The Thief Who Came In From The Cold: A Tale of Detroit

Chapter One: A Gathering of Fools

Eric slowly opened his eyes. He was hanging upside down inside a small windowless room. Small clouds of dust spiraled around the filthy floor. His throat felt coated with the stuff. His muscles were still slightly stiff from whatever that woman had done to paralyze him. He felt the minor stab of pain from the hole in his chest where the stake had been driven into him. With a thought he sent blood flowing to the location to heal the wound. He looked around, three figures were in the room with him. One was Desiree, she stood with her arms crossed, a smile on her beautiful face. The second was her large friend, the towering beast glowered at him, its thick features a mask of barely repressed rage. The last was a young man with thick dark hair and dressed in black leathers. His green eyes glinted with glee as he smirked at Eric. Eric knew him...Michael Cooler, Archbishop of Windsor. Eric groaned.

"Wakey wakey Eric," said Cooler with a grin. The dangerous archbishop tightened the black leather gloves he wore as he slowly circled around Eric's hanging form. His green eyes sparkled in amusement as he eyed his prize. He grinned, his broad and strong face splitting into a wicked smile. "Time to say hello to the world again."

"If I had known the world would contain you I never would have bothered," sneered Eric in a patrician tone. He glanced up at Cooler, acting as though the man was simply beneath him. "What do you want?"

"I think you know what I want," said Cooler as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a map of Detroit. He waved it slightly in front of Eric's face. "You do know what I want, don't you?"

"Yes."

"So, tell me."

"Tell you the sleeping areas and defenses of as many elders as I know? What's the likelihood if I do so I get out of here alive."

"What's your likelihood of living if you don't?" Cooler shoved the map back into his coat with a frustrated curse. Eric simply grinned back up at him. Cooler might be good at playing the games of the Sabbat, but he was a rank amateur compared to the Camarilla. How sad to so obviously show what you desired, and express your emotions clearly when denied. Eric chuckled slightly, despite his obviously weak position he suddenly felt more in control.

"As long as I say nothing you don't kill me. For you need the information I possess."

"I'll admit that point," snarled Cooler as ran a hand through his thick, dark hair in frustration. Eric simply nodded and continued to easily smile. Cooler's expression just grew darker and more annoyed. "But the longer you hold out the less important your info becomes."

"Touché," conceded Eric. Cooler's mouth curled back as he snarled. His fists clenched together tightly. Then he seemed to regain himself and smiled back.

"You Camarilla...I always get bent out of shape having to talk with you guys. Probably because you don't understand things a Sabbat would have already grasped." Eric's smile slipped only fractionally, but he forced himself to keep it up. Confident that Cooler hadn't caught the slip. The cocky Sabbat proved it by simply continuing his diatribe. "I know you already met Desiree here, she's a master of putting the hurt on people." The woman in blue grinned at him. "The big guy is called Roulda, he's a Tzimisce. I know you know what that can mean." Cooler chuckled as he patted Roulda's shoulder, the dark shape didn't change expression. "Oh, and he likes to hurt things." Eric forced himself to appear calm as the massive creature grinned down at him and nodded. Cooler walked over to stand right in front of Eric.

"Now you can talk to me," Cooler crouched down, his black leather pants creaking slightly as he did. His powerful and handsome face leaned in close to Eric's. "Cause as you can see I'm being very pleasant. Or...you can talk to them. Which I don't think you'll enjoy as much." Eric laughed at Cooler, he shook his head at the silliness of it all. It was all so predictable. The silly threats. The stupid posturing. Cooler frowned and slowly stood. He looked down at the trapped Ventrue and his eyes narrowed. Cooler grinned and suddenly kicked Eric dead on the face. Eric felt his jaw snap as he swung violently back and forth. He had to admit, he hadn't expected that. "Your call bucky boy," growled Cooler "But I bet you regret it real soon. See ya around...maybe." Cooler turned and walked from the room. The other two smiled and turned back to Eric.

"Comfortable there," the girl asked with a grin. Her voice still soft and gentle.

"Oh, very," mumbled Eric sarcastically around his broken jaw. She just smiled, her blue eyes flashing dangerously as she walked over and patted his chest gently. Eric suddenly felt an odd chill of fear creep down his spine. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so rude to Cooler after all... She leaned down and brushed softly at his hair as she whispered to him.

"Well, we can fix that."

Octavian opened the door of his car and stepped out onto the street. The dread sheriff of Detroit was dressed in his usual brown coat and brown suit. His dark hair was trimmed short, his dark eyes seemed to take in everything. He looked at the club sitting across the roadway. His dark eyes cast over the crowd waiting outside. Many of the kine obviously suffering in their scant outfits due to the biting cold of the wind and snow. Others were bundled up in thick coats, still trying to appear dashing despite their cumbersome attire. He looked at the brightly pulsing neon sign above the doorway. The Pulse, one of the most popular clubs in town. Hangout of the Brujah...and the anarchs.

Steven would not approve of his actions, but Octavian knew what could happen if the Sabbat broke Eric. Already the city was abuzz, and even elders were panicking and desperately trying to create new havens. Already dozens of arguments had erupted when one kindred had placed his new hiding place within the territory of another. It was mostly frightening to those with the most power in the city, for they had spent time with Eric the most. Revealed secrets to him more then would a lesser Kindred.

They needed Eric back or dead, and they needed it fast, else the city might just rip itself apart. Already Steven had been forced to issue threats about the moving of havens. Already two Kindred were dead. They needed Eric...and he didn't have enough men to hold the city together and deal with the necessary search. Thus far all he had was a call from one of his childer.

As a Lasombra she had easily infiltrated the local Sabbat years ago. Her information had saved the Camarilla from any number of plots. However Cooler seemed to be playing this one close to his chest, even the other bishops knew little. All his childe could tell him was that Eric hadn't been brought across the river for holding. That meant it was the worse sections of Detroit that needed searching. And that had been the reason for him coming here. Octavian squared his shoulders and walked quickly across the slushy gray snow of the street towards the entrance of The Pulse. He deftly avoided the few cars that were still out on the road, their glaring headlights streaking across him in blinding flashes. He pressed his way easily through the crowd, making sure to occasionally breath out a misty breath of air to help hide his true nature. The pair of bouncers at the door stopped him as he started up the steps.

"Sorry pal, you ain't on the approved list." The two large figures easily blocked his path. Octavian glanced up at them, they were ghouls, probably in service to Carnellia, Brujah owner of the bar. And probably with orders to detain him while they warned Carnellia of his coming. Any other night he would have been amused and played her game, but not tonight.

"Let me in, now." His eyes narrowed, the kine in the crowd shifted uneasily as they caught the tone in his voice that marked him as a predator. But the ghouls weren't so easily intimidated.

"Forget about it," grunted the bouncer as he leaned in menacingly. Octavian sighed and let loose with a small amount of his mental powers. He pointed to either side of the doors while looking the bouncers in the eye.

"Move," the single word seemed to carry the power of a threatening speech. As if they were stumbling puppets the massive figures stepped to the sides of the door, their minds overwhelmed by his iron will. Octavian promptly entered the club, behind him he heard the complaining whine of the humans he had bypassed in the long line.

As he stepped through the doors he was struck by an almost solid wall of music, the beats seeming to smash against him like physical things. The air of the club was thick and stuffy, the snow on his coat quickly melting in the steamy interior. He squinted against the strobe of the purple and red lights as he shoved his way around the dance floor towards the upper level. As he did he spotted the unmistakable purple mohawked figure of Francis, a minor player amongst the anarchs, watching from the balcony. The Brujah pulled off his small red glasses as he looked down at Octavian, he then turned and rushed off. Probably to warn the anarchs who were partying in the club that the sheriff was in town.

Once again, any other night he might have played the game. But he couldn't just let them all slip away. He pushed his way through the crowd, shoving aside drunk teenagers and goth freaks as he continued forward quickly. Behind him he heard the angry yells from kids with spilled drinks and torn dresses. Even as Octavian reached the stairs he was accosted by Carnellia, the Brujah elder who owned the club. He glanced her over quickly. Her short blonde hair was swinging freely around her face, and she was dressed in a gleaming white halter top and white disco pants combo. No apparent hidden weapons. She snaked her arm through his, and tried to slow his pace and turn him towards the bar.

"Hello Octavian, you should have called so I could arrange a nice seat for you." Carnellia smiled at him easily as she tossed her head back towards the doors, her blonde hair flipping about her face. The sweaty strands sticking together in small clumps. "Did you have any trouble with the boys out front? They're new and might not have known you."

"No, no problems at all," said Octavian as he continued up the stairs, dragging her along with him. Carnellia muttered in annoyance as she was forced to untangle from him in order to follow him up the crowded steps. Octavian shoved past a sweaty dancing couple as he continued up. Carnellia followed closely, her voice starting to sound strained.

"I suppose you'd like to talk with me in a nice quiet back room? We have available ones downstairs, the upstairs ones are full at the moment." She brushed away the groping hands of a young man she had apparently been dancing with moments before as she continued on in Octavian's wake. "You did come to speak with me, right?"

"No," he rounded the midpoint and continued up past the young teens making out and drinking on the large staircase. Smoke stung at his eyes as the pounding beats of the speakers grew louder. Carnellia was growing desperate as she rushed along after him, going so far as to roughly shove aside some of her own patrons.

"Then you're looking for somebody, maybe I could help."

"I need to speak with Belle."

"Ha ha ha, I'm sure you realize I don't let anarchs in my clubs." Her voice was a shade over high, alerting him to her nervousness. Octavian paused and spun around to look down at her. Carnellia's eyes lifted to look at his.

"I'm sure I realize about anarchs' roles in your clubs." Carnellia grimaced at the barely hidden barb in Octavian's words as he turned away and continued up the final few stairs. He stepped out into the upper club and sitting area. Carnellia bounded up after him, she clutched at his hand and tugged it to try to get his attention. Octavian cast his gaze over the crowded second story. Dozens of small tables littered the large balcony. The hazy air was thick with the smoke of their cigarettes. Sure enough, there wasn't a known anarch in sight. Damn, he'd been just a little too slow. Octavian's eyes looked back at some of the doors to the private rooms that circled the back wall. Still...they wouldn't have been able to get out of the club yet.

"Then what makes you..." started in Carnellia, still trying to distract and slow him.

"Eric's been captured by the Sabbat." Carnellia froze. He had suspected that she hadn't heard, the rumor had yet to spread away from the Toreador and Ventrue yet. Neither clan being likely to mention the danger to the Brujah. Octavian kept looking around the tables, but was certain all the anarchs were in hiding somewhere. It looked like he would have to angle for some cooperation now. Caught by her own curiosity Carnellia leaned in to him. Anxious for more information.

"When?"

"Tonight. I need to speak with Belle, I need her help." Carnellia chewed her lip as she looked at Octavian. He saw the slight light of worry in her eyes. Worry for her own life because of Eric or worry for her life because Octavian might nail her as an anarch sympathizer? He wasn't sure, but only one of them mattered now. "You have my word of honor that I only want to talk."

"What about me?" Her voice was timid and concerned.

"If you can get me a meeting with Belle now I'll consider it a favor." Her eyes danced back and forth as she considered the risks and rewards. He sighed, he really didn't have the time for this. "I'll consider it my favor that I'm not going to bring to Steven's attentions your dealings with the anarchs." Her eyes looked up to him in surprise. "Not unless you become more overt then you currently are."

"Done." She nodded quickly at him, Octavian returned the gesture, though slower and more dignified. Carnellia turned and headed off through the crowd. Octavian followed. She led him back to one of the rear offices. She knocked on the door, Octavian memorized the pattern. Then it opened, Carnellia grabbed him and pulled him through with her.

A pair of guns were pressed against the back of his head. Octavian frowned, apparently he had only heard the 'danger coming' knock. Carnellia swung the door closed. The beating roar of the music died away. The private area was small, with the only furnishings being a large bed and a fan. Across the room stood Doc, the eldest and most powerful of the anarchs. He was dressed in his usual Stetson hat and black duster, a clove cigarette was gently smoking in his left hand. His right hovered near the gleaming revolver in his gun belt.

"Howdy sheriff, do I got till sunup ta clear outta town?" Octavian knew that it would be damned foolish to believe that Doc was half as uneducated as he was appearing. Though he did admit that he suspected the Brujah to really take some of the cowboy stuff too seriously. He kept one eye closely on Doc's gunhand.

"I need to speak with Belle."

"Really? What about?"

"Eric has been captured by the Sabbat, I need all the help I can get tracking him down. I want the anarchs to help look."

"Funny how you always come to us when you need help," Doc shoved his cigarette into his mouth as he sneered, "but then forget about us later."

"If you're referring to your help during the last Sabbat attack don't blame me. Prince Steven requested your aide, you made your deal with him. It was his decision to have so many of you driven from town or dusting a sunrise."

"But I seem to recall you being the fella staking us to rooftops or burning down havens."

"Yes, but remember there is a distinction. I don't make policy, I enforce it." Doc's other hand suddenly snapped up with a cocked pistol pointing into Octavian's eye. Octavian hadn't even time to flinch in surprise.

"Bang, you're dead," snickered Doc, his tone joking yet his eyes seeming deadly serious. Nearby Carnellia grew tense as she watched the display. Obviously not pleased with the thought that the two deadly warriors might decide to battle it out in the middle of her club. Doc's eyes were narrow and dark as he watched Octavian.

"Are you going to kill me or help me," Octavian said calmly. "I don't have a lot of time."

"Balls," said Doc with a nod of his head, "ya definitely have got a big set o balls."

"Yes." Doc grinned at the slight joke, behind him Octavian heard a short laugh from the anarch behind him. A female laugh. He gauged the height of the gun holder by the angle of the barrels pressing into him. Doc rapidly twirled his gun around and returned it to its holster.

"What's in it for us?"

"Safety, Eric knows plenty about you as well. Besides, with the elders gone what chance will you have against the Sabbat. They'd sweep through here like bats out of hell, and you'd find out exactly what it is Steven's been protecting you from for you all these years."

"They keep asking us to join their side."

"That's a fools offer," Octavian shrugged slightly, then twisted his head a bit as he addressed the figure behind him. "Wouldn't you agree Belle?" Octavian felt the barrels shift slightly against his head. Carnellia's eyes widened in surprise. Doc sneered. Octavian grinned, he had guessed right about his guard. "Are you going to speak with me, or not?" The guns were removed from his head as La Belle Dame Sans Moris, the leader of the anarchs, walked around in front of him.

"Enchante Octavian," she said with a slight nod of her head. A trace of a French accent fairly noticeable in her voice.

"Hello Belle." She was dressed in torn jeans and a tight T-shirt with some boy pop band sprawled across it. The shirt left her midriff bare, and the pants were pulled low, to reveal the upper half of a masterful tattoo of an angel upon her belly. Belle's long black hair hung wildly around her face. She still held her twin revolvers. Octavian knew better then to judge her too quickly on appearance as just a foolish gang-banger. Under her leadership the anarchs had swelled in numbers and power within Detroit. She had also proved a excellent leader in wartime, helping the anarchs inflict deadly casualties to their foes. La Belle Dame Sans Moris, the beautiful woman of your death, truly lived up to her name.

"Why does Steven want our help?"

"He doesn't, but I realize that as far as knowing some of the seedier streets, the anarchs are our best bet. You search through the lower class areas you lay claim to, as well as South Detroit. Me and my men will do the others."

"You don't want us to head into Windsor?"

"No, I want you to search Detroit."

"Why just Detroit?"

"Because I have a solid spy in the Sabbat, and he assures me that they aren't holding Eric in Windsor." Belle nodded and filled away the information. Octavian grinned, amused that she thought she could possibly figure out who his childe was. After all, Octavian had done nothing but spread misinformation about her, like calling her him, for many years.

"What about Grosse Point."

"I have men who'll search there, I just need you to handle the rough sections, I don't have the men to spare for a full search of the city. We need to find him quickly."

"And if we find mosiuer Eric," asked Belle suspiciously. Octavian handed her a small card.

"Call me at this number, we'll handle the rest." He waited as she took the card and glanced at the number. Her dark brown eyes narrowed as she glanced at his face and studied him for a few silent moments. Octavian waited patiently, knowing he already had her.

"Doc?"

"I think it's a good idea," said Doc softly with a small nod. Octavian glanced over at the Brujah, once again being reminded not to take the anarch for too dimwitted. "We have a lot to lose if Eric starts talking."

"Agreed, we shall do this."

"Good, get the word out." Octavian turned and walked out of the room. Carnellia nodded to the two anarchs as she drifted out as well. Her mind occupied with thoughts of finding a new haven for herself.

"Still think it a good idea," Belle asked Doc as the door closed. She glanced over at the thin man as he pulled his cigar out of his mouth and puffed out a small ring of smoke. His brows furrowed as he thought about it, and then he slowly nodded.

"Yes, better the devils you know, as they say."

"And if we find Eric first?"

Doc grinned, "maybe we could ask him a few questions of our own."