Le Bon Temps Roule

by Nevermore

Against the backdrop of a Sabbat siege in New Orleans, young kindred try to make sense of their lives and relationships. Let the good times roll....... (Complete)

6. Le Bon Temps Roule, Chapter 5

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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CHAPTER 5

I

Johnny Yashida walked into Gregory Ash's home once again, not particularly looking forward to this meeting of the primogen. He and his clan had been able to maneuver around being dismissed from the city in his first encounter with the kindred leaders of New Orleans, but only after some debate and cajoling. By the second week it seemed as if the Telemon's presence would be in doubt once again, as one of the two challengers for the seat of Toreador primogen was firmly against the presence of the mercenaries. By the time of the Wednesday meeting, however, no Toreador primogen had yet been decided. It was not until two days later that David Kingman, an outspoken critic of the Telemon, was able to consolidate his power. Now he was able to take part in a meeting, and Yashida knew he faced an uphill battle in continuing his clan's employment. Well, at least it looks like I'll probably survive another siege he thought, trying to find the silver lining in his clan's latest cloud. What are the odds of that?

As before, Yashida was frisked before being led into the basement. He took the walk down to the meeting room, his surroundings beginning to feel more familiar with his repeated exposure. The guards knocked, the door was opened, and Johnny was ushered in to face what would likely be one of the most difficult meetings he had ever had.

"Welcome back, Mr. Yashida," a new man in a black suit said from the head of the table. Judging from the man's placement at the table, Yashida guessed that this was a Ventrue. Until a new prince was chosen, New Orleans was still technically considered a Ventrue city, and it appeared as if the Ventrue had finally found a capable man to replace Southpaw. "My name is Timothy Sheridan," the man said evenly. "I'm the new Ventrue primogen. Southpaw has finally been relieved of the unwanted burden of leading our clan."

"I'm sure he's thankful for that," Johnny said truthfully, knowing that the position of primogen was something Southpaw was simply not ready for. To the young Ventrue's credit, he had seemed able to recognize his insufficiency in the role and had probably recruited Sheridan himself.

"Of course," Sheridan replied, his face revealing no trace of emotion. Johnny made a mental note to never play poker with this new primogen. "Won't you join us?" Sheridan asked, gesturing toward a seat at the table.

"No thanks," the Telemon said. "The table is for the primogen. I have no place seated amongst you."

"Well said," O'Reilly put in, looking over the Telemon as if he was searching for something. "But we just decided that we're tired of having to crane our necks up to make eye contact with you. Besides, I think Sheridan hates the thought of having to look up at the hired help." A man in a black leather biker jacket, another new face, chuckled slightly at the Malkavian's words, but Johnny hid his own amusement and took the seat that was offered. Yashida looked amongst the faces and saw that a third new face was also amongst them. This man, seated in the seat of the Toreador, was the source of Yashida's anxiety.

"Well, I think we know the matter we're here to discuss," Sheridan said, seemingly calling the meeting to order. "There are many things to cover, so let's get right to the matter of the Telemon and get that over with first."

"Excellent idea," Carlos Martin said. "Shall we just go right to the vote, or does anyone voice objections to their presence?" he asked, directing his gaze directly at the Toreador.

"You know I want him gone," the man said. "My name is David Kingman," the Toreador said, introducing himself to Johnny. "You killed my predecessor, and I want you the hell out of my city."

"That's a serious accusation," Sheridan stated. "I assume you have evidence to back up your claim."

"Nothing concrete," Kingman admitted. "But you all know how Yashida seemed to get off on the wrong foot with Du Lenne. He must have known that Du Lenne would eventually decide to cease their employment, and so the Telemon decided to extinguish him to save their substantial income."

"A valid accusation," Jasper commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. Johnny hid his surprise at the Gangrel's apparent support of the Toreador, hoping that Jasper was not yet done talking. His patience was rewarded. "But by your own admission you lack any evidence," Jasper added. "I would think by now you could have even fabricated some if there was any basis at all. You expect us to buy into any of this?"

"No," Kingman responded. "It is not my desire to have the Telemon punished. This is not a trial, so I don't need to convince you of anything. Let's be honest, shall we? Du Lenne was an overbearing snob with no ability to lead a dog on a leash, no less an entire clan of independent-minded kindred that by their very nature are more interested in creating beauty than waging war. I have been told that even during this siege he was planning to make a play for control of the city. Such foolishness deserves the fate he received; I will shed no tears for his loss. That does not mean, however, that I will gladly continue to share my home with the mercenaries I believe responsible for his death. As I said, this is not a trial; it's only a business meeting. The business to be decided is whether or not to continue the contract of the Telemon, and I state that I will not agree to such a proposition. From my understanding of Mr. Yashida's terms, my decision means that he and his clanmates will now leave the city."

"Fool!" Calaban spat. "You think we can hold off the Sabbat as well without the Telemon?"

"Probably not," Kingman answered evenly. "That doesn't concern me, though. In the end I believe we will prevail. We can win without the grunts."

"Only at the cost of more of our own dead," Martin pointed out. "Are you so willing to throw away the lives of those you now claim to lead?"

"I'm tired of the killings," the man in the leather jacket put in." Yashida figured it safe to assume that this was the latest Brujah chosen to represent his clan. "My brothers and sisters in the streets are being cut down by some guy the younger ones are calling the Angel of Death. Either you hire the Telemon again and have them give us some support, or you send some of your own troops out there to do something productive. 'Cause otherwise there won't be any of us left to cover your asses when your time comes."

"Agreed," Calaban put in. "The Brujah and Nosferatu have proven to be especially vulnerable to the Sabbat invaders, while the rest of you hide behind your thick walls and rows of guards. The Telemon have wiped out an entire pack on their own, but I have seen none of the clans of this city having anywhere near as much success. Extend the Telemons' contract and send them out there. My clan is sick of your impotence – we need help."

"That's why the Telemon are valuable to us," Martin said, directing a piercing gaze at Kingman. "Having them takes the heat off of those of us that would hold the city. I don't have to expose my own people if I can send the Telemon to do the same job."

"How practical of you," Kingman retorted. "But what happens if the Telemon decide you are as much a threat to them as Du Lenne was? Do you actually think you have derived any loyalty from the mercenaries?"

"Do you actually think I've had a lobotomy?" Martin asked in reply. "They're hired guns, and no more. The fact that they have never worked for anyone but the Camarilla helps their case, but is not dispositive. In the end there is, of course, no loyalty beyond the money they're paid. At least we know what their motivation is, though."

"Meaning?" Kingman asked defensively.

At that moment there was another knock on the door, matching the cadence that had been used when Yashida had been led into the basement. Every eye at the table turned toward the door, and the two guards grasped Uzis in their hands as they moved to see who was outside. One opened the door slowly as the other covered him. Two guards from upstairs were waiting, flanking a third man that Johnny had never seen before. The man was short, standing under five and a half feet tall, and appeared to be about fifty years old. He was obviously of Japanese heritage, and had a cleanly shaven, bald head.

"Can I help you? Sheridan asked. "This is only a meeting for the primogen. If you have any business with me or anyone else, you will have to wait outside."

"No," the man said with a thin smile. "I'm not here to ask favors or make announcements," he said in a low, monotone voice holding only the faintest hint of a Japanese accent. "I am here to join you. I am the Toreador primogen."

"What?!" Kingman shouted, rising from his chair. "I had but one challenger for my position, and she's dead now. Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Yoshi," the man answered. "As I said, I am the Toreador primogen."

"Oh, really?" Kingman asked. "I think most of our clanmates would disagree."

"Not once they find out you are antitribu," Yoshi replied. Johnny hoped he hid his surprise better than at least the Brujah did. The Brujah was kneeling up in his seat, wearing a devilish smile on his face. Antitribu, Johnny thought, knowing that such an accusation would require considerable evidence. Yoshi was claiming that Kingman was a member of the antitribe of the Toreador, those that had turned against the traditional Toreador affiliation with the Camarilla and instead joined the Sabbat.

"You shouldn't make such reckless accusations," Kingman shot back threateningly. "I've killed kindred for far less."

"You won't kill me," Yoshi said evenly, his voice betraying neither fear nor confidence. He seemed as if he was stating a fact that should have been obvious to all. "You have this one chance to leave this building and run back to your Sabbat masters. If you do not do so, you will be destroyed. The choice is yours."

"I am not Sabbat," Kingman responded. "You would need proof to support your claim, and I know none can be produced against me, for I am innocent of your slanderous charges."

"I have no interest in presenting proof," Yoshi answered. "You have made it clear that you vote to have the Telemon sent away from the city. I consider this a foolish decision that could lead not only to the ruin of our clan, but also to the expulsion of the Camarilla from the city. I disagree with your leadership, and I thus make a proper challenge to your position. I don't need to prove complicity with the Sabbat to have you removed."

"It's not quite as simple as making a challenge," Kingman answered. "You need to have other leaders accept your actions."

"The Toreador of this city have, unfortunately, become used to being followers," Yoshi replied. "They will follow whoever seems strong enough and willing to lead them. I fit that description. As for any other leaders in this city, there is no prince to stop me from creating a civil war within my own clan, if that is what it comes to. The other primogen, I think, will not support you. You oppose them all on the one decision that was critical enough to bring them all here even with the city under siege. The Brujah and Nosferatu will support me because they want to avenge their losses. None of the other clans will give them the support they desire, so they will want every hired gun you can get your hands on – including the Telemon. The Tremere and Ventrue will wish to prevent exposing their own people to the diablerie of the Sabbat, and thus also want the Telemon. They will therefore support me, as well. The Malkavians will do what is in their best interest, and having the Telemon as a human shield definitely seems to be advantageous, so they will also support me."

"So you think you can just waltz in and have the other primogen vote me out?" Kingman asked. "Our people will not allow it."

"Perhaps some of the elders would object to permitting such a dangerous precedent," Yoshi admitted, "but you will not have a chance to take your case before them. I have already spoken to the three that count, and they have lent their support, thus abandoning you." Kingman's face went a shade paler, revealing that he knew exactly who Yoshi had spoken to in order to undercut the new primogen's political support. "I say again, Kingman, return to your Sabbat masters or be destroyed. As before, the choice is up to you."

"And if you fail to destroy me?" Kingman asked menacingly, his hands tightening into fists.

"That is not possible," Yoshi said evenly. "However, I will humor you. If you challenge me and win, you will remain as primogen. There is no one else in our clan willing to make a play for control. You will have your way, and the Telemon will be expelled."

"Then I allow your challenge," Kingman said magnanimously. "A duel?"

"I accept," Yoshi said, "and I choose swords as the weapon."

"A foolish choice," Kingman replied. "Even before I was embraced, I was the finest swordsman in England."

"As you may have noticed, I am not from England," Yoshi answered, not appearing willing to be drawn into a pissing contest with his rival.

"The grounds include a rather spacious yard," Sheridan interjected. "If you two happen to have your weapons with you, we can get this over with immediately and return to business."

"Fine with me," Kingman said.

"As you wish," Yoshi responded. "The sooner, the better."

The primogen walked silently into Ash's 'yard.' The area behind the main building would have been better described as a garden. The surprisingly large enclosure held a beautiful array of plants, with a broad willow tree dominating the center. For the slightest moment Yashida wondered what the property taxes would have to be on a small estate like this in the middle of the Garden District, but then immediately remembered the Homestead Exemption. Ash had likely never paid a penny.

"You need not worry about any noise back here," Martin informed the two combatants. "I will make sure the sounds of this battle do not reach the ears of the mortals." Kingman nodded in reply, but Yoshi ignored the comment, instead kneeling on the ground with his katana before him, closing his eyes as if to focus his concentration.

"Any time now would be nice," Kingman complained, drawing his own longsword from its surprisingly unadorned scabbard. Without a word Yoshi stood and bowed his head slightly toward his opponent. Kingman did not bother to return the gesture. "To the death, then," Kingman announced.

"I never thought I'd see two Toreador have the balls to fight to the death," someone muttered. Yashida looked to his right and saw the Brujah representative smiling over at him, and he smiled back and shuffled his feet over in the direction of the Brujah.

"So how'd you end up here?" Johnny asked.

"Well, Sandy's been coming to the meetings since this all started, but she got whacked a couple of nights ago," the Brujah said. "She told me it was a lot more fun at the meetings than she expected, so when they asked for volunteers to come up here to get some help from our would-be leaders, I volunteered. You know, she was right, this shit's a blast. I mean, it's even better than going to watch the Brass."

Johnny's smile broadened as he pondered the comparison between a meeting of the primogen and a minor-league hockey game. Somehow, it just seemed to fit. Any other thoughts were cut off, however, by a sharp clang of steel on steel. Yashida looked up at the two challengers for the position of primogen, trying the gauge the odds of either one winning. Yoshi was immediately pressing the attack, whirling at incredible speeds, keeping Kingman firmly on the defensive. Johnny attributed some of the Japanese Toreador's initial advantage to his weapon. The katana was a faster, lighter weapon made for use against the lacquered armor of medieval samurai. The longsword that Kingman was using, however, was developed in an area that was far richer in minerals. That meant more metal, which in turn meant more metal armor. The longsword was slower, but balanced heavier in the blade. It might be harder for Kingman to be quick enough to find an opening, but if he cut his opponent, it would likely cause a more serious wound than one of Yoshi's thin slices.

Almost on cue with Yashida's thoughts, Yoshi scored first blood, leaving a paper-thin slash in Kingman's left sleeve, causing his white shirt to quickly become stained deep red. Neither man spoke, instead focusing all of his attention and energy on his rival. After the first cut, Kingman had fallen back a couple of steps to reevaluate Yoshi, while the Japanese Toreador allowed him the space as he seemed to gather his energy for another pass.

In a flash the battle was rejoined, with each man seeming to move even faster than he had before. Yashida saw the looks of awe on some of his counterparts' faces and could only smile. He had to admit that he lacked the skills of either man, but he could at least have kept up with Kingman, if not Yoshi. Their undead bodies had become little more than blurs, but Yashida was able to dissect each move and examine each man's strategy. It was one of the first signs of his potent blood that he had ever seen. He had grown stronger recently, and was only now beginning to realize how different he was from the others that were gathered around. Yashida's mind seemed to work faster, imparting the ability to analyze what was before him. Compared to the others, he felt as if he was almost watching the duel in slow motion. The thought was both exhilarating and unsettling.

Kingman was again on the defensive, with Yoshi pressing him steadily backward toward the willow tree. The Englishman seemed to sense that he was running out of room, and suddenly, unexpectedly, switched tactics and lunged at his smaller opponent. The move caught Yoshi completely by surprise, and only his superior skills allowed him to partially dodge a slash that would have easily killed a mortal man. As it was, Kingman's sword cleaved into Yoshi's left shoulder, almost completely taking the arm off. Yoshi grunted, but did not cry out. He released his left hand's grip on the katana and swung in a wide arc with his right, forcing Kingman to back off a couple of steps. Yashida recognized the move for what it was – a delaying tactic, and no more. Yoshi was in trouble, and Johnny knew that his clan would very likely be leaving the city.

Kingman circled warily, striking conservatively, keeping enough pressure on Yoshi to prevent him from concentrating on healing his wounds, while at the same time preventing Yoshi from scoring a major hit that would even up the odds a little. Yoshi kept his left side away from his opponent, and Johnny could see the look of disgust on the Brujah's face as he watched Yoshi's arm swing around behind him, held on by only a thin piece of flesh.

"If you just kneel down, I will make the end quick," Kingman offered. "The fight is obviously mine. You were a good challenger, but there's no shame in losing to the best."

Yoshi did not reply with words, but what happened next made his intentions clear. Johnny saw a flickering, purple-blue flame ignite on Yoshi's sword, the pale light licking at the steel and dancing up and down the blade. Kingman's eyes went wide with surprise, but he maintained his calm demeanor.

"A magical sword?" he asked through clenched teeth. "I hardly think that's fair."

Yoshi did not reply, but moved toward his adversary once again. The katana swung out in a tight arc, and then immediately came back in a backhanded swing. Kingman completely dodged both attacks, clearly unwilling to allow the two blades to meet. The Japanese Toreador pressed the attack harder, seeming to grow faster with every inch of distance he closed between him and his foe. Kingman continued to dodge completely, until he stepped badly and lost his balance momentarily. The two swords met in a fierce ring of metal, and the fire along the edge of Yoshi's blade died instantly. He smiled thinly, and Kingman could not hide his surprise that there had apparently been no effect. Only then did Yoshi grasp his sword once again with his left hand, revealing that he had used his moments of advantage to heal his grievous wound.

Kingman snorted as he realized he had been tricked into believing the sword had some sort of mystical powers, and he attempted to press the attack once more. "I had you once already," he gloated. "I can do it again."

Yoshi continued to hold his silence and parried each of his opponent's strikes, apparently with ease. His katana moved effortlessly, almost as if the sword was guiding its owner rather than the other way around. Kingman attacked from the left, from the right, and tried to press head-on through Yoshi's defenses. None of his attacks succeeded. Johnny could see that the advantage had swung completely around and decided that Kingman had lost the only chance he was likely to get during his duel. Kingman's eyes began to grow unsettled, and Johnny knew that the Englishman was likely getting to the end of his blood supply. A vampire could only hold so much blood within his body, and the superhumanly fast motion of the vampires required both of them to use their mystical vitae. Kingman had the look of a marathon runner at the twenty-fourth mile, wondering if he had enough in him to reach the finish line.

Johnny noticed that Yoshi was not looking much better, especially after he had used a great amount of his blood to mend the wound in his shoulder. The gash was obviously not completely healed, but the arm was no longer hanging by a thread. Yoshi began to press the attack himself, aiming a group of strikes at Kingman's midsection. Johnny remembered Uiko using a similar tactic in one of his most recent training sessions, and guessed that Yoshi was setting Kingman up, preparing his for an unexpected slash at either his head or legs. Even as the thought crossed Johnny's mind, the expected strike came, aimed directly at Kingman's eyes. The Englishman appeared to have guessed Yoshi's intentions, and blocked the attack even as his body crumpled. It was only then that Johnny realized what Yoshi had been doing – he had actually been planning to sneak a kick into his opponent's midsection. With both swords raised high, the leg sneaked through lightning-fast, catching the Englishman off-guard and knocking him off-balance. In one, fluid motion Yoshi took a half-step back, gathering his strength, and then a full step forward, slashing Kingman's right leg at the knee. The razor sharp katana bit through Kingman's flesh and bone, severing the joint at the point of contact. Kingman howled in pain as he tumbled down on his right side. He dropped his sword and grabbed his lower leg, pressing it to his knee, as if to reattach it. In his moment of panic the duel was forgotten, and Yoshi brought his sword down in a vicious arc, severing Kingman's head from its shoulders.

"I believe we may now continue our meeting, yes?" Sheridan asked, not missing a beat. No congratulations were offered or accepted. The group of vampires walked quickly back inside the building to continue with their business.

As they all walked through the door, Yoshi looked the men over briefly, as if deciding whether to speak. "Is the vote on the Telemon the only major issue this evening?" he asked weakly. All heads nodded in reply. "Then know that the Toreador support the renewal of the mercenaries' contract," he muttered. "I believe that should create the required unanimous vote. I will now take my leave of you."

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"I'm glad you agreed to speak with me," Southpaw commented as he and Yashida sat down across from each other, with Southpaw taking his sire's old seat behind the mahogany desk.

"I've come to realize just how important your problem is," Johnny answered. "The primogen are at each other's throats, and they're all playing the same game – they're hiding as much as they can so that the other clans take more of a beating. They simply can't work together. I was hired to help defeat this siege, and every night I become more convinced that victory is impossible without a prince."

"And we can't elect a prince until we discover who's responsible for the death of the last one," Southpaw concluded. "It seems your problem and mine are inseparable."

"Seems that way," Johnny agreed. "Not that I mind, of course. I'll be well paid for solving your problem. In fact, I'll be better paid to play detective than I would be to risk my life fighting the Sabbat. The one problem is that I happen to like hanging out with Brujah, and they're getting their asses kicked seven ways to Sunday. This has to stop."

"Have you uncovered anything yet?" Southpaw asked.

"I've checked with several sources in the city, but not much has come up," Yashida replied. If Southpaw was surprised that Yashida had a network of informants in the city, he hid it well. "It seems that, of course, just about everyone had the means and motive to kill him, but few would realistically have done it. Are you so certain the Sabbat was not involved?"

"Ash knew about the Sabbat's siege," Southpaw pointed out. "He had taken every conceivable precaution against assassination."

"Meaning that whoever it was probably knew him," Johnny concluded. "That's the only way they could have gotten close enough."

"But they would have had to alter the memories of the guards," the Ventrue reasoned. "Someone would have to have seen, or at least heard, something."

"How much do you trust the guards?" Yashida asked.

"All of them are blood bound, either to me, Ash, or Fleming," Southpaw responded. "It would have gone against a blood bond to willingly destroy my sire. Even bribing a guard to look the other way would not have been an option for an assassin. I can't imagine how they did it."

"So we're back to it not being an inside job?" Johnny asked, trying to figure out exactly which theory seemed more plausible at the moment.

"I don't know," Southpaw admitted. "The defenses were as tight as they could have possibly been. I'm not saying the building was completely impregnable, of course. I don't think it's possible to make anything impregnable in our world. But it's inconceivable to me that someone not only beat the defenses to get in, but also killed my sire without any hint of the attack, and then beat the defenses a second time on the way out."

"Does seem unlikely," Yashida agreed. The small Telemon wondered whether he would have been able to achieve such a feat, and decided against it. He might have been able to get into the building, and maybe even back out again. But going through the building, filled as it was with guards, and then killing the prince without a sound, seemed a little farfetched. He doubted anyone under a hundred years old could have met with such success. "Do you mind if I look around the house?" Johnny asked suddenly. "Maybe I'll see something you and your people overlooked."

"I don't know," Southpaw replied hesitantly. "If I agree, you'll have to stay out of certain areas."

"Like where?" Johnny asked curiously.

"Certain areas," Southpaw repeated. "I'll make it perfectly clear where you can and can't go before you conduct your search."

"I want to do it now," Johnny answered.

"Out of the question," Southpaw stated emphatically, his brow twitching slightly as he spoke. Yashida could tell that the Ventrue was getting extremely tense.

"Look," Johnny said, trying to explain the situation, "every minute has your guards walking over the floors and checking the windows more and more. Any clues, should we be lucky to find any this long after the fact, are almost certain to have been destroyed by the time you secure everything enough to be comfortable with me looking through the building. Look, you can walk right along beside me if you want," the Telemon compromised. "I'm not up to anything bad. I just want the money for solving your little problem, and I think it's best that I start at the very beginning."

"Very well," the Ventrue relented. "I'll allow you to see everything but the basement."

"I've already been in the basement," Yashida pointed out.

"Not that basement," Southpaw answered, referring to the highly secure room that served as the meeting place of the primogen. "There's a second basement, adjoining the first. I can't permit you to go in there."

"Why not?" Yashida asked.

"Because that's the certain place that's off limits," Southpaw said evenly. "That is the condition of your search. You don't need to agree, but you also don't need to look through the house, either."

"I take your point," Johnny replied. "Let's get this underway, then. Show me the house."

The two vampires began to walk slowly through the building, Johnny carefully looking over every inch of space that was shown to him. He paid special attention to alarms on the windows and the motion sensors in the halls. He watched the guards, noting that each one moved in what appeared to be a set course through the house. Once their pattern was discerned, he also counted off the time each took to go through the whole course. Yashida wanted to make certain that he would be able to break into the building at any point should the need ever arise.

As he searched for any clues, he increasingly felt as if the need for a break-in would arise. As Southpaw had assured him, there appeared to be no sign of forced entry. In fact, none of the windows appeared to have been opened in years.

"Have you found anything?" Southpaw asked after about forty-five minutes of careful examination of every window and doorway.

"No," Johnny admitted reluctantly. "If someone came in here unbidden, I can't see how they did it."

"Neither could we."

"How was Ash killed?" Johnny asked, hoping that this time he would gain more information than he had the last time he had asked the question.

"I already told you that's an internal matter," Southpaw stated evenly. "I haven't changed my mind about that."

"You've already come this far," Johnny pointed out. "You're allowing me to go through your home, going over your defenses with a fine-tooth comb. After all that, you still won't tell me how your sire was killed? It might be important."

"If I tell you, it's for your ears only," Southpaw replied. "I don't want this getting around."

"Okay," Yashida agreed. He hoped he would finally get a clue that might allow him to get closer to the five million dollars he wanted so badly.

"He was diablerized," Southpaw said.

"Diablerie points toward the Sabbat, despite what you say. But that's it?" Johnny asked. "Don't you have any other details for me? Come on, there has to be more than that. Was he shot? Stabbed? Beaten with a rolling pin? What's the deal?"

"There were no physical wounds," Southpaw answered. "Well, no wounds except for the bite marks, that is. He might have been knocked around a little bit, but there's not really much of a way to tell for sure. It's not like vampires bruise very easily."

"A good point," Johnny admitted. "Did you look for any broken bones? If there was a struggle, there would probably be broken ribs."

"The body seemed intact," the Ventrue said.

"Well, I guess that would likely rule out the Sabbat."

"It appeared that the prince was simply overwhelmed and pinned down while his killer drained him dry," Southpaw stated.

"Either that, or he let his attacker kill him," Johnny replied.

"And what are the chances of that?" Southpaw asked.

"He could have been dominated so thoroughly that he stood there while the assassin disposed of him."

"I seriously doubt it," Southpaw answered. "My sire had a strong will. He would not have simply allowed anyone to kill him. In fact, he rarely let anyone, even me, within arm's reach of him. He was a little paranoid."

"As are most princes," Johnny put in. "You know, every answer I get only seems to lead to more questions. Where was he killed?"

"In his chambers," Southpaw said. "We haven't gotten to them yet."

"Let's go there now," Johnny said. The two kindred walked down the hall to a flight of stairs, up to the third floor, and into a door halfway down that level's hallway. Southpaw stopped, took out a key, and opened the thick oak door, not bothering to stop long enough to admire the intricate carving of what Johnny guessed to be a depiction of St. George's battle against a dragon.

"This is it," the Ventrue said, motioning for the Telemon to follow him into the room. Johnny stepped lightly into what seemed a different world. If the regent's house was richly decorated, his own room was nothing short of opulent.

"Nice digs," Johnny commented, looking over the Persian rug, the mahogany furniture, and the ornate tapestries hanging on the walls. "Are there any windows?"

"Yes," the Ventrue answered. He walked across the room and pulled back a tapestry, revealing one large window.

"That's not exactly the best way to increase security," Yashida commented. "I would have expected him to have that bricked up."

"It's two-inch thick bullet-resistant glass," the Ventrue explained. "There's no way to get through that without raising a general alarm and allowing the regent plenty of time to escape any attackers."

"Does the window open?" Johnny asked curiously.

"Yes," Southpaw admitted. "But it's got a magnetic lock with a ten-digit passcode, plus a second, manual locking mechanism on the inside. It would be easier just to shoot through it."

"No doubt about that," Johnny answered, "but the easiest way isn't necessarily the best way if you need to assassinate the occupant." He pored over the manual locking mechanism, impressed at how intricate the workings seemed to be. Before anyone could even attempt to open it, they would have to figure it out. Then, once it was figured out, they would have to find a way to open it from the outside. It seemed impossible. "Anyone ever come in here anymore?" Johnny asked absently. "There any chance at all that if this was the entry point we would be able to find any clues, or are they likely to have been cleaned up by some ghoul maid?"

"No one has been in here since we completed our investigation," Southpaw said.

"I see," Johnny replied, not letting on at all how interesting he found the information.

"Are those motion sensors outside?" he asked, seeing three mechanisms outside the window. He craned his neck and looked at the top of the windowpane, and saw a fourth. A different sensor guarded each of the four sides of the window, making it impossible to approach from outside.

"There are four of them," Southpaw said, confirming the Telemon's own analysis.

"Are they all working properly?" Johnny asked.

"We already checked them," Southpaw said.

"Mind if I borrow one?" Johnny asked. "I'd like to see for myself if they were tampered with."

"I don't think so," the Ventrue replied.

"The house would be almost as secure without one of the four," Johnny pointed out. "They only added one extra layer of defense because of the regent's presence. Now that he's gone, you don't really need it, do you?"

"I guess not," Southpaw admitted.

"You can give me the one on the bottom," Johnny said. The other three would probably still cover every bit of the window anyway. It looks like they all overlap each other."

"Fine," the Ventrue agreed. He opened the manual lock, and then looked at Johnny with what appeared to be an irritated expression. "You mind turning around while I enter the code?"

"Oh, not at all," Johnny answered innocently. "You still think I'm up to something?"

"Always," Southpaw said with a grin that belied his professed suspicion. Johnny heard the Ventrue tapping on the keypad, but paid him the courtesy of not trying to watch without permission. Once the locks were undone, Southpaw started to lean outside the window.

"I could do that for you," Yashida offered.

"I got it," the Ventrue assured him.

"How much do you know about security equipment?" the Telemon asked. "Let me do it. At least if I break something, I'll know what I did and won't think it was done by the assassin."

"Good point," the Ventrue agreed. Southpaw pulled his torso back through the window, betraying a slightly relieved expression. Just as Johnny was about to lean out, the door to the room opened suddenly and two armed guards rushed in.

"What do you want?" Southpaw asked.

"The motion sensors just went off," one of the guards stated evenly.

"No shit," Southpaw replied. "I wonder why that happened."

"So the situation is under control?"

"Yes," the Ventrue assured his sentries. "We're checking for any signs of tampering,"

"Yes, sir," both guards responded at once, and turned to leave the room.

"Well, I guess they're working right now," Johnny surmised.

"Guess so," the Ventrue agreed.

Without another word Johnny leaned out the window and started to examine the bottom sensor, checking how it was attached to the exterior wall, and double-checking that it was supplied with electricity from the building. "You have a knife I can borrow?" Johnny asked.

"Why?" Southpaw asked.

"I need to cut these wires out here, and I don't have a knife," Yashida explained. "If you prefer, I guess I could go to the trouble of unhooking all this wiring, but that would probably take about an hour. I figured you'd have better things to do with your time. You telling me you can't afford to replace the wiring?"

"Not at all."

"You know, whether I find anything or not, you should probably replace all these sensors anyway," Johnny said. "At least before anyone else moves into the room, that is."

"Probably," the Ventrue agreed.

Johnny glanced back at his host as Southpaw dug a knife out of his pocket. "You should probably watch as I take the knife to the wires," Johnny said. "If anything else ever goes wrong here, I don't want you blaming me for shorting out the system or something."

"Fine," Southpaw grumbled. Yashida smiled as he went to work detaching the camera from the building. Judging from Southpaw's tone, the Telemon guessed that he had accomplished his goal of irritating the Ventrue. Serves him right for making me wait this long to get a guided tour.

"So, is there anything else of interest?" Johnny asked a few minutes later as he climbed back into the room.

"No," Southpaw said. "Just more of the same."

"What if we leave the rest of the examination until some other time?" Johnny suggested. "You seem to have a lot of windows in the building, and it's gonna take a long time to check them all. Your house seems secure enough. I can't imagine how anyone got in here. I'm gonna check this sensor, and I'll get back to you in a couple of nights to let you know if I found anything."

"Great," Southpaw replied, his mood seeming to brighten with the prospect of the tedious search coming to an end. The Ventrue escorted his Telemon guest to the front door without another word, and Johnny walked quickly into the night. I can't believe that was so easy, he thought, suppressing a chuckle. Michelle is gonna love this.

II

K.T. took the boxes of ammunition from the paper bags in which one of Roi's messengers had delivered them. Ten boxes of fifty rounds, the mercenary noted with approval. Part of him was certain that it was no coincidence that bullets seemed easier to come by as he grew less subtle in his tactics. A small part of the Gangrel still resisted his nightly flaunting of the Masquerade, but the truth was he would never be able to achieve the body count he desired if he played by the rules. The job had ceased to be about defeating the Camarilla quickly enough to get out of town and move on to Philip's next assignment. Now the job was death, pure and simple.

No thoughts ran through K.T. Corben's head as he filled each of his eight speed-loaders with rounds and then went about cleaning the Ruger itself. He had learned days ago to stop thinking, as that invariable led to thoughts of Erica. Thoughts of Erica led to pain, and pain led to confusion. The mercenary was tired of being confused and had been surprised to find that endless violence provided him with an escape from every thought and memory that seemed to make his very soul ache. He dug farther into the bag, finding a Colt 1911 at the bottom, along with three extra clips. The mercenary smiled thinly as he tossed the large handgun across the room, sending it skidding along the floor to a stop against the wall. He appreciated the gift, but it had been decades since he had used the 1911. It was simply no longer as comfortable for him as the revolver was.

He stood and walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, his long hair hanging down over his face as he gazed at the file that lay on the floor. His newest target's name was Paulie Hazen, a Brujah that generally hung out down in the French Quarter with his three childer. This job could get a little dicey, K.T. realized. Not only would he likely be facing four combat-tested Camarilla Brujah, but any job in or near the French Quarter brought with it the danger of encountering the Krewe of Steele. Its name inspired by the New Orleans krewes that organized and held Mardi Gras parades and balls, the Krewe of Steele was the gang of enforcers founded by a Toreador known simply as Steele. Almost a century earlier the Toreador, under the orders of a prince from their own clan, had declared the Quarter off-limits to vampire-induced violence, and Steele and his ruthless coterie had been chosen to enforce the edict. The members of the Krewe of Steele were taken from all around the city, and over time membership had begun to include non-Toreador. The true identities of the members was never known for sure, though, as all of them wore masks to conceal their faces when performing their assigned patrol and enforcement duties. The only thing that was known for sure, in fact, was that after decades of training and combat, no one in his right mind would ever want to run into even a single member of the Krewe of Steele in the shadows and alleyways of the Quarter.

I can't wait until Roi decides to have me start hunting down and killing members of the Krewe, K.T. thought sourly. When that happens, I guess it'll be safe to assume he's done with me. He shook his head to focus his thoughts again and continued to look over the file, making certain that he had memorized the faces in each of the four pictures. A light knock at the door broke the mercenary's concentration, and he grabbed his Ruger and raised it slowly, wondering who in the city could have found him.

"Come in," he muttered menacingly, hoping the tone of his voice would scare off any mortals that might interrupt him. In response to his words, the door opened slowly, revealing Erica and a young woman that K.T. did not recognize.

"Hi, K.T.," Erica said sheepishly as she looked over her friend. From her angle she could only see K.T.'s body leaning over the side of the bed. His long, sandy-colored hair obscured any view she would have gotten of his face had he been wearing his accustomed ponytail.

"What do you want?" K.T. asked venomously, his eyes immediately settling upon Erica's newest friend. The girl appeared to be no older than nineteen, and stood about five and a half feet tall. Her curly, obviously bleached blonde hair came down to her shoulders, and her green eyes betrayed her unease. She was fairly thin, and wore blue jeans and a green Tulane sweatshirt. No response came from Erica, so K.T. continued. "Who's your new friend?"

"Are you okay?" Erica asked, her voice clearly containing as much fear as it did concern.

"Like you care," K.T. responded, standing up and whipping his head back, throwing his hair out of his face. "Either tell me what you want or get out," K.T. snarled. "What, you want money?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "Little Ventrue can't find a job?" In the back of his mind a small voice was asking the mercenary why he was acting the way he was. Part of him wanted him to calm down, to try to discuss the problems that he and Erica had. That voice was kept completely bottled up, however, dominated by his more aggressive side, which had finally been released after years of restraint. The Gangrel was once again every bit as much the beast as anyone in his clan ever was.

"I have money," Erica said, her voice almost a whisper. K.T. saw his onetime companion back up a half step, and a thin smile came to his face. He enjoyed scaring her. She deserves to be scared, he decided. After the way she treated me, she should be happy that all I want to do is frighten her. "I just wanted to see how you're doing," Erica explained. "I've heard some things."

"Such as?" K.T. asked with amusement. He could only imagine what the stories sounded like by the time they reached Erica's ears.

"I heard you've killed twenty Brujah just this week," Erica said. As she spoke the words, her friend backed up a noticeable step, openly betraying the fear she was feeling.

"It was twenty three," K.T. corrected, "and four Nosferatu, too." The Nosferatu had attacked him from some shadows when he opened fire on a couple of Brujah, and he was forced to kill them in self-defense. He regretted extinguishing them, though, as there had always been something about the sewer rats that he had felt able to connect with. They were outcasts from society, and K.T. often felt the same way. He had been abandoned by almost everyone he had ever known, even Erica. And now she's back, he thought wickedly. I'll make her regret it. I'll hurt her the way she hurt me.

"I guess Roi is earning his money then," Erica said, her feet shifting uneasily.

"Look, this small talk is wonderful Erica, but I haven't killed anyone all night and it's already after ten," the Gangrel spat. "Is there a point to this shit, or should I get comfortable and just pretend to listen and care, just like I always did in the old days, before you decided to pack up and leave?"

"You didn't just pretend," Erica said, looking genuinely hurt. "You cared, K.T., and I'll bet you still do."

"Is that what you came here to hear?" he asked, letting slip an evil chuckle. "If that's what you want, you're in for some serious fucking disappointment. So why don't you and your friend there get running along and play now? It's time for the big boys to go to work."

"She's not just my friend," Erica answered uneasily, her eyes scanning K.T. closely, as if she was searching for any reaction.

NO! K.T. thought, looking over the girl closely. She wouldn't have done that to me. Not here, not now, not like this. Not already. His head slumped down against his chest, all the fight suddenly taken out of him. "I see," he said evenly, not even able to look into Erica's eyes. I can't have her see me like this, anyway, he thought, unsure whether any bloody teardrops were forming in his eyes. All he could tell for certain was that he was feeling choked up.

"We met at Cooter Brown's," Erica explained, referring to a popular Uptown bar. "Her boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she seemed so lost. I knew she would be perfect for the embrace."

"That's a wonderful story," K.T. answered absently. "So you're here to tell me it's finally over between us, is that it? You've decided for sure that you're not coming back?"

"I don't know," Erica said noncommittally. "I don't know what I want anymore. Kendra's helping me figure all that out."

"Kendra, huh?" K.T. asked. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, we're done," K.T. growled. "Two's company, Erica, but three's a crowd. I have no room in my life for an apprentice. Never had one, never will."

"What about me?" Erica asked.

"You were never just an apprentice," K.T. said softly, the words escaping his lips before he even realized what he had said. He knew the sentiment had come from deep inside, from the part of his soul that had not known expression since a night long before, outside a diner on Market and 15th in San Diego. He felt grief and loss so unimaginable, so painful, that it was an experience he had been sure would only come once in a lifetime, even if that life lasted for over a hundred years. He had been wrong in his assumption. "I'm a Gangrel," K.T. reminded his companion. "That means by nature I'm a loner. I have no interest in being part of a pack. You and I had something special, but I guess that time is done."

"It doesn't have to be," Erica said, her voice almost pleading. "I think we can make this work. We can make 'us' work."

"Not anymore," K.T. said, still making certain he was not looking up. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out," he suggested coldly.

"What?" Erica asked, her voice shocked.

"Get out," K.T. shot back. "This won't work, Erica. Not anymore." He bent over his file once again and turned the page, looking over another of his future victims, conveying in no uncertain terms that the conversation was finished.

"Fine," Erica mumbled. "Just be careful, K.T. I don't even want to think about you getting yourself killed." His companion walked out without another word, and K.T.'s body began to rack with sobs as soon as she was safely out of earshot.

She replaced me already, he thought, feeling as if the knowledge that he was replaced was perhaps even worse than the feeling of simply being left. She would have given me a chance, though. She was ready. I think she could have forgiven me, if not for that wench she has tagging along. His mind raced along, and he tried to come up with a solution to his problem. He knew he would be no good on the streets until he got himself under control, and he could not do that until he resolved his situation. Suddenly, a solution popped into his mind, and he shuddered to think that it had even occurred to him. It's the only way, he decided quickly, before he could think about it enough to realize how bad an idea it was. He took out his phone and dialed a number he knew well. It was answered quickly.

"Johnny?" K.T. asked.

"Did you expect anyone else to answer my phone?" the Telemon replied. "Well, I guess Michelle could have," he added quickly, "but I hate to use her as a secretary. She's always forgetting to write down messages."

"I need a huge favor," K.T. responded, ignoring Johnny's mirth. The mercenary wondered how he could even be going through with this.

"What do you need?" Johnny asked, his tone making it clear that 'Yashida the professional mercenary' had replaced 'Johnny the fun guy.'

"Erica just embraced a childe," K.T. answered, "and I need you to kill her for me."

III

Michelle looked at Johnny in silence, wondering who had been on the phone. Yashida had not said a word since he had placed his cell-phone in his pocket, but Michelle knew that something bad was about to go down. The conversation had gone on awhile, but after a friendly greeting most of what Johnny had said was limited to some 'Yeah's,' 'Uh-huh's,' and 'No way's.' She had initially thought that K.T. had been the caller, as Johnny had seemed to be on very familiar terms with whoever was on the other end, but Yashida's mood had darkened very quickly. Michelle had figured out that whoever was calling had asked for a favor that Johnny was either reluctant to do, or thought it was a very bad idea to do. She was still unsure which statement was more accurate.

"Are you ever going to tell me what that was about?" she asked her companion, wondering what was going through Johnny's head as he gazed out the window.

"No," Johnny answered. "It was a personal matter."

"And it doesn't concern me at all?" Michelle asked. The Gangrel found that very hard to believe, as for years the only thing in Johnny's life she had been left out of was professional matters. Anything personal had invariably meant she was welcome to ask any questions.

"I'm sorry," Johnny replied, still noticeably avoiding eye contact. "There's something I have to do."

"No you don't," Michelle said. "I heard the way you were talking. You think this is a bad idea, don't you? Is it dangerous?"

"Maybe," Johnny replied. "Maybe not for me, though." Yashida's enigmatic response only made Michelle more curious, so she decided to dig deeper.

"Then who for?" she asked, moving toward her companion and lightly grasping his arm. "You can talk to me, Johnny. Really."

"I know," Johnny answered, his voice little more than a whisper. "There are just some things I do that I would just as soon not have you know about."

"Like what?" she pried, still searching for the slightest nugget of a hint.

"I do favors for very dangerous people," Yashida replied. "I do these favors in return for information, or return favors, or simply promises of favors in the future."

"And which is it this time?" Michelle asked, hoping she might get a clue. Every question she asked simply led to two more questions rather than a straight answer, and she was rapidly getting frustrated.

"I don't know," Johnny said evenly. "Now leave this alone, Michelle. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Why not?" Michelle asked.

"I've been asked to do a particularly vile thing," Johnny replied. "It's really nothing that I haven't done before, though, it's just that I never did it for this reason."

"You have me totally lost," Michelle admitted.

"Good," Johnny answered. "Then let's leave it at that, okay?" He looked her over, seemingly searching for any sign of acquiescence, but Michelle would not give him the satisfaction of an immediate victory. "Please?" he asked, pressing the issue.

"All right," Michelle relented.

"Then I need you to run interference for me with Brett," Johnny said. "Tell him I went out to dig up some information on a few things."

"What things?" Michelle asked.

"I don't know," Johnny answered. "Make up the lie yourself. It'll probably sound more believable that way."

"I don't know, Johnny," Michelle responded, a thin smile spreading across her lips. "You've heard some of my lies, haven't you? They're usually pretty terrible."

"You're right," Yashida admitted. "Tell him I wanted to dig up more information on this Yoshi guy," Johnny said. "That should make him happy." Yashida took a couple of steps toward the front door, and then turned suddenly on his heels. "I need one more thing," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"What?" Michelle asked.

"Get all our tools together for tonight, and go feed as much as you can before I get back later," Johnny instructed.

"We got a job?"

"Not exactly," Johnny answered. "There's something I wasn't allowed to see earlier tonight, and I want to find out what it was."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Michelle asked.

"I'll give you the details on the way," Yashida replied. "I think you'll have fun with it, though. Just make sure you wear some body armor."

"You're kidding, right?" Michelle asked nervously. She could not remember Johnny ever insisting on wearing body armor during a break-in. He generally preferred full freedom of movement to the added protection of kevlar. As he often pointed out, it was not like anyone with a gun was likely to do any permanent harm to them. The sinking feeling in her stomach simply served to increase her unease at his words.

"No, I'm not kidding," Johnny muttered. "Just get everything together, and remember to talk to Brett for me."

"Sure thing, boss," Michelle replied, turning immediately to walk toward the back room, where Brett and Uiko were trading combat tips. As she walked from the room, Michelle wondered why Johnny suddenly seemed to be less trusting with his secrets. Is it because he's starting to show just how much less he cares about me? Is he finally going to start making it clear that he prefers Uiko? Has his blood finally overridden his will and forced him to stop running with a Gangrel rather than his own clanmates? Questions led to questions, and by the time Michelle came face to face with Brett, she was actually starting to feel sick. All she could do, though, was tell Johnny's lie and hope that everything worked out for the best.

Without even waiting for an answer from Brett, Michelle walked out of the room again and went about gathering together all of the equipment that she figured she and Johnny might need. Into a large black duffel bag she threw a diamond-tipped glasscutter and a suction cup, a wire-cutter, a case with a standard tool set, three fifty-foot long coils of rope, and two sets of lockpicks. Next she grabbed a case with all the electronics they would need to get past computerized security devices. Into a second bag she threw several pistols and some extra ammunition. Finally, she went into the closet and pulled out two sets of black clothes, one for each of them, along with two light bulletproof vests. That should do it, she thought sourly.

With her menial chores completed, the Gangrel began to walk through the building and out to the front porch, where she sat down to watch the deserted street outside. It never used to be like this, she thought wistfully. She remembered all of the adventures and fun times she and Johnny had had so many years ago. Of course, that was all before Johnny's sire, Siras Telemon, had been able to build a power base. Siras was as ambitious as he was paranoid, and almost as capable. In just under ten years he had built a coterie of five vampires into a fledgling bloodline and, some were beginning to say, the newest distinct clan in the world. He had claimed the princedom of his own small town and had expanded his influence outward. The name of the Telemon clan was now known to all those who held positions of influence along the East Coast. Within a few more years, if the grunts continued to survive, Michelle had no doubt that the Telemon would be known throughout the country. The thought made her sick.

She knew she was blood bound to Yashida, but that had never bothered her. When she had first met the Asian vampire, he still claimed to be Brujah, not yet having adopted the name of his sire as his new clan affiliation. He had been energetic and adventurous, and Michelle, not long a vampire, had been deeply smitten. She had fallen in love with a man she felt to be her soulmate. Johnny had taught her how to be a thief, and she had done a great deal to keep him from becoming as dour and militant as his clanmates. As Siras' influence grew, though, so did Johnny's responsibilities. It had slowly broken her heart to watch her lover drift away from her.

For a couple of years now Michelle had tried to find a way to stem the tide of Johnny's changes, to bring him back to the place he had been when the two had first met. Even after all the years of battle, Michelle wanted nothing more than to wander about aimlessly and live as she willed. In her heart, Michelle knew, she should have been an anarch. Indeed, if Siras' initial play for power had failed, she felt confident that she and Johnny would have wandered off to live an anarch's life. That had not happened, though. Instead, she was made to be the companion of a man who had more responsibility than he had ever asked for.

Perhaps there's some way to break his sire's hold, Michelle wondered again, for perhaps the millionth time. In her dreams, as she slept alone, she imagined a place where she and Johnny could live in peace. Sometimes, she dreamt of the two of them being mortal and having a family and kids the way she had always thought her life would be when she imagined it as a child. Then she would wake up and remember that mortality was no longer possible. Immortality had at one time seemed like the coolest thing in the world; now, it almost seemed like a curse. She would once again be able to love being immortal, she knew, if she could spend her years with Johnny. It had been too long since the two of them had even talked, no less gone out for a night on the town. It had just been too long.

Then, of course, there's Uiko, she thought angrily, arriving once again in the same place she always did. It was all about Uiko, and she knew it. Michelle could bitch and moan for all eternity about how she missed the good old days, but in the end she was all too aware that the majority of her problems centered on the fact that Johnny spent so much time with his ninja childe. If only I could get her out of the way somehow, she thought wickedly, her mind running through several scenarios that would allow her to eliminate Uiko's threat to Michelle's monopoly on Johnny's affections. Michelle shook her head, trying to change her focus. She would not – could not – assassinate Johnny's childe. While it would be physically possible for her to do so, at least for a few more years, until Uiko became strong enough to put up a significant fight, Michelle knew what would happen if Johnny ever found out. If I think it's bad now, just imagine how it would be if Johnny ever discovered I whacked his newest favored childe. She calmed herself again and imagined any possibility that could bring her peace.

Well, what if I didn't actually kill her, but just prevented her from being rescued? Michelle wondered. It was one thing to actively kill Uiko, but something else entirely to simply withhold assistance when needed. Fine, Michelle decided, I can't kill the bitch, but I'll be damned if I ever go out of my way to help her out of a jam. One of these days she'll bite off more than she can chew, and when that happens she better not come to me. If she does, all she'll find is a face devoid of sympathy as she gets herself destroyed.

IV

Johnny Yashida sped down Tchoupitoulas at over eighty miles an hour, crossing the center line to blow past the few slower-moving vehicles that blocked his way. He knew that he should do the small favor that K.T. had asked. After all, he still owed him for returning Michelle safely. Something about the hit still seemed immoral, though. The young girl that Erica had embraced had done nothing wrong, and as far as Johnny knew, was not actively taking part in any aspect of the siege. He continued on through increasing traffic until he caught sight of Harrah's Casino. He stopped his car on the side of the road and continued the rest of the way on foot. While he would have liked the convenience of having his Mustang sitting right outside the building, he felt having it a block and a half away might make a getaway easier should he need to flee on a moment's notice.

As he walked down the street his cell phone started to vibrate. Another favor? Johnny wondered silently. He wondered what would be asked of him this time. "Yashida," he announced evenly as he answered the phone, not particularly caring who the caller was.

"It's Marcus," came the answer. "Siras has a job for you."

"Great," Johnny replied. "In case he's forgotten, I'm trying to help Brett crush a siege here. I've been a little busy."

"You're about to get busier," Marcus responded. "There was a situation in Boston. It appears the CIA loaned out one of their assassins to the NSA, which had ordered a hit on Maxwell Schreck."

"Who?" Johnny asked. The small Telemon knew the names of most of the main players in the East Coast's main cities, but Maxwell Schreck was not one he recognized.

"Schreck was the blood brother of the Ventrue primogen," Marcus answered. "Apparently, the NSA has a file on the guy, labeling him as an international terrorist. As soon as he set foot on American soil, a termination order was issued. The CIA loaner was the one sent to do the job."

"And all this matters to me how?" Johnny asked, wondering what the point was to the whole conversation.

"Our people were able to intercept her before the mission was completed," Marcus said, "and they embraced her. She's being sent to help you out in your siege."

"Great," Johnny muttered. "And where exactly do this assassin's loyalties lie?" he asked immediately. Johnny remembered another recruit whose embrace had made him uneasy – Angelica Black. She had been an IRA terrorist embraced because of her explosives expertise. It had not been long before problems began to develop, and the clan had eventually been forced to extinguish her. The thought of a CIA assassin in the clan caused the same kind of anxiety in Yashida's gut.

"She was just embraced two nights ago," Marcus replied. "She is to be transferred to you, to be raised as if she was your own childe. She's not military, so you're to blood bond her to yourself, so the woman's loyalties should not be an issue. I know you're concerned about us creating another Angelica, but we won't make any of the same mistakes we made in the past."

"Fine," Johnny replied, dropping the matter. "Who was her sire?"

"Sam Carson," Marcus replied. The choice of a sire made sense to Johnny. Carson had been in U.S. Marine Reconnaissance, and embraced into the Telemon clan by Karl Strausser, an ex-Stassi East German who now handled all matters of Military Intelligence for the Telemon. Strausser and Carson would have drooled over the opportunity to bring in a CIA assassin.

"So what's her name?" Yashida asked, deciding he should at least get the most basic information on the woman before she arrived at his doorstep.

"Melissa Johansson," Marcus answered. "She's a cute little thing." Marcus' comment made Johnny smile thinly. Yashida had always been amazed at how human Marcus had remained, even after well over a decade as a vampire.

"So when exactly is she getting here?" Johnny asked.

"In a little less than an hour," Marcus replied. "She's on the eleven-fifty arrival from Atlanta on Delta."

"Nothing like giving me lots of notice," Johnny grumbled. "I'm sort of in the middle of something here right now, you know."

"I can give you her cell phone number if you'd like," Marcus offered. "Give her a call and have her take a cab."

"No, I'll get her," Johnny replied, trying to suppress the enormous irritation he felt. "You got a physical description for me?"

"I'm emailing you a picture right now," Marcus answered. "Let me know if there are any problems."

"Shouldn't be," Johnny said. "I'd better get going," he added, knowing he would be hard-pressed to get everything done that he had planned. He walked quickly up the steps into the casino and flashed a fake driver's license to the security at the front door. A moment later he was walking through the din created by dozens of lucky and unlucky gamblers, most of them tourists. Yashida ignored them all, walking intently toward the high stakes poker table. He saw his contact immediately, one of two men seated across from the dealer.

"Good evening," Johnny said as pleasantly as he could, still anxious about getting to the airport on time.

"Good evening to you, too, Mr. Yashida," Yoshi answered. "I'm glad you could meet me on such short notice."

"Short notice seems to be about all I ever get anymore," Johnny griped. "I'll have to cut this meeting a little shorter than I would have liked. I just found out about another engagement."

"I understand completely," Yoshi said with a nod. "There has not been much of a chance to take it easy lately."

"What did you want to see me about?" Johnny asked, deciding to get right down to business.

"Perhaps if we could discuss it over a cup of coffee?" Yoshi asked, already gathering his chips off of the table.

"Sure," Johnny answered. He had expected to move before any serious discussion took place. Neither of them was able to discuss much in front of the mortals. The two men rose from the table and started to move across the large floor.

"I am greatly interested in you and your clan," Yoshi commented. "You have brilliantly carved out a comfortable niche for yourselves."

"I would hardly consider what we do 'a comfortable niche,' " Johnny replied with a smile. "Sieges tend to get a little rough."

"I know," Yoshi replied. "I myself have seen quite a few of them. You see, I decided about a hundred years ago that I could make a big name for myself, and also a comfortable amount of money and favors, if I spent my years opposing the Sabbat."

"Really?" Johnny commented. "I always wondered why there weren't people in the established clans that do what the Telemon does. It seems like it would make sense to specialize, especially in today's market."

"Exactly," Yoshi said with a smile. "Being Toreador, I get a little more work than you might expect. It's strange, actually. The elders in Europe look down on the vampires of the New World, feeling them to be decadent children that spend far too much time squabbling. The reality is far from that perception, however. In the Americas, our kind are pushed to become far stronger, far sooner. A kindred that cannot defend himself is quickly extinguished. The neonates of every clan in the New World are superior to those of the Old World in virtually every combat ability. I think the elders have no understanding of the extent of the disparity."

"I don't see any problem with this," Johnny said.

"Neither do I," Yoshi replied. "In Europe they consider us animals because we learn how to fight first, and then eventually get around to finding culture. They feel this is backward. Unfortunately, my clan, the Toreador, hang onto the tendencies of the Europeans more than the others here in the New World."

"Meaning young Ventrue and Tremere are more able to defend themselves, while the more cultured Toreador get cut down more easily by the endless ranks of the Sabbat," Johnny concluded. "So you see your role as being the one to end this."

"In a manner of speaking," Yoshi said. "I have grown tired of the Toreador being looked down upon here in the Americas. In Europe, the Toreador are as respected as any other clan. This is because being civilized is the main pastime of all the clans, and being civilized gives us inroads into mortal society, thus allowing a great deal of wealth and security. No European Ventrue or Tremere are more capable in battle any sooner than our own Toreador are. None of the elders seem to understand the need to do things differently here."

"But you do," Yashida surmised. "So you're here to train Toreador?"

"No, it's too late for that," Yoshi admitted. "It would take years for me to train a large number of my clanmates. No, I would do best to lead by example. It is my hope that others of my clan will see what I do, and become inspired. I wish for Toreador in the Americas to learn that the phrase 'martial arts' means exactly what it says – that war can be an art. It will take time, however, for my fellow Toreador to understand this. That's where you come in."

"Me?" Johnny asked dubiously.

"Your entire clan, actually," Yoshi responded with a thin smile. "My clanmates refer to the Telemon as 'grunts,' and the term seems to fit. You are uncultured and crude, but so were the Visigoths, from what I am told, and they succeeded in bringing the hammer down on the Roman Empire. Battle has its place, Mr. Yashida, and so does the Telemon clan. I would like to offer my support to your efforts."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Johnny asked skeptically. Yashida had been a kindred long enough to know that no elder ever said exactly what was on his mind, and that no ally ever came without a price.

"I would like to share with you my expertise," Yoshi answered.

"Exactly what expertise is that?" Yashida asked. "You just admitted that the Toreador are not seen as the toughest clan over here in the States. What exactly are you bargaining with?"

"My full name is Hideyoshi," the old Japanese man replied. "Does that name ring a bell with you?"

"Toyotomi Hideyoshi?" Johnny asked skeptically, doing his best to prevent his jaw from dropping all the way to the floor. The Toreador only nodded slightly. Yashida could hardly believe his ears. Like all Telemon, Johnny had studied military history, but unlike his clanmates, he had focused on non-Western cultures. Hideyoshi was one of the three great unifiers of Japan, and was widely considered one of the greatest generals Japanese civilization had ever produced. His prowess on the battlefield had been one of the primary elements that had led to the end of the Warring States period and the creation of the Tokugawa Shogunate. In fact, Hideyoshi had been, in fact, if not in name, a shogun. It was only his lack of Minamoto blood that prevented an official declaration of the title. "How were you embraced Toreador?" Johnny asked. He had heard about Asian vampires, and knew them to be something radically different from their Western brethren. The Telemon could hardly imagine how a medieval Japanese warlord had been embraced into a western vampire clan.

"There was a Portuguese Jesuit that spent a great deal of time in my court," Hideyoshi replied. "His brother, who happened to be an arms dealer, had accompanied him. The brother was, in reality, a Toreador that had come along with the Westerners to catch a glimpse of the culture of the time. My leadership brought not only great military victories, but also a burst of artistic achievement. It was as a patron of the arts that I was embraced, and as a soldier that I now come to you."

"What kind of expertise do you want to share?" Johnny asked.

"All I have," Yoshi answered. "Anything you want to know, I will teach. That includes not only my military knowledge, but also the teaching of any vampire disciplines that you do not yet know. I will make you better able to understand and control your own vampiric bodies."

"And what do you want in return?" Johnny asked, unwilling to even guess at the cost of such assistance.

"I want two things," Hideyoshi replied, his amused expression revealing his apparent knowledge of Johnny's anxiety. "First, I want you, in turn, to teach me all that you know. That includes your rumored mastery of the Lasombra art known as Obtenebration."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Johnny answered immediately. Various clans developed abilities using their vampire blood, and many of these abilities were closely guarded secrets. Obtenebration, the art of controlling shadows for various purposes, was a fearsome thing in the minds of many kindred. Yashida had a very good idea of what would happen if word had started to spread that he had gotten a hold of the most closely guarded secret of the Sabbat's leading clan. The Lasombra would hunt him down to prevent their secrets from being shared any further, and most everyone else would hunt him to gain a bit of the forbidden knowledge that he had acquired.

"I have done a lot of research into your clan, Mr. Yashida, and I am rather certain you possess the knowledge I seek," Yoshi returned. "I understand your position, but you have nothing to fear from me. I am willing to give you other secret knowledge in trade."

"There's nothing I would like more," Johnny answered, "but I can't give you what I don't have. I've heard other people accuse me of possessing Obtenebration, but that doesn't make it any more true than having just one person say it."

"Of course," Yoshi said, his tone making it obvious that he was willing to entertain Johnny's charade. "In time, perhaps you will trust me. I can't blame you for your position. However, there was a second favor that I also want."

"And that is?" Johnny asked.

"Vengeance," Yoshi answered. "I want you and your clan to help me kill a Cardinal."

"Oh, is that all?" Johnny asked sarcastically, not knowing whether or not he should be amused. "Let me guess, you want to have us help you kill Polonia." As the Sabbat Cardinal of the East Coast, Palonia was one of the most powerful and influential kindred in the world. He had countless bodyguards and was, in addition, an extremely fearsome foe in his own right. The Camarilla had attempted to kill Polonia several times, but had never even come close. Yashida could not imagine how one single Toreador thought he could pull off such a feat, especially not if the only assistance he had was from what was, essentially, an overly organized gang of anarchs.

"That is all," Yoshi replied evenly, "just Polonia." Only then did Johnny realize that Yoshi was completely serious.

"That's not possible," Johnny said. "I would love to learn even a fraction of what you know, but I can't even consider this offer."

"I was under the impression you had superiors," Yoshi answered. "Perhaps they should be the ones to decide an issue like this."

"Polonia is untouchable," Johnny answered. "What you're asking is for my clan to commit mass suicide, and my superiors will realize that. They won't consider your offer any more than I will. Look," Johnny continued, "I really look forward to working with you against this siege, but our business will have to conclude once our job here is done." Johnny turned and began to walk toward the exit, already doubting he would get to the airport in time to meet his clanmate.

"You think it's that easy?" Yoshi asked. "I thought you had a brain, Mr. Yashida."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Johnny asked as he whirled to face the old Toreador once again.

"Polonia is the Cardinal of the Eastern United States," Yoshi pointed out needlessly. "Your clan appears to have set up shop in his backyard. Don't you realize he will only suffer so much interference before he finally decides to eradicate you? I'm offering you assistance in preparing for the inevitable. I know you are not ready to undertake such a task now, or perhaps even twenty years from now. Eventually, though, if you live long enough, you will have to kill him. This will happen whether I am with you or not. I am simply asking that you allow me to join you when the time comes, so that I can rip out his heart with my own hands."

"I'll ask my superiors," Johnny relented, knowing the truth of Yoshi's words. Yashida had already realized the accuracy of what the old Toreador was saying. The Telemon clan was young and growing, but was still incredibly vulnerable. They would continue to be the pawns of the elders and take heavy losses until they were strong enough to undertake tasks that would announce to the rest of the kindred world that the Telemon were there to stay. Every clan that existed had accomplished that one goal that set them apart. Most recently, hundreds of years earlier, the Tremere had gone to war with the ancient Clan Tzimisce. No one had given them a chance in the world, but the Tremere held on, slowly gathering their strength and culturing generation after generation of capable recruits. Eventually the Tremere had struck against the heart of the Tzimisce, thus announcing to the world that their clan had finally grown up and was no longer a group to be dismissed or toyed with. Eventually the Telemon would have to undertake a like task, and strike at the heart of their own unbeatable foe. That, most likely, would be Polonia, and their survival as a clan would ultimately depend solely on their success in that one assault.

Johnny Yashida felt a chill creep up his spine as he turned and walked away again. Every time he thought about the inevitable battle his clan would face, he grew afraid. What if they lost? What would become of the few survivors? Yashida could not even imagine. Even more frightening was the prospect of victory. What would the clan do when they had finally carved out a permanent position in the kindred world? That might even pose a greater challenge than simply defeating an unbeatable foe on the battlefield.

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Johnny looked over every person walking down the escalator toward him. As it was after all departure times, the glass doors had been closed to the airport gates and jetways, so he was forced to wait downstairs by the baggage claim. Two-dozen people came into view before he spotted the couple for which he was waiting. The man had every bit the military demeanor that Johnny expected in a ghoul of the Telemon clan. The woman, on the other hand, appeared to be everything Johnny expected from someone sent to train with him. She was average height, a shade over five and a half feet tall, and could not have weighed any more than a hundred and twenty pounds. Her sandy blonde hair was cut short in the back but left much longer on top, allowing a wave of hair to fall over the right side of her face. Only her left eye was visible, but it was bluer than any eye Johnny had ever seen, seeming almost as if she was wearing colored contact lenses.

"You must be Sergeant Bill Maxwell," Johnny said, walking up to the pair and introducing himself to the ghoul.

"Yes sir," the large man replied. "She's all yours. In the name of her sire, Lt. Sam Carson, I formally transfer the privileges and responsibilities of the sire to you. That includes, of course, the right of destruction should she prove not to be a suitable candidate." Johnny caught the sideways glance that Maxwell directed at the young kindred, and knew there was a slight level of jealousy. Due to the surrounding circumstances, the woman had been embraced immediately, without any probationary period as a ghoul. Johnny would have to keep a very close eye on her. "Lieutenant Carson wishes you the best of luck with your newest trainee, and requests that she be transferred back to him at the end of training if you feel her skills are more suited to him than to you," the ghoul added.

"I accept the responsibility of this childe, and will most certainly keep her true lineage in mind when deciding how to have her assigned," Johnny assured the ghoul. "I'll also call the lieutenant and let him know what a fine job you've done." Yashida was well aware that the goal of the clan was to ghoul a possible recruit for a year before embracing the individual, although that goal was more a dream than anything else. They spent far too much time at war to keep every ghoul for a year before the embrace. The time spent as a ghoul was used to evaluate the candidate. Exceptional service or an aptitude for the work cut into the probationary period greatly, and Johnny wondered whether Maxwell would get embraced upon his return to Boston.

"Thank you, sir," Maxwell said. "I'd better be leaving now."

"Fine," Yashida responded. He watched the ghoul walk off, leaving him alone with his newest charge.

"Ms. Johansson?" he asked formally, finally turning his attention to the young woman.

"That's right, but you can call me Mel," she said in a pleasant tone. "Who are you?" she asked, her one visible eye scanning over Johnny's body, presumably searching him for weapons.

"I'm Johnny Yashida," the older Telemon answered. "I thought you would at least have been briefed on what your sire planned to do with you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Melissa answered, "I was. I just expected you to be taller."

"What?" Johnny asked, unable to hide his amusement.

"I've heard a lot about you," Melissa answered, "and I sorta built up a mental image of what you'd look like. In my mind you were taller."

"Sorry if you're disappointed," Johnny said with a grin.

"Oh, I think I'll live," Melissa replied with an amused smile. "So what do we do now?"

"I was thinking we'd get your luggage and then get going," Johnny said. "I've heard a lot about you and built up a mental image of how I expected you to be," he added. "In my mind you'd been to an airport before and knew how things worked."

"Touché," she shot back without missing a beat. "Unfortunately, I didn't bring any more luggage than what I could fit in my carry on," she said, gesturing to the brown leather bag slung over her shoulder. "I wasn't supposed to be in Boston for more than two days, and there was no expectation of going anywhere near New Orleans."

"Funny how things can change," Johnny joked, walking back in the direction of the escalator. "We'll go up a couple of levels and then over to the parking garage," he explained. "Once we're back at the haven you can chill out for the rest of the night as far as I'm concerned. Then you can either go out shopping with Michelle first thing tomorrow night, or I could just as easily send my ghoul out for some things during the day."

"I'd just as soon shop for my own clothes, thank you," Melissa answered.

"I figured you would," Johnny replied. "I'll need Michelle back at a reasonable hour, so the two of you can't stay out long."

"You'll only need her back?" Melissa asked. "I was under the impression you needed some help down here. I figured that would include me."

"We could always use a hand," Johnny admitted, "but not from you. You're too young and too inexperienced."

"Too young?" Melissa asked. "I'm twenty five years old. How old are you?"

"Almost fifty," Johnny said, enjoying the look of surprise he got from his clanmate. "And to be honest," he added, "I doubt your loyalties."

"What?" Melissa asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

Johnny grimaced when he heard her response and figured that she had not been told everything. "Do you know what a blood bond is?" he asked, unconsciously quickening his pace. For one of the first times since he had gotten to New Orleans Yashida felt as if he was finally not being watched. That made him uneasy.

"I've never heard of a blood bond," Melissa admitted. "What is it?"

"The blood bond is the closest thing to love our kind can get, though it's far more than, really," Johnny explained. "More than affection, more than loyalty, the result of the blood bond is similar to seeing someone who's totally love's bitch. You're to be blood bonded to me."

"What?" Melissa asked, seeming struck by her clanmate's bluntness and predictably pissed off about her situation. "Like I'm supposed to be your slave or something?"

"No," Johnny said, "though there are those of our kind that use the bond for that purpose. There was another member of our clan with a rather independent background, and problems developed. She had to be destroyed." Part of Johnny could hardly believe that he was telling the woman so much. She just seemed to be incredibly trustworthy. He could see how that trait, coupled with her incredible attractiveness, would have made her an exceptional assassin. "You're not supposed to know about that, though," he added absently, "so don't tell anyone I told you. The failed recruit lacked loyalty to the clan, due primarily, so the theory goes, to her lack of a military background." Yashida was shocked that she had not been warned about the blood bond before the embrace. All childer of the Telemon were supposed to enlist into the clan willingly, knowing the terms of their service. Melissa should have known what fate awaited her.

"So this is being done to me because I wasn't a jarhead?" Melissa asked.

"Actually, yes," Johnny answered. "And that's not the only thing being done differently with you. Usually the sire will raise his own childe, but with you the tradition had to be changed. We couldn't keep you in Boston, where other government agents might have happened upon you, so you were sent here to train with me. The clan's leaders felt the instruction I would give you will be most in line with what Carson would have taught you."

"Really?" Melissa asked.

"That's what they think," Johnny said. "I don't know yet if it'll actually happen that way." He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. He was impressed by the childe's poise and wit, and he wanted to keep a close eye on her. Yashida suspected that she might do well in his own role of clan diplomat if given the time to mature. He knew that Carson would likely be slightly miffed at not having his childe back when she was finally released, but giving her a high profile position like clan representative would do a lot to raise Carson's prestige within the clan. In the long run, Carson would probably feel grateful to Yashida, and Johnny liked the idea of ingratiating himself with someone in the clan's Military Intelligence division.

"So what do I have to learn?" Melissa asked. "I already know how to be an assassin. You really think there's anything you can teach me?"

Initially, Johnny only smiled as he walked into the parking garage. He looked around briefly, not expecting to see anyone. "So you think you have what it takes?" he asked, finally turning to face his newest protégé.

"What do you mean?" Melissa asked warily.

"I mean only what I asked," Yashida replied. "I assume you've had martial arts training."

"I got my first black belt when I was eleven," Melissa replied smugly.

"Your first one?" Johnny asked. "Just how many do you have now?"

"Three," she answered with a sly grin. "So you ready to believe that I can hold my own?"

"Nope," Yashida answered simply. "You want to see why?"

"Let's see what you got." Melissa fell back into a fighting stance, her gaze measuring her opponent with an expert's eye. For his part, Yashida simply stood with his hands behind his back, presenting as unimposing a figure as he could muster.

"Take me out," he ordered. The Telemon glanced around the cavernous garage, making certain once again that no one was around. At this late hour, however, he knew witnesses would be few and far between. The New Orleans airport was next to abandoned after eleven. When he saw Melissa's hesitation, he repeated his order in a firmer tone. "Do it, Melissa! Take me out!" Melissa feinted with her left hand and then followed with a vicious blow to Johnny's jaw. The Telemon absorbed the full force of the impact without so much as a grunt, and then shot out a combination of strikes with blinding speed. Before she could even think enough to react, Melissa was lying on the floor of the garage. She looked up at Yashida with a bloody, pain-soaked face, and then glanced over at her right shoulder, which she was only starting to realize had been dislocated.

Without a word Melissa rolled up on the ground and began to whimper, still seeming to have enough pride to restrain herself from crying out in agony.

"That was actually very good," Yashida commented, looking over the childe. "I had no idea when you were going to throw that punch; you did an excellent job of hiding your intentions. As you've probably already figured out, though, your skills as a mortal mean little now that you're kindred." He looked the woman over, and his heart softened immediately. Johnny had no desire to actually hurt Melissa, but he knew she had to be taken down several notches before she did something foolish that got herself, and maybe others, killed. "Did Carson show you how to heal wounds yet?" he asked.

"What?"

"I'll take that as a 'no.' All you have to do is concentrate on mending the flesh around your injuries," he instructed. "Of course, first we'll have to pop that shoulder back in place." Melissa looked up at him in fear of the pain she knew she would face. "The sooner the better," Johnny said with a cavalier shrug. Without another word he placed his right foot on Melissa's back and grabbed her right arm in his hand. In one quick motion he pulled as hard as he could, and the childe screamed out in response. Yashida smiled, though, knowing from experience that the pain in her shoulder would begin to disappear quickly now that the arm was back in its socket. "Can you walk?" Yashida asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Melissa answered.

"Then let's get out of here," Johnny replied. "While we're going I'll explain how to heal yourself, and then I'll give you some blood to help satisfy any appetite you might have."

"Thanks," Melissa muttered, though her eyes betrayed the fact that she was far more anxious than thankful.

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Johnny walked quickly through the front door of the haven, motioning for Melissa to sit down in a chair in the corner. In a heartbeat, Michelle and Uiko both walked into the room. "Who's she?" they both asked in unison, each one immediately glancing toward the other, both of them plainly uncomfortable with saying the same thing at the same time.

"Oh, her... that's Mel," Johnny said absently. "She's my new childe."

"What?!" both women asked, again in unison. This time, the awkward glance was replaced by a noticeable shifting of their feet away from each other.

"Well, legally speaking she's my childe," Yashida explained. "She was actually embraced in Boston. Then our people transferred her here to be trained by me."

"You're already training Uiko," Michelle said, eyeing up the attractive newcomer jealously. "I doubt you'll have time to take on another burden."

"I doubt I'll be a burden, honey," Melissa said caustically. "And anyway, who the hell are you?"

"This is my associate, Michelle Marlowe," Johnny said, introducing the two.

"Associate?" Michelle asked angrily. "Are you kidding me?"

"Michelle, this is Melissa Johansson," Yashida continued, ignoring Michelle's question and turning toward his Japanese childe. "And Melissa, this is Uiko Haraya," Johnny said. "Now that introductions have been made, can someone tell me where Brett is?"

"He went out," Michelle said.

"To meet with the local Nosferatu," Uiko added.

"Perfect," Johnny replied. "Michelle, is everything ready to go?"

"Yes," the Gangrel replied evenly.

"Then let's get going," Johnny said. "Uiko, I want you to watch over Melissa. She is not to leave the building under any circumstances."

"What is this, a prison?" Melissa asked.

"If she leaves, destroy her," Yashida said, his voice containing a slightly vicious edge.

"I understand," Uiko responded.

"You can't do that," Melissa complained.

"Actually, he can," Michelle put in. "You might as well accept it."

"Hey, why don't you bite me?" Melissa replied.

"Don't push it, girlie," Michelle shot back.

"I don't need this shit," Johnny muttered. He suddenly felt as if he had walked into an episode of Tenchi Muyo and got stuck playing the title role. "The next one of you that talks is going to get shot. Understand?" Each of the women nodded, but made no verbal reply. "Good. Now Michelle, you're coming with me. Uiko, watch over Melissa. When Brett comes in, tell him I had something important to look into, and that I needed Michelle's particular abilities to help me. Understood?"

"Yes, sire," Uiko replied with a nod.

Without saying another word, Johnny walked to the front door, only waiting a couple of moments for Michelle to grab two large bags from the closet and then walk out behind him. Once they were outside, the Gangrel immediately began to start in on her companion.

"I'm your associate?" she asked angrily. "Since when am I only an associate?"

"I've got a huge fuckin' headache, Michelle," Johnny answered. "Can we please not get into this right now?"

"We're not goin' anywhere until this conversation is over with," Michelle answered. "What the fuck is up with you?"

"I don't feel the need to explain my relationship with my clan to you," Johnny replied, finally deciding that he had no choice but to concede to Michelle's demand. He got into his Mustang, and Michelle joined him after throwing the bags into the back seat.

"Maybe you should explain it to them," Michelle replied. "I'm sick of being referred to as your whore."

"Who said that?" Johnny asked curiously, making a Herculean effort to hide his anger. He peeled out from the side of the curb and down the road, rocking the car back and forth as it seemed to hit every one of the countless potholes that were all too common on New Orleans side streets.

"Brett said it," Michelle answered. "On the way in from the airport, right before he made a pass at me."

"He made a pass at you?" Johnny asked, this time failing miserably at concealing his mounting rage.

"Sure did," Michelle answered. "What, you're actually saying you give a shit?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Johnny asked.

"You know exactly what I mean," Michelle replied, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that Johnny's anger was causing him to race down St. Charles Avenue at seventy miles an hour.

"Why don't you explain it to me?" Yashida growled.

"It all started with Uiko," Michelle answered. "Not only do you spend all kinds of time training with her, you're also sharing blood with her now, too."

"I'm supposed to blood bond her," Johnny explained simply.

"You did that over a year ago," Michelle spat, "yet you still share blood. And don't give me any crap about having to maintain the bond. You could have her feed off of you once a month and still be doing far more than is needed to keep it going properly. And there's no reason in hell you should be feeding from her."

"So that's what's bothering you?" Johnny asked. "I'm blood bound to you, Michelle. You don't have anything to worry about."

"You're spending more time with Uiko than you do with me, and lately you've been sharing blood with her more than you do with me," Michelle answered. "Then you pick yourself up this new blonde piece of ass from Boston, or wherever she's from, and you start referring to me as your associate. You seriously expect me to believe there's nothing to be concerned about?"

"First of all, I'm notsharing blood with Uiko more than I am with you. You're totally imagining that. Secondly, I am so not in the mood for this," Johnny replied, his right hand massaging his temples as his left hand cut the wheel sharply to avoid a pedestrian as he blew through a red light. "So you're telling me you've been having all kinds of problems all along, but you're only getting around to complaining about it now because I have a new childe to raise?"

"It means you'll be spending even less time with me," Michelle muttered.

"I have my duties," Johnny replied simply.

"You didn't use to," Michelle answered. "You used to be so much more fun. We used to go break into places together, or steal police cars, and even get into anarch rumbles. Now what do we do? We go to cities that are besieged by the Sabbat and spend our time either getting shot at or training to increase our chances of surviving next time we get shot at. It's not very fun."

"No one said you have to follow me into sieges," Johnny replied. He realized too late that that was about the worst thing he could have said.

"If you don't fucking want me around, at least have the balls to say so," Michelle screamed, startling Johnny and almost causing him to sideswipe a parked car.

"That's not what I meant," Yashida said calmly, trying to explain. "I just don't want you to feel that you have to come into these situations. I don't want you to think that I'm making you do this."

"You don't get it," Michelle ranted. "I want to be with you. If that means walking into a Sabbat siege, then so be it. This has nothing to do with the siege, it has to do with us."

"I don't get it," Johnny admitted. "You were just complaining about spending time in cities that are under siege instead of doing the stuff we used to do. Now you're telling me this has nothing to do with the siege. What the hell are you trying to say?"

"Why don't you get your head out of your ass and listen to me for once?" Michelle asked. "I want to spend time with you. I don't care what it is we do, I just want some time. That means less time ignoring me to train with Uiko or Mel, or blowing shit up with your jarhead clanmates. I'm sick and tired of feeling like second fiddle to that Japanese slut of yours. I don't like you sharing blood with her like you do, and I really don't like you sharing a bed with her."

"Now you have a problem with sharing a bed?" Johnny asked incredulously. "It's not like we're having sex or anything. She just doesn't like to sleep alone."

"Neither do I," Michelle answered. "You used to share your bed with me."

"She's still adjusting to what she is," Johnny said.

"She's had over a year," Michelle retorted angrily. "That's long enough."

"Why don't you take this up with her?" Johnny suggested, finally deciding that this kind of topic was likely to end up in him getting hit. He vastly preferred the thought of Michelle and Uiko in a catfight to him getting his head cracked open by saying something else that was stupid.

"I already brought this up with her," Michelle admitted.

"So what's the problem?"

"She said she had no problem with me in the bed, too," Michelle said. "That's sorta sick."

"We're all dead," Johnny pointed out. "It's not like it would be some freaky-ass orgy or something. It's just sleeping. It might even be safer if we all slept in the same room."

"She sleeps naked," Michelle pointed out.

"So do you," Johnny answered, "so what of it?"

"I'm not sleeping with another naked woman," Michelle complained.

"It doesn't seem Uiko has a problem with it," Yashida replied.

"Or you, either, for that matter," Michelle said. "I think she was bi when she was alive. And you... I bet you'd get a kick out of sleeping with two naked women."

"If it were over twenty years ago, and I was still very much alive, I think I'd get far more than just a kick out of it," Johnny said with a sly grin. He licked his lips slightly and added a faux shudder of pleasure for dramatic effect, wondering how that would make Michelle react. He figured it would either lighten the mood immediately, or get him shot in the head. To his relief, Michelle only punched him lightly in the shoulder rather than draw her Glock.

"You're a sicko," she murmured.

"I'm sorry I've been making you jealous," Johnny said, his voice suddenly full of compassion, guilt, and affection. "I guess I have been neglecting you a bit, taking you for granted. That'll change, starting tonight."

"Okay," Michelle replied, a thin smile coming to her face. "And what about the sharing blood?"

"I'll stop doing it so much with Uiko," Johnny answered, giving Michelle only a partial victory on that issue. "And I'll do it more with you. Lots more, if you want."

"I want," Michelle said with a smile. "And what about sleeping arrangements?"

"You're welcome to join us," Johnny said, not backing down on that at all. Something always made him feel safer knowing a light-sleeping ninja assassin was laying next to him. He wanted to keep Uiko close as much as possible.

"I think I will," Michelle said. "But don't you go getting too excited over it."

"Don't worry about that," Yashida muttered. He turned the Mustang onto a side street in the Garden District and started to look for a parking spot. He found one and brought the car to a halt, and then turned to look at his companion. "I was just wondering something, though."

"What's that?" Michelle asked warily.

"You ever have one of those times you wish you weren't dead?" The Gangrel's only response was to punch her lover in the shoulder again, and then get out of the car. "It's one block over," Johnny explained as he grabbed one of the bags from out of the back. "You sure you up to this?"

"No," Michelle admitted. "But this'll be one to brag about for years. Might as well get it over with."

V

"I need some advice, my old friend," Philip said as he entered the dimly lit room. Hassan looked up from his chessboard, where ivory European kings and knights were facing ebony Saracen sultans and warriors.

"So do I, when you get a chance," the Arab replied, gesturing to the board. "It's white's turn."

"Interesting," Philip commented, looking over the board with an expert eye. While the Gangrel enjoyed chess a great deal, he had never come to enjoy playing against himself, as Hassan often did. The experience seemed at once too difficult and too simple. "However, it is my life-size chessboard that I need help with."

"What is your latest problem with Mr. Corben?" Hassan asked wearily. The Assamite could not imagine what was bothering Philip this time. K.T. had apparently degenerated into a perfect, remorseless killing machine that struck terror in the hearts of the locals.

"He may be sliding too much toward the Beast," Philip said dramatically, referring to the dark side of vampire nature against which all Cainites eternally struggled. Once the battle against the Beast was lost, the vampire would spend the rest of his days and nights as little more than an animal. All that remained of his humanity would have been wiped out. "He was a terrible sight to behold tonight."

"It is you that created this situation," Hassan responded. "He was coming along quite nicely. He had become violent and unfeeling. As a bonus, he seemed to stop over-thinking his role in life. I would think that would please you enough."

"I wanted more."

"You're a fool," Hassan replied. "You had as much as you could get from Mr. Corben. You did not also need to meddle with the Blackwell girl."

"It seemed a solid course of action," Philip retorted, his brow furrowing in thought. "I thought it was a stroke of genius to arrange to have Erica bump into Kendra, and then dominate her into embracing the young mortal. I figured it would drive the final wedge between K.T. and his companion."

"You seem to have underestimated the strength of their bond," Hassan said simply. "You forget what truly occurred in New York."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Philip asked, his tone hinting at both curiosity and anger.

"Mr. Corben was quite taken with Ms. Blackwell, even before the bond," Hassan reminded his associate. "He entered the blood bond willingly, as a means of strengthening a relationship with someone for whom he already cared a great deal. A blood bond is the strongest tie between two of our kind, but not all blood bonds are created equal. Trust an Assamite to know the power of the blood."

"You actually believe this bond is stronger because he entered it willingly?" Philip asked, hiding his amusement. "It almost sounds as if there's a romantic streak within you somewhere."

"You had best hold your tongue, lest I take out my knife and hold it for you," Hassan growled. "I cannot believe that in all these centuries, you have never given serious contemplation to the blood bond. Many of our kind compare it to falling in love. When the mortals fall in love, the relationship can then go well or poorly. If it goes well, then there are other factors built into the relationship that strengthen the bond between the individuals. If things go poorly, then the emotions that bind are all there is." The Assamite looked over his associate, and saw that Philip did not understand at all.

"Let me put it this way," Hassan said, trying to use another approach. "Imagine two pairs of Cainites, one the normal regent-thrall relationship, and the other blood bound to each other. Let's say the regent abuses his thrall and makes a slave of him. The two that are blood bound to each other treat each other with respect and caring, and share a deep friendship as well as the blood bond. Now imagine that both bonds are suddenly broken. The thrall from the first pair would likely be grateful and would not concern himself with going near his master again. Either one from the second pair, however, would likely seek out the other. They would probably join together again, of their own free will, because there was more between them than just the blood bond. Unfortunately for you, K.T. and Erica belonged to the second kind of bond. You may have driven a wedge between them that will eventually break their connection, but they will always yearn for each other's company, whether or not the blood has a hand in the longing."

"I think I see you point," Philip admitted.

"If you had left well enough alone, as I had advised, you would have allowed K.T. to hold out hope that he and Erica could reconcile," Hassan continued. "Now, he appears to have no such belief. He is like a ship adrift in the ocean, with no sails or oars to guide him. He will devolve further and further, because he no longer has anyone to anchor him. The one and only thing he can grasp onto is the job that you gave him. He will kill until he wipes out every Camarilla vampire in the city, or until they kill him first."

"I think that may be a little melodramatic," Philip responded.

"I don't think so," Hassan replied. "You have probably destroyed what could have otherwise been an effective recruit."

"A hint of praise along with your prophecy of gloom?" Philip asked with a wicked smile.

"Mr. Corben was finally hinting at being a man worthy of honor and the skills he had developed," Hassan replied. "I should have expected you to tamper with that potential."

"There's little room for honor in the Black Hand," Philip commented. "Perhaps the time has come for K.T. to be withdrawn from this situation and taken away for some further training. We can give him time to overcome his bond to Ms. Blackwell. If he succeeds, then he may continue in our service. If not, we can always find someone else."

"So you'll simply abandon your little test in order to give him time to recover?" Hassan asked, his voice holding a slight, and surprising, hint of disappointment.

"Not on your life," Philip growled. "K.T. Corben was brought here to kill Johnny Yashida. That is his one and only true test within this city. You and I will work to bring about that confrontation, and then, once Yashida and his clanmates are dead, we will remove K.T."

"You're wicked," Hassan replied.

"I'm efficient," Philip countered. "Call it what you like, though. I get results. This time, I'll get results from K.T."

VI

"So how exactly are you planning on getting in there?" Michelle asked, looking over Ash's home with an expert eye. It did not take her long to conclude that the building seemed impenetrable.

"I already took care of all that," Johnny said with a smirk. "Southpaw showed me around earlier, so I fixed things to be able to get in more easily."

"You're kidding," Michelle said with a grin.

"I never kid about business," Yashida answered. "We're going in through Ash's old room."

"Wouldn't that be the most secure room in the building?" the Gangrel asked dubiously.

"Usually," Johnny confirmed. "But I detached one of the motion sensors outside the window, and cut the power supply to a second."

"No way," Michelle said, unable to hide her approval.

"Way," Johnny shot back. "I asked Southpaw for a knife to cut the wire to one of the motion sensors, and while he was busy digging it out, I used my own knife to cut the wires to a second one. He never suspected, especially since he kept his eyes on me the entire time I was using the knife he gave me."

"You're a clever one," Michelle said, deciding to stroke her mentor's ego.

"I also made sure the manual lock wasn't done right when I left," Johnny said

"Let's just hope no one thinks to check," the Gangrel muttered. "And let's also pray no one has moved in. It would suck to sneak into a room full of guards."

"No one goes in there anymore," Johnny said. "It's definitely the best way into the building. The only trick is going to be getting from the third floor all the way down into the basement."

"I guess so," Michelle agreed. "Any plans on how we're gonna do that?"

"I think I have the guards' sentry patterns worked out," Johnny answered.

"You think you have them worked out?" Michelle asked, her unease plain in her voice. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Trust me," the Telemon said with a wink.

As Johnny had promised, getting inside the building was far easier than it should have been. The Telemon simply floated up to the window, opened it, and lowered a rope to his companion. The only hitch almost came when a guard walked around the corner of the building several seconds before Johnny expected him. It was a close call, but the two thieves avoided detection and began to gather themselves inside Ash's old room.

"We're not going to get that close to getting caught again, are we?" Michelle asked, her voice no more than a whisper. The only assurance she received was an almost imperceptible nod, and her stomach involuntarily sank in response. I can't believe I'm doing this, the Gangrel thought over and over in her head.

Johnny gestured for her to listen at the door, and Michelle did so. Both vampires had spent time developing the heightened senses of their undead bodies, but the Gangrel had excelled in this endeavor while Johnny still lagged significantly far behind. Johnny's sense of hearing was good enough to hear the plungers in a combination lock, but he knew better than to trust his ears to pick out, through a heavy oak door, the sound of guards trying to move silently over thick carpeting. Michelle held her head against the wood for several minutes, focusing every bit of concentration on her sense of hearing. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she heard the faint rustling of pant legs outside. She gestured to Johnny, allowing him to know the sentry had just passed, and within a matter of seconds the two intruders were out in the hall.

Johnny and Michelle moved slowly, but deliberately, through the building. The Telemon had taken note of every single security system in the building earlier on, and now he guided his companion expertly through the blind spots in the motion detectors and cameras, around pressure sensors almost completely hidden beneath the carpet, and past a half-dozen guards that came by only a matter of seconds too late to catch the uninvited visitors.

It took longer than Michelle would have liked to finally reach the library on the second floor. The one thing both thieves hoped was that the one and only hidden door Johnny had found earlier would in fact be the one they needed. Earlier in the night, Southpaw had been emphatic of his denial of complete access to the building. Johnny had dropped the subject, but had searched, throughout his entire tour, for what he believed would have to be a hidden door. Only on the second floor did he find one. Initially, it had seemed unlikely to him that a door on the second floor would lead to the basement. Then it had occurred to him that the second floor would be the ideal place to hide it. Anyone who had heard about the secret second basement, and who went looking for it, would no doubt spend his time and energy searching the first floor. Anyone who knew where the door was, and attacked the building in force, would have to fight his way through the guards outside and on the first level, and then up to the second, just so they could go back down to the basement.

The two vampires walked into the room noiselessly, and Michelle shot a questioning glance toward her companion, wondering exactly where she could find the door that Johnny had told her about just before they entered the home. Johnny gestured toward a corner, and then pointed at the bottom of a bookshelf. Michelle saw the slight space right away, and immediately went about searching for a device that would allow her to move the shelf. All the while, Johnny stood facing the door to the room, never letting on whether he was as nervous as Michelle certainly was. It took several minutes, but finally Michelle found a spring-loaded lock six inches back from the edge. She knew that moving one of the books on the shelf would likely open the door, but she and Johnny did not have the luxury of moving each of the dozens of books. It would take too long, and they also ran the risk of setting off alarms that might be hidden in other books alongside the release. They were forced to take their current course of action.

Michelle rubbed her hands and blew on her fingers for good luck, then grasped one of her longer lockpicks lightly in her dextrous grip. It took less than a minute to trip the device, causing the shelf to rise a slight bit from the floor and swing freely away from the wall. Behind the shelf was a small doorway that led immediately to a flight of rough-hewn stone stairs that appeared to be located at the center of the building.

Both vampires entered the spiraling staircase and descended slowly, ignoring the dank, musty scent. Michelle could hardly believe that they had not encountered any guards either right outside or inside the doorway. It was unusual for Ventrue to be so lax with security, especially when they appeared to be guarding something of particular value. Michelle pushed her concerns from her mind, however, and focused instead on the job at hand. Her increased concentration saved her when, without warning, Johnny stopped dead in his tracks on the staircase. He gestured up ahead, where Michelle made out only the slightest glint of metal. Her heart sank as she realized what they now faced – motion detectors. There were four of them, set up in the corners of the descending stairway, each one of them containing two of the others in its field of view. Disarming any of them would be virtually impossible without setting off at least one of the remaining three. The Gangrel's eyes scanned the walls, just as she was sure Johnny's also were. Fairly fresh mortar had been placed on the walls, sealing the electric wires. It would be impossible to cut the power to the sensors without making at least a little noise, and equally impossible to know for certain if there were any noise sensors or sentries further down.

Johnny turned back to Michelle with a grim expression, and she knew exactly what he was thinking – they had to decide whether to continue or abandon the attempt. Johnny nodded almost imperceptibly down the stairs, his eyes holding a questioning expression. Michelle knew he was leaving the final decision to her. Great, just what I need, she thought angrily. She knew they would be able to get past the sensors, but that it would take time. There was no telling whether or not the delay would give a sentry the chance to move up or down through the staircase, causing them to get caught. Reluctantly, Michelle nodded her assent to continuing the job, and Johnny nodded back.

To the casual observer, it would have almost seemed that neither vampire moved for at least a minute after nodding to each other. To an experienced thief, however, the sight would have brought a tear to the eye. Both vampires had continued their descent, but at a vastly decelerated rate. Their muscles moved with excruciatingly slow precision, just as the hands of a clock. Michelle blocked out all thought from her mind save concentration on her movements. While she herself knew that she never stopped moving, she realized that to the casual observer it likely seemed as if she was standing still. The muscle control necessary for the task was enormous, and after ten minutes her body was aching from the effort. However, despite the pain, she dared not either stop or speed up. It took another five minutes of effort before Johnny finally moved his body quickly down a few steps, giving Michelle the room she needed to completely move out of the sensors' view. Once her companion had resumed normal movement, all of the pain seemed to flee from Michelle's body. She had only one and a half more steps to go, and the knowledge that she was almost done seemed to revive her a great deal. One and a half steps, she counted out. That'll only take about three minutes. That was the one and only time she allowed her thoughts to drift, though. After that momentary lapse, she returned her mind to the task at hand. Finally, after what seemed like the longest three minutes of her life, Michelle stepped down and out of range of the sensors. Instantly her movements sped up to their normal rate.

That sucked, she thought silently to herself. Johnny smiled thinly back at her, and the two thieves continued cautiously down the dark staircase. Finally, after descending what seemed like fifty feet, they arrived at a landing. The hallway before them was made of cobblestones, and went for about ten feet before it turned to the left. Rather defensible, Michelle noted. Anyone wanting to keep out intruders would be able to set up a defense at the bottom of the spiral staircase, and then again around that corner. With that thought her heart sank slightly as she wondered what would be awaiting them around the corner. Johnny had already moved up to the bend and was taking a mirror out of his pocket. He angled the glass just enough to see down the next hallway, and then stepped back immediately. Michelle's heart jumped and her hands immediately went to the two Glocks she had at the small of her back. Johnny gestured for her to wait, and then he handed the mirror to her.

Michelle walked slowly and angled the mirror herself, not at all certain that she wanted to know what was waiting for them around the turn. What she saw knocked the wind out of her. A large man sat in a chair at the far end of the hall, his hands resting lightly on an M-60 standing on a tripod. Behind him was a large, obviously thick ironbound oak door with three locks. The last line of defense, Michelle thought ruefully. She scanned the man again, this time allowing her eyes to shift their focus slightly as she made use of her ability to read auras. The guard's aura was strong, and laced with thin black veins throughout. He was a diablerist – a vampire that fed on the blood of other vampires. Whether that meant he had actually gone out and killed a vampire and drained his essence, or whether he was a blood-bound sentry made little difference. Michelle knew that in either scenario he would likely be a formidable opponent.

She looked expectantly at Johnny, who for his part seemed lost in thought. Michelle knew he was trying to figure out some way to get to the door without alerting the guard. Twenty feet separated them from the guard, so they would not be able to simply walk around the corner and stick a knife in his throat as they finished him off. Besides, she knew, they would have to leave the guard intact if they were to leave the building without anyone ever knowing they had been there, as was the plan. The only apparent way to do that was to dominate the guard, but Michelle had her doubts about that. She knew that to dominate the will of another vampire, Johnny would need to make eye contact. Beyond that, he needed to expend effort to subjugate the other's will. That would take time, and even a few seconds would be all the sentry needed to pull the trigger on the rifle, bringing God only knew how many extra guards.

No, she knew, we'll have to evade him somehow. It's the only way. The only thing she could think to do was to have Johnny use his ability to walk through shadows. It was possible for her companion to step into a shadow and then reappear from a different shadow of his own choosing. The one catch, however, was the path between the two shadows took him, body and soul, through what he had only been able to describe as a realm of shadow. He said it was like a different, parallel dimension where nightmares took form. Recently Johnny had been more and more hesitant to employ his vampiric control of shadows – the Lasombra-created discipline of obtenebration. She seriously doubted whether he would use it now, even after all the effort the pair had already put forth to get this far.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Johnny turned back to the Gangrel with a questioning gaze. Michelle knew he had not reached any conclusion as to how to get past the guard. Michelle could only shrug her shoulders in response. Johnny then closed his eyes and slowly inhaled deeply. Michelle could tell her partner was using all five senses to examine the area, doubtlessly searching for anything that might help him. She followed suit, and augmented her own senses. She took the mirror again and scanned the guarded hallway, this time examining the stone walls for any sign of an additional secret door. She concentrated on her hearing, trying to detect any noise that could give them a clue as to a weakness in the defenses. She found none. Even her sense of smell was heightened, but all she could pick up in the stagnant air were the dominant scent of moisture, with a hint of cinnamon, along with oil, which she assumed was from the heavy machine gun around the corner. She was about to lower her heightened senses entirely when she picked up the slightest hint of blood. Her eyes went wide with surprise, and she saw that Johnny had noticed her reaction. He shot a questioning gaze at her, and she simply pointed to her nose. She saw him inhale, but his curious look remained. He doesn't smell it, she realized. So either I'm imagining things, which is all too possible, or it's too faint for him to detect. If it's that faint, then it's old. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her thoughts. She was grasping at straws, and knew it. She shrugged her shoulders and then turned her gaze to the staircase behind them. Might as well get this over with. The walk back up was as excruciating as the descent, and it took them almost twenty-five minutes to ascend the relatively short staircase.

In comparison to the stairs, moving through the rest of the building seemed like child's play. Once again the pair evaded one security provision after another. After another fifteen minutes they were back outside and moving toward Johnny's car.

"That seemed like a colossal waste of time," Johnny stated evenly, his disappointment obvious.

"I don't know," Michelle replied, not voicing the agreement she was feeling. "We at least know that they're really serious about protecting whatever it is they have down there.

"We could have guessed that before we went in," Johnny shot back.

"I suppose," Michelle admitted. "So what now?"

"Don't know," Johnny answered. "Let's go somewhere and go over the job step by step and see if there's anything one of us saw that the other didn't. Maybe if we put enough pieces together we'll come up with something."

"Maybe," Michelle answered doubtfully, knowing already that it was unlikely a short conversation would uncover anything that either of them missed during the job. If nothing else, though, that was certainly more fun than going out there fighting the Sabbat, she thought silently. The siege had been strangely passé compared to her earlier experiences opposing a Sabbat siege in San Francisco. Sure, the Brujah and Nosferatu had taken fairly heavy losses, but none of the other clans, save the Toreador and the regent himself, had even seen much action, no less taken serious casualties. Something in Michelle's gut made her think they had simply been lucky so far, that all too soon all hell would break loose. She pushed those thoughts from her mind, though, as she closed the door to Johnny's car and fastened her seatbelt. Maybe it won't be all that bad after all, she told herself, trying desperately to believe that they had already seen the worst of what there was in New Orleans.

VII

As Johnny and Michelle walked into the Telemon haven, Brett walked slowly into the front room and looked the pair over, his eyes seeming to scan them very carefully. Fuck, Johnny silently cursed, knowing from his clanmate's expression that he was likely going to get chewed out for disappearing again.

"Where were you?" Brett asked, his even tone conveying none of the anger that Johnny had expected.

"We were out doing some reconnaissance," Yashida answered, suddenly growing uneasy with the situation. He could tell that Brett was obviously upset about something, but it did not appear to be related to anything Johnny had done. It was a new experience that Johnny could never have expected, no less prepare for. "What's up?"

There was an attack after the primogen meeting earlier," Brett explained. "Southpaw just came over and told me about it personally. Of course, he wanted to meet with you, but I had to tell him you were out doing something secretive." Johnny ignored the implications of Brett's statement, and instead devoted all of his attention to Brett's words. He could not imagine what had his commander so worried. "Seems the Sabbat just hit the Tremere."

"The Tremere?" Johnny asked, unable to hide any of his surprise. He had known that eventually the Sabbat would have to hit one of the stronger clans rather than the Nosferatu and Brujah, but Johnny had picked the Tremere to be perhaps the strongest clan in the city. He had expected the Sabbat to leave the Tremere for last, only moving against the warlocks when they had cut away several layers of defense and removed the hope for any assistance. Yashida would have bet on the Toreador or Malkavians to be the next established clan to suffer casualties. "So do we know what's gonna happen now?"

"Not yet," Brett replied. "Southpaw wanted to bounce some ideas around, but neither one of us was too comfortable being very candid with the other. We both decided it would probably be best to wait until you got back."

"Fine," Yashida responded. "I'll give Southpaw a call and set up a meeting." Maybe I should have just announced my presence while I was breaking into his place, Johnny thought with a smile. It would have saved me a trip. Of course, I'd probably also have ended up being accused of trying to assassinate my employers, so it's just as well that I got out free and clear. I just can't wait to hear how all this happened.

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

Yashida glanced up as Southpaw walked into the Starbuck's coffeehouse on Maple Ave., just a couple of blocks from Phillip's bar. Southpaw walked over and looked at Yashida with slightly disgusted eyes as the small Telemon spooned off the whipped cream from his large iced mocha. Johnny smiled broadly as the Ventrue avoided making eye contact, knowing all too well how Southpaw felt about the thought of a vampire eating standard human fare.

"So what the hell happened?" Johnny asked immediately, wanting to be done with the meeting by the time he finished his drink. There was still a bit of time left in the night, and he hoped to meet up once again with Damage Incorporated.

"We think the Sabbat hit Martin on his way back from the meeting," Southpaw explained.

"You think it was the Sabbat?" Yashida asked, suddenly interested in the fact that there may be some doubt. "Why would you think it could have been anyone else?"

"There were only two bodies," Southpaw answered. "Both of the ghouls that Martin had with him had their heads blown off and were left behind. Martin and his three guards were taken away, though."

"Warlocks are valuable prizes for Sabbat soldiers," Johnny pointed out. "Doesn't seem unusual to me." Despite his words, though, he felt that Southpaw was right – something about the situation just seemed wrong.

"Jasper already pointed that out," Southpaw said, referring to the Gangrel primogen. "He said the Sabbat probably didn't kill the warlocks until they got back to their haven. He figures they probably diablerized the Tremere."

"Stands to reason," Johnny said. But why wouldn't they leave at least one of the low-ranking bodyguards behind? he wondered. It would have been a great way to endanger the Masquerade. The Telemon kept his thoughts to himself, however, and filed his most recent questions with earlier ones, most notably the matter of who had killed the regent and the Toreador primogen. Johnny was already starting to have his suspicions about those matters.

"So you think it was the Sabbat?" Southpaw asked. "It just doesn't seem to right to me."

"Well, I've learned to trust my instincts," Johnny said, making certain his answer was evasive enough to avoid presenting any sort of definite opinion. "Maybe you should, too. I'm sure if it wasn't the Sabbat, we'll find out about it soon enough."

"Why's that?" Southpaw asked.

"If someone has it in for the Tremere, they'll take another shot at Martin's successor," Johnny said. "If we just see one of the other primogen get whacked, though, it's a good bet it was the Sabbat."

"I guess you're right," Southpaw said. "I mean, who else would want to kill the regent and two of our primogen?"

"Wait a second, you think it was the same person that did all of them?" Johnny asked. "I haven't seen or heard anything that would make me think that. For all we know, Du Lenne offed the regent, and then the Sabbat killed Du Lenne. They probably just did Martin, too."

"You're starting to confuse me,' Southpaw admitted. "My sire used to always handle this stuff. I wasn't called in until he had decided who to target."

"I see," Johnny said, filing away the information that in the eyes of the city's Ventrue elders, Southpaw was only a fist, and not the mind that controlled it. "I'll poke around with my contacts. Why don't you keep your ears open around your superiors? Let me know if you find out anything, and I'll do the same."

"Sure," Southpaw said, already rising to leave.

Johnny leaned back in his leather armchair and started gazing at a young college girl who was hard at work despite the late hour. She caught the Telemon looking at her, and immediately looked away bashfully. Well, seems like a possibility, the thief thought gleefully. I do need to get a meal, after all. Might as well get that over with now before I get back to work.

VIII

Johnny walked into Phillip's bar cautiously, not knowing what kind of greeting he would receive from his anarch allies. He had seen Simeon's Dodge Dart parked outside, so he knew that at least the group's de facto leader was present. If I'm lucky, he'll be the only one here, and I'll be able to see what's up and reason with him if necessary, the Telemon planned. If they're all here, though, and if they have any suspicions about me... Without dwelling on the uncomfortable thought any further, the Telemon double-checked his two Berettas and walked into the bar. As expected, he was carded, but once the formalities were out of the way he moved toward the bar itself, spotting Sara filling a pitcher of Abita Amber for three college guys.

"Hey," the young ghoul said, making Johnny realize that he had all but ignored her since he had arrived in New Orleans. He had provided her with blood a few times, but other than that they really had not seen each other.

"Hey, back," Yashida said with a grin that he hoped hid his anxiety. "You know, we should catch up some time."

"I was just thinking the same thing," Sara commented. "But I assume you're here for business right now."

"The anarchs," the Telemon confirmed with a nod. "Any idea how they're feeling about stuff lately?"

"Well, I know they're pretty much thankful as shit that the Angel of Death hasn't turned his attention on them yet, but other than that… I don't know. Word has it that most anarchs on the Gulf Coast have decided New Orleans is off their itineraries. The ones east of us are staying there, and no one is making the treck across from Texas, either. Looks like fresh anarch recruits are out of the question."

"Great."

"And the few that are left are probably gonna call it quits any day now," the ghoul added. "One of the other bartenders here is a ghoul of one of the non-anarch Brujah, and she says they're likely gone by the end of the week. It's not good."

"The Sabbat is succeeding in each of its goals," Johnny agreed. "With the rest of the clans divided the way they are… I just don't know."

"Anyway, what's left of Damage, Inc. is at the pool tables," Sara told her master. "I have that shotgun you gave me, just in case."

"For future reference, that was just about the least reassuring thing you coul have said," Johnny told her as he walked away. It was already three o'clock, but neither the late hour nor the recent surge in violent crime had dissuaded the locals from having a good time. The bar was still fairly full, and the usual smoky mist was actually thick enough to reduce visibility just halfway across the bar. It took a few moments for Yashida to spot Damage, Inc. just where Sara had said they were; Simeon, DeNiro, and Barb were standing around the pool table, apparently playing a game of cutthroat.

"How are all y'all doin'?" Yashida asked pleasantly as he walked up to the group.

"You got a lot of balls showing up here," Barb spat in reply. Neither Simeon nor DeNiro, however, displayed any reaction at all. To all intents and purposes, it appeared as if they had not even noticed that Johnny had walked up.

"Oh yeah?" Johnny asked evenly. "Why's that?"

"Who are you?" DeNiro asked, suddenly deciding to join the conversation. "And what the hell did you do to Cabbage Patch?"

"I killed her," Johnny replied. "She was a Sabbat spy."

"Oh really?" Barb asked, plainly not believing a word that Johnny was saying.

"Really," Johnny answered. "I haven't seen any of you since the night of the gunfight, so let me lay it all out for you. I laid down cover fire to help you get away, and then I decided to help Brett and Uiko whack the entire group of those animals."

"So what happened to Uiko?" Simeon asked, finally seeming to find something that interested him. "We haven't heard from her at all, either."

"She came with me," Johnny said. "I'm not really Caitiff."

"You don't say," Barb shot back sarcastically. "We already pretty much figured you're probably a Brujah mercenary working for the powers that be in the city. Just another tool of the elders that's come to fuck with the anarchs."

"You really believe that?" Johnny asked angrily, not bothering to try to play nice anymore. If they want a fight, I'll give 'em one they won't forget, he decided. Three on one's rough odds, but I'll be a little more than they expect. The surprise should be just enough of an advantage to be able to walk out of here in one piece. Besides, Sara probably has her hands on her birthday present at this very moment. "My real name is Johnny, and I'm Telemon, actually."

"No shit," Simeon said with a whistle. "Now that I wouldn't have guessed in a million years."

"What the fuck is a Telemon?" DeNiro asked. Barb's face remained completely impassive. Something about her made Johnny think she had heard of his clan before, and he was willing to guess the experience had been none too pleasant.

"They're mercenaries," Simeon explained. "You claim to be some kind of new bloodline, right?"

"That's right," Johnny confirmed.

"So I assume you're here to fight the Sabbat," Simeon guessed.

"Right again," Johnny answered.

"And when you're done with the Sabbat?" DeNiro asked.

"We'll leave," Johnny said.

"Oh, you expect us to believe that?" Barb interjected. "The primogen are gonna have a free-for-all to choose the next prince. You'll work in that fight, I suppose. Then when they're all done shooting each other up, they'll turn to the anarchs and have you gun us down. You'll end up killing your supposed friends."

"No," Johnny said simply. "That won't happen."

"Yeah, right."

"We only work against the Sabbat," Yashida continued. "We're a small, young clan. You guys know how the elders are. If we took sides in their power struggles against each other, eventually someone would decide to whack us so we can't fuck up some centuries-old scheme to avenge a slight no one remembers. As long as we only fight the Sabbat, the Camarilla will have a use for us. As long as they have a use for us, they'll let us be."

"And then what will you do?" Simeon asked.

"We'll find a place for ourselves in the world," Johnny said.

"You'll become one of them," DeNiro clarified.

"The elders set up the rules," Johnny pointed out, "and as a result they can use them to their own advantage. All my little clan is doing is trying to find a way to survive while staying inside the lines."

"Can't happen," Barb said angrily. "The elders will always win. You can't beat them at their own game. The only way to survive is to kill them all."

"No offense, but I prefer my chances to yours," Johnny said with a smirk.

"So, is it possible to join up?" DeNiro asked.

"What?" Johnny replied quizzically. He had gone into the bar to see if he could somehow make amends with his former gang and at the very least ensure that he would not get gunned down from behind one day. He had never actually expected to be able to make legitimate recruits of his friends.

"Anarchs in the city have only one of two choices anymore," Simeon said. "We either leave, or run the risk of running into the Sabbat's Angel of Death. Neither one sounds good to me, though most are getting the hell out of Dodge. I grew up here, and the city is part of me. I don't want to leave. I don't think I'll be able to defeat Death, though. I don't see why we can't continue to run together like we did before. No reason for you to abandon us, or vice versa."

"True," DeNiro agreed.

"I don't believe this," Barb muttered. "You're talking about joining up with some of the pawns of the elders."

"We're all pawns of the elders," Yashida pointed out. "They're using my clan as a sword and the anarchs as a shield. You know, most anarchs spend decades bitching and moaning about the way the Camarilla uses them, but in the end, the ones that get old enough always return to the Camarilla eventually. Whether it be fifty years, or a hundred years, or sometimes, rarely, even two hundred years, they always go back. So my clan has come up with a way to essentially be anarchs while planning the whole time to return to the fold."

"I never thought about it that way," Simeon muttered. "You're right, though. Those of us that live long enough always go back. It's just not safe out there alone, what with the lupines, the Sabbat, and the hunters. I'll join up if you'll have me."

"Me, too," DeNiro put in happily.

"Count me out," Barb answered. "I've sworn to always oppose the elders. If you want to be jerked around by our would-be masters, go right ahead. Just know that the next time we see each other, you better make sure you're heavy."

"Don't be like that," Simeon said, seeming to want to get both of his anarch friends to follow along.

"I'll join the Sabbat before I ever march to the beat of the elders' drum," Barb answered, her voice bordering on fury. "All y'all can rot in hell for all I care. Have a good fuckin' life." Without another word the girl walked away from the group and toward the door.

"Barb, wait," DeNiro called out. The Brujah made a move to follow her, but Simeon grabbed his arm.

"Let her go," Simeon advised. "She has to calm down at the very least. Maybe she'll come back, maybe she won't. It has to be her decision, though."

"I guess," DeNiro conceded reluctantly, taking a few moments before returning his attention to his two friends. "So what do we do now?"

"You become mercenaries," Yashida said. "I'll put you in touch with someone," he continued, already recalling Southpaw's phone number in his mind. "Tell him you've heard about the siege and that you'd like to offer your services."

"And what do we get out of it?" DeNiro asked greedily.

"Probably not much," Yashida admitted. "It's not like you're well known or anything, and you also have to keep in mind that once the fight is over no one is gonna want to have you staying around if you were a merc during the siege. I know a mercenary... a good one... and he lives pretty much alone. He's got money, though, and he knows lots of powerful people that owe him favors. You should just know what kind of life is waiting for you if you make this move."

"I can't do that," Simeon said. "Like I said before, I won't leave this city. I guess I'll just have to fight to defend it like everyone else."

"I guess so," Johnny said. "Let me offer you some new equipment, though, at the very least. I have an extra armor vest and a couple of Glock 10mm's."

"That would be great," Simeon said with a smile. "You know, I've heard some things about your clan."

"Such as?" Yashida asked curiously.

"I heard that you work for princes to help eradicate anarchs," Simeon said. "Word has it the founder of the clan first made a name for himself by butchering an anarch pack, and that it was that attack that brought him to the attention of the princes."

"Not at all true," Johnny said. "I do most of our arrangements, and I like running with the anarchs far too much to ever take a job wiping them out. Besides, like I said, it's just bad business, and the kind of thing that's guaranteed to come back to bite us in the ass later. You know me. You know the kind of person I am. Don't believe the rumors. There are those out there, particularly but not exclusively the Sabbat, who have an interest in turning the anarchs against us. You're old enough to see that."

"Yeah," Simeon muttered. "So, what about you, DeNiro?" he asked, turning toward his friend.

"I think I could live as a mercenary," DeNiro said, "but I'll need some equipment and maybe someone to show me the ropes."

"I'll make you a deal," Yashida offered. "I'll hook you up and show you what to do. All you ever have to do in return is work to make sure that these shitty rumors that Simeon has been talking about aren't believed by every anarch that hears them."

"I think I could do that," DeNiro replied.

"Great," Yashida said with a smile. "I love having friends in the anarch community, and I think you'll come to like having friends in the mercenary community. To quote one of my favorite movies, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

To be continued……………………………………