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)

7. Le Bon Temps Roule, Chapter 6

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 6

I

"Thanks for coming to meet with me," Johnny said, keeping his eyes scanning his surroundings rather than watching the man sitting before him. "I know it must have been a risk to you."

"Unavoidable," K.T. replied. "I want you to do a job for me, so a face-to-face meeting is called for. It's tradition."

"It's not like you don't already know me," Johnny pointed out.

"I just like to see the look on the face of someone who hires me, or someone I hire," K.T. responded. "Especially if I think that person might be up to something."

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

"We are on different sides of this war," K.T. reminded his fellow mercenary. "You don't think I'm going to trust you completely, do you?"

"Not a chance," Johnny answered with a thin smile. "So you're sure you want to go through with this?" the Telemon asked, deciding to get right down to business. The two vampires were out in the open, relatively speaking, sitting on the top floor of Tulane's Law Library. Due to the late hour and the early point in the semester, the area was completely vacant.

"I'm sure," K.T. answered grimly.

"This is pretty cold, even for you," Johnny said. "I would have liked to think you didn't have it in you to do something like this."

"It's not like I'll be killing the girl myself," K.T. answered.

"No, you're hiring an assassin to do it for you," Johnny said. "Something about that only seems to make it all worse."

"Doesn't matter to me," K.T. said. "I want Erica's childe killed. Name a price."

"Consider it professional courtesy," Johnny said.

"Fuck that," K.T. responded gruffly, pushing some stray hair out of his face and focusing on his friend. "I don't want to feel like I owe you anything."

"And I don't want to go to sleep every morning knowing that I actually accepted payment to kill some innocent girl just because she got in the way of your relationship with Erica," Johnny countered. "I do have a little bit of a conscience. Not much of one, but it's still there. If I consider this a favor to a friend, it's not quite as bad as cold-blooded murder for hire of an innocent."

"Call it what you will, but I want this to be a job, not a favor," K.T. said. "If it bothers your conscience so fucking much, I'll do it myself."

"And if Erica sees you, or even suspects that you did it?" Johnny asked. "What then?"

"I'll deal with that if and when it comes up," K.T. replied. An uneasy silence followed for several minutes as the two vampires gazed at each other, each trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

"No, I'll do it," Johnny finally said. "And as compensation, I want some information."

"Such as?" K.T. asked curiously. "I hope you don't expect me to give up any information that could be considered a breach of my contract."

"I'll tell you what," Johnny said humorlessly, "if I ask anything that makes you uncomfortable answering, just tell me so and we'll both forget I ever even asked."

"Fine," the Gangrel said. "So, ask away."

"You killed the Toreador primogen, didn't you?" Johnny asked.

"Yes," K.T. replied.

"I'm impressed," the Telemon admitted. "That was a tough job."

"Yes, it was," the mercenary agreed. "Next question."

"Did you kill the regent?"

"No," K.T. said. "Breaking into a Toreador haven – even the haven of the clan's is one thing. Trying to get at the regent is something else entirely. I don't think I could have done it."

"So does the Sabbat have an Assamite?"

"Whether they do or not, you should know I can't say," K.T. replied. "Next question."

"Do you know who did kill the regent?" Johnny asked, trying another angle.

"No," K.T. admitted, his lack of knowledge not seeming to bother him much at all.

"Really?" Johnny asked.

"There's no point in lying to you about it," K.T. shot back. "Your payment is information. It's a matter of honor to be truthful in our negotiations."

"Sorry," Johnny muttered. "Next question, I guess. Did you kill Martin?"

"No," K.T. answered, "and before you ask, I don't know who did that, either."

"It wasn't the Sabbat?" Johnny asked.

"I didn't say that," K.T. responded. "It could easily have been the Sabbat. Just keep in mind that as I'm a mercenary, it's unlikely that the bishop is going to tell me everything he plans, and every asset he has at his disposal. There's always the chance that I might go run off and start talking to someone on the other side."

"Point taken," Yashida said. "Now, please keep in mind that I'm not planning on hitting the bishop, whoever he is. I don't want numbers or anything. All I would like to know with this question is exactly what I ask."

"Fine," K.T. said.

"Okay, then here goes," Johnny said, hoping that his setup for the question was adequate. "I assume the bishop has bodyguards. Like I said, I know you can't tell me how many of them there are, or how tough they are or whatever. All I would like to know is if there are any scary-looking ones."

"What?" K.T. asked.

"Do any of the bishop's Templars look scary?" Johnny asked again.

"I suppose so," K.T. admitted, knowing that Vlad could very easily be considered a rather intimidating presence.

"Is he either Tzimisce or Assamite?" Johnny asked.

"Watch it, Johnny," K.T. warned. "You're walking a very fine line."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, don't answer," Yashida countered.

"I'm not really sure," K.T. said after a moment. "It's not like the bishop goes around introducing his Templars by name and clan. If I had to guess, though, I would say Tzimisce. He certainly looks vaguely Eastern European, though he's a little larger than you might expect. Not that that information does much for you."

"Not much at all," Johnny admitted. "It should be enough for what I have in mind, though."

"And what is that?" K.T. asked.

"Well, this conversation has caused me to come to a couple of disturbing conclusions, and I need a basis for a pretty plausible lie," Johnny said with a smile.

"Meaning you needed just enough truth to make your line of shit easier to believe," K.T. concluded, a small smile coming across his face for the first time since he had entered the city.

"You catch on quickly, grasshopper," the Telemon said. "Now, as for the girl, I know you'll probably want this done soon. I suggest you make certain you're busy doing something rather high profile, so that Erica will always know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're not responsible."

"Sure," K.T. said. "So I guess you're about to ask me when I plan to do my next job."

"Well, that would be nice," Johnny admitted. "But if I knew that, then I would be sorely tempted to warn the Brujah and Nosferatu that you're on your way to kill more of them." The Telemon grew silent and his demeanor darkened considerably. "You've killed some really nice people during this siege, K.T. Some of them were friends."

"I know," K.T. said. "If it's any consolation, it was just business. I didn't have anything against any of them."

"I know that," Johnny replied. "It's the one reason I can still bear to be civil enough with you to have this conversation. I'll tell you what – I'll call you an hour before I take the girl out. That way you have enough time to go somewhere and cause all hell to break loose. Just try not to kill anyone I know."

"No promises," K.T. said sourly. "Maybe you would be best served by advising anyone you know to get the fuck out of the city before something unfortunate happens to them."

"We'll see," Yashida answered, obviously starting to become angrier. "We should probably end this meeting now before one of us does something regrettable."

"By all means," K.T. said, rising from his chair and starting toward the staircase.

Yashida sat alone behind him, going over everything he had learned. So, K.T. only whacked Du Lenne. That means someone else did Martin and Ash. Why would the bishop send K.T. to kill one primogen if he already had someone else waiting in the wings who was just as good, or even better? If K.T. is the best the bishop has, he would probably have used him for all three jobs. If he has someone else, likely an Assamite, it wouldn't make sense to risk losing an extremely expensive mercenary going after a target that someone else in his forces was more qualified to take out. So therefore the hit on Du Lenne makes no sense, either. The more Johnny thought about the situation, the more convinced he became that the Sabbat was not responsible for the regent's, and probably also Martin's, death.

After spending a few moments in thought, the Telemon also stood and left, certain that K.T. had had plenty of time to get far enough away so that neither or the two mercenaries would have to look at each other again anytime soon. He was completely unaware that a pair of unseen eyes had been watching the entire meeting, and now hatched their own plans.

II

Erica led Kendra into Pat O'Brien's, a large bar just off Bourbon Street that was a favorite gathering place for both tourists and local college students. The two girls entered and walked down the dark entry hall, passing by the piano bar and small pub that were on either side, and continued toward the main patio. Once they were back out in the open, both girls scanned the crowd, each one looking for a suitable pair of men that would become dinner for them later on. Both of the young vampires spotted the same pair at the same time, and turned to each other with a grin. Erica led the way, walking right up to the young men, smiling amicably as one of them turned to face her.

"Hi," Erica said pleasantly. "What's your name?"

"Uh, Jack," the guy said uneasily. Erica guessed that the average-looking male was not accustomed to being approached by women. He probably thinks I'm a prostitute, she thought awkwardly. I'll have to make sure he gets rid of that notion quickly.

"My name's Erica," the Ventrue antitribu said, shuffling her feet slightly so that she seemed unsure of herself. She grabbed Jack's hand and pulled him closer to herself. "My friend there is interested in that guy you're with. Please just tell me you two aren't gay or anything."

"No way," Jack said a little too loudly for his own good. Both his own friend and Kendra looked at Erica and Jack curiously, wondering what the two were talking about in their hushed tones.

"Great," Erica said, spreading her lips in a broad smile that lit up her entire face. "Why don't we get a table?"

"Fine," Jack answered. He gestured for a waiter, who immediately led them through the crowd.

"Tell him not to seat us too close to the fountain," Erica asked, feeling uncomfortable being near the flaming fountain. Jack passed on her request, and the waiter found the group a seat in the back corner of the patio. It amazed Erica that the waiter had met with success so quickly. There were people moving through the patio, searching for any sign of a table being vacated, and none of them were meeting with much success. The waiter, on the other hand, walked up to a table just as the people seated there were beginning to leave, securing the foursome a spot before anyone else could get it. The feat seemed almost magical.

"Can I get you anything to drink," the waiter asked.

"Just water for me," Erica said, "with a lot of ice in it. The more ice, the better." She knew that as they all sat there, the ice would melt and slowly lower the water level in the glass. It would almost seem as if she had been drinking some of it.

"Same for me," Kendra added.

"You can't be serious," Jack said. "You gotta have at least one hurricane. The place is famous for them."

"Not tonight," Erica said, her voice tinged with regret. "We have a volleyball match tomorrow," she explained, using the lie that she and Kendra had decided upon before leaving that night. "We don't want to be hung over or anything."

"Fine," Jack said, obviously disappointed. "I'll have a hurricane, though. What about you, Bill?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"Same for me," the other man said as he produced a gold Zippo lighter and lit a Marlboro Light with a flick of his wrist.

The waiter nodded and walked away, and Erica started to take some time to look closely at the two guys. Jack was completely ordinary looking, standing only about 5'10", with brown hair and brown eyes. Tomorrow morning he'll count his lucky stars that he got to be with me, she concluded. She then looked at Bill, who seemed only slightly less average. He stood a shade above six feet, but also had brown hair and dull brown eyes. Both men were thin, and appeared to be around twenty-one years old. Just old enough to get in here.

Erica noted with approval that Kendra was already starting to flirt with Bill, using her eyes more than her voice to lure him into feeling that he would be getting lucky that night. The waiter finally returned with the two hurricanes, and the group settled in for hours of small talk.

By two in the morning, the crowd in Pat O's had thinned out considerably, and both Bill and Jack were a little more than slightly inebriated. Erica and Kendra were, of course, completely coherent, and both could sense that they would feed well. They gathered the two men up and got into a cab, heading for an apartment that the two men shared uptown.

Once they had arrived at the small place, Kendra and Erica split up, each one taking her intended victim into a bedroom. Erica quickly had her prey undressed, and started to get him worked up as she took off her own clothes. It had been a long time since she had been able to regularly feed as she wished. Her entire time in New Orleans had been an unexpected treat, and she was finally starting to remember the small things that she had given up when she had started to run across the country with K.T.

In New York, when she had still run with the Sabbat, Erica had regularly gone to bars and picked up mortal men the same way she had that night. She would then take them home and have sex with them. While she derived no physical pleasure from sex the way she had as a mortal, Erica knew that to her partner, the experience was just as enjoyable as it would be had she been alive. Her body still felt and acted the same, and she could burn a slight portion of her blood to increase her body temperature enough so that it was impossible to tell she was usually as cold as a corpse. She would give her partner every bit of pleasure that he desired, and would bite into his neck as he climaxed. Erica would then be able to taste not only the blood that she needed to survive, but also the endorphins that were present. It was a rush that made her feel alive again, if only for a few seconds. She also knew the pleasure she provided her partner was second to none other, as the ecstasy of the kiss would be added to the pleasure of his orgasm. Far more often than not the man passed out, leaving her all the opportunity she needed to return to her haven by morning.

Jack proved to be like so many others, and fell unconscious as soon as Erica was done with him. She immediately got out of bed and started to get her clothes on, still a little pumped from the incredible meal she had just enjoyed. That's definitely something I miss, she mused. She knew K.T. would never accept her mounting her prey on a nightly basis, riding them hard to give them as much pleasure as she could. Erica had almost been amused the first time K.T. had stepped in to prevent her being alone with her meal. She had pointed out that it was just sex, and it didn't mean anything now that they were both dead. K.T. had never felt that way, though. He had never liked her seducing the mortals, and always felt as if Erica's flirtations meant that she held him in low regard. Fucking possessive asshole, she thought angrily, knocking herself from her reverie as she hooked her bra and slipped her tight black shirt over her head. He'd probably even call me a hummer or something, she fumed, remembering one of the popular Sabbat terms for female vampires that fed as she did.

She could hear the sounds of moaning from the adjoining room, and knew that Kendra would soon be done herself. Erica checked the Beretta she had in her purse, and then went to work putting on her black leather knee-high boots. Suddenly, she heard the moaning from the next room turn into whimpering, and then all noise completely stopped. Fuck, Erica cursed silently, already guessing what had happened. She walked across the hall and burst into Bill's room, finding Bill lying completely still on his bed, his skin obviously pale even in the dim lighting. Kendra was still at his throat, her fangs buried into his flesh seeking more blood as her body continued to rock up and down in her straddle position.

"What are you doing?" Erica asked calmly. She could tell that Bill was dead. There was nothing the two could do for him now. All that was left was for her to chastise her childe for being so careless with her meal. Kendra slowly stopped, and then turned to face her sire. Blood dripped from her lips, running down and dripping from her chin onto her breasts.

"Sorry," she said bashfully. "I guess I got carried away."

"Good guess," Erica agreed. "We could have come back and had these guys again sometime," the Ventrue antitribu continued. "Now that won't be an option." She looked around the room and almost breathed a sigh of relief as she noted the gold Zippo and pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. "Get dressed, I'll start a fire."

Fifteen minutes later they were walking out of the small apartment, not bothering to turn back to watch the flames consume the interior. Erica did not care at all whether or not Jack woke up in time to get out safely. She had enjoyed her meal, and that was all that mattered. She remembered the teaching she had received at the feet of her Sabbat compatriots – the lives of mortals meant little. Had she stopped to think about it, though, she would have been surprised that she had taken the care to destroy the drained corpse. It was not as if the Sabbat had ever held the Masquerade in any high esteem.

"I can't believe that happened," Kendra said, her voice sounding pitiful. "I killed that man."

"Don't worry about it," Erica said, falling right back into the habit of spouting the Sabbat party line. "He was just a mortal. They're our food, Kendra. Don't ever forget that. We're vampires – we're better than they are. Save your grief for something that matters."

III

Johnny Yashida looked around the primogens' meeting table with a cautious eye, not bothering to think about how much the faces had changed in the few weeks that the Sabbat siege had been going on. The newest face was Philip Hoi, the man who replaced Carlos Martin as the head of the Tremere. Johnny knew the man from San Francisco. Just before most of the city's kindred inhabitants had been wiped out, the Telemon and Tremere had formed a tentative alliance to battle an unseen threat. Apparently, it was because of his experience with the Telemon that Hoi had been sent to New Orleans. He was the only member of his clan to escape the massacre in the Bay Area, and now his superiors seemed to want the Chinese kindred to put to work some of the experience he had gained. At least, that is what Hoi had told Johnny. The Telemon suspected that there was far more to the situation than he had been told, though. He could always expect the Tremere to tell less than the whole truth whenever they were presented with the opportunity to do so.

"So what exactly is it that you want?" Sheridan asked, seeming to take the lead in getting the meeting underway. "You were assured that there would be no change in our decision to keep you employed. None of us see the need to hold this meeting, especially considering the fact that one of our number was killed a week ago."

"My apologies," Johnny said smoothly. "My associates and I are concerned about the way this siege is being handled. We would request that certain changes be instituted."

"Such as?" O'Reilly asked with a curious stare. "I was under the impression you would do as you wished, and also allow us the same latitude."

"We're losing this war," Yashida stated evenly, noting that not a single one of the faces in front of him registered any surprise. "When we wiped out the Uptown gang, we seemed to have the Sabbat on the run. In only a few weeks, though, they have reorganized effectively. They have embraced as many as three-dozen vampires that they've used as shock troops, causing losses we cannot easily replace. Their mercenary, this so-called Angel of Death, has all but wiped out the local Brujah and caused most of the Nosferatu that have not fled the city to go deep into the sewers in hiding. It seems to me that our enemies are in position to start striking at the heart of the city's kindred power, and you are nowhere near being ready to take it."

"And what would you suggest?" Calaban asked. For the briefest moment Johnny thought it strange that the Nosferatu primogen remained near the surface when virtually all of her clanmates had vanished from sight, but he pushed the thought from his mind quickly.

"Choose a new regent," Johnny said.

"We've been through this," Sheridan said. "In fact, every night we all start a conference call where we try to sort out our differences, but with no result. We seem unable to choose a leader until we discover who killed the last one."

"My superiors have requested that you name either Yoshi or Hoi as your regent until the end of the siege," Yashida stated. "We want to know that you have a unified voice, and neither of them was in the city when this siege began. As a result, we think it more than likely that neither of them was directly responsible for the previous regent's death, no matter what their clan's involvement may or may not have been."

"Not a chance in hell," Sheridan shot back. "I don't know either of them. No one here does. The Ventrue will not follow them."

"You mean the Ventrue will not give up the inside track to having one of their number become the next prince," O'Reilly corrected. "I like the Telemon request. There seems to be some kind of insane logic to it," the Malkavian quipped. "I'm fine with holding a vote right now. My clan will follow whoever is elected, although only for the duration of the siege. Once the Sabbat have been driven out, the acting regent had better step down immediately, under penalty of death."

"Fine," Calaban said. "This is what my clan was clamoring for weeks ago. While you sat around, however, over a dozen Nosferatu were butchered. I find it convenient that only now, when you are yourselves threatened, do you begin to consider finding a new leader to give you one voice. The Nosferatu will not forget your self-serving actions during this siege," she spat angrily to all of those seated at the table. "Well, except for you," she amended, turning toward Mark, the Brujah representative. It seemed to Johnny that the Nosferatu and Brujah had gotten closer as both clans were trimmed mercilessly by K.T.'s assaults.

"As I seem to have something to gain, or lose, depending on you point of view, I abstain from casting a vote," Yoshi said evenly.

"As do I," Hoi echoed a moment later.

"Well, duh, I'm with Cal on this one," Mark said. "I'd love to have some of you uppity assholes getting killed, too."

"And where is Jasper?" Sheridan asked. "He should be here to cast a vote."

"It's irrelevant," Timothy," O'Reilly said. "Even if he sided with you, you would still lose 3-2, with two abstentions," the Malkavian pointed out. "I say we vote. Now."

"You can't be serious," Sheridan interjected. "Like I already said, we don't know either of them."

"I will decline to vie for the position," Hoi suddenly said, immediately seeming to add to the palpable tension that Sheridan's objections were creating. "I put my support behind Yoshi. I have looked into his background and found that he has spent a great deal of his time fighting the Sabbat. He goes from city to city, searching for sieges. I would expect him to have the experience we would need to be an effective wartime regent, and I am confident he would leave the city when this is done."

"No," Yashida said sternly. "I think we should have at least two candidates." The Telemon's heart had started to beat with his increased anxiety. He knew all too well how this could look. After all, he was the one who had come to the meeting to ask for a new regent.

The night before, Yoshi had asked Johnny to make the request, and suggest himself and Hoi – the two newcomers. It had seemed like a reasonable plan, and so Johnny had gone along with the scheme, though he knew the whole time that he was likely playing at politics more than he should have. Once Hoi had spoken up at the meeting, though, Johnny had realized that Yoshi had likely also had a private conversation with his Tremere counterpart. The two older vampires had worked out an agreement of their own.

Yoshi and Hoi had already decided who would be the new regent, and had only used Johnny as a pawn to raise the issue in the meeting. This would make it seem as if neither of them had actively sought the authority and power that came with being regent. Now that Yashida knew he had been used, he had to do all in his power to make certain that everyone at the table had no doubts that he had been duped. He knew that being labeled as a manipulated fool was preferable to being suspected of having been in league with Yoshi and Hoi from the beginning. His clan could not afford to get the reputation of being involved with internal power struggles.

"It does not seem necessary to have another candidate," Hoi stated. "As we already said, only Yoshi and I could take the position without excessive suspicion. I feel that it is best for all concerned if Yoshi leads us. That makes the vote unnecessary."

"You should give Sheridan a chance," Johnny said a little too anxiously. He was embarrassed by the hint of desperation he was forced to add to his voice, but he knew that everyone at the table caught it. That would be enough.

"No, that's fine," Sheridan said with a thin smile. Johnny knew that the Ventrue primogen had figured out what happened and had apparently decided that it would not be in his best interests to oppose the current action. The Telemon knew that Sheridan would make his own move soon enough. "Does anyone oppose Yoshi?" Sheridan asked the collected primogen. No one said a word. "Then I guess you're to be our leader," Sheridan said, a slight hint of anger and disgust in his voice. "Just make sure you remember to step down when the siege is over."

"When the siege is over, I'll have absolutely no interest in being here anymore," Yoshi assured the Ventrue. "Now, however, we have a war to win. I have already spoken to Steele," the Toreador said, referring to a man that everyone at the table had heard of. "He has agreed to organize the Krewe of Steele to defend not only the French Quarter, but all of the city as well. If any of you are members of the Krewe, I would expect you will be receiving instructions in the near future. Please also advise your subordinates that they are not to oppose Steele's authority over the Krewe until the siege is over. He will be getting his instructions directly from me."

"It's about time," Calaban said.

"I'm not done yet," Yoshi said angrily, obviously annoyed at the interruption. "Calaban, by tomorrow's sunset I expect you to tell me exactly how many of your clan are still in the city and willing to fight. The same goes for you, Mark," Yoshi added, turning suddenly to the Brujah primogen.

"And what about the others?" Mark asked angrily. "You think it's gonna be more of the same or what?"

"The Tremere are being given five days to reorganize to accommodate Hoi's plans for the clan," Yoshi said. "If any other clan suffers a similar blow and installs a new leader, you will be given the same consideration. The Ventrue will start leaning on their businesses and human contacts; they will then funnel a great deal of their money to the war effort. Their clan alone will pay for the Telemon and any equipment our mercenaries need. The Toreador will start using their heightened senses to form patrol packs aimed at detecting Sabbat vampires. Once located, strike teams from the Krewe of Steele, which is comprised of kindred from all of the clans, will be called in to deal with the situation. Fair enough?"

"Sure," Mark said.

"Not by a long shot," Sheridan commented. "You expect my clan not only to fight as soldiers in the Krewe, but to also foot the bill for your war?"

"Are you implying that the Ventrue are in no position to spend that kind of money?" Yoshi asked pointedly. "I was under the impression your resources were far more expansive than you seem to be indicating." The Toreador leader smiled thinly, as if he knew exactly the position in which he had placed his Ventrue counterpart. Sheridan would not want to spend the money, but his pride would prevent him from claiming financial hardship. Johnny knew that Sheridan would likely go broke before he claimed that he was unable to meet the financial burden that had been placed upon him.

"And us?" Johnny asked.

"You will be assigned to me," Yoshi answered. "I know your clan operates on its own, and I am not implying that your autonomy is to be taken from you. My understanding is that you accept targets from your employers but insist that the methods employed to take out said targets is entirely within your discretion."

"Correct," Johnny confirmed.

"You will stay with me, then," Yoshi repeated. "All information should come to me. If I need something taken out, you will do so."

"Understood," Johnny said.

"You will also function as bodyguards," Yoshi added.

"Out of the question," Johnny responded evenly. "We take no part in internal conflicts. If someone wants to take you out, they should be free to do so without my clan's interference."

"So even if you were standing right next to me you would do nothing?" Yoshi asked, obviously surprised.

"That's not what my clan was hired for," Johnny said, his voice dripping with a slight bit of venom. He knew that Yoshi had just used him, and he would not be put into any position where defense of the new regent would be expected of him.

"I see," Yoshi muttered. "Fine, I will use my own bodyguards." The new regent then looked over the faces gathered around the table, and smiled thinly. "You may all go. The meeting is over." Everyone began to stand to leave, and Yoshi looked directly at Yashida. The small Telemon almost took a step back when the thin smile on Yoshi's face melted away into a menacing sneer.

"That was unfair," the Telemon complained to the new regent as soon as the primogen had left the room. He assumed that Yoshi was angry with him, and Yashida had no desire to allow his employer initiate the argument he knew was coming. The Telemon took the offensive immediately.

"What do you think you're doing, challenging me in front of the primogen?" Yoshi roared, ignoring Yashida's complaint. "Do you have any idea how precarious my position is?"

"You and Hoi had an agreement before you showed up here," Johnny replied, ignoring Yoshi's comments as much as the Toreador had ignored his own. "You had me play the part of the supposedly neutral outsider pushing for organization. Then, as soon as I took what I was led to believe was a non-political action, you turned it into a one-man election. You set me up."

"And you almost destroyed my efforts!"

"You exaggerate," Johnny said. "Sheridan might not be happy with the situation, but he and the others know they need a leader. His bitching is just for show."

"Of course it is," Yoshi replied. "But you made me look a fool in front of men that should respect my authority. I was not regent for more than thirty seconds when you immediately began undermining me."

"Fuck you," Johnny said evenly. "You should have known better."

"Perhaps," Yoshi said, his voice suddenly becoming calm. The instant change in the regent's demeanor threw Johnny off guard and made him uneasy. "I have need of your services immediately."

"Where?" Johnny asked, deciding that the brief argument was now at an end. Each of the two men had damaged the other's position. It appeared as if Yoshi was ready to move on to more important matters.

"I just received word from one of my friends that a Sabbat pack from Slidell has just been called in to reinforce those that are already here."

"Do you want them destroyed or followed?" Johnny asked.

"My information indicates that they are only here to create chaos," Yoshi answered. "They will likely not be working directly with whatever forces are already here. They'll be meeting a representative of the local forces down at the Superdome sometime before dawn. Go there and get ready. Destroy the incoming pack and follow their contact."

"Sure," Johnny answered. "You sure you don't want prisoners?"

"I want them dead," Yoshi spat. "Our resources are spread thinly enough as it is. I cannot afford to keep some of our people away from action just to conduct an interrogation."

"Anything else?" Yashida asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Yoshi said. "I have heard that you have an anarch friend that has decided to try his hand at being a mercenary."

"That's right," Johnny confirmed. "His name's DeNiro."

"Have him come to me," Yoshi said. "I'll hire him myself. I want someone to look into some of the tenements in the city for me. The Sabbat have to be hiding somewhere. If we can find where, we can have the Ventrue use their mortal contacts to burn down the buildings during daylight hours. That's much better for the Masquerade than running around having gunfights."

"Certainly," Johnny agreed. "I'll send him to you as soon as I get my people moving on their orders."

IV

"I'm in position," Johnny heard Melissa mutter over the com system. She had been brought along as a sniper. While Johnny had been reluctant to include her in his clan's assault, Brett pointed out that they were likely undermanned for the job that Yoshi had assigned to them. They would need all the help they could get, and that meant putting Mel on sniper duty and bringing Mason down into the trenches. It seemed two of Yashida's childer would be given new combat experiences.

"Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut," Brett ordered. Everyone had reported in and was ready, so now all that remained was to wait. It was the part that Johnny knew most soldiers liked least, though he had no major problems with it. He was more than happy to put off any action that could result in his death.

Johnny looked over his equipment briefly, not bothering to give it too much attention. He had faith in his pre-op check of his weapons. Going over everything with a lot of attention while in the field would only decrease his concentration, and that could prove fatal. He crouched motionless in the shadow of a minivan, waiting for what seemed an eternity. Over an hour later, Mel's voice finally came through over the com once again.

"This might be it," she reported. "Two cars, both with Louisiana license plates; looks like they're together. I think I see three in the front car, and four in the rear." A few moments passed before Johnny heard anything more. "They're stopping, and the passengers are getting out. Yeah, there's seven of them, all right. No visible weapons, but I can see bulges where two of them would likely be carrying pistols."

Johnny stood slightly and began to direct his blood into his appendages, increasing his coordination. The slight difference could mean the difference between a made or a missed shot.

"Anyone else?" Brett asked.

"Nothing yet," Melissa responded from her vantage point.

"You're sure?" Brett checked.

"Of course I am," Mel replied, a little too curtly. Johnny knew that response would likely get her a few comments from Brett during debriefing. "Hold on," she added a brief moment later. "I see a single headlight coming down Poydras. A motorcycle... looks like an old Indian Bike."

Shit, Johnny thought immediately, recognizing that more than likely K.T. was the contact. Of all the people...

"We could have a problem," Johnny said over the com line.

"Report," Brett ordered.

"I think I know the contact," Johnny said evenly. "If he is who I think he is, we might encounter heavier resistance than we expected. We might want to abort."

"No," Brett answered. "This is our first specifically ordered strike. We're not aborting."

"This guy is a mercenary for the Sabbat," Johnny added. "He's been around as long as Siras. We might want to reconsider."

The pause that followed made Johnny's hair almost stand on end. He knew the tension of the situation was making him feel that time was moving more slowly than it was, and the experience was excruciating. "We're not aborting," Brett repeated.

Fine, Johnny thought in reply. He had done his part – he had offered his commanding officer some new information. Brett had made a battlefield decision, and now the die was cast. Yashida had no choice but to obey his orders, whether he agreed or not. He went over the plan again in his head. He would open up with his MP-5 during the initial salvo, and then melt away into the shadows, leaving his clanmates to do the work of killing the Slidell pack. His one and only responsibility after the fighting started was to take a position where he could see the local contact, and then follow him back to wherever he went. Hopefully, that would betray the location of more of the Sabbat invaders.

"Looks like Johnny was right," Mel said. "The motorcycle is stopping at the curb, about thirty feet from the cars. Looks like this guy is the contact. The seven Sabbat are slowly walking over."

"Prepare to take your shot," Brett ordered. "We'll move once you open up."

"Understood," Mel replied. Once again, time seemed to slow down as Johnny waited several seconds for the fighting to begin. Then a muffled crack split the relative silence of the pre-dawn night. Johnny looked around the minivan and saw one of the vampires hit the pavement, part of his head having been blasted away from the rest. K.T. had already fallen into a defensive crouch, but the Sabbat from Slidell all seemed slightly confused. Then, with a frightening suddenness, the muffled sounds of automatic gunfire opened up from several directions and the area around the vampires was reduced to debris. Their two cars were cut to pieces, and bits of flesh began to fly off the vampires' bones. They were alive but shocked by the brutality of the initial attack, and that left them open to the next phase of the assault. Johnny watched as Uiko, Michelle, Brett, and Mason charged from their hiding places as Melissa continued to fire at her targets from above. K.T. had rolled to the side and now stood to face the attack. He let loose several shots, emptying the chamber in his Ruger, but did little more than cause both Mason and Brett to break stride. He took a moment to look over the group quickly, apparently gauging the relative strength of his allies as opposed to the obviously well-disciplined attackers that had set an extremely effective ambush. K.T. made the same decision Johnny would have – he ran. As planned, Brett's team let him go.

Johnny immediately used his knowledge of the vampiric discipline of Obfuscate, an ability that allowed him to become invisible to the naked eye. He then took two short steps and flew up into the air, allowing an unobstructed view of his friend. K.T. was moving at an incredible speed, though his movements were somewhat awkward. Johnny guessed that the mercenary had taken a few serious wounds and had not yet had an opportunity to heal them. It did not matter too much to the Telemon. As long as K.T. lived long enough to lead Johnny to a new group of targets, Yashida would be happy.

As K.T. rounded a corner he stopped suddenly, his back against the wall, and he looked around. He's probably making sure no one is doing exactly what I've been assigned to do, the Telemon guessed. A few moments passed, and Johnny also surmised that K.T. was trying to heal some of his wounds. Even from twenty feet above his friend, Johnny could see that some of K.T. injuries were severe. He doubted the Gangrel would be able to fully heal himself until after he had fed and returned to the safety of his haven.

After about a full minute of waiting, K.T. started moving again. He headed into a parking garage, moving out of Johnny's line of sight. Shit, the Telemon cursed. I can't let him get too far ahead of me. I might end up losing him.

Yashida flew down and into the first level, where K.T. had entered, only to find a wide-open space. There was no sign of the mercenary. Fuck! Johnny landed and began to walk slowly, using his blood to completely conceal the sound of his footfalls. He examined every shadow, every corner, searching for any place where the mercenary could be hiding. He found nothing. Johnny was so intent on searching for an obvious sign, however, that he overlooked what was one of the last clues he would even have been searching for. As soon as he had landed, Johnny's feet disrupted a mist that was so thin as to be almost completely undetectable. While the Telemon was still invisible, his feet's position in the mist betrayed his presence. As he searched, he was never aware of the mist gathering itself, coalescing behind him into a very solid form.

Johnny became aware of K.T.'s presence only when a .44 caliber round tore through his chest. The Telemon was thrown forward and spun with the motion, seeing his attacker even as it became obvious that K.T. could also see him. Yashida cursed as he realized that the Gangrel had been able to detect him somehow, and now that he was injured he would find it very difficult to disappear again.

"Shouldn't have followed me, Johnny," K.T. said.

"Probably not," Johnny admitted. In a flash of movement that he hoped would surprise his foe, Yashida drew two Beretta 9mm pistols from beneath his black windbreaker and began firing. He was up and running even as K.T. started firing back, also moving his feet supernaturally fast. In less than five seconds, both kindred had exhausted their ammunition and dropped their firearms. Johnny tried to change direction enough to avoid being cornered, but failed. While he could tell that K.T. was a slight bit slower, the mercenary had gained a superior angle in his pursuit and pinned Johnny in. All that was left was to fight.

Yashida drew his ninja-to from its scabbard on his back and fell back into a fighting stance. K.T. grinned in response and grew his hands into claws. Fuck, Johnny said, remembering how effective his friend could be with the razor sharp claws that were all too common for members of the Gangrel clan. This is probably gonna hurt. He just hoped that if K.T. gained the upper hand he would, at the very least, refrain from killing him.

K.T. lunged at Johnny, and the Telemon sidestepped even as he realized K.T.'s initial thrust had been a feint. Yashida regained his balance at the final possible moment and managed to parry K.T.'s left claw. He was not quick enough, however, to parry the right, and the taloned hand raked across Johnny's midsection. His kevlar was shredded, but his abdomen remained fairly well protected as a result of the extra padding. That wasn't meant to kill, Johnny realized. K.T. had been given an opening, but had not fully exploited it. If the Gangrel had aimed to cut deeper, Johnny knew he would likely be doubled over on the ground. Instead, he was still standing, and was now paying far more attention to his adversary.

"You're better than I expected," Johnny admitted. "I always figured you used that hand cannon of yours so much that you never put in enough training in hand to hand." As he talked, hoping to distract the Gangrel with conversation, Johnny began to sidestep very slowly, hoping to work just enough empty space to escape the corner in which he was still pinned. K.T. seemed well aware of his intentions, and would not allow him an inch of quarter.

Why not? Johnny wondered. If he's not fighting to kill, then there's no reason not to let me just walk away from this. He could simply order me to run as fast as I could in one direction while he took off in the other. He'd be able to get away. His thoughts were cut off as K.T. lunged again. This time, Johnny was ready for him. The small Telemon took a quick step back to avoid the first swing, then sidestepped once, and then twice. A quick kick into K.T.'s stomach caught the mercenary unawares, and Johnny then fell into a crouch as he swung his sword in a tight, backhanded arc, catching K.T. across the thigh. Like K.T., Johnny had not cut deeply, but the grimace on K.T.'s face revealed what Johnny had suspected – K.T. had been hurt before they even started fighting. Adding another wound was slowing the Gangrel down more than Yashida would have expected. Johnny then rolled backward, his feet ending just against the bottom of the wall, and then thrusted the sword forward once at each of K.T.'s legs. The Gangrel took a half step back each time, and Johnny then rolled forward, sprang to his feet, and took a half step forward himself. He had gained almost a yard in space away from the wall, and knew he would be able to work his way out of the garage soon.

As Johnny was figuring out how to improve his situation even more, however, K.T. lunged unexpectedly. It was all Johnny could do simply to avoid being tackled, but as it was his sidestep was not completely effective. His left arm was raked deeply, and his sword provided enough protection only to redirect K.T.'s fist. Rather than having the mercenary's claw completely embedded in his abdomen, he simply had a deep gouge that sent pain shooting through his entire body.

Johnny swung his sword wildly, only wanting to fight off the Gangrel before he got himself killed. The sword cut a thin line across K.T.'s jaw, but the mercenary did not even realize he had been cut before Johnny's backhand scored the hit that the Telemon had been looking for. The wickedly sharp steel bit into K.T.'s throat, severing the blood vessels and opening the larynx. If Johnny had been two inches closer he would have decapitated his friend, but his experience with his weapon allowed him to avoid that result. The Telemon staggered back, grabbing his abdomen with his left hand as he continued to swing his sword in tight, defensive arcs with his right. K.T. looked aghast at Johnny's attack, and the smaller combatant suddenly feared that his foe would lose himself to the beast, not an uncommon occurrence for members of the Gangrel clan.

K.T. sneered and began to approach again, pushing Johnny farther back against the wall. There was murder in K.T.'s eyes, and the Telemon knew he would have almost no room to move. His only escape would likely be to kill K.T., and that was not an option that Johnny really wanted to consider. I have to get at least a few more feet to work with, Johnny knew. If I push him back just the slightest bit, I can try to fly my ass out of here. He gritted his teeth and focused, trying with all his might to fight off the pain that was making it harder and harder to think, let alone move. Still covering his stomach with his left hand, Johnny took a challenging step forward as he shouted and swung the sword with the right. K.T. met the Telemon's short charge and attempted to rip into his smaller foe. Johnny parried again, but K.T.'s off-hand found an opening and tore into Johnny's left thigh. The Telemon winced but countered, finding a soft spot in K.T.'s defenses around his upper arm. The thin blade sliced through K.T.'s left bicep, making the arm all but useless. The Gangrel's right hand, however, was still fully mobile and completely deadly, and swung at Johnny's head. The Telemon leaned back enough to save his life, but not far enough to avoid a painful strike. K.T.'s claw ripped into Johnny's face, taking the left eyeball and almost slicing off the bottom half of his nose. Johnny did not even have time to cry out as he lunged forward with his sword, knowing he would not last much longer. He impaled K.T. through his right side, and the Gangrel gasped as he felt the pain.

Reason appeared in K.T.'s eyes once again, banishing the beast that had briefly taken him over. Johnny saw his friend's look of fear, pain, and confusion as he realized the situation. Johnny fell back into a defensive stance once more, trying to judge just how close K.T. was. Without his left eye, however, his depth perception was thrown off the slightest bit and he knew he was vulnerable. The Gangrel snarled, but smiled ever so slightly, making Johnny wonder what he was up to. K.T. then lunged in, a little too carelessly, and swung his right arm in a powerful move. What he gained in power, though, he gave up in speed. Even with his slowed reflexes and skewed perceptions, Johnny was able to evade the strike that could have killed him. He rolled off to the side, and sprang to his feet. He knew K.T. had purposely offered him an opening for escape, and a moment later Johnny was running as quickly as possible, having taken advantage of the opportunity to flee. He never even looked back to see K.T. fall to the ground, exhausted and wounded beyond the point where he could fight any longer. Yashida would not have to make the decision about whether or not to help a fallen foe.

Johnny had failed in his mission to track the bishop's contact, but he figured that his failure would be forgiven. He had, after all, obviously been lucky to escape with his life, and he doubted K.T. would be back on the street anytime soon.

V

K.T. sat on the floor of his room in the bed and breakfast, wondering for the umpteenth time how he had gotten himself involved in his latest predicament. For weeks he had defied the odds and killed over three-dozen kindred without ever being seriously injured. Now it seemed as though his luck had run out. First he showed up at a meeting and got cut to ribbons by automatic gunfire. Then he had what was left of him carved up by one of his only friends in the world. It had not been a good night, to say the least.

The Gangrel exerted all of his will and tried to stand, once more only making it halfway to his feet before the pain caused him to slump back down again. The situation was desperate. He had burned most of his blood healing the injuries from the ambush and then fleeing. The fight against Johnny had used up most of what had been left. He had almost no blood remaining to heal the injuries he had taken from Yashida's sword, and it did not take a genius to figure out that the Telemon's blade had been enchanted. The wounds actually burned as he was cut, and he knew it would take days to heal his flesh fully. To do that, though, he would have to feed. A lot. In the condition he was in, he knew he would be unable to take down just one person, let alone the two or three he would need to drain in order to sate his appetite.

The troubles racing through his mind vanished in an instant, however, when he heard a soft knock at the door. If he was lucky, he knew, one of the owners might be outside. That would enable him to be one quick meal closer to feeling better. On the other hand, though, it might be an enemy. Just about anyone, even a mortal, could probably finish him off in the shape he was in. He could not fight, and he could not flee. I might as well just invite them in, he decided, knowing he would have to count on luck to be on his side at least one more time.

"Come in," K.T. yelled in a raspy voice, the result of his throat wound. The doorknob turned slightly, and then stopped and rattled. Fuck, I forgot I locked the goddamned door, K.T. cursed. A moment later a key was inserted, and the door opened, revealing Erica standing in the doorway.

"Oh my god," she gasped, seeing her onetime companion in a bloody heap on the floor. "What happened?"

"Close the door," K.T. directed, not wanting to attract any more attention than he was sure he would by leaving a pool of blood on the hardwood floor.

"Are you okay?" Erica asked as she walked over and started to examine K.T. more closely.

"What do you think?" K.T. asked sarcastically. He could hardly believe Erica could ask such a stupid question. Are you okay? he repeated to himself, wondering what was going through her head. Sure Erica, I'm fine. Don't you remember me always lying around on the floor in a pile of my own body parts? Stupid bitch...

"Well, you seem as cranky as ever," Erica commented. "I guess that's a good sign." She gave him a soft smile that seemed to brighten his mood immediately, no matter how hard he tried to stay angry with her. "I heard Death was killed tonight," she added. "I couldn't believe it, so I had to come and check on you."

"Don't call me Death," K.T. said evenly. "That was my sire's moniker. I don't want to be compared to him."

"Hey, I'm not the one that came up with it," Erica said evenly. "The Brujah started calling you the 'Angel of Death,' and then just 'Death' for short, since they apparently didn't have time to say the whole thing before you killed them."

"Whatever," K.T. grumbled. "So is it as bad as I think it is?"

"I can't even believe you're still alive," Erica admitted.

"Well, the Telemon sure do an effective job," K.T. muttered. "I have to give them credit for that much."

"The Telemon did this?" Erica asked. "As in, Johnny's clan?"

"They're fighting for the other side," K.T. reminded her. "Out in the field, we're not friends."

"Did you kill any of them?" Erica asked.

"No," K.T. replied. "I was outgunned in the initial assault, so I ran. Johnny followed me, so I lured him into a trap and tried to take him out. He's a little better than I expected."

"He beat you?" Erica asked, appearing very surprised.

"No, he ran," K.T. replied. "If you think I look bad, you should have seen him. He'll be licking his wounds for a week."

"What can I do?" Erica asked.

"Leave me alone," K.T. replied, turning his head downward so that he would not have to look into her eyes as he sent her away again. He knew that sooner or later she would not come back. He never wanted to see the look on her face when she finally made that decision.

"I can't do that," Erica answered. "I love you, K.T. You should know that by now."

"Then you shouldn't have left," the Gangrel remarked coldly. "Never forget that you're the one who left me."

"You lied to me," Erica reminded him. "You let someone alter my memory, didn't you?"

"And what if I did?" K.T. spat. "Why should it matter? Think about it, Erica. Seriously, try to wrap your mind around this concept – the Sabbat wants you dead. We were forced out of New York, and then hunted halfway across the country. Now think back to whatever it is that you remember happening with Polonia. You think that's enough to merit the attention we got? Come on, you're smarter than that. Trust me when I say that you're far better off not knowing what really happened. I would never be able to protect you if you were allowed to know the truth. In fact, the only way we were allowed to leave alive is because I let them screw with you." K.T. grimaced in pain as finished his rant, and he slumped down even further. Several minutes of silence followed as Erica digested what he had told her, her face set in a vacant expression that gave K.T. no idea what she was thinking.

"You let who screw with me?" Erica finally asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Some very powerful people," K.T. answered. "I can never tell you more than that. Just believe that I didn't want it to happen, but there was no other way I could have kept you alive. I figured a living Erica with a couple of missing memories is better than a completely dead Erica. Even back then I couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose you. So yes, I let them alter you, because I really didn't have a choice. I'm sorry. Now get out."

"I'm not going anywhere," Erica retorted, "and I doubt you'd even have the strength to stand, no less force me to go."

"Bitch," K.T. muttered.

"Asshole," Erica replied, a thin smile replacing her vacant expression. She leaned down and gave K.T. a soft hug. "You have to feed from me," she told him.

"No," K.T. answered. He had already been suffering enough because of the fact that he was blood bound to a woman that still had far too many Sabbat tendencies. The last thing he would do was feed again, thus strengthening the bond. "That's out of the question."

"You need blood," Erica pointed out.

"Not from you," the mercenary said evenly.

"I'm not going to use the blood bond against you, K.T.," she responded. "Don't you know that by now?"

"I can't take the chance," K.T. admitted. "I'd rather die."

"And you're going to die if you don't feed soon," Erica said. "You can't go out hunting in your present condition, either." She leaned in slowly, breathing heavily on K.T.'s neck. The Gangrel could smell her breath, warm with the smell of cinnamon, and he felt his resolve weakening.

Well, I could feed just this one time, he reasoned. What good are all my bad-ass principles if I'm dead? I can take her blood for now and use it to strengthen myself. Once I'm healed, then I can tell her to go to hell. He felt Erica's soft lips touch his mangled throat, his skin tingling as she gently kissed his wounds. Definitely, I'll feed just this one time, he decided, unable to resist. His canines grew in length even as he made his decision, and a low, feral growl began to rumble in his ravaged throat.

"Yeah, that's right," Erica moaned. "Take it," she said, turning her own throat toward K.T.'s hungry fangs. He bit into her, tentatively at first, but then his teeth sank in more deeply as he got his first taste of her blood. He felt part of her essence wash over him, and he could actually feel her loneliness, her emptiness. Part of his heart ached for her, for the way she felt, but in the back of his mind he knew that he could do nothing for her.

Just as the experience heightened toward an incredible climax, Erica pulled away, her eyes glazed over. "I missed that so much," she admitted. She leaned back and sat down across from K.T. "Why can't we give 'us' another try, K.T.?"

"I told you before," K.T. said his voice already sounding stronger, "I don't travel in groups. I'm a loner, Erica. I was willing to make an exception for you, but I'm not spending time around that little girl of yours. Three's a crowd." He produced his Zippo and proceeded to light a badly bent cigarette.

"But you don't even know her," Erica argued.

"I don't have to," K.T. said. "I'm a busy guy, Erica, and that means I don't have time to raise a childe. So just run along to your little girl and go play young urban socialite or something." His heart ached at how he was being so vicious with Erica, especially as it was only moments after he had felt so close to her. He could not open the door to acceptance of Kendra, though. He had to draw the line somewhere, and 'somewhere' was right before Kendra. There was no room for compromise.

"Fine," Erica replied, standing up and heading for the door. "I guess I won't come back this time."

"Fine," K.T. grumbled.

"Have a nice life, K.T." She opened the door and stormed out, slamming it shut behind her.

"You have a nice life, too, E. Blackwell," K.T. muttered after she had gone, referring to her the same way he had when he first met her. A bloody tear came to his eye, but he brushed it away quickly, focusing instead on healing his injuries as much as he could. He was still alive, and that meant he had a job to do. There were still far too many Camarilla vampires left to kill.

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Out in the hall, Erica started to sob heavily as she walked toward the stairs. She could hardly believe how quickly she had fallen for K.T. all over again. He had been lying on the floor, completely vulnerable but still acting tough. The image brought a smile to her face but did little to change her mood. She hid her face as she walked out the front door, making certain no one could see the crimson streaks streaking her alabaster skin.

Erica's mind jumped from one topic to another, all of them dealing with K.T. She was blood bound to him, and she knew it. It was nothing like being blood bound to her Sabbat pack. Rather than a weak tie to a group, she experienced an intimate connection to one individual. It was intense, it was consuming, it was painful... it was wonderful. She would not part with her bond for anything in the world, including her beloved childe, and she could not understand why K.T. kept sending her away. She wanted so badly for things to be the way they had been, back before K.T. had accepted the job in New Orleans and started working for the Sabbat once again.

The Sabbat, she pondered, wondering once more what the sect of vampires meant to her. It was the Sabbat that had embraced her into the world of the immortals, and the Sabbat that had taught her the new role she would live as a vampire. It had been so hard to leave New York and start a new life on her own. Only I was never really alone, she reminded herself. K.T. was always there to take care of me and teach me how to fend for myself. He showed me I didn't need the Sabbat... Did she really grow enough to exist independently of her roots? Did she even have a choice?

If what K.T. said was true, Erica knew she could never really go back to the way her life had been in New York. Somehow, though, she had always known that. The experience of falling back in with several Sabbat packs in New Orleans had reminded her of her youth, both as a mortal and a vampire. Seeing K.T. again, and hearing what he had to say, had shown Erica that it was not the Sabbat that she had missed, but the feelings of utter security that she had had as a member of a pack. But now she was a mercenary, just like K.T. She would never again be truly safe the way she had once been. And I'll never again be so completely under control, as subtle as it may have been, she realized. At least that much was a comfort.

True, K.T. might have come within an inch of death, but he was still alive. He could leave if he wanted to, but he was choosing to stay. At least he had a choice, she noted, even if he's making the wrong one. Erica suddenly realized, though, just how thoroughly professional K.T. was. He disliked his employers and was probably more vulnerable than he had been in a long time, but he was not even thinking of leaving New Orleans. She had not even needed to ask the question – she could see it in his eyes. Why did I ever leave him? she wondered. I want him back so bad. Maybe it's like the old saying – you don't know what you got 'til it's gone.

She jumped into the old Ford Escort that she had liberated from some of her prey and pulled out onto Carrollton. I have to get him back, she decided, resolving to find some way to get K.T. to accept her return into his life. There has to be a way... some way... With disturbing suddenness the look of confusion on her face vanished and was replaced with a thin smile. Duh, you jackass, she thought, chastising herself for being so stupid. I know how I can prove to him how badly I want him back, and also show him how good a mercenary I can be, too. She then went to work formulating a plan that she was certain would bring K.T. back into her life.

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Across town, Johnny Yashida winced as Michelle finished tying a heavy bandage around his head, leaving a gauze pad over his left eye.

"You know, that's really not necessary," he reminded her. "I'm not going to get any infections or anything, and the eye will regenerate within a couple of days."

"I know," Michelle admitted. "It's just really gross having to sit here and look at your empty, bloody eye socket."

"Sorry it's such a burden on you," Johnny said, fighting through the pain to form a slight grin.

"You about ready, Johnny?" Brett asked as he walked into the room. He had debriefed the others and given them performance ratings, and now only Johnny remained. He had been given some extra time to have Michelle put him back together again. He seems to have remembered our little conversation about allowing us to tend to each other's wounds, Johnny noted with approval. Despite some of his earlier concerns, he was finally feeling as if Brett may yet make a good commander.

"Just give me a few more minutes with him," Michelle answered before Johnny could say anything. He smiled inwardly, knowing that Michelle was all too aware of the fact that he would have said he was ready. She still wanted some time alone with him, to convince herself that he was actually okay after his close brush with death.

"I'll come back in a little bit," Brett said with a small smile that confused Johnny a bit. I failed in my assignment, he admitted to himself. I can't imagine why he seems so damned pleased with me. Brett walked out, once again leaving Johnny and Michelle alone in the room.

"So," Michelle said after a few minutes of silence, "K.T. is the one that did this, I presume."

"Yeah," Johnny muttered.

"Last I heard, you two were friends," she said, her voice holding an unmistakable tinge of disgust and anger that surprised Yashida. "He decide that's too inconvenient or something? Or was it just that the Sabbat pays welll enough for him to forget who his friends are?"

"We're still friends, as far as I know," Johnny muttered, uncertain where Michelle's hostility was coming from but unwilling to get into an argument before he had enough gauze applied to hold his body together. "It was just business, Michelle. That's all. He couldn't let me follow him to wherever he was going, and I couldn't allow him to simply rip out my insides."

"How the hell can you just sit there and be so cavalier about what he did to you?" Michelle asked. "This is absolutely insane, Johnny. If what that bastard did to me in that alley didn't convince you, at least take a look in a mirror and see what he's done to you. I know you want to keep thinking of K.T. as a friend, but I think it's obvious that it's time to stop."

"Stop?" Yashida asked, genuinely bewildered. "What do you mean? Why would I stop?"

"How many other friends did you have at the beginning of this siege, all of whom are dead because of your so-called buddy, K.T. Corben? Why the hell are you still so much as talking to that insane fuck?"

"It's just business," Johnny said again, unable to grasp why Michelle was insisting on making things personal.

"And One-Eyed Jack?" the Gangrel asked, referring to an anarch she and Johnny knew from a short road trip in Atlantic City several years earlier. He had been one of K.T.'s first victims, his body not just extinguished, but savaged, as K.T. sought to send a message to the rest of the city's kindred population. "Wasn't he a friend, too?"

"Of course."

"And your friend K.T. tore him to pieces and left the chunks for the crows in Jackson Park. But you're willing to forgive K.T. because he happened to get paid to do what he did?"

"It's not that simple," Yashida argued, though he now had to admit that Michelle had a definite point. "It's part of being a mercenary."

"He's not a mercenary, he's a psychopath for hire," Michelle shot back. "We knew what, at least half a dozen anarchs in this city, outside of the ones in Damage, Inc.?"

"At least."

"And they're all dead now. They were friends and information sources, and you just sit there and make like it's no big deal, just because it happens to be K.T. who killed them. And let's stop beating around the fucking bush – he didn't just kill them, Johnny. He killed them for the Sabbat. That makes what he did ten times worse. Taking their money is bad enough, but working so… zealously for them should earn him a death sentence."

"He's fought just as hard against the Sabbat at times," Johnny pointed out.

"And it's because of that that he'll probably avoid getting staked and left out for the morning sun next time he walks into a Camarilla city," Michelle retorted, sounding, if possible, even more disgusted.

"Where the hell is this all coming from?" Johnny finally asked.

"You know, I've never mentioned this before because I know you and K.T. are tight from before you met me, but I've heard about him. The Gangrel are all sorta nomadic, and we're always telling each other stories. I've heard about K.T., his sire, and a couple of his blood brothers. They used to call themselves The Four Horsemen, and they did some seriously evil shit years ago in San Diego. He's certifiable, Johnny, and he has no loyalties. You can't be friends with someone like that. I wasn't just talking shit when I said he's a psychopath for hire – that's exactly what he is. And the only one I can think of as being even crazier is you, because there's no sane reason to trust him. It's like the frog and the scorpion, Johnny. He'll sting you eventually – it's in his nature. And it won't matter if it means he dies, too, because he can't change what he is."

"That's enough," Yashida said, his tone brooking no argument. "You've had your say, and I can't telll you that your concerns are at all unreasonable. But K.T. is my friend, and I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. We're both mercenaries, and there has to be some kind of a code of conduct; it's the only thing that keeps us from being as bad as the Sabbat."

"Your buddy the Angel of Death is far worse than the Sabbat," Michelle shot back. Johnny could not think of a satisfactory response to that, so he held his tongue. "At least tell me you won't do any special favors for him, okay?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't he ask you to do him some kind of special favor?"

"Yeah," Yashida admitted. "Figured that out, did you?"

"Couldn't think of anyone else you know in the city who both needs a favor and hasn't run into K.T. yet," Michelle answered. "Let me guess, he said you owed him after he did you the favor of not ripping out my entrails."

"Okay, seriously… you had your say, now cut the shit," Yashida spat. "Despite your oh-so-subtle approach, rest assured that your message has gotten through – I've actually picked up on the fact that you're not a fan of K.T. Corben."

Michelle glared at Johnny for a few moments, but the fire in her eyes died quickly enough. She went back to applying gauze on his wounds, though it was obvious that she no longer cared about her bedside manner. "So what did he want?" the Gangrel finally asked.

"You know I can't tell you that," Johnny answered. "It's a professional matter."

"He didn't want you to spy on the Camarilla or anything, did he?"

"No, nothing like that," Yashida assured her, smiling despite his pain. He was thoroughly amused by the thought that Michelle had been concerned he could turn traitor. Just a few minutes earlier he would also have found it amusing that she might think K.T. would even ask such of a thing of a fellow mercenary, but he now knew better – Michelle clearly would put nothing past her clanmate. "He would never ask me to betray my employer, just like I would never ask him. We're both professionals. It would be a serious insult to even ask."

"I guess," Michelle commented, going to work bandaging Johnny's thigh. She was almost done when Johnny finally decided to speak.

"He wanted me to kill someone for him," Yashida admitted, wondering why he would tell Michelle when her opinion about K.T. clearly made this a stupid idea. The Telemon tried to tell himself he was saying this because of the pain, though in reality he knew that some part of him just needed someone with whom he could share the truth. He hoped that Michelle would somehow understand, that she might even approve somehow; if she could forgive this kind of act, then it was clearly not morally reprehensible.

"You're not an assassin," the Gangrel pointed out. "Besides, K.T.'s perfectly capable of killing anyone he wants. He's made that abundantly clear during his time in New Orleans. He shouldn't need you."

"He wants me to kill Erica's childe," Johnny said evenly, making certain he did not let on that he had already accepted the job.

"No way," Michelle said. "How could he do something like that? I mean… See what I mean? He's a a fucking psychopath."

"He's a little messed up right now," Johnny admitted, trying to make excuses for his friend. "He's alone in this siege, and I'll bet it didn't help matters to bring Erica into the employ of the Sabbat, what with the fact that she used to be a member."

"She was in the Sabbat?" Michelle asked, wide-eyed.

"Fuck," Johnny spat. "Don't ever tell anyone that. K.T. might kill you to keep that quiet. Seriously. I don't think he's even completely sure that I know."

"I won't ever tell anyone," Michelle said, suddenly seeming as serious and solemn as she ever had. For whatever that's worth, Johnny mused, though he hoped K.T.'s recent behavior would be sufficient to add a healthy does of fear to Michelle's brain. "So Erica embraced a childe without telling him?"

"After walking out on him," Johnny confirmed. "I'm sure there's a lot going on that we don't know, and which I'm sure is none of our business. Long story short, he wants the childe dead."

"That's insane," Michelle said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Even for him, that's just completely whacked. Would you do something like that if I embraced a childe?"

"I've never been put in the situation," Johnny pointed out, "but I do think his reaction is a little extreme. I just don't think K.T.'s very good at dealing with emotions. He likes to pretend he doesn't have any."

"I've noticed that," the Gangrel said, "but killing your lover's childe? That's a little over the top. That would be like me hiring someone to kill Uiko."

"Oh, like you've never thought about it," Yashida shot back half-jokingly.

"Of course I have," Michelle responded with an unsettling smile that made Johnny completely unsure whether or not she was serious. In the end, he decided he did not want to know. "Still," Michelle added, "with as close as those two are, it would almost be like K.T. killing his own childe. I mean, most everything Erica seems to know is stuff I think she picked up from K.T. Although maybe not, if she was in the Sabbat. Still, you'd have to figure that any childe of hers would probably be worthy of him, whatever standards he uses to gauge worthiness."

"Oh shit," Johnny mumbled, a sudden epiphany hitting him like a ton of bricks. "You're right. You're an absolute frickin genius."

"Of course I am," Michelle said.

"Can you hand me my cell phone?" Johnny asked. Michelle nodded and threw it over to him, and he dialed a number from speed dial.

The Gangrel just watched in wonder as Johnny seemed to become completely focused on the task at hand. "Hi," Johnny said into the phone. "I need a favor. I need a meeting with the old man." A couple of moments of silence followed, and Johnny's expression turned sour. "Don't jerk me around, I know you know who I'm talking about. I don't want to say any names over the phone, though. Just set it up for tomorrow night, around midnight." Another brief pause followed, and Johnny's face spread into a grin, and then a grimace as the pain hit him once again. "Fine, I'll be there."

"Who was that?" Michelle asked as soon as her companion had hung up the phone. She had been unable to sneak a peak as he dialed the phone number, and could not guess from the contents of the short conversation who Johnny had been speaking to... or about.

"Business associate," Johnny replied enigmatically. He looked down at his bandaged leg and nodded slightly, as if he was happy with the job that Michelle had done. "Could you tell Brett I'm ready now?" he asked. Without a word, Michelle stood up and left the room, knowing she would likely not get to speak to Johnny until the next evening.

VI

Philip stood on the rooftop of the Block-Heller House Bed and Breakfast, gauging how long he had before the sun rose. After a brief moment of thought, he decided that he had enough time to perform his last remaining chore of the night. K.T. Corben, just what am I going to do with you?

On the one hand, Philip was pleased that his protege had finally gotten into it with the Telemon. It had certainly been a long time in the waiting. What was disappointing, however, was how the vaunted Angel of Death had failed to kill a single one of his opponents. It's ludicrous, actually, the old Gangrel pondered. The oldest one of those accursed Telemon is still a good thirty years younger than my man. K.T. should have won. Then again, of course, K.T. did win. He just couldn't finish the job. Philip wondered about that. It had almost seemed as if K.T. had telegraphed his final strike and allowed Johnny to escape. But why do that, unless he suspected he was being watched? Philip wondered. It made sense that K.T. would be a little paranoid, though, given the circumstances. He was, after all, a trainee of the Black Hand currently posing as an independent mercenary working for the Sabbat during a siege. Either role held the possibility, even the likelihood, that he would be watched at least occasionally.

Perhaps he didn't plan on letting Yashida go, Philip wondered. After all, K.T. had been injured before he had even begun fighting his friend. The smaller, more inexperienced Telemon was not without advantages of his own – he had not burned nearly as much blood, and he was uninjured to start with. Maybe I should be proud that my young student fared as well as he did.

That Telemon, though, he was good. I mean, he was really, really good. The abilities that Johnny had displayed had done no less than amaze the old Gangrel that had been watching. Philip had been surprised to see that Yashida was able to fly, and he could only conclude that Johnny had developed the skill on his own. Developing a new discipline is something that's unheard of for one so young, he realized. And he was so fast...

Philip had heard rumors of the Telemon 'bloodline' years earlier and had really never paid any attention to the rumblings. Countless times he had seen small cadres of kindred declare themselves to be a new bloodline. Rarely did they last more than a few years, and not since the Tremere had a young bloodline declared war against a far more established foe. The Telemon had hired themselves out as mercenaries to Camarilla princes, openly opposing the Sabbat on their own terms. The reason had been obvious – the Telemon needed friends. Now they had several of them, and no small number were princes and primogen along the East Coast.

Some within the Black Hand felt that the Telemon deserved attention, but Philip had always felt otherwise. His philosophy had remained constant over the centuries – give them fifty years and get back to me. But this clan isn't like the others, he realized. He knew there was something different, perhaps even something dangerous. They were extremely disciplined and had concentrated on developing vampiric abilities that were conducive to battle. They had carved out a niche for themselves and seemed as if they might actually have a chance of survival. Their familiarity with modern weaponry had given them an advantage over many of their peers, if not also their elders. The Telemon seemed to gain the same kind of advantage from effective use of sub-machineguns and phosphorous-tipped bullets as the Tremere once gained from their dreaded Thaumaturgy. In fact, the more Philip pondered the matter, the more he found the similarities between the two clans to be striking... and disturbing. It's the disciplines, though, he realized, noting that the ability to gain vampiric powers was what truly set the Telemon apart. They seemed faster than they should have been, and they were also clearly more resistant to punishment. A few others in the Black Hand had said the same thing. The Telemon should not be this strong this soon, Philip decided. There's something going on here that we don't understand.

Philip remembered a conversation he had had with Hassan only a few weeks earlier. He had termed the Telemon a nuisance, a group that could present serious complications if left alone for a few decades. Now he felt that the Telemon might not need decades, after all.

The Gangrel pulled a cell phone from his pocket and called a number on speed dial. A moment later, a voice came in on the other end, thick with a cockney accent.

"'ello?"

"This is Philip," the Gangrel said. "I want some of our field agents reassigned."

"That'll be a right big pain in 'e ass."

"I believe this is the part where you ask if I care," Philip retorted.

"You care?"

"Not at all," Philip said evenly, "but thank you for asking. I want some of our people to go to Boston, to observe the fledgling Telemon clan."

"Telemon?"

"Yes, the Telemon."

"They just caused all kinds o' trouble in Boston, sir. Unexpected complications, there were. Word 'as it the Sabbat's lookin' for a new bishop. I 'ears it's supposed to be tha' Roi guy down in New Orleans wi' you."

"I see," Philip replied. "Talk to whoever is working Roi's promotion and get them to delay his transfer for at least four or five days," Philip instructed. "If there's a problem, have them call me."

"Yes, sir. Is tha' all?"

"Yes," Philip answered. "Delay Roi and prepare me a full tactical file. I want it in three months. I also want an assessor to observe the Telemon soldiers," the Gangrel added, suddenly struck with the inspiration of employing a lower-level minion of the Hand. "Don't tell him anything about the Telemon – only present him with vague identifications and tell him that we're attempting to judge the age of the subjects. Add the assessor's report to the tactical file."

"Yes, sir." The speaker on the other end of the line hung up without another word. The last time we paid this much attention to such a young line was with the rise of the Giovanni, Philip mused. I hope the Telemon don't cause the same kind of mess. And Roi, getting promoted… That doesn't give me much time to give my young student another chance to redeem himself for his failure against Yashida.

Philip walked from the roof and to a balcony overlooking a backyard, and then entered the building. Once inside, he went directly to K.T.'s room, pausing outside long enough to watch Erica walk away down the hall, her body wracked by sobs. Ah, it seems young Mr. Corben is staying the course. Very good indeed.

The Gangrel walked down the hall and entered the room without bothering to knock. He found K.T. still sitting on the floor, gritting his teeth with obvious effort as he prepared to stand.

"What did I tell you about coming in unannounced?" K.T. asked angrily.

"Young Mr. Corben, I simply came by to check after your health," Philip said evenly. "I would rather think you would be more courteous."

"I would rather you think about how much you piss me off before just barging in here," K.T. countered with a sneer. At least there's still some fight left in him, Philip noted, looking for any positive signs that would belie the physical wreck that was the young mercenary.

"While I was suitably impressed by your performance against that fledgling this evening, I must confess I'm a little curious as to why he's still alive," Philip said pointedly.

"What fledgling?"

"Mr. Yashida, of course," Philip responded, making certain that he made no gestures that might betray his feelings or thoughts. "He is an old friend of yours, is he not?"

"He is," K.T. admitted. "Though he's been kindred for well over twenty years; I'd hardly call him a fledgling."

"I don't like the thought of you fraternizing with the enemy," Philip said, ignoring K.T.'s editorializing. "No, I don't like it at all. It's not good for business, and it will not be good for your reputation."

"Fuck my reputation, and fuck you," K.T. spat. "You only care about my reputation because the better it is, the easier it is for you to get me into cities to do some killing for you."

"Of course, you are correct," Philip gladly admitted, "but let's not forget that you're being paid quite well for your services. It's not like you get nothing out of this arrangement."

"Oh really?" K.T. asked.

"Okay, so your girlfriend left you and your best friend just cut you to ribbons," Philip conceded, "but it's not like you're completely out of luck. You still have me."

"Gee, I got a boner now," the mercenary grumbled.

"Really K.T., isn't there a more eloquent way of expressing your mood?"

"Sure," the mercenary responded, "but something tells me you'd appreciate that even less."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Corben," Philip said. "I only came here tonight to bring you a message. You may remember that there are some in our organization, such as Hassan, who have never been thrilled about your indoctrination. They feel that you are too young and flighty. I have tried to persuade them otherwise, but they're now demanding I prove the wisdom of my selection to them. They want a show of loyalty, Mr. Corben."

"Oh, this should be great," K.T. said.

"In order to prove your worthiness to remain among us, it has been decided that you will kill Johnny Yashida during this siege. Is that understood?"

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will stop restraining Hassan from killing you," Philip replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "And rest assured that if you somehow elude him, someone else will track you down. You cannot escape the True Hand, Mr. Corben. Either you kill Johnny Yashida, or we kill you. Do you understand?"

"Completely."

"And do you have any problems with that?"

"No," K.T. answered. "Not at all."

To be continued……………………………………