San Francisco had realized he would have been out of his league if he had ever fought Rayce himself. Now, with Basil missing, Julian could not imagine who would have been able to attack Oakland's prince and survive, to say nothing of winning. Then there was the matter of Basil's childer. They would also have been present. Their attackers would have had to overcome five kindred, each of whom was over a hundred years old. A chill went down Julian's spine as he thought, and he began to walk to his study, knowing that he had several weapons there. Perhaps arming himself would help ease his nerves.

The prince walked through the halls, noticing how quiet everything seemed. Granted, it had been years since the mansion had actually seemed active, but Julian had never stopped and noticed how empty his home had become. All there were now were the Toreador guards and their primogen. All of the city's Ventrue, including Jeffrey, had moved out shortly after the Sabbat siege. They had realized how vulnerable the prince's home had become. Even Sasha had eventually left, and Julian was now without the loud music that his niece had sometimes played. When she had still lived in the mansion, of course, Julian had hated every chord on every electric guitar played on every one of Sasha's cd's. Now he missed them.

Julian reached the door to his study and stopped, thinking that he had left the door open when he had walked downstairs to speak with Toby. Then he had gotten the phone call from Sonny. Yes, Julian decided as he stood silently outside the door. He had most certainly left the door open. The guards would never have closed a door that he had left open. They were always completely unobtrusive. Lillie might have closed it, but she was downstairs, poring over a painting that one of her older childer had completed the night before. The prince grabbed a hold of the doorknob, and found it locked. Julian took a step back and allowed his blood to flow into the muscles of his legs, increasing his strength. After a few moments of gathering his energy, he kicked the door as hard as he could. The heavy oak door withstood the blow, but the doorframe did not. The door's lock punched through the wooden frame, sending the door flying open. Julian burst into the room, expecting an attack at any moment. Without even stopping to check his surroundings, he darted to the far side of the room and pulled a combat shotgun from the bookcase. Only then did he stop to take stock of his surroundings.

The prince's gaze was instantly brought to his desk or, more importantly, to the chair that sat behind it. Julian came eye to eye with Basil Romanov's corpse. The first thing that Julian noticed about the body was the advanced stage of decomposition that it seemed to have reached. The older Ventrue was obviously extinguished. Like many of the older kindred, his body had reached the point where the only thing keeping it going was the blood. Once that was destroyed, the body began to crumble. Julian knew that Basil would be no more than a pile of dust by the next evening's sunset. There was nothing that could be done. Romanov was thoroughly dead.

Julian scanned the room, making certain that he was alone. He grinned as he noticed his own behavior. What good would it do to scan the room? he wondered. Someone had been able to bring the body into his home. In order to do that, they would have had to have mastered the kindred abilities of stealth. If they were indeed as accomplished with the abilities as Julian knew they would have to be, then they could be directly in front of him and he would never know it.

"Toby!" Julian shouted, hoping that he could at least achieve a modicum of safety in numbers. He could hear the Toreador racing toward the study, and decided to examine the body more closely. The flesh seemed to have been torn in large pieces from Basil's bones, speaking of great strength in his attacker. The wounds themselves were rather clean, meaning that the weapon used in the attack was at least fairly sharp. As Julian looked closer, Toby ran into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.

"What the-"

"There's no time for that," Julian said, cutting off his guard. "Get everyone together into small groups and search the mansion, and then the grounds," Julian instructed. He was certain that his people would not find anything, but he felt that an effort should be made nonetheless. "As soon as you get everyone organized, get the hell back here," Julian continued, "and bring my .45's with you." Toby nodded and ran out of the room, yelling ahead to his clanmates.

Once the Toreador had departed, Julian continued his examination, becoming more confident that he would not be attacked. From what he figured, anyone who would have wanted him dead would have attacked by then. There was no longer any point in worrying about it. Julian looked closer, noticing something strange about Basil's wounds. He touched the skin, and then took out his pocketknife and cut in. No blood came from the cut. From what Julian could surmise, there was no blood remaining in the body. He looked at the neck and found the telltale puncture marks that he had feared were present. Although the body looked as if it had been attacked by a pack of garou, Julian knew that no werewolf would ever voluntarily drink the blood of a vampire. Certainly, none would ever drain not only the blood, but also the very life essence of a kindred. Basil had been attacked by one of his own kind. What was worse, Julian knew, was that the attacker had diablerized his victim. That meant that whoever had destroyed Basil had been able to defeat him without destroying the body, and that he had then been able to subdue him to the point where he could diablerize the prince. The very thought of such an enemy made Julian's head spin. He knew that he would not be safe if such a foe decided to destroy San Francisco's prince, as well. He could only hope against hope that Basil had some enemies from his past, and that they had returned to exact revenge for an earlier slight. In that case, however, why would they have put Basil's remains in Julian's home? It seemed a rather personal touch, a message meant more for Luna than for Romanov. Julian looked deep within his mind, trying to think of who it was that could be behind Basil's death, but he came up with nothing.

In the basement of the Luna mansion, Lillie could hear the shouts of her clanmates, and immediately realized something was wrong. Her first thought was that the mansion was under attack, and that Julian could be in danger. She shook her attention from the painting that hung on the wall, and turned to run upstairs, to find out if she could do anything to help. As she ran out, however, she ran directly into Jenni, who seemed to have been waiting for her outside of the gallery that Julian had allowed Lillie to set up in a small room in his mansion's lowest level.

"Jenni," Lillie said, obviously startled. "Do you know what's going on?"

"What's going on?" the child asked, her voice holding a strange quality. She seemed to be only dimly aware of Lillie's words, but her voice still held an edge of malice. The Toreador primogen instinctively took a step back, feeling for some reason that she was threatened. Almost as suddenly as she had fallen back, however, she righted herself, almost laughing at what she thought was fear of the child in front of her.

"Yes, what's going on?" Lillie repeated, trying to get Jenni to be more coherent. "People are yelling upstairs."

"Oh, that," Jenni replied, her eyes starting to rapidly clear. "I would assume that Julian just found the body." Jenni shook her head, seeming to be clearing the last of the cobwebs that had been affecting her moments earlier.

"What body?" Lillie asked, once again feeling the sense of danger return to her. She unconsciously took a half-step back, and Jenni smiled in response, noticing the subtle movement.

"Basil's body," Jenni replied simply. Lillie simply stared blankly at the child, not seeming to comprehend what Jenni was saying. "His diablerized carcass," Jenni clarified. "I put it upstairs in Julian's study."

"What?" Lillie stammered. Part of her tried to yell out that the child was simply joking. Reason told the Toreador that Jenni was simply looking for attention. However, another voice, instinct, told Lillie that Jenni was deadly serious, and that she posed a dangerous threat. Lillie took another half-step back, deciding to listen to instinct rather than reason.

"Yeah, I had to kill Basil," Jenni answered nonchalantly. "He was a real pain in the ass, though. You know?" Jenni smiled at Lillie, who was still unable to speak. The Toreador's mind seemed at war with itself. Jenni could see that Lillie was thus far unable to reconcile instinct and reason, and so she continued. "I don't think anyone's going to miss him, really," Jenni added. "Well, his childer might have missed him, but they're all dead, too. A couple of them put up quite a fight, though. It's a good thing I went to the trouble of dominating them all over the last few weeks. Of course, I couldn't get any of them to actually help me kill Basil, since they were all blood-bound to him. A couple of them were more than willing to attack each other, though. That made things a lot easier. Too bad Basil never tried that thing the Sabbat always does. I think they call it the vinculum. I've heard about you, Lillie. You should know all about Sabbat rituals, what with your past. That's the one where an entire group shares each other's blood. If they had all been blood-bound to each other, things could have really gotten messy." Jenni could notice that Lillie was quickly getting herself more composed, and now stood silent less out of confusion than out of a desire to gather information. Jenni smiled. "Don't you think it was a nice touch to leave Basil's body in Luna's office? It really freaked him out. You should have seen the look on his face."

"What the hell are you?" Lillie asked. Her mind started to swim. She remembered the reference to the Sabbat, and the Toreador's mind went back to the Sabbat siege. It was then that Jenni had arrived among them, and from what she said Lillie gathered that their guest was not, in fact, a member of the Sabbat. Lillie thought back and remembered the night that Julian had called for the attack against the Sabbat lair.

Jenni had seemed furious that Julian would not permit her to go along. She had cried out for blood and vengeance. Why did that image stick in her mind? What was it that her subconscious had apparently noticed, and that her conscious mind had overlooked? In a flash of insight it came to her – Jenni's aura had been completely wrong. Lillie had been reading Julian's aura at that moment, to try to determine whether or not he truly trusted the Toreador primogen, or whether he considered her a liar when she claimed she was not in with the Sabbat. She had then turned toward Jenni when the child came in with Sasha. During the child's entire tirade, her aura had never flickered or faltered. It was constantly white, a sign of purity, youth, and innocence – exactly what one would expect to find in the aura of a recently embraced child. However, Jenni seemed to be angry at the time. Even given her youth and innocence, there would still have been a hint of her anger. However, there had been none. Now Lillie realized the truth of the situation. Jenni was capable of altering the appearance of her own aura. Such a power was extremely advanced, and could only be possessed by those kindred that had some of the most potent blood of their kind. Indeed, no one in the city, not even Julian, would ever be capable of using such an ability. Not only did Jenni appear to be far more than she had ever let on, she was perhaps far more than the Toreador primogen felt she would ever be able to defeat.

Lillie began to walk steadily backward, hoping that she would be able to escape the basement and warn Julian and her clanmates. Jenni, in turn, began to walk toward the Toreador primogen. She could see the fear in Lillie's eyes, and it only excited her all the more. As she came within arm's reach, Lillie lashed out, hoping to knock Jenni to the ground so that she would be able to run. The attack surprised the child, as Jenni had thought she had frightened her prey into submission. In the end, however, it made no difference. Jenni simply caught Lillie's wrist and squeezed, crushing the bone. She then swung at Lillie's throat. The Toreador was not prepared for the quickness of Jenni's counterattack, and could do little more than watch the child's open hand approach. In the last split-second before impact, Lillie noticed that Jenni had formed her hands into claws even as she attacked. Lillie felt Jenni's taloned fingers slice into her throat, and was slightly aware of a spray of blood accompanying the strike. She tried to scream, simultaneously feeling the pain from her mangled wrist and ripped throat. However, no sound came from her mouth as she cried for help.

Jenni took a step back, a wide smile spread across her blood-splattered face. She held up her clawed hand and opened it, proudly displaying a lump of flesh.

"You know what this is?" the child asked maliciously. Lillie simply fell back, still hoping to be able to escape her attacker, though she felt with every passing moment that her odds of survival were decreasing rapidly. "This is your larynx," Jenni said, answering her own question. "I'll forgive you for not answering, since you can't as long as I hold your voice box in my hand." Jenni stopped to consider the organ that she held in her palm, and Lillie took the opportunity to focus on healing her wounds. She knew that in her present condition, she would never be able to even put up a good fight. She needed to be able to defend herself. Jenni glanced at Lillie and immediately noticed that the wound was no longer bleeding.

"Trying to heal yourself?" Jenni asked absently. "Why bother? You can't regrow a larynx, Lillie. You should know that. It will regenerate in a few days, I guess, but until then you'll be a mute. God, I've been waiting a long time to get you to shut the fuck up." Jenni walked up to Lillie and kicked her in the knee. The leg folded up under the force of the impact, sending Lillie crashing to the floor. "Besides, why bother healing your throat when you can't even stand? I would think that would be a more pressing concern." In response to Jenni's words, Lillie reached down to her leg and straightened it out, her face grimacing horribly with the pain of the effort. Jenni simply walked back and forth in front of the Toreador, wondering how else to have some fun with her.

"Do you think Julian will like you without that renowned singing voice of yours?" Jenni asked. Lillie did not even look at her tormentor. Instead, she continued to concentrate on healing her injuries. Still, however, she could not help but hear the words, and they cut into her. "Like I said, your voice will eventually regenerate, but it will only become as good as it was at the moment you were embraced. That means you'll lose the benefit of decades of voice training. You'll only be as good as any thirty-year-old mortal. That must be a terrible thought for you." Jenni smiled gleefully as she spoke, knowing the effect her words were having.

Lillie continued to suffer in silence, however. She tried not to think about how much of herself she had just lost. Every word that Jenni spoke was completely true, Lillie knew. She might never again sing as well as she was able to at the beginning of the night. However, she tried to focus herself, remembering that there were worse things than not being able to sing well. First and foremost was not being alive. However, what would be the point in being alive if Julian no longer loved her? Could he love her anymore if she suddenly became less than she had been?

"You're afraid of Julian not loving you anymore?" Jenni asked, seeming to read Lillie's mind. "I think I can put your mind at ease. There's no chance of that happening. After all, he'd have to love you in the first place, and he certainly doesn't. All he loves is himself and this shitty city. I can't imagine why he likes it. It's too damned foggy and humid here. Those cold winds off the water really piss me off, too. You know, I almost envy you, Lillie. In a few moments, you won't have to worry about dealing with San Francisco anymore. You can just relax in the comfort of being dead."

In one fluid motion, Lillie launched herself at Jenni, catching the child completely unaware. Jenni had not expected Lillie to repair the damage to her leg so quickly. Lillie allowed her hand to quickly drop to her thigh, and she produced a silver stiletto from underneath her garter. It was the weapon she always carried as a last line of defense against garou, but now she used it against the most powerful kindred she thought she had ever faced. Jenni felt the knife cut into her abdomen, and she scowled at her attacker. Lillie saw that Jenni's reaction was one more of irritation than pain, and she became desperate for an escape. She stood up, holding onto Jenni the entire time, and threw the child across the small room. Jenni crashed against the wall, and Lillie allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She knew that within moments the Toreador guards would arrive, having heard the commotion in the basement.

"Don't think they're going to come," Jenni said as she stood back up. "I have a wall of silence up around us. It's a little trick I picked up from a Ravnos about five hundred years ago. He liked experimenting a lot with his clan's abilities. See, the thing is, I can hear you, and you can hear me. We can both hear everything going on outside. However, no one outside will be able to hear us. We will be able to maintain our privacy." Lillie turned to run away, but immediately felt a vice-like grip on her right arm. She looked down to see that Jenni had raced across the room and grabbed a hold of her before Lillie had even been able to take three strides. No sooner had the child caught her opponent than she once again kicked the legs out from her. Lillie crumpled once more. "Now comes the fun part," Jenni said as she knelt down beside the Toreador primogen.

The child straddled Lillie, using her left hand to hold the Toreador's head in place. Then, with her right hand, she began to pound Lillie's skull. Jenni felt a thrill as the primogen's cranium caved in under the force of the blows. "How beautiful do you think you are now, huh bitch?" Jenni screamed as she pounded her victim. "Fuck you! Fuck your whole hedonistic clan! You think you're so fucking special? You ain't shit!" Grey and red began to ooze from Lillie's ears as Jenni continued to rain punches down upon her prey, and the Toreador's eyes became completely incoherent. Jenni smiled again. She knew that Lillie could feel the pain from her attacks, but could no longer make heads or tails of the sensation. Her brain had just been too damaged. Instead, Lillie would be forced to suffer her pain without any understanding of what it was, where it came from, or how to end it. She would suffer a hell on earth.

Jenni stood back up, once again growing her hands into claws. She raked across Lillie's arms and legs, leaving streaks of red where the Toreador's few remaining drops of blood came to the surface and flowed from the wounds. Then Jenni walked across the room and picked up the stiletto that Lillie had produced moments earlier. She stood over the Toreador primogen for a few moments, wondering how to deal with her. A smile came across her face, and she bent over Lillie's stomach. She cut in roughly, and started to jab the weapon into Lillie's abdomen, slicing all of the organs that were present in the entire chest cavity. Then she reached in and began to pull out Lillie's innards, making sure that the heart was left in its proper place. Jenni did not want to kill Lillie yet. She wanted to hurt her. After a few minutes, Jenni stood up and examined her work. Lillie still lay on the floor, and next to her was a pile of her own insides. Blood covered every surface in the room, dripping from the walls where Jenni had splattered it, and forming in pools across the floor.

"Now I guess we can finish you," Jenni mumbled as she walked back over to Lillie. She bent over the primogen's body and bit into her neck. Not surprisingly, Jenni found no more than a few drops of blood to drink. Feeding was not her goal, however. Instead, she wanted to drain Lillie's very essence, adding it to her own. Jenni drew all she could from the vessel, and then stood up. A seductive smile crossed her face as she began to comprehend all that Lillie had ever known.

"Time to play," Jenni said smoothly as she slowly walked toward the doorway, moving to leave the mansion. Her hips now swayed the same way Lillie's always had, and had anyone been there to look at her, they would have seen the same playful glare in her eyes that Lillie had possessed for so many decades. Jenni turned back to the carnage she had left behind her and decided that she would not have to do anything more to make her point. She had sent the desired message to Julian Luna – he was not safe anywhere he went. No one who was close to him would be safe, either. She would kill everyone, and take every last drop of blood to feed herself.

II

Boris Conroy sat in the back of the classroom, watching the man that was giving the lecture that he had wandered into. The professor's intellectual curiosity had brought him to virtually every guest speaker that was brought to the UCSF campus, but this time he was starting to regret that he had attended. The flyer that had advertised the address had made the topic seem far less boring. He took the paper out of his pocket to check once more that this was the theme he had been expecting. It would not have been the first time that a topic was changed at the last minute. "Chaos Theory: Analyzing Strange Attractors in a Weather Prediction Paradigm." Boris Conroy shook his head, figuring that the subject of the lecture may not have changed. It was simply too technical for him to follow. His area of expertise was history. As he looked around, he noted that he did not know any of the professors or students in the room. Doubtless many of them were involved with meteorology or physics, he figured. From the heavy emphasis on non-linear mathematics, the rest were probably mathematicians. Not wanting to get up and draw attention to himself, Boris leaned back and resolved to absorb as much as he could. After all, he would be around for many years, possibly centuries, to come. There might come a time, he dared to think, when he might gravitate toward a more theoretical field like the one he was hearing about.

"Now that I have laid the groundwork for those of you that might be unfamiliar with some of the terminology present in chaos theory, I will now approach the problem of weather prediction," the man in the front of the room said, his voice carrying the hint of a German accent. Boris looked at the paper again, noting the man's name. He was Professor Heinrich Schacter, from the University of Bremen. Conroy looked the man over, noting how the German seemed to fit into the stereotype that he had heard of mathematicians that studied chaos theory. Chaoticians, many of them called themselves, Conroy thought, correcting himself. Schacter was wearing a black suit, black shoes, and a collarless black shirt. A black trenchcoat was placed over the back of a chair at the front of the room, and a black fedora sat beside it. Conroy had heard that such dress was practically a tradition for those in the field. They claimed that by always wearing black, they freed themselves of the distraction of trying to blend in with those around them. The work was everything.

"The problem with predicting weather lies primarily in two areas. The first of these was dealt with directly in Edward Lorenz's early research into the topic of weather prediction," Schacter said. "Within a nonperiodic system, seemingly inconsequential variation on a local level can have unexpectedly large consequences on a global scale. This is, as I stated earlier, commonly referred to as the butterfly effect. I'm sure you all understand the basics of this concept." Conroy smiled, happy that he finally understood something that the German professor had said. He remembered having heard about the butterfly effect when he saw Jurassic Park. At that moment, he suddenly felt as if Schacter's eyes honed in on him, purposefully picking him out from the crowd. The feeling made Conroy uneasy. Even more unsettling, however, was the thin smile that crossed the German's face a moment later. Boris felt as if there had been a joke made that he had not been let in on, and the sinking feeling that was growing in his stomach made him fear the punchline.

"The second major issue," the German said, turning away from Conroy and continuing his lecture, "is the matter of turbulence. Turbulence, in a way, is what gives rise to the butterfly effect in the atmosphere. Many have tried to figure it out, or in some way prevent it, but I think we're getting past the days when scientists are convinced that the randomness inherent in turbulence can be accounted for." A hand was raised in the front of the room, and Schacter turned to the man that had raised it. Conroy remembered the German requesting questions as they came up, and listened carefully to see what was asked. He hoped that he was not the only one that was falling behind.

"So are you saying that there's no way this problem is ever going to be solved?" an old professor asked.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Schacter replied. "However, there is definitely the possibility that a degree of predictability can still be achieved." Conroy was not the only one in the room to look puzzled at Schacter's apparent contradiction. "What I am saying is that a clarification of terms is necessary," Schacter said, attempting to explain himself. "Absolute prediction is impossible," the German reiterated. "There will never be a day when a meteorologist can something like, 'People in Florida, remember as you're plan for your summer that there will be a Category 4 hurricane crossing the peninsula on August 17th which will then hit the pan handle on the 19th.' That is absolutely absurd. There are simply too many independent variables to consider. Don't mention supercomputers to me, either," Schacter went on, his voice sounding more disgusted with every passing second. It was obvious he had had this conversation before. "I don't care how many functions the best Cray can calculate. It will never be enough. The most that we can hope for is to discover the variation in terms of the atmosphere's strange attractors."

The German looked at the professors staring at him, noting that only the mathematicians seemed to have the slightest idea of what he was talking about at this point. He sighed, wondering why he even bothered sometimes. "A strange attractor," Schacter explained, "is one of the most basic elements of chaos theory. It exists within the world of phase space, which I will explain more fully in a moment. In the face of turbulence, scientists seemed to give up on uncontrolled turbulence, instead only working with smooth-flowing turbulent liquids. To an extent, they were right to do so." He stopped, seemingly for dramatic effect, and looked up at Conroy once again.

"I can see that my time is running out," Schacter said, turning from the history professor to glance at a clock on the wall, "so I will end with this point. It will make an excellent conclusion, I think. Once computers became advanced enough, we were able to start graphing the results of certain non-linear equations. You have doubtlessly seen some of these results in pictures of fractals. Fractals are simply equations that have been graphed in phase space." Schacter looked the group over again, taking time to choose his words carefully. He wished to make sure that he did not become too technical. "Phase space is a three-dimensional representation of all possibilities, allowing us to turn a set of numbers into a picture. Once these pictures were examined, it was obvious to anyone that this entire world of possibilities was never fully exploited. Every system seemed completely random, but only to a certain point. This constraint nature places upon pure chaos is the strange attractor. It is stable, meaning that it sets the final state of a dynamic system within its world. It is low-dimensional, allowing only a few degrees of freedom. Finally, it is nonperiodic, which for you non-mathematics types means it never repeats itself. To put it simply, imagine drawing an orbit in a limited space so that it would never repeat itself. In order to accomplish this, the orbit would need to consist of an infinitely long line in a finite area. In other words, it would be fractal.

"The atmosphere is a system with strange attractors," Schacter said. "There can be completely unpredictable randomness, but it will always occur within certain parameters. For instance, Miami might be hit by a hurricane next August 17, but then again it might be sunny. One thing we can be certain of, however, is that it will not snow. Unless, of course, the system is disrupted by unforeseen events that change the very nature of the system, such as having the planet fall from its orbit and out of the solar system. That is highly unlikely, though I must, in the interest of precision, mention that it certainly a mathematical possibility that such a thing could occur. So I have to say, in closing, that chaos theory has shown time and again that the prediction of weather, let alone the control of it, is far outside the ability of humanity. Perhaps someday we will all evolve to a higher form of life that is capable of more, but for now I think we must simply accept the general unpredictability of the universe." Schacter smiled, as if he had made a little joke that no one else seemed to understand, and received a brief applause from the attendees.

Conroy stayed behind after the lecture, wanting to speak with the German. It had been the eye contact, Boris admitted to himself. Something in Schacter's eyes seemed to hint at knowing the history professor. Conroy watched as a small group traded questions and theories with the German, but within fifteen minutes everyone else had departed, going to a small reception downstairs. Once the two men were alone, Schacter turned to Boris and walked toward the back of the room.

"You did not seem to be following along as well as some of the others," he said. "Are you sure you were in the right room?"

"I asked myself the same question a while back," Conroy replied, feeling an inexplicable nervousness at the German's approach. "I think I kept up with the main points, however. I'm just a history professor, actually."

"This is a strange place for a history professor," Schacter commented. "Although there have been some that have tried to apply chaos theory mathematics to the realm of the social sciences."

"Really?" Conroy asked, suddenly intrigued. "What have been their areas of interest?"

"They are as varied as the possibilities allowed by a strange attractor," Schacter replied. "Which brings me to the question I wish to ask of you. Do you know what I was really talking about?"

"I told you, I just followed the main parts," Boris repeated.

"No, my studies have nothing to do with weather," Heinrich answered. "My area of interest is actually those that are like you."

"What?" Boris asked quickly, suddenly feeling very defensive.

"You are kindred," Schacter commented. "There is no point in denying it. My comments about strange attractors were meant for you. The kindred are a strange attractor."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Conroy said, standing quickly and backing toward the back wall. "Perhaps we should be getting to the reception."

"You won't be going to the reception," Schacter replied, his tone holding an air of finality that sent a shiver down Conroy's spine. "Humanity offers an infinite number of possibilities for the universe, but you and those like you constrain the mortals. You live for centuries, and hate change. You work against it. While human history has had a definite progression, it is one that is slower than would probably have occurred had the mortals been left to fend for themselves. I work to destroy this control."

"You're a hunter?" Conroy asked. For a few brief moments, he had thought that he might have met one of his own. However, he had quickly realized that this was unlikely. He remembered hearing that Schacter had flown into San Francisco that afternoon. No kindred could go walking around during the day. If he was mortal, though, Boris still knew that there would be hope. He started to utilize the blood that gave him his unlife. His strength increased dramatically, and his physical quickness was augmented. Should the German attack, he was certain he would be able to defend himself.

Rather than strike, Schacter took a step backward. A short moment later, Conroy felt his strength completely fade. His legs came out from under him, and he fell heavily to the floor. "I suppose you are wondering what's going on?" Schacter asked with a wide grin. "There are several things about kindred that I have discovered over the years. For instance, have you heard that the oldest of your kind can no longer survive on the blood of mortals? It's true." He looked down at the Brujah history professor, and saw an almost vacant stare being returned to him. Knowing his opponent was completely at his mercy, Schacter continued. "Yes, that is why the younger kindred fear the oldest. They know they are cattle. What I didn't know until recently is that sometimes, something goes wrong in one of the younger kindred. They are also forced to feed on the vitae of their own kind. It seems as if the defect that causes this in the oldest of the kindred sometimes develops early. I guess there's always the chance of this, though it would be very unlikely, perhaps no more so than getting snow in Miami in August. Though I assure you, there is chance in everything."

"What… are you?" Conroy managed to ask, feeling what was left of his life slip away. Soon, he knew, he would enter torpor. He would be completely vulnerable to this hunter, and he knew he would probably never awaken again.

"I am Euthanatos," Schacter replied, knowing his words would probably have no meaning to his victim. "I am a mage, a man that can alter reality to suit my every whim. I control probability. For you, I simply increased the chance that the mortal blood within you would cease being able to support you. Now here you are." Schacter bent down and lifted the kindred just as he went unconscious. The German was on the top floor of the building, and remembered having seen a door to the roof. He would simply place the kindred's body outside, knowing that within a matter of hours the sun would rise and dispose of the evidence. Mages were not subject to the kindred law of the Masquerade, but Schacter knew full well just how important it could be to conceal the existence of his kind from the mundanes that would simply never understand.

III

"A man is here to se you, master," the young, college-aged woman said as she entered Thorne's library. It had been a couple of years since he had purchased this warehouse and converted the building for his use, but the old vampire was beginning to become pleased with his efforts. Part of him was still uneasy with the thought of settling down anywhere, but San Francisco seemed like as safe a place as any. True, it was inhabited by garou, mages, and large numbers of younger kindred, but it was still in America. Here, in the New World, he would be relatively free of the scheming of the elders, and would face almost no physical danger from either them or the younger generations that made up the majority of America's vampires.

"I assume it's K.T.," Thorne replied. Of course, he knew, it would have to be K.T. No one else would have been permitted to get anywhere near the warehouse without raising an alarm from one of the sentries. The kindred guard nodded. "Show him in." Well, Thorne reminded himself, he could expect to be only relatively free of the scheming of the elders. There would always be exceptions, even in the Americas. A few minutes passed before K.T. was led into the library. The young Gangrel looked Thorne over, trying to figure out if he knew why he was receiving this visit. If Thorne did know, K.T. was unable to see any signs of it.

"I'm glad you're taking time to see me," K.T. said graciously

"I'm over a thousand years old," Thorne replied with an almost friendly smile. "Time is something I can afford to be generous with. What is it that you wish to discuss?" Thorne looked the Gangrel over briefly, noting that he seemed to be somewhat uneasy. That struck Thorne as odd. K.T. always seemed somewhat detached from, though still well aware of, what was going on around him, a trait that made him an excellent mercenary, and an even better messenger. Despite the fact that Thorne was well aware of K.T.'s associations, he had grown to be somewhat fond of him. He could see what K.T.'s superiors had found so appealing in the Gangrel, a kindred of such youth that indoctrination was almost unheard of.

"My associates have some concerns," K.T. said after a brief moment, taken to make sure he did not misspeak. "Earlier this evening, just after dusk, in fact, Basil Romanov was killed." Thorne looked at the Gangrel with obvious surprise, and K.T. made a mental note that he had seemed able to actually present Thorne with a piece of unknown information. Over the past few months, he had come to realize that Thorne was the driving force behind many of the aspects of kindred life in the city. This was the first time that it appeared, at least at first blush, that Thorne had not orchestrated events.

"Do you know who was behind it?" Thorne asked, wondering who could have succeeded in such an attack. The old kindred had come to respect Basil's strength, and was well aware that the prince of Oakland's defenses were considerably formidable.

"It's funny you should ask," K.T. commented. "My associates were wondering whether you were behind it." K.T. unconsciously shuffled his feet a couple of inches back toward the door, betraying his discomfort at the situation. He was well aware of Thorne's strength. If the elder had indeed been behind the massacre, and wanted that fact hidden, he would doubtless rip K.T. to pieces just as brutally.

"I do not get involved, I simply watch," Thorne replied. "Your masters are well aware of that. I resent your implications."

"I never said that I suspect you," K.T. clarified. K.T. allowed himself to relax as soon as Thorne had spoken. Though he knew the older kindred would probably be very capable of deceiving him, a voice in the back of his head said that Thorne was playing straight. Indeed, there was no true reason to lie. K.T. would be completely unable to do anything about the situation, should he have wanted to. Thorne had only to fear K.T.'s superiors, and they would not arrive for days, if they came at all. Thorne would be very able to evade them. "I simply told you what others are whispering."

"I am grateful that you seem to have such faith in me," Thorne said wryly. "What can you tell me about the attack?"

"It was brutal," K.T. replied, trying to recall the scene. He and Erica had visited Basil's home as soon as the police had left, and they had undertaken their own investigation. K.T. had thought to employ Erica's ability to read auras, to look into the items in the building, to see through the eyes of inanimate objects what had occurred earlier in the night. All the Gangrel had gotten for his efforts was a catatonic Ventrue. Erica had screamed at what she saw, and then stopped speaking, seeming to become completely overcome with terror. K.T. hated to leave her, but he had his orders. He needed to conduct this meeting before he could return to his friend. "There was blood everywhere. It seemed as if Basil and his guards were all ripped to pieces. My first thought was that it had been a pack of garou, but there were no bodies left behind. Of course, the lupines would have carried their dead off with them, but the kindred would not have bothered."

"So Basil's body was not found?" Thorne asked. K.T. shook his head. "Then he may yet live."

"Can you imagine Basil the Butcher not tearing the city apart immediately after someone attacked him?"

"No, I cannot," Thorne admitted, seeing the truth of it. If there had been no sign of Basil after so long, they could not hope to see him again. Even if he was alive, however, the fact was that someone had attacked him. If K.T. was accurate in his description, there had at least been a few guards killed, even if Basil had escaped. The guards were old themselves, and no pushovers in battle. An unknown threat obviously existed.

"You have any thoughts as to who could have done this?" K.T. asked. He was obviously speaking for his associates. The Gangrel's superiors were well aware of the fact that Thorne had what were probably the most extensive files on the kindred anywhere in the world. If they could not have him as a suspect, they wanted someone else. Thorne stopped to ponder what that meant. Had Basil been one of them, and they wanted to avenge one of their own? Had he known something that was valuable to them? Did someone that considered Basil important know something about them? Did they consider Basil's murderer a threat to themselves? There were so many questions.

"Give me a few minutes," Thorne replied. He began typing, preparing parameters for a search of his files. "I can only give you a list of possible kindred candidates," Thorne said as his computer began compiling the information. "If it was garou, mages, the Inquisition, or anything else, I cannot help you."

"I know," K.T. replied. "I was thinking, with what appears to be so efficient a killing, albeit brutal, do you think an Assamite might have been behind it?"

"No."

"That was awfully quick. You're not even going to consider the possibility?"

"I do not need to," Thorne replied, the irritation evident in his voice. "Many years ago, an Assamite was contracted to kill Basil. He failed. The Assamites never accept a contract on a kindred that has escaped them. It is a matter of honor. Once a kindred has killed an Assamite that has been sent to assassinate him, he is forever protected from that clan."

"I didn't know that," K.T. replied. "What about the Assamites in the Sabbat? They don't exactly play by the same rules, do they?"

"I know all of the Assamites in the Sabbat," Thorne replied. He saw K.T. shocked face, and continued. "More accurately, I suppose, I should say I know of them. There are two, maybe three Sabbat Assamites that could have had even a slight chance of killing Basil and all of his guards at once. None of them are anywhere near here."

"How can you be sure?"

"Believe me, I make sure I keep very good track of them," Thorne said. "The Assamite antitribu have not been affected by the curse that the Tremere placed upon the rest of the clan. They would find me to be a fairly attractive prize."

K.T. nodded his head in understanding. Hundreds of years ago, the Tremere had cursed the entire Assamite clan, a result of their continued diablerie. No longer were they be able to feed upon the blood of other kindred. Vampire blood would be forever poisonous to them all. The antitribu, those Assamites that existed in the Sabbat and away from their brethren, were not affected by this curse. They would still be able to feed on their elders, and would be delighted to find someone as old as Thorne. His blood would allow them to gain great strength. "How long is that going to take?" K.T. asked, gesturing to the computer. Thorne simply shrugged his shoulders. "Well, why was an Assamite sent after Basil?" the Gangrel inquired, trying to make small talk. No answer seemed immediately forthcoming. "Come on, we have to pass the time somehow. You might as well tell a good story. Or do you not know?"

"Of course I know," Thorne replied, sounding somewhat offended. He glared for a moment at the Gangrel, well aware of the ploy K.T. was using to hear something he might consider valuable information. "I do not understand you young kindred. For the past three hundred years, you have all seemed to think that conversation is a great way to pass the time. What ever happened to the wisdom to be found in silence? Be that as it may, I will tell you. It does seem we have nothing better to do.

"Long ago, Basil was sent to intervene on the Ventrue Justicar's behalf in a Brujah civil war. He killed countless Brujah elders, and even diablerized a couple of them. As you might expect, this did not sit well with the Brujah that survived. They set about finding young Basil."

"Young?" K.T. interrupted. "I thought he was fairly old."

"The civil war occurred in the mid-1300's. Basil was only two or three hundred years old at that point. Very young, especially by the standards of the time. He had shown amazing skill in accomplishing what he did. His blood was very strong. He came from a powerful line." Thorne stopped for a moment, and had a faraway look in his eyes. K.T. guessed that Thorne was very disappointed to have lost such a fine specimen. The Gangrel was well aware of Thorne's activities, trimming what he saw as the dead weight of kindred society. Thorne was what K.T. referred to as a social Darwinist. He felt that only the strong should survive, in order for the whole to grow stronger. He went around the world, manipulating potent factions into conflict in order to raise those that were strong, and allow their lines to continue.

"So the Brujah finally found Basil and sent the Assamite after him?" K.T. asked, after Thorne had sat a couple of minutes in silence. The Gangrel wanted to keep the story going, so that it would not be cut short when the computer finished its search.

"No. For almost three hundred years, finding Basil was a priority of the Brujah Justicar. Finally, one found him. Basil rewarded the Justicar by killing him."

"He killed a Justicar?" K.T. asked. From what he had heard, that was an extremely rare and difficult accomplishment. Of course, he had known Rayce, a man who had killed a Justicar, but that was the only time K.T. had even heard of it being done, to say nothing of being alive to have actually seen another killing.

"It is not all that difficult a task for those that have been alive long enough," Thorne replied, an amused smile crossing his lips. "Of course, the Justicars immediately cover up any evidence, as they want the rest of the kindred to believe in their aura of invincibility, but trust me when I say they can be killed. Anyway, Basil was always arrogant. That was not a trait he has only developed recently. He had the gall to stay in St. Petersburg, where he had killed the Brujah Justicar. Within a couple of months, the Toreador Justicar arrived to mete out justice. Refusing to be judged by what he saw as an inferior specimen, Basil killed him, as well. It is at this point that Basil seemed to have been taken over by a fit of common sense. He fled Russia, which was the smartest thing he could have possibly done. Like the idiot he was, though, he settled briefly in Prussia. While there he was discovered, and within a month the Malkavian Justicar had arrived. As extinguishing Justicars had probably become habit by then, Basil killed him, too. When he was done, Basil had killed three Justicars within a year and a half. The Inner Circle took notice, and they arranged for an Assamite assassin. Keep in mind that the Ventrue had even greater influence over the Camarilla in the earlier days than they do now. Getting the assassin was a compromise. It was agreed that if Basil escaped, he would avoid punishment for his earlier crimes. However, if he fell, he would become food for the three clans that had lost a Justicar at his hands.

"As you know, since you met Basil, he survived his trial by battle. Ahman Karohai was one of the finest Assamites at the time, but the larger, though younger, Ventrue cut him down. Still, the battle was the closest brush with death Basil had ever experienced, at least until tonight, that is. After the assassin, he reformed his ways to a large degree. In the three hundred years since then, he has killed only three kindred of note. One was a Brujah elder that had awakened and was causing problems in Europe. No one cared. Another was a Salubri elder." Thorne saw K.T.'s curious look, and decided to explain briefly. "They are a unique bloodline that is devoted solely to reaching enlightenment, or Golconda, as many of the elders call it. They have three eyes." K.T. nodded, and Thorne continued. "The last one was another Brujah elder, but he was Inconnu, one of the ones that does not claim to take part in kindred affairs any longer. The Inner Circle did not mind at all, though the rest of the Inconnu seemed rather irked. It may have been one of them, come looking for revenge."

Again K.T. nodded. He had heard of the Inconnu, and thought it possible that they had been involved. They were almost all at least several centuries old, and many had been around for over a millennium. They would certainly have the strength. The question was whether they had wanted to get involved that much. Chances were that if Basil killed the man, he had done something to draw attention to himself. If that were the case, his peers might not have seen it as necessary that they avenge him. At that moment the computer beeped, and Thorne turned to the computer screen.

"I have three possibilities," he said, looking over the screen. "One of the files is outdated," he added a moment later. "This one went to ground about twenty years ago," he explained, pointing at the screen. "As for the other two, I'll look into them. Both of these guys have never left Europe, though. I don't know why they would come over here, especially for Basil. He might have been big and nasty by our standards, but he's small-time compared to these two beasts."

"So that's all you have?" K.T. asked. "How long do you think you'll need to check into them?"

"It could take a few days," Thorne admitted. "I'll let you know when I find something. Still, I can't shake the feeling that something about this is familiar."

"What do you mean?"

"The way he was killed in his home, all of his guards there with him. He had just become prince, too." Thorne scratched his head, his movement betraying his confused thoughts. For a brief moment, a scene flashed through the old vampire's head. A small manse in Renaissance Genoa, where he could almost clearly make out five Toreador. Something bad had happened to them, but the image vanished as quickly as it had come to him. "I'm sure it will come to me, in time," he said. "I can also go through some of my archives," he added as K.T. was turning toward the door. "There are still a few old books that haven't been converted to computer file. From what I remember, there's no one in them that would even be alive anymore, not to mention be a threat. Still, you never know."

"Thanks," K.T. said as he walked out. While the Gangrel had to admit that he made his living solving obscure problems like this, he never had become comfortable with constantly dealing with the unknown.

IV

Toby looked over the two primogen that sat in chairs across from him. Both Daedalus and Matt Reimer seemed agitated, and neither was willing to hide it. Perhaps they were, alternatively, unable to hide it, the Toreador guard thought to himself. As far as he knew, neither of the kindred in front of him knew about the attacks that had occurred earlier in the prince's home. So either they were both more adept at coming across information than he had guessed was possible, or they were each already consumed with large problems of their own. Both possibilities unnerved him.

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Matt asked, wondering why the prince seemed to be keeping his guests waiting in the dining room. He had received a phone call half an hour earlier, informing him that he was to immediately report to the mansion for a meeting of the primogen. The secretary that had called had sounded as if there was the greatest urgency. Now, Julian kept them waiting. He had never done so before. Matt was extremely uneasy.

"I was instructed to wait until you were all here before I brought you in," Toby replied, obviously unhappy with the position in which he had been placed. "I doubt it will be too much longer." Almost on cue, Patrick Collins walked through the front door, Adam Stewart and Mario Cabrezzi following closely on his heels. Behind the three Tremere came two Toreador guards, who locked the front door and drew shotguns as soon as they entered.

"We can go in now," Toby said quickly, standing and walking toward the meeting room.

The first thing that Matt noticed was that Cash was not at the meeting. If there was so crucial a matter to discuss, he thought that the former Gangrel primogen would have been present. Of course, for the time being there was no official head of the Gangrel in San Francisco, but in an emergency Reimer felt that the shapeshifters would have been smart enough to organize themselves. It was very unusual. Toby led the three primogen into the room while the rest of the kindred that had come to the mansion waited in the dining room, having fulfilled their duties as guards for the time being.

"What exactly is going on?" Matt asked as he entered the meeting room. Julian simply looked at him in response, and in an instant Reimer noticed that Lillie's seat was empty. He had simply assumed that she would be waiting with Julian, as she lived in the mansion. The Telemon primogen quickly got a sinking feeling in his gut as he strode slowly to his chair. Behind him, both Daedalus and Patrick experienced the same reaction.

"Where's Lillie?" Daedalus asked, deciding to be the first one to ask the question that he was certain they were all thinking.

"Why don't you all sit down?" Julian suggested, motioning to the chairs that sat around the table. He looked at the three men that shared the room with him, and suddenly noticed how empty the table seemed. There were seven chairs, counting his own, but only four were occupied. Despite the fact that the Brujah were all but extinct in the city, a chair remained for the clan. Cash's seat was also vacant. Julian had called Cash personally, trying to impress upon him the need for gathering the forces of the city's kindred. The Gangrel had sounded unimpressed, and accused Julian of trying to manipulate some insignificant situation in order to increase his hold on the clans. The Gangrel that had led his clan for so many years had refused to play the role that Julian had prepared for him. Cash would have no part of this meeting.

The final empty seat was Lillie's, and Julian tried to figure out just how he felt about her death. There was, of course, the obvious fact that she had been killed within his own home. That made him nervous, perhaps even a slight bit paranoid. The personal loss that he had experienced is what confused him the most. He had allowed himself to carry on an on-again, off-again relationship with the head of the Toreador clan for decades. Now, with her death, the association would end forever. Some part of him told him that he should feel sad, or at least not as indifferent as he was. However, that was not the case. All that mattered to the prince was dealing with the anonymous threat that had come to his city. It was as it should be, he knew, but he missed the slight bit of humanity that he felt he had lost somewhere along the way.

"Julian, what about Lillie?" Daedalus asked after allowing the prince a few minutes of silence.

"She's dead," Julian said evenly. "She was killed here earlier this evening.

"What?" Daedalus asked, shocked that one he had known for so many years had finally passed into oblivion. "How?"

"There was an intruder, we think," Julian replied. "That's not all, though." The prince measured the reactions of the three men at the table with him. Daedalus had been unable to hide his surprise, but it was obvious that surprise was his only true emotional reaction. The Nosferatu had never cared for the Toreador primogen. She was an associate, and was always worthy of his respect and attention. However, they had never been anything that had come close to the level of friends. Matt also seemed surprised, though Julian guessed that the response was due more to the breach of the prince's security than to the fact that anyone he knew had died. The Telemon was a soldier. Death was nothing new to him. All that would matter to him was how to prevent similar occurrences in the future. As for Patrick, however, Julian was at a loss. He was completely unable to read the Tremere primogen. Some things never changed.

"What else is there?" Patrick asked. He had a terrible feeling about the situation, but he could not place exactly what it was that set him on edge. For some, the sensation might have been called fear. To Patrick, it was an oddity.

"Basil Romanov is also dead, along with all of his enforcers and bodyguards," Julian said, referring to the recently self-declared prince of Oakland and his coterie. As with Lillie, there was no reaction that Julian could term sorrow. However, as before, there was a bit of surprise. This time, however, Patrick also betrayed his shock. The primogen all knew how strong Basil was. The thought that he had been killed set everyone ill at ease. "Finally," Julian added, wanting to get the bad news out of the way immediately, "Daedalus has informed me that his Nosferatu have been disappearing for months now. The sewers are all but empty. He fears that there may be no more of his people left."

"Do you have any idea what's even going on, Julian?" Matt asked, hoping that the prince had come upon anything that might tip him off as to who was behind the deaths. He could not begin to imagine who could be behind such acts. He suspected that the Tremere might have a clue, as they wanted to meet with him, but he did not feel like asking Patrick at that moment. The Tremere primogen had contacted him individually, and Matt had no intention of letting the others know that the warlocks might be on to something. Until he had all the facts, he would play his cards close to his bulletproof vest.

"I'll tell you all I know," Julian replied. "It comes to this. As I said, the Nosferatu have been disappearing for some time. Daedalus kept this fact to himself as he investigated the matter. He then came to me with the problem two nights ago. Then tonight I received a call from Sonny that Basil had presumably been killed around sunset, though there was not yet any sign of the body. As we mustered ourselves to prepare for a possible attack here, we found Basil's remains in my study. Not soon after, we found Lillie's corpse in the basement. Both bodies appeared to have been mauled. I don't know what to make of any of it. I figured you'd all like to know that something is wrong. Do any of you have any ideas?"

"Well, since we seem to be tallying our recently deceased, why don't you add Stephen Jackson to the list?" Patrick suggested. "He was killed last night. If you remember, I initially told you that the fiasco at Fort Point was the result of my clan's attack on a group of anarchs. Actually, Stephen was out there looking into something. The attack that killed him was the real cause of the destruction."

"What?" Julian asked incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"It was an internal matter, Julian," Patrick replied. "We Tremere like to clean up our own messes. To be sure, we have to ask permission when we create one of our kind, but I don't remember reading that I also needed you to sign off on the cause of death on any death certificates that might be needed."

"You'd better watch your tone," Julian shot back.

"Yes, I probably should," Patrick agreed immediately, backing down. The Tremere primogen thought again about the presence his clan had detected, and the overwhelming sensation of irritation that permeated the city, growing stronger every day. Mario had modified his ritual to create an area of effect that surrounded the caster, but Patrick had not yet learned the spell. Without his clanmate being within ten feet of him, he was helpless against the mystical aura present in San Francisco. He would need to guard his reactions more closely. "I only meant to say that we considered this an internal matter, and I had determined to look into it myself. I believe my decision was comparable to the one that Daedalus seems to have made about his disappearing Nosferatu."

"Perhaps," Julian replied, seeming to calm himself a bit. "How about you Matt, do you have anyone that you would like to tell me about?" the prince asked, his tone conveying the fact that he did not actually expect an answer.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Matt responded. Julian seemed to almost glare in response to the Telemon primogen. "Magnus was also killed last night," Matt said. He took care to omit the fact that his clanmate had been killed at the same time Stephen had, while holding a secret meeting with the warlocks. For a brief flash Matt thought he had detected a look of approval on Patrick's face, but he was uncertain.

"And I assume you'll also tell me this was an internal matter?"

"Yes," Matt replied. Why not give that response? he wondered. It seems to have worked so far.

"I have had enough of this," Julian said. "Perhaps if one or all of you had bothered to come to me earlier, this evening's blood bath might have been avoided. Now I have to deal with several deaths. Maintaining the Masquerade at Basil's home was no small chore, let me assure you. While it is easy enough to conceal Lillie's murder from the authorities, I doubt I will be able to find anyone in her clan that is as capable of maintaining order. She had not gone to the trouble of grooming a successor." He said the last sentence with obvious disgust. As much as he was angry with the primogen that sat before him, he had to acknowledge that at least they had had the foresight to prepare for the possibility of their own deaths. Patrick had apparently been instructing both Douglas and Stephen. Matt had been tutoring Holden, and was always backed up by Magnus. Julian had Sonny for himself. Even Cash had gone out of his way to make Shelly seem like his heir apparent. Daedalus had apparently been close with a Nosferatu named Rex, a man that had been well respected by others of his clan. Lillie had never prepared a lieutenant capable of running the clan. Now the Toreador would fall into disorder, just when they might be needed most.

"If you wish to be made aware of internal matters, Julian, I have one for you," Matt said somewhat sarcastically. "I have one or more of my clan coming in tonight."

"One or more?" Julian asked. "You don't even know how many?"

"The decision is not up to me," Matt replied, obviously irritated. "I asked my grandsire to send help, and he said he would. He does not always see the need to keep me completely informed."

"Your grandsire?" Julian asked. "You mean Siras Telemon?"

"Yes, the founder of my clan," Matt replied, trying to remind the prince just how potent his blood actually was. Matt was young, it was true, but his potent blood, along with his extensive combat training, made up for some of the shortcomings of youth. He wanted to make sure that Julian never forgot that. He did not dwell upon why it was suddenly so important to him that the prince be intimidated by him, but he made the effort all the same.

Patrick, however, noticed what was going on, seeing the telltale signs of the increasing agitation that was a result of whatever presence his clanmate had inadvertently discovered. He knew that everyone at the table would eventually be at each other's throats unless some rationality was injected into the situation. Being Tremere, he figured he was the perfect one to take such a step.

"As long as the Telemon present themselves, this won't be a problem, will it Julian?" Patrick asked.

"No, of course not," the prince replied, remembering his place. He would not be as rude as to deny entrance to the city to someone that recognized the Traditions. It was irrelevant how insolent the newcomer's primogen had been. "However, I want them to come directly to the mansion," Julian said. While he would not deny admission, he would certainly make it as inconvenient as he could. He figured that would teach Matt to be more respectful in the future.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" Patrick asked magnanimously.

"I want each of you to designate a few of your people to take part in patrols," Julian instructed. "I've been thinking about this, and I think the Sabbat might be behind these attacks. It's not unlike them to take part in bloody massacres."

"Certainly not," Patrick replied quickly, "but it's not the Sabbat."

"What?" Julian and Daedalus asked simultaneously. Matt remained silent, not being too surprised at the revelation. If it had, in fact, been the Sabbat, there would have been far more than only two bodies at Fort Point. There was no way Magnus would not have taken at least a couple of Sabbat soldiers with him to the grave, to say nothing of what Stephen might have done. There had not even been any signs that anyone but the two that had met had even been injured.

"My clan has detected a 'presence' lately," Patrick said, trying to explain his opinion. "I wish I could say more, but so far I can't. We discovered this accidentally, and have been trying to figure out what is going on." He could see that Julian was once again growing angry at not having been told, so the Tremere decided to explain the situation more fully. "This is something of a mystical presence, and therefore none of you would have been of any help to us in our investigation. We labored long and hard over whether to tell you, but the fact of the matter is that there's very little to tell. Perhaps Stephen found something that got him killed. Perhaps he knew too much. That is all I can guess." The Tremere primogen leaned back, displaying the most concerned and contrite look he could muster. He knew that Matt would be aware that he was lying, but that mattered little. His performance was for Julian's benefit. If Patrick had his way, then Matt would be an ally before the night was out, and nothing that the Telemon had against him would be overly significant.

"So you don't really know what's going on, do you?" Julian asked Patrick, trying to get the bottom line in the situation.

"That is correct," Patrick replied.

"I want everyone to move into the mansion," Julian said after a moment's thought. "There is safety in numbers. If we're all together, we can probably survive better."

"There is a degree of wisdom in that," Matt commented with a chuckle. "But if you want to be safe, you should come to my Compound. Remember what one small pack of garou was able to do to this place?" the Telemon asked, referring to the werewolf assault a few years earlier that had left part of Julian Luna's mansion in flames. "There's no telling what we're even facing right now, and the Telemon Compound is sealed up better than any other building in the city."

"This is a mystical threat," Patrick replied. "There are some things that bullets and guards cannot protect you against. I hate to divide us even more on this issue, but the only safe place in the city is my clan's chantry. I think we would be able to set up some kind of temporary quarters for the kindred of the city if we want to use that as our base of operations."

"I do not care what the other clans will be doing," Daedalus said softly. "As always, Julian, I will stand by your side, come what may."

"Thank you," the prince said, a warm smile crossing his face. After so many years, and so many battles, the only friend that Julian could truly say he had left was the old Nosferatu primogen. Knowing that Daedalus would be by his side made him feel safer somehow, and the prince's mood lightened somewhat. "I expect each of you will be declining my offer of residence?" Julian asked Matt and Patrick.

"Yes," Matt replied, a twinge of arrogance in his voice. Julian seemed about to take issue with the primogen's tone, but thought better of it. He had to choose his battles carefully. True, he wanted to rip out the Telemon's heart for his insolence, but that could wait for a more opportune time.

"Regretfully, I must remain in the chantry," Patrick said. "I wish I could accept, but if my people are to discover who is behind these attacks, and the nature of this mystical presence, they will need the resources that we have at our home. No other location will do for us." Patrick had never even considered accepting Julian's offer, but he still saw no reason to not be gracious in declining to accept the prince's hospitality. Should they survive this latest threat, he might come to need something from Luna.

"Then we are done here," Julian said. "I hope each of you stays in touch, and lets me know what you may find out." Both Matt and Patrick simply nodded their heads. The prince stood and walked from the meeting room, followed closely by Daedalus.

"You wanted to meet with me," Matt said to Patrick once the prince had gone. Patrick nodded. "You'll tell me everything you know?" Again Patrick nodded. "Then let's go," Matt said. "I'll be bringing Holden with me." Patrick smiled and stood from his chair, leading the way out of the meeting room. He hoped that by the time he was done with his discussions, he would have the alliance that he felt he needed with the Telemon.

V

Cash sat back on his couch, paying only a slight bit of attention to the movie that was on the television. He felt that 'The Usual Suspects' was one of the finest movies ever created in the history of American cinema, but was nonetheless preoccupied by his guest. He looked at Jana sitting next to him, noticing how she was apparently enthralled by the development of the movie's story.

"The greatest trick the devil pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist," Kevin Spacey said on the screen, referring to the enigmatic Keyser Söze. Despite her interest in the film, Jana found herself sneaking occasional glances at Cash, catching him gazing at her. The younger Gangrel smiled, confident that she knew what was on her primogen's mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Jana asked coyly, slowly moving from her end of the couch to sit against Cash. She noted that he did not make any move to retreat from her advance, and so she moved closer, beginning to lean her weight against Cash's body. Jana had been attracted to Cash since she had met him, and felt that to some degree he had felt the same about her. However, there had always been Sasha. The Brujah female had forever stood between Jana and the man that she wanted so desperately.

"You want to talk about what I'm thinking?" Cash asked in a low whisper, allowing his breath to pass lightly over Jana's ear as he spoke. "There are better ways of letting you know than talking." The Gangrel primogen leaned in against Jana's neck, allowing his canine teeth to extend into fangs. He gently rubbed the sharpened teeth against her soft flesh, causing chills to run down her spine.

"Yeah, that's much better," Jana replied, turning toward Cash and grabbing hold of the back of his head. She held her primogen in a vice-like grip, and drew his face forward, kissing him passionately on the lips. Cash felt as if fire was running through his veins, an experience unlike anything he had felt since the earliest days of Sasha's embrace. As Sasha had slowly become more Brujah, something inside Cash had revolted at having her near him. The magic had been lost. With Jana, he realized with a thrill, the fire of passion was roaring as brightly as it ever had before. The primal urges that the Gangrel clan was known for began to rise up in Cash's soul, and he locked gazes with Jana, seeing immediately that she felt the same way.

In the heat of passion, Cash practically lunged at Jana's neck, first kissing the skin softly, and then sinking his fangs into her throat. As her blood crossed his lips, Cash sensed a fragment of Jana's life merge with his own. He could not simply feel, but also taste the desire that she felt for him. In the back of his mind, where there was still a semblance of rationality, free from the animalistic drives that controlled his conscious thought, Cash smiled inwardly. He thought he had lost passion, but he had been proven wrong. He had successfully broken free of his blood bond with Sasha, and was once again free to share himself with another.

Cash drew back his head, and turned his neck to Jana. The female Gangrel needed no more convincing than this simple gesture. She bit into Cash's neck, eagerly seeking out the jugular vein. Her fangs pierced the blood vessel, and she was able to share in his life the same as he had done with her. Cash was overcome with ecstasy. Part of his life slipped away, caressing the lips of his new lover, and he reveled at the intimacy of the experience. He knew that no mortal could ever achieve such desire. Sex was the closest a human could come to such a feeling, and he could remember from his earlier days that there was really no comparison. He felt Jana lick the wound that she had inflicted, and knew that she was done feeding from him.

"I've been waiting so long to do that," Jana admitted as she lay herself across Cash's lap, gazing up into his intense green eyes. "I never thought you'd get over Sasha."

"Neither did I," Cash admitted. "I finally got free, though. Sasha and all the bullshit baggage that she brings with her are finally a thing of the past."

At that moment there was knock at the door. A tinge of fear raced through Cash for a brief moment, as the first thought that crossed his mind was that he was cursed with awful timing, that Sasha would be standing on the other side of the door, wanting to work things out. The timing seemed too imperfect for it to be otherwise.

"Who is it?" Cash yelled, hoping his visitor would be someone he would be able to send away without having to move from the couch. He liked having Jana lying across him, and was reluctant to change the situation. There was no answer from the door, however, and Cash was forced to get up. He opened a closet that was next to his front door, and got his Glock from the holster that hung inside. Feeling he was ready to properly welcome his guest, the Gangrel primogen slowly opened the front door. Standing before him was Jenni. Cash cursed under his breath when he saw the girl, thinking that she was the only one that was more inconvenient at the time than Sasha would have been.

He quickly looked the child over, noting with disgust that in many ways she may as well have been Sasha. She was certainly dressed to play the part. Jenni wore a loosely fitting white lace teddy that was half-covered by a short black leather skirt, and accompanied by knee-high black leather boots. The ensemble was completed with a black leather biker jacket. Her hair seemed a little blonder than normal, obviously freshly bleached, and was curly, rather than straight, as Cash was used to seeing.

"What do you want?" Cash asked, not caring about being polite with his uninvited visitor.

"You have to ask?" Jenni asked with a broad smile. "I thought you'd be smarter than that, Cash. Oh well, after all, you are only Gangrel." The child walked past Cash and into his apartment, striding confidently right up to Jana, who was still lying on the couch. "A new plaything already, Cash?" Jenni asked with obvious amusement.

"Get out," Cash ordered, walking up to Jenni and grabbing her by the arm. "I don't want you here. You weren't invited."

"In case you didn't know, this is real life, and not a movie," Jenni replied. "You don't have to invite a vampire into your home in order for one to enter. I can come and go as I please."

"Not if I don't want you to," Cash spat, increasing the pressure of his grip. Jenni simply looked at the Gangrel's hand with apparent indifference, and set her gaze once again on Jana.

"You mind leaving us alone for a little bit, hon?" Jenni asked with unsettling confidence. "Cash and I have a few matters to discuss."

"Like what?" Cash asked, fearing he knew exactly what Jenni would want to talk about.

"Sasha," Jenni responded, confirming the Gangrel's suspicions. "This obviously has nothing to do with the Shirley Manson clone here, so it'd probably be best if she runs her trashy self along."

"What?" Cash asked, using his grip on Jenni's arm to whirl her around to face him. "I've just about had enough of this."

"It's alright, Cash," Jana said, revealing her discomfort with the situation. "I can go. I'll catch up with you later."

"You don't have to," Cash replied.

"I know," Jana said with a thin smile. "You have a couple of things to work out, though. We can have some more fun when you're through here." She smiled as she spoke, and Cash began to feel a slight bit better about the situation. Jana walked toward the door, stopping briefly to pick up her black leather jacket, and walked out, confident that later she and Cash would be able to pick up later where they had left off.

Once Jana had left, Cash's mood changed from extremely irritated to openly hostile. He tossed Jenni onto the couch, his eyes gleaming with anger. For her part, Jenni simply smiled widely and licked her lips.

"I didn't know you liked it so rough," she said with a slight giggle. "I might have come by even sooner." She tossed her head slightly, allowing her curly golden hair to fall over her left eye, and then lowered her head slightly, gazing up at Cash with as seductive a look as her thirteen year old body could muster. Cash was taken aback at her reaction, and found himself unable to find any words with which to reply.

Jenni got up from the couch and began to walk slowly around the apartment, paying attention to every picture that hung on the wall. Cash simply stared at her, awed by the child's presumption and confidence. When Jenni came to Cash's bedroom door, she opened it and strutted in. Cash lost sight of his guest as she walked into his room, and he decided to follow her. He was finally getting his senses about himself once again, and decided to throw out his insolent visitor.

When Cash reached the bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Jenni sitting at the foot of his bed, an almost longing expression on her face. She smiled as he entered, and kicked off her boots and lay over on her side, leaning on her left elbow. Cash was dumbstruck at the change in Jenni's demeanor. All he could think was how much more mature and seductive she seemed. Every gesture, every motion, was like something the Gangrel would have expected from Lillie, not the young vampire that lay before him.

Jenni smiled again, congratulating herself for the success she had achieved thus far. She wanted to keep Cash and Sasha close to each other. Doing so was crucial to the development of her own personal agenda. Sasha's irrationality had made the goal almost unattainable, however.

Jenni had long noted the rugged independence of the Gangrel clan. She had always respected it, even as she questioned the intelligence of the clan. After all, she thought, being independent was one thing. Desiring to be out in the wild, as the Gangrel did, was nothing short of ludicrous. The kindred had far too many enemies once they left the safety of their cities. The fact that the Gangrel not only continued to survive, but actually thrive, in an environment that should lead to their eradication was further proof that the clan had strength, and therefore value. Jenni was drawn to Cash because of his energy and independence. At the same time, however, she wished to destroy it. Her greatest desire was to strip the Gangrel primogen of the freedom that he felt was so valuable. She had to achieve her goal in a certain way, however.

The child knew that she could simply dominate the Gangrel primogen into submission, but this course of action would gain her nothing. Cash had to be subjugated through manipulation, not raw strength. He had proven the might of his will when he had been able to abandon the blood-bond that he had formed with Sasha. Jenni had seen such a feat accomplished so quickly only once before. It was that display of will that had made her decide once and for all that Cash would be hers. She would break him. She would make him her slave. She would force him to become completely dependent upon her. And in the end, she would abandon him, leaving him broken and vulnerable in a hostile world. She was amused by such games. Every time she broke the will of a strong kindred, usually a Gangrel, she was able to more fully appreciate her own strength. She knew that no one could stand against her. Before she proved her might again, however, she would have fun with her prey.

"I told you that I'd have nothing else to do with Sasha," Cash said, trying to gain some semblance of control over the conversation. The Gangrel was in his own home, but Jenni had been able to make him feel as uneasy as if he had been caught breaking into her apartment.

"She misses you very much," Jenni replied. It was true that Sasha actually did miss her Gangrel lover, though she would never show it. Jenni grinned again at the thought that, if nothing else, Sasha had at least shown the good sense to not wear her heart on her sleeve. That small amount of common sense had amazed Jenni.

"I don't care if she misses me or not," Cash shouted. "I won't have anything to do with that bitch. She's nothing but trouble."

"And what's so wrong with trouble?" Jenni asked with a grin. She began to lightly caress her own right thigh as she looked the Gangrel over, seeming to undress him with her eyes. "You used to almost go looking for trouble. What, are you pussy-whipped by that new slut you have?" Cash's eyes went wide with Jenni's question, not being able to believe the crudeness with which she framed her words.

"Jana has nothing to do with it," Cash replied after a few moments. "This only has to with Sasha. She'll never change. All she'll ever really care about is Sasha. I have no use for anyone like that." Cash looked at Jenni and noted that she seemed unimpressed with his answer. "She gets into trouble everywhere she goes," Cash continued, hoping he would be able to satisfy Jenni's curiosity, "and she always looks to me to get her out of it. Besides, she's related to Luna." The words had escaped Cash's mouth before he could stop them, and he quickly regretted his lack of self-control. He saw how Jenni's eyes immediately went wide with excitement, giving her the look of the proverbial cat that had swallowed the equally proverbial canary.

"So what do you have against our most righteous prince?" Jenni asked with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Nothing," Cash answered quickly. "I know Julian better than most. I was his bodyguard for years. Why would I have anything against him?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jenni said, beginning to slowly twirl her hair around her fingers. "Maybe it's because you know him better than most of us. I mean, let's face it, the guy is a total control freak. He's wound up so tight it's a wonder he can even think straight. Then again, he doesn't really think straight, does he?"

"What?" Cash asked, amazed at Jenni's lack of respect, the degree of which seemed to go even beyond what he felt.

"Oh, never mind all this shit about Luna," Jenni said, sitting upright on the bed again. Cash instinctively took a step back into the doorway, not knowing how to deal with the young girl. "What about you and me?" she asked with a slight smile.

"What?" Cash asked, surprised at how uncomfortable the child was able to make him.

"I'm not Brujah," Jenni responded. "There really shouldn't be any problem with us getting together, wouldn't you say?" Jenni fought back the urge to cackle madly. She was thrilled at way she was causing Cash to squirm.

"Why would you want to even spend time with me?" Cash asked, trying desperately to put his guest on the defensive. He hoped that getting her to answer questions would be all that he needed.

"Well, because I want you," Jenni replied, as if the answer should have been completely obvious. She once again licked her lips, knowing that the wet skin would reflect the soft light shining through the window. The true meaning of the words was lost on the Gangrel, however. Cash had no idea that Jenni desired to own him, body and soul. He saw only the physical desire that she displayed. He was unable to answer, and so Jenni again looked him over hungrily, head to toe, knowing that doing so would only make him feel more awkward. "I want you real bad," she reiterated in a breathy voice, beginning to lean forward, as if she might actually attempt to pounce on him.

"How exactly do you want me?" Cash asked, feeling that he needed clarification of the situation.

"I want you in every way imaginable," Jenni replied truthfully.

"You're just a child," Cash said. "You don't have any idea what you want." Initially Jenni only responded with a grin, holding eye contact with the Gangrel. She wanted him to almost fall over by the time she was ready to answer him.

"Oh, how little you know," Jenni replied, her voice seeming to purr. "I'll bet there are things that I could teach you that would change your religion."

Cash's head started to pound. Jenni's forwardness made him want to run as quickly as he could from his apartment, to seek solace in the company of any person other than her. He was even willing to join Sasha for the night rather than face another moment with the child. Still, however, he was held transfixed. He was kindred, no longer mortal. As a result, his urges and desires were not what they had been when he had been a mere human. Something in him wanted to get closer to Jenni, to get a taste of what she appeared to be offering.

"So you're sharing blood with that tramp?" Jenni asked, referring to Jana. "You're worth more than that, Cash. You could do so much more. Let me show you."

"What else could I do?" Cash asked suspiciously.

"Let me fuck the shit out of you, and you'll laugh at yourself for ever asking that question," Jenni replied with a wicked grin.

Cash was suddenly shocked and repulsed by the girl in front of him. The very thought of sex was as undesirable to him as drinking blood had been when he was still alive. Even if he had been open to the suggestion, however, he could not get past the fact that the girl in front of him was only thirteen years old. The immorality, the perversion of the whole suggestion grated against every fiber of his conscience. Just as he was about to respond, to convey his feelings to his visitor, Jenni began to lean back on the bed, supporting her weight on her elbows. Cash then looked on in shock as she slowly spread her legs, again licking her lips and gazing at the Gangrel with an expression that could only be described as hungry.

"You not enough man for a little girl like me?" Jenni taunted. "I thought you were big, bad Cash. You seem like the child here, though. You're a coward. Come on, take me." She glared at the Gangrel primogen, her eyes becoming more intense with every passing second. "Take me!" she screamed, appearing to be on the verge of rage that he had not yet pounced on top of her.

"I have no interest in sex," Cash shouted back. "All that matters is the hunger! What the hell's the matter with you? Why don't you just get your ass out of here?" The words were spoken forcefully, but lacked any emotion or conviction. Jenni could see that her host was saying the words he knew needed to be said, though he did not have the ability to back up the words with actions.

"I can make it really good for you," Jenni continued, her voice again purring. "I recently gained the knowledge from a Toreador. Everything the mortals feel, and so much more." She saw that for a brief moment Cash was considering her words. "I mean it, Cash," she added. "I mean, really, out of everyone in this city, I think you're probably the most in need of getting laid. You're too wound up, right now even worse than Luna is. Let me, how shall I say, straighten out all of your problems for you."

"Get out," Cash reiterated, speaking through clenched teeth, obviously finding the anger that had been hiding deep within him. His rage began to roll off of him, and it was all Jenni could do to stop herself from laughing.

"Well, if that's what you really want, stud," Jenni replied, sounding only slightly disappointed. She bent over to put on her boots, making sure that her top sagged a little, exposing her breasts to Cash's view. The Gangrel did not miss the movement, but immediately averted his eyes, not wanting to fall even slightly into Jenni's game. The child pulled each boot over her feet slowly, and caressed the skin of her legs as she got each one on. She then slowly stood and walked toward the doorway of the bedroom, stopping to kiss Cash softly on the cheek. She noted how his skin was warm to the touch, an obvious result of his anger at her. She smiled, however, amused at her own ability to play the Gangrel like a violin.

"You have absolutely no idea what you turned down tonight," Jenni said in a quiet, breathy voice as she turned to continue toward the front door. "If you ever change your mind, though, make sure you come and tell me. I'll be waiting with breathless anticipation." She then walked out, swaying her hips the entire way through the doorway. Behind her, Cash could only stand in dumbfounded silence. In decades of unlife, he had never come across a kindred that acted as Jenni just had. Not even Lillie, at her most degenerate, ever seemed to sink to such base levels. He decided he would have to do something about the child's behavior, but he had no idea what it would be. For the meantime, he resolved to try to calm down. He had become too agitated, too fast, and the feeling both surprised and upset him.

In the hallway outside Cash's apartment, Jenni was gloating. She had achieved her goal of setting Cash completely off-balance. He would, from that point on, always have to check his reactions around her. She loved making him uneasy. It was the first step in breaking him. However, for the duration of the night, she had little else to do. She decided to try to find Johnny Yashida, and find out just how much the diminutive Telemon might have told others about the incident at the Point.

VI

Sasha walked up to the Zuni Café slowly, knowing even as she approached that she was less than thrilled with the location that Tristan had chosen. First of all, there was a line to get in. If there was one thing the young Brujah had never come to accept, it was waiting in line. Beyond that, she noted that everyone waiting seemed to be just a little too concerned with being trendy. Sasha had no desire to mix with these people. She got to the back of the line, and briefly considered leaving. After all, she did not even like Tristan. She wanted to see Henry, but he always seemed to send his Irish toady rather than meet with her himself. After no more than thirty seconds of patient waiting, Sasha walked out of the line and strode arrogantly to the front of the café.

"Are you aware that there's a line here?" a blonde, thirty something woman asked as Sasha cut in front of her to reach the front of the line.

"Are you aware that I really don't give a shit?" Sasha retorted confrontationally. The man that was standing with the blonde seemed about to say something until Sasha turned her gaze toward him, immediately making him think better of getting involved.

"Ma'am, if you won't wait like everyone else, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," a young waitress said as she walked over to deal with the situation she had spotted moments earlier.

"Believe me, if I had any choice in the matter, my ass would have been long gone already," Sasha said angrily. "I'm supposed to meet someone here, and I'm sure as hell not waiting if he's already in there."

"You're meeting someone?" the waitress asked doubtfully, looking Sasha over. She quickly decided that it was obvious that Sasha did not belong. The black leather jacket and miniskirt alone were evidence enough of that, even before Sasha started shooting her mouth off.

"Are you Sasha?" another waitress asked as she walked up.

"Yeah."

"I figured you had to be," the woman replied in a friendly tone. "I didn't think there would be anyone else coming here tonight fitting your description," she added with a smile. Sasha simply scowled in return, and the woman's mood darkened immediately. "Tristan is waiting for you inside. You can follow me." Sasha followed, strutting along as she fought to refrain from patting herself on the back for ruining the waitress' shift. They reached the table quickly, and Tristan simply glanced up from his plate as Sasha took her seat.

"Well hello to you, too," Sasha said as she got comfortable. Tristan only nodded.

"Would either of you be interested in any fresh oysters this evening?" the waitress asked. "They're the best in town, and they're on special for another fifteen minutes." Neither Tristan nor Sasha replied immediately. "They're an aphrodisiac, you know."

"Why are you still here?" Sasha asked, suddenly seeming to notice that the waitress had not left.

"I'm sorry for her rudeness," Tristan replied, gesturing to Sasha and thickening his Irish brogue to appear more exotic. He knew that was a great way to get an American woman interested. "An aphrodisiac is the last thing we need. We're little more than casual acquaintances, and we are only that much because of circumstances." The Irishman looked the waitress over for a brief moment, noting her firm legs, thin waist, perky breasts, and shiny, straight black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The waitress noticed him looking her over, and allowed a slight smile to cross her lips.

"Out of curiosity, when do you get done here…" Tristan started, looking toward the waitress' name tag, "… Lisa?" Out of the corner of his eye, Tristan could see Sasha grimace, disgusted at his blatant pass at the woman.

"I'm done in a little over an hour," Lisa replied, her slight smile broadening.

"I was wondering if you would like to go out for a drink or something," Tristan suggested. "This is my first time in the city, and I was wondering if you could maybe show me some of the better places to be at night." He tilted his head somewhat to the right, knowing that in that position the light would reflect more clearly off his eyes.

"That would be great," Lisa replied, focusing her attention on the mage's iridescent blue eyes. "Are you going to wait until I get off?"

"And then some," Tristan replied coyly, a sly grin crossing his face. "On second thought, Lisa, perhaps we'll take a tray of those oysters, after all."

"Coming right up," Lisa said cheerily as she walked off toward the kitchen.

"You didn't tell me that I was supposed to come here to watch you go whoring," Sasha said once Lisa had gone. Tristan did not reply, choosing to instead pay more attention to the food that was on his plate. Sasha watched for a couple of minutes, and finally felt her stomach start to swim inside her.

"I mean, I don't eat anymore and all, but when I did, I certainly wouldn't have touched that," the Brujah finally commented. "What the hell is that you're eating, anyway?"

"Roasted chicken over a Tuscan bread salad with a champagne vinaigrette," Tristan replied with a smile, taking pleasure in the fact that watching him eat made Sasha feel ill. "And this," he said, pointing to the glass next to the plate, "is milk." Sasha simply rolled her eyes.

"So is Henry going to show up tonight?" the Brujah asked, wanting to change the topic.

"No," Tristan said evenly. "He is still in the city, though."

"Is he ever going to bother seeing me?" Sasha asked. "I mean, I'm starting to feel like I'm being used."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tristan replied without a hint of well-rehearsed sympathy. "Henry is very busy. He has said that he's wanted to see you, but he's never had more than fifteen minutes available. When he even gets a moment to breathe, it's always been during the day, when you can't see him. I know he's working hard to get a chance to see you, though."

"Really?" Sasha asked, suddenly feeling special.

"Absolutely," Tristan replied, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "However, Henry does need a little bit of information that he thinks only you would be able to get."

"Sure," Sasha said, grinning ear to ear. It felt good to be needed again. For months she had been the only Brujah left in the city, and things had started to get lonely. She was grateful to her friend Henry for giving her purpose.

"Word on the street is that Magnus Horzbach and Stephen Jackson were killed a couple of nights ago," Tristan said. "People say that only one attacker did it."

"I haven't heard anything about that," Sasha replied immediately. "Can't say I'm too broken up about it, though. Those guys were assholes."

"Be that as it may, the situation is important," Tristan responded impatiently. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with the editorializing of an empty-headed Brujah. "We've also heard that there may have been a third person at the scene, someone who saw what happened. We need to know who that other person was."

"I already told you that I don't know anything about that," Sasha repeated.

"Could you just poke around a bit?" Tristan asked. "Henry would really appreciate it. He doesn't want you to put yourself at risk, of course. Just see what you can dig up."

"I don't think I can do this for you," Sasha said. She was overtaken with memories of some of the things that the Tremere and Telemon had done to her recently. The Telemon had wiped out her anarch friends, the Nightshades. The Tremere had threatened to use her as a lab rat for their research. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to find out who had killed Magnus and Stephen. If everything went well, perhaps more people from those clans would die.

"Please, Sasha?" Tristan asked again. "It would mean an awful lot to Henry. We're not looking to punish whoever did it. I can understand your feelings as far as that goes. We just want to know who it was."

"That's all?" Sasha asked. "You just want to know?"

"Aye."

"I'll see what I can do," Sasha replied. She immediately got up just as Lisa brought the tray of oysters to the table. The last thing she needed was to watch Tristan eat raw shellfish.

"Any chance of getting you to join me?" Tristan asked the waitress as soon as Sasha had gone.

"I still have a couple of tables," Lisa replied. "Besides, there'll be plenty of time for aphrodisiacs later."

VII

"So, what was it like?" Shelly asked. She knew that Jana had been going over to Cash's apartment, and now she wanted to know all of the gory details. Initially, all she got in return to her question was a broad smile. "That good?"

"Absolutely," Jana replied, her voice almost giggly. Her mood was in stark contrast to her surroundings. The two women were standing in an alley in the Mission District, outside a bar that many of the Gangrel spent time at in the old days. That had been before what Shelly referred to as The Purge. It had not been any one event, but rather a series of events. First there was an invasion of garou, then a war with encroaching anarchs, and finally the Sabbat siege. Of course, the Brujah civil war that the Gangrel had become involved in had not helped the clan's population any, but it was the previous three events, particularly the first, that destroyed many of the established Gangrel in the Bay Area. At present, the only Gangrel in the city that had been kindred five years ago were Cash and Shelly. The rest of the clan had completely turned over. New membership meant different habits and hangouts. Shelly's old bar had been all but forgotten. However, all the younger Gangrel still knew to come here when they wanted or needed to speak with her.

"It's great that you two are getting together," Shelly said. "Not only are you two free spirits perfect for each other, it also gives Cash yet another reason to run with his own clan. All that hanging around with Brujah was unnatural. He's truly one of us again."

Away from the two Gangrel women, a child stalked down the alley, darting noiselessly from one shadow to the next. Jenni smiled when she realized who she had found. She knew that many of the younger Gangrel would often come here for advice from Shelly. Jenni had never allowed herself to dream that a late night snack could be an opportunity to advance her plans. She moved to within ten feet of the two Gangrel and stopped, deciding to listen for a few minutes. She found it amusing to get to know her prey a slight bit before she destroyed them. It made it all seem a bit more personal.

"I had no idea Cash could be so passionate," Jana said, leaning back with a sigh against the wall of the alley. "I can't believe Sasha was stupid enough to let him get away." For a brief moment Jenni wanted to gag herself, but she thought better of it. The brief amusement she would gain from that was not worth exposing herself to her victims so soon.

"Don't mention Sasha's name," Shelly said bitterly. "I don't even want to be reminded the bitch exists. It'll ruin an otherwise good mood."

Finally something I can agree on with a Gangrel, Jenni thought.

"Don't worry, you won't be hearing her name much anymore, I'm sure of that," Jana said with an obvious twinkle in her eye. "Except when her uncle is punishing her again, that is." Both women smiled at the comment.

"So tell me everything that happened," Shelly said. "I want to know every little detail. What did he say? What did you say? What did he say when you said it?"

Jenni crouched quietly in the shadows as Jana regaled her friend with her account of the evening. The more Jenni listened, the more disgusted she was. From the way Jana told it, it sounded as if the really interesting stuff happened for only about five or ten minutes. She couldn't imagine why Jana took almost half an hour to tell the story.

"Then Jenni showed up," Jana said, her anger obvious in her voice. "If you ask me, that one's even worse that Sasha. The little abomination is every bit as obnoxious and irresponsible, but she has the idea that she'll get away with most of it because she looks so young and innocent."

"Oh, that's hardly why I'm so obnoxious and irresponsible," Jenni said as she walked from the shadow. "First of all, I'm obnoxious because I just don't like you. Second, I'm irresponsible because I fail to understand why your pitiful rules should apply to me."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Shelly asked, looking the girl over from head to toe. She noted that Jenni had apparently been raiding Sasha's wardrobe. The Gangrel hid her surprise at Jenni's ability to have gotten so close without being seen. Shelly had not known the child had it in her to be so stealthy.

"Well, I knew that you would be here," Jenni said to Shelly. "I couldn't believe my luck when I saw Red here shootin' the breeze with you."

"Red?" Jana asked. "Since when do I let people call me that?"

"Like I care?"

"Why don't you run along now, little girl," Shelly suggested. "It would be a shame if something happened to you."

"Are you threatening me?" Jenni asked, sounding amused, her voice almost purring. She took a deep breath and noticed a strange sensation within her. It was almost like she was sexually aroused. The girl smiled, immediately realizing the cause of her feelings. It was Lillie. The Toreador's essence had been absorbed, and to a certain extent, Lillie was now part of Jenni. The child realized that Jenni had apparently had a secret fetish – the Toreador had gotten a sexual thrill from violence. The realization made Jenni smile.

"Let's just say no one would shed a tear if our resident abomination simply disappeared," Shelly replied.

"Let's not," Jenni replied. She looked at her surroundings. They were about thirty feet back from the street, and the fifteen-foot wide alley dead-ended where they had gathered. Shelly and Jana each had parked their motorcycles a few feet from where they stood. The alley was very shadowy, the only light being what was filtering between the buildings from the street. It was late, so no one was about. Jenni doubted that anyone would hear the screams. "Yes, I think I have just about had it with your insults," Jenni said.

"Oh really?' Shelly asked. "You gonna make us stop all by yourself? I don't see Sasha around to help you."

"I hardly need that whore to help me," Jenni spat. "You call me abomination? Is that what you think of me? Why? Because I happen to have been embraced as a child? That's rich." She started to slowly walk toward the two Gangrel. Jana took a couple of steps backward, appearing anxious. Shelly held her ground, however. She did not seem to think that Jenni could do anything to her. She will learn better, Jenni thought. "Yes, the rule against embracing children has been around for millennia, and it is a good law. However, I don't break it."

"Oh really?" Shelly asked with a smile. "You sure look like a child to me."

"By today's standards, perhaps, but not when I was embraced." Jenni took another small step forward, and another.

It was then that Shelly happened to look at the child's hands and notice the claws. The Gangrel's eyes went wide with surprise. The ability to manipulate one's form was a fairly well guarded secret of the Gangrel clan. It was the reason that the other clans generally referred to the Gangrel as shapeshifters. Beyond that, she found it hard to believe that Jenni had been able to master the ability to such an advanced degree at such a young age.

"Never mind the claws," Jenni said when she noticed Shelly's stares. "Pay attention to my story. I think you'll find it interesting." Shelly joined Jana in taking a slight step back, now feeling slightly unnerved. "As I was saying," Jenni continued, "I was not considered a child when I was embraced. When my sire took me, I was considered a woman grown. How were we to know that as time went on, thirteen year old women would no longer be considered old enough to be suitable for marriage. Hell, there are lots of thirteen-year-old girls that can't even date yet. How's that for things changing over the years?" She looked at the two Gangrel in front of her, and spread her lips in a wide grin, revealing her fangs.

"How old are you?" Shelly asked, suddenly not wanting to know the answer. Waves of power seemed to be rolling off of the child in front of her, and each one sent a tide of fear over her. She drew her Glock and pointed it at Jenni, hoping that feeling the weapon in her hand would help instill some confidence. It did not.

"You don't really want to know that," Jenni replied.

Shelly felt her legs give out under her, and she fell to the ground. A moment later, her mind registered that Jenni was moving. She realized with horror that the child had been able to strike and disable her before she had even been able to react to the attack. She looked toward Jana, and saw her clanmate standing face to face with Jenni. In the blink of an eye, Jana had been thrown against the wall at the end of the alley, being knocked slightly senseless. Shelly raised her arm to fire her weapon at her attacker, but could only stare in disbelief as she realized that her hand was no longer attached. She looked to the ground and saw her hand lying in a shadow, still grasping the Glock. Once Shelly realized that she had been injured, the pain hit her. Agony swept up her arm, almost causing her to pass out. As bad as that was, however, the suffering she felt in her abdomen was worse. Afraid to look down, Shelly had to force herself to examine the wound she knew she had taken. The sight alone was enough to send her head spinning, to say nothing of the pain. A large, jagged gash ran directly across her stomach, and a large part of her small intestine had been ripped out and spilled onto the concrete. In desperation, Shelly numbly tried to pack her insides back into her body cavity, but by then Jenni was standing over her again.

"I must be out of practice," Jenni commented absently. "That swipe was meant to have sheared you in half. No matter. Now I have an audience." She looked down at the partially vacant stare that Shelly had fixed upon her, and kicked the Gangrel in the face. Shelly's jaw caved in under the force of the blow, and several of her teeth shot directly into her cranium, causing her to go into convulsions. "Oh, this'll never do. I need you to stay still." Jenni walked over to Shelly's motorcycle, kicking Jana again as she went, just to make sure Cash's newest lover would not be moving in the near future. Then she lifted Shelly's motorcycle over her head, and tossed it down upon its owner's shredded body.

Shelly felt what seemed like every bone in her body shatter under the impact from her motorcycle. She was completely immobilized, unable to fight or flee, and yet she lived. Why? Then she remembered. Yes, Jenni wants an audience. An audience for what? Shelly tried to fight the pain, but it was no use. All she could think was how fast Jenni was, how strong she was. She could only wonder whether anyone else knew the danger that the child posed. She was confident, however, that she would never have a chance to warn anyone. The few thoughts she was capable of were suddenly cut short as Jenni tossed Jana's bike onto her as well. Shelly could not decide whether the child was being extra-cautious, or simply extra-sadistic.

"Can you see alright?" Jenni asked as she walked over to the crushed Gangrel. She grabbed Shelly's head and twisted it sharply around, snapping her vertebrae. Shelly's eyes were looking at Jenni over her own shoulder, but still she remained conscious, though she was even more unable to move now than she had even been a moment before. She knew that was what Jenni wanted.

Jenni strutted over to Jana, who was just then struggling to her feet. She looked at Shelly, and then looked at Jenni. Her eyes went wide with disbelief. She drew her own Glock, but no sooner did she have it in her hand than it was ripped out of her grasp and tossed down the alley.

"We'll have none of that," Jenni said, her voice sounding as if she was scolding a disobedient child. "Now I need you to listen carefully, so all of this resistance is just going to get in the way." Jenni punched Jana in the stomach, doubling the Gangrel over. She then threw her victim onto the ground, face down, and straddled her, holding her in position with only her left hand. Jana tried to break free of her attacker's grasp, but found she had nowhere near the amount of strength she needed. "Enough of this struggling shit!" Jenni spat. She leveled her claw above the back of Jana's neck, and sliced quickly. Her taloned hand cut easily through skin, bone, and nerve tissue. The Gangrel's spinal cord had been cut, and she stopped struggling. "That's better," Jenni commented happily.

Jenni then dug her hand into the Gangrel's back and wrapped it around Jana's spine, then ripped it from her body. Blood sprayed across the alley, and Jana screamed. With the nerves cut, she had no way of feeling what Jenni had done, but she had seen the blood. That was enough to make her fear what had happened to her body. Had she been able to see the gruesome sight that her back made, she would have screamed all the louder. Jenni tossed the spine away absently, dragged Jana into a seated position at the end of the alley, and crouched down in front of her.

"So you want Cash, eh?" Jenni asked. "Well, you can't have him. He's mine." She looked at Jana's shocked expression, and smiled. "Of course, he doesn't know that yet, but he will. It's just a matter of time." She began to caress Jana's cheek with the back of her hand, then turned her hand around and with her razor-sharp claws started to trace lines of blood on the Gangrel's face.

"You know, you're pathetic, really, just like the rest of your clan," Jenni commented. "And I think you just might be the worst of the lot. Look at you. You look almost as bad as a Brujah, for Caine's sake." Jenni stood back and surveyed the woman again. "What's with the black leather and dyed, punked-out hair? I guess Cash just goes for the trashy look, doesn't he? I'll have to try harder next time. Or maybe that isn't what drew him to you, after all. What was it?" Jana did not seem willing to answer. Jenni looked at her two defeated foes, and licked her lips. "All this fighting has made me rather hungry." She bent down and ripped into Jana's neck with her fangs, drinking fully of her defeated prey's blood. Within moments, she had drank the body dry. She looked over at Shelly, and then back at Jana. "What do you say we find out just what it is that Cash likes so much?" she asked the pinned Gangrel. She bent over Jana again and drank more, sucking the very essence of the kindred's being from her mortal shell, diablerizing her. Everything that Jana knew and felt poured into Jenni's mind, and the child stood up, giggling maniacally.

"Well, it doesn't seem like there's very much there," she commented to Shelly. "I have to say that this was one of the most empty-headed women I have ever killed. Perhaps that's the problem. Perhaps I'm just too deep for Cash. Maybe if I come down to the level of a 1990's juvenile delinquent, he'll find me fascinating, too." She looked at Shelly again, and figured that the Gangrel had only a few more minutes of life left in her. "Well, then again, maybe not. Let's see what you have to share with me, pretty." In a heartbeat, Jenni had pounced upon Shelly and gave her the same fate that she had given Jana.

VIII

Julian Luna walked into Albion quickly, not bothering to take a moment to absorb his surroundings. He had his guards to pay attention to details for him. Sonny walked in front, making sure no one approached the prince of San Francisco without being given leave to do so. Behind followed Toby and his blood brother Jack, another of the more competent Toreador guards that had been assigned to protect Julian. Luna had never been in a bar like this, and given his druthers would not have come this night. Circumstances being what they were, however, he had no choice.

A presence, Julian thought, remembering Patrick Collins' enigmatic words. The Tremere had been able to say little else, other than that this mysterious presence was mystical in nature. The mention of mysticism had reminded Julian of the mages that lived in his city. He doubted that if the mages would ever admit to being the ones behind whatever it was the Tremere had detected, and the prince hung to the hope that the mages actually were not to blame. There had been tension not long ago, but an agreement had been made. Julian had led his people away from supplying weapons to the mortals, and they had agreed to leave the spellcasters in peace. In return, the mages had agreed to stop killing kindred, leaving them alone in the places they knew the vampires gathered and slept. It was a somewhat uneasy truce, to be sure, but it had held. Julian now went looking for information. If the mages were not to blame, then they might have some idea of who was. It may have been a slim chance, but it was all Julian Luna had.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hugh immediately asked as Julian and his retinue moved into the back room of the bar. The Ventrue prince noted that he seemed to have distracted the young mage, causing him to miss a relatively easy shot in his game of pool.

"I just want to ask a couple of questions," Julian replied.

"We have an agreement," Hugh replied. "It says nothing about leaving me and mine open for interrogation, but it does say you and yours should stay the hell out of here. You want to risk a war?"

Julian knew immediately that the mages were not behind what was going on. Hugh was acting tough, trying to put Julian on the defensive. If he had been up to something, the prince was certain that the mage would have been far more restrained. It was obvious that Hugh had no idea what was going on. "Some of my people have detected some sort of mystical presence in the city," Julian said, laying his cards on the table. The last thing he wanted to do was get in a verbal sparring match with a mage. He had little idea what Hugh would be capable of, should he decide to attack his visitor.

"You mean the Tremere have detected this 'presence,' " Hugh said. Julian nodded, and the mage spat, revealing his distaste for the warlocks. It was no secret that mortal mages had a certain hostility toward the Tremeres' blood magic. "It frightens them." The words were uttered as a statement of fact, and not a question. For the briefest of moments, Hugh seemed amused. As quickly as it had appeared, however, the look vanished. In its place was obvious concern. "What could frighten the Tremere?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"You suspect us, don't you?"

"I would be crazy not to," Julian said, sitting on a chair, allowing himself to seem more relaxed than he actually was. "When one thinks of a mystical presence, mages inevitably come to mind."

"If it is one of us, I don't know about it," the mage answered, and Julian could see the truth of the statement. "Furthermore, I have no idea what the Tremere are talking about. I haven't felt any presence. Are you sure they're not playing one of their games with you, trying to distract you so they can make a play for power? Isn't that what your kind spends most of its time doing?" Hugh held back any comments about Tristan, or the two mages Hugh knew would have followed their scout. Something inside him shouted that if there was in fact something going on, the hunters were not behind it. Even if they were, Hugh saw little wrong with it. It did not bother him that the kindred seemed to be uneasy.

"Usually," Julian said. He had, in fact, considered the possibility that the Tremere had fabricated their entire story. The prince had disregarded that thought. Too many variables seemed to lend credence to what Patrick had said. Stephen and Magnus had both been killed, and the Nosferatu had apparently been decimated. Then there was the mysterious matter of Basil's death, and Lillie's slaying within Julian's own home. No, he thought, the Tremere are right. I can feel it in my bones. Something is so very wrong. Why can't Hugh see it?

"Could you do me the service of leaving my fine establishment?" Hugh asked after a few moments. "I hear bad things about your kind. I hear that death follows you and yours wherever you go."

"And where have you heard that?" Julian asked, suddenly curious about how much information had already made its way out onto the streets. If any of San Francisco's residents saw any weakness in his position, he would need to know. The last thing Julian wanted was to have to split his already thin resources to deal with someone who wanted to take advantage of his vulnerable situation.

"Leave, now," Hugh repeated. "There is still peace between us. I would hate for that to change, simply because you overstayed your welcome.

Julian simply nodded in reply, and turned toward the front door. It had been a long time since he had allowed anyone to dismiss him so casually, but he had little choice than to accept the situation. The mages had power that he could never hope to match. Of course, his kindred outnumbered the mages, and in a war they would be able to hold their own, but not here. This was a place of power, and Julian knew better than to push his luck. He would have his answers, eventually. He would simply need to see what everyone around him did.

IX

The large kindred walked up the jetway slowly, a fiber of his being feeling as if something was simply not right. He felt on edge, a sensation that he had not experienced for years. There had been countless battles against formidable foes – werewolves, mages, Sabbat war parties, and the occasional Camarilla interloper that had taken exception to his sire's claim of being the founder of a new bloodline. During none of those experiences had he felt anything but the need to perform his duty professionally. That meant that there was no room for fear, or even simple anxiety. To this man, battle was an end unto itself. He had spent the greater part of his mortal life, and the entirety of his unlife, studying warfare. He had gained a greater understanding of conflict than most ever had. He could see layers upon layers, and understood how they interacted, much as a gifted artist could look at a finished work and see what its painter had been thinking and feeling at the moment the work had been created. He knew how entire armies interacted, what they all were dependent upon, and how to best create and exploit weakness. Most of all, he understood the effect that a single individual could have in the greater scheme of things. There were times when one man could control the fate of thousands. But for a nail, the horseshoe was lost, he was fond of saying. But for a horseshoe, the horse was lost. But for a horse, the knight was lost. But for a knight, the battle was lost. And but for a battle, the kingdom was lost.

It was because of the effect of the individual that he had been sent to San Francisco. His sire, Siras Telemon, the founder of Clan Telemon, had hoped that he would be the solution to the clan's problems, that his presence would be enough to bring events back into balance. It was a tall order. Siras' first childe had been killed, and his second was missing. The results for the clan could be catastrophic if he also lost his third, and final, childe. However, the feeling was that the Telemon needed to preserve their position in the city at all costs. It gave them a high degree of visibility, and proved their usefulness and loyalty to the Camarilla. If the young bloodline were to be expected to survive its infancy, it would need to find friends wherever possible. Thus far, they had done so in San Francisco.

The man finally stepped from the jetway into the airport terminal, and discreetly checked to make sure his Glock 10 mm pistol was right where it should be, secure in his shoulder holster. It was.

"Colonel Dietrich?" a man asked from the left. The large kindred looked to the other and nodded.

"That's right," he replied. "You can call me Marcus. Are you Holden?"

"No sir, I'm Ronnie Striker," the other man replied. "I'm Holden's childe. Matt wanted to keep Holden close for security at a meeting tonight."

"That's probably wise," Marcus replied, not bothering to ask what the meeting was about, or who was present. He would deal with that later. "We can't risk our people unnecessarily, especially when we don't know what's going on. Are you alone?"

"No sir," Ronnie replied. "I'm also with Brad Armstrong. He's Matt's other childe." Striker motioned toward a public telephone, and Marcus immediately noticed a large man standing there, scanning the crowd. He was obviously working security. "We were expecting Brett Taylor or Danny McLaughlin. I'm surprised to see you."

"I guess I'm lucky you recognized me," Marcus said as he began to walk from the gate waiting area and into the main area of the terminal, not wanting to stay in any one place for too long. As he walked, Marcus focused on every single person that came within ten feet of him, always expecting the possibility of an attack. He noticed the poles that could be used for cover if a firefight broke out. He noticed the snack bar, and the perfect opportunity it would present for an attacker to set up an ambush, as the crowd that had gathered in the area would slow both Telemon as they passed. After a moment Marcus shook his head, reminding himself that both Brad and Ronnie had doubtlessly checked over the area at least twice. He doubted whether he would find anything in a cursory evaluation that they had not already examined in-depth before he arrived.

"I knew you from a picture of you in the study," Striker explained in response to his clanmate's comment. He kept to himself the disbelief that Marcus could actually think he would not be recognized. With the way Matt spoke of the man, he was akin to legend among San Francisco's resident Telemon. Striker looked his clanmate over, satisfied that from physical appearance alone Marcus Dietrich was everything that he was purported to be. The man stood about 6'4", and appeared to weigh about 230 pounds. His close-cropped brown hair gave Striker the impression that Marcus somewhat resembled Howie Long, though the glasses were conspicuously absent to complete the picture. He dressed in black slacks and a black jacket, with a charcoal gray turtleneck underneath. Overall, fairly conservative but still impressive.

"I see," Marcus replied. "As for Danny and Brett, they're both busy with a reconnaissance mission, so you lucked out and got me," he added with a slightly amiable smile. "You serve?"

"Yes, I did," Striker replied. "I was in the SEALs with Holden. I was in a different team, but the same platoon. Our units worked together a couple of times in urban settings." Marcus nodded, satisfied that Matt had done well in allowing Striker's embrace. He had the manner of one that had seen combat. The clan needed more men like him.

"Where did you see action?" Marcus asked, noting that Armstrong had begun to follow his two clanmates from about twenty feet back. Presumably he would be making sure that no one was following either of the men leading the procession.

"My team worked a bit in South America, mostly anti-drug missions," Striker said. "We were in Baghdad during Desert Storm, too. That's where I worked with Holden's team."

"Any specialty?" Marcus asked, already trying to figure out how the clan's personnel could best be used. He was sure that Matt had already been thorough in structuring his people, but it never hurt to go through it again. Efficiency was essential in combat.

"Not really," Striker answered. "I was a sixty man." Marcus nodded again. That explained Striker's size. The man stood well over six feet tall, and probably weighed over 220 pounds. That was a bit unusual for a special forces team that prided itself on stealth. As a sixty man, though, he would have been assigned the M-60 in the unit. He would have been carrying an extra forty pounds everywhere he went. In using one man for the M-60, the SEALs were unique. In the army, teams of three men in a unit were assigned to work the large weapon. One would carry the rifle, one would carry the ammunition, and the last would be assigned an extra barrel and the tripod on which the weapon would be mounted. In the SEALs, one man carried both the ammunition and the rifle, and he did not use a tripod. He would simply hold the weapon in his hands as he fired. As this was not a job for any but the strongest soldier, it seemed fitting that Striker had been assigned that task.

"What about Brad?" Marcus inquired. Normally he would have waited and asked Armstrong himself what he had done in the past, but Marcus had run out of topics of conversation unless he asked what they knew about the situation in the city. The very thought of dealing with the predicament at hand made Marcus uneasy, so he decided to wait as long as he could, and simply make small talk for the time being.

"Brad was a Ranger," Striker answered. "He was in the same unit that Matt was. When he got out, Matt looked him up and gave him a job at the Compound. It didn't take long for Matt and Magnus to decide that Brad would be a great fit for the clan."

"So he was in Desert Storm with Matt, just like the rest of you?" Marcus asked.

"Yes sir," Armstrong replied. "He'll be good in a fight, if that's what you're wondering."

"I was," Marcus said evenly.

"What about you?" Striker asked. "I heard that you were in some kind of special forces unit, but no one told me what it was."

"Black ops," Marcus said. "The only thing my team ever did that you would have heard of was being part of Grenada. All our other missions were completely classified."

"I know the drill," Striker responded. Marcus had no doubt that his clanmate completely understood. The SEALs were also known to have done their fair share of covert missions.

The two men were at Striker's old Jeep Renegade within minutes, and were out in traffic before Marcus felt the desire to ask any further questions. "What exactly is the situation?" Marcus finally asked.

"We're still working on figuring that out," Brad said from the back seat. "Last night, Magnus met with a representative of the Tremere. They were both killed at the meeting, and the warlocks seem to be rather nervous about everything."

"I assume they claim to not have any more information than they've already shared," Marcus said, knowing the Tremere clan's reputation for secrecy, a reputation he could say from his own experience was well deserved.

"Initially, yes," Armstrong confirmed, "but tonight the Tremere primogen had agreed to meet with Matt. They said they'd explain everything they could." Marcus hid his surprise. If the Tremere were actually playing straight, or reasonably close to it, with the other clans, things were possibly worse than any of them thought.

"What do you know so far about the attack?" Marcus asked.

"The bodies were both mutilated," Armstrong replied. "Magnus may have gotten a look at his attackers, since he did empty his entire clip, but the fire pattern indicates that more likely it was panic fire. Other than that we don't know much."

"So you're sure there were multiple attackers?"

"Actually, no," Brad answered. "We've been making that assumption, because it appears whoever did it was able to use their bare hands to kill an experienced Tremere warlock and one of the best soldiers in the Telemon clan without even being injured. We find it hard to believe any one opponent could have done it." Marcus nodded.

"What about Yashida?" Dietrich questioned, again hiding his feelings. He had known Johnny Yashida since just before his own embrace into the Telemon clan. In fact, it had been Johnny that had made the introductions between Marcus and Siras. While Johnny had been kindred for a longer time than Marcus had, the two were actually fairly close in overall age, since Yashida had been embraced when he was far younger. As a result, the two men had always gotten along fairly well. Johnny had been every bit the blood brother that his position in the clan would have implied. The thought that Yashida could be dead was extremely unsettling, and Marcus worked hard to keep the thought out of his mind.

"As of the time we left the Compound to pick you up, Mr. Yashida had not yet reported in," Striker said from the driver's seat. "He's still missing."

Marcus smiled despite himself. The thought of Yashida "reporting in" was one of the most inane concepts he had ever considered. He concluded that the young kindred who had picked him up had obviously not spent enough time with Yashida to form any accurate opinion of his character. The thin smile faded quickly, however, as Marcus considered the possibilities. If Johnny had not returned to the Compound, he was probably either dead or frightened to the point that he thought not even the rest of his clan could help him. Marcus considered the options for a few moments, but could not guess which one was more likely. He would need more information before he could come to any conclusions.

"Do you two know Michelle Marlowe?" Marcus asked.

"Yes sir," Striker answered. "That's Yashida's friend."

"Has anyone tried to get in touch with her," Marcus asked. "Anywhere he was, she was never far behind."

"We've been by their apartment a few times already," Armstrong said. "There's been no sign of either of them, although we have heard that she was out with the Gangrel last night until the break of dawn. She called when she got in last night, and asked about Johnny. We think she's still in the city somewhere, but no one knows for sure."

"Go by her place again as soon as you drop me off at the Compound," Marcus instructed. "She's the only lead I can think of."

"Yes sir," Striker replied. The three men then sat in silence for a while more, and Marcus used the time to consider everything he had heard. One or more attackers of unknown identity and capability had already killed one, perhaps two of his clanmates. The only chance they currently seemed to have of learning more about the situation was in locating a man who might very well be dead. Just how much worse could the situation get?

"Tell me about the prince and the primogen," Marcus instructed, hoping to hear enough to acclimate himself to the situation before they arrived at the Compound.

"You'll be seeing the prince yourself in a few minutes," Striker said, obviously irritated.

"What?" Marcus asked, not able to hide his surprise. "Is he at the Compound?"

"No, we have orders to bring you by the prince's place as soon as you get in," Brad answered. "I think Luna ordered it just to inconvenience Matt."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Marcus asked. "I thought we were on good terms with the prince."

"We were. I mean, we are," Brad replied. "Just seems Julian wasn't happy about Matt not telling him about Magnus right away."

"I see," Marcus replied. At that moment, the Jeep pulled up to the gates of the Luna mansion. A Toreador guard was waiting, and waved the vehicle through as soon as he saw who was driving. "What the hell was that?" Marcus asked.

"Security," Striker said, obviously as disgusted as Marcus was. "Luna's using Toreador."

"So are they already accepting applications for the next prince, or are they being polite enough to wait until Julian gets whacked by some kid with a BB gun?" Marcus asked sarcastically, revealing that he thought no more of Toreador security than either of his classmates did. "Are they at least telepathic?" Marcus added. "I mean, how else would they know who the strange man in the Jeep with you was?"

"Don't get me started, sir," Striker responded.

At the top of the driveway, Ronnie brought the Jeep to a stop, and two Toreador walked up to the vehicle slowly. Apparently, unlike the guard at the gate, they had realized that while there were two men they knew in the vehicle, there was a third that they did not. Rupert, the larger of the two guards, drew his Glock and pointed it at the vehicle. The Toreador immediately recognized Ronnie Striker's Jeep, having seen it before parked outside the Haven. However, he had no love for the Telemon clan. He knew the soldiers looked down on him and all of his clanmates. They thought the Toreador were weak. Rupert allowed himself a slight smile. It was not that his clan was weak, he knew. They were cultured. They were a multi-dimensional clan, not the one-dimensional thugs that constituted the Telemon. Rupert had actually always been amazed that all of the Telemon seemed to stand upright, avoiding dragging their knuckles along on the ground beside them. He decided to have some fun with them before allowing them admission into the mansion. It amused him to wield the power that the prince had entrusted in him. He knew that the Telemon prided themselves in their strength. Sometimes it was necessary to take them down a peg, to remind them that they were not actually in control of everything they set their eyes upon.

As Rupert walked closer, he noticed a new face inside along with Brad and Ronnie. Again he grinned. So much the better. He would have grounds for giving the Telemon a hard time. He could not have asked for a greater gift.

"Ok, could you please get out of the Jeep slowly, sir?" he asked politely, hiding his distaste for the guests. Marcus smiled, appreciating the fact that with another fifty years of training, this Toreador might actually make a worthwhile sentry. He had at least recognized a possible threat. That was one necessary step. However, he dealt with it completely wrong. Of course, how much could one expect from Toreador security, anyway? he wondered. This one will learn. I will teach him.

Marcus could not believe they were asking him to exit the truck. He had been in a sitting position, and therefore far more vulnerable than he would be if given the use of his legs. They could have seen his every move, considering that the two Toreador guards had walked right up to the window. He could see laser sensors farther up the driveway, and decided that there was probably additional security besides the guards. Leaving him in the Jeep might have been the best thing the Toreador could have hoped to do. Now, however, they were going to give him the benefit of full mobility in the event a fight developed. Stupidity.

"You two stay in the jeep," Rupert instructed Ronnie and Brad.

Marcus sneered as he stepped out of the Renegade, while neither Brad nor Ronnie made a move. The two younger Telemon wanted to see how their elder handled the situation, and thus were more than willing to comply with the Toreador's instructions. They were both certain that the guards would be taught some sort of abject lesson. Marcus held up his arms, stating his name as one of them moved to frisk him. He smiled, knowing that he had underestimated the guards a slight bit. They had only gotten him out of the vehicle so that they could search him for weapons. Of course, he thought, they should have inquired into his identity before they moved to the frisking stage, but that was a minor detail. "I'm here to present myself to the prince, as Julian demanded, and according to kindred law."

"Fine," Rupert said as he began to pat Marcus down, starting at the shoulders.

"Don't bother," Marcus said, moving his hand slowly toward his shoulder holster. "I just have the Glock," the Telemon said, having decided on a method of testing the sentries. Rupert looked to where Marcus had indicated, and took the weapon away from the visitor. As Rupert took the pistol, the other Toreador finished frisking the large Telemon, obviously only partaking in a cursory search once the Glock had been turned over.

"He's clean," the other Toreador said. He then turned to Marcus and gave him a slight shove. "Get going." The large Telemon glared at the significantly smaller Toreador for a brief moment, but thought better of simply ripping the guard's head off. He decided to embarrass him instead.

"Christ, you suck at this, don't you?" Marcus laughed as he leaned over and produced a Beretta 3032 Tomcat from an ankle holster, placing it on the hood of the Renegade. He considered also taking out the survival knife and the concussion grenade he had concealed, but thought better of it. He had made his point. The second guard grabbed him roughly, trying to force him up against the vehicle. Seeing the attempted move, Marcus countered with a wrist lock, throwing the smaller kindred into the side of the jeep and knocking him senseless. Rupert then moved with the quickness of his clan, beginning his own attack on the larger kindred. Marcus moved just as quickly however, grabbed his weapon from the hood, and brought it to bear, aiming it directly at the Toreador's forehead.

"At this range, even normal shells will give you the Final Death," Marcus breathed menacingly, knowing that the tone of his voice would intimidate the smaller kindred. "Now let's go introduce me to your prince," Marcus said as he helped the second guard off of the ground. Rupert nodded in response and led the way into Julian Luna's mansion. Behind Marcus and his Toreador escorts, Ronnie and Brad sat in the jeep, neither one able to stop the hysterical laughter that had overtaken them.

Marcus walked into Julian Luna's home slowly, with his head held high. He was used to being in the presence of princes, as his own sire held that position back in Pennsylvania. He had been to several meetings of Camarilla princes that were planning strategies to keep encroaching Sabbat raiders at bay. He would not allow Julian Luna to hold his power over him.

"I assume you are Matt's clanmate," Julian said as he walked quickly down the hall toward Marcus and his two escorts.

"Yes, I am," Marcus replied. He was held slightly transfixed, despite his intentions to not be impressed by San Francisco's prince. The Telemon stood before Julian Luna and had to admit that the man was far more of a presence than he had been led to believe. Of course, he would have to be, Marcus thought, remembering that Luna's city was constantly under siege by anarchs and Sabbat war parties. While the overall security in and around the mansion was sorely lacking, Marcus still concluded that Julian Luna was rather safe. He could not imagine many kindred he had ever met being able to simply overpower the city's prince.

"So who are you?" Julian asked the Telemon as he motioned for the Toreador to return to their positions outside. Before getting a response, the prince turned his back to the Telemon, a move that Marcus considered somewhat foolish, and led him down the hall to his study.

"My name is Marcus Dietrich," the Telemon said as he followed the prince.

"I don't believe I've ever heard of you," Julian said. "From what I understand, the situation here is somewhat sticky, what with Magnus being killed." Marcus noted that Julian did not mention Yashida, and concluded that Matt might not have shared the whole story with his prince. Marcus decided that he would follow suit. "I would think Siras Telemon would have sent more than just one of you if he perceives a problem," Julian commented.

"Not yet," Marcus replied. "My orders are to evaluate the situation, and then consult my sire for guidance."

"Siras is your sire, then?" Julian asked, quickly getting an idea of just how seriously the clan's founder seemed to have taken recent events.

"That's correct," Marcus said. "I am the third childe of Siras Telemon, and the Judge Advocate General of the clan."

"Judge Advocate General?" Julian asked, intrigued at the title. It was not something he had ever heard before within kindred society.

"It is a position that the clans of the Camarilla would refer to as the Justicar," Marcus replied, noting that his words had the desired effect on the prince. For a brief moment Julian Luna became obviously anxious, just as Marcus wanted. He desired to control the conversation, and remembered that Julian had recently had a run-in with the Brujah Justicar. Just mentioning the word was enough to distract his host. "Of course, since we are a highly disciplined clan, we have a need to enforce the rules that our founder has created for us," Marcus explained. "We have our own courts martial, so to speak. I preside over them, and can assign punishment as I see fit. I have full authority over any member of my clan other than Siras himself." Marcus kept to himself the concerns he had had since Magnus had reappeared on the scene. He had wondered if his authority would actually have been recognized over someone that held a higher position in the clan's hierarchy. With Magnus dead, however, that was no longer an issue. Now the only one that could ever make a claim against Marcus' power would be Yashida, and it was very likely that he was also extinguished. It was possible that Marcus was finally second only to Siras in fact, as well as in name.

"I see," Julian said in a low voice. "Given your responsibilities in your clan, I would assume you are aware of the Traditions, and will follow them."

"Of course," Marcus replied his tone slightly indignant.

"Then you are welcome in my city," Julian said formally. "Thank you for taking the time to see me. I know you had other matters that you need to deal with."

"Yes," Marcus said as he turned and headed to the front door. Indeed, there were several other matters to attend to, and he had little time to spend with a self-important prince. As he walked out of the mansion, Marcus silently wondered for a brief moment why he was suddenly so agitated. He shook the thought from his mind, however, and climbed back into the jeep.

"Take me to the Compound," he ordered absently, and Striker put the vehicle in gear and took off into the night.

Johnny Yashida had told Marcus that he was greatly impressed with Matt's Compound. Apparently, the defenses were second to none that Yashida had ever seen in a personal home, and Marcus had looked forward to seeing for himself just how formidable a haven Matt had constructed. As Striker pulled up to the front gate, Marcus immediately noted the two sentries. The perimeter itself was a six-foot high wall, with a four-foot wrought iron fence attached to the top. A ten-foot high steel gate guarded the entrance, razor-sharp barbs resting on the top. Though he could not see them, Marcus remembered Johnny telling him that there were also security cameras every twenty feet around the perimeter. One of the two guards approached Striker's Jeep and looked the vehicle over while the other stood back at a distance, covering his partner. Marcus smiled at the efficiency. Each was armed with an MP5, and seemed somewhat burly. Given the men's taught faces, Dietrich guessed their apparent girth was the result of body armor underneath their jackets.

"How's it going Ronnie?" the first guard asked as peered into the Jeep, shining a flashlight around the vehicle's interior.

"Fine," Striker replied. "This is Colonel Marcus Dietrich," he added, gesturing to his passenger. "We're expected."

"I know." The guard waved to his partner, and the second man opened the heavy, steel gate.

Striker drove through slowly, winding around a curve in the Compound and coming to a second gate. Marcus felt the second perimeter was a nice touch. The wall and fence were lower at the second perimeter, but Marcus knew from his conversations with his brother that it was electrified. Two more guards stood at the inner gate, and as before one approached the vehicle while the second one stayed back. No words were exchanged during the cursory evaluation of the vehicle, as the first gate had radioed the second, informing them of who was coming up. After a moment, the Jeep was waved through, and Striker proceeded up the drive to the front of the mansion. The building itself impressed Marcus more than the outer defenses did.

Marcus stepped lightly out of the Jeep, and was followed by Brad. As soon as the two were out of the vehicle, Ronnie started back out the way he had come in. He had his orders – he had to see if he could find Michelle Marlowe.

Dietrich scanned the rooftop, noting the gun turrets at the corners of the building. As he walked past the front window, he noted the manufacturer's name in the corner of the glass that marked it as bullet resistant material. The doors were heavy, iron bound oak, and another two guards stood outside. Each man was frisked, and all of Marcus' weapons were found. As he was a first-time visitor, he was deprived of his weapons, though they permitted Brad to carry the weapons for him. Once he had gone through the security process, Marcus had to nod his head in approval. Certainly, it was better than Siras' vulnerable home. He would need to make some changes when he returned to his sire.

Once inside, Marcus was led to Matt's study. He admired the artwork depicting famous battles and generals, and noted the antiques that Matt had gathered. He wondered where Matt had gotten the money to afford all of the luxuries and necessities that he had seen, but then remembered Yashida. Johnny had always been proud of his childe, and had probably gone out of his way to ensure that Matt would never be hurting for cash. As Marcus walked in the front door, he immediately saw the clan's primogen, and Matt's eyes went wide with disbelief.

"Marcus? What are you doing here?"

"The boss said things were bad," Marcus said with a grim smile. "He said I should come out here and clean up you mess."

Matt simply smiled in response, knowing that Marcus was kidding. At least, he had hoped it was a joke. From everything he had ever heard, Siras had always been happy with Matt's rule. "You're the only one?" Matt asked. Marcus nodded. Matt had hoped that Siras would send more than just one Telemon to help him out, though he had to admit that if he were to only get one, he could not have done any better.

"I can get some reinforcements if it turns out that we need them," Marcus said. "Brett and Daniel are on standby, but remember, they're hours away. In a pinch, it's just us."

"I know."

"I heard you had a meeting earlier," Marcus said, revealing his eagerness to get right down to business. If either man wanted to catch up on personal stories, they would have to wait until later.

"Had a meeting at Luna's first," Matt said. "He wants us to all hide out in the same place until we all know what's going on. Trouble is, no one could decide which place is best. Then I met with Patrick Collins, the Tremere primogen. He says his clan has identified a mystical threat, and wants our help once they have identified it. He'd also like the use of the Compound should his clan's efforts be discovered, and they're forced to flee. The terms of his agreement seemed reasonable, so I agreed."

"An alliance with the Tremere?" Marcus asked dubiously. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"No," Matt admitted. "But with the way things are going, I figured it would be nice to have someone else to turn to if we need help. With Magnus gone, we lose a great deal of our strength. With Johnny MIA, we're missing our eyes and ears. I didn't really have a choice."

"So my brother still hasn't checked in?"

"No," Matt replied. "With every passing hour, it seems more and more likely that he's dead." The statement made Matt as uncomfortable as he was sure it did Marcus, but he felt it was time to start facing the harsh reality that Johnny was probably not coming back this time.

"I guess that given the situation, you've done all you could," Marcus said. "Is there anything else?"

"The command of the clan is yours, if you want it," Matt said. "You are the ranking representative of the clan, and by rights you should be primogen."

"I appreciate the gesture," Marcus replied, "but the clan is yours. This is a time of troubles, and certainly not the right moment for a change in leadership. You know your men, and I do not. I wouldn't be able to use them as efficiently as you could. I will stand by to advise, as Johnny and Magnus always did. However, you are the primogen." He looked Matt over, and tried to decide whether his clanmate was relieved or troubled by the response. "You can't get out of the job that easily," Marcus joked, trying to ease the mood. He knew the kind of stress that Matt had to have been under recently. The last thing he wanted to do was to push the young Telemon until he broke. That would serve no one. Right now, they needed each man as sharp as he could be.

X

Michelle Marlowe threw open the door to her apartment and raced in, hoping to get to the phone before the caller hung up. She had been out all night searching for her friend, Johnny Yashida, but had not found any sign of him. She hoped that he was on the other end of the line, that she would finally know that he was safe.

"Hello?" The young Gangrel waited what seemed like minutes before a voice answered from the end, her anxiety distorting her sense of time.

"Hey 'chelle," a voice said from the other end of the line.

"Johnny!" Michelle screamed. "You're ok." A wave of satisfaction went through her as she patted herself on the back for having had one of the other Gangrel fix the phone line for her. She had hoped to find Johnny on her own, but knew that he would be proud of her for having taken the time to think things through. As soon as her initial feeling of relief had passed, however, she was struck with all of the irritation she had also been feeling as she wandered the city, searching endlessly for her friend. "Wait a second, I've been running all over this goddamn city trying to find you! Do you know how worried I've been? Where the hell are you?"

"I'm nowhere," Johnny answered, "and I'm sorry for having made you worry. It was the only way." A moment of silence followed before he continued. "God only knows if someone is listening. I need you to get out of the city."

"What?" the Gangrel asked, confused by the suddenness of her friend's request.

"You have to get out of San Francisco as soon as possible," Johnny said, his voice almost pleading. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all night. Where the hell have you been?"

"Out looking for you," Michelle answered. "Are you aware that most of the kindred in the city think you're dead?"

"Good," Johnny replied. "The longer they think that, the longer I'll probably be able to survive. If you want to live, you'll get out. Now."

"Why?"

"I don't have time to explain things to you," Johnny answered. "Besides, the more you know, the more danger you'll be in. Just trust me and get the hell out."

"Where are you?" Michelle asked. She had no intention of leaving the city again while Johnny played fast and free with his own life, just as he had done so many times before. She remembered the Sabbat siege, when he had sent her away while he continued to fight, seemingly in vain. She would not be discarded so easily this time.

"I already told you I can't tell you where I am."

"So you're going to hang around again and join your clan in some suicidal battle while you ship me off?" Michelle asked. "Sorry, but you're not getting away with that one. This time I'm staying."

"The hell you are," Johnny replied. "You'll just get yourself killed."

"Like you plan to?"

"I'm not planning on dying just yet," Johnny replied.

Michelle noticed the tone of his voice immediately. Johnny's voice was usually rather glib when he joked about life and death. While he had always known that he was the weakest of his clan, he had always had enough faith in his wits and luck to see him safely through any situation. He had never truly escaped the adolescent feelings of invulnerability that he had had at the time he was embraced. Michelle had always felt the same way, and it was this lack of fear that had been one of their greatest common bonds. That and a lack of respect for the laws of the mortals. Now, however, he sounded different. He was afraid. It was not the fear that one put in one's voice when it seemed like the right thing to do. He did not sound like he was stoically facing his end, as he had when the Sabbat had attacked. Even then, she knew, there had been a fiber of his being that had never even considered the possibility that he could die. That was no longer the case. She knew that Johnny had finally come across something that presented him with virtually no hope of survival. She could not imagine what it was.

"What are you going to do?" Michelle asked.

"I'm getting the hell out of here," Johnny replied. "There's no shame in running. Flee today, live to fight another day, and stuff like that."

"You're leaving?" Michelle asked. "Really?"

"I'm not even in the city right now," Johnny replied immediately. "I high-tailed it out of there last night. If you leave right now, you can get to a safe distance before the sun comes up."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to head back to Pennsylvania," Johnny answered. "I have to consult with Siras. After that, I don't know. I've even been considering going to ground."

Michelle gasped in response to his last statement. She had never heard of a kindred as young as Johnny going into hibernation. It was usually not until a few centuries had passed that one of their kind went to sleep for a time, so as to allow the world around to change and allow for more excitement when they awakened. "You can't be serious," she answered.

"Why not?" Johnny asked. "I haven't made the decision yet, but I might just do it. Of course, I'll need a little more time, and I'll need you to teach me how to meld into the earth, but once that's done, I might do it."

"Ok, I'll leave," Michelle agreed. She had doubted that things were as serious as Johnny had said, that he would really be leaving. When he had mentioned going to ground, he had put the fear of God in her. Now she would leave.

"Go to the airport," Johnny said. "There's a ticket waiting for you at the United desk. You'll be flying to Salt Lake City."

"What? That place is full of Mormons," Michelle complained. "I can't have any fun there. Why don't you send me to New Orleans?"

"It's too far east," Johnny answered, his tone slightly condescending. "If you stay in the air that long, the sun will come up. Salt Lake City is as far as you can safely go. Even then, if the flight's delayed, don't get on. Just drive as far as you can go. Take my credit card. The one I hid. I assume you've found it by now. You can go to a cash machine and take a cash advance. I also assume you remember the PIN."

"Yeah," Michelle admitted reluctantly. "So I get to take your credit card and get as much money as I want?"

"Don't push it," Johnny answered. "Now get going."

"Bye," Michelle said as she hung up the phone. She scanned the disheveled apartment for anything that she would want to bring, but decided against it. She did not have the time to go rooting through the piles of clothes and broken furniture.

She ran out the door, and down the stairs. In one smooth motion she hopped into the Miata that she had borrowed for the night. Unlike Johnny, who actually went to the trouble of hotwiring the cars that he stole, Michelle had a love of picking the pocket of someone and taking their keys. It made everything a lot easier. She peeled out of the parking space in front of her apartment, never even bothering to look back. If she had, she would have noticed Ronnie Striker pulling up in front of her building.

The Telemon went upstairs to her apartment, and immediately noticed that the door had not been locked. He walked in, his Glock held tightly in his right hand as he drew his survival knife in his left. He searched the apartment quickly. Either she left here in a hurry, or someone came and took her away unwillingly, the Telemon concluded. He could not think of any other reason Michelle Marlowe would have left her apartment unlocked. Thieves were not known for being lax with their own security. Either way, Ronnie figured, Matt would probably not like it any more than he did himself.

XI

The apartment was long abandoned, the best residence in a building that no longer had any business standing. The lamp that stood on the old coffee table would have been the only source of light in the room, but it had been years since electricity ran through the building's wires. It was in front of the coffee table that Jenni sat, resting on the floor with her feet lying in a thin, half-congealed pool of blood. Around her flies buzzed incessantly, but she did not notice. The only sounds she could hear were the ones that came from the recesses of her own mind. A dozen voices spoke to hear, each one sounding curiously similar to the way it had in life. Jenni never understood why that was. After all, they were now all a part of her, and should have spoken with her voice. On the other hand, she was grateful at the individuality that they each still retained. It helped her keep track of things. It would have gotten confusing if she could hear Basil and his guards speaking with the same voice as Lillie, or Jana, or Shelly.

A smile came to her face as she considered Basil. He had always been so strong, so arrogant. Now he was little more than an echo of his former self, a shred of his consciousness having been absorbed by the child when she diablerized him. Diablerie. She thought about the word, saying it over and over. Even the sound of the word was wickedly pleasurable. When Jenni had been young, she had rejoiced in slaughter. She had been a sick, weak child, but that had changed after her embrace. As kindred, she was like a god. She remembered the long, lonely night she had laid awake, her body racking from a terrible cough. She had heard the 'doctors.' She knew she was going to die. Then a man had stolen into her home, and brought her over. He left as suddenly as he had appeared, and she had been overcome by the hunger. She had preyed upon her father, mother, and little sister. She had never dreamed that blood could taste so good. In the years since, Jenni had taken pleasure in killing. She enjoyed punishing her victims, her food. Then she had discovered diablerie, quite accidentally. One day she had continued to feed on her kindred prey, even after she had consumed all of his blood. She had felt a part of him be transferred into her. She had gained his knowledge, his skills, his loves and hates, successes and failures. Most of all, she had gathered his pain. The pain of having been destroyed by her. She decided she must have drained his soul. His pain had lingered with her for a few days, and every moment made her feel as if his soul was suffering that much more. Here was a thrill that she had never felt before. She could do so much more than simply torture and kill. She could now torture, kill, and torture some more.

Another smile crossed the young, innocent face as she heard a wail of agony from Lillie. The proud Toreador had struggled until the very end, and even now fought to regain her independence. She will fail, Jenni knew. Lillie was always lording herself over Julian, and through him, over me. She will be made to suffer most. Jenni concentrated on Lillie, at the pain that the Toreador had felt during the last moments of life, and another scream tore through Jenni's mind.

The child had always heard of kindred going mad after diablerie. Some could simply never bear the strain that it placed on their psyche. They would struggle to retain their own identity with another personality awash within them. No kindred were ever truly the same after diablerie. A small piece of the victim always stayed with its slayer. For some, that small piece was too much. Not only were they never truly the same, they were never even themselves again. The small piece of the victim would overwhelm its murderer. For Jenni it was all so very different. For her, there was the pleasure of killing the same person twice. She would always subconsciously keep track of her victims, feel their life-force slowly drain from her, until not even she retained a piece of what they had been. Then they were truly dead. Until then, however, she would enjoy hearing them all suffer.

Suddenly, the voices all gathered together and cried out. "Yes!" Jenni screamed, enjoying the sound that she heard. It was as if a chorus of the dead had gathered to share its pain, with her as a private audience. She could imagine nothing more special, and it was all for her. The brutality and sheer cunning of Basil and his guards, the beauty of Lillie, the youth of Shelly, the will to live of several Nosferatu, and the passion of Jana. It was all there, all blended into a terrible concert of torment. It was then that another sound came to Jenni's mind. This one was from outside, in the real world. Her eyes flickered and opened, and she scanned the room. Then she heard the sound again.

A baby was crying in the next room, its voice muffled slightly by the heavy door that separated her from her guests. They're hungry, she realized. Jenni slowly rose from the floor, disappointed that her enjoyment had been cut short. Soon she would have to sleep, and when she awoke, she knew that a few voices would not rise to greet the evening with her. Her chorus would lose members as the last remnants of some her less recent victims finally faded into oblivion. She would have to replace them. She would have to find others with strong voices.

To be continued........................