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)

3. Gehenna, Part 3

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 3

by

Nevermore

CHAPTER 4

I

The phone rang, and Marcus immediately picked it up. He thought it funny that one of his status within the clan had been reduced to secretary for a couple of hours, but that was the way things had turned out. As soon as the sun had gone down, all of the current residents of the Compound had gone back to work installing a new security system that Matt had arranged to acquire as soon as he had heard about Magnus and Johnny. As Marcus had no experience with electronic security systems, he had volunteered to answer phones, thus freeing up other people for the work he did not understand. He had always left security systems to Yashida.

"Hello?"

"Who is this?" the caller asked immediately.

Marcus felt a chill as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. "This is Marcus Dietrich," he replied.

"What the hell are you doing there?" the caller asked, his voice sounding both surprised and displeased.

"Siras sent me out," Marcus replied. "We were told you were probably dead."

"Not for lack of trying," Johnny muttered in response. "You shouldn't be there," he said after a moment of silence. "You should get the hell out. Now. All of you. Just pack up and get the hell out of Dodge."

"You know that's not an option," Marcus said to his brother. "Siras has ordered us to hold our position in the city at all costs."

"Disobey the order."

"I can't do that," Marcus replied. "What's going on, anyway?"

"I can't tell you that," Johnny responded flatly. "I'm damned for just seeing what I did. We're all damned. We're all gonna burn. You, me, Matt, Julian, all of us. Michelle won't. She's safe now. I was gonna be safe. Now you're there."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Marcus asked. He had never heard Johnny ramble before. His brother sounded confused and terrified. Dietrich could not begin to wonder what had rattled Yashida so much. He had always known the small Telemon to be fearless, despite the fact that he had no rational reason for being so.

"Ever since the Sabbat, I've known," Johnny said, his voice evening a bit. Marcus could sense his brother was regaining a modicum of control.

"What do you mean?" Marcus asked. "Is it the Sabbat? Are they the ones that killed Magnus?"

"No."

"What does the Sabbat have to do with this?"

"Nothing. They have to do with something else, but it's the same thing, only different, if that makes any sense."

"Not at all. What are you talking about?" Marcus asked again.

"When the Sabbat laid siege to San Francisco a while back," Johnny said. "That's when this all started. Actually, it probably started before then. That was just when I realized that something was going on. When Barry was killed, it was all wrong."

"Barry?" Marcus asked. At first he could not place the name, then he remembered a childe that Matt had taken a couple of years earlier. As a mortal, Barry had been a vigilante that fought a Sabbat vampire to a standstill with only his bare hands. Matt had liked the young man's fighting spirit and brought him into the clan. The childe had been killed when the Sabbat had raided the Compound. "What does Barry have to do with this?"

"The Sabbat didn't kill him," Johnny replied. "Things were just not right with the whole scene. I've been looking into it. She wasn't there, though. She was with Sasha. It couldn't have been her. I always thought there was someone else, but now I know it."

"Know what?" Marcus asked. He was getting extremely frustrated with his brother. He had the definite feeling that Johnny had come across valuable, perhaps even vital, information. Unless he could find out what it was, however, it was irrelevant what Yashida knew.

"You're a puppet," Johnny replied. "We're all puppets. Or we're cattle. Didn't you know? Everything they say is all true."

"Who? Who is 'they?' "

"I don't know," Johnny answered. "The same 'they' that everyone always talks about. One of them set up the bishop, and let us know about it," Johnny added. "I'll bet it was the same one that killed Barry. Then he let Luna know. I don't know why he helped us. Unless he wanted us to kill each other. That would explain Barry. Don't you see?"

"I don't have the faintest fucking clue what you're saying."

"That would be the one Jerrard was talking about," Johnny said, appearing to ignore all of Marcus' questions. "He wants to find the strongest of us. No one knows why, though."

At the mention of Jerrard, Marcus had finally calmed a bit. Jerrard was an old Nosferatu with whom Johnny apparently traded information on a regular basis. If Jerrard had been involved, then whatever information Johnny had probably dealt with something, or someone, slightly outdated.

"Basil and Rayce were both here at the same time, too," Johnny said. "Did you know that they were both over five hundred years old?"

"No."

"They were. Strange that two old kindred would both arrive here within a couple of years of each other, almost as if it had been planned."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I think it was planned," Johnny replied. "There are no coincidences. I don't think I believe in them anymore."

"Are you saying someone arranged for both of them to be in San Francisco at the same time?" Marcus asked, wondering who could have such influence over a couple of kindred that had spent so much time in the world.

"It's possible," Johnny replied, his voice taking another large step toward being controlled. "That would have put four of them in the city at once."

"Four what?" Marcus asked.

"Four elders," Johnny answered. "At least four of them."

"Elders?" Marcus asked dubiously. Like all kindred, Marcus Dietrich had heard tales about the elders of their kind, capable of wielding power over not only the younger kindred and mortals, but also over the very world in which they lived. According to the stories, they were beings akin to gods. Marcus had never believed such tall tales. All he trusted was what he saw, and he had never seen a man that was over two thousand years old and capable of exterminating a city by himself.

"Have you ever heard of Gehenna?" Johnny asked.

"Sure I have," Marcus replied. "Isn't that the end of the world or something?"

"It's the end of this cycle of history," Johnny replied. "I forget exactly how it goes. I think it's something like the first cycle was when Caine created his childer, the so-called second generation of the kindred. They got it into their heads that they should then have their own childer, so that they would have someone to rule over. Caine disapproved of his progeny creating more of their kind, so he killed his own childer. That was the end of the first cycle. Then the third generation created childer of their own, and they developed into the clans that we know now. The younger generations disliked the control of the third generation, and so they rose up against them. I think that was the end of the second cycle. Maybe not. I was never clear on all of this, to tell the truth. Even Jerrard was a little fuzzy on the details. Anyway, I think that we're in the third cycle right now. Legend has it that eventually, the elders will rise up again and destroy all of the younger generations, namely us, and start all over again."

"That's just a story," Marcus replied. "I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you. Stop listening to scary children's stories, Johnny."

"What if they're not just stories? You haven't seen what I've seen."

"What have you seen?" Marcus asked immediately, seizing the opportunity to return to his original line of questioning. He desperately wanted information about what had happened at Fort Point.

"I've seen more than I ever would have wanted to," Johnny replied cryptically. "I would tell you, believe me I would, but it's better you not know."

"Why?" Marcus asked, not bothering to hide his offense. He felt as if Johnny was trying to protect him, and he was confident that the last thing he needed from his smaller, older brother was protection. It had always been the other way around – Johnny had gone to Marcus when he needed someone to help him out of a jam.

"Some knowledge is so secretive that people will kill to cover it up," Johnny replied. "With your background, you of all people should understand that. Just trust me, it's best if you leave."

"I was ordered to stay," Marcus said again, needlessly reminding Johnny of his commitment to his duty.

"You have only received those orders because Siras does not understand the situation," Johnny replied. "This is a battle that you simply cannot win. You're the expert strategist. Do I have to remind you that the first rule of war is to not fight a battle you can't win?"

"You haven't given me any hard facts that I could base that kind of a decision on," Marcus replied. "Unless you can prove to me I can't win, I have to fight."

"The only way to prove it is to show you, and by then it would be too late to decide to leave," Johnny said, his voice sounding almost sad. "If I can't convince you to leave, then you will almost certainly die."

"You can't really believe that," Marcus said. The only response he received was a click at the other end of the line as Johnny Yashida hung up.

II

Tristan descended the stairs into the Haven and smiled as soon as he saw the Schacter brothers. They were seated at a table in the middle of the room, allowing themselves to be surrounded by their chosen enemies. The Irish mage was always amused at the arrogance that his German counterparts possessed. The twins were a study in contrasts, appearing no more alike than any two random people on the street. Each one possessed a strength, though for each man it was something different.

Kiefer was the older brother, born eight minutes before Heinrich. He was a fairly tall man, a shade over six feet, with a very wiry build. His brown hair fell over his shoulders in careless curls, and his brown eyes seemed to always be deep in thought. Perhaps they were, Tristan mused. Kiefer belonged to the Order of Hermes, a collection of mages that still performed the rituals that many mundanes associated with the wizards of the greatest works of fiction. While Kiefer appeared fairly harmless sitting in his chair next to his larger brother, Tristan knew better. Those that belonged to the Order of Hermes were masters of forces, a sphere of magic that could be used to more devastating effect than perhaps any other. In battle, Kiefer was a terrible sight to behold. His strength lay in his magic.

Heinrich was far larger than his twin, his strength lying almost as much in his physical power as in his mystical abilities. Heinrich was only a couple of inches taller than Kiefer, standing 6'4", but he weighed just under 230 pounds, most of his weight consisting of muscle that had been built up in countless hours of weight training. His neatly trimmed blonde hair completed a cold appearance that started at his eyes, which were an icy blue. While Heinrich was also a master of the arcane, he was Euthanatos, a student of entropy. The effects that he created were often far subtler than his brother's. While Kiefer could walk into a building and destroy his enemies with fireballs and bolts of lightning from his hands, Heinrich would use tactics that would seem to be the result of pure chance. One of the basic tenets of entropy is that everything is decaying. Heinrich would simply alter the rate of decay in a building's beam to have it fall on an opponent's head, or have a nearby furnace burst an old pipe and incinerate an enemy in a jet of flame.

The one thing the brothers had in common, however, was their wardrobe. Both dressed entirely in black. Black pants and button-down shirts, black boots, and black trenchcoats. Heinrich departed from his brother in wearing a black fedora and carrying a black cane, but these were the only deviation from the overall fashion scheme.

Tristan looked over toward the bar, and immediately caught the longing gaze Chelsea was directing toward him. The mage smiled thinly at the Toreador, and descended the final stairs onto the floor of the Haven. "Good to see you both again," Tristan said as he sat down at the twins' table.

"Likewise," Heinrich replied. Kiefer simply nodded in response. The smaller brother had never been one for many words.

"Something in this city is very wrong, I don't think we should move just yet," Tristan stated matter-of-factly, knowing that the Schacters were only interested in what he had been able to discover during the past few days. This was certainly not to be considered a social meeting. Tristan had no desire to get to know the brothers, and they did not seem to disagree with that sentiment. Their relationship was purely professional. None of them saw the use in forming friendships while they partook in an activity as dangerous as hunting kindred. It was likely that at least one of them would die someday, and none of them had interest in losing a friend.

"From what little I have seen, I would have to disagree," Heinrich commented. "I have seen nothing but disorder and weakness. What have you learned that makes you see things differently?"

"I was only able to locate two of the contacts you directed me toward," Tristan replied. "Hugh and Sasha were easy enough to find, but this Johnny Yashida you mentioned was nowhere to be found."

"It is no matter," Heinrich responded evenly. "I doubt he had any information that the others could not also provide."

"From what I've been able to find out, it seems the city is rapidly approaching the level of utter chaos," Tristan said. A smile instantly came to Heinrich's face. "Basil Romanov, the recently proclaimed prince of Oakland, was just killed, along with all of his bodyguards. I found no evidence of who had attacked them. The bartender, Chelsea, has also informed me that Lillie Langtree, the Toreador primogen, was just killed in Julian Luna's own home. Some of the Toreador believe the story that someone broke in and killed her. Others think that Luna was behind it, in return for an apparent connection Lillie had with the Sabbat. The facts are still a little unclear on that."

"So is there any chance of the Toreador attacking the prince?" Heinrich asked.

"That's an interesting question," Tristan answered. "See, the thing is, the Toreador are currently responsible for the prince's security. They could either attack Luna themselves, or simply allow someone else to gain access to him. It's an opening we may wish to exploit." Both brothers nodded in agreement. For a brief moment, Tristan was struck with the absurdity of carrying on this conversation in the one location where it was safe to say there would be several kindred. It was very possible they could be overheard. The brothers would not have wanted it any other way, though. They liked to give their prey some chance, no matter how slight, to at least get an idea that death was coming for them. Neither one felt threatened by the kindred. For them, this was little more than sport.

"Do you think Luna was behind it?" Heinrich asked.

"No," Tristan replied without a moment's hesitation. "Hugh said that Luna has already been to see him, asking what the mages know about what's going on. Hugh is convinced that someone else is in town hunting down the kindred. I checked with my usual sources, and no hunter that anyone knows of is anywhere within a hundred miles of the Bay Area. If it's a hunter, it's someone we don't know about."

"I don't like mysteries," Kiefer muttered, surprising both of his comrades as he spoke.

"Neither do I," Tristan agreed. "I think we should keep looking into things before we launch our attack. In our line of work, what you don't know can kill you."

"I don't think it's all that dire a situation," Heinrich replied. "I was here a few years ago and had my way with these kindred. I do not see this terrible danger that you both seem to think is here. They are vulnerable right now. If we wait, the opportunity may be lost."

"Be that as it may, I'm still not comfortable," Tristan said. "However, maybe you're right. There are still a few things to consider, though. First and foremost is the behavior of the Tremere."

"I do not see anything about the warlocks that could be of value," Heinrich said. As with virtually all mages, Heinrich possessed an intense distrust, perhaps even hatred, for the magic users of the kindred world. Their power was something utterly alien to the mortal mages.

"I think they've been looking to form an alliance with the young Telemon clan," Tristan replied. This brought a look of obvious interest from both brothers. "It appears as if two high-ranking members of each clan got together the other night. Both were killed. I heard another rumor that someone may have witnessed the killings, but I have not found whoever it was. One version I heard is that a Telemon saw the whole thing, and has gone missing. I would assume that would be Yashida. Perhaps he knows something of value, after all."

"Perhaps," Heinrich said flatly, making it all too obvious that he was rather unimpressed.

Tristan could understand his colleague's doubt. Neither of the Germans had ever faced a truly great threat. Sure, both of them had battled kindred, garou, and other mages, but none of their opponents had been of a level of power that had ever put either brother at risk. Kiefer was cautious by nature, and so he would consider the situation far more carefully than Heinrich would. The younger twin, however, would never accept the possibility that he could be outdone until it had happened. By then it would be too late. Tristan was reminded of a story from Heinrich's first visit to the city, when he had dropped in unannounced on a pack of garou that were licking their wounds in a hotel room. His carelessness had almost cost him his life that day. What lesson did he take from that experience? Tristan asked himself incredulously. Never meet alone with a pack of garou. That had been all. No thoughts about possibly being more careful in general. He had never even considered bringing back-up to potentially dangerous meetings. It would have been better if the garou had given him a deep scar that day to remind him of his folly. In sudden response to that thought, Tristan's hand unconsciously moved to his side, to where so many years ago the Irishman had been given the scar that signified the lesson that had thus far eluded Heinrich.

"The mortals are also at it," Tristan said. "A gang war has erupted since Luna has withdrawn from view a bit. The humans think they can start controlling their own destinies."

"It's about time," Heinrich commented. "Is the Gambioni family involved?"

"It's funny you should ask," Tristan replied. "It actually looks like the Gambionis are the ones that incited the whole thing. I have certain suspicions about them."

"If you suspect that the family is populated by garou, you're right," Heinrich said.

"How did you know?" Tristan asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"One of the Gambioni enforcers was a member of the werewolf pack I dealt with last time I was here."

"Did you leave a good impression?" Tristan asked. "If we offer to help them, we might be able to get some help in return."

"Perhaps," Heinrich answered, beginning to tap the tips of his fingers together. "I might be able to direct you toward a few key people in order to set up a meeting."

"I don't like this," Kiefer said, startling his two allies by speaking for a second time in the same conversation. It was almost unheard of for him to be so vocal. "You can't trust the garou."

"Our enemy is the kindred," Heinrich replied. "We share this enemy with the garou."

"I'm glad that your initial contact with garou went as well as it did," Kiefer said after a moment's thought. "However, you should never think that the garou are our allies. We are all mortals, unlike the vampires that we war against, but their goals will not always coincide with ours. Don't forget that while we hunt kindred, other mages hunt the garou. The Gambionis would be foolish to trust us very far. The negotiations would be very risky, and would have to be handled with extreme subtlety and care."

"I can do that," Tristan said. "I've dealt with garou several times before. As this family lives in the city, I would expect that they come from the Glass Walker tribe. I've never really worked with them before, but I have fought beside several garou from the Fianna tribe. There are differences between the two, to be sure, but I have the best chance of being able to talk to them."

"You're elected," Heinrich said. The younger twin glanced at his brother, and saw Kiefer shrug in response. While the older brother would not oppose their decision any further, he was not at all convinced that their course of action was correct. "Go to L'Osteria del Forno. It's a restaurant that old man Gambioni himself owns. You can find someone there to talk to. Your magic should help guide you the rest of the way."

"It can't be all that tough," Tristan said with a grin. The Irishman immediately stood and began to walk toward the steps to leave. He gave one more quick glance to Chelsea, and shook his head in disappointment. Every time he looked at her, he was struck at her beauty. It was too bad she was not mortal.

III

During the years that Mario Cabrezzi had lived after his embrace, he had come to enjoy many aspects of life as one of the kindred. As a human, he had been a librarian and avid reader. Now he would have centuries to read all of the classics. Time would now not slowly hunt him down. Even more than the time that he gained, he enjoyed the fact that his body had never fatigued. At least, it had never fatigued until the crisis that he now faced. Since he had discovered a mystical presence within San Francisco, Mario had been ordered to first set up defenses for the chantry, and then to develop a new ritual that would allow his fellow Tremere to learn the nature and location of the threat. He had always loved reading and research, but now it was all he was allowed to do. Granted, if there had been no danger within the Bay Area, he still would have been spending his time in the basement, reading ancient tomes and trying to recreate forgotten rituals. However, the tasks had a different feel when he undertook them by command rather than choice. At least when Mario studied voluntarily, he could take a break when he felt he wanted one. Now he was tired. For the first time in decades, the warlock actually felt fatigued.

Mario looked over the page in front of him again, rereading the words and symbols for the third time. None of the writing was all that complicated, but Mario could no longer concentrate. His mind wanted to wander for a few brief moments, to seek any kind of stimuli other than what it had been faced with for hours upon hours, but there would be no rest for the weary. The warlock knew that a great deal rested on his success. He would have to do better. Mario stepped back from the desk where his book sat and rubbed his eyes. He raised his arms above him, stretched the aching muscles, and rubbed his back, which was stiff from having supported the standing vampire for every waking hour for the past few nights. I was so sure the answer would be here, he thought, his morale dropping slightly, as it had with every other failure that he had experienced recently.

The warlock closed the book and opened the next one in the pile that had just arrived. The elders in Vienna had been extremely interested in what was going on, and had sent several of the clan's oldest tomes to help. In addition, they had arranged for Mario to use some of the mortals' modern technology to aid him in his studies. Every few hours, he could go online and trade questions and answers with several of his clanmates around the world. Even as he searched through old books, so too did many of the initiates in other chantries, all of them searching for the piece of information that could solve the puzzle. The entire clan was lending a hand in his research. While this made Mario somewhat pleased, as he knew that in such a situation many of the other Tremere would come to know of his name and expertise, he still wished that the circumstances were different. It could not be said that San Francisco was a terribly safe place.

The warlock noticed that the candle on the desk was burning low, and took another one out of the top drawer and lit it. While he had access to electricity, Mario also liked to keep a candle burning. It felt somewhat traditional to him. The faint glow of the flame flickering across the corner of the pages, brittle with their age, somehow made him feel closer to the mages and vampires that had originally written the texts. He felt less modern, and more in touch with his roots. He began to carefully turn through the pages, skimming each one to see if it contained anything that seemed promising. When he happened upon a word that was potentially of interest, he slowed down and read more carefully. He turned the pages again and again, then suddenly stopped. What was that? he asked himself. As he had flipped the page, he had noticed a phrase at the bottom of the page he had turned. He turned back and looked at it again. Heart of the City. What was it about the words that struck him as familiar? He read more carefully. The domain of a predator can take on some of the predator's own characteristics. The words referred to kindred, he knew, but he had never heard of this aspect of a kindred's abilities. Or had he? As he pondered the question, he noticed the candle flicker slightly, as if someone had breathed on it.

Mario took a quick step back and looked around the room. He tried to convince himself that it had been a draft, but he knew full well that the basement had been carefully renovated to make sure that there were absolutely no drafts. A stray gust of wind, no matter how faint, could have unpredictable effects upon a ritual. He looked around the room again, scanning every shadow and piece of furniture, making certain that he was alone. After a moment he allowed himself to relax. It was just my imagination, he repeated over and over. Mario looked at the book again, and convinced himself that he had simply become disconcerted by what he had read, just as a child that watched a scary movie before going to bed. A child, he thought. Is that what I've been reduced to, comparisons with children? Then again, how frightened would children be if they ever knew that many of their most frightening tales all had a basis in fact? How scared would their parents be?

Mario calmed himself more and continued reading. He found that initially, strange moods within a city were considered by hunters to be proof that an evil spirit was present. That's exactly what's going on here, Mario realized. He had to find out if it were possible to turn this power against its user. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could turn his fellow researchers in a more precise direction. He bent over the computer screen and brought up his email application. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the candle go out. He looked around the room in shock, but again saw no one. An instant later, the computer turned off. Certain he was not alone, Mario dashed toward the door to the basement, hoping that he could reach his clanmates and get help. He did not even make it more than a yard. As soon as his legs started moving, Mario was struck in the chest and doubled over in pain. He knew from the crack he had heard that several of his ribs had been caved in. He tried to call out for help, but could not. He guessed that his lungs had been punctured and collapsed. Without being able to breathe deeply, he would never be able to cry out for help. As he lay on the floor, he caught sight of a small foot circling the desk.

"Oh, this is interesting," he heard a girl's voice comment. "Heart of the city. I didn't know any of you younger generations still knew about this stuff. I was under the impression this was simply myth to you." Jenni smiled as she rounded the table and set her eyes upon the fallen Tremere. She picked up the book and tossed it into the brazier that stood a few feet from the desk. A moment later she tossed a lit match in and watched the dry, centuries-old pages catch fire immediately. "Well, enough of that," she said with a smile.

"Jenni?" Mario gasped, struggling to get to his feet. He tried desperately to heal the damage he assumed she had caused, but found himself unable to do much. It had been several nights since he had been able to feed, and without a constant intake of blood he had grown weak. Endless research had ground him down.

"Sometimes," Jenni answered. "I've been known by lots of other names, too. I would tell you a few of them, but what's the point? I'm just gonna kill you anyway." She punched the Tremere again, sending him back down to the floor. She kicked him a couple of times for good measure, and then began to look at his books once more. "So you're the one they had doing all the research, huh? I'm impressed. I didn't think that your blood magic would be much of a threat to me. Little did I know you'd be able to detect my presence, and the agitation it caused across the whole city." The child smiled, obviously pleased with the problems she had been causing since she had arrived. "Then you had to go and create defenses against my power. Let me tell you, that hurt."

"Forgive me if I'm not overly disappointed," Mario replied. He knew Jenni, and had never thought the child to be anything more than a mistake made by the Sabbat and left behind when they were defeated. Now he realized she was so much more. She had been the one to kill Magnus and Stephen. Obviously, she was an elder. No one else would have been able to get around the chantry's defenses and make their way into the basement without being detected. Mario believed the child when she said she would kill him. If his life was forfeit, he would try to anger her. He hoped that this would either stall her, as she decided to kill him slowly, or anger her enough to make a lot of noise when she finished him off. Either way, the chances of his clanmates realizing that there was an intruder would be increased. "Killing me won't change any of that, you know. I showed everyone in my clan how to defend themselves against your magic. That trick of yours is useless."

"Hardly," Jenni replied. "Your pitiful blood magic is no match for my abilities. You have no idea what I am, or how powerful I am. Your feeble skills cannot compare to the experience of millennia."

Mario's eyes widened in horror as he listened to her speak. Millennia? She's more powerful than I had thought. She could wipe us all out. I have to do something. Mario searched around the room for anything that he could use as a weapon. He found nothing.

Jenni saw his searching gaze, and decided that she had had enough fun with her victim. Every moment that she gave Mario offered opportunity for him to do something unexpected. The building had been well guarded, with numerous magical traps. She was in no mood to find out what else the Tremere had available to them. In one fluid motion she grew her hands out into claws and ripped into Mario's chest, withdrawing his heart and crushing it in her viselike grip. She looked at the body and wondered what she would have been able to learn if she had diablerized the thaumaturgist. He was apparently a master of the blood magic. That was the very thing that had stopped her, however. She knew all too well that the Tremere could use their thaumaturgy to poison their blood for anyone that drank it. Even the bodies of the Tremere were guarded magically. She would not fall prey to their tricks.

Jenni then walked over to a corner and broke the lock off of a large steel chest. Inside she found exactly what she had expected. Several types of incendiary materials were necessary in the Tremere rituals, and they would have been expected to keep them all in a safe place, somewhere they would not pose a large risk of causing a large fire. As long as they were all kept in the chest, that is. Jenni pored over the materials, deciding what would serve her purposes best. It did not take long for her to make up her mind. She grabbed two metal containers, one with gasoline and the other with kerosene. She disconnected the basement fire alarm, broke open a few of the painted-over windows, spilled the gasoline all over the furniture in the basement, and then dropped a lit match onto the floor. The flames erupted immediately, and the blast of heat that assaulted Jenni's face almost sent her into the Rötschreck. She fought off the madness that all kindred experience when faced with fire, and closed the wooden door behind her. She opened the can of kerosene and began to spill it behind her as she walked through the chantry. She knew that she would be invisible if any of the Tremere encountered her, but none of them did. They were apparently all staying in their rooms, conducting research of their own.

The child grinned malevolently as she considered what would happen. When the door of the basement was finally burned through, the flames would burst out and immediately ignite the kerosene. Within moments, every hallway in the building would be ablaze. The Tremere would all be terrified with fear, a result of the Rötschreck. They would burn alive. Even if any escaped, they would lose all of their research and items in the fire. They would no longer be a significant threat.

Once Jenni had finished pouring the kerosene around the building, she simply opened the front door and walked out. As she did so, several magical alarms were tripped in the room of each of the warlocks. Patrick was the first one to respond, racing down the stairs from his office, followed by his living gargoyle hound. The stone beast was the best guardian the Tremere primogen could have ever hoped for. It never slept, ate, or tired, and was fanatically loyal. As Patrick reached the building's entrance, the door to the basement finally gave out. It was blown out by the force of the dying blaze in the basement, which was reinvigorated by the oxygen in the upper levels of the chantry. The flames spread quickly, following the line if kerosene through the halls. Patrick saw what was happening and knocked the front door off of its hinges as he dove out of the building, his primal terror leading him to simply race away as fast as he could, without regard for his clansmen.

Once he was across the street, Patrick recovered his wits. He kept his back to his home, knowing he would be overcome with panic again if he saw the flames. As it was, the heat from the inferno was almost reducing him to a quivering heap of flesh.

"Go get the others out, Ming," Patrick instructed his hound, hoping that he acted in time. He turned the corner, and stole occasional glances at the building, hoping to catch sight of any of his clanmates. After a minute of waiting, he saw Adam Stewart walk from the front door, as if nothing were amiss. He's even worse than I had ever thought, Patrick thought, referring to the pyromania that several of the Tremere had felt afflicted their clanmate. Watching the kindred walk from the front door of a burning building without even batting an eyelash, Patrick was convinced that Adam was completely insane. He would have to deal with that later, though.

A few seconds after Adam walked out, Patrick could hear the frantic screams of other Tremere. They were caught in the fire, and could not think to act. Apparently, even his ghouls had been overcome by terror. Either that, or the smoke got them, the primogen thought as he focused on the think smoke billowing out from the windows. The ghouls were mortal, and had been asleep. They had probably never awakened, having been overcome by the fumes as they rested. Just as Patrick was about to give up hope and walk off with Adam, he caught sight of a form on the roof. He immediately recognized Philip Hoi, even through the smoke and over the distance. The Tremere looked on the verge of a breakdown, running helter-skelter from one edge of the roof to the other. Then, just as the flames were reaching onto the roof, Hoi jumped, his body thudding sickly on the pavement below. What would have killed a mortal was simply a mass of injuries to be healed for a kindred. Patrick gestured to Adam, and the younger Tremere ran over near the blaze and gathered up Philip Hoi. He would need a little bit of time to recover, but he would certainly live. As Patrick led his two surviving clanmates away, he realized that living was something that had become too great a burden. Part of him actually wished, for a brief moment, that he had not made it out of the building.

"So what are we going to do now?" Adam asked as he lumbered off down the street.

"I will call Matt Reimer," Patrick replied. "We made an agreement with the Telemon, and it's time they paid up."

IV

Tristan Reilly leaned back in his chair, knowing that he was as safe as human being could ever possibly be. True, he was sitting in the middle of the Plump Jack Cafe, a restaurant owned by a family of garou, but sitting on either side of him was one of the Schacter brothers. The Irish mage could think of little that could ever threaten three master wizards.

Tristan's imagination was helped along, however, when he saw Vincenzo Gambioni walk slowly through the door. The man was powerful, even though he was certainly over sixty years old. The mage knew that Gambioni was of a tribe of werewolves called the Glasswalkers, those lupines that had deserted their heritage within the wild in favor of the comfort and style of metropolitan life. To many others of their kind, the Glasswalkers were outsiders, at best distrusted and seen as weak, at worst outwardly reviled and accused of falling in with demons. Vincenzo Gambioni, however, had a proud bearing that rivaled that of the Get of Fenris, a mighty, wild clan that had provided the vast majority of great garou heroes. Tristan's earlier feelings of invulnerability paled somewhat as he looked upon the head of the Gambioni crime family. Vincenzo was not capable of bending reality to his will as a mage could, but he had "it," that special, undefinable attribute that leads others to perceive greatness within an individual.

Any considerations of Vincenzo Gambioni halted suddenly, however, as his bodyguard, Kristen Genetti, walked into view. Tristan was immediately driven to distraction. In all the years that he had lived, and all of the women that he had been with, he had never beheld such an alluring figure. Kristen stood 5'10", and had an athletic, faintly muscular figure. Her long, curly brown hair hung carelessly down past her shoulders and partially covered her dark, sharply featured face, giving her a somewhat wild appearance. The woman's clothing only served to draw even more attention. The most prominent article of clothing was the long, black trenchcoat that Tristan assumed was to provide effective concealment of weapons. Despite such practical purposes, however, the coat allowed a partially obstructed, teasing view of the clothes Kristen wore beneath. Tristan allowed himself a moment's indulgence to soak in the woman's appearance, beginning with her black, thigh-high leather boots, and moving up to a sleek black mini-skirt. Her chest was barely covered by a sheer, slightly see-through white cut-off shirt. Only a moment after Tristan realized that Kristen was not wearing a bra, his eyes were drawn to her tight, well-defined abdomen.

Not wanting to be caught staring, the mage looked quickly to the woman's eyes, hoping to hide his attraction to her. Apparently, he realized, he had acted too late. By the time his eyes met hers, she was already looking right at him, a thin, seductive smile spreading across her full, red lips. The eyes, Tristan noted, were most likely the most enthralling part of the enrapturing woman. Dark green, they appeared almost feline, the last quality he would expect from someone he assumed was part wolf. He happily noticed that Kristen seemed equally impressed with his appearance, a feeling she expressed by slowly licking her lips. Just as Tristan was about to wink, however, he was struck by the disconcerting thought that the woman's action might not have been one of seduction, but one of preparing to feed. She was, after all, a werewolf. Tristan reminded himself that it would be wise to remember the nature of those with whom he was dealing. He diverted his gaze momentarily to watch the old man sit down at the table, and then looked right back at Kristen. This time, she winked at him. Feeling more secure in the nature of her appetite, the mage winked back, and tried to concentrate on business. There would be plenty of time for fun later.

"How are you tonight?" Kristen asked the mages, focusing primarily on Heinrich. "Your name is Schacter, right?"

"That is correct," Heinrich answered. "We met some time ago, when your pack moved to avenge the losses of your family."

"I remember," Kristen muttered in response, as if she had been reminded of something she had been trying to forget. "When Tristan's messenger came to me to set up a meeting, he said I had come personally recommended, but I had no idea you were back in town." She looked over the three mages, and then settled her gaze on the Irishman. "You're Tristan?" she asked, her voice almost seeming to purr.

"Aye," the mage answered, thickening his lilt slightly, hoping, as always, that it would serve to make him slightly more exotic. "I'm the one that sent Andy to meet you."

"And what is it you want from us?" Vincenzo asked, deciding to take part in the conversation. "I admit that I suspected the possibility of a trap, but Kristen apparently knows at least one of you, so I guess you're as trustworthy as any mage could ever possibly be."

"I'm flattered," Tristan said with a smile.

"First and foremost, Mr. Gambioni, we would like some wine," Heinrich said. "It has been a long day, and we are rather thirsty."

"Of course," the garou replied. "Any preference?"

"Nalle Gewürztraminer," Kiefer said evenly.

"A rather nice choice," Vincenzo said with a nod. He gave a slight flourish of his hand, and a minute later a waiter came in with a bottle of the wine.

Once the glasses had been filled and a sip taken, Kiefer let out a deep sigh and looked over each of the people at the table once again. "We are here because of the kindred," the mage said, reluctantly accepting that he had been left to deal with the early phase of the conversation. Heinrich had pointed out that he had already worked with one of the lupines, and that Tristan's messenger had met with them. Kiefer was the odd man out, and the other two mages felt that he should talk a bit to make the old man more comfortable. "I have a little vendetta against the Ventrue clan, and the prince of this city is one of their number. My brother here hunts all kindred, holding them to be abominations in the face of nature. I'm sure he has some mathematical way of explaining his views, but I will leave that to him to clarify."

"And the other one?" Vincenzo asked, gesturing to Tristan.

"I am an apprentice to these two," Reilly answered. "They have knowledge that I desire, and in return for their lessons I help them in their hunting. Besides, they also give me a nice bit of cash in an expense account. It's a nice lifestyle, and I certainly could never say that my life is boring." He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Kristen was smiling, and he allowed himself a brief flash of satisfaction. Yes, he decided, it is definitely on.

"Adventure? Excitement?" Heinrich asked. "I thought a Jedi craved not these things, Obi-wan."

"Give it a rest, boss man," Tristan replied smoothly.

"Then I ask again, what do you want from us?" Gambioni repeated, ignoring the exchange between the two mages. He did not wait long for an answer.

"An alliance," Heinrich replied, deciding to relieve his brother of the uncomfortable burden of speech. "As you know, I have worked with the garou of this area before. Your kind are stronger than I had ever been led to believe. It is our desire to wipe out the entire vampire population, and as powerful as we are, I doubt we could accomplish such a feat on our own."

"It is unlikely," Gambioni agreed. "What would be the terms of your alliance?"

"We know that you are getting in a war with the human mobs," Heinrich answered. "We can help end that for you. There are kindred within each of the families, and there are also the creatures that you refer to as fomori. These are formidable enemies. You will eventually need help as much as we do." The German stopped for a moment to wait for a response, but the Italian only nodded. Heinrich then continued. "There is something wrong with the kindred in the area. They are all dying out. I have some suspicions of my own, but perhaps you have some ideas as well. An information exchange would be welcome."

"So you need soldiers," Gambioni stated, attempting to sum up the situation.

"No," Heinrich replied. "No offense, but I would rather not do battle with berserk garou in the area. They may be wont to lose their senses and tear into even their allies. I need information. I need to know the identity of every kindred you are aware of in the city. I am sure you have kept track of such information. I also would like safe haven in the city at any time in the future after the war is over. I like knowing that there is always someplace I could fall back to if things go wrong."

"And in return for these trifles, you will help us make war against our enemies?" Gambioni asked. The old crimelord was certain that he had to be missing something. From his point of view, there was no down side to the deal. He would be risking none of his soldiers, and would only part with information that the mages would be able to gather on their own if they took the time. The only possible problem would be the guarantee of safe haven. He had no idea what kind of enemies a mage might bring into his city. Still, if San Francisco was to be his, he would certainly need help. With the mages on his side, he would be able to wipe out all of his human competition and take the fight directly to Luna and his supporters.

"I think you must agree that we are not asking all too much," Heinrich said.

"I think that's what has him worried," Tristan chimed in. "He wonders why we seem to be so generous."

"Ah, yes," Heinrich realized. "There is a mistaken presumption. While we request little, from our point of view what we ask for is not out of line with what we offer. We are vampire hunters, we are used to facing the strongest of enemies on a regular basis. We are offering to help you wipe out human enemies. To us, this is not a great challenge. So you see, in our eyes, the service and reward are proportional."

"Yes, I see," Vincenzo replied, continuing to turn the factors over and over in his head.

"We can give you some more time to consider our proposal if you would like," Tristan offered, hoping that the old man would accept his suggestion. That might mean another chance to meet with Kristen, just in case he should strike out on his first attempt.

"No, that is not necessary," Vincenzo replied. "I accept your terms. Our files will be made available to you at your earliest convenience. Kristen will arrange for their delivery."

"Will I be delivering to you?" the woman asked slyly, turning toward Tristan.

"I think that would be desirable," the Irishman replied. "Should we get going?"

"Please," she said, seeming to slide out of the chair and to her feet. Tristan also rose to leave, and Kristen took the mage's arm as the pair walked out.

"I hope there will not be any undue delay in the delivery of the information," Vincenzo said apologetically.

"It should be fine," Heinrich replied. At that moment his cell-phone rang, and the German looked down at his jacket in surprise. "What the -?" The mage pulled the phone from his pocket, wondering who would be calling him at a number he virtually never gave out. "Hello?" he asked. Gambioni watched the German's features crease over in confusion, and then brighten with a pleasant surprise. "I can meet you shortly," the mage said evenly, and then he folded up the phone.

"My apologies, Mr. Gambioni," Heinrich offered, "but I am afraid I have some urgent business. My brother has agreed to remain behind to help you with our end of the bargain. I trust that Tristan will also be working with you."

"That's what I would guess," the Italian replied, knowing that Kristen was probably planning to work very closely with the Irish mage. He had noticed their attraction to each other as much as either of the twins did.

Without another word Heinrich walked out of the restaurant, heading toward a meeting that he had given up on arranging. Finally, he hoped, he would get some answers. He just hoped that his information source was as accurate as it had been in the past. The German had held back some of his concerns about the situation of the kindred in the city. If things proved to be as he feared they were, it might prove impossible to actually achieve the goal of cleansing the city. Indeed, despite the bravado he constantly displayed, a small voice deep within him acknowledged that it might be impossible to escape with his life.

V

Thorne sat silently in the beaten up old leather chair in his warehouse. Too many kindred had died recently, and he had no idea how any of the deaths had occurred. There were no clues as to the identity of the killer. The old vampire closed the musty old book that he had been reading, and leaned over the side of the chair to the grab the next volume. He had not read from his old files in years, not since he had transferred most of his information to computer disk. Of course, not all of his files had been moved, but most had. He had not bothered to transfer data on kindred he knew or suspected were dead. He simply always planned that if one of them showed up, he would prepare a computer file at that time. Only once before had that been necessary.

Ten years earlier, a Toreador elder had come out of torpor and started searching for his old contacts. His inquiries had revealed his existence to the Sabbat, and the diablerizing sect had wasted no time in hunting down the elder and using his blood to strengthen their own ranks. Now, Thorne mused, he might have to once again find an old file.

He turned over the pages absently, hardly focusing on what he was reading. After a few minutes he realized that he had not even been paying attention to what he had been doing. The old vampire turned back about twenty pages, reminding himself to pay attention to the task at hand. The fact that he had been leafing through old pages for hours was no excuse for allowing his mind to wander. He began to look through the pages a second time, when he noticed that a spider was crawling across his boot. He watched the bug scurry quickly across the weathered black leather, all the while continuing to turn the pages without looking at what was on them.

"Are you even bothering to read any of that stuff?" a voice asked suddenly out of the silence.

"What?" Thorne asked, unable to hide the fact that he had been startled. He quickly regained his composure and turned to the man entering the room. It was K.T.

"You're just sitting there in a daze, turning pages while you're staring at your foot," K.T. commented as he walked closer.

"There was a spider," Thorne muttered, not even noticing how inane his excuse sounded. He was too busy wondering how he had allowed the Gangrel to get into the building and within range to attack. The old vampire had not made such a mental error in centuries.

"A spider?" K.T. asked incredulously. "Don't tell me that you're so hungry that arachnids are starting to look good to you," the Gangrel added with a smile. "If that's the case, I think I'll be leaving now."

"No, stay," Thorne said quickly. He had been losing focus, and wanted to keep the Gangrel around to help him stay alert. "Have there been any other incidents?" he asked.

"A few," K.T. replied. Only weeks earlier he would have almost lunged at Thorne with the news that the Tremere chantry had burned to its foundation. Now, however, the event seemed almost unexceptional. The Gangrel could not imagine what kind of momentous event would have to take place for him to get excited again. "Same as before, not a single clue to work with. You find anything?"

"Not yet," Thorne replied.

"You think you will, though?"

"I have been cataloguing kindred for over a thousand years," Thorne muttered. "Back in the day, they were a lot easier to keep track of, since there were so fewer of them. My records are rather complete. If this is a kindred, it would have to be an elder. If it's an elder, I have a file somewhere. It's just a matter of time."

"Well, you want me to look through some of those books for you?" the Gangrel asked. "It could help you save some time."

"Sure," Thorne replied, reaching over to grab the next book in the stack, throwing it to his one ally in the city. "Just remember that everything you read is confidential. If I ever hear that you went back to your associates and shared what you have read, or simply told them that you read anything at all, I will do something rather unpleasant to you."

"I know," K.T. replied. "I wouldn't say anything. You're too valuable an information resource for me to risk pissing you off like that, not to mention the fact that I'd rather not find out what you're like when you're mad."

Thorne nodded, and K.T. immediately started reading, impressed at the intricacy of the information. For every entry there was a lineage two generations back, as well as information about the abilities of each subject. To top it off, each kindred had been given a rating. This last piece of information interested the Gangrel more than anything else, so he turned back to the author of the files. Once again he noticed that Thorne was not paying attention to what he was reading as he turned the pages.

"What is it this time?" the Gangrel asked. "The spider get a friend?"

"What?"

"You're staring at the floor again," K.T. pointed out.

"Was I?"

"Can you tell me what you've been reading?"

"No," Thorne admitted. In an instant, the vampire's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. K.T. was certain that if it had been possible for the old vampire's alabaster skin to get any paler, it would have done so.

"What is it?" K.T. asked.

"I have paged through this section of the book several times," Thorne said. "Not once was I able to pay attention. Do you know what that means?"

"That you're ADD?" K.T. asked sarcastically.

"What?" Thorne asked.

"Nothing, just a joke," the Gangrel replied. "What does it mean, boss?"

"Each of these pages has one file on them," Thorne explained slowly "So each time I turn a page, I should be presented with two new names. You follow?"

"Yeah," K.T. answered.

"Each page is numbered," Thorne continued. "I want you to get a piece of paper," he instructed. "I will read out the number of each page that I read, and tell you what name is on the page. You will write down the contents of each page as I read it to you. Do you understand?"

"I understand the how, but not the why," K.T. responded.

"I just have a bad feeling," Thorne replied. "I heard of a power very long ago, and always wondered if it would be possible to defeat it. This is the only thing I can think of. Simply follow my instructions to the letter, do you understand?"

"Yes," K.T. grumbled. He hated being reduced to the role of a secretary, but for the time being he supposed that he had no choice.

"And never let me deviate from my own instructions. Don't worry, this experiment should not take long," Thorne assured him. The old vampire then began going through each page at a time, meticulously scanning the information. Suddenly, the Gangrel's voice interrupted him.

"What about page 34?" K.T. asked.

"What?" Thorne replied.

"You went from page 33 to page 35," K.T. explained. "What's on page 34?"

"Nothing of importance," Thorne answered.

"You wanted me to write down everything," K.T. said. "You'd better just tell me what's on the page."

"It is confidential information, something that you have no business knowing," Thorne answered.

"Look, you just got finished telling me about the life and times of Calliope, the favorite childe of Ventrue, and now you're telling me that the next page is too secretive for me?" the Gangrel asked incredulously. "That doesn't make too much sense. You told me not to let you deviate from your own instructions, so you might as well just read the page to me."

"Perhaps," Thorne said absently. He felt his mind swimming, but could not think of why it would do so. He strained to look at the page in front of him. In the back of his head, he heard a voice. It is simply a page like any other, the voice said. Read it. Read it! Now! Thorne shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at K.T., only to find the Gangrel staring at him. Then the old vampire looked at the page once again. The writing seemed blurry, as if the ink had gotten wet and run across the page. He saw a picture, written in charcoal, but which also appeared smudged.

The entry is perfectly clear, the voice said to him once again. You never allow your files to be damaged. Now focus! Thorne listened to the voice, and slowly the words and picture grew clearer. He gazed at the charcoal image, and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew immediately what had happened.

"In the name of Caine," Thorne muttered. "I had never thought it possible."

"What?" K.T. asked.

"I have heard rumors of a power that only the oldest and most powerful of our kind can ever learn," Thorne explained. "The practitioner of this ability is able to erase his very existence from the minds of all who ever knew him, or in this case, her," Thorne said. "To the perceptions of anyone, you simply cease to have ever been. It is the ultimate ability of concealment. Enemies forget what you have done to them. Friends cease to look for you. People who read written records tend to subconsciously overlook writing that speaks of you."

"That's impossible," K.T. countered. "What you're saying is that the kindred in question gets the power to affect the minds of everyone in the world, whether they lived before or after the power is employed."

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Thorne said evenly.

"Assuming such a thing is possible," K.T. said dubiously, "why is that important now? Are you saying this person is here?"

"Yes," Thorne said, turning the page toward K.T.

The Gangrel was unable to read any of the writing, as it was in a language he did not know, but the picture was unmistakable. "No way," he muttered.

"I'm afraid so," Thorne replied. "She's been here all this time, and no one knew."

"Wait a second, how come I can see the picture, but you appeared to have trouble?" K.T. asked.

"I assume it's because I pointed it out to you," Thorne replied, standing from his chair and carrying the volume over to his computer. "Maybe it's because you already know of her, having seen her so often recently. I'm not sure. Like I said, until a few minutes ago, I considered the power little more than a myth." He started to type quickly, entering all of the information on the page.

"What language is that in?" K.T. asked casually as Thorne continued to type. "It doesn't look like anything I've ever seen."

"It's Punic," Thorne replied. "It was the language of the Phoenicians, the people that founded Carthage. The reason you've never seen it is because most records of the Carthaginian Empire were wiped out when Rome razed the city." He quickly finished his entry, and waved for K.T. to come over. "Look at this," Thorne instructed, gesturing to the computer screen. The Gangrel's jaw dropped as he read.

Name: Vidria File #: 00192

Clan: Caitiff Location: last seen in Genoa

Embrace: pre-1000 B.C. Last Update: 1437

Sire: unknown File #:

Grandsire: Caine File #: 00001

Displayed Disciplines: Obfuscate, Celerity, Protean, Potence, Fortitude, Presence, Auspex, Dominate, Daimoinon, Serpentis

Rating: 95.8

Notable Victories: as an Antediluvian, Vidria is beyond normal comparison. All victories are to be expected, and none would be considered notable.

Desired Confrontations:

Tremere

Troile

Ventrue

"Good God almighty," K.T. said.

"She is an antediluvian," Thorne said, "a grandchilde of Caine himself. She is over three thousand years old. Her blood has aged to the point where mortal blood is no longer potent enough to sustain her."

"What?" K.T. asked. "I thought that was just a myth."

"No doubt that is what your associates would like you to believe," Thorne replied ruefully. "Take my word for it, it is no myth. Eventually, kindred get so old that they must feed upon others of their kind. It is the basis of the jihad. Not surprisingly, the younger generations do not like the idea that they are little more than cattle for the elders." Thorne shook his head, feeling a slight touch of sympathy for any elder that had such difficulties. He knew all too well what it felt like to be limited to only feeding on kindred. However, he knew that this kindred had never felt any remorse about this behavior. In fact, she had been a well-known diabolist even before she had been forced to feed upon other kindred.

"So Jenni has been behind all this killing," K.T. said. "I never even suspected her."

"No one ever does," Thorne replied. He saw K.T.'s curious stare, and decided to continue. The last record I have of her activities is during the Renaissance. She wiped out the entire kindred population of Genoa. She is probably the most territorial kindred I have ever seen. She stakes a claim to an area, and continues to feed until the food supply has been exhausted. Only then will she move on."

"So you're saying we're just part of her smorgasbord?" K.T. asked.

"I doubt that I am," Thorne replied, "I've kept my presence well hidden; but if I were you, I would expect to run into her eventually."

"Oh, great," the Gangrel muttered. "So now what do we do?"

"I'm going to talk to Luna," Thorne replied. "It may already be too late, though."

"You're going to Luna's?" K.T. asked. "I thought you always remained concealed."

"Jenni is incredibly powerful," Thorne explained, "and she needs to be stopped. Ordinarily, I would never interfere with a strong vampire, as her line might inherit her power. However, Jenni has never sired another. She lives only to inflict pain, torment, and death upon her enemies. That works against my goals. I cannot allow her to feast on the kindred of this city. I just wish I had learned of her a few months ago."

"Having more kindred would have been useful," K.T. agreed.

"It's more than simply the numbers," Thorne said. "Just a few months ago, Rayce was still in the city, and Basil was alive. They were powerful elders, and if I had them at my side, we might have stood at least a small chance of victory."

"You don't think we can win?" K.T. asked, unable to hide his surprise and fear.

"I cannot be certain that even I could defeat her in single combat," Thorne replied evenly. "If I had a little time to train a few of the kindred, it could probably be done, but time is not a luxury we have. Within a few weeks, there may be only a handful of us left."

"So why not just let her go?" K.T. asked. "We can always try again some other time."

"If I let her go, I run the risk of her disappearing to me once again," Thorne explained. "Besides, the kindred in this city are important. If my work means anything to me, I must make a stand, whatever the cost."

"So let's get going to Luna's," K.T. said with a forced smile. "I'm sure he's gonna love to hear this."

"I assume you cannot call in any help from your associates," Thorne stated as he picked up a hatchet and shotgun, concealing the weapons beneath the large, black cloak he threw over his shoulders.

"Don't even think about it," K.T. replied. "My associates have all those weird agendas of their own. There's no telling what position they would take on Jenni. For all we know, they could decide to support her and wipe out Luna's hold on the city. That would probably secure all of California under anarchs. Having anarchs on the West Coast, and Sabbat on the East Coast, with the Camarilla in the middle, my associates would be guaranteed of instability and chaos in the New World for decades to come. No, I think it's safest to do this on our own."

"Seems that way," Thorne agreed. "All alone against an elder," he commented to himself, "I swore to give this up back in 147 BC."

VI

Sasha knocked softly on the door to Jenni's apartment, hoping that her ward would be safe. It was hard to believe that several of the city's kindred, including Lillie, had actually been killed. If indeed there were hunters in San Francisco, as several kindred believed, Sasha knew that Jenni could be in danger. She had to get the child to return to Julian's mansion, where she would be safe.

"Who is it?" Jenni asked from behind the door.

Sasha relaxed immediately, grateful that her young friend was still in one piece. "It's Sasha. Let me in."

"Are you sure you want to come in?" Jenni asked. The tone of the child's voice immediately set Sasha ill at ease. There was a threatening, even menacing quality. It was something Sasha had never before heard from her friend.

"Sure I am," Sasha answered. A moment later, the Brujah heard a lock being unlatched, and then another, and another. Seven locks were undone before the door finally opened. "You think you have enough locks there?" Sasha asked with a smile as Jenni came into view. The child simply shrugged her shoulders in response, and stepped aside so her guardian could enter. As soon as the Brujah had walked in, Jenni set about locking the door behind her, taking care to remove the keys from the dead bolts as soon as each one was secured.

"I was worried about you, what with all of the kindred in the city getting whacked lately," Sasha said, explaining the purpose of her visit. Over the past couple of months, Jenni had begun to have a greater desire for independence and privacy. Sasha had realized that Jenni was simply at that age when children want to break away from authority. The Brujah had convinced Julian to let Jenni get an apartment on her own, but even Sasha never approved of the neighborhood that the child had chosen for her haven. Drug use and violence were commonplace events here. Jenni had made the convincing argument that the nature of her surroundings would help to conceal her feeding habits. She had also pointed out that as a kindred, she was really in little danger from mortals. Eventually both Julian and Sasha had agreed, and Jenni had become something of a recluse in her new home. She had made it clear that she did not want visitors. Sasha had only disregarded Jenni's request for privacy this night because of the more important concern for the child's safety.

"Yes," Jenni said, "I think I heard something about kindred dying all over the place. That's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Sasha asked, surprised by Jenni's apparently unconcerned attitude. "It's a lot more than just unfortunate. Someone's going out of their way to hunt us."

"Someone's going out of his way," Jenni corrected.

"What?" Sasha asked.

"Someone is singular," Jenni explained. "Their is a plural possessive. If you use someone in a sentence, you should use either his or her. Their is not proper. Since the identity of the person in question is unknown to you, there is the assumption in proper English that the masculine pronoun be used, so you would choose his. So you should have said 'someone's going out of his way to hunt us.' "

"Oh," Sasha responded, not entirely sure that she had understood a word of what Jenni had said.

"Really Sasha," Jenni chided, "I thought you would have at least picked up a modicum of correct grammar after living in your uncle's home for so long. He might be a huge stick in the mud, but at least he speaks well."

Sasha simply smiled, unsure of what to say next. She felt the need to make some conversation, as Jenni's demeanor was beginning to bear down heavily upon her. However, the last thing the Brujah wanted was another grammar lesson, and she doubted she could speak properly all through a conversation. She was about to make an attempt at small talk when a soft noise from the next room caught her attention.

"What was that?" the Brujah asked.

"What was what?" Jenni replied, forming a small, innocent smile on her lips.

"I heard something," Sasha said. "I think it came from the back room."

"Oh, I doubt it," Jenni answered. "What do you have, dog ears that you keep picking up on noises no one else hears? Or maybe it's all that loud music you listen to. Now you have tinnitus or something. The constant ringing in your ears has you jumping at nothing."

"There it is again," Sasha said, now certain that there was something in the back room. She began to move away from Jenni and toward the sound.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jenni cautioned. "There are some things that you are not meant to see."

"What?" Sasha asked. The conversational tone that Jenni's voice had taken since the Brujah had entered had shifted back to contain some of the menace that Sasha had heard before she had entered the apartment. "Are you hiding something from me Jenni?"

"I'm hiding lots of things," the child replied with a slightly sinister grin. "The better question is whether or not you actually want to know."

Sasha turned away from the child again and walked into the back room. Her eyes immediately focused on four teenage girls that were shackled to the wall, three of them with their heads hung over, giving every indication that they were dead. The fourth one looked up at Sasha with madness in her eyes, and immediately began to cry. As Sasha turned to confront Jenni, she noticed that the four girls were not the only unique feature in the room. There were also four cribs, each one appearing to hold an infant. The Brujah immediately walked to one of the cribs and looked inside, where she saw a baby asleep. She looked in another and found the same thing. In the third she saw what appeared to be a baby that was so young, it could not yet even cry. It was holding its hand in its mouth, a gesture that Sasha knew meant the infant was hungry.

"What is this?" Sasha asked, shocked at Jenni's behavior. "What have you done here?" Sasha lifted the baby from its crib, and began to look around for a bottle with which she could feed it.

"I wouldn't pick him up if I were you," Jenni suggested. "He's probably a little hungry."

"I know," Sasha replied. "Do you have a bottle or something."

"A bottle isn't what he's hungry for," Jenni replied with a thoroughly amused expression. "Sometimes you can be so stupid. Why don't you look more closely at your precious infant?"

Sasha looked down, and saw that the baby's mouth had opened slightly to expose two canines that had grown out of gums otherwise devoid of teeth. Sasha then looked at her ward in horror. "You embraced this baby?" she asked, immediately placing the infant back in its crib. "How could you do such a thing?"

"I need to eat, Sasha," Jenni replied casually. "The babies don't fight back as much as much as some other victims do."

"What are you talking about?" Sasha asked. She was unable to think straight. Never before had Sasha seen anything as twisted as what she was witnessing. One part of her wanted to run away, to try to never again think about what she had seen. Another part felt the need to confront her ward and prevent such a crime from ever happening again. Neither side of her inner conflict was able to gain an advantage over the other, and so she stood still for the moment, trying to get an explanation for Jenni's behavior, hoping that the child's words would help her mind make a decision as to how to react.

"It's very simple," Jenni said. "I go and kidnap a young teenage mother and her baby. No one really cares all that often. Then I embrace the baby, giving it just a slight amount of my blood. To keep the baby alive, I let it feed from its mother. The infant will usually last a week or so. After that the mother dies, and I end up drinking the child dry."

"You embrace them, and then diablerize them?" Sasha asked.

"Have you ever diablerized, Sasha?" Jenni asked evenly. Sasha simply shook her head in response. "See Sasha, the thing with diablerie is that you absorb a piece of your victim's consciousness when you drain him completely. Sometimes that's fun. It lets you enjoy the pain and fear that your victim was feeling when you killed him. Other times, however, it's a real pain in the ass. If I'm going out to fight, the last thing I need is the remnant of some confused kindred's psyche making me take extra time to act. When that happens I can make mistakes, like letting Yashida escape. If I had my wits about me that night, he'd be as dead as Magnus and the Tremere.

"With an infant, though, there's no extra mental baggage. The damned things can't think yet, and haven't formed any personality to speak of. The diablerie is consequence free. The only problem is keeping the baby alive, since it can't go out and feed on its own. That's why I also take the mother. It's amazing how willing a mother is to sacrifice her life for that of her child. I don't understand it at all. The girl lets the infant feed from her until she dies. Once the baby's food source is gone, it becomes expendable and I kill it anyway, despite any promises I may have made to its mother."

"You're a monster," Sasha said, taking a slow step toward the door.

Jenni noticed Sasha's subtle movement, and smiled slightly. "Yes, perhaps I am," she agreed. "But then again, I think I like being a monster." Sasha did not reply, but only shuffled her feet again in the direction of the doorway. "So you think you can make it out of here before I can stop you?" Jenni teased. "I think I'd really like to see you try."

Sasha immediately bolted toward the door, using her blood to increase her speed. She was past Jenni in a flash and reached the front door, only to be reminded that it had been securely locked. She pulled with all her might, but to no avail. In desperation, she sent blood flowing into her arms and legs, using it to increase her strength to superhuman levels. Still the door did not budge.

"I had the door reinforced," Jenni explained from behind her. "Believe me Sasha, you're not going anywhere."

Sasha looked around the small apartment, hoping to reach a window from which she could jump. As soon as the thought had come to her, though, she remembered that Jenni had made a point of bricking up her windows, ostensibly to keep humans out of her apartment while she slept. The only way in or out was through the door, and Sasha was unable to open it. She knew she would have to either talk Jenni into letting her go, or subdue the child so that she could take the keys from her.

"Give me some credit at least," Jenni said. "I know what you're thinking. Let me assure you that you cannot talk me into releasing you quite yet, and you stand absolutely no chance of overpowering me."

"Don't be so sure," Sasha shot back. In the back of her mind, she thanked herself for having had the wisdom to never let anyone know that Cash had taught her the Gangrel skill of protean, the ability to shape shift. While Sasha had come nowhere near mastering the art, she was at least capable of forming claws. If she could get close enough to Jenni, she was certain that she would be able to kill her. She just had to lull the child into a false sense of security. To do that, she had to keep her talking.

"Your overconfidence has always amused me," Jenni said softly. "The best thing is that it has rarely been you that has solved your problems and defeated your foes. You've usually had someone like Cash or Rayce around to pull your ass out of the fire. Yet you still have the gall to stand up to me. You are so completely foolish."

"Wait a second," Sasha said. "You're the one that killed Magnus and Jackson?" Sasha asked, finally processing the comments that Jenni had made a few moments earlier. The child nodded in reply. "And Lillie, too?" Again Jenni nodded. Sasha could not believe that her young ward could have gotten so strong so fast. There was only one possibility. "You weren't embraced when the Sabbat laid siege to the city, were you?"

"Figured that out already, did you?" Jenni asked sarcastically. The child walked slowly to a leather recliner in the corner and sat down, crossing her legs in front of her. Her relaxed demeanor seemed to calm Sasha somewhat, and the Brujah sat down on the floor in front of the door. "No Sasha, the Sabbat did not embrace me. In fact, I was made kindred long before the Sabbat even existed."

"What?"

"My real name is Vidria," the child explained. "I was embraced over three thousand years ago. Maybe it was even more than four thousand years ago. I'm really not sure. I've gone to ground a few times, and back in my day we didn't all keep very good track of time the way people do now. I could have easily lost a few centuries somewhere along the way."

"So why are you here?" Sasha asked.

"Why not?" Jenni answered with a cheery smile. "I need to feed upon kindred, and there were plenty of you here. That won't be the case for long, but I'll stay until the food runs out. Then I'll go somewhere else. I hear Portland is a nice city. Maybe I'll go there."

"So you'll just leave eventually?" Sasha asked.

"Pretty soon, actually," Vidria replied. "It's getting dull here. It was fun for awhile, making like I was an innocent and weak child, but that little game has lost its appeal. It meant having to be around you all the time, and I lost my tolerance for self-torture. You know, you really are an oblivious pain in the ass."

"What?" Sasha asked. "I took care of you. I protected you from Julian."

"First of all, I don't need to be protected from Julian," Jenni responded. "He's no threat to me. Secondly, it's a good thing I happen to be an elder, or your protection would probably have gotten me killed. First you take me into battle against the Sabbat. Any newly embraced kindred would have gotten whacked there. It did give me the chance to kill Cameron, though. I never did like him." Jenni stopped to enjoy the surprised look on Sasha's face, and then continued. "Yes Sasha, the Sabbat didn't kill Cameron. I did. I thought he was a real asshole. You had to obey him, and under the image that I had projected, I had to obey you. There was no way in hell I was going to allow myself to be subjected to that boor. So I drained him. His blood was as sour as I had expected it to be.

"Well anyway, after the Sabbat battle, how did you take care of me? Yes, that would have been in your little Brujah war. Robberies, gunfights, opposition to the prince and the Telemon. Once again, if I had actually been a childe, I would have died. I came close enough at one point as it was. Magnus had to come in and point a shotgun at my head. I'll bet the damned thing was loaded with phosphorous shells. Imagine, one as great as I being extinguished by one as base as he. Well, I got revenge on him for that. I killed him slowly.

"Through it all, I was subjected to you. Your grating personality almost made me long for the gunfire. You never stop whining, Sasha. 'Oh, Uncle Julian, I've pissed off the Tong, help me. Oh, Rayce, I feel left out, take care of me. Oh Cash, I've angered Rayce, protect me.' It never ends." Jenni looked at Sasha's shocked expression, and congratulated herself for evoking the desired response.

"Then there's your irresponsible behavior," Vidria continued. "Would it be so hard, just once, to not go out robbing liquor stores, to instead stay in and read a book? You do know how to read, don't you?"

"Of course," Sasha replied angrily.

"Ok," Jenni said with a grin. "I just wanted to make sure. You know, you're also weak, Sasha. Maybe that's your biggest fault. If you could defend yourself, you wouldn't always be going to people, whining for help. You wouldn't feel the need to overcompensate by irresponsibly breaking mortal laws, pissing off your uncle. You wouldn't have to run to Cash every time someone threatens to give you the beating that you so completely deserve."

"Leave Cash out of this," Sasha spat. "He's none of your concern."

"Oh, but he is," Jenni purred. "I think Cash is going to be mine. Yeah, I think I'm gonna make that Gangrel my personal bitch." No sooner had Jenni finished speaking than Sasha was on her feet with her .357 drawn, aimed directly at the child's heart. "You ignorant little whore," Jenni said evenly. "You think you can hurt me?"

A blur of motion shot across the room, stopping behind Sasha. Before the Brujah could even react, the Magnum had been ripped from her grasp, and she was lying on her back, looking up at Vidria standing over her. "Nice weapon," Jenni commented, turning the revolver over in her grasp.

"You're actually going to kill me?" Sasha asked incredulously. She could hardly believe, after everything she felt she had done for Jenni, that her friend would turn on her so viciously.

No," Jenni said soothingly. "I'm not going to kill you, Sasha. I could never kill you, not after all you've done for me. After all, you did go to your uncle and stop him from destroying me. That was nice of you. True, it was completely unnecessary, but it was appreciated nonetheless. No Sasha, you will not have to withstand the agony of being killed. You'll have the pleasure of getting to do it yourself."

"What?" Sasha asked, hardly able to form the word. She was in utter shock at Jenni's cruelty.

"Like I said, I can't kill you," Jenni said sweetly. "I'm just going to torture you. Endlessly. I think I'll actually enjoy it. Caine knows I've had to put up with enough of your shit for the past couple of years to make your suffering a just reward. See, the only way that you'll be able to stop the pain, Sasha, is to kill yourself. Like you said, I couldn't possibly be malicious enough to do it myself."

"No, don't," Sasha pleaded, bloody tears coming to her eyes as she began to fully appreciate her plight.

"You have to be the stupidest bitch I have ever seen," Vidria said. "I just got through berating you for being a weak, whining whore, and how do you respond? You start crying again. As if some knight in shining armor is going to care enough about you to save your ass. No, Sasha, it's just you, and me, and this," the child added as she withdrew a cigar cutter from her pocket. "I think we're going to start by making sure you can't run those grubby little fingers all over Cash's body, ever again."

"No," Sasha repeated, though she had ceased trying to wriggle away from her captor. The Brujah had already started to realize the hopelessness of her situation.

"Yes," Vidria replied. "First I killed that cycle slut Jana, and now I'm going to make you the most ugly, horrible thing on this earth to behold. Then Cash will be mine. At least for a little while, that is. Eventually I'll get bored and tie him to a tree in the middle of the woods. It'll be fun to see what gets him first – the garou, or the sun."

"You can't," Sasha whispered. "Not to Cash."

"You actually care, don't you?" Vidria asked, her voice sounding slightly sentimental. "You know, if you could only have expressed some of your genuine affection, he might never have left you. Too bad he'll never know, though. That's rather sad. Then again, you're probably both better off without each other."

"If you let me go, I'll leave the city forever," Sasha said. "You'll never have to see me again."

"Too late," Vidria snarled, her eyes beginning to glow. Sasha watched as the child's hands grew into claws. "I think I'm going to do something I've not had the chance to do for over a thousand years. This'll be fun." Vidria looked hungrily at Sasha's midsection, and then back at Sasha's face. "Well, I doubt it'll be much fun for you, but I'm certain to have a blast."

The child Stomped down on Sasha's leg with all her might, shattering the calf and eliciting a scream of agony from the Brujah. Vidria looked at Sasha for a moment, and then seemed to decide on a different plan as she dropped the cigar cutter, walked across the room, and opened a drawer in a cabinet. She then allowed her claws to settle back into human hands, and pulled out a long survival knife. "Now this," she said, "is surgical steel, diamond sharpened to get a razor-sharp edge. You probably won't even feel the pain for a few seconds, the cut will be so thin. When the skin starts to pull apart, though, you'll definitely know it."

Sasha's eyes went wide with fear as Vidria walked back and straddled the quickly recovering Brujah. Within seconds she had cut off Sasha's shirt and bra, exposing Sasha's soft, pale skin. "Too bad Cash was too dead to have appreciated these," Vidria commented as she began to caress Sasha's breasts. "Too bad you're too dead, too. I think I would have liked to give you a toss. Ever since I whacked Lillie and gained her knowledge of how to enjoy sex again, just like the mortals do, I've been wanting to try out a woman. It makes me feel sorta, I don't know... dirty or something. What do you think, Sasha?"

"I think I want you to let me go," the Brujah begged.

"Sorry, we're fresh out of that here," Vidria said evenly. In a flash she ran the knife between Sasha's breasts and down to her waist.

As Vidria had promised, the Brujah did not initially feel that she had been cut open. The first sign was the thin line of blood, which quickly increased in volume, running from the wound and spreading across the plywood floor. Before Sasha could scream, Vidria had produced a roll of duct tape, seemingly from nowhere, and covered her mouth. Sasha tried to roll away, but found herself unable to move.

Vidria stood up and began to circle the Brujah, a pleased look on her face. "Are you ready yet, Sasha?" she asked. "You want to die?"

Sasha shook her head violently, her eyes beginning to glow in defiance. She grew her hands into claws and tried to lift her arm to slash at Jenni, only to find her arm would not obey her mind's commands. All she could think about was Cash. I have to escape and warn Cash about Jenni, she thought. Or Vidria. Or whatever it is that the child calls herself. Someone has to be told before the bitch can finish feeding upon the entire kindred population of San Francisco. In that one moment Sasha realized what it was that Jenni had been saying about her. She finally understood that the universe was not meant to revolve around her, and that she should take responsibility for her actions. She also realized that she would never be able to share her epiphany with anyone. It was too late. She knew she would never leave Jenni's lair alive.

"Time for the fun part," Vidria said as she knelt over her victim again. She thrust the knife inside Sasha's torso and started to cut indiscriminately, occasionally pulling pieces of various organs from within Sasha's body. Sasha could only look down in horror. I can't believe this doesn't really hurt, she thought. I must be in shock or something.

Jenni kept watching the Brujah. While she was somewhat disappointed that Sasha appeared numb beyond the ability to feel the pain any longer, she took great pleasure in the faintly agonized look that passed over Sasha's eyes every time another piece of her insides were thrown to the floor.

"Ok, time to move you," Vidria said, dragging Sasha across the apartment, over to a closet. She opened the door, and Sasha saw a small guillotine inside. Vidria placed the Brujah's neck underneath the blade, which was already locked at the top of the device. She then took a string and placed it in Sasha's hand. "When you're ready to die Sasha, all you have to do is pull on the string. That'll stop the pain."

Sasha tried to smile, but could not. You won't get me to kill myself, Jenni. You'll have to do your own dirty work. I no longer even feel the pain.

"Let me guess," Vidria said coldly. "You think that being in shock is enough to protect you from my torture. Guess again."

Sasha watched as Jenni pulled a bottle from the top of the closet and rained the contents down onto Sasha's feet, and ran a little up her legs. Then she poured a bit into the gaping wound of her chest. Sasha tried to smell the liquid, but could not. She knew that having her chest cavity opened had depressurized her lungs. She would no longer be able to breathe. Assuming I even have any lungs left in me, she thought morbidly.

In a moment, her curiosity about the bottle's contents had been answered. Vidria lit a match and dropped it on Sasha's foot. In an instant, her clothes caught fire, the flames fueled by the gasoline that Vidria had spilled on her victim. In the next instant, Sasha's flesh began to blister, and then shriveled and peeled off of the bone. The pain returned in a flash, and Sasha began to wail in agony. She closed her eyes so that she would not have to view the terrifying flames, but that only seemed to increase the pain. She tried to wriggle her body free, to roll enough to put out the fire. The pain was unbearable.

"Don't forget the handy dandy string," Vidria said cheerfully. Those were the last words that Sasha ever heard. She had not forgotten the string. She fought as long as she could, but then gave up. As much as she still loved Cash, as much as she wanted to help him as he had helped her so many times, he would be on his own. He was beyond her aid.

Vidria cheered joyously as Sasha's hand jerked and the blade fell, severing her head from her body. The elder watched the Brujah's corpse burn, and smiled as the flames spread to the inside of the closet, around the door frame and into the living room. I guess I'll have to leave now, she thought. Not that it matters. This home has served its purpose. After tonight, there won't be enough food left in the city to support me, anyway. I might as well let the building burn. It'll help to cover my tracks.

Without another word, Vidria left the building, the growing inferno casting the long shadow of a teenage girl over the street. As the flames grew, so did Vidria's silhouette, and the elder tried to think of new and creative ways she would deal with her next victim. The prince of the city would certainly deserve very individualized treatment.

VII

Masato Matsuoka and Joey Nguyen both allowed themselves to relax slightly inside the Ebisu Japanese restaurant. Each man had been allowed two personal guards, and several other enforcers guarded the building, both in back by the limousines, and in the front of the restaurant by the main entrance. Nguyen had never been in Ebisu, as it was a business operated by the Ibe Yakuza clan – Matsuoka's crime family. However, the Tong leader had to admit that there was an element of class about the place. The two men were in a private Japanese-style shoji-screened dining room with tatami mats, which gave the comfortable feeling that they were as far away from San Francisco as possible. Here, they would be able to speak freely about how to deal not only with Julian Luna, but also the Italian crime families that threatened their businesses.

"I assume you'll want to get the meal out of the way before we talk business," Joey commented to the older boss. He was well aware of Matsuoka's custom of never discussing important affairs while he ate.

"Correct as usual," Matsuoka confirmed. "Please enjoy my hospitality for the time being. There will be plenty of time later to talk of fighting this war."

"If you say so," Nguyen replied. "I just don't like being out in the open, no matter how many precautions we've taken. It's risky to come out of my mansion."

"Trust me," Matsuoka assured his younger colleague. "We are as safe here as we could possibly be anywhere else."

Outside the restaurant, a shadow seemed to melt away from the wall, barely noticeable in the dim light of the alley. None of the guards standing around the two limousines saw or heard a thing until it was too late.

In flash of silver, a katana was drawn and took off the heads of two Asian enforcers before any of the others even knew they were not alone. Another went to draw a pistol, only to be riddles with bullets from a silenced H&K MP5. Kristen Genetti methodically worked her way through the remaining five guards, none of them a match for her years of intensive training and combat experience. She realized, however, that she was one body short of the nine men she was supposed to dispose of outside the restaurant, the guards that formed the outer rim of the Asians' defenses. She scanned the area quickly, hoping that the last man had not gotten away. She closed her eyes and focused her senses, utilizing her abilities as a garou to hear and smell with the acuity of a wolf, rather than as a human being. Immediately she heard the muffled breathing of a man inside Nguyen's limousine, and heard that the man was picking up a car-phone. The Italian assassin knew that her job would become far more difficult, perhaps even impossible, if the call were completed. The bosses would know that she had come for them, and her grandfather's scheme would be in jeopardy.

The assassin fired a burst at the limousine, only to have the rounds ricochet, revealing the armor plating that she had feared was on the vehicle. You're supposed to be here to help me, she thought, trying to project her mind outward. She had no idea if she was using her mind the way she was supposed to, or if she even had to focus at all on sending the thought. All she knew was that Tristan had told her to communicate with her thoughts. She had wanted to use a radio receiver, as she always did. The mage, of course, insisted on using his mystical abilities. He had assured her that telepathy was a far more efficient means of communication.

Are you even here? she questioned. I need a way into the limousine.

She heard no response in her mind, but caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, leveling her weapon at the possible threat, only to refrain at the last instant from firing. Tristan had arrived concealed almost completely beneath a charcoal gray cloak. Leave this to me, she heard in her head. Continue on inside. I'll be right behind you.

Curious, she thought. Even when I hear him telepathically, he still has that Irish lilt. As she turned to leave, she heard what sounded like the crack of a whip, and a dull, indigo light suddenly illuminated the alley. The assassin turned, only to see Tristan slicing through the limousine's armored body with what appeared to be a lightsaber. The man inside screamed as he saw Tristan staring at him with iridescent, indigo eyes, but Kristen decided not to wait and watch the end of the short confrontation. She took Tristan's advice and ran down the alley and toward the front of the building, knowing that speed was crucial in completing her appointed task. She would enter as any other patron would, and make her way toward the bosses as swiftly as possible, hoping that they would not have time to figure out that she was not simply another late-night diner.

By the time she had reached the front door, Kristen had leveled out her breathing and concealed her weapons once again beneath her white raincoat. As she rounded the corner onto 9^th Avenue in front of the restaurant, she straightened the blonde wig on her head, and made sure her glasses had not fallen off in the alley. Once she was certain she was ready, she approached the door, using every possible second to run through the plan one last time. She opened the door slowly and smiled at the two sentries that stood on either side of her. The man on the right looked her over from head to toe, seeming to undress her as her as he went. Good, Kristen thought, that'll make him easier to deal with. The second guard was far more professional. He was older, in his mid-forties, and was also looking her over. However, he did not have the leer of a man consumed with desire. He had the professional eye of a guard looking everywhere for a threat.

Kristen took a moment to look around the restaurant, and noticed a young couple at a table inside, the last of the patrons to leave for the night. Not even any of the waitstaff was visible; nor were the chefs, who were usually shouting noisily at the sushi bar in the front of the restaurant. Other than those two patrons, she appeared to be alone with her targets. Oh well, she thought sadly. Too bad for them. I guess they're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I hope their minds are strong enough to handle this.

In one fluid motion, Kristen drew her .38 pistol and whirled, putting a round between the eyes of the older guard. His body collapsed before the younger man had even realized what happened, and the thud of the corpse made more noise than Kristen's silenced round had. The younger man was only reaching for his own weapon when he was also put down, an identical shot to the head ending his life.

The young couple looked up at the Italian enforcer with wide eyes, neither of them able to believe that they had just seen two men's bloody deaths. The guards at the door are dead, Kristen thought. I'm in. Kill it.

A second later the lights in the building all went out as Tristan cut the power. More important than the lights being out though, Kristen knew, was the fact that the security cameras had been shut off as well. Now she would be free to use all of her abilities. The Italian rolled her shoulders, slipping out of the raincoat. She then unclipped her shoulder holster, sending her weapons to the floor. They would no longer be needed. Panic-stricken voices betrayed the fact that the Asians had discovered that the back doors had been blocked off. The only way out was the front door, and that meant they would have to get past Kristen Genetti. The Glass Walker did not like their chances.

Both the young man and woman had hidden under their table as soon as they had recovered their wits, and Kristen looked at the two of them in the dim light that filtered in through the front window. Then she smiled as she shifted her form into that of a seven-and-a-half-foot tall werewolf. The woman passed out in terror, and the man backed himself away as best he could without ever standing up. Genetti knew that both of the mortals had been overcome by the delirium. This was the effect that werewolves had upon mundanes. On an instinctual level, humans were terrified of these ultimate predators in a way that overrode their capacity for logic. No non-awakened being could consciously deal with the existence of a werewolf. Kristen knew that it was more than likely both witnesses would simply suffer from traumatic amnesia of the events they had witnessed. It was possible that their minds might be strong enough to remember some elements of what had happened, but they would fool themselves into believing in some alteration of reality. For instance, she knew, the man might later report to police that a lone assassin came in dressed up in a wolf mask to hide his identity. That was probably the closest he would be able to come to recalling the events accurately. Of course, if either of them was more weak-willed than the average human, there was the chance that the experience could drive them permanently insane, but Kristen did not have the time to worry about that possibility. There was a job that needed to be done.

The first two guards came from the back, screened-in room with mini-uzis in their hand. They saw Kristen standing before them, and were struck by the delirium as hard as the young couple had been. Both stood absolutely still, terrified beyond the capacity for action or thought. They offered no resistance as Genetti tore through their chests with razor-sharp claws. She would not have to worry about humans wondering about the manner of death of these criminals. A Glass Walker worked in the city coroner's office, and would cover up the details of the wounds. The official report would say that a sword-wielding assassin had cut the men open. There would be no mention that the wounds appeared to have been caused by a giant animal.

Once the first two men had been dispatched, Kristen advanced toward the back room, listening carefully to make certain that no one got past her. She heard the front door open behind her, and then heard Tristan's voice in her mind. I've got your back, lass. Let's finish up and get out of here.

Two more men started firing down the hallway that Kristen was standing in. As she took up virtually the entire area, she was shot several times, but was unaffected. Small arms fire would do little but irritate her. Unless, of course, the bullets were made of silver. In this case, unfortunately for both Nguyen and Matsuoka, none of the guards had been armed with more effective ammunition. Kristen raced down the hall, restraining her rage every step of the way. She hated the Asian gangs and the tactics they employed. In her werewolf, or crinos, form she was capable of tearing her enemies to pieces. It was a rush of power she never grew tired of. She simply had to hold her strength in check for a matter of a few more seconds.

She reached the two gunmen and grabbed one in each hand, driving her taloned left fist through the chest of one, and slashing a thin wound across the neck of the other, severing every blood vessel in the man's throat. Kristen then moved on, advancing to the screened-in room where she knew the two bosses would be. She found them cowering in a corner, with two final guards standing between her and her prey.

The werewolf snarled, and then saw one guard grow his own hands into claws. The man grinned, exposing the enlarged canines common to all kindred. The other man increased his size dramatically, and steam began to rise from his skin. His hands also shifted form to resemble small scythes. Very interesting, Kristen thought, advising her mage ally of the situation. A fomor and a vampire make up the last line of defense.

Wait for me, Tristan advised. I'll handle the vampire. You might not be able to take both of them on your own.

Don't count on it, Kristen replied. The werewolf released her rage, moving with supernatural speed at the kindred. She knocked the man back, leaving a gaping wound in the vampire's left thigh. The guard, in response, had left a thin wound on her right forearm. With one enemy off his feet, Kristen turned in a flash to the fomor, the human that had allowed itself to be corrupted by the Wyrm, the pseudo-deity that served as Satan in garou theology. As a result of its betrayal of its natural existence, the fomor had been completely dominated by its evil master, and lived only to corrupt the natural world and other human beings. As a trade-off, it gained supernatural powers. As soon as the fomor struck Kristen's jaw, the garou surmised that one of this fomor's abilities was augmented strength. She was knocked from her feet, but managed to sweep the fomor's legs from beneath it before it could take advantage of its superior position.

The garou then looked across the room and saw the vampire lunging at her. She managed to roll out of the way quickly enough to avoid a serious injury, but still suffered a deep slash into her left shoulder. The kindred was still above her, and she noticed the fomor rising to his feet. Perhaps you were right, she admitted silently.

"Perhaps," she heard Tristan comment from the door behind her. She did not look at the mage, but heard the snap of his lightsaber igniting, and the hum that continually emanated from the weapon. Both the fomor and the vampire looked at Tristan in disbelief.

"What?" the mage asked the two guards in the brief standoff that followed. "You didn't really think Jedi were fictitious, did you? You mean to tell me a vampire is going to become secure in thinking beings in fiction stories just aren't real?"

The kindred did not respond, but instead lunged at the mage. Tristan dodged to the left and swiped at the vampire's right arm, severing it cleanly from the body. The vampire screamed in pain and disbelief as he viewed his arm lying on the floor. Tristan spun as he swung again at the vampire, gaining momentum for his strike. His lightsaber went cleanly through the kindred's neck, severing its head from its body.

Once Tristan had occupied the vampire's attention, Kristen had been able to focus her efforts against the fomor. She lunged forward and dodged a strike from the oversized man, and slashed into his midsection. Steam shot out from the wound, scorching the werewolf's claw. Kristen howled in pain as she looked down at her blistering hand, but grit her teeth and prepared to finish off her opponent. Although she had been burned badly as the price of her attack, the fomor had been doubled over, and was now trying to lift its innards from the floor and place them back within its chest. Genetti did not plan on passing up the momentary opening. She picked up a chair and swung it with all her might at the back of the fomor's head. The back of the creature's skull caved in, and it died instantly.

Both Tristan and Genetti turned to the Asian bosses at the same time. Kristen heard the lightsaber turn off, and took a step forward, knowing that the mage was leaving the dirty work to her. He would only help as much as was necessary to give her the opportunity to defeat her foes. He would not actually vanquish them for her.

"Who are you?" Nguyen managed to ask, fighting against the effects of the delirium. Kristen was impressed at the man's strength of will. Few mundanes would ever have been able to steel their minds against fear with a werewolf staring down at them with murder in its eyes.

Kristen shrunk back down to her homid, or human form. Nguyen's eyes went wide. "Your boss will never be able to take control of the city. Even if you kill us, others will take our place, and Luna will always oppose you."

"Luna will not have much longer to live," Tristan commented from the doorway. "He's one of the reasons I'm here."

"And as for anyone replacing you," Kristen said evenly, "I can only say that you won't be around to ever see it." She reached to the small of her back and drew a 9 mm Glock, which had been held to her waist in an elastic belt with a holster. This had allowed her to shapeshift while retaining possession of a firearm. The Italian fired three times, putting all three rounds into Nguyen's skull. She looked over Matsuoka, and noticed that the man appeared to have died. She walked over and felt his neck. "Damn," she commented. "He's already dead. "I guess he had a heart attack or something."

"You have seen him during the day, right?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah, he's not kindred," Kristen replied. "I guess we might as well leave him here like this. Let his successor worry about what we did that was so awful it scared Matsuoka to death."

"I thought the Italian families were above using terror tactics," Tristan asked cheerily.

"Not if it suits our purposes," Kristen relied with a thin smile. As the adrenaline from the battle wore off, she began to feel the pain from the wounds on her shoulder and forearm.

"Allow me," Tristan offered as he walked up to the garou. He placed his hand on the wound, ignoring the grimace of pain that his action evoked from the assassin. Within a matter of seconds, the discomfort had disappeared. Genetti looked at her wounds in disbelief to see that they had been mended. "See?" Tristan asked with a smile. "Mages can be very useful."

"I guess I can't argue with that," Kristen replied. "But what the hell is with the lightsaber?"

"It's just a magical focus," Tristan replied simply. "The blade is pure magical essence, not energy. I've actually been using a magical blade for over a hundred years now. I only built a new one to resemble a lightsaber after Star Wars came out back in '77. This way, when mundanes see it, they think I've invented a lightsaber. The shock on their minds is lessened considerably, allowing them to accept what they see more easily. That means that paradox within the universe is decreased, and the use of the magic hurts me less."

"You've been alive for over a hundred years?" Kristen asked, focusing in on Tristan's comment about his age more than anything else he said. To grow that old was a crime against the natural order of things, the same kind of crime that kindred were guilty of. She grew more uneasy with every passing second.

"Sure'n I am," Tristan replied. "It's not what you think, though. I don't use my magic to keep myself alive. I'm Kith."

"What?"

"Kith," Tristan repeated. "I'm descended from faerie folk. Like you, I wasn't born completely human. You get to grow into a scary-ass wolf, I get to live naturally for centuries. I'm a magical creature. That reminds me, I was wondering if you could do something for me…."

VIII

Johnny Yashida sat silently outside the Steps of Rome coffeehouse, knowing that every moment he spent out in the open was endangering his life. He knew the risk he was taking was necessary, though. There had been no other way.

A group of five teens walked down the street toward him, and the small Telemon looked each of them over carefully, knowing that any one of them could be Jenni in disguise. He shook his head in disgust at himself. She could be anyone here, he reminded himself. She doesn't still have to seem like a teenager. Yashida knew all too well that Jenni had probably learned the vampiric discipline of obfuscate. Among other things, this ability granted its user the skill of appearing to be completely unrecognizable. For all I know, Jenni's that old woman getting into that cab across the street. The Telemon knew he would never be able to stop jumping at everyone that walked within five feet of him, so he concentrated instead on taking faith in his defenses.

Johnny glanced inside to make certain Uiko was still in view. She was the elder of his two most recent childer, and was still a secret to everyone but Michelle. Not even the other Telemon knew that he had embraced two new members into the clan. Johnny figured he would keep Uiko and her brother, Mason, a secret until he felt they were ready to make it on their own. Not until he released them would let Siras know that they existed.

The young, obviously Italian man behind the counter inside seemed to be enjoying Uiko's presence even more than Johnny was. Of course he would, Johnny thought. And why not? She's everything a mortal man would lust for. Indeed, Uiko's attractiveness had a great deal to do with his decision to embrace her. She would be able to get close to men, to either learn their secrets or dispose of them, whichever was more convenient at the time. In addition, however, she had been raised by the Yakuza to be an assassin. The Japanese crime syndicate had also taken advantage of Uiko's attractiveness, although Johnny doubted that his childe's former masters had ever cared about her as he did. He would never see her as the disposable pawn that the Yakuza had. Her superiors had sent her to assassinate a virtually unreachable foe, and though she had succeeded, she had been gunned down in the process. Her two comrades had left her for dead, and then Yashida had found her. By allowing her to drink some of his blood, he had strengthened the ninja assassin. She had pledged herself to him in gratitude for his actions, and Johnny had revealed his true nature to her, and offered the embrace. Uiko jumped at the opportunity at immortality, and within a week was a blood-bound soldier of the Telemon clan. Yashida figured that he would keep Uiko with him for at least twenty years. Her talents complemented his far more than they did any other Telemon's, and no one else in the clan would be as suitable a mentor for her.

Johnny shook himself from his momentary reverie, furious that he had let his mind wander, especially given his situation. He looked back at Uiko, and saw her flirting with two college-aged men. Once again, she was found too attractive to be ignored. Johnny looked at his childe with pride, thinking how he would have felt if he had been a mortal man faced with such an attractive woman. Uiko stood about 5'3", and weighed only about 100 lbs. Her features were sharp, however, creating an aura of strength despite her petite frame. She dressed casually, only wearing a pair of Nikes, blue jeans, and a UC-Berkeley sweatshirt. On her head she wore an LA Dodgers baseball cap, an item of clothing that could cause some debate in San Francisco. Her long black hair, streaked with read and blonde, hung down over her back in a ponytail. It was her smile, though, that attracted the most attention; it caused her face light up like no other Johnny had ever seen. It drew one's gaze even more than usual to her eyes, deep dark brown eyes that seemed both warm and secretive. What man could ever possibly resist? Johnny thought again. Tonight, however, the mission was not for Uiko to attract attention and seduce her prey. Instead, she needed to keep a low profile. She needed to fit in, yet still keep an eye on her sire. Yashida thought she was doing well.

A casual glance across the street was the only indication Johnny ever gave that he also had a second associate present. Joseph Mason, Johnny's youngest childe, was on a rooftop with a Barret sniper rifle. He would gun down any attacker, hopefully before a fatal wound was inflicted. Like Uiko, finding Mason had been one of the greatest strokes of luck Johnny had ever experienced. He had his assassin childe out to feed for the first time, and had led her to an airport bar. She had gone over to Mason to seduce him, to get him alone so that she could feed. When she had finally sank her teeth into him, however, she had recoiled in disgust. Chemicals inundated the man's system. When Uiko had suddenly stopped feeding, Mason felt blood on his throat from her unhealed bite. He stood and fought her off, parrying every strike she sent his way. Yashida had watched, amazed at the man's skill. The two combatants fought for several minutes, neither one gaining a solid advantage. Uiko was too fast for Mason, but he was too strong for her. Eventually Johnny broke the two up, and dominated the mortal man. He had instantly wanted to embrace Uiko's victim, but wanted to know more. It was then that Johnny found out Mason had been a Navy SEAL. He had done his tour, got a job in the secret Service, and was considered good enough to guard a presidential candidate. Then Mason was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. He would die soon, and was placed on leave. Johnny offered the man a new chance. As kindred, Yashida knew, Mason would no longer need to worry about cancer. He would live as long as he was not killed. Mason, like Uiko, had jumped at the chance, and with Michelle's help, Yashida had trained them both in the ways of the kindred. This was their first real assignment, and for his own sake, Johnny hoped his childer were up to the task.

Yashida looked back up the street, gazing at every vehicle that went by. One of them, he knew, would be driven by his contact. He waited for another fifteen minutes before a black BMW pulled to a stop outside the coffee shop, and a man dressed all in black stepped out.

"Good evening," Yashida called out. "I was beginning to wonder whether you'd make it."

"Ah, Mr. Yashida," Heinrich Schacter answered. "I did not recognize you at first. You are not dressed as you were last time we met."

"I'm in disguise," Johnny answered. Some disguise though, he thought silently. Yashida could not believe that people would not be casting an occasional glance his way. At least, a small, vain part of him hoped they would. The clothes he was wearing were expensive enough. He wore a dark gray, custom tailored Armani suit with a collarless, burgundy silk shirt. On his feet he wore Italian, burgundy leather shoes, a concession to his childe. If Johnny had had his way, he would still be wearing his tobi boots, even though he knew they did not go with his ensemble.

"You have some information for me, no?" Schacter asked, sitting across from the Telemon. During his last visit to San Francisco, the mage had come to respect Yashida's knack for gathering information, and hoped that Johnny's skills had not faded in the intervening years.

"Yes, but it's going to cost you," Johnny replied.

"How much?" Schacter asked.

"Not money," Johnny answered with a thin grin. The Telemon cast another glance down the street, and then to each of the patrons sitting outside, still making certain no one was watching him. "We are both men of special talents, money is something we can get for ourselves whenever we need to," Johnny continued, once again focussing on the wizard sitting across from him. "What I need is information and favors, those are the costs of my services."

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Schacter replied, immediately getting to the point. He did not feel as if he had a lot of time to haggle.

"I want you to leave my clan alone," Johnny answered immediately. "I've done some asking around about you, and I've found out you're a big-time kindred hunter. If you want my help here, you have to swear that you will not hunt the Telemon. You will not supply associates with information about my clan so that they can hunt us in your stead. If asked, you won't even acknowledge our existence. We're having enough problems as it is. The last thing our young bloodline needs is human hunters coming after us."

"And why would I ever agree to this?" Schacter asked.

"Several reasons," Johnny answered. "First of all, like I said, we're young. Realistically thinking, we'll probably all get wiped out before you ever get around to killing us anyway. Second, we often fight the Sabbat. I'm sure you're more than willing to have one vampire sect go about doing your work for you, fighting another group. Third, there's always professional courtesy. You could show a bit of gratitude."

"Gratitude?" Schacter asked. "This is business. What you get is what you bargain for. There will be no further favors because of past goodwill. It does not work that way."

"Well, let me explain it this way," Johnny offered. "The fact of the matter is, as I see it, that if you try to go about killing kindred in this city, you're going to die. Probably very slowly, and very painfully. You've been a rather useful associate, and I'd hate to lose you. However, like you said, this is business, and there's no place for sentiment here. You are still a mage, and you hunt my kind. That's not something I'm likely to overlook anytime soon. I should probably let you leave here with the impression that it's business as usual here in San Francisco, and let you find out too late what's going on. Then my kind would have one less hunter to worry about."

"Except that you would not get me to believe that it's business as usual, Mr. Yashida," Schacter replied. "I know that strange things have happened in Oakland, and that several kindred in San Francisco have been killed."

"Oh, that?" Johnny asked simply. "That was a covert war between Luna and Basil."

"What?"

"Basil decided he wanted both sides of the bay," Johnny replied. "He had his childer wipe out all the anarchs in Oakland before settling in, just so that he would be able to turn against Luna that much sooner. The Tremere found out what was up, and met secretly with the Telemon. They wanted Basil to kill Julian, but also wanted to be certain that there could be an effective counter-strike prepared once Basil had done the Tremere's dirty work for them. Basil found out somehow and sent a couple of guys over to whack Magnus and Stephen at their meeting. I saw the whole thing."

"So this has simply been a power play between bordering princes?" Schacter asked. All of his suspicions, all of his concerns that things seemed far more out of whack than usual, seemed to fade away.

"No," Yashida replied. "Actually, that's nothing like the truth. I just wanted you to know that I could easily lie to you if I wanted to."

"I could dominate you, of course, and get the information I want no matter what," Schacter threatened.

"Yes, but that would be the last thing you'd ever do," Yashida replied. "See, I have an associate who presently has the back of your skull in the cross hairs of a .50 caliber rifle. He's listening in on the entire conversation. If I start acting weird, you die. If weird things happen anywhere near here, you die. If you try to take preventative steps against him and knock out the mike, you die. Since you have no idea where he is, you are rather powerless."

"Do you have any idea what I could do to you?" Heinrich asked venomously.

"Of course I do," Johnny replied. "Why do you think I took all these precautions? However, like I said before, I feel you are a valuable business partner. I do not wish to offend you. Just be certain that we are on a level playing field. True, I have threatened to have your head blown off by an unseen gunman. However, remember that you did threaten to dominate me and take my stock in trade without paying. That wasn't very nice either." Yashida smiled gregariously, hoping to defuse some of the tension he had built up.

Despite himself, the mage also grinned slightly. Again Yashida scanned the street, but this time the mage spotted the subtle action. So, I make him even more nervous than he's letting on, Schacter thought confidently. He's afraid I also have some help. Perhaps I should play up that angle.

"What makes you think I did not also bring allies?" Schacter asked. Yashida hardly noticed the question, instead being distracted by another group of teenagers.

"What?" the Telemon asked a moment later, once he realized he had missed something.

"How do you know I don't have backup, too?" Schacter questioned again.

"How do you know I care?" Johnny replied. "I can outrun a mage, I'm sure. You cannot outrun my friend's bullet, and you can't use much magic until you've identified the threat. Anyway, I know a bit about mages. You do anything major out here, and you're likely to have your head blow up with paradox. These are mortals all over here. You can't cast in front of them."

"True," Schacter conceded, realizing that he had not been concerning Yashida after all. It's something else, he realized. Something else is making this vampire as nervous as hell, being out in the open.

"Are we done threatening each other now?" Johnny asked. "I'd really like to get this over and get out of here."

"So I noticed," Heinrich replied smoothly. "What has you so jumpy?"

"Before I tell you, I think there's still the matter of the favor I asked for," Johnny said, reminding his acquaintance that all information has its price.

"How do you know I'll keep my word?" Heinrich asked. "Even if I promise not to hunt you and your clan, what makes you so certain that I will not go back on my word?"

"I could always dominate you," Johnny said, allowing a friendly smile. His expression eased the mood as much as he had hoped, and Heinrich leaned back in his hair, appearing to give the proposal serious consideration.

"Very well, Mr. Yashida," the mage finally said. "You have been very convincing, and you are, of course, quite correct. Your clan is rather insignificant, and will most likely be wiped out in due course. I will not hunt you, nor will any others which ask me for possible targets."

"Excellent," Yashida answered. "I think you gave in too easily, though. I probably should have asked for more."

"I would not push my luck if I were you, Mr. Yashida," Heinrich responded with a hint of menace.

"Yeah, I know," Johnny said. "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger."

"Our reputation seems to have preceded us."

"Just what do you know already?" Johnny asked. "Tell me that, and I can fill in the blanks."

"Very well," Heinrich replied. "Our scout has informed us that the anarch population of Oakland was wiped out, as you mentioned earlier. Strangely, the new prince did not seem to be behind it. We ignored it at first, since we assumed it was a mass exodus of Brujah when a Brujah hunting Ventrue prince seized power. However, this turned out to not be the case. The three main gangs that had been in the city never resurfaced anywhere else. That caught our attention.

"Of course, recently there have been the deaths of the Oakland prince and his guards, as well as Magnus and Stephen at their secret meeting, the topic of which I am still in the dark. I have heard rumors that several Gangrel have also been killed."

"Also the Toreador primogen," Johnny added. "They've all been hunted by a predator within our own ranks."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"You know Sasha, I assume?" Johnny asked. Heinrich nodded in response. "Not long ago, we were placed under siege by the Sabbat. During that war, Sasha took a ward, a teenage girl that had presumably been embraced by the Sabbat. This 'girl' is the one that killed Magnus and Stephen."

"How?" Heinrich asked.

"From what I saw, I'd say she's an elder," Johnny said evenly. "I've seen a few elders in my time, but this girl is at least three steps beyond anything I've even heard of. Magnus was more powerful than the average vampire, but she toyed with him. I would assume she's been behind all the killing."

"Did she see you?" Heinrich asked.

"I kept the shadows about me at all times," Johnny answered. "I guess she could have made me, but I doubt it. I haven't exactly been willing to take any chances, though. I left for awhile to hide in Fresno."

"Fresno?" Heinrich asked. "Who goes to Fresno anymore?"

"Luckily, no one looking for me happens to go there," Yashida replied.

"So why did you come back?"

"My stupid blood-brother is in the city," Yashida said. "I told him to get out, but I know he won't listen. He's been ordered to stay, and he won't disobey an order from his sire. He's a well-trained soldier, not an experienced, freethinking commander. He will obey his orders without question rather than get creative and come up with a strategy of his own. Retreat will not be an option."

"So you came back to get him out?" Heinrich asked. The mage was surprised that someone as self-involved as Johnny appeared to care enough to risk his life for someone whose judgement he seemed to openly criticize. Rare enough to find such a quality in a human, Heinrich pondered, let alone in a vampire.

"So you think you're up to this?" Johnny asked. "I seriously doubt you have any idea what you're getting into here."

"I would not worry too much, Mr. Yashida," Heinrich assured the kindred. "My brother and I are experienced in these matters. When we are together, nothing can stand before us."

"And where exactly is your brother?" Yashida asked.

"He is busy with other matters," Heinrich replied. "Where do you think we can find this... elder?"

Yashida noticed the doubt in Heinrich's voice when he referred to Jenni, and could only wonder what the mage was thinking in not taking the threat seriously. "You had better take my word for it," Yashida warned. "This is not some Brujah bike dyke you're gonna be putting down. This is an elder. She will quite literally eat you alive. You really have no idea what you're getting into."

"Why Mr. Yashida, you almost seem concerned," Heinrich replied. "I think I'm touched."

"Fine," Yashida decided. "If you want to ignore my warnings, then so be it." A bright flash of light made Yashida jump, and he looked around in the sky. In a moment he realized it had just been lightning.

"Are you all right Johnny?" he heard in his ear. Mason was calling him. Yashida knew if he didn't use the code word, Heinrich would be killed in a matter of seconds.

"Cool as a nice guacamole dip," Yashida replied. "Just lightning. Must be getting jumpy."

"Must be," Heinrich agreed, not realizing Yashida had been speaking with his childe.

"Looks like a storm's coming in," Johnny commented.

"You don't know the half of it," Heinrich said. "So where may my brother and I find this elder?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Johnny replied. "Like I said, I've been out of town. I think I'd be willing to take a guess, though."

"Where?"

"Well, when one wants to catch a big fish, one should use a lot of bait, no?"

"That is what I've heard," the German replied.

"There's a meeting at a secret location in just a short while," Johnny said. "Most everyone will be there. I would be surprised if Jenni doesn't show up. There are precious few of us as it is, but she can't risk us getting organized. I don't know if we could kill her, but you can never be sure. If she's as old as I think, she isn't likely to be the kind to make stupid mistakes. She'll show."

"Tonight?" Heinrich asked. "That's cutting it close. I don't know that my brother will be ready. Like I said, he's busy with other assignments."

"Well, my only job is to give the information," Johnny replied, "and I've done that. When you show up, remember your promise. My clanmates will not be harmed."

"Not by either me or my brother," Heinrich agreed. "However, they're alone against this elder if we should fail in our mission."

"Why don't you just let me worry about that?" Yashida replied confidently. "I might be scared shitless, but that doesn't mean I don't have a plan. I'd suggest you get on that cell phone of yours and call your brother." Johnny pushed a business card across the table. "This is my number. If you're good to go, give me a call, and I'll let you know the address of the meeting. Then you can go and do your thing." The Telemon squinted momentarily as another bright streak of lightning lit the sky. "I just hope you're as strong as you say, or we're all dead."

IX

Julian Luna looked slowly around the interior of the Telemon Compound, impressed by everything that he saw. When he had gone up the drive, he had found everything that he had expected. The defenses of the estate had been as thorough as he thought possible – a double perimeter, several guards, security cameras, and guard dogs, which he had been told were a recent addition. He had figured the main building would be as functional as its surroundings. That was not the case, however.

The oak-paneled walls of the foyer were decorated with portraits of some of history's greatest military leaders. Napoleon, Washington, Nimitz, Rommel, Yamamoto, Hannibal, Lee, Wellington, Von Richtoven, and Nelson all gazed down at visitors. At the base of the staircase were two statues, one of Julius Caesar, and one of Alexander the Great. Such hero worship did not surprise San Francisco's prince. What did surprise him, however, was the opulence of the Telemon haven. A plush Oriental rug covered the floor, and Revolution-era American furniture lent a warm, lived-in feel to the room. True, Julian thought, the feeling of warmth is lacking a bit with the presence of several armed guards, but there's definite potential. Luna actually found himself noting a couple of decorations that he would have to look into adding to his own home.

All thoughts of home furnishings disappeared instantly, however, as Julian caught sight of the two men that were walking down the stairs toward him. Matthew Reimer and Patrick Collins, the heads of the Telemon and Tremere, respectively, seemed far too comfortable with each other's company. Great, the warlocks and the grunts in an unholy alliance, the prince pondered. Should we actually survive this current threat, I'll find things will probably get far more complicated. Julian looked to his right, and took comfort in Daedalus' presence. No matter what else ever happened around him, he had always been able to take comfort in the friendship of the Nosferatu primogen, and the loyalty of the Nosferatu clan. They were significant assets, and would always cause the other primogen to pause before doing anything foolish.

"Welcome to my humble home," Matt said pleasantly, noting with satisfaction that Julian seemed duly impressed with the Telemon Compound.

"There doesn't seem to be anything humble about this place," Julian commented. "You seem to have done well for yourself here on the West Coast."

"Most of the clan's wealth comes from back east," Matt lied. He had no intention of allowing the prince to know that the Telemon clan had grown rich through illegal arms sales. For the most part, San Francisco's small mage population had developed a stranglehold on the area's weapons traffic. The Telemon, however, had worked out a private arrangement that was beneficial to all parties. It had allowed everyone to grow wealthy.

"Well, I'm here," Julian stated needlessly. "What did you all want to meet about?"

"We want to get our shit together and start bashing skulls," Cash said as he walked out from a door down a hallway to Julian's right. "I've lost lots of people, oh prince of peace, and I haven't seen you do jack shit."

"I've had many concerns of my own," Luna replied.

"Yes, we've all noticed," Patrick said evenly. "You've lost control of the human mobs. Even now they're tearing the city apart while someone seems to be hunting us. This is unacceptable. Your strength over us has always amounted to your influence over the mortals. Now even that seems to be lost. It may be time for a new prince."

"You think you're up to the job?" Julian challenged.

"What do you take me for?" Patrick replied. "You think I'm some stupid Brujah? You think I'm Cameron, or his predecessor Fiori who I've heard so much about? I won't dare say I think I'm ready for the position. The primogen must willingly obey the prince for the position to mean anything. So I think the primogen should be the one to choose their leader. In this city, at this time, the position of prince can only be given, not taken."

"Well said," Julian replied. Even as he spoke the words, something inside him died. He could not believe that everything seemed to be ending. He felt like he was an old fighter, suddenly taken into late rounds by a younger, stronger challenger. Every fiber of his being told him that his reign was coming to a close, but he would not accept defeat. Not yet. Archon Raine, his sire, had trained him to be stronger than that. "Am I to take it by your presence, Cash, that you are ready to return to the table of the primogen."

"Absolutely," Cash replied. "I'm here to help choose the new prince."

"We still seem to be lacking a Toreador primogen," Julian commented. "I will not oppose any vote you wish to take, but not until everyone is represented."

"I now speak for the Toreador," Toby said from behind the prince. Julian turned quickly and saw his closest bodyguard walk inside slowly. "I have been permitted by my clan to vote in all matters of the primogen." The Toreador gave Julian a thin smile, and Luna knew he could very well have gained an ally.

"Let's not forget the Brujah," Julian added. "Though they're disorganized, they are still present. They should have someone to speak for them."

"I disagree," Patrick said. "You have tried for too long to force the Brujah into conformity. They are rebels without a clue. It's in their blood. You cannot force them to organize. Better to leave them as they are in the other cities of the New World. Let them run about, challenging authority without ever taking the responsibility to justify their opinions."

"It seems to work everywhere else," Cash said.

"Very well," Julian stated. He had hoped to have Sasha allowed into the building to vote, but that plan would apparently not work. He counted on having the Toreador, Nosferatu, and his own Ventrue on his side of the vote. Against him would be the Tremere, Telemon, and Gangrel. In a stalemate, he would retain power. Then he could eradicate the human mobsters and replace them with more manageable pawns. Finally, he would build a brood of his own, childer that would give him power over the others. Julian had always hesitated to embrace childer to fight his battles for him. He had hated being Archon's enforcer, but he saw now that the position had value. He would fill it.

"There is a room that I think you'll find satisfactory," Matt offered, motioning for Julian to follow up the stairs. "It's not quite as elegant as your meeting room, but under the circumstances, it will have to do."

Matt led the group to his study, where a large mahogany table had been prepared. Six mahogany chairs surrounded the table, and Julian went to sit at the head. Each of the others filled in exactly as they would have had they been in Julian's mansion.

"Before we begin, Julian, I would like to apologize for the surroundings," Patrick said. "We normally would never have called you down from your ivory tower, but things have been rough out here lately. Maybe you've heard. The Tremere chantry was burned to the ground last night, and many of my clanmates were incinerated. So I came here." Patrick could see the look of surprise on Julian's face. He's more out of touch than I realized, the Tremere primogen thought. He doesn't even know about the attack on my clan. "After last night, I decided not to risk any of my people going out again."

"And I figured if the Tremere aren't safe, then I'm keeping my people near me," Matt said. "Besides, this place is at least as secure as that place you live."

"Probably more so," Patrick commented. "Though that's no sleight against you," he said to Toby.

"I know," Toby said, though in fact he was well aware of the opinion the other clans had of the Toreador. In many ways, he shared that opinion, though his feelings of personal inadequacy could only go so far. He had trained hard to make certain he would be seen as the exception to the rule of the Toreador being the weakest of the kindred.

"I'm here to get you to get your ass in motion," Cash said. "I found Jana and Shelly dead, and there was no forthcoming response from my prince. Do you have any idea how sick of this shit I am? My friend K.T. said I should come on over and smack you around a bit."

"I don't know if I'd recommend trying that," Julian muttered with more than a hint of menace.

"Why not?" Cash asked. "For years we've all been hearing about how we shouldn't mess with you, how the great Julian Luna will stomp your balls into the ground if you fuck with him. Well I'll tell ya Julian, even that bitch whore niece of yours is looking tougher than you nowadays."

"Enough," Julian snarled. The prince's eyes glowed a dull yellow, betraying his rage, and his fingernails had started to bite into the hard wood tabletop. He was obviously just barely holding his anger in check.

"So you have a pair after all," Cash said with a grin. "Who would have thunk it?"

"Cash please" Patrick said calmly. The Gangrel's smile grew, and he sat back comfortably in his chair. Cash had accomplished his part. He had angered the prince. Now it was for Patrick and Matt to finish the job.

"I know we've been hit pretty hard lately, but we can deal with this," Julian said evenly, trying to regain his composure. "We've been attacked before. There's no reason to lose it this time. We have to stay together."

"In the past five years, we've been all but decimated," Patrick said. "Just before my clan arrived, the Ventrue, Brujah and Gangrel lost many of their best warriors in a war against a pack of garou. None of the clans has even come close to recovering from that fiasco. It even got so bad that when a couple of gangs of anarchs came into town, that the Gangrel and Brujah had to actually end decades of hostility just to defend their common interests." Patrick smiled thinly for a moment as he mentioned the threat that the anarchs had posed. Indeed, it had been his own grandsire that had caused much of the trouble from behind the scenes.

"Just when things seemed they couldn't get any worse, we were besieged by the Sabbat," Patrick continued. "We couldn't even make use of the Toreador, because their primogen was unjustly accused of being in league with them." The Tremere glanced over to Toby, who seemed pleased that the accusations of Toreador involvement with the Sabbat were termed as being unjust. Then he continued. "After that, the only soldiers we had came from the fledgling Telemon clan, and the Brujah. Well, true to form, the Brujah decided to throw away half of our best warriors in a civil war amongst themselves. Now all we really have is the Telemon, and we're faced with a great threat, a threat I warned you about days ago. Still you haven't done anything."

"And what would you have him do?" a powerful voice asked as the door was thrown open. In the doorway stood Thorne, his massive frame taking up the entire entrance. Every kindred at the table was on his feet in a second, prepared to deal with this sudden threat. Before anyone could act, however, the elder had raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. "Trust me, you are among friends for now," he said.

Thorne strode into the room, followed lightly by K.T. While the Gangrel mercenary was by no means a small man, he appeared dwarfed compared to the larger elder. No one even seemed to notice K.T. as he walked into the corner, sat down, and pulled out his Ruger Redhawk, looking over the weapon to make certain it would be ready if it was needed. All eyes remained fixed on Thorne. The man wore a heavy black cloak over his shoulders, which only served to increase the impression of his size. Underneath were loose-fitting black cotton breeches, a black tunic, and black boots. None of the clothing he wore could accurately be considered as modern style. Indeed, the man seemed to have fallen out of the 1600's. None of the several weapons Thorne always carried were visible, but his sheer size and force of presence were enough to intimidate everyone in the room.

"Who are you?" Julian demanded, taking the words from everyone's mouth.

"I am an elder," Thorne replied. "A Methuselah, to be more precise. I am an experimenter and sower of discord. I cultivate the strong, and prune the weak. I ensure the strength of our kind. My name is Thorne."

"That's an awfully long self-introduction," Patrick said evenly. The Tremere attempted to keep his composure after hearing Thorne claim to be a Methuselah, one of the fourth generation, and thus one of the most powerful of all the kindred. He simply attempted to put Thorne on the defensive, so that he could not be analyzed too closely. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to help," Thorne replied simply. "You are all on the verge of extinction, though you may not know it. I have already lost several promising bloodlines in this city. Most recently, Eddie Fiori's line died. I do not intend to lose any more."

"What are you talking about?" Matt asked.

"If time permits, I will explain myself more fully later," Thorne answered. "Suffice to say that I have been watching you all for quite awhile. I was the one that arranged for the Telemon to battle the Sabbat Bishop and his Templars. I also arranged for Julian's assault on the secondary Sabbat hideout."

"So you're the one," Julian said. He had wondered who had advised him to attack the theater that the Sabbat had been hiding within. Now he knew, but that knowledge only helped to produce more questions.

"I have been watching everything in the city for quite awhile," Thorne commented. "I was even around when Rayce was killed in his battle with Basil Romanov." Thorne cast a sideways glance again at Julian, and the prince became uncomfortable, hoping that the true events of that night were never brought to light. If that happened, he would never be able to hold his city. "I am here now because of the kindred that you all call Jenni," Thorne continued.

Once the childe's name was spoken, an alarm went off in Julian's mind. What did Thorne say a moment ago? the prince asked himself. It was something about Fiori. What was it? In a moment of horror, Julian realized the detail he had overlooked. "What did you mean when Fiori's line had been extinguished?" Julian asked the elder.

"Earlier this evening, Sasha was killed," Thorne said. "After I realized Jenni's true identity, I went with K.T. to the childe's home, wondering if I could locate her. I wanted to be able to keep tabs on her. When we arrived there were the sounds of screaming from inside. It was Sasha, and she was in pain. A few minutes later, Jenni walked out of her front door, and left her apartment burning. K.T. and I recovered what was left of Sasha's body, in case you wish to bury it later."

"Sasha..." Julian mumbled. "Jenni killed her?" the prince asked. "How could it be?"

"Because she is also an elder," Thorne replied. "She has been in your city, feeding on the kindred here for quite awhile, though I did not discover this until earlier tonight."

"She's an elder?" Patrick asked, obviously doubting the story.

"Yes, she's even older than I am," Thorne replied.

"And how old are you?" Cash asked.

"Have you read the Bible?" Thorne asked. Cash nodded. "Then you may have heard of the story of David and Goliath. Goliath was my older brother." Even K.T.'s eyes went wide as Thorne revealed his true age. The mercenary had never even dreamt that such ancient kindred were real. He had always considered the stories to be just that – stories.

"My God," Daedalus said. "The childe is the one that has been killing my clanmates?"

"She is not a childe," Thorne reiterated. "Her name is Vidria, and she is the most vicious creature I have ever seen. She is powerful. As strong as I am, I doubt that I could defeat her. You will all have to help me. Even together, I don't know that we'll survive."

"Funny, I doubt it, too," a voice said from the doorway. Thorne turned in an instant and looked down at Jenni. The child was smiling innocently, sweetly, as she tossed the heads of two of Matt's ghouls into the room. "Who are you?" she asked Thorne immediately. "How do you know me?" Before the large man could answer, automatic gunfire erupted from down the hall. Several more guards had arrived on the scene, and they were not willing to ask questions of a girl they had seen with the heads of house guards in her hands.

The bullets almost seemed to pass right through Vidria's body. Her clothing flew off in tatters, but her flesh held together, despite the velocity of the armor-piercing rounds the guards were firing. Thorne took the opportunity to strike, lunging at the childe. She proved to be faster, however, and parried Thorne's hatchet away in a single stroke. Her hands, grown into razor-sharp claws in a fraction of a second, swiped at Thorne's midsection, but he was able to arch his back and keep his abdomen just out of the girl's reach. He countered, but Vidria also dodged, and then dove to the floor and grabbed Thorne's leg. She crushed the bone in her vise-like grip, toppling the giant to the floor. With Thorne momentarily out of the way, the others were able to attack, and a volley of gunfire erupted from behind Matt's mahogany table. Vidria ducked away, and Thorne rolled further into the room, using the precious moments he had gained to mend his shattered tibia.

Outside the room, another salvo of gunfire was heard as the guards opened fire again. This time, the bullets ended prematurely. Jenni's scream could be heard from the end of the hall a moment later. "God damnit," she yelled. "They're ghouls. I can't drink these men. Why don't you at least have the decency to have kindred guards?"

"She can only feed on her own kind," Thorne explained succinctly back in the study as each of the other kindred looked at him. "She is every bit as powerful as I thought," the elder stated. "We might want to think about retreat."

"I hear you in there," Vidria teased from outside the room. "You think you'd even be able to escape?"

Matt made a few rapid gestures to Patrick, and the Tremere understood completely. The Telemon wanted them to keep Jenni talking. Hoping his counterpart had a plan, Patrick went about doing what Matt wanted.

"My clan has heard about the elders," Patrick said smoothly. "There's a lot I bet I could learn from you. And I'm sure there's something I could teach."

"I seriously doubt it, warlock," Jenni retorted.

"I know the secrets of my clan's blood magic," Patrick said smoothly. Collins knew that he had been made a primogen of his clan because of his ability to be persuasive, to play at politics. His sire had once stated that Patrick could con the devil himself if he ever wanted to. Collins just hoped that his sire's faith had not been misplaced.

"Your knowledge in exchange for your life?" Jenni asked from outside.

"I'll kill you before you make the bargain, warlock," Cash spat, more than willing to play along with the charade. Thorne smiled thinly, amazed that men that were at each other's throats moments earlier were able to work so well as a unit now. He would truly miss them if they were destroyed.

"Seems like a fair trade," Patrick said, ignoring Cash's interruption. The Tremere looked at Matt, who had by now opened a trap door in the floor. He was gesturing for everyone to go through it. Patrick sneaked a quick look at the door, and saw the large room by the entrance underneath. He smiled when he realized that the small chute downstairs probably came out right behind the portrait of Wellington. Nothing like using the picture of an overrated English general to cover up your escape route, Patrick thought.

The primogen all piled out of the room, with Patrick going through last, as he kept Jenni talking until the last moment. By the time he slipped through, Jenni had walked back to the doorway, and had seen that her prey had escaped her.

"No!" she screamed. "You're not going anywhere!" She was about to follow through the trap door, but at the last second thought better of it. She had no idea where the passage came out, whether it was trapped, or who would be waiting for her on the other side. There's already been one surprise, she pondered. I won't jump right into another one. As she walked out of the study and down the short hall to the staircase, she wondered who the large man had been. Obviously, she realized, he's an elder. He was far too fast to be one of these whelps. But I don't think I've ever seen him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Downstairs, the remaining guards had met the primogen. Matt noticed immediately that Jenni had apparently trimmed the ranks significantly. He only saw a fraction of the men he would have expected. She must have killed the others as they guarded the perimeter, he realized.

Holden had mustered all of the remaining kindred in the building, remembering that any battles were to be fought downstairs, where the architecture was designed for heavy combat. Hidden stashes of ammunition were located all throughout the first floor, along with several secret passages. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all reinforced to the extent that small explosives could be used safely. Much of the 'antique' furniture, as well, was made up of well-crafted replicas. It had purposely been designed to be seen as decorative, when its true purpose was anything but. Every cushion on the first floor was reinforced with kevlar body armor, which meant that ever piece of furniture could effectively be used as cover from an attacker. Every mirror concealed a claymore mine behind it, rigged to add the glass to the shrapnel from the explosive. Predetermined areas of the rooms were designed to offer cover from these explosions, while other areas were certain to be completely fragged. This was where Matt planned to make his stand.

Reimer knew he would only have a handful of seconds before Jenni arrived from upstairs, and he had no time to inform everyone of the building's defenses. From what he could see, the rest of the kindred were not even close to be ready to offer resistance. He looked at his clan, and knew that only his own men were prepared to fight immediately. Marcus grinned at him, and Holden winked, each man showing how comfortable they were with the situation. They might have been fighting an unbeatable enemy, but at least they were fighting. There was no more guessing, no more thinking to be done. The Telemon were men of action. This is what they did best.

"Get them ready!" Matt shouted at Thorne, hoping the elder had been in enough scraps during his life to know how to organize a decent defense. From what Matt figured, any elder that had lived for millennia was either better than most at kicking ass, or had spent a lot of time running away. The Telemon just hoped against hope that Thorne was of the former variety, though after the way Jenni had incapacitated the giant, Matt had his doubts. "Now we give them time," Matt said to Marcus. The older Telemon simply nodded in understanding as Ronnie Striker and Brad Armstrong ran into the room. At that moment, Jenni walked to the top of the staircase, glaring down menacingly at them all.

"Seems dinner is served," she said pleasantly, eyeing up the vampires as if they were her own private buffet. She then ran down the stairs in a flash, her body little more than a blur. Each of the Telemon opened up with his MP5, but to no avail. While Vidria could not outrun a bullet, she was able to move faster than any of the Telemons' ability to aim their weapons. She was in the midst of the kindred warriors before they knew what was happening.

She struck the last Telemon ghoul first, ripping out his heart with her right clawed hand as she used her left to sever Holden's arm. The ex-SEAL crumpled to the floor, overcome with the pain, just in time to have Jenni drive the ghoul's heart through the back of his skull. Vidria then looked at Striker and smiled, thinking about the damage the man could do with his M-60. Destroy them all, the child thought, directing the command toward Striker's mind. Many kindred were able to use spoken words to control another, but Jenni was old enough so that she needed only think about the action. In an instant, Ronnie Striker was bent to her will and turned on the vampires that Thorne was trying to organize. He fired first at the huge Methuselah, knocking Thorne to the ground as he riddled the massive vampire's body with bullet holes. Then he spread his fire to the others, shredding many of the guards that had been on duty in the Compound. K.T., a veteran of countless gunfights, had the presence of mind to leap behind a couch and bring his Ruger to bear. He knew he would probably only get one shot at the Telemon, and would have to make it count.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the Telemon's line broken instantly, and the younger vampires already at work against each other as a result of her domination, Vidria continued her massacre of the remaining grunts. Marcus realized that standard Telemon strategy had failed, and he would have to reorganize his men. As the Telemon expected to always be outnumbered, they utilized Navy SEAL tactics of a violent initial assault on a foe, intended to disorient and cause fear and error. Jenni had not been affected, and had in fact been able to offer an instant counter-attack. Marcus fired once with his combat shotgun, but the phosphorous round only grazed Jenni's shoulder, leaving a slightly singed mark on her flesh. The elder did not seem to notice. Instead she turned to Matt. Before the primogen could drop his MP5 and draw his Glock, a weapon more suitable for close-quarter fighting, Vidria had kicked his right leg with enough force to fold his femur over on itself. Each splintered end of the bone tore through Matt's thigh, and he screamed in pain.

Behind the remaining Telemon, K.T. took his shot, blasting away half of Striker's cranium with a single round. The Telemon still stood firing his weapon, but he appeared unable to aim. He remained still as Cash ran up and tore the soldier's head from his shoulders, ending the threat. Thorne was shouting quick orders to the remaining kindred, ignoring the distraction that Vidria had provided by turning Striker. He knew that the Telemon had bought him valuable seconds, but he doubted it would be enough. It appeared as if the Telemons' sacrifice would be in vain. None of the remaining kindred was used to working with the others. Thorne was left with a force that was powerful on an individual level, but which would take years to fight as a unit. Even if he could drive off the other elder, he knew, it was unlikely that she would be destroyed. She would simply have the opportunity to complete her carnage in another week. He had to stop her there and then, but had no idea how it would be possible. He silently mouthed a few words to the Fates, and continued to assemble his forces. If nothing else, he would put up an epic fight.

Amongst the Telemon, Vidria was unconcerned with Thorne's preparations. She knew that no one could ever destroy her. True, she admitted, there was greater resistance than she had met in centuries, but that only made the confrontation that much more interesting. In a burst of speed that only seemed to increase Vidria's already blurred movement, the child turned back to Marcus, ripped the shotgun from his grasp, and fired twice at Matt, putting two charred holes in the Telemon primogen's abdomen. Reimer screamed in pain, but still lived. He tried to drag his broken, scorched body away from Vidria, but the elder was too quick for him. She stomped down on his left knee, flattening the joint against the floor and sending bone fragments through the soldier's flesh.

"Enough of this shit," Marcus muttered as he grabbed a hold of Jenni's shoulder. He squeezed with all his might while he transformed his fingers into talons with the strength of railroad ties. He burrowed into Jenni's skin, and the child howled in pain, realizing immediately that she had been incorrect in assuming the primogen of the clan was the strongest one present.

Very clever indeed, she thought. Even in combat against a superior foe, they're scheming. They seem to fear nothing. So much the better. Their voices will sing beautifully in my mind. She backhanded Marcus with a lightning fast strike, her supernatural strength allowing her to break every bone in the kindred's face as he was sent sailing fifteen feet across the room. Marcus' body only stopped when it impacted against the wall, the force of the blow cracking the reinforced wall. Now help me destroy my enemies, she ordered, adding the injured Telemon Judge Advocate General to her ranks.

With rage in her eyes, Jenni turned back to finish off Matt, only to find Armstrong standing before her, cutting her off from her prize. She realized too late that he was holding a combat shotgun, which was leveled at her chest. The Telemon fired, and the phosphorous round burned a hole in Jenni's midsection. The child fell to the floor, convulsing once as she let out a short gasp.

It seemed as if time stood still for an eternity. Everyone in the room simply looked down at Jenni's body, amazed at how suddenly the battle had ended. Brad dropped his weapon and turned to see how Matt was doing. Though the Telemon primogen still lived, he was completely incapacitated. Brad took out his knife and slit his arm open, planning to give Matt as much blood as the primogen needed to survive. Armstrong then bent over near his commander, and saw a look of fear like none he had ever set his eyes upon. A shadow fell briefly across Matt's body, and Brad whirled, knowing in his heart what his mind had not yet registered. Somehow, Jenni had survived. The last thing Brad Armstrong ever saw was Holden's body being swung at him, wielded like a weapon by their enemy.

Vidria roared with lust and rage as Holden's body struck Brad's. The momentum was great enough to tear Armstrong's torso in half, spilling the Telemon's insides all over the floor. Blood sprayed across everyone as Jenni's roar became a maddened cackle.

"There is a reason elders are feared," she spat at the surviving kindred standing against her. "We cannot be killed. The pathetic weapons of science hold no power over us. To defeat us, one must have the strength within them."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," a new voice said in a thick German accent. Every eye looked to the front door, where three men were standing. One of them everyone recognized. Johnny Yashida had arrived at the fight, and he had brought two friends with him.

"I'm here for my clanmates," Johnny growled, trying to seem as threatening as he could be. He doubted he was having the desired affect, mostly because he could not believe that his own terror was not played out clearly across his face. He had truly never seen anything more intimidating than the thirteen-year old child that stood in the center of the room, showered in blood with her torn and singed clothes barely hanging on her.

"I won't miss you this time," Vidria hissed at Yashida, ignoring the two men that accompanied him.

"I have come to deliver unto all of you the good death," Heinrich announced stoically. He surveyed the room for a moment, attempting to figure out exactly who might pose the greatest threat. He knew his brother would provide enough of a diversion to make his analysis possible. The kindred would not be attacking the mages at any time in the near future. Of that he was certain.

Kiefer also looked the room over briefly, nodded, and threw up his arms. Unlike his brother he was not looking for a specific target. He needed only to locate the widest area of the room, so that his magic would provide as large an amount of destruction as possible. It was not necessary that he kill many in his initial assault. He only needed to cause chaos. The mage had found that fire did an excellent job of fulfilling that requirement where vampires were concerned. In a flash a fireball formed directly in front of the mage and roared across the room, disintegrating Toby and igniting everything and everyone else in its path. Many of the remaining younger kindred were immediately driven into the Rötschreck, and began to dart around the room in unreasoning terror. Yashida took the opportunity to race out of the entryway and into the mansion, using his blood to power his movements as fast as was supernaturally possible.

As the fireball struck the opposite wall, it detonated into a shower of sparks and embers. The room shook, and Heinrich grinned as he utilized his magic. The tremors caused by the fireball jarred the detonator on one of the claymores, and it exploded, sending shrapnel and shards of glass through the air. Several of the younger kindred were cut down where they stood. Only the older vampires, the ones that had been in the meeting upstairs, still remained.

Jenni took a brief step back, realizing immediately that she was confronted by wizards, the masters of the arcane. While she was more than confident in her ability to defeat any of her own kind, she had always made certain to steer clear of mages. They had abilities she could not understand, no less begin to match. She decided that her one and only chance at victory lay in her speed, which she utilized to close the distance to the newcomers. The remaining kindred cut her off, however.

"Are you ok, Marcus?" Johnny asked as he reached his brother. "We have to get the hell out of here."

"We're not running," Marcus replied. "This battle is not over. We can still win."

"Are you crazy?" Johnny asked. "Even if we kill Jenni, there are two vampire hunting mages here. They'll kill us if we stay. This is not a battle we can win. We have to leave."

"Any battle can be won," Marcus replied stubbornly. "I refuse to believe in the unbeatable foe."

Johnny grabbed his brother by the head, and turned Marcus' gaze right at Jenni, who was busy redecorating the room with Julian's intestines. "See her?" the small Telemon asked. "That's the unbeatable enemy. "We've done our part, now it's time to flee and live to fight another day."

"No," Marcus replied sternly. "We stay."

"Where's Matt?" Johnny asked, deciding that he would get nowhere trying to change Marcus' mind. He would still have to get his childe out, however.

"Over there," Marcus replied, gesturing across the room. Johnny turned and scanned the burning room, looking for his childe, when he felt Marcus' survival knife plunge into his back. "You shouldn't have chosen to support the loser," Marcus stated. "I'm going with the winner, and you're gonna be made extinct."

Yashida turned with a look of shock on his face, not sure whether he was more surprised that his brother had stabbed him, or that the knife had not pierced his heart. He realized quickly that Marcus was not acting of his own volition. He had been dominated. Johnny guessed that Marcus had been ordered to oppose Jenni's foes. However, the exact manner of that opposition was left to the dominated kindred. Marcus would not be able to fight the compulsion to destroy Jenni's enemies. However, she had never said that he would have to kill them as quickly and efficiently as possible. If he wanted to take his time fighting Yashida, there would be nothing she could do to change his mind unless she dominated him again. As it was, Jenni was too busy to notice Marcus' resistance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenni looked at her opposition, and decided that K.T. would make an ideal ally. She did not know him at all, but could surmise that he was with the elder. She was not certain she could dominate Thorne, and so decided to subjugate his apprentice, instead. Take the large man out, she ordered. She streaked across the room as K.T. emptied his barrel into Thorne's back, throwing the elder off-balance and preventing him from meeting Vidria's charge. As soon as Jenni had reached the group of younger kindred, she began slicing. She knew the only way to avoid being overwhelmed by superior numbers was to cripple as many as she could in as little a time as possible. She slashed Cash first, almost tearing the Gangrel's left arm from the rest of his body. She made certain the wound was not fatal, however. She had not given up her special plans for her bitch. Without waiting for a reaction from the stunned Gangrel, she swiped across Julian's midsection, and the prince immediately doubled over, trying to hold in the organs that had ceased being of any use over a century before. As Jenni had expected, Daedalus dove to Luna's side as soon as the Ventrue fell. The Nosferatu would protect his prince. Patrick had switched his attention from the child to K.T., realizing that their rear was under attack. In the instant that was available to her, Vidria bent over in a flash and took the hatchet from Thorne's hands. The elder knew she would be aiming for his neck, and rolled as quickly as possible, getting ten feet away in a heartbeat. For a moment Vidria considered pursuing her prey, but thought better of it. Instead, she took a swing and removed Patrick's head from its shoulders. The Tremere's blood sprayed out and burned Jenni's flesh as it touched her. She cursed under her breath as she looked at her scorched arm, reminding herself too late that it was foolish to ever expect a Tremere to die quietly. In one fluid motion, she then did a back spring into a series of three back flips so that she could clear herself from her enemies and deal with the most pressing threat – magic. She smiled as she raised the hatchet again and brought the two mages into her sights.

Thorne gasped slightly as he realized what the other kindred had in mind. He had hoped to corner her, to force her into a fight. The Methuselah knew all too well that Jenni had no idea how strong he was. Now, however, she was evading him. She would strike first at the mages, and then deal with him. The large kindred decided to step back momentarily. He would not push the fight now. He would take the few seconds he had been offered and use them to reform his forces. Let the mages be damned, he thought, recognizing them as hunters of his kind. They deserve anything they get for coming into this fight. Vidria can burn herself out fighting them, making it that much easier for me to do my job.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Heinrich and Kiefer had cast their original effects, they had to wait a moment to see how many targets still remained. All they saw for certain was a blur of motion in front of them. Both men were experienced hunters, and knew that their enemies were employing the vampiric ability of supernatural speed. Being mortal, the wizards knew they would never be able to keep up. They were sitting ducks unless they could catch every vampire in the room in a large area effect, like another fireball. Neither one, not even Heinrich, a mystical master of the random elements of chance, was willing to count that much on luck. A different approach would be needed. Each man began to utilize his minor skills of time and mind magic. Though they could not move any faster than a normal man, they could alter the kindreds' perception of time. The vampires would no longer move as fast. Instead, the undead would perceive the mages as finally keeping up with their unnatural pace.

It had been no more than fifteen seconds after the fireball detonated when the brothers began their next spell, but Heinrich was interrupted as he was struck with the hatchet Vidria had thrown with superhuman strength. The large mage dropped like a stone to the floor. Kiefer immediately abandoned his spell and knelt at his brother's side. Tristan, he thought. Heinrich was hit. He's dying. You have to get in here.

I know, came the response. I'm already on my way in.

Kiefer hoped that his brother would hold on long enough. The hatchet had gone straight into the center of Heinrich's chest, appearing to have sliced the sternum in half lengthwise. The smaller mage pressed down on the gaping wound, hoping in vain that he could stop the flowing blood, and somehow keep Heinrich's spirit from abandoning its body.

Once Vidria had incapacitated the mages, she turned back to the kindred. Thorne, who had taken advantage of the momentary lapse in combat, had burned more of his blood increasing his strength and physical coordination. He knew he was as ready as he would ever be, and promptly tackled her. The large kindred hoped that his sheer size and augmented strength would give him some degree of an advantage against his smaller foe. He realized immediately that his hopes had been misplaced. She cut into his stomach, and he grew his own hands into claws and began to sheer through her left arm. Realizing her arm would soon be severed if she did not act swiftly, Vidria pulled her legs up against her chest, braced her feet against Thorne, and kicked as hard as she could. Thorne was sent flying into the air, smacking his back against the ceiling twenty-five feet up.

As he fell to the floor he caught Kiefer's eye, immediately noticing the mage's pain and rage. When the elder landed, he rolled for cover, knowing that the wizard was probably moments from decimating the entire building. He had seen what Kiefer's first fireball had done to Toby, and Thorne had no desire to end millennia of life by being vaporized in the blink of an eye. Vidria would have to wait.

K.T. suddenly felt Jenni's hold on him end as suddenly as it had begun. Now get your ass in motion and take the bitch out, he heard a voice say in a thin lilt. The Gangrel looked around, but was unable to figure out what had happened. All that he knew for certain was that he was free to act again on his own, and he caught sight of the child vampire as he slammed shut his newly loaded cylinder. He then acted, emptying the rounds from his Ruger as he lunged at the elder. He dropped on top of Vidria before she could stand, and immediately went to work with his claws, trying to finish the job Thorne had started. Jenni would have none of it, however. She grasped the Gangrel firmly in her hands, stood, and then drove his back down over her knee, snapping K.T.'s spine and severing the spinal cord so severely that the Gangrel did not know how to even begin using his blood to heal the injury. He lay on the floor, completely vulnerable. He looked at Jenni's enraged eyes, and then shut his own, confident that he did not want to see his end when it arrived. It never did.

Just as Jenni was about to sink her fangs into K.T.'s throat, she was knocked back by a series of shotgun blasts. She turned to face her attacker as she reeled backwards, and chastised herself for having overlooked a crucial element of the battle. The other elder's apprentice was able to break my hold. He could never have done that alone. Someone must have done it for him. They would probably have done it for the Telemon, too. How could I have been so careless? She had known that she had not killed Marcus Dietrich. The next thought that raced through her head was pain. The shotgun shells were phosphorous, and each one burned her. She realized with horror that her supply of blood had run dangerously low. She was losing her ability to absorb damage, and would not be able to heal any wounds for much longer. She would have to feed very soon.

Marcus grinned as he sent Jenni backward with his blasts, but when she hit the wall and his supply of ammunition was exhausted, she began to stride back toward him. That's impossible, Marcus thought. Nothing can take that kind of punishment and survive. The Telemon Judge Advocate General had been in countless battles since he had been embraced, and he had never seen a kindred take more than three hits from phosphorous shotgun shells and still survive. He had just fired six into Jenni, at near point blank range, and she was still coming. And she looks very hungry, Marcus realized fearfully.

Vidria licked her lips as she noticed blood running from Marcus' chest, the result of several gunshot wounds taken at close range. She shot across the room at the Telemon and grabbed him by the throat, then sank her fangs in and began to drink deeply. The brief, insignificant resistance that Marcus initially offered ceased as soon as her teeth had penetrated his skin. Then he was overcome with the euphoria of the kiss. She drained him dry, knocking him into torpor, and decided to finish the Telemon this time, rather than simply trust that domination would remove him from the fight. She inhaled deeply and drank more fully, beginning to take his very life essence from him. At that moment, Julian and Daedalus returned to the fight. Julian body-blocked Marcus out of Jenni's grasp as Daedalus raked across the back of her leg with his claws, hoping to hamstring her. The Nosferatu failed. Jenni turned on him and drove her fist into his face, knocking him down and stunning him. She knew she would need at least a few seconds to mend her wounds, and set about once again turning her enemies against one another.

Kill each other, she ordered, and Daedalus immediately shifted his gaze away from Jenni and toward Julian. In a single motion he stood and lunged at the prince, driving his claws into Julian's belly. Luna looked at Daedalus with rage, and backhanded his advisor with vengeance in his eyes. Gone were any thoughts of loyalty and comradery. He was suddenly more than willing to flay the skin from the Nosferatu's bones.

Julian drew one of his .45's from his shoulder holster and fired at Daedalus with wild abandon. He put enough bullets through the Nosferatu's face to leave a large crater both in the front of his skull, where the initial impact of the bullets shattered bone and tore flesh, and in the back, where exit wounds sprayed Daedalus' brains across the room. One of Daedalus' eyes remained intact, and flicked around randomly, as if it was trying to see anything that would allow his mind to make sense of the pain he was feeling. He was still alive, but was little more than a vegetable. He could feel, but could not understand. As far as Vidria was concerned, the ability to experience what she planned to do was satisfying enough. Her victim did not need to comprehend. She maintained her control, and kept Julian completely still, entranced by the view that she wished to offer him.

Jenni bent over Daedalus and drove her fist through his abdomen, grabbing the Nosferatu's spine. With a squeeze of her hand, powered by supernatural strength, she compressed the Nosferatu's spinal cord to the point that his legs became paralyzed, and his intermittent spasms ceased completely. Had Daedalus even had his senses about him enough to offer a defense, he would not have been able to raise a hand to in time. Jenni drove her free hand into the remnants of Daedalus' face and through his skull, smashing blood and brain matter out the back of the deformed cranium. The Antediluvian was almost certain that the Nosferatu primogen had been extinguished, but she was not willing to take chances with a foe that could cause her injury if given time to heal. Before returning to give the prince her undivided attention, she exhaled sharply on Daedalus' head, and a thin green mist spewed forth from her mouth and settled on the Nosferatu's skin. In a matter of seconds his flesh began to wither and crack, and then began to dissolve into dust. Julian Luna looked on, still entranced, unable to comprehend that his friend of decades had been disintegrated before his very eyes. Once Vidria was certain that Julian had seen enough, she dropped her control.

"No!" Julian screamed as Vidria allowed the prince his own thoughts once again, permitting him to realize what he had done. He drew his other .45 and began to blaze away with both weapons, this time choosing the child as the target of his wrath. Again Vidria was knocked back by the rounds, but this time she was not injured. The prince's bullets were not phosphorous, and did not burn. Once his ammunition was spent she ran at him, but Julian was ready. He raised his leg and kicked her in the stomach as he rolled back, throwing her clear across the room. Vidria was enraged.

"Fool," she shrieked. "No one gets away with that." She raised her hand, and a small globe of fire appeared in her palm. She threw it at Luna, and the prince was unable to dodge. When the fiery globe hit him it burst in a flash of flame that consumed Julian's entire torso instantly. His clothes burned, and the Rötschreck overcame him.

Stop, drop, and roll, a voice said in the back of his head. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Julian knew that the injury he had sustained was not mortal. He could escape the flames and continue to fight. He could defeat this child. The voice of reason was drowned out by his cries of terror, however, and his reason was lost in the middle of his panic. The primal fear of the beast within had defeated the cool humanity that Julian had nurtured for so many years.

Seeing that Julian was unable to gather his wits about him, and was thus an open target, Vidria ran up to the prince and grabbed him by the throat. "Now's the perfect time," she whispered in his terrified ear, using only a fraction of her strength to pin his smoldering body on the floor. "Draining you while you're in the Rötschreck provides a special taste. It's a delicacy, actually." The child tore out Julian's throat and began to feed, oblivious to the fact that the flames on his body were singing her clothes. While the flames could burn her as they could any other of her kind, Vidria was an ancient, and the years had made her more resistant to fire than were most other vampires. The dwindling flames on Julian's Armani jacket posed no significant threat to her existence.

Perhaps the one thing remaining in the structure that could pose any danger to Vidria was Thorne, and he had gathered himself for yet another assault on the Antediluvian. I am a Methuselah, he reminded himself. Many before me have destroyed those of the third generation. Why should I be any different? Even as Vidria finished with Julian, Thorne arrived, intent on delivering hell to the other elder. He picked up Marcus' dropped, empty shotgun, and swung it at Vidria's head. When he connected, he heard the sickening, though satisfying, sound of the child's skull cave in. Vidria hit the floor and rolled over to confront her attacker, but Thorne's assault had left her groggy. She could hardly offer any resistance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Help him," Kiefer commanded as Tristan raced into the building. "Keep him alive."

"I'll do my best," the Irishman replied. He looked over Heinrich's body, and his first instinct was that there was no hope. Sometimes the best way to heal a wound is to prevent it from happening, he reminded himself, remembering the teachings of Master Finnegan so many years ago. If we stay here, we're inviting further injury. We should leave. Now. "I can't promise anything," Tristan said to his fellow mage. "But you have to keep things clear for me. Destroy everything in the building. Spare no one. Bugger the paradox, Kiefer. This is not the time to worry about what will happen later. Act now or there won't be a later."

Kiefer needed no encouragement. He nodded in reply and stood, surveying the carnage in front of him. The mage was amazed that the structure was still standing, seeming to defy all laws of logic. The kindred, he noticed, were still fighting amongst each other. Now it ends, he thought savagely. Fuck the paradox!

As soon as he noticed that Kiefer was ready to resume his attack on the vampires, Tristan turned back to Heinrich. If there was any hope for the German Entropist, it lay in having a master of healing that was able to sever himself from his surroundings, to make certain that there were no distractions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the room, Johnny finally gathered enough strength to raise his head from the floor. He had never thought that he would be forced to battle Marcus, and now hoped that he would never have to do so again. When he had been stabbed, his first thought was to run. He knew, however, that leaving would probably allow Matt to be destroyed. He would not allow his childe to be extinguished. He released the clip in his Beretta and loaded another, the last extra magazine he had with him. The other three had been emptied into his brother, and all together had done little more than slow Marcus down. In the end, Johnny had been forced to dominate his brother, to trick him into believing that he had been destroyed. Yashida knew that such a course of action was risky. First, he was uncertain as to whether or not anyone in his clan should know that he had diablerized while investigating some stories in Baton Rouge. No one knew he had raised his generation while feeding on a Sabbat bishop, and an increase in his power could be perceived as a violation of the Telemon clan's strict hierarchy. He was now perhaps equal in generation to his own sire, a situation that violated one of the clan's basic tenets. Beyond that, however, he did not know how Siras would react if he ever discovered that Johnny had been using his mind dominating powers against other members of his own clan. He had been given no choice, he knew. He could never have stood toe to toe with Marcus. He had been forced to use more subtle tactics, and even then he had only achieved a chance to escape, and not a victory. He did not know if his sire would accept the argument of mitigating circumstances. He resolved to increase his crime later if he needed to, and simply alter Marcus' memories of the fight.

As Johnny scanned the room, he saw Kiefer stand and look around. The Telemon could see from across the room that Heinrich was probably dead, and he was afraid of what a grief-stricken mage would do to gain retribution. Yashida hit the floor and rolled behind a couch, pulling Matt's body along behind him.

The attack was sudden, and brutal. Lightning arced from the mage's hand, seeming to strike everybody in the room. The bolts of electricity bounced continuously, sending virtually everyone to the floor. Even Thorne was knocked from his feet. Then the mage screamed, and the situation went from bad to worse. Another fireball erupted from his hands, followed by another, and another. The oak walls ignited instantly under the fiery assault, and Johnny knew the Compound was doomed. He used his ability to control shadow, and kept darkness flowing over his eyes. He knew that if he saw the flames, he risked succumbing to the Rötschreck. If that happened, all was lost.

Cries of pain and terror emanated from the thick, concealing smoke, and Yashida knew the few that still survived were now being burned alive. The mage had set fire to every side of the room. There would be no escape. He dimmed his own shadow, and saw the flames everywhere. He felt the skin on his face begin to blister. I have to get out of here. He knew his body would begin to burn in a matter of seconds, but he needed to rescue his clanmates. He knew Matt was still alive, and also knew that Jenni had not had time to diablerize Marcus. The Judge Advocate General was still alive, though in torpor. Yashida realized with horror that he had two survivors, but only enough time to save one of them.

For a brief second he considered flipping a coin, but decided against it. He would have to justify his decision to himself later. His favorite, most successful childe died, or his one living blood brother died. He had to choose. In a flash he made up his mind. Moments later he lifted the body in his arms and burned his blood to create a shadow in the room. As he had at Fort Point, he jumped into the portal of darkness, hoping he would have the strength to carry his clanmate through the realm of shadows to the front yard, where he would be able to flee the scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once outside, Johnny looked back and wondered how anyone could even still be in one piece inside. He looked at his own skin and noticed the blisters and burns. Only then did the pain set in, and he doubled over, trying to put the agony out of his mind. He was physically and emotionally drained, and he knew he was still in danger. He saw the silhouettes of the mages walking away from the front door. Two men walked, one of them holding Heinrich's body. Yashida wondered if his associate had survived, but knew better than to risk going up to ask.

For the time being, Yashida carried his fallen clanmate back to his car on the perimeter, and hoped simply to get to a safe haven before the sun came up. The next night would give him all the time he needed to find out who had and had not survived the battle.

Epilogue

Cash stopped his motorcycle in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge, immediately earning the hatred of the driver of the Mercedes that had been following him. The Gangrel flipped off the motorist, and then took a moment to look back at the city he had called home for so long. In the past ten years, he had only left San Francisco three times, and each of his vacations had been rather short. It was the way of his clan, he knew, to never put down roots for too long. Perhaps that had been the mistake of San Francisco's Gangrel residents. They had strayed from their heritage.

Whatever the reason for the Gangrels' mistake, the ultimate price had been paid. Cash was now all that was left of a citywide Gangrel population that had, at times, numbered over three dozen. He had rebuilt his clan twice in recent years, but he would not do so again. He had grown tired of seeing his progeny cut down before his eyes. The Gangrel started to ride along again, finally growing more comfortable with his decision. Living in the city for too long has made me soft, he thought. It's time to look around, to see what there is to see. The city faded into the distance behind him as he rode into Oakland, determined to ride until just before sunrise. He wanted to get as far as he could, so that he could forever forget the horrors that he had seen that night. Cash had no idea who had survived the battle at the Telemon Compound, and who had not. Perhaps I'll be seeing some of them again, he mused. I just hope that Jenni isn't one of the ones I see.

------------------------

Still in San Francisco, another Gangrel was grateful to be alive. K.T. hobbled slowly to the pickup trick that Johnny Yashida had provided to him. The Gangrel wanted to leave San Francisco as soon as possible, but he was in no shape to be riding a motorcycle. Instead, his Indian bike was in the back of the truck, and Erica was trusted to do the driving.

"Can you get in ok?" Erica asked, not bothering to hide her concern. Erica had seen K.T. stand up to incredibly powerful foes over the years they had been together. He had always been able to walk away. This time, he had not. She had no idea how he had made it back to their apartment. All she did know is that she had to carry him inside before the sun had come up. His spine had been shattered, and he had been left paralyzed. Even now, after a day of rest and a large supply of blood to heal his spinal injury, K.T. could still not walk without a cane.

"I'm fine," K.T. muttered in response. He grimaced in pain as he stepped up into the truck, but Erica ignored the expression. She knew her companion was proud, and would not like to have her point out any sign of weakness. "Let's just get going," the Gangrel suggested. "We only have about six hours until the sun comes up."

"Sure thing," Erica answered. She started the truck and pulled away, immediately heading for Golden Gate Bridge. She could not even imagine what had happened to K.T. All he had said was that he had been in a fight. As if I couldn't have figured out that much on my own, she thought.

Erica had seen K.T. fight Assamites, Malkavian assassins, Sabbat Templars, battle-hardened Gangrel, and Baali sorcerers. He had never backed down. He had never shown fear. Tonight, she knew, he was afraid. Too often lately, Erica felt, K.T. had gone off on secret little missions, almost as if he had an agenda that he was not sharing with her. She decided that his secrecy would have to end. After seeing what happened to him this time, Erica knew she would never again be comfortable while K.T. was out of her sight. There was no telling what would happen next time he got into a fight.

Erica pressed down on the accelerator, speeding through traffic on the highway. She wanted K.T. to be able to relax, and she knew that getting out of the Bay Area was the first step in making that possible. Besides, she thought, K.T. had said it was no longer safe in San Francisco, that it was now a closed city. Erica had no idea what that meant, but she was certain that it was not good. All she knew for sure was that her guide to the supernatural world had demanded that they leave. She would comply. After all, there were plenty of other adventures to be found elsewhere.

------------------------

"Good, you're finally awake," Johnny said as he saw Marcus Dietrich open his eyes.

"What happened?" the larger Telemon asked weakly.

"We retreated," Yashida said. Johnny knew his brother would not be happy with his decision, but there was little he could do about it now. Neither of them could go back in time to the previous night and change what had happened.

"How bad were our losses?" Marcus asked.

Ever the soldier, Johnny mused. He's been awake for ten seconds, and already he's trying to figure out our tactical situation. "We lost everyone but you and me," Yashida said. "At least from our clan, that is. I think a few others made it out, but I'm not sure."

"Everyone?" Marcus asked. "How did I get out?"

"I got you out past the fire," Johnny explained.

"I don't remember a fire."

"You were driven into torpor before that," Yashida said. "One of the mages went apeshit and started throwing fireballs around. The few that were still alive at that point mostly went crazy because of the flames. The ones that held it together still had to get past Jenni. It was a bloodbath."

"We even lost Matt?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Johnny replied, offering no details. He did not feel like admitting that he had consciously chosen to allow his childe to die so that he could save his brother. It was a decision that Johnny knew was correct, but that did not sit well with him. Yashida was Telemon, and was finally understanding what that meant. In combat, difficult choices sometimes needed to be made. Hopefully, he thought, Marcus finally learned the lesson that an unbeatable foe is a possibility, especially for ones such as us. As for me, I learned that cutting losses is crucial. The clan was going to lose someone important. I had to make sure we kept the more valuable asset, and that was Marcus. Personal feelings have no place on the battlefield. Yashida made a point not to mention the fact that Marcus had appeared to be dominated during the battle. The large kindred would doubtlessly feel awkward about the subject. Both knew that Dietrich would address the subject eventually, but it had to be done in his own time. Marcus was strong physically, and would have a hard time adjusting to the fact that a lack of complete mental discipline had led to chaos in battle.

"How long was I out?" Marcus asked.

"Just for the day," Johnny answered. Again he offered no details. He knew that when a kindred was driven into torpor, it could be a very long time before the Cainite awakened. Some had been known to take years to recover consciousness. There was a rumor among some that the blood of an elder could awaken a vampire instantly. Johnny smiled as he stuffed a small glass vial in his pocket, and filed away in his mind the information that the rumor happened to be true. K.T. had provided what he had claimed was the blood of an elder, in this case, Thorne. In return, Johnny had given K.T. a new vehicle he could use until he healed sufficiently, along with ten thousand dollars in cash and fake identification. Yashida knew his Gangrel friend would disappear, and he planned to do likewise. He simply needed to ensure first that Marcus would be able to fend for himself.

"I'm hungry," Marcus said, stating the obvious. He had been completely deprived of blood during the battle. It was when he had been dried up that he had fallen unconscious. Now he would have to feed.

"I know just the place for you," Johnny said evenly. "Michelle is there now, scouting everything out. Once you've drunk your fill, I'll take you to the airport. You have a ticket waiting for you. You'll go as far as St. Louis, where there's a room for you at the airport Hilton. Tomorrow night you can go the rest of the way to State College. There's a private charter that will be waiting for you."

"And where are you going?" Marcus asked, having noticed that his brother had not included himself in the soldier's itinerary.

"An old friend asked me to help him move," Yashida replied with a sly grin. Marcus knew immediately that there was once again a secret that he was not being let in on. "Once I'm done helping him, I'll go back home. I promise. I think I need to rest. At least with Siras, I should be safe for awhile. I want to put this all behind me."

"Sure," Marcus replied as he pulled himself into a seated position. "So how long?"

"I'll be there within a week," Yashida said. "Maybe two. I plan on driving it, instead of taking a plane. I just want to get away from it all. Driving cross-country helps clear the mind and refresh the soul."

"Sure," Marcus answered. It also helps you find lots of things you can do to get yourself into trouble. He kept his thoughts from his brother, and decided that he would probably not be seeing Johnny for some time. He had gotten used to Yashida disappearing once in awhile. This would probably be one of those times. He knew Johnny would eventually show up. It'll probably be when he needs money, too, Marcus thought with a thin smile. "So where are we going?" Marcus asked.

"A little place called the Pierce Street Annex," Johnny said, a mischievous smile beginning to form on his face. "It's not exactly the kind of club you'd like, but the feeding is as easy as pie." Johnny stood and helped his brother to his feet. He knew that Marcus would not seriously expect him to show up in State College anytime soon. Siras would have questions, a lot of them. Johnny would be called upon to account for the deaths of Matt and all of his progeny, as well as explain why and how he was able to pull Marcus from the burning building. None of that sounded like fun to the small Telemon, but he needed to feel safe, and he felt that he could only get that feeling in State College, at the feet of his sire. Marcus would be surprised.

------------------------

Thorne typed slowly, making sure he did not hit any wrong keys. The fingers on his left hand were still numb, suffering from nerve damage caused by fire. The flesh would mend itself in a day or so, he knew. He simply needed time. The old Methuselah simply hoped that time was a luxury he had. He had returned to the Telemon Compound earlier in the evening to examine the scene, and had retrieved sensitive documents from the fire marshal and coroner's office. There had not been a child's body recovered from the ashes. Of course, the old vampire acknowledged, there were many bodies that were not recovered. Those that had been near some of the explosives had been all but disintegrated in detonations caused by the fire. The true body count would never be known.

Thorne was concerned, however, that Vidria had escaped. He hoped against hope that she had died, but he knew, of course, that such luck was unlikely. Vidria had lived for millennia, and such achievement was not likely to be thrown away in one night of recklessness or misfortune. Thorne was all but certain that Vidria had survived. He finished installing a new program in his computer. Once each week, Vidria's file would automatically be brought up on his screen, and he would have to enter a code in order to clear it. That, he hoped, would help prevent him from forgetting her again. The computer could not be affected by Vidria's mystical abilities, and thus would not forget. This time, neither would he.

------------------------

Tristan Reilly walked slowly into Albion, once again reflecting for a moment on the dark mood set by the bar. It was dark, and that suited the Irishman just fine. He had come to San Francisco with incredibly high hopes, but had seen one of his closest friends fall. Heinrich Schacter's war against the kindred had come to a sudden end when a child had hurled a hatchet through his chest. Not even Tristan's considerable skill with healing magic had been able to save the vampire hunter. Now all that was left was to say goodbye to the mages he had met in the city. The Akashic Brother had always made certain that he offended no one when he left their domain. One never knew when it would be necessary to return somewhere.

His eyes scanned the front room as he walked through, noticing the same couple that had been at the bar the first time he had come in. The woman gave him the same attention, but this time Tristan did not care. He found no excitement in the feeling of being desired. He wanted only to leave San Francisco. His one good memory of the city would be Kristin Genetti, and he knew that remembering her would forever remind him of the friend he had lost. He knew that he would even need to forget his garou lover, as he was certain she would eventually forget him.

Tristan continued on into the back room, already knowing that Hugh was in the building. He could feel the other mage's presence, a slightly perceptible crackle in the air. As he walked into sight of the other wizard, Tristan saw the same three friends that Hugh had been with that first night. Indeed, they all seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes they had then.

"I heard about what happened," Hugh said as he looked up from the pool table, deciding to wait before he shot at the eight ball. "You have my condolences. I hear Heinrich was very powerful. I don't suppose you'd want to take a night to drink with us and drown your sorrows."

"No," Tristan said in his Irish lilt, the accent seeming lighter than it had at any other point in his visit. "I only stopped by to let you know that I'll be leaving. Heinrich's brother already left this morning. You should have far less competition than you did before."

"The garou are still here," Hugh pointed out, "and there are a lot of them. I've heard that this generation produced an unusually high percentage of shapeshifters. Apparently most of them are deformed or something, but they pose a greater threat than they ever have."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Tristan said evenly. "The garou here are almost all Glass Walkers. They are used to working with humans. At least, they're more used to it than the other tribes of their kind are."

"We're not exactly human," Hugh pointed out. "I sure wish you had checked with us before you allied yourself with the lupines. We had been quite content to play them off the kindred and the human gangsters. Now we're the only thing that can oppose them. I don't think it'll be too long before they turn their claws in our direction."

"Like I said, I'm sure you'll manage," Tristan said again. "They saw well enough what mages can do. They'll be in no hurry to go picking a fight. Besides, now that Luna is gone, anarchs will begin filtering into the city. That should keep the lupines busy enough."

"Great, anarchs," Hugh replied with a scowl. That means more Brujah. "Nothing good comes of those bastards."

"Keep in touch," Tristan said as he turned back toward the door. The Irishman knew that despite the complaints, Hugh was perfectly content with the way the situation had turned out. None of the local mages were killed in the conflict, and now there were fewer potential threats. Tristan knew he would be permitted back in the city should he ever need to return. Not that that should happen anytime in the next fifty years, he thought. Once he figured enough time had passed for Heinrich to have died of old age Tristan would be able to put his comrade's death behind him.

------------------------

Vincenzo Gambioni licked the blood from his hands as he completed his transformation from his crinos form. It had been a long time since he had seen action, and he felt reborn. In a matter of a day his soldiers had managed to either destroy or subjugate all organized crime in the city under the Gambioni family's control. It was a feat that the old man knew he could have accomplished at almost any time. Taking the city had not been the problem, though. The challenge was in holding it. Julian Luna would never have allowed anyone to seize his control. Indeed, no prince would. Now, however, there was no prince. Any who came into the city would have to build a base of power, all the while struggling to hold off the established Gambioni family. Vincenzo was now in control. There were few that would ever be able to challenge him.

The mages, of course, were always present. He had never known for certain just how powerful they were, but he had recently found out. Kristen had reported what Tristan had been able to accomplish, and several of his other soldiers had not hidden the terror they felt when they had worked alongside the destructive magic of Kiefer Schacter. More than ever, Vincenzo was certain that he would never cross the paths of mages if it could be avoided. He was thankful that wizards were extremely rare. It would be easy enough to avoid them.

The mortals would never be a threat. They outnumbered old man Gambioni's garou enforcers by incredible amounts, but there was always the delirium. All a werewolf had to do was shift forms, and any human opposition would be paralyzed with fear. As long as they had no idea what they were facing, and thus did not prepare silver weapons, humans would not endanger the garou.

The only problem that Vincenzo could see was the vampires that would doubtlessly filter into San Francisco. Anarch gangs would wage war across the city. Sabbat packs would probably scout out the area and eventually recommend a full-scale siege. The Camarilla would also send in kindred to regain the city, the one stronghold of Camarilla presence in the Western United States. The one thing that Vincenzo had going for him was that the three factions would fight against each other as much as they ever would against him. As long as he kept his enemies divided, he would be able to protect himself.

The old man looked up at the sky and smiled. The moon was nowhere to be seen, and would not be until late into the following night. The new moon was a special time for the garou. It marked the beginning of a cycle, a time when all garou would feel their strength increase, up until the night of the full moon. The city with the Golden Bay had been cleansed out of sight of the moon, just as prophecy had foretold. Of course, the prophecy also warned that control of San Francisco would be short-lived and would come to a violent end. However, in the time that the garou held the city, there would be a gathering of the greatest bards in the world. Apparently, a great truth would be realized and the garou would discover the existence of a weapon that could be used to prevent the Apocalypse. Vincenzo assumed that the stories would all come together to enlighten the heroes that were present. All he had to do now was wait until the time came.

------------------------

Johnny Yashida walked along the bay, allowing himself a few extra moments to enjoy the scenery before he finally moved on. He had a long trip ahead of him, and wanted to get a good portion of it out of the way before the sun rose. Michelle, Mason, and Uiko had gone ahead, and they would be meeting in four nights in Salt Lake City. Until then, he was free to do as he chose. It had been a long time since he had felt this unencumbered.

"You look a little too serious," a voice said from behind. "Used to be you never stopped smiling. Ever since your clan came here, you've done it less and less."

"I know," Johnny replied. "So what name are you going by now?"

"Saxby," the man replied. He laughed at the look he received from the Telemon, and decided he should explain. "It's a harmless sounding name, isn't it? There's just something a lot less slick about it than the last one."

"Now there's nothing wrong with appearing slick," Johnny countered. "You sure no one's gonna recognize you?"

"I'm in disguise," Saxby answered. "Would you ever recognize me if you didn't already know who I was?"

"I guess not," Johnny admitted. He looked his friend over, trying to suppress the smile that formed on his lips. He was miserable, and did not want to feel anything resembling mirth. The 'disguise' was thorough, though. Gone was the long, brown ponytail. Now his friend had most of his hair shaved, leaving only enough for a short, red-dyed Mohawk. The denim jeans that had been a staple of his wardrobe remained, though there were now far more holes than there had been before. Rather than a shirt, he wore a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off. Chains adorned the ensemble, completing the look of a miscreant punk. He would do an excellent job of blending with Brujah anarchs, the inevitable holders of power in the city.

"I heard about Matt," Saxby said, attempting to offer what sympathy he could for Johnny's extinguished childe. "Thorne said he died well. I guess that at least means something to your clan."

"Yeah," Johnny replied evenly. "Matt was special, but there are others ready to step in and take his place. The Telemon are soldiers. For the clan to be effective as an army, there always has to be a fresh supply of bodies to replace those that fall."

"Thorne said all your clanmates fought bravely," Saxby continued. "He has high hopes for the Telemon."

"No he doesn't," Johnny replied. "Thorne knows as well as I do what's going to happen."

"What do you mean?" Saxby asked, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"My clan is strong on an individual level, and has the most organized hierarchy this side of the Tremere," Johnny answered. "But it has one fatal flaw, and someday that will destroy the Telemon. In time I'll probably be the only one left. Mason and Uiko will either go Caitiff or start bloodlines of their own. Michelle will probably get killed as I flee those that hunt me."

"You sure people will hunt you?" Saxby asked. "Paranoid much, are you?"

"The Sabbat knows how powerful my clan's blood is. They'll hunt me," Johnny assured his friend. "Unlike elders, I don't have the abilities of a centuries-old vampire to go with the high generation. Eventually I'll be able to disappear from view, I'm sure of that. I doubt any of the others will be as lucky."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what Thorne said," Saxby admitted. "He didn't want you to know, though. He was afraid that if you felt doomed, you might work to make it happen."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy," Johnny agreed. "Well, you can tell your clanmate that his secret is safe with me. "I'm gonna be the last one to start rumors that my clan just doesn't have what it takes. After seeing Marcus in action, though, I don't think there's much doubt. I didn't even need to see him dominated to figure out the truth."

"So what do you have planned now?" Saxby asked, quickly trying to divert his friend's morbid mood.

"I have to go catch up with Michelle," Johnny replied. "She has a tendency to get in trouble when she's out on the road all alone."

"And you'll be a stabilizing influence?"

"As much as I've always been," Johnny shot back with a slight grin, a hint of his common light mood shining through. "Anyway, we're just going for a short cross-country jaunt. What's the worst that could possibly happen?"

"I don't even want to think about it," Saxby said. "But I'm sure you'll tell me all about it next time we run into each other."

"Whenever that is," Johnny muttered. "That's a story for another day. Take it easy." Without another word, Johnny glanced around, and within moments was wrapped within a swirl of shadow. Even as Saxby watched, Johnny's form vanished from view.

"Good luck," Saxby said to the chilly night air. "I think you'll be needing even more than I do."

Fin

(and this time, I really, really, mean it.)

Well, actually, there'll be a little bit more, sorta kinda in a way...