Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.
…………………………………………………………
Chapter 2
I
"Ease up a little on the gas," Michelle suggested. Erica immediately complied, allowing a greater distance between the two kindred and the surviving Sabbat that they were following north. Their assault had gone disastrously wrong when three local kindred – Michelle guessed it was likely the sheriff and two 'deputies' – showed up just as Erica and Michelle opened fire. Predictably enough, they were immediately targeted as the aggressors and the Sabbat were able to slip away under cover of the sheriff's swift response.
Once Erica and Michelle evaded the locals and re-acquired the Sabbat – thanks to a GPS beacon Erica had attached to their vehicle – a new gunfight had erupted in the downtown area. Michelle knew for a fact that several humans had been gunned down in the crossfire, and she knew that meant she and Erica should hurry out of town just as quickly as the Sabbat. The confrontation had then spread north outside of the city until Erica and Michelle had fallen back, allowing their prey to pull ahead a little bit and think they had escaped.
"I'm gonna have to feed pretty soon," Erica commented.
"Me, too. And you can bet your ass those Sabbat are every bit as thirsty as we are."
"I think we would have had them if the sheriff hadn't been there."
"Me, too," Michele replied again. "We got two of them, though. That leaves four, right?"
"By my count," Erica answered. "But if we leave them alone they might figure out a place to go to hook up with some more reinforcements. If that happens…"
"It won't make any difference," Michelle said confidently. "As long as we can track them from a distance – and with all the nifty extra beacons you have we should be able to do just that –we're able to control the time and place that we hit them. I'm perfectly happy to pick them off one or two at a time."
"If they get enough people they'll eventually just stop and wait for us in force," Erica explained. "Horatio isn't the brightest bulb in the pack, but he's gotta know it was me behind that attack. The fact that they never got a good look at us really doesn't matter."
"Though it should keep them guessing as to how many of us there are. As long as they don't know there's only two of us we should be fine."
"And if they figure it out?"
"I'm trying to think of a place I could get a couple of sniper rifles," Michelle answered, surprised at how easily her mind was breaking down different tactical possibilities. Hit and run, typical guerilla tactics, she thought happily. If we can take one out and then get away before really getting hurt, we'll be okay. But she's right; eventually they'll make a stand if they get enough people. Guerilla tactics won't work against a foe that vastly outguns us, so we'll have to find some way to offset that advantage. The best way to do that is to have more advanced weapons at our disposal, and that means sniper rifles – their superior numbers won't mean shit if we can shoot them while staying out of range of their weapons. The train of thought came so surprisingly easily that Michelle could not help but smile. Being around the Telemon has started to rub off on me.
"Sniper rifles?" Erica asked. "That's gonna be a tough one… at least if you want anything military grade."
"I think we'll want to make sure we outrange any hunting rifles they could go and buy at Wal-Mart," Michelle answered. "Though maybe it won't come to that." But if it does, I know a dealer in the general area, she reminded herself. Carmen Exarchos does a lot of business with the Telemon, and she's not far away up in Tennessee. I'm sure she'd be happy to make a house call if the price is right.
"We've already lost the element of surprise," Erica pointed out, "and that was really the best thing we had working for us. Horatio called some friends, but I can't believe he expected me to actually show up and try to take him out. Next time they'll definitely be ready."
"So were the Templars at Acre," Michelle muttered.
"What? Templars!" Erica asked.
"Not in the Sabbat sense," Michelle said hurriedly. "Sorry 'bout that. I was talking about the Order of the Templars, the human knights who fought in the Crusades. Their last real battle was at Acre, where they drew a line in the sand and got wiped out."
"Well that wasn't very smart of them."
"It wasn't about being smart," Michelle answered. "It was about refusing to run, refusing to believe that it was better to survive if it meant they were sacrificing their beliefs and ideals just to tack on a few years in an otherwise inescapably finite lifespan."
"Sounds like a story you've taken to heart."
"That obvious, huh?" Michelle asked.
"Well, I've been wondering what got you down here for this job," Erica responded. "I guess deciding that it's time to make a stand, one way or another, is a better reason than most. You seemed fine out there, by the way."
"So far," Michelle answered, noting that she sounded far more confident than she was. She kept her concerns to herself, though. She never mentioned that she was certain she had been able to focus on the task at hand because the intensity of combat had demanded her full attention; the simple fact was that she did not have time to be scared of what was hiding in the shadows when several enemies outside of the shadows were shooting at her. Besides, she decided, it wasn't like it was really all that dark out there. We were in the middle of Pensacola, and while that's hardly the Las Vegas Strip, it's also far from the inside of a Lasombra torture chamber.
"So you have any thoughts on what to do next?"
"Two choices, as I see it," Michelle answered. "We either jump them again, here and now, or we wait until we've had time to feed and recover our strength."
"And give them time to feed and recover their strength," Erica surmised.
"They've gotta be as hungry and beat up as we are," Michelle reasoned. "We might be able to finish this all here and now if we make a move. But then again…"
"For all we know they had a supply of blood in one of their bags, and we'd be lucky to make it out alive."
"Yup," the Gangrel agreed. "Sounds like we just decided to hold tight and wait for our next opportunity."
"Guess so. You wanna look in the glove box and see if there's a map?" Erica suggested, hoping that Michelle had been lucky enough to steal the car of someone who hated getting lost.
"Lucky us," Michelle muttered a moment later, immediately unfolding a map of Florida, Georgia, and Alabama. "I guess you want to know where we might be headed, huh?"
"You got it."
"Well hold on to your hat, because my best guess right now is Birmingham."
…………………………………………………………
II
"Not bad," Hassan commented as K.T. managed to parry every attack Hassan directed at him, the Assamite slicing through the air with his battle-worn scimitar, displaying the cool precision of a surgeon. K.T. took the compliment for what it was worth, which was little more than nothing. Hassan was employing only simple cuts and counter-attacks, and he was pointedly refraining from taking advantage of the supernatural speed he had developed over the centuries. This was only an early lesson in an education that would take decades.
"Thanks," K.T. muttered graciously, sheathing both of his kukri knives and shaking his arms. He had never thought it possible that his forearms could be both numb from exertion and shaking from the repeated, jarring impact of spending hours using two knives against a master swordsman wielding a scimitar. "We keep it up at this rate, and maybe in about twenty years I'll be able to take on two or maybe even three Sabbat at once."
"Such statements do you a great disservice," Hassan commented, stretching out his shoulders and triceps. "You may be overmatched for now while sparring me, but you have already learned a great deal. No Sabbat foot soldier would stand a chance against you, K.T., and you know that damned well. Once I'm done with you, even the bishops will know to give you a wide berth."
"Okay," the Gangrel answered, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was unfolding. Hassan had never gone out of his way to praise either his student's current prowess or his dedication in improving his skills; not that he belittled his charge, either. Hassan had always been as constant and predictable as gravity. Tonight the Gangrel sensed a palpable difference in his mentor, and it was starting to make him uneasy.
"You know why we spend all this time practicing with melee weapons, correct?"
"It gives an advantage against the younger kindred who only know how to point and shoot," K.T. answered. Hassan only shook his head sadly, clearly disappointed in his protégé's response. The Gangrel thought a bit more, but could not come up with anything else.
"The pop guns the younger kindred use will be of little import in some of your future encounters," Hassan assured K.T. "Most young mercenaries like yourself, especially those Telemon you have befriended, excel with these weapons – they have gained an advantage of sorts over their peers through a practiced mastery of modern arms. In a battle between six average Telemon and six average Sabbat, for instance, with all things being equal, I would take the Telemon any day of the week."
"Uh-huh."
"But do you have any idea what would happen to any three of those Telemon if they were cornered by an elder?"
"Probably something bad," K.T. responded, knowing his teacher wanted more but being afraid to specify anything else without having a good idea of how to answer properly.
"Yes, something bad," Hassan agreed, "though I would appreciate it more if you spoke your mind when I ask for an opinion. Even assuming they got off perfect shots, the Telemon would do little more than slow down an elder for a stride or two." Despite the confidence of Hassan's tone, K.T. felt the Assamite was inadvisably giving short shrift to the effectiveness of the phosphorous-tipped weapons he knew many younger kindred – especially the Telemon – employed on a widespread basis. "Then the elder would be upon the Telemon, or Sabbat, or whomever else the impudent fledglings were who thought it a good idea to challenge an elder," Hassan continued. "Without mastery of a hand-held weapon, the foolish neonates would be carved to pieces by an elder who learned to make war before gunpowder was even invented."
"I understand," K.T. said.
"Do you really?" Hassan asked. "Because you see, Mr. Corben, I'm training you to fight these very same elders." The Gangrel tried to hide his surprise but failed miserably. "Yes, there's little reason to spend time teaching you to kill Sabbat shock troops or Camarilla enforcers. You could already do that well enough on your own before meeting me. No, being part of the Hand means being able to enforce its will against centuries-old schemers and manipulators, and you'll need to be able to back up your position with the threat of force. That is not something you can do yet… though we're working to fix that."
"Okay."
"I'm telling you this because you have to want to train with me," Hassan continued. "You never liked the position Philip placed you in, and I cannot blame you. I'm certain there were a couple of times there when part of you almost wanted to get gunned down and left for the sun, if for no other reason than it would have freed you from your would-be master.
"I expect that in some ways I will receive the same resentment," the Assamite admitted. "I will have you do things that you will no doubt prefer not to do. What I cannot have, however, is resentment. Resentment is a poison, a disease that will slowly take you over and prevent you from reaching your potential. You're Gangrel, and that means your blood imposes upon you an individuality and need for independence that I have never had before in an apprentice."
"You've never had a Gangrel apprentice?" K.T. asked, seizing the opportunity to ask a question that had been plaguing him ever since he had entered Hassan's tutelage.
"Only once before have I had an apprentice that was not my own childe," Hassan responded with a thin smile. "He was a Nosferatu, and he made a much better student than you do."
"Thanks," K.T. answered. "That's more of what I'm used to. All that complimentary back-slapping was making me wonder if I'd stepped onto the set of a Lifetime original."
"He also did not feel a need for sarcasm," Hassan added, though K.T. noted a flicker of a smile pass across his mentor's face. "You are probably wondering why I'm saying all this, and the answer is simple. As I said before, I need you to want to train with me – nothing less will do."
"Well, it's a little hard to ever know for sure whether I'm here because I want to be or because I know you'll kill me if I try to leave," K.T. pointed out.
"Yes," Hassan admitted, "that much is true. And you are, of course, correct in assuming that I will kill you if you leave without my permission. However, I'm about to give you permission."
"Huh?" K.T. asked, a comical, dumbfounded expression on his face. He had been ordered to join his mentor for a six-month training session, and by his count he had two months remaining on his current commitment. The reason suddenly seemed obvious. "You have a job for me."
"Not precisely," Hassan answered. "I have an opportunity for you, one that Philip would never have allowed."
"You don't say," the Gangrel commented skeptically.
"I've received word that Erica may have gotten herself into trouble," Hassan explained. K.T. perked up at the mention of his companion. "I know what she means to you, and while part of me would understandably be content to have her removed from the equation, I also know that you would justifiably resent me if I ever concealed from you the fact that she was in danger. Such an action would breed anger and resentment."
"And we can't have that," K.T. chimed in.
"No, we can't," Hassan agreed. "So I'm releasing you for the time being. I'm told that she can be found in Florida, somewhere on the panhandle. Other than that I have no specifics. Be quick, K.T. Do what you have to do, and get back here."
"So I can go right now?" K.T. could hardly believe it was so simple.
"There are two conditions," Hassan quickly added.
"Of course there are."
"First, the two months you have remaining on this current training stint will now be increased to three, and I expect you back here as soon as you are assured of Ms. Blackwell's safety." K.T. nodded, not feeling as if that was too much to ask. "Second, my information indicates that Michelle Marlowe is with Erica."
"What?" K.T. asked in surprise. He stifled a plethora of curses that sprang to mind as soon as he started imaging the unending list of bad things that could happen if those two had started making a habit of spending time together.
"It appears that Ms. Marlowe has decided to avenge herself on the Sabbat," Hassan explained, putting his own spin on events in the Southeast. "Of course, you know exactly why she would want to do that. It seems that she called Erica for back-up, knowing that her companion would not approve of her current vacation plans."
"I can see how Johnny would have a problem with that."
"I know you and Yashida are friends and it was, in fact, your loyalty to him as a friend and fellow mercenary that resulted in me taking you on as an apprentice. This time, however, I'm specifically telling you to refrain from any action that may prolong Michelle Marlowe's life. She has to be left to fend for herself, and if her companion comes to bail her out, that's fine. But I cannot have her causing another distraction like this; if Michelle Marlowe is going to drag your companion out on a job every time you're in training, then it's best all around if she just dies right here and now. Her welfare is not our concern."
"I understand," K.T. grumbled; he could see Hassan's point – and he had to admit that it was somewhat reasonable – but that didn't make it any easier to stomach being told what to do and who to let die. "I'll go retrieve Erica, and I'll leave Michelle to whatever fate she's brought upon herself."
…………………………………………………………
III"Johnny, hey… I wasn't sure you were gonna answer." Yashida was surprised to hear Brett Tailor's voice. He had not been expecting a call from anyone in his clan; and if he had been, he wouldn't have expected it to come from Brett.
"Why wouldn't I answer?" Johnny asked suspiciously. "I'm supposed to available 24/7 when I'm out in the field. Especially when I'm expecting to make contact with potential allies."
"Well…" Brett's voice trailed off, and Johnny's spidey-sense started tingling.
"What is it?"
"Where are you right now?" Brett asked hesitantly.
"Boise. You could have checked that at HQ, Brett. Why are you calling me?"
"Are you really in Boise, or is that just what you're telling me?" Johnny had no doubt now – Brett knew something important about something. The last thing Johnny wanted to do was play 20 Questions with one his clanmates at three in the morning.
"What's going on, Brett?" Johnny asked, getting directly to the point. "I'm in Boise. Does someone back there want me to call in on a landline so they can trace the call? Am I on double-secret probation or something?"
"No one else asked me to make this call," Brett responded. "It's just… Okay. Michelle is with you, right?"
"Huh?" Johnny's stomach lurched in the middle of an unexpected cartwheel, and he was certain that if he were mortal he would be on the verge of vomiting. "Is this something about Michelle?"
"So she's not with you," Brett surmised, speaking the words as a statement rather than as a question. "Here's the thing, Johnny. I heard something about an hour ago, and I've been debating whether to call anyone. It seems that there was a running gunfight in Pensacola sometime around midnight. A couple of Sabbat packs seemed to materialize from nowhere and started shooting up the place."
"How did you hear about this?"
"I'm at the compound in Panama City," Brett explained. "I have some new recruits down here, getting them ready for action in Boston later this year. Anyway, the prince called me right away and asked if I'd be ready to help defend the city, since that was part of the deal you made with her."
"And I assume you agreed," Johnny commented, though he really wanted to hear more about Pensacola.
"Of course. The clan always fulfills its obligations," Brett assured him. "The intel indicated that two female anarchs became embroiled in open urban warfare with every Sabbat for thirty miles in every direction. The Camarilla has a tenuous hold on all these crappy little Gulf Coast cities, so it immediately caught everyone's attention. The reason I'm calling is because one of the two anarchs fit Michelle's description to a T, right down to the ripped black jeans and the two Glocks she's been carrying around, trying to do her best impersonation of you doing your best impersonation of Chow Yun Fat."
"Oh hell…"
"I expected the other anarch to fit Uiko's description, or maybe Mel's, but it seems it was some woman with blonde hair cut at the shoulders."
"Just the two of them?"
"Yeah."
"No one else? No males?"
"No one, Johnny. I even asked the same question myself, because I expected you to be there, not in Idaho. Did Michelle run off?"
"She's Gangrel," Johnny began to explain, knowing that would mean even less to Brett than it did to him, "and they always go off and do their own thing once in a while. It's their way."
"Uh-huh."
"Wait a second, does anyone else know about this?"
"No, sir," Brett answered, suddenly sounding very official as he added 'sir' to his response. Johnny could not help but notice how strange it felt to be referred to as 'sir.'
"Any chance we could keep it that way?"
"Of course," Brett answered, surprising Johnny with how quickly he agreed. Johnny had not expected Brett to hold his tongue at all, and certainly not without a great deal of wrangling. He could not think of an answer, and it seemed Brett realized that. "I owe you for New Orleans, sir," Brett added. "There's no way in hell I get my current, cherry assignment without my success in the field; and there's no way I have that success without you kicking me in the ass a couple of times. You may be every bit the half-ass soldier everyone says," he commented, obviously mirthfully, "but half-ass is apparently enough to get me to look out for you the same way I always looked out for my squad mates back in the service. I assume you're gonna want to check this out."
"If I can figure out a way to con Siras into giving me another week's leave. I keep taking vacations like this, people are gonna start calling me Napoleon… and not just because I'm short," Yashida joked, knowing that the well-schooled field commander on the other end of the line would appreciate the joke about Napoleon Bonaparte's outlandishly extended leaves early in his military career.
"Hold on for about five minutes," Brett said. "I'll give you a call back." He hung up before Johnny could respond, leaving the clan's diplomat to stew.
Could it really have been Michelle? he wondered. Did she decide that getting her head screwed on straight meant looking for a fight with the Sabbat? Sure, she may be the type to convince herself that she would never be okay again until she got back out there and faced her fear, until she got back on the horse and became the person she used to be, but to go out there without telling me… that's just irresponsible. Even for her.
Johnny could have kicked himself for having been so relaxed about her disappearance the night before. It now seemed foolishly naïve to have been so concerned that she might be leaving him because of Uiko, or to guess that maybe she was planning on spending the day in a cave somewhere. This is Michelle, he reminded himself. No way in hell is this gonna be something so simple. 'Face my fears head on,' he remembered her writing. Why didn't I see this coming? How could I have been so stupid? "I should have gone after her as soon as the sun went down," he muttered, ignoring the fact that until Brett had called, he had no idea where to follow her.
"What the hell is she up to?" he asked the empty room. The question seemed to take on a life of its own as Johnny sat waiting for a return call. "Wait a second – exactly what is she up to? This isn't the same Michelle I met all those years ago." The Telemon started to wonder whether that new thought should increase or decrease his concern. Over the years we've been through a hell of a lot, and if Michelle has demonstrated only one area of growth, it's in her capacity to plan ahead. At first blush this seems like the kind of thing she'd do, just running off half-cocked trying to deal with something in the typical Gangrel way… whatever that is. But that's at first blush. That's not something she'd actually do… at least not anymore. This isn't the same girl I met years ago, the one who spent her time stealing police cars and driving them through shopping malls. "She's up to something," he told the air around him. "Though it may be madness, yet there is method in it." But what the hell is the method to her madness?
The phone rang, sharply cutting off Johnny's train of thought. He grabbed it almost immediately, a celerity-fueled blur of motion bringing the telephone receiver to his ear in a fraction of a second. "Yeah?"
"That's how you answer the phone now?" his caller asked. It was not Brett. "Just 'yeah?' I may have to rethink your assignment with the clan, Jonathan. That was less than diplomatic."
"Siras," Johnny almost gasped. "What… umm… why are you calling?"
"We may have a problem," the clan's founder explained. "I just got a call from Brett, and he told me something that, quite frankly, has me rather concerned."
"Oh really?" Johnny asked, his stomach once again lurching uncomfortably. He could not quite muster a feeling of betrayal, since he knew Brett had just been doing his duty by reporting to his superiors, but it still cut a little after having felt that he had received some sort of approval from one of the clan's officers.
"Yes," Siras confirmed. "He's in Panama City, at that compound you set up with your coterie. He said you guys did a nice job, by the way," he added, surprising Johnny with the unexpected compliment when Yashida had been expecting nothing but getting his ass chewed out for letting Michelle out of his sight again.
"Thank you, sir."
"Forget it. Look, I need to know how far along Uiko and Mel are," Siras continued.
"Sir?"
"Seems there was a bunch of Sabbat action in Pensacola earlier tonight. They started tearing up the town, and Brett wants to make certain he isn't about to find himself in a city right next door to the Sabbat's latest conquest. He's got a crew of raw recruits with him, Johnny; all of them have been embraced only within the past three months. I don't want them out there if they can avoid it, and he specifically requested that I send you to look into it."
"Why me?" Johnny asked dumbfoundedly, immediately regretting that he had spoken so quickly. Brett had done a fantastic job of setting up a situation that would get Johnny into position to go looking for his companion; the last thing he wanted was to say something that wasted a perfectly good lie.
"That was pretty much my reaction," Siras admitted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his words may have caused offense. "But it seems that Brett gained a lot of respect for you during the New Orleans siege. He trusts you to find out whether or not this is the start of an actual siege, whether it was just a random pack that got caught passing through, or whether the locals are playing at politics amongst each other and blaming the violence on the Sabbat. Says if it turns out to be a siege, and if we're called in, he wants you and your team there to back up his fledglings."
"And what about my meetings here in Boise?" Johnny asked. He hated to bring it up, but the meetings were important. DuPree's abduction of Michelle had highlighted the fact that the Telemon had few contacts once they left the East Coast and were virtually unheard of west of the Mississippi. Johnny's job was diplomacy, and it was pretty hard to fulfill his duties if no one was willing to speak to him. He needed to make friends, and he felt it was a good idea to do so before the Sabbat was holding a gun to the locals' heads. He vastly preferred the idea of princes calling the Telemon because they knew and trusted them rather than because they had no other choice.
"The meetings will have to wait," Siras sighed. "I know why you wanted to do this, and it was a good idea, but I need you in Pensacola and Panama City right now."
"Let me leave Uiko here," Johnny suggested.
"You haven't released her yet," his sire reminded him. "I think it would look like a slap in the face if we leave an unreleased childe behind to shmooze the locals. Wouldn't really seem like we consider them worth our time or attention."
"Suddenly bailing during our 'Getting to Know You' trip isn't gonna be much better," Johnny argued, amazed that he was suddenly arguing against taking advantage of the opening Brett had provided him. Is this what it's like to be responsible? I'm not entirely certain I like this at all.
"Not like we have much choice in the matter, Johnny. Going up there was a good idea, but our primary business has always been warfare against the Sabbat. We can't have anyone think that we passed on a fight because we wanted to play at politics like the Ventrue. How long you think it would be before someone called us to task on that?"
"I know, I know," Johnny admitted. "Although I think I have an idea," Yashida suddenly commented.
"What are you gonna do?"
"Trust me, I can fix this," Johnny assured the clan's commander in chief. "I'll head out for Pensacola first thing tomorrow night."
"Okay," Siras answered, a healthy dose of skepticism in his voice. He hated trusting Johnny, but despite the fact that he was a notoriously paranoid control freak, he also often hated knowing about the diplomat's plans in advance. Siras was a big fan of plausible deniability. "Get down there and figure out what you can. If there's a way to handle the Boise people, too, then do it."
Two female anarchs, Johnny thought as soon as he hung up the phone with his sire. One of them almost certainly Michelle, and the other one a young blonde. Gee, I wonder who it could possibly be, the Telemon mused. He dialed another number and waited for an answer.
"I'm not here. Leave a message," a gruff voice directed in the voicemail instructions.
"It's three-thirty a.m.," Johnny said cheerily. "Do you know where your Ventrue antitribu is?"
…………………………………………………………
IV"Now you're both sure you'll be able to handle this, right?" Johnny asked, confident that Melissa would be okay but holding a great deal of concern for Uiko.
"Absolutely," Mel assured him. Uiko remained silent, and when Johnny finally looked at her, she simply nodded. She was more nervous than he had ever seen her, and her anxiety only seemed heightened by the fact that she looked like a completely different person in her current attire.
The ninja had been ordered to forego her usual cargo pants or jeans in favor of a sleek black cocktail dress that somehow managed to seem formal and seductively trashy at the same time. It was a look that Johnny was certain very few women could ever manage. He stopped them only a dozen feet from the front gate, eliciting an uneasy stare from the sentries who were posted at the foot of Hamilton Everest's driveway.
"I'm serious," Johnny said. "You don't have to do this at all. I know I'm rushing you; I wanted to wait several more years before doing this. You're ready, but there's lots more to learn."
"You can feel the force, but you are not a Jedi yet," Mel muttered, cracking a characteristically ill-timed joke. Johnny simply glared at her for a moment, attributing her unusual outburst to tension. The ex-CIA assassin was far more nervous than she wanted to let on, and as usual that meant she was jokingly quoting movies left and right as a means of relieving her own anxiety.
"I'll be fine," Uiko finally said through gritted teeth. "I know you would not have asked this of me unless you felt I was ready. I trust your judgment; I only ask that you take me back as soon as you can so I can finish learning what I need to." The affection in her voice was completely unexpected and well out of character. Johnny hardly knew how to respond, though a voice in his head told him to take note of that tone in Uiko's voice, since it was the source of Michelle's insecurity for the past several years.
"Johnny Yashida," the Telemon announced as he walked the remaining feet to the gate. "These are my childer, Uiko Haraya and Melissa Johansson. I believe the prince is expecting us."
"Of course," the smaller of the two guards replied. He opened the gate and directed them to walk up the drive, making certain that they understood that they forfeited the right to safety if they strayed from the asphalt."
"Yes, stay on the path," Mel muttered under her breath, doing her best Eddie Murphy impression. Johnny noted Uiko's smile at the reference to The Golden Child and felt relieved that maybe the anxiety the two fledglings were feeling was slowly starting to dissipate as they neared their goal.
Hamilton Everest, the Ventrue prince of Boise, met them in the foyer of his home. He was dressed casually, in a pair of navy blue Dockers and a khaki turtleneck, and he had the same broad smile Johnny had always seen. He had wondered many times whether the grin was an affectation, or whether Everest was actually the one and only prince in North America who was truly happy with his position.
"Mr. Yashida," he said with a firm handshake, "follow me into the parlor. I want you to see something." He led the way eagerly, his long strides denying the three kindred the chance to walk slowly and gawk at the expensive artwork that decorated the first floor of the prince's home. Johnny thought that very unlike a Ventrue.
They reached a large room decorated with furniture that Johnny was willing to swear came right from Ikea. Unlike the rest of the building, this room spoke of casual comfort rather than ostentatious overindulgence. Again, a very uncharacteristic choice for a Ventrue; more so for a Ventrue prince.
"Look at this," the prince said proudly, a sweep of his hand indicating the largest plasma screen television Johnny had ever seen. It dominated the far wall and was at least eight feet across. "Isn't that a beaut? Got it special order from Japan."
"Yeah, that's uh… very big," Johnny agreed. He looked threateningly at Mel, making certain she didn't make any more unwarranted movie references. The last thing he needed was her doing her best Shrek impression and commenting that maybe the prince was trying to compensate for something.
"I know what you're thinking," Everest said. "You're surprised that I didn't bring you back here to show off a new Van Gogh or something. Yeah… I have all that Ventrue prince crap out there, but this room is where I like to spend my time. You're a straight shooter, and from what I've heard from a few contacts back east, your clan hates playing politics and partaking in all of our kind's endless game of amassing status symbols. So do I, actually, but the fact is that I'm insanely rich, and that means I get to lead. Doesn't mean I don't want a nice screen for my baseball and football games, though."
Johnny tried to suppress a smirk and failed miserably. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're not like any prince I've ever met." No sooner had he spoken the words than he wished he could take them back. Goddamn it, that's just what he was waiting for. He was baiting me into speaking disrespectfully so he'd have an excuse to kick me out of the city.
"I hope I'm not like the other princes," Everest laughed, slapping Johnny on the back affably. "No reason I should be. Wanna know why?"
"Of course." Johnny thanked his lucky stars that he had not received a sharp rebuke even as he tried to figure out exactly where this conversation had veered into the Twilight Zone.
"It's because this is Boise, Idaho. There aren't any Sabbat for hundreds of miles, and they're not in any hurry to get here, either. Entering Boise means either flying into the airport – which as you know I have outrageously well guarded – or crossing miles upon miles of barren wilderness infested with some of the last truly wild garou in North America. In fact, garou are all I have to worry about, and they'd far prefer to spend their time going after Pentex than trying to thin out an already anorexic kindred population. Aren't many of us here, and our local Gangrel help keep the peace. Boise is an isolated piece of the past, probably more like it used to be before the Inquisition and the Sabbat. We mind our business, and everyone else mind's theirs. It's a very Midwestern way of doing things."
Johnny found it impossible to believe Boise was as idyllic as Everest claimed, but he had to admit that in his short time in the city he had been amazed at how clean everything was and how polite the people were. There were even a couple of moments where he had wondered if he had walked into an episode of Twin Peaks. "I like how different things are here," the Telemon commented, seizing upon a perfect opportunity to lead the discussion where he wanted it to go. He had a plane to catch in an hour and didn't want to spend time listening to the prince's tales of the not so Wild West. "In fact, the relative safety and security of this city has made me wonder if maybe you wouldn't mind granting me a small request."
"What's that?" Everest asked. There was a slight, wary glint of suspicion in the back of his steel blue eyes, but his smile never faded.
"An unexpected emergency has arisen and my sire has asked that I look into it," Johnny explained, "but to be honest I've really taken a liking to this city and I think I'd like to know more about it. So if it's okay with you, I would like to release my childe, Uiko, into your city to stay for a short while. My other childe, Melissa, will stay with her as her charge. Both are fully aware of their duties and responsibilities."
"So you mean to release Uiko from your protection and supervision?" Everest asked, his tone suddenly very serious. It was obvious he did not consider this a minor matter.
"That's correct."
"And Uiko," Everest asked, turning toward the ninja, "do you understand that this means you alone will be responsible for any violations of the Camarilla's Traditions or any defiance of my own edicts?"
"Yes," Uiko said simply.
"You further understand that you will no longer be granted the same leeway I would grant unreleased childer? You understand that in our laws you are now an adult?"
"Yes."
"And that Johnny's intercession will not carry the same weight that it did until this moment, and that he is now no longer responsible for your actions?"
"Yes."
"Well then welcome to the fold, Uiko," Everest said, his voice once again the pleasant, booming drawl that made Johnny think that the prince was the most friendly kindred he had ever met. "As for you, Mel," he continued, directing his attention to the remaining Telemon, "I expect you to behave yourself while your sire is away. And Uiko," he added, turning back to the just-released kindred, "don't forget that you'll answer for her behavior until Johnny comes back to take responsibility for her again. Not that he's completely off the hook if Mel goes and does something on your watch. If a ten-year-old kid burns down the house while a sixteen-year-old sibling is watching her, the parents don't get away without a share of the blame. You understand, Yashida?"
"Of course," Johnny answered. "Mel is still my childe, not Uiko's, and I will continue to answer for her transgressions, even if she's in Uiko's care."
"Well said," Everest responded with a smile. "Now how 'bout I show you how clear the picture is on this thing? You said you're a Dodgers fan, right Johnny?"
To be continued………………………………………