Coming Out of Hiding
by Soledad Cartwright
A ''Pathways in the Dark'' story
Follows ''The Request''
Disclamer:
Most of the characters in this story belong to their respective creators. Only Guillaume St. Onge and Giaronas DeBellevue are mine.
Lady Abigail and the other Tremere witches were borrowed from the Tremere Genealogy of White Wolf Online. I don't know a thing about them, but found the names pretty.
The concept of the Sisters of Greznich was borrowed form the excellent fanfic 'The Black Sheep' by Liliaeth, without authorization. However, it was me who made them all vampires.
Author's notes:
1. This is basically an Angel story, but in strong connection to Kindred: The Embraced and Poltergeist - The Legacy. There are also slight hints to other series, vampiric or not.
2. In the Angel/Buffy-timeline this story happens after 'Family' in Season 5 of Buffy and before the whole Pylea-storyline of 'Angel', which I've chosen to ignore. In my universe. Tara and Willow broke up shortly after 'Family'.
3. Tara already went through the Ritual Joining with Wesley and is now pregnant with their child. At the time, they're trying to find a cure for Amy, the Rat and the Sisters of Greznich have promised their help.
4. At this time, Angel isn't the Prince of L.A. yet. The Clan Primogens that surivived Cyrus' reign of horror will be gathering at the Tremere Chantry shortly, in order to discuss the return of the Camarilla to the City and the possible election of a new Prince. This story, however, happens entirely in the Chantry and deals with the inner conflicts of Clan Tremere. None of the Angel characters makes a guest appearance.
5. For visualization, Guillaume St. Onge is 'played' by French actor Renaud Marx (Inspector Kaplan), Giaronas DeBellevue by Jerome Anger (Inspecteur Trémois), both known form the French police series 'Julie Lescaut'... with slightly longer hair, of course.
6. Alvic DuLac is one nameless Tremere scholar of unknown generation I've found by White Wolf Online and gave him a name. He has the face of Roy Dupuis.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
''A Tremere Chantry is a gathering place in times of need, a resource many would give up just about anything to have. It is the vehicle for the Tremere wizards'advantage, access to magical supplies and books. The Chantry is the physical manifestation of the Tremere, mysterious and yet strangely obvious to see. That's what makes it spooky.
Depending on the city that harbors it, the Chantry varie in accordance to what the the Clan would lavish on every given group of wizards.
A Chantry is a lot like a church, only different. It is only as good as the people in it, but carries a certain awe all it's own.
Some chantries are open to the public for meeting with the Regent or another Tremere, with the sensitive books and areas secured separately, others are locked up and off-limits to non-Tremere.
Whether a Chantry is open or closed is largely the decision of the Regent. Bringing a non-Tremere into a closed Chantry is a very serious offense, and is not recommended except in the most dire of circumstances.
Chantries are heavily warded, and usually include as "standard equipment" wards versus spirits, ghouls and lupines with an area effect surrounding the walls of the chantry about 10 feet. These wards are usually implaces by an elder in the clan, often below the Regent in generation, and will not affect servants of the Clan.
A magical library containing rituals and reference texts usable for creating and learning standard rituals, and learning paths. It is considered good form to include discoveries here that an apprentice has made. Journals of Tremere research are also collected, as well as both Tremere and Camarilla history and law. A modestly supplied laboratory for projects the whole chantry is involved in, funded by the Clan.
Limited stores of magical supplies, usually reserved for emergencies affecting the Chantry, but local rules may vary. Particularly rare items are not usually stocked in this store.
A private quarters area, containing an inner library, bedroom/reading room, and front of-fice for the Regent. The Regent may have supplemental quarters elsewhere, but his/her primary residence is always the Chantry itself. Inside this private, secured area is a heavy locked refrigerator which contains the blood of the Chantry members, as per the Tremere disadvantage. Many regents ward this area, or employ explosive runes or high voltage.
Depending on the resources of the Chantry, a laboratory is generally supplied for each Chantry member. Particularly rich chantries may have several rooms to spare for guests, or for holding out when things get rough.
Some Chantries have an armoury, but this is seldom the case by default. When it is established it usually contains a modest selection of silvered and magnum rounds, and occasionally tranquilizer guns. "Dragon's Breath" rounds are right out, and are actually quite dangerous because of the phosphorous they contain. Warded bullets are seldom provided except when the Clan warrants it.
A modest amount of servants, at least one and usually two or three. Often, a receptionist, librarian or researcher, and general security guard are kept on retainer by the Chantry, and are often ghouls. Other staff may be provided, though this varies.
A prepared chamber for conducting rituals, summonings, and other such activities beongs to every Chantry House.''
Description found on one of the Tremere websites
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Chantry of Los Angeles contained all these things and more - with the exception of an armoury. It was one of the oldests Clan Tremere inhabited - and also one of the most unusual. The Pontifex and Regent of this Chantry belonged to the very few Tremere who'd already reached Golconda: the perfect balance between humanity and the Beast of vampiric nature. For an artificially created Clan and as young as the Tremere, it was said to be almost impossible to reach *that* level of inner peace. Yet, the inner circle of te L.A. Chantry had followed tghe Path pf Golconda since its very foundation, and aside of their Pontifex, supposedly even more of them managed to reach this blessed state. What's more, the Founder of this particular Chantry (and its former Regent) was the only Tremere ever known to have been accepted by the Inconnu. He still lived in his old Chantry, though, because he'd been selected as the Monitor of L.A., and this was the best place for him to do his job.
But it wasn't the honourable Gulillaume St.Onge (once a French knight, belonging to the kathar heresy, whose whole family: parents, siblings, beautiful young wife and sweet little children, were brutally killed, burned on stake, in fact, when Montségur Castle fell in 1245 under the onslaught of crusaders; he only escaped with the helo of his later Sire, Geraint de Monfort, brother and sworn enemy of crusader general Simon de Monfort), who fascinated the not-so-long-ago-elected Tremere Justicar, not even his long-time Archon and former kathar priest, Alvic DuLac, who also lived in this very Chantry, albeit in almost complete solitary. Anastasz DiZagreb wanted to finally meet the current ruler of the Chantry, a misterious woman called Lady Abigail
Lady Abigail had become a legend amog Tremere. She was of 6th generation but old, very old... older than her Clan itself. Before her Embrace, she'd been a ghoul of Old Clan Tzimisce for centuries... no one really knew for how long, exactly. She was the leader of a Coven of very powerful Dacian withes, the Sisters of Greznich. The members of this witch coven - actually the highest-ranking priestresses of some forgotten deity, a goddess whose main function was healing and protection - all possessed incredible in-born powers that were multiplicated by the regularly performed ritual of Sacred Joining.
When the Roman Empire invaded Dacia, the witches seeked escape by becoming ghouls of the local vampires and successfully stopped their ageing process through this method. When the war broke out between the Tzimisce and the newly-created Clan Tremere, however, Lady Abigail realized that their Masters would eagerly sacrifice them to drain their knowledge and power and get an advantage agaisnt the wizards. So she decided to make a preemptive strike, seeking out the Tremere and offering them her hole Coven (or what was left of it; six of the originally thirteen witches had already been killed by then) for Embrace, in exchange for their lives and protection against their own Masters.
The Inner Council was all too eager to accept them, of course. Due to their in-born powers, the witches were able to survive the somewhat risky Tremere Embrace and even continue to practice real magick afterwards - something the Order of Hermes had lost after its members had become undead. In fact, this infusion of powerful Vitae might have saved the whole Clan from total degradation. Some said, the annual gathering in Vienna was held for the Clan Elders to rejuvenate their powers through the assistance of the Sisters. Whether that was true or not, no one could now, but fact was that - unlike any other Tremere except the members of the Inner Council - Lady Abigail could go to Vienna and leave the city as she pleased. No one dared to tell her what to do.
Right now, she was the only one of the original Sisters still alive. They might have kept out of the Jyhad, but they couldn't force the Jyhad to let them alone. Clan wars, the Anarch Revolt, Sabbat attacks, witch hunters and other enemies decimated the ranks of the wise andgentle healers who despised violence themselves and only used their powers for protection. The Clan was worried that they could lose the Sisters and their powers and knowledge. So when St. Onge laid the foundation of his Chantry in L.A., he invited Lady Abigail, the only remaining Sister to take shelter under his wings. She accepted and started recreating her coven by selecting young wiomen, born with witch powers as novices. After St. Onge's retreat from his duties as Pontifex, she was automatically elected as his predecessor.
That had been almost three centuries ago. During this time, the once solitary Chantry estate became a part of West-Hollywood and so part of the Domain of the Prince of Los Angeles. Most Princes were wise enough to let the Tremere fortress alone, and even the Sabbat packs and Anarch gangs avoided it. Only Cyrus, the latest Brujah Prince was foolish enough to confront the authority of the formidable Tremere Primogen. Lady Abigail answered his challenge by leaving the Conclave, closing down her Chantry hermetivally, sending the youngest members of her Clan to Atlanta, to her Childe, Hannah, for protection - and waiting ptiently for Cyrus to fall.
She didn§t have to wait too long. First, Cyrus lost his most important ally: his Archon, a Lasombra priest called Lillith, who fell against the Superior of a nun convent, not being able to face True Faith. Then, Cyrus himself managed to antagonize Angelus, a powerful Anarch vampire, one of the True Undead, who in exchange killed him with casual ease.
The Justicar knew all too well that Lady Abigail was instrumental in helping Angelus to establish his rule over the City. It surprised him that the Methuselah would ally herself with an Anarch, with one of the Order of Aurelius of all them, but he supposed that she had her own reasons to do that. The order of the Camarilla returned to the City under Angelus rule, the Clans maintained peace among themselfes, constantly fighting the serious sabbat infestation and other creatures of the Dark Side. Besides, Lady Abigail had always been known for her unusual decisions.
One of which had actually brought the Justicar to Los Angeles. Rumour said that Lady Abigail had selected a young Tremere witch named Marie D'Richet for her Coven. The choice would have been perfect, since Marie was a very powerful witch, former leader of a chich coven in Toulouse, France, whose members revived some of the kather teachings and combined it with their magick. The only problem being that Marie - together with her Sire, Antonio Calbullarski, who'd Embraced and Blood Bond her by force in 1991 - were hunted by their Clan for this very unauthorized and non-consensual Embrace. The Elders didn't tolerate Embracing someone against their will and ordered the destruction of both the Sire and the Childe.
Lady Abigail, however, wouldn't even hear of this. She daed to challenge the order of the Elders, arguing that the Childe was innocent in having been raped into unlife; besides, she'd managed to break the Blood Bond between Marie and her Sire (no one could guess ro dared to ask how), setting the novice free again. Marie had found her right place among the Sisters of Greznich, being a real asset to the Order, and even managing to take another young witch with her, whom she'd known from Toulouse, from her mortal days. The L.A. Pontifex even threatened to deny her support from the elders if they won't give the neonate a fair chance.
The Inner Council was in turmoil, of course. Such rebellious behaviour was unheard of and heavily frowned upon in their meticulously organized Clan. On the other hand, of course, they couldn't afford alienating the only true Methuselah among their ranks, who might have been older than the Founder himself. Their Thaumaturgy was no match for the natural, in-born ancient powers of Lady Abigail (called the Wild Power), and all the old and honoured members of her Chantry stood behind her like a stone wall, *including* the most respected St. Onge himself.
The support of the single Tremere Inconnu wasn't something that could have been easily dismissed. So the Elders decided to send out their new Justicar to investigate the case. Some of them wished they still had the cold and hard-nosed Karl Schreckt on duty, who didn't hesitate to take drastic measures to reach his goals. Hadn't he just diablerized a Lupine in order to gain a generation? But, as her Sire, Elaine de Calinot (one of the Council members) pointed out, in the eyes of a being as ancient as Lady Abigail, the widely feared Schreckt himself was but a child. Hewouldn't have managed to frighten her into backing, either.
The order rached Anastasz DiZagreb inAtlanta, wher he had been investigating the afterschocks of the Sabbat intrusion for quite some time. In fact, he was to return to Regent Hannah (a Sister of Greznich herself, just like her Sire), after having attended to the D'Richet case. He travelled in his preferred animal shape, a dark eagle, in the company of his personal Gargoyle and friend, former Tzimisce Rusticus. The great winged beast had been reported as dead for centuries, but, in fact, he was only in torpor, until DiZagreb found and revived him. They had travelled together since then, in the hope to find the right Chantry for Rusticus to live in.
When they first glimpsed the huge, castle-like, many-roomed mansion from above, in the middle of wood areas of very huge, very old trees and tall stone walls, DiZagreb had the feeling that they just might have found the right place. There were other buildings inside the estate, housing the laboratories perhaps, or the secret libraries; a small, open temple behind a Japanese stone garden...van old-fashioned fountain, surrounded by a stone circle, presumably for ancient ceremonies from Lady Abigail's mortal days. Everything was ancient, almost frozen n time as if the latest centuries had left this place untouched - and still full of life.
Even from this far, the Justicar could feel the incredible mental forces protecting this particular haven. He knew, his only chance to get in was the straight way: through the front gate. He mentally signalled his Gargoyle friend and the two wastly different creatures began to descend. Neither of them doubted that the inhabitants had already detected their arrival; they didn't even need to perform an illegal scrying upon them. Wizards as old as St. Onge or DuLac cluld sense a new member of the Clan by simple telepathy... the older they got, the stronger their mental abilities became. And DiZagreb could only guiess what a creature as ancient as Lady Abigail was capable of.
So they landed gracefully in front of the heavy oak front gate and the magus changed back into his human shape: that of a medium-built, slender man in his early thirties, with long, curly dark hair and oval-shaped dark eyes, clad in the traditional black slacks and tunicof his Clan. Only the golden signet of *Ankh* around his neck and in his left ear rvealed his high rank among his own kind. Rusticus stood behind him, folding his grat wings on his broad back, smiling slightly. He was looking forward to meet a kidnred spirit: someone whou started out with the Tzimisce and ended up with the Tremere, just like himself. It was something extremely rare, even in the vivid Kidnred history.
Before one of them could have rung the bell, a small, cut-in door opened in the heavy oak gate and out looked a tall, slender, dark-haired, young-looking woman. She moved with the predatorial grace of a martial arts-expert, wearing black jeans and an open-collared denim shirt, but her clear grey eyes spoke of age and wisdom, and the slight hardness of her beautiful features clearly denied her otherwise youthful appearance.
''Welcome to the Los Angeles Chantry, Justicar DiZagreb'', she greeted the visitor; her voice was deep and cool, in spite of her polite words, and she had a noticeable French accent. ''I'm Jacqueline Amal, novice of the Third Circle, an appentrice by the Sisters of Greznich. Our Regent is expecting you. Please follow me.''
With that, she stopped aside, letting the visitors in. Poor Rusticus had a lot of trouble pressing his large frame through the narrow entrance, but he wouldn't risk to simply fly over the wall. Theys were warded, who knows what powers protected them.
The young witch looked at him, smiling for the first time.
''I'm afraid the invitation is only for the Justicar, my big friend'', she said.
''But you might find the company of your own kind enjoyable. They usually sit on the terraced roof of the main house at this time and play ornaments.''
''You have Gargoyles living with you?'' DiZagreb asked in surprise.
''For quite some time'', Jacqueline answered. ''They fled from Transsylvania after teir village had been destroyed with large parts of the woods by fire. Some of them died, unfortunately, but the three youngest ones survived the long flight over the sea and have been living in this Chantry ever since. A lot longer than *I* have, in fact.''
Rusticus blinked at the Justicar, then - seeing that the Tremere had no objections - rose into the air again. The young witch grinned; then she winked somewhat impatiently te visitor to follow her.
The main house - the actual mansion, also the home of the Sisters of Greznich - was built like a medieval castle, but contained all the comfort of modern times in the inside. The stairs, the furniture, even the decorative wall-plates were of dark, polished wood, the wallpaper of gold-embroided red brocate. The stained glass windows remainded faintly of those of a church, and the traditionally-clad Elders of the Chantry looked a lot like the members of some bizarre religious order - which they, in a certain sense, were.
Lady Abigail sat on the table head. Like most people of her (mortal) time, she wasn't particularly tall, maybe 1.65 m, and rather feminine and well-rounded, the product of an age far before the Slimfast Diet insanity. She wore her reddish-brown hair in a tight knot on the nape of her neck, her greyish-blue eyes were freckled with irregular gold spots, even in her current state of tranquility, her skin was very pale, even for a vampire - almost translucent. She might have been in her early forties at the time of her Embrace: a matriarch in her own time, a mature woman in modern terms, certain of her own powers and value. The hidden power she radiated was sophisticated, skilled, finely tuned - almost unbearable. DiZagreb had no doubt that she could have torn him apart by sheer willpower. He considered himself lucky that the Sisters of Greznich usually rejected violence.
Finding it adviseable to display the outmost respect toward this powerful Methuselah, DiZagreb crossed the room, sank to his knees and kissed the warded silver ring, the symbol of Lady Abigail's power. Not being a member of her Chantry - and carrying the honours of a Justicar anyway - he didn't *have* to do this, but guessed, it would be beneficial to start on the best terms with her.
''Milady, I'm grateful that you've agreed with this investigation... and accepted my person'', he murmured, painfully aware of the fact that compared even with the youngest magus present, he was hardly more than a child.
To his surprise, the Regent laughed. Her voice was deep, but not overly so; smooth, feminine and full of warmth.
''We are reasonable people, Anastasz'', she replied with a pleasant smile, ''despite everything our hard-nosed Elders in Vienna might think of us. I'm working very hard on recreating our Order... once again. Alas, the times aren't kind with us, and I won't let a perfect candidate be destroyed because of a formality that wasn't even her fault. But my protectiveness doesn't mean that we wouldn't follow the Rules and Traditions of the Camarilla.''
''On the contrary'', the elderly-looking Japanese woman on her left added, smiling. ''We have our own Monitor in this very House, after all.''
And she shot a glimpse at the tall, hard-faced, dark-haired Frenchman on the other side of their Regent.
''I'm the witness of *that*'', Guillaume St. Onge replied with dignity. ''I *do* respect the Inner Council, but let's face it, the Sisters of Greznich are a much older institution than our whole Clan... and Lady Abigail is the most ancient from all of us. Nevertheless, she has always obeyed the Elders. I find, this one time the Council should listen to her. This Order is of paramount importance for our Clan. We can't risk losing it. And the sisters need new novices. When they find a worthy one, we have to protect her. It's that simple.''
''So you plead for the life of the neonate, Archon St. Onge?'' the Justicar asked.
The former French knight shrugged.
''I advise to leave her alone. She's lived in this Chantry for almost nine years by now. Her behaviour has never been anything than exceptional. She's completed the Third Circle a few weeks ago and is ready to be initiated as a full member of the Sisterhood through the Sacred Joining.''
''In mere nine years?'' The Justicar asked in surpirse, knowing all too well that it usually took decades to be accepted by the sisters. Sometimes even more.
''She's smart, skilled and eager'', the elderly Japanese witch answered. ''And she possesses great in-born powers. She needs the order and the order needs her.''
The Justicar noticed that Lady Abigail didn't participate in the arguing. She let her second and her Archon to speak for her. Only someone very powerful could risk *that*.
''May I speak with the neonate?'' He asked.
After a moment of wordless mental conversation the Japanese woman stood.
''I'll bring her.''
''Kyoko Shinsegawa has been one of us for over a century'', Lady Abigail remarked fondly, after she'd left. ''Before that, she was a servant in this very House, then she'd become a ghoul for another centruy, before she asked to be Embraced.''
''Who's her Sire?''
''She's been killed by a Setite, long ago. She was one of us. Kyoko hunted down her killer and destroyed him, sweeping through San Francisco like a hurricane in her wrath.''
DiZagreb nodded. He could remember the forementioned events. The Japanese witch was called 'the Scourge of San Francisco' during that time - and after that, forever.Not even Archon Raine, the Ventrue Prince had been able to stop her, until her vengeance was completed. She wiped out a whole Setite temple, in order to find the murderer of her Sire. It was rare for the Sisters of Greznich to raise their hands against any living or undead creature - unless one of them had been threatened, hurt or killed. In that case, the gentle and wise women turned into furies and nothing could stop them until their bloodthirst was satisfied.
''Does she have any Childer?'' He asked.
''She was so shaken by her Sire's death that she refused to make Childer... until recently'', Lady Abigail answered.
The Justicar would have loved to ask who the new fledgling of the Chantry was, but in that very moment the door opened again and a tall, slim, bitterly beautiful young woman was led in. She had pale skin, straight, soft dark hair and large, haunted dark eyes. Lady Abigail winked her closer and patted her hand fodnly.
''Don't worry, little one. I will protect you... no matter what.''
''Merci, Madame'', Marie D'Richet bowed her head; then she turned around and looked the Justicar straight in the eyes. ''Alors, Justicar DiZagreb, what are you planning to do with me? Am I going to be sent to Final Death just because a greedy warlock violated me? Then do it right now, in front of all those who've taught and protected and cheerished me for almost a decade- It shouldn't be *that* hard on you. You're a trained killer; you managed to destroy Yasmin the Black, after all, and she was a Sabbat monster, not a mere neonate like me. Go on, kill me! I'm tired of hiding. Kill me... or let me alone. All of you.''
The Justicaar sighed.
''It's not that simple, Marie. I have rules to follow.''
One of the other magus present, a youthful-looking, dark-haired man, seemingly in his early thirties, leaned forward in his seat.
''Tell me something, Anastasz. While have you been elected as Justicar? There were other candidates, older, more powerful, more experienced ones. Yet, the Council had chosen you. Why?''
''To bind my hands'', the Justicar replied cynically. ''I'm tempted by reformism... had I stayed with my own Chantry, my brethren might have followed me. The Council wouldn't have liked *that*.''
''So they promoted you to neutralize you, didn't they?'' The magus asked.
Lady Abigail sent her a disapprowing look.
''Giaronas...''
''Forgive me, Madame, but don't you see a pattern here? Anastasz tried to loosen the chains of the Pyramide, so they made him a Justicar, to protect the very stiff structures he was determined to reform. The violent Embrace of Marie made the Clan look bad, so the Elders want her to be destroyed, in order to get ride of the evidence. When I asked to be Embraced, I thought I'd join an honourable and strong Clan... well, *this* isn't it.''
''Mais oui, it is'', a third man, with equally youthful appearance but undoubtedly a very old and gentle soul answered him. ''The Clan is not the Inner Council or the Pyramide... the Clan is *us*. We *can* change it... but only from the inside, my brother. Anything else would only help the Sababt.''
''You've found the right words, as always, Alvic, my sweet'', Lady Abigail smiled at the shyx man like a loving mother. ''Now, anastasz, you must decide what the right thing is for you to do.''
''I think I've found a way'', DiZagreb answered thoughtfully, ''but it won't be easy. It's only going to work if you manage to get Angelus elected as the rightful Prince of the City.''
''I can do that'', Lady Abigail replied with utter self-confidence. ''I'm one of the Ministers of the City, not just a Clan Primogen. The other two Ministers, the Brujah and the Ventrue, will listen to me. The Nosferatu and the Malkavians will support Angelus for their own reasons. Even the Kuei-yin are allied to him.''
''What about the Gangrel? I know, officially they aren't part of the Camarilla any more, but they are present in this City...''
''It's not a very strong presence: only two bloodlines. They still haven't recovered from Cyrus' 'cleansing acts'. But I can handle them throuh the witches in their midst.''
''And the Toreador? They are the biggest Clan in L.A., as far as I am informed.''
''Yes. Well, they are unpredictable, as always. But I can push a formal election through.''
''Then do it. After that, Marie only needs the Prince's permission to dwell and hunt in his Domain... and we'll have solved the problem without antagonizing the Elders.''
Lady Abigail frowned a little. Actually, she'd have *loved* to antagonize their stiff-necked Elders and show them how helpless they really were without her support. But the rough voice of her Archon made her re-decide it.
''It is doable'', St. Onge said. ''Let's give it a try.'' He gave his Regent a wry smirk. ''We still can antagonize our most revered Elders if it doesn't work. Not that they'd have that much influence in an open City like Los Angeles...''
The Regent grinned back at him.
''You always manage to put my mind at ease, Archon of mine'', she answered fondly. ''OK, let's do it... right after the Feast. Anastasz, would you like to participate or are you plannig to return to Atlanta?''
The Justicar thought about the offer for a second.
''I still have a lot of work in Atlante, but it can wait. I'd be honoured if you let me participate. I thought this one to be a closed Chantry, though...''
''It is'', the Regent said, ''but there are always exceptions. We even have members of other Clans living with us; scholars mostly, working with Alvic here. Besides, it's my right to allow access anyone I want to. Have you ever participated in a Feast?''
The Justicar shook his head.
''Haven't even witnessed one yet. But I'm hardly more than a fledgling, compared with you... all of you.''
Lady Abigail smiled at him.
''Maybe... but you are a good one. In fact, i think you would be just the right partner for Marianne. She's experienced enough to guide you properly, but not too old for you... in Kindred terms, I mean.''
The pretty, red-haired, freckeld witch sitting outside the circle of Elders grinned at her Regnant.
''I accept.''
She had a light, cheerful voice with a French accent as well; in fact, there seemed hardly to be any *not* French people in this Chantry, except the Regent and her second.
Lady Abigail nodded.
''Good, then it's settled. Go, get to know each other better. The Feast is in four days, until then this meeting is adjourned.''
Everyone rose to leave. Before they did, the Regent added in a quiet voice:
''Alvic, my sweet, I want to spek you... in private. Come back in half an hour, please.
''Bien sur, Madame'', the tall, slender man with the long, gentle, vulnerable face bowed slightly.
Once outside, he asked his friend, St. Onge, in surprise:
''Have you any idea what *this* might be about?''
The Archon smiled.
''You might have been Chosen this time.''
''Me?'' DuLac stared at him, almost frightened. ''Why should she Choose me? I'm not worthy.''
''Mais oui, your are.'' St. Onge wrapped his arms around the slimmer body of his friend and pulled him into a gentle embrace, kissing him deeply; with the Sisters only mating at the sacred Feasts of the year, the male members of the Chantry were pretty much on their own between two Rites. ''Everyone knows it... except yourself.''
DuLac opened like a flower for his friend and long-time lover.
''Myself and notre Dieu, mon chevalier'', he murmured sadly. ''Le Seigneur had known that I've never been wortghy. I used to be one of the Pure, just like yourself, but I was not good enoug, not pure enough. God didn't accept my sacrifice. I survived the fall of Montségur Castle and I don't even know who Embraced me and why.''
''Vic, we've already had this conversation, several times during all these centuries.'' St. Onge tightened his arms around his lover and licked that long, pale neck over the jugular soothingly. ''I've told you that whoever Embraced you, must have been very old and very powerful... doing it because he or she found you worth of eternal life. And you are, my beloved. You are the gentlest soul in our whole Clan, the purest, most innocent heart I've ever known, except probably my late wife. Without you, I'd have walked into the sun, centuries ago.''
DuLac calmed down a bit under the gentle ministrations of his lover. He'd always leaned on the older, harder, stronger man, even in their mortal days, when they were just friends, and especialy after St. Onge had found hm under the ruins of Montségur Castle, left for dead by the crusaders but actually in the middle of the Becoming. The once celibatory kathar priest had shared the former knight's bed ever since, more for comfort and bonding than for sex. St. Onge knew about the ever-bleeding wound of self-despise in his friend's tormented soul and hoped that Lady Abigail's acceptance might help with that.
''Saint-O'', Alvic murmured against his shoulder, showing his affection with that rarely-used nickname, ''why does Madame always select you for the Feast? Because you're her Archon or because you've been her predecessor?''
''Both'', St. Onge said after a moment of thinking, ''But, actually, it's mostly my age, I think. Of course, she's even *my* senior by a millennium, but aside of you, O'm the closest to her age... in mortal years *and* as a Kindred. As she likes to put it, she doesn't do children.''
''Then why should she switch to me? *If* that's what she's going to tell me, that is. She always chose you, in all these centuries...''
''It's a great relief to surrender control and responsibility... I remember *that* all too well. I'm old enough and powerful enough for her to do just that, without being embarrassed by it. But I'm not a gentle lover; *you* of all people have to know that.''
''You've always been wonderful to me'', DuLac murmured, molding his body to the larger frame of the other man. St. Onge entwined long, callused fingers with his soft hair in a rough caress.
''Only because you find fullfillment in submission, Vic, my love. You like being punished, out of some twisted feeling of guilt, so you don't mind my roughness. Madame, on the other hand, is not the submissive sort. I've tried so hard not to be rough, all these times, but I just can't deny my true nature. You'll be just right for her... if you don't make the mistake to yield.''
''What else should I do?'' DuLac almost panicked. ''I'm nothing compared with her... I'm just not worthy, Saint-o!''
''Yes, you are'', St. Onge kissed him again, taking his sweet time to enjoy the sweet sensation, Vic always yielded so beautifully. ''Stop fretting. You're sweet, beautiful, wise and gentle, Vic, just use your skills to pleasure her and everything will be all right. Now go, your time's up.''
DuLac obeyed his friend, as always, knocking on the Regent's door near total panic.
[Maybe she just wants to discuss work with me], he hoped.
[Come in, Vic, my sweet], came the invitation, directly in his mind, and he smiled involuntarily.
Lady Abigail always called him like that... and him only. To St. Onge, she mostly said 'Archon of mine'. Or 'Monsieur', when she was in a particularly playful mood. To her fellow witches she said 'sister of mine' or simply 'Childe', even if they weren't *her* Childer. Only him called she 'my sweet'. It was said out of respect and genuine affection and Alvic loved it.
He entered the private library where the Regent spent most of her time and kneeled by her feet to kiss her hand, as it was custom for all Chantry members, even the other sisters. But this time Lady Abigail lifted his chin and looked him in the eyes.
''Vic, my sweet, I want you to partake the Feast with me this time'', she said without preamble. ''I've been looking forward to it for quite some time, but Deirdre hasn't been ready to accept anyone else but you. Now that she decided to invite Pierre this year, I want to take my choice with you. Are you ready for me, Vic? You think you can take it?''
DuLac's inhumanly slow heartbeat almost stopped.
''I... I'll do my best, Madame.''
The Regent grinned.
''I certainly hope so. You can start with kissing me.''
Alvic leaned forward -- on his knees he was at the same height as his sitting Regent -- and gently laid his parted lips on the full mouth of the ancient witch. He froze for a moment while his mind processed the softness and texture of those surprisingly warm lips (the Sisters were always warmer than the average Kindred, even as the average Tremere; it was something in their nature, their very special powers), then dared to slide in his probing tongue. Lady Abigail opened for him and the complexity of tastes hit him like a blow. Instinctively, without even realizing it, he grabbed the head of his Regent, fingers sliding into the silky strains of loosening hair, deepening the kiss into almost bruising intensity. Lady Abigail let him be the agressive one, her strong fingers gently massaging his scalp. The yielding of the ancient Methuselah gave him such a heady rush of power he almost fainted. Fortunately, none of them needed to breath.
A short, sharp knock on the door broke the spell, Lady Abigail sighed into his mouth, then released him, puttinhg his long, silky hair back into the tight knot with practiced ease.
''Come in, Childe'', she said with a hint of regret.
The door opened and in came a fragile-looking, dark-haired woman, wearing the traditional, gold-embrioded black gauze veil of a Druidic priestress on her shoulder. Deirdre had been one of the last true druids in Ireland. Tremere wizards, jealous of her powers, ripped her throat out and left her dying, just before lady Abigail found and Embraced her to save her for unlife -- and for their Order. As one of the Dreamspeakers (a particularly powerful Tradition of the nine once great Mage Houses), her mental powers seconded only those of her Sire, but the traumatic circumstances of her Embrace made her extremely shy; she usually only appeared during Feasts and -- until now -- only accepted the participation of the gentre Alvic. She looked more like a thin boy with her short hair and tiny frame than like a centuries-old, powerful witch. Also, she was one of the very few non-French members of the Chantry.
She greeted Alvic with a shy smile and a blessing in Old Gaelic, then turned to her Sire.
''I've completed the ceremony, Milady'', she reported in soft, quiet voice. ''There would be only three longer chants this time; it's an ordinary year, so we can go with the Lesser Rite... which will take to more days than the Higher One, by the way.
''That's fine with me'', Lady Abigail grinned, resting a hand on Alvic's bowed head. Deirdre smiled in understanding.
''Yes, I can see that. It's finally your turn now. I've kept him too long; it has been selfish to deny the others the choice. Give your best, Alvic, my love. Make the Feast a pleasant one for our Lady.''
DuLac blushed beautifully, thank his recent feeding.
''I'll try...''
''Nonsense'', Deirdre dismissed his insecurities with a wink. ''You're gorgeous and sweet and passionate.. *I* am the witness of that. You'll do just fine.''
She handled her papers the Regent, kissed Alvic on the cheek and left with a fond smile. Lady Abigail mirrored the smile of her Childe.
''Come here, Alvic, my sweet'', she said, sliding her fingers into the scholar's hair. ''Let me taste you again. I've waited for this for a *very* long time.''
Alvic looked up to her in child-like awe.
''You have?''
''Since I've set foot into this House the very first time.'' Lady Abigail kissed him again, slowly and gently this time, combing his hair with gentle fingers. ''I've always wanted you. But Deirdre has been too scared to let anyone else touch her and I had to consider her needs before mine. She's my eldest Childe still alive, I couldn't let her lose her powers. They are too important for the fight that lies before us. But now, you're finally mine... and although this is a ritual matter, I expect you to give me great pleasure.''
''Yours, Madame... my body, my soul, my blood'', Alvic sighed, relaxing into the lamost humanly warm embrace of his Regent. ''Take from me everything you need.''
Lady Abigail lifted his chin again to look into his soft, dark eyes.
''Everything, Alvic? Be careful what you ask for. You might get more than you've bargained for.''
Alvic didn't shy back. A hope, long given up, raised again in his wounded heart.
''Are you going to Blood Bond me?'' He asked, shivering with secret desire.
The Regent looked at him strangely - almost agitated.
''Is that what you wish? To give up your personal freedom and become less than a slave?''
''And more than a lover'', Alvic murmured. ''Yes, Madame, I'd like very much to *belong*... and since the Council lifted the bane...''
''What about my Archon?'' Lady Abigail asked. ''The two of you've been close friends since your mortal days and lovers since your Embrace.''
''I won't abandon him'', Alvic assured. ''We still could be together between Feasts, like we've done all our lives, until now. But if you want me to live in celibacy in-between, I can do that, too.''
''No, Vic, my sweet'', Lady Abigail said, sadly. ''I wouldn't deny you the comfort of your long-time lover. He's closer to you than I could ever be, even if I Blood Bond you. You belong with him, just as I belong with my Order. It's that simple.''
''I understand'', Alvic let his head hang in resignation. ''I'm not worthy. I new that.''
Now the Regent became really worried.
''Alvic, this self-loathing of you is getting tiresome. Why do you wish to be Blood Bound so badly anyway? And why don't you ask St. Onge, if it's so important or you?''
''It might give me peace'', Alvic sighed. ''Peace, that had been denied me ever since the crusaders slaughtered my brethren in faith. Ever since God turned His face away from me. Saint-O can't give me that peace; he doesn't have it either. But you, Madame... your are rooted into Earth so deep, you might anchor me, too.''
Lady Abigail thought about it for a while, petting Alvic's hair absently.
''I have to think it over in earnest'', she finally said. ''*And* I have to discuss it with my second and my Archon. This isn't an easy step to take. I have serious objections against the Blood Bond, but I also want to help you. I care for you too much to simply dismiss your request. Come back to me just before sunrise,w ill you?''
Alvic obediently kissed her hand and left. The Regent sighed, facing this new problem; then she seeked out Deirdre with her thoughts.
[Send in my Archon, Childe], she asked. [We seem to have a new problem here.]
St. Onge must have been near enough to catch her mental order because there was a sharp rapple on the door before Deirde could even have acknowledged. The large man strolled in, imperturbed.
''What has Alvic done?'' He asked bluntly. ''I love him like a brother... and more, but sometimes he even wears *my* patience off.''
Lady Abigail didn't ask how her Archon new what the problem was. After all these centuries spent together, St. Onge was finely toned to DuLac's mood swings (those being from sad to truly depressed and back).
''He wants me to Blood Bond him'', she replied, clearly not liking the idea.
''Oh, *that*!'' St. Onge rolled his eyes, hard and dark like pieces of obsidian. ''He's obsessed with that Ventrue thing.''
''Does it mean he'd asked *you* to Bond him as well?''
''Oh yes, in fact, he was begging for it many, many times, even while it was still forbidden in our Clan. It took me centuries until he accepted a 'no' for answer.''
''While would he want such a thing? I thought you guys had fought to be free from such restraints. Be it from the Church, he king or whomever.''
''Yes, and exactly that's why I could never make Vic my thrall. But the main problem seems to be that he'd never known his Sire. He never really felt that he *belonged*. Not to the Dark, not to our Clan, not to someone special. In spite of my personal disgust for Ventrue dominance games, I think a Blood Bond actually might help him to finally find his peace.''
''Why are you rejecting him, then? The two of you have been lovers for centuries.''
St. Onge shook his dark head.
''It has always been about comfort and friendship, nothing more. I'm not a caring person, Madame. I don't have a gentle heart. I'd break him, without intention, should I become his Regnant.''
Lady Abigail gave him a questioning look.
''Is that the reason why you never made a Childe?''
''That, and because losing my mortal children has been enough'', St. Onge said, his hard face darkening in grief. ''I never got over their deaths. I never felt enough strength to give a Childe the love that is required for siring.''
''Do you want *me* to Bond Alvic?'' The Regent asked. ''You know, I'm not fond of this practice either, but if it helps our sweet Vic, I'l do it. Do you really think it would be beneficial for him?''
''Yes, I *do* think so'', St. Onge answered without hesitation. ''Your acceptance would give him the very structure he'd missed in his unlife for centuries. Please, Madame, make him yours. He needs you.''
''I can do that, of course'', Lady Abigail said, ''but you know the restrictions of our unlife. So you'll still have to take care of his needs between two Feasts.''
''And I'll gladly do that'', St. Onge promised. ''I *do* love him... on my own way. It's just not enough. He needs more than *I* can give him. A *lot* more.''
''And you think *I* am the one who could give it to him?'' The Regent asked.
''I *know* it'', her Archon answered, ''and in the heart of his hearts, Alvic knows it, too.''
The End
by Soledad Cartwright
A ''Pathways in the Dark'' story
Follows ''The Request''
Disclamer:
Most of the characters in this story belong to their respective creators. Only Guillaume St. Onge and Giaronas DeBellevue are mine.
Lady Abigail and the other Tremere witches were borrowed from the Tremere Genealogy of White Wolf Online. I don't know a thing about them, but found the names pretty.
The concept of the Sisters of Greznich was borrowed form the excellent fanfic 'The Black Sheep' by Liliaeth, without authorization. However, it was me who made them all vampires.
Author's notes:
1. This is basically an Angel story, but in strong connection to Kindred: The Embraced and Poltergeist - The Legacy. There are also slight hints to other series, vampiric or not.
2. In the Angel/Buffy-timeline this story happens after 'Family' in Season 5 of Buffy and before the whole Pylea-storyline of 'Angel', which I've chosen to ignore. In my universe. Tara and Willow broke up shortly after 'Family'.
3. Tara already went through the Ritual Joining with Wesley and is now pregnant with their child. At the time, they're trying to find a cure for Amy, the Rat and the Sisters of Greznich have promised their help.
4. At this time, Angel isn't the Prince of L.A. yet. The Clan Primogens that surivived Cyrus' reign of horror will be gathering at the Tremere Chantry shortly, in order to discuss the return of the Camarilla to the City and the possible election of a new Prince. This story, however, happens entirely in the Chantry and deals with the inner conflicts of Clan Tremere. None of the Angel characters makes a guest appearance.
5. For visualization, Guillaume St. Onge is 'played' by French actor Renaud Marx (Inspector Kaplan), Giaronas DeBellevue by Jerome Anger (Inspecteur Trémois), both known form the French police series 'Julie Lescaut'... with slightly longer hair, of course.
6. Alvic DuLac is one nameless Tremere scholar of unknown generation I've found by White Wolf Online and gave him a name. He has the face of Roy Dupuis.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
''A Tremere Chantry is a gathering place in times of need, a resource many would give up just about anything to have. It is the vehicle for the Tremere wizards'advantage, access to magical supplies and books. The Chantry is the physical manifestation of the Tremere, mysterious and yet strangely obvious to see. That's what makes it spooky.
Depending on the city that harbors it, the Chantry varie in accordance to what the the Clan would lavish on every given group of wizards.
A Chantry is a lot like a church, only different. It is only as good as the people in it, but carries a certain awe all it's own.
Some chantries are open to the public for meeting with the Regent or another Tremere, with the sensitive books and areas secured separately, others are locked up and off-limits to non-Tremere.
Whether a Chantry is open or closed is largely the decision of the Regent. Bringing a non-Tremere into a closed Chantry is a very serious offense, and is not recommended except in the most dire of circumstances.
Chantries are heavily warded, and usually include as "standard equipment" wards versus spirits, ghouls and lupines with an area effect surrounding the walls of the chantry about 10 feet. These wards are usually implaces by an elder in the clan, often below the Regent in generation, and will not affect servants of the Clan.
A magical library containing rituals and reference texts usable for creating and learning standard rituals, and learning paths. It is considered good form to include discoveries here that an apprentice has made. Journals of Tremere research are also collected, as well as both Tremere and Camarilla history and law. A modestly supplied laboratory for projects the whole chantry is involved in, funded by the Clan.
Limited stores of magical supplies, usually reserved for emergencies affecting the Chantry, but local rules may vary. Particularly rare items are not usually stocked in this store.
A private quarters area, containing an inner library, bedroom/reading room, and front of-fice for the Regent. The Regent may have supplemental quarters elsewhere, but his/her primary residence is always the Chantry itself. Inside this private, secured area is a heavy locked refrigerator which contains the blood of the Chantry members, as per the Tremere disadvantage. Many regents ward this area, or employ explosive runes or high voltage.
Depending on the resources of the Chantry, a laboratory is generally supplied for each Chantry member. Particularly rich chantries may have several rooms to spare for guests, or for holding out when things get rough.
Some Chantries have an armoury, but this is seldom the case by default. When it is established it usually contains a modest selection of silvered and magnum rounds, and occasionally tranquilizer guns. "Dragon's Breath" rounds are right out, and are actually quite dangerous because of the phosphorous they contain. Warded bullets are seldom provided except when the Clan warrants it.
A modest amount of servants, at least one and usually two or three. Often, a receptionist, librarian or researcher, and general security guard are kept on retainer by the Chantry, and are often ghouls. Other staff may be provided, though this varies.
A prepared chamber for conducting rituals, summonings, and other such activities beongs to every Chantry House.''
Description found on one of the Tremere websites
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Chantry of Los Angeles contained all these things and more - with the exception of an armoury. It was one of the oldests Clan Tremere inhabited - and also one of the most unusual. The Pontifex and Regent of this Chantry belonged to the very few Tremere who'd already reached Golconda: the perfect balance between humanity and the Beast of vampiric nature. For an artificially created Clan and as young as the Tremere, it was said to be almost impossible to reach *that* level of inner peace. Yet, the inner circle of te L.A. Chantry had followed tghe Path pf Golconda since its very foundation, and aside of their Pontifex, supposedly even more of them managed to reach this blessed state. What's more, the Founder of this particular Chantry (and its former Regent) was the only Tremere ever known to have been accepted by the Inconnu. He still lived in his old Chantry, though, because he'd been selected as the Monitor of L.A., and this was the best place for him to do his job.
But it wasn't the honourable Gulillaume St.Onge (once a French knight, belonging to the kathar heresy, whose whole family: parents, siblings, beautiful young wife and sweet little children, were brutally killed, burned on stake, in fact, when Montségur Castle fell in 1245 under the onslaught of crusaders; he only escaped with the helo of his later Sire, Geraint de Monfort, brother and sworn enemy of crusader general Simon de Monfort), who fascinated the not-so-long-ago-elected Tremere Justicar, not even his long-time Archon and former kathar priest, Alvic DuLac, who also lived in this very Chantry, albeit in almost complete solitary. Anastasz DiZagreb wanted to finally meet the current ruler of the Chantry, a misterious woman called Lady Abigail
Lady Abigail had become a legend amog Tremere. She was of 6th generation but old, very old... older than her Clan itself. Before her Embrace, she'd been a ghoul of Old Clan Tzimisce for centuries... no one really knew for how long, exactly. She was the leader of a Coven of very powerful Dacian withes, the Sisters of Greznich. The members of this witch coven - actually the highest-ranking priestresses of some forgotten deity, a goddess whose main function was healing and protection - all possessed incredible in-born powers that were multiplicated by the regularly performed ritual of Sacred Joining.
When the Roman Empire invaded Dacia, the witches seeked escape by becoming ghouls of the local vampires and successfully stopped their ageing process through this method. When the war broke out between the Tzimisce and the newly-created Clan Tremere, however, Lady Abigail realized that their Masters would eagerly sacrifice them to drain their knowledge and power and get an advantage agaisnt the wizards. So she decided to make a preemptive strike, seeking out the Tremere and offering them her hole Coven (or what was left of it; six of the originally thirteen witches had already been killed by then) for Embrace, in exchange for their lives and protection against their own Masters.
The Inner Council was all too eager to accept them, of course. Due to their in-born powers, the witches were able to survive the somewhat risky Tremere Embrace and even continue to practice real magick afterwards - something the Order of Hermes had lost after its members had become undead. In fact, this infusion of powerful Vitae might have saved the whole Clan from total degradation. Some said, the annual gathering in Vienna was held for the Clan Elders to rejuvenate their powers through the assistance of the Sisters. Whether that was true or not, no one could now, but fact was that - unlike any other Tremere except the members of the Inner Council - Lady Abigail could go to Vienna and leave the city as she pleased. No one dared to tell her what to do.
Right now, she was the only one of the original Sisters still alive. They might have kept out of the Jyhad, but they couldn't force the Jyhad to let them alone. Clan wars, the Anarch Revolt, Sabbat attacks, witch hunters and other enemies decimated the ranks of the wise andgentle healers who despised violence themselves and only used their powers for protection. The Clan was worried that they could lose the Sisters and their powers and knowledge. So when St. Onge laid the foundation of his Chantry in L.A., he invited Lady Abigail, the only remaining Sister to take shelter under his wings. She accepted and started recreating her coven by selecting young wiomen, born with witch powers as novices. After St. Onge's retreat from his duties as Pontifex, she was automatically elected as his predecessor.
That had been almost three centuries ago. During this time, the once solitary Chantry estate became a part of West-Hollywood and so part of the Domain of the Prince of Los Angeles. Most Princes were wise enough to let the Tremere fortress alone, and even the Sabbat packs and Anarch gangs avoided it. Only Cyrus, the latest Brujah Prince was foolish enough to confront the authority of the formidable Tremere Primogen. Lady Abigail answered his challenge by leaving the Conclave, closing down her Chantry hermetivally, sending the youngest members of her Clan to Atlanta, to her Childe, Hannah, for protection - and waiting ptiently for Cyrus to fall.
She didn§t have to wait too long. First, Cyrus lost his most important ally: his Archon, a Lasombra priest called Lillith, who fell against the Superior of a nun convent, not being able to face True Faith. Then, Cyrus himself managed to antagonize Angelus, a powerful Anarch vampire, one of the True Undead, who in exchange killed him with casual ease.
The Justicar knew all too well that Lady Abigail was instrumental in helping Angelus to establish his rule over the City. It surprised him that the Methuselah would ally herself with an Anarch, with one of the Order of Aurelius of all them, but he supposed that she had her own reasons to do that. The order of the Camarilla returned to the City under Angelus rule, the Clans maintained peace among themselfes, constantly fighting the serious sabbat infestation and other creatures of the Dark Side. Besides, Lady Abigail had always been known for her unusual decisions.
One of which had actually brought the Justicar to Los Angeles. Rumour said that Lady Abigail had selected a young Tremere witch named Marie D'Richet for her Coven. The choice would have been perfect, since Marie was a very powerful witch, former leader of a chich coven in Toulouse, France, whose members revived some of the kather teachings and combined it with their magick. The only problem being that Marie - together with her Sire, Antonio Calbullarski, who'd Embraced and Blood Bond her by force in 1991 - were hunted by their Clan for this very unauthorized and non-consensual Embrace. The Elders didn't tolerate Embracing someone against their will and ordered the destruction of both the Sire and the Childe.
Lady Abigail, however, wouldn't even hear of this. She daed to challenge the order of the Elders, arguing that the Childe was innocent in having been raped into unlife; besides, she'd managed to break the Blood Bond between Marie and her Sire (no one could guess ro dared to ask how), setting the novice free again. Marie had found her right place among the Sisters of Greznich, being a real asset to the Order, and even managing to take another young witch with her, whom she'd known from Toulouse, from her mortal days. The L.A. Pontifex even threatened to deny her support from the elders if they won't give the neonate a fair chance.
The Inner Council was in turmoil, of course. Such rebellious behaviour was unheard of and heavily frowned upon in their meticulously organized Clan. On the other hand, of course, they couldn't afford alienating the only true Methuselah among their ranks, who might have been older than the Founder himself. Their Thaumaturgy was no match for the natural, in-born ancient powers of Lady Abigail (called the Wild Power), and all the old and honoured members of her Chantry stood behind her like a stone wall, *including* the most respected St. Onge himself.
The support of the single Tremere Inconnu wasn't something that could have been easily dismissed. So the Elders decided to send out their new Justicar to investigate the case. Some of them wished they still had the cold and hard-nosed Karl Schreckt on duty, who didn't hesitate to take drastic measures to reach his goals. Hadn't he just diablerized a Lupine in order to gain a generation? But, as her Sire, Elaine de Calinot (one of the Council members) pointed out, in the eyes of a being as ancient as Lady Abigail, the widely feared Schreckt himself was but a child. Hewouldn't have managed to frighten her into backing, either.
The order rached Anastasz DiZagreb inAtlanta, wher he had been investigating the afterschocks of the Sabbat intrusion for quite some time. In fact, he was to return to Regent Hannah (a Sister of Greznich herself, just like her Sire), after having attended to the D'Richet case. He travelled in his preferred animal shape, a dark eagle, in the company of his personal Gargoyle and friend, former Tzimisce Rusticus. The great winged beast had been reported as dead for centuries, but, in fact, he was only in torpor, until DiZagreb found and revived him. They had travelled together since then, in the hope to find the right Chantry for Rusticus to live in.
When they first glimpsed the huge, castle-like, many-roomed mansion from above, in the middle of wood areas of very huge, very old trees and tall stone walls, DiZagreb had the feeling that they just might have found the right place. There were other buildings inside the estate, housing the laboratories perhaps, or the secret libraries; a small, open temple behind a Japanese stone garden...van old-fashioned fountain, surrounded by a stone circle, presumably for ancient ceremonies from Lady Abigail's mortal days. Everything was ancient, almost frozen n time as if the latest centuries had left this place untouched - and still full of life.
Even from this far, the Justicar could feel the incredible mental forces protecting this particular haven. He knew, his only chance to get in was the straight way: through the front gate. He mentally signalled his Gargoyle friend and the two wastly different creatures began to descend. Neither of them doubted that the inhabitants had already detected their arrival; they didn't even need to perform an illegal scrying upon them. Wizards as old as St. Onge or DuLac cluld sense a new member of the Clan by simple telepathy... the older they got, the stronger their mental abilities became. And DiZagreb could only guiess what a creature as ancient as Lady Abigail was capable of.
So they landed gracefully in front of the heavy oak front gate and the magus changed back into his human shape: that of a medium-built, slender man in his early thirties, with long, curly dark hair and oval-shaped dark eyes, clad in the traditional black slacks and tunicof his Clan. Only the golden signet of *Ankh* around his neck and in his left ear rvealed his high rank among his own kind. Rusticus stood behind him, folding his grat wings on his broad back, smiling slightly. He was looking forward to meet a kidnred spirit: someone whou started out with the Tzimisce and ended up with the Tremere, just like himself. It was something extremely rare, even in the vivid Kidnred history.
Before one of them could have rung the bell, a small, cut-in door opened in the heavy oak gate and out looked a tall, slender, dark-haired, young-looking woman. She moved with the predatorial grace of a martial arts-expert, wearing black jeans and an open-collared denim shirt, but her clear grey eyes spoke of age and wisdom, and the slight hardness of her beautiful features clearly denied her otherwise youthful appearance.
''Welcome to the Los Angeles Chantry, Justicar DiZagreb'', she greeted the visitor; her voice was deep and cool, in spite of her polite words, and she had a noticeable French accent. ''I'm Jacqueline Amal, novice of the Third Circle, an appentrice by the Sisters of Greznich. Our Regent is expecting you. Please follow me.''
With that, she stopped aside, letting the visitors in. Poor Rusticus had a lot of trouble pressing his large frame through the narrow entrance, but he wouldn't risk to simply fly over the wall. Theys were warded, who knows what powers protected them.
The young witch looked at him, smiling for the first time.
''I'm afraid the invitation is only for the Justicar, my big friend'', she said.
''But you might find the company of your own kind enjoyable. They usually sit on the terraced roof of the main house at this time and play ornaments.''
''You have Gargoyles living with you?'' DiZagreb asked in surprise.
''For quite some time'', Jacqueline answered. ''They fled from Transsylvania after teir village had been destroyed with large parts of the woods by fire. Some of them died, unfortunately, but the three youngest ones survived the long flight over the sea and have been living in this Chantry ever since. A lot longer than *I* have, in fact.''
Rusticus blinked at the Justicar, then - seeing that the Tremere had no objections - rose into the air again. The young witch grinned; then she winked somewhat impatiently te visitor to follow her.
The main house - the actual mansion, also the home of the Sisters of Greznich - was built like a medieval castle, but contained all the comfort of modern times in the inside. The stairs, the furniture, even the decorative wall-plates were of dark, polished wood, the wallpaper of gold-embroided red brocate. The stained glass windows remainded faintly of those of a church, and the traditionally-clad Elders of the Chantry looked a lot like the members of some bizarre religious order - which they, in a certain sense, were.
Lady Abigail sat on the table head. Like most people of her (mortal) time, she wasn't particularly tall, maybe 1.65 m, and rather feminine and well-rounded, the product of an age far before the Slimfast Diet insanity. She wore her reddish-brown hair in a tight knot on the nape of her neck, her greyish-blue eyes were freckled with irregular gold spots, even in her current state of tranquility, her skin was very pale, even for a vampire - almost translucent. She might have been in her early forties at the time of her Embrace: a matriarch in her own time, a mature woman in modern terms, certain of her own powers and value. The hidden power she radiated was sophisticated, skilled, finely tuned - almost unbearable. DiZagreb had no doubt that she could have torn him apart by sheer willpower. He considered himself lucky that the Sisters of Greznich usually rejected violence.
Finding it adviseable to display the outmost respect toward this powerful Methuselah, DiZagreb crossed the room, sank to his knees and kissed the warded silver ring, the symbol of Lady Abigail's power. Not being a member of her Chantry - and carrying the honours of a Justicar anyway - he didn't *have* to do this, but guessed, it would be beneficial to start on the best terms with her.
''Milady, I'm grateful that you've agreed with this investigation... and accepted my person'', he murmured, painfully aware of the fact that compared even with the youngest magus present, he was hardly more than a child.
To his surprise, the Regent laughed. Her voice was deep, but not overly so; smooth, feminine and full of warmth.
''We are reasonable people, Anastasz'', she replied with a pleasant smile, ''despite everything our hard-nosed Elders in Vienna might think of us. I'm working very hard on recreating our Order... once again. Alas, the times aren't kind with us, and I won't let a perfect candidate be destroyed because of a formality that wasn't even her fault. But my protectiveness doesn't mean that we wouldn't follow the Rules and Traditions of the Camarilla.''
''On the contrary'', the elderly-looking Japanese woman on her left added, smiling. ''We have our own Monitor in this very House, after all.''
And she shot a glimpse at the tall, hard-faced, dark-haired Frenchman on the other side of their Regent.
''I'm the witness of *that*'', Guillaume St. Onge replied with dignity. ''I *do* respect the Inner Council, but let's face it, the Sisters of Greznich are a much older institution than our whole Clan... and Lady Abigail is the most ancient from all of us. Nevertheless, she has always obeyed the Elders. I find, this one time the Council should listen to her. This Order is of paramount importance for our Clan. We can't risk losing it. And the sisters need new novices. When they find a worthy one, we have to protect her. It's that simple.''
''So you plead for the life of the neonate, Archon St. Onge?'' the Justicar asked.
The former French knight shrugged.
''I advise to leave her alone. She's lived in this Chantry for almost nine years by now. Her behaviour has never been anything than exceptional. She's completed the Third Circle a few weeks ago and is ready to be initiated as a full member of the Sisterhood through the Sacred Joining.''
''In mere nine years?'' The Justicar asked in surpirse, knowing all too well that it usually took decades to be accepted by the sisters. Sometimes even more.
''She's smart, skilled and eager'', the elderly Japanese witch answered. ''And she possesses great in-born powers. She needs the order and the order needs her.''
The Justicar noticed that Lady Abigail didn't participate in the arguing. She let her second and her Archon to speak for her. Only someone very powerful could risk *that*.
''May I speak with the neonate?'' He asked.
After a moment of wordless mental conversation the Japanese woman stood.
''I'll bring her.''
''Kyoko Shinsegawa has been one of us for over a century'', Lady Abigail remarked fondly, after she'd left. ''Before that, she was a servant in this very House, then she'd become a ghoul for another centruy, before she asked to be Embraced.''
''Who's her Sire?''
''She's been killed by a Setite, long ago. She was one of us. Kyoko hunted down her killer and destroyed him, sweeping through San Francisco like a hurricane in her wrath.''
DiZagreb nodded. He could remember the forementioned events. The Japanese witch was called 'the Scourge of San Francisco' during that time - and after that, forever.Not even Archon Raine, the Ventrue Prince had been able to stop her, until her vengeance was completed. She wiped out a whole Setite temple, in order to find the murderer of her Sire. It was rare for the Sisters of Greznich to raise their hands against any living or undead creature - unless one of them had been threatened, hurt or killed. In that case, the gentle and wise women turned into furies and nothing could stop them until their bloodthirst was satisfied.
''Does she have any Childer?'' He asked.
''She was so shaken by her Sire's death that she refused to make Childer... until recently'', Lady Abigail answered.
The Justicar would have loved to ask who the new fledgling of the Chantry was, but in that very moment the door opened again and a tall, slim, bitterly beautiful young woman was led in. She had pale skin, straight, soft dark hair and large, haunted dark eyes. Lady Abigail winked her closer and patted her hand fodnly.
''Don't worry, little one. I will protect you... no matter what.''
''Merci, Madame'', Marie D'Richet bowed her head; then she turned around and looked the Justicar straight in the eyes. ''Alors, Justicar DiZagreb, what are you planning to do with me? Am I going to be sent to Final Death just because a greedy warlock violated me? Then do it right now, in front of all those who've taught and protected and cheerished me for almost a decade- It shouldn't be *that* hard on you. You're a trained killer; you managed to destroy Yasmin the Black, after all, and she was a Sabbat monster, not a mere neonate like me. Go on, kill me! I'm tired of hiding. Kill me... or let me alone. All of you.''
The Justicaar sighed.
''It's not that simple, Marie. I have rules to follow.''
One of the other magus present, a youthful-looking, dark-haired man, seemingly in his early thirties, leaned forward in his seat.
''Tell me something, Anastasz. While have you been elected as Justicar? There were other candidates, older, more powerful, more experienced ones. Yet, the Council had chosen you. Why?''
''To bind my hands'', the Justicar replied cynically. ''I'm tempted by reformism... had I stayed with my own Chantry, my brethren might have followed me. The Council wouldn't have liked *that*.''
''So they promoted you to neutralize you, didn't they?'' The magus asked.
Lady Abigail sent her a disapprowing look.
''Giaronas...''
''Forgive me, Madame, but don't you see a pattern here? Anastasz tried to loosen the chains of the Pyramide, so they made him a Justicar, to protect the very stiff structures he was determined to reform. The violent Embrace of Marie made the Clan look bad, so the Elders want her to be destroyed, in order to get ride of the evidence. When I asked to be Embraced, I thought I'd join an honourable and strong Clan... well, *this* isn't it.''
''Mais oui, it is'', a third man, with equally youthful appearance but undoubtedly a very old and gentle soul answered him. ''The Clan is not the Inner Council or the Pyramide... the Clan is *us*. We *can* change it... but only from the inside, my brother. Anything else would only help the Sababt.''
''You've found the right words, as always, Alvic, my sweet'', Lady Abigail smiled at the shyx man like a loving mother. ''Now, anastasz, you must decide what the right thing is for you to do.''
''I think I've found a way'', DiZagreb answered thoughtfully, ''but it won't be easy. It's only going to work if you manage to get Angelus elected as the rightful Prince of the City.''
''I can do that'', Lady Abigail replied with utter self-confidence. ''I'm one of the Ministers of the City, not just a Clan Primogen. The other two Ministers, the Brujah and the Ventrue, will listen to me. The Nosferatu and the Malkavians will support Angelus for their own reasons. Even the Kuei-yin are allied to him.''
''What about the Gangrel? I know, officially they aren't part of the Camarilla any more, but they are present in this City...''
''It's not a very strong presence: only two bloodlines. They still haven't recovered from Cyrus' 'cleansing acts'. But I can handle them throuh the witches in their midst.''
''And the Toreador? They are the biggest Clan in L.A., as far as I am informed.''
''Yes. Well, they are unpredictable, as always. But I can push a formal election through.''
''Then do it. After that, Marie only needs the Prince's permission to dwell and hunt in his Domain... and we'll have solved the problem without antagonizing the Elders.''
Lady Abigail frowned a little. Actually, she'd have *loved* to antagonize their stiff-necked Elders and show them how helpless they really were without her support. But the rough voice of her Archon made her re-decide it.
''It is doable'', St. Onge said. ''Let's give it a try.'' He gave his Regent a wry smirk. ''We still can antagonize our most revered Elders if it doesn't work. Not that they'd have that much influence in an open City like Los Angeles...''
The Regent grinned back at him.
''You always manage to put my mind at ease, Archon of mine'', she answered fondly. ''OK, let's do it... right after the Feast. Anastasz, would you like to participate or are you plannig to return to Atlanta?''
The Justicar thought about the offer for a second.
''I still have a lot of work in Atlante, but it can wait. I'd be honoured if you let me participate. I thought this one to be a closed Chantry, though...''
''It is'', the Regent said, ''but there are always exceptions. We even have members of other Clans living with us; scholars mostly, working with Alvic here. Besides, it's my right to allow access anyone I want to. Have you ever participated in a Feast?''
The Justicar shook his head.
''Haven't even witnessed one yet. But I'm hardly more than a fledgling, compared with you... all of you.''
Lady Abigail smiled at him.
''Maybe... but you are a good one. In fact, i think you would be just the right partner for Marianne. She's experienced enough to guide you properly, but not too old for you... in Kindred terms, I mean.''
The pretty, red-haired, freckeld witch sitting outside the circle of Elders grinned at her Regnant.
''I accept.''
She had a light, cheerful voice with a French accent as well; in fact, there seemed hardly to be any *not* French people in this Chantry, except the Regent and her second.
Lady Abigail nodded.
''Good, then it's settled. Go, get to know each other better. The Feast is in four days, until then this meeting is adjourned.''
Everyone rose to leave. Before they did, the Regent added in a quiet voice:
''Alvic, my sweet, I want to spek you... in private. Come back in half an hour, please.
''Bien sur, Madame'', the tall, slender man with the long, gentle, vulnerable face bowed slightly.
Once outside, he asked his friend, St. Onge, in surprise:
''Have you any idea what *this* might be about?''
The Archon smiled.
''You might have been Chosen this time.''
''Me?'' DuLac stared at him, almost frightened. ''Why should she Choose me? I'm not worthy.''
''Mais oui, your are.'' St. Onge wrapped his arms around the slimmer body of his friend and pulled him into a gentle embrace, kissing him deeply; with the Sisters only mating at the sacred Feasts of the year, the male members of the Chantry were pretty much on their own between two Rites. ''Everyone knows it... except yourself.''
DuLac opened like a flower for his friend and long-time lover.
''Myself and notre Dieu, mon chevalier'', he murmured sadly. ''Le Seigneur had known that I've never been wortghy. I used to be one of the Pure, just like yourself, but I was not good enoug, not pure enough. God didn't accept my sacrifice. I survived the fall of Montségur Castle and I don't even know who Embraced me and why.''
''Vic, we've already had this conversation, several times during all these centuries.'' St. Onge tightened his arms around his lover and licked that long, pale neck over the jugular soothingly. ''I've told you that whoever Embraced you, must have been very old and very powerful... doing it because he or she found you worth of eternal life. And you are, my beloved. You are the gentlest soul in our whole Clan, the purest, most innocent heart I've ever known, except probably my late wife. Without you, I'd have walked into the sun, centuries ago.''
DuLac calmed down a bit under the gentle ministrations of his lover. He'd always leaned on the older, harder, stronger man, even in their mortal days, when they were just friends, and especialy after St. Onge had found hm under the ruins of Montségur Castle, left for dead by the crusaders but actually in the middle of the Becoming. The once celibatory kathar priest had shared the former knight's bed ever since, more for comfort and bonding than for sex. St. Onge knew about the ever-bleeding wound of self-despise in his friend's tormented soul and hoped that Lady Abigail's acceptance might help with that.
''Saint-O'', Alvic murmured against his shoulder, showing his affection with that rarely-used nickname, ''why does Madame always select you for the Feast? Because you're her Archon or because you've been her predecessor?''
''Both'', St. Onge said after a moment of thinking, ''But, actually, it's mostly my age, I think. Of course, she's even *my* senior by a millennium, but aside of you, O'm the closest to her age... in mortal years *and* as a Kindred. As she likes to put it, she doesn't do children.''
''Then why should she switch to me? *If* that's what she's going to tell me, that is. She always chose you, in all these centuries...''
''It's a great relief to surrender control and responsibility... I remember *that* all too well. I'm old enough and powerful enough for her to do just that, without being embarrassed by it. But I'm not a gentle lover; *you* of all people have to know that.''
''You've always been wonderful to me'', DuLac murmured, molding his body to the larger frame of the other man. St. Onge entwined long, callused fingers with his soft hair in a rough caress.
''Only because you find fullfillment in submission, Vic, my love. You like being punished, out of some twisted feeling of guilt, so you don't mind my roughness. Madame, on the other hand, is not the submissive sort. I've tried so hard not to be rough, all these times, but I just can't deny my true nature. You'll be just right for her... if you don't make the mistake to yield.''
''What else should I do?'' DuLac almost panicked. ''I'm nothing compared with her... I'm just not worthy, Saint-o!''
''Yes, you are'', St. Onge kissed him again, taking his sweet time to enjoy the sweet sensation, Vic always yielded so beautifully. ''Stop fretting. You're sweet, beautiful, wise and gentle, Vic, just use your skills to pleasure her and everything will be all right. Now go, your time's up.''
DuLac obeyed his friend, as always, knocking on the Regent's door near total panic.
[Maybe she just wants to discuss work with me], he hoped.
[Come in, Vic, my sweet], came the invitation, directly in his mind, and he smiled involuntarily.
Lady Abigail always called him like that... and him only. To St. Onge, she mostly said 'Archon of mine'. Or 'Monsieur', when she was in a particularly playful mood. To her fellow witches she said 'sister of mine' or simply 'Childe', even if they weren't *her* Childer. Only him called she 'my sweet'. It was said out of respect and genuine affection and Alvic loved it.
He entered the private library where the Regent spent most of her time and kneeled by her feet to kiss her hand, as it was custom for all Chantry members, even the other sisters. But this time Lady Abigail lifted his chin and looked him in the eyes.
''Vic, my sweet, I want you to partake the Feast with me this time'', she said without preamble. ''I've been looking forward to it for quite some time, but Deirdre hasn't been ready to accept anyone else but you. Now that she decided to invite Pierre this year, I want to take my choice with you. Are you ready for me, Vic? You think you can take it?''
DuLac's inhumanly slow heartbeat almost stopped.
''I... I'll do my best, Madame.''
The Regent grinned.
''I certainly hope so. You can start with kissing me.''
Alvic leaned forward -- on his knees he was at the same height as his sitting Regent -- and gently laid his parted lips on the full mouth of the ancient witch. He froze for a moment while his mind processed the softness and texture of those surprisingly warm lips (the Sisters were always warmer than the average Kindred, even as the average Tremere; it was something in their nature, their very special powers), then dared to slide in his probing tongue. Lady Abigail opened for him and the complexity of tastes hit him like a blow. Instinctively, without even realizing it, he grabbed the head of his Regent, fingers sliding into the silky strains of loosening hair, deepening the kiss into almost bruising intensity. Lady Abigail let him be the agressive one, her strong fingers gently massaging his scalp. The yielding of the ancient Methuselah gave him such a heady rush of power he almost fainted. Fortunately, none of them needed to breath.
A short, sharp knock on the door broke the spell, Lady Abigail sighed into his mouth, then released him, puttinhg his long, silky hair back into the tight knot with practiced ease.
''Come in, Childe'', she said with a hint of regret.
The door opened and in came a fragile-looking, dark-haired woman, wearing the traditional, gold-embrioded black gauze veil of a Druidic priestress on her shoulder. Deirdre had been one of the last true druids in Ireland. Tremere wizards, jealous of her powers, ripped her throat out and left her dying, just before lady Abigail found and Embraced her to save her for unlife -- and for their Order. As one of the Dreamspeakers (a particularly powerful Tradition of the nine once great Mage Houses), her mental powers seconded only those of her Sire, but the traumatic circumstances of her Embrace made her extremely shy; she usually only appeared during Feasts and -- until now -- only accepted the participation of the gentre Alvic. She looked more like a thin boy with her short hair and tiny frame than like a centuries-old, powerful witch. Also, she was one of the very few non-French members of the Chantry.
She greeted Alvic with a shy smile and a blessing in Old Gaelic, then turned to her Sire.
''I've completed the ceremony, Milady'', she reported in soft, quiet voice. ''There would be only three longer chants this time; it's an ordinary year, so we can go with the Lesser Rite... which will take to more days than the Higher One, by the way.
''That's fine with me'', Lady Abigail grinned, resting a hand on Alvic's bowed head. Deirdre smiled in understanding.
''Yes, I can see that. It's finally your turn now. I've kept him too long; it has been selfish to deny the others the choice. Give your best, Alvic, my love. Make the Feast a pleasant one for our Lady.''
DuLac blushed beautifully, thank his recent feeding.
''I'll try...''
''Nonsense'', Deirdre dismissed his insecurities with a wink. ''You're gorgeous and sweet and passionate.. *I* am the witness of that. You'll do just fine.''
She handled her papers the Regent, kissed Alvic on the cheek and left with a fond smile. Lady Abigail mirrored the smile of her Childe.
''Come here, Alvic, my sweet'', she said, sliding her fingers into the scholar's hair. ''Let me taste you again. I've waited for this for a *very* long time.''
Alvic looked up to her in child-like awe.
''You have?''
''Since I've set foot into this House the very first time.'' Lady Abigail kissed him again, slowly and gently this time, combing his hair with gentle fingers. ''I've always wanted you. But Deirdre has been too scared to let anyone else touch her and I had to consider her needs before mine. She's my eldest Childe still alive, I couldn't let her lose her powers. They are too important for the fight that lies before us. But now, you're finally mine... and although this is a ritual matter, I expect you to give me great pleasure.''
''Yours, Madame... my body, my soul, my blood'', Alvic sighed, relaxing into the lamost humanly warm embrace of his Regent. ''Take from me everything you need.''
Lady Abigail lifted his chin again to look into his soft, dark eyes.
''Everything, Alvic? Be careful what you ask for. You might get more than you've bargained for.''
Alvic didn't shy back. A hope, long given up, raised again in his wounded heart.
''Are you going to Blood Bond me?'' He asked, shivering with secret desire.
The Regent looked at him strangely - almost agitated.
''Is that what you wish? To give up your personal freedom and become less than a slave?''
''And more than a lover'', Alvic murmured. ''Yes, Madame, I'd like very much to *belong*... and since the Council lifted the bane...''
''What about my Archon?'' Lady Abigail asked. ''The two of you've been close friends since your mortal days and lovers since your Embrace.''
''I won't abandon him'', Alvic assured. ''We still could be together between Feasts, like we've done all our lives, until now. But if you want me to live in celibacy in-between, I can do that, too.''
''No, Vic, my sweet'', Lady Abigail said, sadly. ''I wouldn't deny you the comfort of your long-time lover. He's closer to you than I could ever be, even if I Blood Bond you. You belong with him, just as I belong with my Order. It's that simple.''
''I understand'', Alvic let his head hang in resignation. ''I'm not worthy. I new that.''
Now the Regent became really worried.
''Alvic, this self-loathing of you is getting tiresome. Why do you wish to be Blood Bound so badly anyway? And why don't you ask St. Onge, if it's so important or you?''
''It might give me peace'', Alvic sighed. ''Peace, that had been denied me ever since the crusaders slaughtered my brethren in faith. Ever since God turned His face away from me. Saint-O can't give me that peace; he doesn't have it either. But you, Madame... your are rooted into Earth so deep, you might anchor me, too.''
Lady Abigail thought about it for a while, petting Alvic's hair absently.
''I have to think it over in earnest'', she finally said. ''*And* I have to discuss it with my second and my Archon. This isn't an easy step to take. I have serious objections against the Blood Bond, but I also want to help you. I care for you too much to simply dismiss your request. Come back to me just before sunrise,w ill you?''
Alvic obediently kissed her hand and left. The Regent sighed, facing this new problem; then she seeked out Deirdre with her thoughts.
[Send in my Archon, Childe], she asked. [We seem to have a new problem here.]
St. Onge must have been near enough to catch her mental order because there was a sharp rapple on the door before Deirde could even have acknowledged. The large man strolled in, imperturbed.
''What has Alvic done?'' He asked bluntly. ''I love him like a brother... and more, but sometimes he even wears *my* patience off.''
Lady Abigail didn't ask how her Archon new what the problem was. After all these centuries spent together, St. Onge was finely toned to DuLac's mood swings (those being from sad to truly depressed and back).
''He wants me to Blood Bond him'', she replied, clearly not liking the idea.
''Oh, *that*!'' St. Onge rolled his eyes, hard and dark like pieces of obsidian. ''He's obsessed with that Ventrue thing.''
''Does it mean he'd asked *you* to Bond him as well?''
''Oh yes, in fact, he was begging for it many, many times, even while it was still forbidden in our Clan. It took me centuries until he accepted a 'no' for answer.''
''While would he want such a thing? I thought you guys had fought to be free from such restraints. Be it from the Church, he king or whomever.''
''Yes, and exactly that's why I could never make Vic my thrall. But the main problem seems to be that he'd never known his Sire. He never really felt that he *belonged*. Not to the Dark, not to our Clan, not to someone special. In spite of my personal disgust for Ventrue dominance games, I think a Blood Bond actually might help him to finally find his peace.''
''Why are you rejecting him, then? The two of you have been lovers for centuries.''
St. Onge shook his dark head.
''It has always been about comfort and friendship, nothing more. I'm not a caring person, Madame. I don't have a gentle heart. I'd break him, without intention, should I become his Regnant.''
Lady Abigail gave him a questioning look.
''Is that the reason why you never made a Childe?''
''That, and because losing my mortal children has been enough'', St. Onge said, his hard face darkening in grief. ''I never got over their deaths. I never felt enough strength to give a Childe the love that is required for siring.''
''Do you want *me* to Bond Alvic?'' The Regent asked. ''You know, I'm not fond of this practice either, but if it helps our sweet Vic, I'l do it. Do you really think it would be beneficial for him?''
''Yes, I *do* think so'', St. Onge answered without hesitation. ''Your acceptance would give him the very structure he'd missed in his unlife for centuries. Please, Madame, make him yours. He needs you.''
''I can do that, of course'', Lady Abigail said, ''but you know the restrictions of our unlife. So you'll still have to take care of his needs between two Feasts.''
''And I'll gladly do that'', St. Onge promised. ''I *do* love him... on my own way. It's just not enough. He needs more than *I* can give him. A *lot* more.''
''And you think *I* am the one who could give it to him?'' The Regent asked.
''I *know* it'', her Archon answered, ''and in the heart of his hearts, Alvic knows it, too.''
The End