Ugh, I feel the torture that is re-writing. Amazing how I seem able to read anything and spot errors, but on my own work I'm as blind as a abt half the time. (A problem of being too close to the material I suppose.) In any case I think I'm back on track with this piece, I've patched up a lot (especially a certain troubling opening sentance...) And I offer humble and grateful thanks to those reviewers who care enough to point out my own errors (or are just looking for quick and easy revenge for the paragraphs I've written on them) In any case The main flow of the story will now start, as I've established the plot and now is the time for our hero (yay!) to make his appearance. So, enough said, read and have fun!

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

Chapter Two: Overture of Danger

The doors swung wide open again as another anarch stormed into the warehouse, the billowing chill wind blowing in with him. Small white flakes of snow gusted across the floor before the door was again closed. The cold and dim warehouse was slowly filling up. La Belle had asked for every anarch in town to attend. A collection of beat up aluminum chairs were scattered about the room for those who wanted to sit. The walls were coated with a wide assortment of tags and gang signs. Souvenirs of some of the anarchs who had grown too bored during previous meetings. The wide and bizarre assortment of Kindred who considered themselves anarchs were starting to crowd into seats. Everything from tragic looking goths, mohawk sporting punks, and tie-dyed hippies were present and waiting for Belle to start.

Belle herself didn't stand on any platform or stage, she merely waited patiently in the middle area of the room. When she called the meeting to order everyone would quiet and she would speak. None could claim that she had been giving orders. Orders after all would seem too controlling, and the anarchs all considered themselves free to do as they please. Belle had always supported this concept, claiming she didn't give commands to the others. Yet she was, though even she wouldn't admit it. It was a somewhat backwards system. Though it was relaxingly reminiscent enough of the Sabbat's methods of leadership in many ways. She raised her hand and the group quieted, she wasn't the leader, just the first amongst equals. He almost chuckled.

It was all mildly amusing in its way. Not that she wasn't the sort who deserved that type of respect. Belle was a good leader, of that he was sure. That was why he followed the anarchs, that was why he came to all the meetings. Harris sat in the far back of the gathering as he listened to Belle described the problem. The seneschal kidnapped, need to find him fast, search of the city, sheriff knows he's in Detroit due to Sabbat spy. Harris shook his head, sounded like trouble the anarchs didn't need. Admittedly it wasn't his position to say. He had yet to consider himself truly a member of the group. At least not one to dictate to others what to do. No, he wasn't the sort to ask for sound advice on responses to problems.

Harris shook his head, his gray eyes turning away from Belle as she spoke on. He lifted one of his finely manicured hands and brushed at a bit of dust that had ended up on his light gray suit . He had joined with the local anarchs after defecting from the Sabbat about four months ago. He figured the Camarilla wouldn't trust him. Hell, the anarchs didn't exactly trust him either, but at least they were honest about it. But now Belle wanted them hunting down Sabbat? The anarch gangs wouldn't last three minutes against a Sabbat pack. As for him, he was just as happy not messing with his old comrades. Harris sighed, he'd probably just skip out on this job and...

He paused as he heard the description of the kidnapper. A woman dressed in blue calling herself Desiree Cerulean. An Assamite. Desiree Cerulean. Dressed in blue. Harris felt his muscles tense as he recalled something from long ago. Back when he had been a killer. Back when the inner demon had ruled his life. Back when he had worked for a hidden and dark society. He felt along the inside of his hand, ran his fingers across the crescent shaped tattoo there. The tattoo he showed to no one for fear of what they might think. The Hand, it had been back when he had worked for the Black Hand.

Cerulean, another word for blue. Desiree, a name meaning desire. Blue desire...she wore blue.

He had known a killer then. A lover, a confidant. Her name had been Blue. He had joked with her over a name with no meaning. She had pointed out there was little meaning in Harris. That was true. True Blue he had called her. She had been too deadly to ever have to lie or hide her opinions. Blue, she of the cold fires. The fires that had burned away at his mind and made her whispered suggestions bellowed orders. She had worked with him and Falco on a few missions. She had been very good, too good. Too dangerous to trust. Falco had almost quit the sect to follow her when she had returned to her clan. The Assamites, a clan of assassins, a clan of killers. Killers who only hunted other vampires, all in the name of Caine-the first vampire.

Blue...how long had it been? Ten years? Twelve? She was good, very good. Too good for any anarch punk to get the drop on her. And that was Belle's plan, get Eric before Octavian so the anarchs can question him first. If they tried that with Blue there would be trouble. Big trouble. Bloody trouble. The clean you up with a mop and plastic bag kind of trouble. And that was assuming she hadn't stuck to her old feeding habits. Harris shook his head. They would need professional help on this one, and he was the only professional around. Harris sighed, he had hoped to catch the concert out in the park tonight. But then...he had hoped for many things, in his life. What was one more disappointment?

He waited while the meeting ended and most of the anarchs left. He didn't care to fight the crowd on his way out. As he sat there he heard them discussing such burningly intelligent questions as 'If I were a kidnapper...'

Like that would work. What sort of idiot started an investigation with that question? He heard the roar of their cars and bikes as they all sped off to go look for glory. All they'd find was their death.

Harris stood up and walked out of the warehouse and into the cold night. The snows had died down and the night sky gone crystal clear. Stars twinkled overhead, lending an almost unearthly quality to the frozen city. The wind rustled at his brown hair as he placed his hands into his black overcoat's pockets and thought. He thought about the anarchs and Blue.

Yes, they would need a professional. Yes, he was the best chance they had. But did he dare? Could he face her again? There was an old and dangerous feeling that stirred in his gut at the thought of her. It purred almost seductively, wanting out to play. He shook his head at it, pushed it back down. He wasn't that man anymore. Not anymore...

Harris sighed and began to walk down the sidewalk. The snow crunching softly under his polished black shoes. He softly hummed a tune under his breath, Holst's Neptune, The Mystic. They wouldn't even know where to begin thinking like Blue. First you'd have to take away accountability and acceptance of limitations. Then you'd have to deep freeze your brain. Harris shook his head as he walked, there was no way any of those young licks were going to figure her out. No one could. He smirked at the thought that came into his head then, almost laughed at the foolishness of it all.

'If I were Blue...' He shook his head again and kept walking. Suddenly he paused.

"If I were Blue, I wouldn't always tell my employer my plans," he said in a half whisper to himself. Harris nodded, oh yeah, that was her. She'd give them a spot, then she'd move and tell them the next spot. Blue trusted no one. That had been Falco's mistake. He had thought Blue trusted him, but then Falco had also trusted... Harris forced his mind quickly away from that line of thought. It was a path he didn't care to tread. Falco was dead, an old friend, an old death. Just let it go.

He thought again of Blue, he knew what she would have done. Any information gleaned from the Sabbat wasn't to be trusted, they wouldn't really know. That was it, she would toy with them as she toyed with everything. He could find her, he knew he could. And then? Best think of that later, he had to protect his new home. It wouldn't be in his interests if the Sabbat claimed Detroit, he'd be near the top of the lists of those to die. He began walking faster, as he did he heard footsteps crunching in the snow from behind. He scowled as he turned.

"Hello mon ami," said Belle in her soft French accent.

"Greetings," added Doc.

Harris glanced from one anarch leader to the other. He hadn't spoken much with any of the anarchs. He'd been happy enough once they let him join, he wasn't in this for the friends. Besides, most of the anarchs were fools, hardly worth the time to kill them. But not these two. They were still fools of a sort, but they were dangerous fools. It worried him that they had sought him out. He'd preferred it when nobody noticed him.

"Can I help you?"

"You used to work for the Sabbat, no?"

"No is right, used to, past tense."

"But what did you do for them," pressed Belle, her wide eyes watching him carefully. Harris cursed to himself. He had thought he had kept the truth well hidden, but Belle always seemed to have at least one hidden source of info on anyone. But how much had she learned? He mentally shrugged to himself, she actually couldn't know much about him. After all, he was still alive.

"Covert operations," he figured better some truth now then all the truth later.

"Really? So I guess you'd know something about how a hired killer might work?"

"Possibly," allowed Harris. He watched the two anarchs carefully, suspecting they had planned out this conversation already. He had a vague suspicion he wouldn't like their planned ending to it.

"So," Doc cut in, "where you going?"

"Windsor."

"Windsor," echoed Belle in shock, "why?"

"That's where Eric will be." Harris placed his hands in his overcoat while the two anarchs stepped back and talked amongst themselves. He didn't like where this was headed, the last thing he needed was some clumsy anarch squad underfoot. Though he doubted Belle would let him refuse. Probably saddle him with a bunch of maddened Brujah who couldn't tell the difference between surreptitiousness and superstitious. He'd probably spend half his time trying to pick up after them...

"We're coming with you," Belle finally said. Harris' eyes widened. Oh hell, this was worse. He couldn't deal with Blue and put up with a pair of idealistic anarchs who were just canny enough to be leaders. Especially not considering some of the secrets he still held from them. Like being in the Hand, and his true clan, and...so much about himself. He shook his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh?" Belle laughed at his words, then her voice went cold. Canny, politician cold. "How good an idea is it for a Sabbat defector to go back into their turf alone?"

"Especially when we don't fully trust said defector yet," added Doc. Belle nodded at the words. Harris grew silent. He stood there and thought it over. They had him. He could either give them what they wanted, or fall under even more scrutiny later. He sighed, at least this way he'd be in control of his own fate. At least as much as he ever seemed to be in control...

"Hope you don't mind getting dirty."

Michael Cooler chuckled as he eyed the pool table with a critical eye. He spotted his shot and flipped his head back to shake his thick brown hair away from his eyes. The speakers nearby blared out a loud Charlie Daniels' song about the devil and betrayal. He leaned down and lined up his shot carefully. The smoky biker bar was mostly abandoned. The only people now present were the late night crowd, hard drinkers who had faced the cold storm and weren't here for socializing. However that didn't prevent the young woman who stood quietly next to the pool table from attracting their full, if slightly muddled, attention.

Anne Arbor, Black Hand commander for the city, was dressed in her usual black bodysuit and heavy, black leather trench coat. Her straight black hair hung down her back to between her shoulderblades. Her face looked annoyed. Her almond shaped green eyes were narrowed slightly as she watched Cooler play. Her slender arms were crossed over her chest. Despite her slim form the men in the bar could sense a vague feeling of danger emanating from her. Cooler made his shot, the twirling cue ball clacking against the ten ball and sending it rolling into the nearby pocket.

"I still think you're overreacting," said Cooler with a shrug as he slowly circled the table. "She seems to be working out fine, better then I expected even. Did you see how easily she snatched Eric? It was like child's play for her."

"I didn't question her abilities," said Anne quietly, "I questioned her nature."

"What has that got to do with anything," asked Cooler as he leaned down to eye the table critically. "It's not like she's working for the Girl Scouts here. She got the first part of the job done. The second part will probably be just as easy for her. Why should I worry about what happened in the past?"

"Because we don't really know what happened," snapped Anne. "I lost a few good men, and she was involved somehow. It might have been a few years ago, but people don't change. She's wild and untrustworthy. You speak of her making it seem like child's play? That's because to her it is play. Death and murder are but more fun baubles for her to toy with." Anne's face grew darker as she spoke, a trace of actual anger slipping into it. "I wouldn't allow her any sort of freedom in any operation."

"Baubles?" Cooler looked up at her with a smirk. "Ol' Flint really sent you to all the best schools, didn't he?" Anne's face darkened a bit more. Cooler chuckled, knowing how prim and strait-laced Anne got about her relationship with her sire. "Anyway, I know not to trust Blue totally, I knew I'd need someone I could trust. Someone with honor. So Roulda is watching her, and he's nothing if not loyal."

"Roulda was loyal to his sire first, then the Sabbat," muttered Anne. "I sometimes suspect he was only loyal to the latter because of the former. And speaking of your arrangements to watch and house her, Detroit was a bad idea. I don't approve of you slipping back and forth across the river. It's too dangerous a risk for you to take. At the very least let some of my Agents-"

"Anne," sighed Cooler as he started to take another shot, "it almost sounds as though you're worried about me." Anne grew silent, her pouting lips pressing together as she drew back slightly. Cooler smirked as he took his shot, another ball rolled into a pocket. "I can control her, don't worry about that. And I can look after myself too, I've been doing that for years."

"At least let me get some men together, in case she tries something, just a contingency plan."

"A contingency plan?" Cooler leaned on his pool cue and looked at her. Anne nodded quickly, if slightly nervously. "This contingency plan wouldn't possibly involve killing the hell out of her?"

"Only if-"

"Listen to me carefully girl," snarled Cooler softly. Anne fell silent again, her wide green eyes looking obediently at him. "I don't mind you having an opinion of your own. I don't mind that you seek to warn me of dangers you foresee. But the minute you start to question my decisions you become a bigger risk then I believe Blue ever could be. Do you understand?"

"Sir." Anne stiffly bowed her head to him, then spun on her heel and marched out. Cooler shook his head, wondering just how bad Anne thought this could be. Sure she'd worked with Blue before, but that didn't necessarily mean much. He had Eric, and soon he'd have Detroit. It was all going according to plan, and there wasn't anything, or anybody, that could mess that up now.

"This is what you call dirty?"

"What would you call it?"

"Indescribably filthy," Belle hissed.

The three of them were naked and wedged in an active sewer pipe. Their clothes were bagged up in sealed plastic as they crawled through the half frozen muck. There was barely enough room above the sluggishly flowing sewer level to breathe. Luckily none of them needed to.

"I think I have dirt in places dirt isn't supposed to be," she whined as she pulled herself further along the pipe. Harris shoved his bag of clothes along ahead of him as he scowled in annoyance. Of all the silly whining...

"Would you happen to have a better idea?"

"Why not slip over in a hardtop car?"

"Because they watch the bridges carefully, and they might spot us, and if they did..."

"What about circling around and coming in on foot."

"Run the risk of Lupines, and they still might spot us, and if they did..."

"How about swimming the river?"

"They keep submerged watchers who might spot us, and if they did..."

"Yeah, I get it already," she hissed as she slogged through the muck. Harris muttered, he was annoyed too. If he had been going it alone he probably would have slipped over some other way. Alone he could have done it, alone he could have fleshcrafted his face and just been another Sabbat. Now he had to use the less glamorous option. He hoped his bag was keeping his suit clean.

"It could be worse," Doc said cheerfully.

"How," sighed Belle as she picked some unidentified wiggling object out of her hair.

"You could be ugly." Belle stopped crawling and glanced over her bare shoulder at Doc. He grinned at her and waggled his thin eyebrows a few times as he looked at her bare backside.

"Don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it darling."

Harris reached the access he was looking for and pulled himself up the narrow passage. Since neither Belle or Doc could see him he allowed himself the luxury of lengthening his arm and fingers in order to reach the handle more easily. He had figured it best not to inform his comrades that he was Tzimisce. They'd probably take it the wrong way. After all, almost no Tzimisce ever left the Sabbat. And most of them eventually defected back. He still wasn't sure himself about his new 'friends' most of the time. But going back to the Sabbat would mean facing the charges of murdering his own sire, and he knew well what his chances would be at that court. The Sabbat weren't known for half measures on discipline.

Harris shoved the hatch open and levered himself up into the broken down gas station. Dim light filtered through the shattered glass of the windows. A stiff chill breeze whistled softly through the dusty rooms. A few rats squeaked and scurried away in surprise at his entrance. He did a quick check to ensure that there were no squatters in the building, then he proceeded back to the bathroom and began to wash himself off in the slightly rusty and freezing water. Belle and Doc walked in to find him already heavily lathered.

"You brought soap," Belle asked in surprise as brownish goo dripped off her tangled hair.

"And shampoo, didn't you?" He glanced up as he continued to wash. He tried not to grin too much, why did the first timers never think to bring cleaning supplies?

"No"

"Then you better use mine." After he was more or less clean Harris dried himself on the towel he had brought and pulled on his clothes. Doc soon joined him and also began dressing. Harris noted with amusement that though Doc hadn't brought soap or towel, he had remembered his cigarettes. Doc lit one and took a slow puff as he began loading his pistols.

"1880," asked Harris in mild surprise as he eyed them.

"Eh?"

"Those are single action Colt Peacemakers. Nickel plated, and engraved. Their style marks them as being made in, or exacting replicas of guns made in or around, 1880."

"I take it you know your firearms."

"In my line of business it pays to know about what's pointing at you."

"A wise truth to appreciate," nodded Doc as he snapped the now full cylinders closed. He quickly slipped the guns into his gunbelt and closed his black duster up around himself to hide them. Belle came out of the bathroom, she had dressed herself inside, attempting to preserve some modesty. Not that after seeing her coated in sewer gunk Harris was particularly thinking along those lines. She was still damp but appeared ready to go. It was only as the trio walked out of the station that Harris realized Doc had never answered his question.

Blue set down the vial of acid. Eric's eyes rolled up into his head as he sighed in relief.

"You are very stubborn."

"I know what will happen to me if I talk." Eric realized how tired and worn his voice sounded. He was getting weaker and weaker. The tortures more and more inventive. The only thought keeping him alive was the knowledge that someone would have to come for him. His prince, his sire, his lord would not abandon him. Blue grinned at him as she brushed some of his hair away from his face with her soft, delicate fingers.

"You could always join the Sabbat," she offered with a shrug. Eric laughed hoarsely. She grinned, her flashing blues eyes also twinkling in amusement. Eric tried to keep focused, not lose himself in those deep orbs of sapphire. "I agree," said Blue with a small laugh, "they are not the best choice. But better then living in pain till you die." She reached into her bag again, she batted her eyes at him and asked innocently, "are you familiar with thumbscrews?" Eric groaned. "I see you are," she laughed softly as she pulled out the metal clamps for his fingers. She smirked as his eyes widened in worry. "Aw, don't fret so much, this is just the preliminary round."

"Preliminary?"

"Yes, the true fun starts once I've almost drained you of blood. You'd be surprised what hunger will do to a man." Blue smiled as she pulled out the screws and set them next to the clamps. Eric swallowed nervously. Blue however didn't put them on him, she instead stood up and reached out to grab her coat. Eric sighed in relief. Blue turned to look at a looming mass that lurked in the back corner of the dusty room. "Roulda! I am going out for a bite," she leaned in towards Eric and grinned maliciously, "I'm a bit parched. Keep hurting and bleeding him till I get back."

"You shouldn't go. Cooler gave explicit orders," rumbled the massive figure uneasily. "He would not be pleased."

"But why does he need to know," asked Blue with an easy grin as she slid on her small leather jacket. "We had this argument about moving him too, didn't we?" Roulda nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. Blue pulled on her blue gloves as she looked back at him. Eric saw the towering brute seem to soften as he looked back into those bright blue orbs. "It will be better this way," she whispered, "better for Cooler, and better for Blue. So you'll do it?"

"Yes mistress." Blue lightly kissed Eric as she turned and walked up the stairs. His eyes swam again with fear as the dark mass advanced from the corner and reached out for him. Even as he began to scream anew in pain he heard her last words gently whispered as she walked from the room.

"Be good now."