Disclaimer: see in the Introduction.
Phillippe Constanta belongs to the Swordfeast Universe.
Rating: G, for this part.
Author's notes:
Now Cash (and the reader) is going to meet a very different sort of Brujah vampires than the usual brutes known from San Francisco: the true elite of the Clan.
I apologize for introducing so many new characters in every single chapter – I know it can be confusing. My only excuse is that most of them will play very important roles in later stories, although some of them simply serve as enrichment for the background.
By creating Carlyle's background I used some facts of the actor's (Julian McMahon's) private heritage, whom I ''cast'' to ''play'' my favourite Anarch leader.
PART FIVEThey got on their bikes and rode about five minutes, until they got out from the poor Latino area and came into a much better neighborhood. Finally, Eric stopped his Harley in front of an old, roomy combo, built in elegant, Spanish-Californian style, somewhen in the 1920es. He looked at Cash, laughing.
"Surprised?"
"Not what I'd have expected as the headquarters of an Anarch gang," the San Francisco Gangrel admitted.
"Yeah, well, but Carlyle was born as the only son of Sir William Carlyle, Australian Prime Minister of Down Under, and his wife, Lady Sonia. The man is used to the lifestyle of the high society. Not to mention Valeria, an Argentinean noblewoman with a family name so long, it takes her ten minutes to write it down."
Cash shook his head in amazement. "I never knew the Rabble had an upper-class, too."
"They do. And I'd advise you to make good use of your best manners," Eric warned him. "They might be Anarch, but they're by no means the mob you're probably used to from dealing with Cyrus and Fiori. These people are the real aristocrats of their Clan – and well aware of it."
"Don't fret, I'll behave. Julian is old-fashioned; he made me learn etiquette on the hard way. Him, and Archon, of course."
"Good," Eric said with a deep, relieved breath, "then we should go in, I guess."
He knocked on the front door with a thick copper ring that hung from the mouth of a beautiful, lion-shaped knocker, and it was opened almost immediately by a young, straw-blonde girl: maybe 14 years old, not very pretty and, no doubt, a Brujah. By her looks, she must have been Embraced severely malnourished and in the annoying phase of blossoming teenager pimples.
"Hi Ariane," Eric greeted her friendly, "since when are you here again? And where is that smart-ass, street-wise Sire of yours?"
"Cal has been sent to San Diego," Ariane shrugged, obviously taking no offense – she either wasn't very fond of her Sire, or she was very fond of Eric; Brujah usually reacted badly even to mild insults, "and Valeria wants me to finish school. Then I'll be sent to UCLA, as a child genius."
She clearly wasn't enthralled by the whole idea.
"Well, you are bright," Eric remarked, "and you can't spend your unlife as a street kid."
"Why not? You Gangrels do it all the time."
"Yeah, but you're not a Gangrel. You're a Brujah and Valeria's protégée."
"I know," the girl scowled. "It's not fair."
"She only wants the best for you, kid."
"Yeah, that's what is gonna kill me one day," Ariane made a sour face. "It sucks being trapped in a 14-year-old body forever. Everyone treats me like a baby."
"After only seven years in the Dark, you still are a baby," Eric smiled, "and no matter how strong you are, others, who've been Embraced as adults, will be always stronger."
"Don't I know that!" Ariane sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if it weren't better if Cal had let me die. This is no life."
"No," Eric agreed, "it's unlife. You'll adapt. Others have done it before you."
"Sure. Like Isabel. She's so stable she has spent eight hundred years in torpor, just to escape her fate, and still feeds on corpses. Jeez, thanks."
"Ariane," a light baritone with a soft Australian accent interrupted her ramblings from the background, "stop harassing our guests. Your personal problems are not their concern."
Ariane growled something, unrecognizable even for Kindred ears, but obediently stepped aside, letting them enter the house.
They came straight into a patio-like, spacey living-room, full of old-fashioned, obviously very precious furniture, made of dark, polished wood. Their host rose from a leather sofa to welcome them.
He was a very large, handsome man of slender built but with strong shoulders and a broad chest. He had an oval face with chiseled, aristocratic features, eased only by the dimple on his chin, green eyes and dark hair, and moved with the easy strength of an athlete, wearing an expensive suit with a silk shirt, but no tie.
"Welcome in our home," he said, offering Cash a large, but elegant hand. "I am Julius Carlyle – but I don't use my given name, because it's stupid. You can call me Carlyle, like everyone else."
Cash was impressed. Brujah or not, this guy certainly had style, and – unlike to Cameron, San Francisco's only somewhat sophisticated Rabble – it came absolutely natural to him. Probably due to the education he received in his Warm days.
"I'm called Cash," he replied.
"So I've heard," Carlyle said in an agreeable manner. "Let me introduce you the others: Valeria Annunciata, my beloved wife; Jesús Ramirez, from Clan Ventrue, my second-in-command; and, of course, Madame Zorza, your own Elder."
Valeria, the Mistress of the house, was a stunningly beautiful Latino woman of medium height but cat-like strength, long, straight, jet-black hair and mahogany eyes. She wore an almost embarrassingly simple but certainly very expensive black silk dress, a string of white (and most likely true) pearls around her long, graceful neck and her hair in a French twist. When she smiled, greeting them, the air seemed to heat up around her. It was hard to imagine her as a tough Anarch warrior, albeit that was, exactly, what she was – well, among a lot of other things.
Ramirez, Carlyle's second, looked like the typical Latino street fighter: well-muscled, hair a bit long, clad in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, a golden ring in his right ear. He had a slight likeness with old posters of Che Guevara, and Cash asked himself whether he actually had known the famous revolutionary leader.
Madame Zorza, wearing black, too, though with no style whatsoever, seemed to be a middle-aged gypsy woman with long, unruly red hair, a somewhat queer face and the longest nose Cash had ever seen on a woman. She stuck out from this environment like a sore thumb, but it obviously didn't bother her a bit.
"Please. Do sit down," Carlyle gestured towards the comfortable, well-worn leather armchairs around the low teakwood table. "Have a glass of bloodwine with us."
The two Gangrels accepted the offer. The bloodwine proved to be truly excellent. Better than even Daedalus' stock.
"This is an informal meeting," Carlyle continued. "I don't represent anyone in this City, except myself, and I don't believe that Julian Luna, a true fanatic for the Masquerade, would ever admit a contact to an Anarch leader. So, let's say, we're here as private people in order to exchange information. You can share with your Prince what you'll learn from us freely, though."
"I know what I'd like to learn," Cash replied warily, "but what's in it for you? What could I probably offer in exchange?"
"I don't intend to test your loyalty, Gangrel," Carlyle smiled. "I simply want to hear about our Clan brethren in San Francisco. Nothing less, nothing more."
Cash shrugged. "Okay, I can do that."
"Good," Carlyle set down his wine glass. "Now, what do you want to know?"
"Anything and everything about Cyrus," Cash answered without hesitation. "How strong his forces are, what might he be capable of, would he probably become dangerous for other cities? He has already tried to go for San Francisco, you know. Sent an Assamite after Julian."
"Cyrus is a fool," Carlyle said, with unmistakable disgust. "He's one of those brutal idiots who might cause the downfall of our whole Clan one day. But he's not as strong as he'd love to see himself. Surely not strong enough to take another City. He can barely hold his own."
"He was able to take L.A. by muscle," Cash reminded him. The Anarch leader shrugged.
"True, but only because Salvador wasn't interested in Princedom. And because he keeps Christopher as a hostage, the Toreador still support him. But that's about the only support he gets. Not even his own Sire stands behind him any more."
"Wait! You're losing me here. Who's Christopher?"
"Christopher Houghton is the Toreador Eldest in L.A.," Carlyle explained. ''He's of Ancient Blood, a 5th generation Kindred, and over four hundred years old. Unfortunately, he also has the body of a 13-year-old boy, a fact that makes him rather vulnerable. He's the Sire of the late Don Sebastian, the last legally elected Prince of L.A., and still has another Childe here, who owns a very high position among Toreadors."
"I see," Cash said. "Keeping this… Christopher as a hostage gives Cyrus a great advantage against the Toreador. But what about his Sire? Why won't he support Cyrus any more?"
"I don't know," Carlyle admitted. "Their bloodline and ours have been adversaries for centuries, so we're not exactly in speaking terms. Fact is, however, that Justin Davies has left L.A. about a year ago and went to San Diego, where his elder Childe, Tara, is the Prince. Rumour says he disagreed with the alliances Cyrus has made lately."
"What alliances?"
"We don't know. Sabbat, Setites, demons, human criminals – take your pick. L.A. can offer every single one of them."
"But not the Anarch – right?" Cash said, half-asking.
Carlyle nodded in agreement. "None of the major gangs would support him. Not even Jeremy McNail and his family, although theirs is a purely Brujah gang."
"How many Anarch groups are there?"
"It's hard to say. The major ones are, aside of us, the McNails, the Jacksons under Ventrue leadership and the 'Night Crew', a mixed bunch… mostly Brujah, but they have a few Gangrels among them, too. The smaller groups are unstable and constantly changing. We try to keep tab on them for our own safety, but it's not easy."
"What about the Sabbat?" Cash asked.
"That's the worse part," Carlyle admitted. "They've planned to take over the City for years – part of it actually does belong to them. Their only Bishop so far, Mohammed Al-Muthlim, keeps a founded coven in his Domain, the 'Crypt's Sons'. His own Sire, someone called Tarantine, is their Ductus. But I also heard of two nomadic packs to have created a foothold in L.A.: the 'Shepherds of Caine' and the 'Crypt-Ticks'. Especially the 'Shepherds' are said to be dangerous – and I don't doubt that others will be coming. The Sabbat are like ants. Has one of them found their way into your City, the others will follow. And Cyrus doesn't have the power to stop them."
"This is bad, man, really bad," Cash murmured. "If L.A. falls, they can take over the Hellmouth, and then… no one will be able to stop them."
"Why does it bother you?" Carlyle asked. "You Gangrel live on the roads. You can always move."
"I would not let those monsters take over my City, not without a fight," Cash hissed between clenched teeth.
"Nor would I," Carlyle nodded. "I don't doubt that we'll be fighting for our Domain, soon, but we do have considerable powers. Unlike our self-proclaimed Prince."
"He'll be gone, soon," Madame Zorza joined the conversation for the first time; her voice was deep and rough. "The one who'll extinguish him has already set foot in this City."
Carlyle frowned. "And who would that be?"
Madame Zorza started laying her tarot-cards. "I wasn't told a name," she murmured, "but I know he's one who's walking between the darkness and the light – carrier of a course and gifted with a miracle, the only true one the Childer of Caine had been given for centuries. The Powers That Be have chosen him as their warrior and sent to this City. Because here is it where the biggest fight will accure."
"Are you sure?" Valeria asked in a deep, honey-sweet voice that made all the males present shiver a little.
Madame Zorza turned another card. "It has been foreseen," she said. "The Boca Del Inferno, the Hellmouth, is the gateway between our dimension and the one where the Antediluvians are waiting for their return. There are other gateways, of course – one of them lies under the ruins of the San Francisco House of the Legacy Hunters –, but they are more safely sealed. That's why the Powers That Be sent the Slayer to Sunnydale. But she alone won't be able to stop the Apocalypse from breaking loose. She's only one warrior. It needs the powers from all of us, Kindred and Kine alike, even the Garou, to save this world from turning into Gehenna. The time of the big battles is coming, and we can only hope to gather enough strength to fight them."
"How soon will it happen?" Carlyle asked.
Madame Zorza laid her last card. "It's already happening," she answered grimly. "Breaking our Clan away from the Camarilla is one of the signs that cannot be ignored. But we still have some time. The Harvest that was prophesized to be happening three years ago, had been defeated by the Slayer. The High Master of the Order of Aurelius had been destroyed, the Anointed One extinguished, the Order itself scattered. The few Childer of Aurelius who still exist had turned their backs on the Dark Rites a long time ago. So, we've won a couple of years – two, maybe even three. Not more, I'm afraid."
"So what are we supposed to do?" Carlyle asked.
"This is a time of vigilance," Madame Zorza said. "We have to keep an eye on the Hellmouth… there will be signs which must not be ignored. We need someone in Sunnydale. Permanently."
"It's too dangerous," Carlyle shook his head. "That's the Slayer's Domain. She can't make a difference between the Sabbat and us. She only knows what she calls 'vampires'… our observant would be killed, sooner or later."
"Not necessarily," Madame Zorza argued. "She and her Watcher have never heard about our kind. They don't know we're able to go out during daytime and have our jobs as normal people – well, most of us do. And don't send a single observer; we'll need at least two. Someone from the system's side, like a town hall clerk or a police officer, and someone for the underground, who can keep contact with the True Undead and the Caitiff."
Carlyle thought about it. "We could arrange a temporary assignment for Sergeant Sanchez, of course," he mused, "and Bobby Lemon would be perfect for the other part. But it's ultimately Salvador's decision."
"Then talk to him," Madame Zorza said; then she turned to Cash. "And you, wolfpup, tell Julian Luna, he'd better watch the ruins of the Legacy House very, very closely. Things of unspeakable evil had been kept imprisoned under that House; who knows how many of them escaped when the House was blown up? I can only hope that the Legacy Hunters rebuild the House, soon. Not many of us are capable of dealing with that sort of enemies – not any more."
"What about the Hellmouth?" Cash asked. "How do you intend to keep it close?"
"It's not my job to do," Madame Zorza shrugged. "That's what Tremere wizards are for. Lady Abigail can deal with the Hellmouth, if necessary."
"You seem to have decided to stay with the Camarilla," Cash said.
The Gangrel Elder nodded. "More or less. Actually, no more and no less than I've always been with them. I don't really have a choice, knowing a little about what's coming. We can't count on the Sabbat in this – so we have to accept the Camarilla as an organization that could unite Kindred forces. I've always considered myself independent; but I've also chosen to live according to Camarilla rules, most over the time. What about you? Do you intend to keep your position on the side of the Prince of San Francisco?"
"Personally, I'd like to," Cash said. "But it depends on what the majority of our Clan decides."
"You'll have to call a gathering, soon," Madame Zorza advised. "The longer you wait, the harder it will be for you to keep our people where they are right now."
"Should I?"
"If I were you, I would. Independence is good, but a stable alliance isn't bad, either. You'd have a better chance to survive the upcoming crisis with the forces of Julian Luna than on your own. He runs a tight City; that's the best defense in dangerous times."
Cash shrugged. "I'll do what I can," then he turned to their host. "So, what is it that you want to know about the San Francisco Brujah?"
"I'd like to get an overall picture," Carlyle said. "We haven't heard anything useful since Sorrel got killed. He was the last of our bloodline in San Francisco."
Cash almost choked on his wine. "Sorrel? As in Juan Diego Sorrel? He was one of your bloodline?"
"Sure," Carlyle answered with a shrug. "He was one of Salvador's Childer, too – a younger one, at least in Kindred terms. Have you not known?"
"We never learnt anything about the Manzanita Brujah," Cash said. "Sorrel had a big Brood but was very secretive about his origins."
"Probably because he'd been disowned," Carlyle informed him. "Salvador emphatically disagreed with his crusade against Prince Archon Raine; our Sire knew that the Clan wouldn't have a real chance against the Ventrue in San Francisco. Sorrel wouldn't listen, so Salvador broke up with him and his Brood, banning them from the family – all of them who joined his cause. Right now, only one of his Childer is still alive, but he left San Francisco shortly after the Manzanita massacre."
"Who's that?"
"Sergeant Sanchez. But he doesn't have any Clan contacts in San Francisco, either."
"Well, it seems that I have news for you, after all," Cash said, still digesting the news that might change the balance of power in San Francisco's Kindred society. "The Brujah Primogen of our City, Ian Cameron, is the youngest Childe of Sorrel."
"What?" Carlyle put down his glass so abruptly that it almost broke. "That old fool has made another one after Miguel Sanchez? When?"
"Less than fifteen years ago, I guess," Cash shrugged. "He made Cameron his personal vengeance tool; the guy killed Archon Raine single-handedly, after all, and keeps being a pain in Julian's ass. He has serious plans to take over the Prince's seat."
The two Anarch Brujah exchanged a long, meaningful look. Being brood-siblings and married above all else, Cash didn't doubt that they were able to read each other's thoughts.
"Salvador has to learn about this," Valeria finally said. "It could change a great deal in Clan politics. He might even consider removing the bane from Sorrel's progeny… if the Childe proves to be worthy."
Carlyle nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. "I'll tell him, first thing in the morning," then he turned back to Cash. "We owe you one, Gangrel. You more than repaid for what information we have given you. Should your people choose to leave the Prince's service, you'll always be welcome here."
Cash shook his head in disbelief. "You ought to be kidding. Are you really telling me that you, a Brujah gang leader, would welcome a bunch of rootless Gangrel in a Brujah-dominated City?"
Carlyle shrugged. "Why not?"
"Because our clans have been mortal enemies ever since the Dawn of Time, perhaps? Not to mention the most recent Clan Wars?" Cash suggested.
The Anarch leader gave him a grim smile. "Well, you're not dealing with the Camarilla here, Gangrel. I have several of your people under my command – good warriors, whom I like and respect. Besides, the Clan Wars were different in San Francisco than in L.A. Here, there mostly were bitter fights between the Toreador and their shadowy allies, among them Sabbat packs, and the rest of the Camarilla."
"The Toreador allied themselves with the Sabbat?" Cash was barely able to trust his ears.
"Not all of them, of course," Carlyle answered, "but Don Sebastian, the last formally elected Prince, did have tight Sabbat contacts. Even his own Childer feared that he'd have turned the whole City to the Sabbat, if not stopped in time, but they weren't strong enough to resist him. Our Sire, who used to be the leader of La Hermandad, was his only serious opponent."
"How's he managed to stop him?" Cash didn't want to show it, but he was impressed. Stopping a 7th generation, pre-Sabbat Prince wasn't a thing easily done. The Toreador, despite all their artsyness, were mean fighters – and absolutely without honour or conscience whatsoever.
Carlyle grinned ferally. "He turned the Sabbat customs against the late Prince, challenging him to Monomacy."
"That's a ritual duel between the Sabbat, held under formal rules," Valeria explained, seeing Cash's blank look. "This duel is the traditional Sabbat way of settling disputes, and it often results in the Final Death of one of the participants. Usually through diablerie."
"Which was the case in this particular duel," Carlyle added. "Salvador fought Don Sebastian, killed him and diablerised him, lowering his own generation with one level."
"Wait a minute," Madame Zorza interrupted. "That was in 1944, which makes you an 8th generation Ancilla. But Valeria was Embraced before that; does it mean that you are of different generations?"
"Not really," Valeria gave her a cold smile. "Let's just say that I had my own duels during the Clan Wars… I've always been the Archon of Salvador's House, after all."
"Then why do you leave everyone in the belief that you're all of Young Blood?" the Gangrel Elder asked.
"It comes handy," Valeria answered with a shrug. "Being underestimated gives you the moment of surprise. But don't believe my fragile appearance; I'm a mean fighter and love a good fight."
"I'd get out of her way in a minute when she Frenzies," the quiet Latino Ventrue, Carlyle's second, assured the Gangrel. "She's a berserker. I saw her tear a seven-foot-demon to shreds."
Cash looked at the small, beautiful woman and still couldn't believe what he'd just heard. True, the Brujah Frenzied easily, and when they went berserk, their strength could improve a great deal, but still…
"It's true," Carlyle nodded, smiling at his wife with pride and admiration. "But aside of that, she's an assistant college professor, too."
Cash shook his head in amazement. "You people are vastly different from any Brujah I've ever met."
"Probably because you've only met the chum of our people," Valeria replied calmly. "We are the ones who guard and keep true Clan values, and the likes of us. You shouldn't judge about Clan Brujah, considering only Eddie Fiori and his Get of brutal idiots."
Cash was quiet for a moment, reflecting the few recent years, all the grief and trouble the San Francisco Brujah caused other Kindred, then sighed.
"I wish Sasha could meet you," he said.
Valeria gave him an interested look. "Sasha who?"
"Sasha Luna, the niece of our Prince; well, actually his great-granddaughter. She's been forcibly Embraced by one of Fiori's Get, a few years ago. She never got over the shock."
Valeria looked at him intently: "She used to be your lover, right?"
Cash shrugged. "It didn't work."
"No, I guess under those circumstances in San Francisco, it wouldn't," Valeria nodded. "Well, she's always welcome in L.A. We can show her the true face of our Clan. You can tell her that much."
"I don't believe she'd listen to me any more," Cash sighed. "Besides, Julian would hardly appreciate me grooming her to become even more Brujah."
"He won't be able to change her Blood," Valeria stated. "The best thing he can do for her… the best thing you both can do for her… is to accept what she's become and to help her discover what she's gathered through her Becoming. Your prejudices won't do her, or the whole situation, any good. Acceptance is the key word here. You have to see over Clan boundaries."
"We managed to do just that," Carlyle added, shooting a look at his second. "I guess being Anarch does have its advantages. You Camarilla types are a bit narrow-minded."
"Well, I'm not exactly Camarilla right now," Cash reminded him. "Still, I think of life in the Camarilla as a useful tool."
"It is," Carlyle agreed, "which is why we are loosely allied with it here, in L.A. But it's not the only way. Not even the only right way."
"We'll be discussing this problem among ourselves," Madame Zorza intervened smoothly, "and other issues, too. Cash needs to be familiar with all available facts before he approaches our Clan brethren in San Francisco."
"Sure, it's all your business, and we won't interfere, not even here," Carlyle nodded. "Cash, it was interesting meeting you. Feel free to drop by whenever you visit L.A."
Recognizing that they were clearly dismissed, the Gangrels said their good-byes and took their leave. Carlyle sat back to the table, furrowed his high forehead and thought for a moment.
"Contact the 'Night Crew'-gang and get me Bobby Lemon," he then instructed his second. "We ought to get moving. Time's running out."
Ramirez nodded and went over to the office to get a phone. Carlyle turned to his wife.
"Valeria Annunciata, are you sure that this gypsy woman is telling us the truth? I'd hate to risk Miguel's safety for nothing – or make Salvador mad at me without a reason."
Valeria didn't answer immediately. She took her time for a short reflection over everything she'd heard so far about the whole problem. Being a scholar herself, she had a more detailed knowledge about ancient prophecies than most Brujah. Although Salvador Garcia's whole family was well educated. The patriarch didn't tolerate fools.
"I do think that she believes what she told you," Valeria finally answered. "I can't know how good a Seer she is, though. But I suggest we listen to her. We've neglected to watch the Boca Del Inferno far too long. It could be dangerous."
"More dangerous than living in the Slayer's Domain?" Carlyle asked, doubtfully.
Valeria nodded empathically. "O yeah! You better talk to Salvador and convince him that it needs to be done. Not to mention that you've to speak to him about that Cameron guy. He's Clan Primogen in San Francisco – we might get a new contact to the City through him."
"His whole line has been disowned!"
"Sure, but Salvador took Miguel in. If this guy proves to be worthy, he might remove the bane. After all, how many of Sorrel's Get are still around?"
"Besides Miguel?" Carlyle frowned. "I only know of Phillipe Constanta. But he's a broken man; has been ever since the Massacre."
"In this case it would be perhaps handy to take a look at this Cameron," Valeria suggested.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Okay, now that we know who Cameron's Clan ancestors are, in the next chapter we'll learn the same about Cash… and meet a very interesting bunch of Gangrel.