Disclaimer: see in the Introduction.
Rating: G, for this part
Author's notes:
Now we are back in San Francisco, where Cash has to persuade his fellow Gangrel to remain in the Camarilla.
PART EIGHT San Francisco, 29. August 1999 Luna Mansion, the study of Julian LunaJulian Luna watched the three Gangrel – who stood out in the upper class elegance of his study like a sore thumb – with narrowing eyes. Cash looked different – stronger, more sure about himself, more content with his unlife. Now that he had found his roots, the young Gangrel Primogen could be an even stronger ally – or a dangerous adversary.
He could not afford to lose Cash' support. Not with Cameron breathing down his neck –and learning about Cameron's powerful connections in L.A. was unsettling enough in itself – nor with Lillie's ever-changing loyalties. Especially not with the increasing threat of Sabbat Infestation.
The Prince looked at the red-haired witch. He could feel that this seemingly ridiculous woman was the true Gangrel power he had to deal with. Luckily, Madame Zorza declared herself willing to help keeping the San Francisco Gangrel in the Camarilla – for the time being anyway. And she had sufficient authority. Unfortunately, she also seemed to have connections to the Ravnos, which thought alone made Julian itch with nervousness.
The Native American guy called Eric was an enigma to Julian. Never had he given any thought to the intricacies of Gangrel tradition before – the Gangrel had been loyal watchdogs to Ventrue princes, and that was enough for him. Now he realized his mistake. He failed to learn what it truly meant to be a Gangrel, and he had to catch up with that now in great hurry. He could only hope it wasn't already too late. Perhaps Daedalus will be able to help him out. As always.
Having exchanged all important news, Cash stirred in his seat.
"With your permission, my Prince, we'd like to leave now. It was a long way from San Francisco; we need to feed and to rest. In the meantime Stone can gather our people from all over the city. We have to push the decision through as soon as possible.
There was the new Cash again – the Primogen, well aware of his privileges and responsibilities. Someone who finally had set his priorities and decided that duty came before friendship. It hurt. But Julian also knew that this was the right way to go. He nodded-
"This is your business, Cash. You must know what has to be done."
Cash grinned. "Thanks, Julian, I hope things will turn out to our mutual benefit."
"So do I," Julian replied, watching the Gangrel leave. Then he turned to Jeffrey who was waiting in the background silently. "What do you think, Jeffrey?"
His butler (and blood-brother) shook his head thoughtfully. "It's hard to tell, Julian, it really is. I don't question Cash' loyalty; but you are not his only family anymore. And if the Clan wants to leave, he'll give in. His bonds with the Clan are much stronger now than they used to be, even a week ago."
"I know," Julian sighed, "and I don't envy him. If the Clan chooses to leave, he'll have to break one oath anyway… even if it's the one that bonds him to my service."
"I don't think they'll leave," Jeffrey said. "This Madame Zorza is obviously against it, and I think she can talk them into staying with us. At least for a while. What might come after the current Sabbat threat, nobody can guess."
Julian nodded. He knew all too well how great a role the Sabbat threat played in keeping the Camarilla together. "Speaking of which, have any news come from Alexei?" he asked.
Jeffrey shook his head. Alexei Roganoff, Archon's eldest Childe still alive, had spent years in the Sabbat-ridden New York, keeping an eye on the sect, trying to calculate the risks for the Camarilla cities in California.
"Not since he left New York City, four days ago," the butler replied. "Apparently, he managed to get out unharmed, but nobody seems to know which route he chose to get here."
"I hope they won't get him on the road," Julian murmured. "He deserves a long break; and I'd love to have him here. This princely business is a lonely thing if you don't have anyone to talk to."
"You have me, Julian," Jeffrey pointed out. "I may not be as smart as Alexei is, but I have been taught by Archon himself, just like the two of you. I'm serving as your butler to take care of you, not because I'm too stupid for anything else."
"I know that, Jeffrey," Julian smiled ruefully. "It's just that politics and tactical planning aren't exactly your area of expertise. Now, would you sit down and have a glass of wine with me? I feel like whining, and I need a sympathetic ear for that."
Six hours laterA small, wooded area, adjoining the gardens of the Luna Mansion
It was a rare thing for the San Francisco Gangrel to gather on the same spot as a whole. Such thing was considered dangerous, even if said spot was the private ground of the Prince himself: a clearing in the woods behind the Luna Mansion, a stony bank to the north and a cairn of stones in the center.
But this gathering was the most important one since the Clan Wars – they were about to decide their won fate for a very long time. So all had come. Gangrel were blessed – or cursed, depending on your point of view – with an unusually strong sense of responsibility for each other. In many ways, they were very much like a wolf pack. Which was the reason why the Garou tolerated them, and only them, of all Kindred Clans.
The presence of Madame Zorza surprised everyone – and even more stunned they became after her connection to Stevie Ray's Brood had been revealed. Out of a sudden, hey weren't a bunch of rootless neonates any longer. They were part of a long and powerful tradition – one of the oldest bloodlines in the New World.
The other bloodlines (four different ones were represented in San Francisco at the moment) were equally relieved to have someone with high age and experience to guide them through their hard decision. Some had known Eric before, as the Cherokee Gangrel travelled a lot across the land. And almost every Gangrel had heard of Ramona, of course. Her story was one of the most popular ones, often told at the campfires of travelling Clan members.
So Cash had a really good chance to persuade his Clan brethren to remain in the Camarilla – and to avoid losing his home in Julian's house. He knew that John Stone, his second, would support him in this (Stone worked for the Prince as well, and hi liked his work), and so would Smokey, the small, agile gypsy woman with the Sight. But Lorraina seemed to have set her mind to leaving already, and she was not someone who would change her mind on a whim. What's more, she had excellent contracts all over the Clan – in fact, better ones than Cash himself – as the one who had always been the closest to Stevie Ray.
As expected, she launched into argument at once to persuade the others to leave the Camarilla.
"We've been nothing but the watchdogs of the Ventrue Princes for centuries," she said bitterly," and what good did it bring for us? The other clans still look down at us as if we were something inferior. We bleed for them, we die for them and they handle us like dogs."
"Loyalty is our nature," Eric said quietly. "It is in our Blood. You can't change it."
"But I can fight it," Lorraina shot back, "before it gets me killed, like it got killed my Sire – for the Ventrue Prince!"
"Stevie Ray was my Sire as well," Cash said. "He sired us all. He might have been harsh at times, even abusive, but he lived the Gangrel values. I'm not going to throw that heritage away."
Madame Zorza looked at the embittered blonde woman intently. Being her grand-Sire, she could invade Lorraina's mind with ease, and she didn't hesitate to do so. There was too much at stake to be hindered by something as indifferent as discretion.
"You blame Stevie Ray for the only true Gangrel trait he had in him?" she asked. "For the only time he showed true loyalty? Granted, it was not toward his Clan, his Brood or even fro his Sire – it was toward his Prince. But this is his only deed that actually makes me proud of him."
"Stevie Ray was loyal to us," Stone, big, blond and long-haired as his late Sire had been, stated calmly. "He was just unhappy with his Clan roots, that's all. He would have made a much better Ventrue, I think."
"In this, the blame is all mine," Madame Zorza nodded sadly. "I should never have Embraced him. But just like Lorraina, I wanted to keep him, forever." Seeing the bewildered looks of Stevie Ray's progeny, she grinned. "You thought he didn't bond closely with any of you? Think again."
Smokey looked at Lorraina suspiciously. "So, that's why you acted as his second while Cash had to lead the unlife of a Caitiff?"
"And what if it's so?" Stone asked. "Does it matter? Stevie Ray was entitled to have a favourite Childe, just like everyone else. He had the right to keep any of us as his lovers if he wanted. Besides, I think we have much more important things to discuss than the question who shared Stevie Ray's bed more frequently."
"This is the first smart thing I've heard so far," Madame Zorza gave him an appreciative look. "Now, be quiet, whelps, and listen to me, because I won't explain this to you twice."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the same time as Madame Zorza began her long tale about Clan business, a private plane landed on one of the small, rarely used private airports of San Francisco. The pilot, a young-looking, extremely beautiful Spanish Kindred with the profile of a young falcon, jumped out of the cockpit to open the plane's door and help his passengers out of the machine personally. He moved with the easy grace and sleek strength of a matador or a professional dancer, and his clothes – black jeans and a blood-red silk shirt – only strengthened this impression.
Out of the plane came a tall, well-built, dark-haired man in his early forties, wearing an Armani suit, a silk shirt and sunglasses. He had a hard, lean face, deeply lined around the thin lips, which gave him an oddly merciless expression. An elegant, stunningly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties accompanied him, wearing an expensive costume of burgundy silk, a pearl string and sunglasses, too, which revealed the hand of a designer at first sight. They were flanked by a young, blonde woman, clad in black leather.
The pilot checked in with the airport personnel – it was no big deal, as the place was run by Kindred and used by them exclusively – then fetched the black limousine that had been pre-ordered through phone. It was a long, beautiful vehicle with tinted glasses – a dead give-away for all those who were familiar with the ways of the undead. But since none but Kindred were ever allowed to come here, this was no particular problem for the newcomers.
"So, where now?" the pilot asked, acting as driver as well. "Shall we start in the Haven or try to find our people first?"
His boss shook his head. "Neither of those. Let's do it properly and present ourselves to the Prince of the City first."
The pilot gave him a doubtful look. "Would that be wise? Our Clan is not particularly welcome here, you know that."
"Of course. But this is not L.A., Alonzo. This is a tightly organized city. Luna would learn of our presence anyway, and if we come openly, through the front door, it will cause less tension."
"You're the boss," the pilot shrugged, clearly not convinced at all.
The older man gave him an unreadable look. "Damn right. Now, bring me to the Luna Mansion."
TBC