First night

Garrett awoke about an hour after sunrise, not because he was an early riser, but because a beam of sunlight was shining in his face. Hesitantly, he rose out of bed walked over to the window.

The city was alive with the hustle and bustle of people rushing this way and that, blissfully unaware of what was going on around them. His visibility was reduced by a haze that hung thick in the air. The yellow brown smog had even managed to obscure the sun slightly.

We're killing her and we don't care, a voice in his head whispered. We've become so accustomed to our way of life that we can't turn back. It's only a matter of time before she dies … then we all die. He tried not to think about the seemingly hopeless state of the world, but every once and awhile, the reality of it all hit him like a ton of bricks. A ton of stinking, toxic bricks.

After a short makeshift workout session and a shower, he walked downstairs to the lobby where a continental breakfast was awaiting him. He munched on a pre-packaged muffin and picked up the complimentary morning paper.

A story on the front page immediately caught his eye.

Young girl vanishes from parents' house

Police still baffled, have no answers, no leads

Jenny Pearson went to bed last night in her parent's home on Harrington Street at approximately 10 p.m. last night. This morning she was gone.

This marks the seventh disappearance in as many days of girls between the ages of 16 and 22. The police as of yet have no leads on the perpetrator or perpetrators.

"The kidnapper has not provided us with any useful pattern as of yet," said Pittsburgh P.D. Lt. Mike Wrezinsky. "He hasn't discriminated on race, social background … he seems to strike at a different part of the city each time. The only tie is the sex and approximate age of the victims."

With each passing day, more pressure is being put on the department to come up with a suspect.

"Our hearts go out to the families of the victims; we vow their children will be found and this person will be brought to justice," Wrezinsky said.

See KIDNAP, Page 2A

Garrett read through the rest of the story. There had been a kidnapping in the middle of the night, every night for the last week. There were no witnesses, no signs of forced entry, and no trace left behind. The only common threads that tied them all together were the victims and the circumstances. All the victims were between the ages of 16 and 22 and reasonably attractive. They were also all abducted from their houses, usually with someone else home at the time; nobody saw or heard anything … strange stuff.

Intrigued but enraged at the same time, he threw down the newspaper and left the hotel in favor of a ride around the city. This case hit him where it hurt and he didn't like it. God help that son of a bitch if Garrett were to come across him. He wouldn't leave enough to fit in a plastic bag.

For now, he needed to clear his mind and concentrate on the task at hand: performing at the Barbarosa and hopefully impressing any talent scouts that might be there. He took his guitar from his room and headed out.

He stopped in a park and sat down under a tree to practice. It had been nearly three years since he had written this song and it was only on rare occasions that he actually played it. Barrooms full of drunks were not the crowd that would appreciate something this melancholy. He had written it only a few months after he lost everyone he had ever cared about. With each note of the intro, he evoked a ghost that haunted his past. As he began to strum, he closed his eyes and relived every painful memory. He sang the old, familiar words reflecting his sorrow in the verses and belted out the secrets of his tortured soul in the chorus. The tune was a soft and dark at first but gave way to a furious, rising crescendo. At the fevered climax of the song, it suddenly dropped off to near nothingness and faded out.

Garrett sat for a moment in quiet reflection and opened his eyes. He realized he had drawn a small crowd. Upon his acknowledgement, they applauded. Some were even wiping tears from their eyes. Only later did Garrett even realize there were tears streaming down his face as well.

He stayed momentarily a played a few more songs for the audience he had unintentionally gathered and moved on.

After going back to the hotel and putting the guitar away, he walked back outside only to spot a familiar face walking down the road. The portly kid couldn't have been more than 20. His twisted spine was evident by his severe limp, not noticed the night before when he was sitting at the table with the rest of the Shatters. He noticed Garrett andwaved tohim.

"Hey, you're the guy I heard playing in the park earlier," the kid said, appearing very out of breath. I've been trying to catch up with you ever since you left. I got some friends who wanna meet you." He bent over, breathing hard. "Do you have a car? I don't think I can walk another step."

Garrett sighed, and then chuckled. "Well sort of. Who are your friends?"

"The rest of the Shatters … and what do you mean by sort of?"

It must have been a comical sight to have seen Garrett Rainbird riding around Pittsburgh with a fat kid struggling to give directions and hang on to the back of the bike at the same time. After a precarious 15 minute ride, they arrived at a nondescript warehouse the kid called 'home.'

"So, this is the place?" Garrett asked, sounding more than a little unsure.

"Yeah, this is it. Follow me," he said, slipping around a corner, out of sight.

Garrett knew good and well who curiosity killed, but he didn't care at the moment. He walked around the corner and through a large gap in the sheet metal wall.

The inside of the warehouse was done up like a low quality studio apartment. Several couches were strewn about haphazardly with crates serving as tables and a small crappy television in one corner. A few tattered concert posters hung on the walls. There were about 15 people lounging around. They perked up when Garrett came through the hole.

"This is the guy I was telling you about, Casper," the fat kid said as he waddled over and plopped down on a vacant couch. "He's a shifter."

Casper, a tall lanky twenty something who was seated in the middle of everyone else in a brown overstuffed chair slightly nicer than the rest of the furniture, nodded. "Good work, Jiggly."

"I can smell 'em a mile away."

Garrett tensed up, ready for whatever might happen next.

Casper turned his glance toward Garrett. "Whoa, whoa, whoa … easy now. We're friends," he said as he offered him a seat. His look turned to recognition. "Hey, you're the guy who was dancing with Lillian last night. Man, I'll bet that was a turn on."

The rest of the group let out a collective snicker.

Garrett grinned and sat back in a couch that was probably procured from a roadside collection point. "Yeah, I have to admit," he said, still not sure whether he should be relaxed or ready to fight for his life, "she definitely got to me."

Casper's smile didn't fade. "You know she's a vamp, right?"

Garrett sat up, looked down briefly, and sighed. "Ya know … when I was out there on the dance floor, in fact the whole night … I just didn't care."

Casper didn't miss a beat. "We understand … well sort of … but anyways, where are my manners? Let me introduce you to the group. We're Garou, as I guess you know what that is?"

Garrett nodded.

"Okay, yeah, we're Garou from the Bonegnawer tribe. The rest of the tribes kinda look down on us, but we don't care. We can fight as hard as any Get and drink more than your average Fianna."

Casper went down the line, introducing each member of his "gang." He pointed to a tall, very muscular blonde woman on the far couch. She lookedAmazonian."This is Press." She made a gesture in his general direction and smiled.

He pointed to the fat kid who had led Garrett to the hideout. "You've already met Jiggly." He grinned and waved. "Jiggly is a metis, which means both his parents were shifters. There's a law the Garou are supposed to follow and one of the laws is that we can't have kids together. When that happens, the kids always turned out messed up in some way or another for whatever reason. The other tribes want nothing to do with them, but we don't mind. They're still Garou, ya know? Just a little different is all."

He pointed to the next couch down, which held two people. He pointed first, to a skinny, sandy haired guy lounging on one end. Something about him just didn't seem right, like he didn't know what to do with himself. "This is Snifter. He's a lupus, and he's still getting used to being in his homid form. We've been trying to get him to spend more time looking human because he refuses to wear a collar."

Snifter perked up at the word collar. "I told you, I'm not gonna wear that thing. I'm nobody's house pet," he said without a hint of malice. He paused to scratch behind his ears, first raising his foot, then using his hand when he realized he couldn't reach the back of his head with his foot.

Casper gestured toward the other occupant of the couch. She was fairly short, but pretty, with red hair and blue eyes. She seemed to be a little better dressed than the rest of the group. She also seemed to be a little more educated than the rest of the group. "This is our tech girl, Blue Eyes," Casper said. She smiled and nodded.

Casper continued on through the rest of the group, 13 in all. "Now that you know us," he said, "why don't you tell us who you are."

Garrett spent the next hour talking, about his past, his adventures, and life on the road as an itinerant musician. They hung on his every word, especially the stories about Victor and about John and Potters Mill, when the action got heavy.

After awhile, Garrett realized the time. "Shit, I have to go or I'm going to be late," he said, getting up.

Snifter perked up. "You playin in the talent show tonight?" he asked as Garrett nodded. "I'll be there too. See ya there."

Casper shook his hand on the way out. "They have an invitation only guest list, so we'll meet up with you guys downstairs at the rave club," he said before turning around and heading back to his chair.

Garrett made it back to the hotel, showered, got dressed to the nines and made it to the Barbarosa Club with half an hour to spare. He was ushered to the third floor and escorted to a back stage holding area. As time went by, Garrett realized there weren't quite as many performers as he had originally expected. There were only 15 acts slated to perform. Snifter showed up a few minutes after Garrett and sought him out.

"Hey, Garrett," he whispered, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small flask. "Want something to eat the butterflies?"

He accepted and took a pull off the flask. Goddamn, that was some cheap whiskey. It tasted terrible but it had a good kick.

A hat was passed around with numbers in it to decide the order of appearance. Garrett drew number 12, while Snifter drew number three. A few minutes later, an older man in a tuxedo stepped onto the stage and announced the beginning of the show. The first two acts were okay, but nothing to write home about. They received sparse applause from what appeared to be an audience of high social standing. Flashes popped sporadically from the few cameramen on the floor.

Snifter seemed to be a nervous wreck while the second act was playing. Garrett could see him visibly shaking.

"I can't do this," he said, trying to move away from the stage.

Garrett stood in his way. "No," he said, "you're going on that stage. It's going to be okay. You're going to do fine. Just relax."

Snifter didn't seem to be convinced. "Seriously man, I can't go out there in front of those people," he whined. "I just can't!"

Garrett forcefully turned him around and began walking him to the stage as the second act was wrapping up. "It's going to be okay," he said, attempting to reassure him. "Just fucking relax! Take a deep breath and get on the goddamn stage."

The emcee called his name and Snifter stumbled out onto the stage, prompted by a push from Garrett. He swallowed hard, took a quick look around, and stepped to the microphone. Garrett watched from the eaves.

He picked up the mic, cleared his throat, and began to sing. The crowd hushed at the sound of his voice. It rang clear and held perfect pitch. The song, however, was very strange. Garrett didn't know how to make heads or tails of it. He finished the song to more applause than the first two acts combined.

He stepped backstage and Garrett clapped him on the back. "See," he said, almost patronizing. "I told you it was going to be just fine."

Snifter smiled and pulled out his flask. He turned it up and drained it in one gulp. He looked at Garrett and winked. "Am I going to have to push you out on stage when your turn comes?"

Garrett laughed. "Not a chance."

Four more acts came and went, some good, others not so good. After the seventh performance, the emcee called for a 15 minute intermission. Garrett made his way out of the back stage area and went to the bar to order a drink. Thinking of the scotch he and Lillian had shared the evening before, he ordered a glass of Dewars on the rocks.

Speak of the devil and she appears. Lillian sauntered over to the bar where Garrett now stood and ordered a glass of wine. She looked absolutely flawless in her black evening gown. She wore a tasteful, but large diamond necklace, the value of which he didn't want to guess.

"You do understand that I expect nothing but the best from you, don't you, Garrett?" she asked, eyes briefly fluttering.

Garrett took another sip of his drink. Once again, his mentor's voice rang loud in his head, saying she was nothing but trouble and to stay away. Once again, the voice was ignored.

"I am the best," he said as a grin formed at one corner of his mouth. "I expect nothing less from myself."

With that reply, she nodded, still smiling, and excused herself. Garrett lingered for a few more minutes at the bar and headed backstage with his drink. He handed the drink off to Snifter, who gladly, no, ecstatically accepted it. It was gone in the blink of an eye.

The show started up again and the acts went back on. The competition was okay but Garrett knew he had this one in the bag.

Finally, it was his turn to go on. He picked up his old guitar, strapped it on and stepped to the stage. He took in the crowd for a moment and walked to the microphones, briefly adjusting one to pick up the sound of his guitar. He closed his eyes and began.

It was just as he had rehearsed. Every note, chord and word of the song reflected the inner workings of his anguish. As the crescendo began, the intensity of that reflection increased. He could feel energy swirling around him and he tried to project that out to the crowd as well. As he neared the climax of the song, he opened his eyes.

The audience had gone stone silent and still as the dead. People who had been up walking around before Garrett started playing now stood in place. The only motion on the floor was a lone photographer, who only moved long enough to take a picture. As he hit the last passionate chord, he saw Lillian on the far end of the room. Two small trails of blood ran down her face from the corners of her eyes. When their eyes met, she turned and left the room. It was a slightly disturbing sight for him, the first time he had ever seen a vampire cry. In an instant, it was ghastly and strangely beautiful at the same time. It almost disrupted his performance, but he finished strong and let the tune fade out.

The audience stayed quiet and still for a moment after he completed the song. A single cheer came from the bar followed by a thundering ovation from the rest of the room. Now that he could afford to pay for attention, he could see the majority of people present were or had been crying. Several faces in the room sported streaks of blood which were quickly and discreetly wiped away.

He bowed slightly and took in the adoration. As he turned and walked off the stage, he noticed Snifter waiting in the eaves backstage. His jaw couldn't possibly be hanging any lower.

"Oh my god, dude!" he exclaimed, running up to him, "That was incredible! You even made the vamps cry! Do you know how hard that is? How are you not rich and famous already? You're gonna win for sure!"

The last two acts came and went to sparse applause. After the last performer stepped down off the stage, the emcee came to the microphone, announcing that in five minutes, the judges would have their decision regarding the preliminary performances. The top eight would return the following night to perform one more time and compete for the grand prize: a record contract.

Garrett returned to the bar for another scotch. There was no sign of Lillian anywhere, but there were no shortage of people coming up and complimenting him on his performance. Even a few kindred, who surely had an idea as to his true nature, patted him on the back.

A few minutes later, all performers were called to the stage. They counted down the finalists based on the judges' scores. Snifter came out as number four, Garrett as number one.

After the announcements and another round of cheers from the audience, Garrett and Snifter made their way downstairs to the rave club where the rest of the Shatters would surely be waiting. After coming out of the elevator, he was stopped by Thornn before he could get to the stairs. Snifter didn't even notice. He bounded across the room and was down the stairs to the rave club before Thornn could open her mouth.

That's okay … she probably didn't have anything to say to him anyway.

"Lillian has sent for you," she said without any semblance of emotion. She didn't seem to be much nicer than the night before. "Come with me."

Garrett did as he was told. He followed Thornn back into the elevator and was ushered into a very posh, comfortable looking office. His guitar was sitting beside what appeared to be a very expensive leather couch. Thornn shut the door behind him and was gone.

For the moment, he was alone. He took in the surroundings briefly and sat down on the couch. Since his guitar was already sitting here, he figured he would be expected to play so he took it out and strummed a little. His heart had already started to beat a little faster than normal. What did she want? After last night, there could be no telling what might happen tonight. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

A door adjacent to the one he'd been led in opened and Lillian entered. She was still in the black evening dress, but the king's ransom that had been around her neck was now gone. She sat down on the couch opposite Garrett, legs crossed.

"Well, Mr. Rainbird, that was certainly quite a performance," she said in a businesslike tone. This was getting confusing. What's with the formalities? Wasn't she calling him by his first name earlier? What gives?

"You actually managed to make me cry with that song of yours," she said, eyes dropping to the floor. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that to me?"

Garrett paused for a moment. "I have a little bit of an idea, yeah. The blood tears were a dead giveaway. But then again, I already knew about that. I just didn't care is all."

She cocked an eyebrow at his statement. "I'll admit, I know what you are as well and did care, having you watched to ascertain whether or not you were a threat. I had Thornn keep a close eye on you. My orders were to kill you immediately if you made a single uncouth move."

It was Garrett's turn to raise an eyebrow. He sat back and visibly relaxed. "I figured. I've played in enough kindred owned establishments to know that it's standard procedure."

Lillian laughed. "That, I am aware of. Your agent made it very clear to us when we spoke. Having you watched was only a preventative measure. I wouldn't even have come into the room with you yesterday evening if I thought you were going to try and kill me."

In an instant, she was all business. "I imagine you would like to know why I summoned you here." He nodded. "I called you into this room to find out if you could do that again … make me cry with your music. Understand; no one has ever done that to me before. Play your song. I want to hear it again."

Garrett picked up the guitar and started playing. For whatever reason, being put on the spot like this had him rattled. He didn't even get to the first chorus before she stopped him.

"What's wrong, Garrett?" she asked. "Do I intimidate you?"

He sat down the guitar and composed himself before answering. "Yes and no. I do feel a little nervous. I can't do something like that just on command. I have to really feel it first and then I am capable of making everyone else feel it too."

"Well then," she said as she reclined back onto the sofa. "Do what you need to do and play it again."

He focused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and his feelings. He was still nervous, but he had managed to put himself at ease for a moment. He picked his instrument back up and began. This time he was right on the money. He could feel that energy swirling around him again. He could feel his woe project itself into the room. He filled the room with it.

He had not paid attention to her reaction since he had started playing. Caught in the moment, he had almost forgotten she was in the room. When he finished his song, he opened his eyes and saw those same blood tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away only to have them replaced almost immediately. It took a few seconds for her to stop the flow of her tears. Garrett sat and watched with curiosity.

Finally, she regained her composure. "Well then," she said as a smile returned to her lips. "We have to celebrate. You did come out on top tonight after all."

With that, she whisked him away to the downstairs rave club. Midnight had already come and gone; the dance floor, the tables and most of the people told its passing with bright fluorescent paint. They made their way to the bar and ordered drinks only this time, he wasn't paying for them. They stood at the bar only briefly, watching the people dance and revel in the night. The Shatters sat at a table across the dance floor.Snifter raised his glass and grinned.

Garrett felt a hand snake up his arm as she moved closer to him. "I have an idea," she nearly whispered in his ear. Her breath felt cool. He was surprised he had actually even heard her say it over the sounds of the club. "Let's go back upstairs where it's quiet. That way we don't have to be disturbed." With the last word of her statement, he felt her lips brush his ear.

At this, Garrett's heart attempted to jump in his throat. The vampire is coming on to me! The absolutely beautiful, filthy rich vampire is coming on to me! God only knows how old she is. Wait a minute, who cares how old she is? She's hot! The inner workings of Garrett's mind almost overloaded with conflicting interests. But she's a vampire. So? She's not human. Who cares? She's unnatural. But she's hot!

"Sure, let's go."

She led him back upstairs to the third floor into the office they had been in previously. She shut the door behind them and turned to face him. He started to speak but she placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. She traced her way from his mouth down his neck and chest. He caressed the side of her face and watched her eyes close as she reacted to it. Her skin felt cool but not cold. He moved in and kissed her. She reacted.

Unbridled passion flowed freely from her just as his sadness had flowed from him when he played his song. He let himself get caught up in it and reveled in it. The room suddenly felt very warm.

After a few moments, she pulled away from him. She started to back away but grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him along with her. She opened the door opposite the one they had entered. It contained, strangely enough, a bedroom.

She led him in and closed the door.