Chapter 10: Power Rush
Disclaimer: All the characters and places belong to their respective creators and owners. I only own my OC and make no money whatsoever out of this.
As soon as the doorbell rang, I rushed to open the door: it was Strauss, coming to pick me up to head to the Conclave together. Behind this logistical decision of his, there had to be some political message to get across, since my apartment was just a few steps away from Nocturne Theatre.
As soon as I met his eyes, I immediately sensed that he was different than usual, and not just because of his particularly formal attire (although Tremere's idea of elegance was always somewhat unconventional): he was probably tense, not that I could blame him. I had been feeling like a nervous wreck myself, ever since waking up from a night of absurd nightmares, and I was not the candidate for Princedom.
"Evening, Max," I murmured with a slight smile.
"Irene," he acknowledged me with a nod and a tired smile of his own. "May I come in? There are some matters I need to explain to you before we head to the Theatre, since walls have hears there."
I nodded in agreement, as I had wired the Theatre with Nosferatu's webcams myself. Apparently he deemed my apartment safer, I wondered if he had had it checked before allowing me to get back in.
"All the Primogen and Elders who are attending will have seats on the stage. I have reserved a place for you in the front row of the assembly," he quietly explained, after I closed the door behind him. "You will be seated at the side of Isaac Abrams."
"The Baron of Hollywood? Why?" I asked, honestly surprised by this choice.
"For the reason that you are on good terms with Abrams, after helping him with that unfortunate Gargoyle problem," he said with a smirk and I chuckled at the irony of his words. Killing that blasted wall of stone had been a feat, even with the Regent's charm, but it had really paid off in the end, especially keeping my mouth shut about Strauss' involvement in the matter.
"That's true, but still… since I openly sided with the Camarilla, I do not know if he is going to be that thrilled to see me."
True: I had saved his precious Ash "I crave for attention and then I cannot handle it" Rivers, twice, plus I had helped out V.V... Maybe a little too much so, seeing as she now kept on sending me poetries that were not only a testament to the fact that not all Toreadors were artistically gifted, but also quite embarrassing, since I was not bisexual. Hell, I was practically not even "sexual" anymore: I had never been a particularly romantic or passionate type, but the last time I had felt… urges and feelings of a certain kind had been the night of my Embrace. And they could have been induced with Domination, so… Well, I just hoped V.V. was simply playing her role for favours… as most Toreadors did: in that case, I had no intention of bursting her bubble and letting her know that it was not effective, quite the opposite.
"Abrams is, on the whole, an intelligent man. In spite of his comprehensible revulsion for LaCroix, he was wise enough to avoid an all-out war and maintain a… tentative truce. I am sure that he will be even more… open to deal with someone who has helped his community on several occasions."
"I see… but, still, although he might not have liked LaCroix, I have reasons to believe that he is not particularly fond of Tremere, in general, and of you, in particular, either," I said as respectfully as I could.
"I am aware of it, and it is the exact reason why I need you to be the bridge between me and Abrams. During your service as LaCroix's agent, you have proved with actions, instead than mere words, that the Camarilla is useful and truly considers all Kindreds as its members, helping them out in their time of need, even if they have turned their backs on the organisation. I know that this has gained you a grudging respect from various members of the Anarchs, and I am sure that it still stands. You are young, Irene, you had a blood hunt on your head with the accusation of having killed their beloved leader… Abrams and the more reasonable members of the Anarchs will not begrudge you for coming to me, instead than risking a walk into the lion's den. You might have… ruffled their feathers a bit, but I am confident you are capable of smoothing them back in place, with some time and effort," he explained with a sly smile.
"So… you believe they will be willing to deal with me, thinking that I will play in their hands and be… exploitable, because of my youth? Maybe that there still might be a hidden Anarch soul, deep inside me?" I asked with a smirk of my own, appraising the possibilities.
"Precisely, but there is more than that… At least for the months to come, it is easy to foresee that you will have all eyes trained on you. Therefore, we might as well kill two birds with one stone. I want you to become the visible symbol of a Camarilla that goes back to its original purpose, not yet polluted by rampant ambitions."
"A symbol?" I half-asked, intrigued. So much for Tremeres not being adept at public relations, because this looked like an incredibly promising marketing idea. Truth to be told, I doubted there was a field that the Regent's mind could not grasp, if he set himself on it. "I see… I will reinforce the idea of change that your administration will embody, if you are elected… Going back to basics, but with a fresh outlook…"
"I had no doubt that you would grasp the potential, although this puts both of us in an extremely delicate position," he trailed off, seemingly expecting me to come up with the conclusions on my own.
"Symbols have to be above reproach… any mistake of mine will resonate and be amplified tenfold… Therefore they will bear repercussions not only on my dignitas, but most especially on your image, so I cannot afford public stumbles," I wrapped up, starting to realise why Strauss had been so adamant in setting his conditions and demanding careful pondering on my part before taking any action. Still, this was just a small element of a much greater design, I could sense it and, even with my best efforts, I was barely able to see the tip of the iceberg. The inner workings of the Regent's mind were far above my reach, he had probably already planned far ahead for the years to come, and I would have to rely on the scraps of information that he decided to share.
"Perfectly summarized, and I trust that it will never leave your mind. Before we go, a few practical indications: you have my authorisation to raise questions to the Conclave, but I recommend you to stay silent, unless asked to step up and talk. It is likely that someone in the assembly may request to interrogate you on the recent events: follow my lead and do not give out any more information than I will have already provided myself… perhaps make up or share some insignificant detail, deflect the question on safer topics, and act as you have thus far. As a general rule, silence is golden: if in doubt, do not speak and I will cover for you."
"Yes, sir. It is crystal clear," I replied with a smile. "You know, I had never noticed before how ironic Primogen Golden's surname is, considering the popular way of saying and the contrast to his… line of work."
That elicited a chuckle from Strauss, who looked slightly more relaxed: I realised that I felt less anxious myself. Probably discussing the practical details had helped exorcising the tension.
Without further ado, we left my apartment and were soon standing near the bus stop, waiting for the green light to signal we could safely cross the street. The customary prostitute, back propped against the bus shelter, kept on staring at us, as I tried to ignore her as much as I could.
"Hey hons, if ya lookin' for fun, I'm open for some… group action," she drawled in what was supposed to be a seductive purr, winking at Strauss who looked positively flabbergasted. Luckily the light at last turned green and we marched forward ignoring her scurrile shouts, as the Regent lost no time in opening the front door of the Theatre and prodding me inside.
"I am sorry you had to be subjected to such a… demeaning display," he murmured with some discomfiture and I had to stifle a laugh: he really did not go out on the streets much these days. That was one of the main problems of the Camarilla: those who ruled it were far detached from the reality the vast majority of Kindred lived in. On the contrary, being streetwise and "reachable" were the strong points of the Anarchs. Still, Strauss seemed to be perfectly aware of this, and his idea of making a "symbol" out of me would also serve the purpose of giving the masses a more "accessible" and tangible manifestation of his ruling.
"I have seen much worse, do not worry," I replied lightly, and it was the absolute truth, in more than one sense. It was a testament of the period Strauss had been raised in that he felt compelled to "protect" me from something like that, while he had no qualms about violence, torture, murders. Truth to be told, it was an idiosyncrasy that still lived on in many levels of our "modern" society.
The Regent did not reply, seemingly lost in thoughts, as he made his way through the well illuminated auditorium to the stage, where most of the Primogen were already gathered, together with other Kindred who had to be Elders, considering their countenance and how the Primogen were all smiles and obsequiousness while talking to them.
"Ah, if it isn't Maximillian, our man!" said Valdez, with the usual face-splitting grin, as everybody turned around to face and acknowledge the Regent, who, in turn, stepped on the stage and proceeded to the customary round of greetings and pleasantries.
As I quietly headed to the front row, though, their eyes focused on me and I bowed as a general greeting, grateful for the fact that Kindred could not sweat: I felt like the proverbial fish out of water, or better, like a little fish accustomed to living in a bowl, that had been suddenly dropped out in the open ocean.
"May I introduce Irene Wilson?" Strauss provided, gesturing to me, and I straightened myself back up. I was simply astonished to discover that, judging by their reactions, my name seemed to be well-known to all the Elders in attendance. Rumours travel fast, indeed.
"Miss Wilson, we meet at last," said an austere looking lady, who exuded an air of ancient nobility: a Ventrue Elder, without doubt.
"Being in your presence is a great honour, milady," I replied, bowing again, deeply, and then straightening myself fully, my back hoisted in my best dignified stance, meeting her icy blue eyes. They seemed to be piercing through me, but I did not waver.
"Primogen Cutteridge has extensively narrated us of your achievements," she finally stated, looking at the man himself, who, in turn, was regarding me in a way that, by an external spectator, would have probably been defined "warm", for his standards. This had to mean two things: firstly that LaCroix really had some good dirt to dig on him, and the Regent had been very proficient at exploiting it; secondly, that Cutteridge could be an excellent actor, when his life and dignitas were at stake. I was truly relieved that Anne MacKenna had not arrived yet: it did not take a genius to imagine what she would have been dying to say.
"Aldrich, I trust that we shall have the occasion to better acquaint ourselves with Miss Wilson during the upcoming gathering."
What gathering was she talking about?
"Most certainly," Cutteridge replied with a smile: he should give up on doing it, really, more than gentle or pleased, he looked constipated… Aldrich Cutteridge… even the name sounded cold and foreboding, like a razor. It suited him.
I heard steps behind me and everyone's attention focused on the newcomer: Isaac Abrams, followed by V.V., actually clothed, for once, and a slightly tremulous Ash Rivers. His face had healed, his spirit evidently not, and I wondered if it ever would. His Childer slipped in two vacant places in the fourth row, V.V. not so subtly winking at me and… blowing a kiss to Strauss? Unexpectedly, this triggered a flashback of the night of my Embrace: I remembered her doing exactly the same, as he was standing on the gallery. Weird, what kind of ridiculous details the brain could store when you thought you were going to die: I had noticed them because of her strange hair colour and his… peculiar appearance. The Regent responded with so stern a glare that both Cutteridge and the Ventrue Elder's ones paled in comparison. Unsurprisingly, this only seemed to please V.V.: I wondered if there was a back-story to this, and decided that, for my well-being, I should better not try to find out.
I was brought back from my reverie as Abrams, after a perfunctory greeting to the Elders, approached me. It was time to play my part.
"Irene," he drawled expressionlessly.
"Baron Abrams, I am glad to see you again," I said with my best smile, adding in a lower voice: "And that Ash is alive and well, more or less."
"Me too," he replied with a strained smile of his own. Ash was his soft spot, and was indebted with me. I would not call him on it directly, but a subtle reminder, concealed behind concern, would serve the purpose.
"Perhaps you should pay us a visit one of these days," he suggested, and I got that the "us" included Rivers. Evidently he did not wish to discuss this in public, which was exactly what I wanted: a chance to tie the ropes of this bridge, privately.
"I will," I said, my attention getting caught by the Elders, who were getting seated: apparently they had all arrived, at last, and the Conclave would start soon. The auditorium was also getting quite full: I had never seen so many Kindred gathered together.
"We should probably get to our places," I said, heading for the chair which had a piece of paper with my name scribbled on it pinned on the back: Strauss was surely meticulous.
Abrams had just settled down, a bit reluctantly, at my right, when an unknown male Ventrue, looking to be in his mid-thirties, unpinned the note on the place at my left and settled himself down, without a word. As soon as his eyes fell on the nametag in my hand, though, he turned to me with an inquisitive expression.
"Richard Hopkins," he pronounced, indicating his own nametag, which only confirmed the obvious. "I am director of the personnel at Venture tower, well… at least for now."
"Mr Hopkins, it is a pleasure meeting you," I said with a smile, wondering why Strauss had placed him besides me, and, moreover, why he did not seem hostile, since his job was at stake because of me. What was to become of the LaCroix Foundation, with its namesake gone?
I had no time to ponder over this or to try to have some answers, though, because Strauss took a microphone from a small table and got to the centre of the stage, raising his hand to request silence. I decided that the fact that he was heading the debate had to be a good sign, or so I hoped.
"My fellow Kindred, I thank you for your attendance and participation at this Conclave…" he started speaking, easily commanding attention. "...That represents a turning point for our community, seeing as tonight we are going to elect the new Prince of Los Angeles."
The audience started murmuring as the rumours that LaCroix had left his post found confirmation. A few hands raised in the assembly, asking for permission to raise a question, Isaac Abrams' included.
"Baron Abrams," Strauss said, gesturing for him to speak. Not wanting to give the Anarchs the pretext to claim they had been gagged?
"I think I speak on behalf of the whole assembly in asking to know what was of LaCroix and what happened in the last few nights," he declared, while practically everybody nodded.
"Yes, it is a fair request, in fact we had every intention of addressing this subject before proceeding with the election," the Regent replied unfazed. "In truth, we were extremely hesitant about sharing the details of the recent events… I am sure the reasons why will be clear in a moment. In the end, though, considering the unpleasant speculations which have spread through the city like a wildfire, we decided that it would be in the best interest of everyone involved, most especially of the absent, to dissipate any doubts and give a full report."
Strauss took a breath, as if pained, and started recounting the events, or better, the clever tale he had fabricated.
"This is the sad story of a Prince who, feeling betrayed by the person closest to him, attacked by the Anarchs who believed he were involved in their leader's murder, feeling his control on the Camarilla slipping because of his recent controversial behaviour and driven to desperation by the Kuei-Jin breathing on his neck, stumbled in a trap set by Ming Xiao, a shrewd Kuei-Jin Priestess," the Regent spoke in a lulling, almost hypnotic voice, although laced with heaviness and some discomfort.
"The night after the… incident in Griffith Park, disguising herself as Irene Wilson, Ming Xiao purposefully let herself be intercepted and followed by LaCroix's emissaries, making them believe that she – or better Ms Wilson – would spend a few nights in a shack on the outskirts of LA, waiting for the waters to still before contacting her Kuei-Jin allies," he continued in an even more solemn tone, looking in my direction. A lot of heads in the assembly did the same, and I could hear whispers.
"Providentially, I was in LaCroix's office when he received these news, since he had wanted me to… investigate with our methods, some of Ms Wilson's belongings, that he had recovered from her abandoned haven. The circumstances of her sighting sounded quite suspicious to me, not only because the whole story of Ms Wilson turning traitor had not convinced me from the beginning, but also since I believed that, had she truly been consorting with the Kuei-Jin, she should already have been hiding and well-protected in their headquarters in China Town. Before the blood hunt had been called, she had had ample time and opportunity to do so."
"Therefore, feeling this turn of the events was far too convenient to be true, I tried to repeatedly warn LaCroix against taking rash moves, but… sadly he did not heed my advices, probably because of our… not quite idyllic relationship. Unable to convince him, I finally resigned myself to head back to my Chantry, my steps heavy with worry. Imagine my surprise when nobody but Irene Wilson herself, the very woman who was supposed to be hiding in some hut on the other side of the city, appeared at my door, pledging her innocence and asking to hear her out. Knowing LaCroix and his… inclination to impulsiveness, she had not dared to go to Venture Tower directly. She claimed she had been framed by the Kuei-Jin, who had set a fire in Griffith Park to draw out the Werewolves: Mr Rodriguez had been attacked and dragged down the hill, while she had been chased for a few minutes, until she finally managed to get rid of her pursuer with a clever move. Unable to find Rodriguez, she had gone back to safety, only to discover that she had been accused of the most heinous of crimes."
More murmurs went through the audience, as the Regent took a pause and approached the place where Gary was seated.
"The investigative means at my disposal seemed to confirm her sincerity, which was unquestionably demonstrated when I received a call from Primogen Golden. He told me that he had finally been able to retrieve and watch the tapes from the security cameras at Griffith Park, which we had believed to have been destroyed by the fire. The Nosferatu assigned to recover them had vanished… we had assumed the worst, but he had just reappeared, a bit worse for the wear but nonetheless alive, bringing the tapes with him. I asked him why he was informing me of this, instead of the Prince, and he replied that he had tried to, but the receptionist had told him that LaCroix was not available for the night. Since he had reasons to believe that Ms Wilson had come to me…" he trailed off, while Gary confirmed his words with a nod and what was probably his idea of a smug smirk, though, considering the state of his mouth and lips, it was hard to tell. One thing was sure: Gary came out way better in the Regent's tale than in the original "take" of this story.
"Having ascertained Ms Wilson's innocence, the fact that LaCroix was unreachable fuelled my fears. I related to her of her supposed sighting by the Prince emissaries and we both came to the same alarming conclusion, as she confirmed Ming Xiao's talent at shape-shifting: she had turned into Nines Rodriguez in front of her own two eyes, in a rather clever attempt to sway her by her side, making her doubt her Prince and turning Kindred against each other. Ironically, Ms Wilson's integrity in warning LaCroix and exonerating Nines Rodriguez from Grout's murder, only served the purpose of planting seeds of distrust in his mind, which bloomed after the Griffith Park's incident."
I heard a few gasps from the audience, evidently they had now figured out what trap the Regent was speaking about. Strauss surely knew how to make up a story, detailed enough to be credible, but not too much so as to be suspicious: "Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta".
"I tried to contact LaCroix myself, but received the same answer… Fearing that, blinded by fury and thirst for vengeance, he had walked into the lion's den, I summoned a few of my most trusted and valorous of men and headed to the location of this shack, instructing Ms Wilson to wait at the Chantry, since she still had a bloodhunt on her head and I did not wish to compromise our position."
"When we finally arrived there, a raging battle was in place: the Sheriff was surrounded by several Kuei-Jin warriors and, despite his ferocious fighting, appeared badly wounded. A few ghoul soldiers, dressed in full assault gear laid on the grass, seemingly dead, but neither LaCroix nor Xiao were anywhere to be seen. We tried to aid the Sheriff, but he had sustained too much damage and he collapsed and met his Final Death shortly after, with the meagre consolation of taking two Kuei-Jin down with him. Amidst the confusion, I spotted the aura of a ghoul soldier, hiding behind some shrubbery, severely injured. Luckily, he was still able to speak and explain me that LaCroix had never left the tower, changing his mind at the last minute. My worries slightly assuaged, I asked him if he had seen Ms Wilson or Ming Xiao, but he had not. The fact that she had not bothered to put in an appearance did not add up and I was hit by a dreadful presentiment, as what the receptionist had told me suddenly gained a new significance. LaCroix was not available for the night, yet he was still in the Tower and, more importantly, he was more vulnerable than usual, since his Sheriff and several members of his security had left…"
The entire assembly was hanging on his every word, as he took a breath and shifted his gaze between me and Primogen Golden. I wondered where he was heading with this story, to add all of these twists he surely had some purpose in mind.
"I realised that maybe we had been approaching this problem from the wrong side, as they say, if the mountain will not come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain. I called Primogen Golden, telling him we were in an emergency and asking him if there had been any suspicious or peculiar movements around the Tower, especially regarding LaCroix or the Sheriff. After a few minutes he reported that LaCroix had apparently not moved from the tower, while the Sheriff had been seen leaving with a dozen of guards through the sewer entrance, but after a short time he had returned, this time with only three sentries in tow and had not left the building since."
Now the murmurs turned into full talk, as everybody had guessed what this meant, Strauss repeatedly called for silence and soon the comments dwindled down.
"I think it is evident to all of you who this second Sheriff was and for a moment I thought all hope was lost. I was miles away from Downtown, it would take quite some time for me to reach the Tower and, even then, I knew I would have to force my way through the security. Moreover, there was a high chance that the Prince was already dead. There was only one last, desperate option: I called the Chantry and rapidly explained the problem to Ms Wilson. She did not hesitate for a second and headed to the Tower, fully aware of the incredible risks she was taking and that she may lose her life to try and save the man who had put a death sentence on her head. Meanwhile, I did what was in my power: I rejoined the dwindling battle, helping my men killing the last Kuei-Jin and subsequently we headed at full speed towards the Tower."
This was pure genius: Strauss had built a story that explained the raid to LaCroix's headquarter and the traces it had left behind, in case some of the soldiers or the Ventrues suspected something or any security footage leaked out. The best lies were based on the truth, and I wondered if he was going to do something similar about my incursion at the Temple, especially considering that I had eliminated most of the Kuei-Jin. Could it be that other elements he had included in his tale had been based on real happenings and were hence verifiable with solid evidence too?
"Once we reached our destination, we had to silently sneak past a full platoon of ghouls in assault gear, and, from time to time, I could see some reassuring traces of Ms Wilson's passage. At long last, we reached the Penthouse: the antechamber was stained with blood and there were clear signs of a great struggle. Rushing to LaCroix's office, we found him lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, a stake through his heart and brutally tortured. I took out the stake and asked him about Ms Wilson and Xiao whereabouts: although his whispers were barely perceptible, I gathered that she was supposedly fighting the Priestess in the Antechamber. I left one of my men to administer the first aid and, following the clues, we reached the rooftop just in time to see her dealing the final blows to a giant monster: Ming Xiao's ultimate form. I assisted Ms Wilson, who was shaken and exhausted, in returning to the Penthouse. LaCroix's injures were extremely severe, although he did not seem in immediate danger of death and, since his headquarters were clearly not secure anymore we decided to carry him to the protection of our Chantry for further examinations and treatments."
Silence enshrouded the Theatre, as my admiration and my fear of the Regent simultaneously increased tenfold: he had an explanation for everything, overturning any possible rumour in his favour. He did not even need his remarkable powers to be dangerous: his brain was truly his best weapon.
"While we were waiting for LaCroix to recover, we decided that it would be a folly not to seize this opportunity and give the Kuei-Jin a taste of their own medicine, since they had been beheaded and weakened. Ms Wilson infiltrated their alleged Temple, eliminating most of the remaining warriors. It is easy to foresee that they will send other delegations eventually, but, at least for the time coming, the Camarilla and all the Kindred population will benefit from some respite on that front."
I could hear exclamations of approval and relief, as Abrams was starting to twist on his chair and pull on his tie: this night was probably turning out to be very different from what he had hoped or imagined.
"At last, I was able to question LaCroix about his ordeal. He explained to me that Xiao, in her Sheriff disguise, had taken him by surprise and staked him before he could react. After that, she had impersonated him and called the receptionist, cutting off all outside connections, making sure he would not receive calls or visits and had tortured him in an attempt to extort the secrets of our community and our Kind. She was probably aiming to destroy us from within. He refused to comply, preferring an honourable death to betraying our Blood, but Xiao persisted and he tried to endure: fortunately Ventrues are extremely resilient. In the end, though, he could sense that Xiao was growing impatient and would soon finish him off, and it was then that Ms Wilson came to the rescue. Ming Xiao made one last attempt to persuade her to switch sides, offering her power and wealth, and… well, LaCroix assured me that the Priestess did not like to hear, or better… feel Ms Wilson's answer."
A few people in the assembly chuckled, and the Regent allowed himself a smile, but then his expression regained a sombre look.
"LaCroix healed relatively fast, from a physical point of view, but, as you can well imagine, the blow to his spirit was harder to withstand. We maintained a veil of secrecy to protect him and allow him time and space to take the necessary choices without pressures. In the end, he decided that he had had enough and did not feel up to the task anymore. Consequently he resigned from his post, perhaps to find greener pastures in… less contested and demanding territories. I will not give out further details on his wellbeing and on his personal decisions, in view of the fact that I believe that they are strictly private and of no concern for our community or pertinent with the reason for our gathering tonight."
I had to restrain a chuckle: he had basically hinted that LaCroix was not fit for the role, from the very beginning (and had even realised it himself in the end) and that he was a coward who had run away after creating a big mess he could not handle. Then he had added a coating of compassion to murk the waters a bit, but even by refusing to give up the details, he was implying that they would be extremely embarrassing for LaCroix. Abrams rolled his eyes and raised his hand, but we were all startled by a familiar voice, shouting on top of his lungs that this was all bullshit. I immediately knew who it was: he really had a liking for this particular swearword and, as I turned around, my intuition was confirmed. Nines Rodriguez was standing near the last row of seats, Damsel and Skelter restraining him: some things never changed.
There were several gasps and cries of surprise between the assembly, since Nines was still publicly believed to be dead. Despite the ruckus, I could hear Cutteridge and some of the Elders protesting with the Regent that this was not acceptable and that, since Nines had spoken without permission, he should be thrown out, but Strauss, apparently unperturbed, raised a hand and asked for silence.
"Ah, if it isn't our dear Mr Rodriguez, back to the land of the un-living and not a moment to soon, I would dare say," Strauss stated in his calmest of tone, a slight smile on his lips.
"Yeah, just in time to hear this pile of crap," Nines bellowed, and even from this distance I could perceive that his fists were clenched and he was fuming. "We all know that it was that fucking Napoleon wannabe who set up me and the kid, probably with the help of his buddy Eastern whore. They wanted to get rid of us Anarchs, as they did with our last leader, but we have nine lives and we know better than to buy these shitty excuses. Dunno what kind of power trip went down between you Cammies, how you kicked LaCroix outta LA or in what kind of dump he is now hiding his sorry French ass, but I can smell crap and your story stinks more than a dead sewer rat left out in the sun for a month!"
"As fond as I am of your sense of humour and flair for creative analogies, Mr Rodriguez, you are making some exceedingly severe accusations. I trust you are able to provide solid evidence to back up your claims, and to tell us exactly what happened in the last few nights," Strauss uttered, perfectly composed, with a raised eyebrow, despite the fact that Nines had hit so dangerously close to home.
"I… I…" Nines seemed hesitant, he probably had just head-charged without thinking it through, typical Brujah, although he was still more controlled than most members of his Clan. "Of course I don't! You've probably erased or hidden them in the same hole LaCroix's dug in, but I know I am right!"
"Mr Rodriguez, should we follow this line of reasoning, every single crime could be potentially pinned on the Camarilla, or on everyone else, for that matter. The fairies have destroyed the evidence," Strauss drawled in a mocking tone, as I could hear some snickers from the audience: Nines had many qualities, but logic and debate were not his strong points. He could make charismatic speeches, but in a verbal contradictory with a man like Strauss, he simply had no chances. Even Abrams had his head in his hand, probably to avoid seeing more of this disaster. Nines seemed to be ready to burst, and I hoped for him he did not do something foolish and that his friends would restrain him long enough: one wrong move now and he was dead meat.
"As I am seeing it, Mr Rodriguez, there is only one thing that is certain and irrefutable: the fact that you pretended to be dead for more than a week, when I have concrete proof that you were not in such terribly bad a shape when you left Griffith Park. I may understand the instinct to save your hide, but in order to preserve your personal safety you did not only almost get Ms Wilson killed, even though she had risked her reputation and her life to exonerate you from the bloodhunt on your head, but, more importantly, you put our entire community, not to mention our whole race in a terrible danger. Had you at least deigned yourself to let know you were alive and that Ms Wilson was not a traitor, we would not have risked to be annihilated by the Kuei-Jin. Unless, of course, that was your deliberate intent: letting us exterminate each others as you watched from the sidelines, hoping to regain power for yourselves," Strauss concluded, in a tone so harsh that it was chilling. I could not believe he had managed to turn the table against the Anarchs to this extent: he had taken a desperate situation for the Camarilla and transformed it in an occasion to discredit the Anarchs in front of the whole population. He was accusing them of the very same misdeeds that were at the core of their anti-Camarilla propaganda: putting their personal gains above the community's best interests and being blinded by their hunger for power.
The assembly erupted in frantic conversations, as Abrams visibly shrank in his seat and, looking at Nines and comrades, they seemed frozen on the spot. There was something about their demeanour that made me suspect that, perhaps, the Regent's allegations could actually be closer to the truth than I, and possibly even Strauss, had ever dared to imagine. This was extremely interesting, and something to explore at a later time. At long last the talk dwindled down and Strauss dealt his final blow.
"In this case, did you stop to consider that even if the Kuei-Jin defeated the Camarilla, afterwards they might have been perfectly capable of destroying your faction and the whole Kindred community of LA, for that matter? That they are numerous and have millions of Kine under their control ready to embark for our city, while your numbers are extremely limited? That without our help they would have already gained control of the City? How did you think it would be different this time?"
The protests and discussions in the assembly became even more animated, almost deafening. Abrams was now practically glowering at Nines and the others and he whispered something that sounded suspiciously like "idiots". I was sure he knew about Nines being alive, but perhaps he had not wished for him to draw this kind of attention on himself or to make his reappearance now. Suddenly the logistic arrangements made even more sense: I would not put it past the Regent to have foreseen that something of this sort would happen and to have been planning to create a rift between the "more reasonable" Anarchs, as he had called Abrams, and the others.
At long last, Nines budged from his unmoving position, turned on his heels and stalked out of the Theatre, Damsel and Skelter stumbling behind him. Someone cheered and some others shouted something equivalent to "good riddance": some Kindred truly were easily swayed, or better awfully willing to jump on the winning side. Most of the audience was still discussing, or in a stunned silence, but the seeds of doubt had been planted, and, as the doors of the theatre slammed close, I simply knew that Strauss had just won this election and was the new Prince of Los Angeles. Unless the Elders were insane, of course.
"Are there any other questions?" Strauss asked, once again imperturbable.
I tried my hardest to stifle a laugh as nobody dared to even breath, let alone raise a hand, likely fearing to undergo the same fate as Nines.
"Very well, then we may proceed with the election," he proclaimed, turning to the Elders and the other Primogen who nodded in agreement. The Ventrue Elder lady stepped up and the Regent handed her the microphone and sat down.
"I invite any Kindred who desire to candidate themselves for the Position of Prince to stand up," she said, but of course it was a rhetorical phrase: I seriously doubted anyone in the assembly would ever dare to, unless they were crazy. Strauss stood up again and I bit my lip to avoid a smirk as I saw that all the other potential candidates on stage remained glued to their chairs.
"Primogen Strauss, before we evaluate your application, it would be in your rights to give a brief speech to explicate why we should appoint you as the new Prince of this city," she declared, her tone implying that it was hardly necessary: he had been doing that since the beginning of this Conclave, besides there weren't other competitors. I allowed myself an internal smile as I imagined Strauss in a sort of beauty pageant "vote for me speech", declaring he wanted to solve global warming, prevent the deforestation, save all the endangered species and ensure world peace.
"I thank you for this opportunity, but I would rather let facts speak for me," the Regent replied in a confident but not arrogant tone. "I just wish to clarify that, should I be nominated, my mission will be to carry our Community and our city through this moment of great instability and uncertainty, to make Los Angeles a safer place, where Kindred do not have to worry about Jihad on a daily basis. Once I feel that this objective has been fully accomplished, I will gladly retire from my post."
Murmurs coursed through the audience, and they seemed to be appreciative. The Ventrue Elder called for silence and then turned to face the other members of the Conclave.
"It is now time to cast our vote: to ensure transparency and accountability, it is customary to openly disclose our preference. Hence, if you deem Primogen Strauss worthy of the title of Prince, please raise your right hand. Since he is the only voluntary candidate, in order for the election to be valid, he will need a qualified majority of at least two thirds. He will have to abstain from casting his vote. Should he receive an insufficient number of preferences, every member of the Conclave will be called to stand and declare the name of another fellow member who they consider to be the most suitable candidate in our midst. The two Kindred who will collect the highest amount of votes will then undergo a final ballot, and the winner will be appointed as the new Prince of Los Angeles."
Every member of the Conclave nodded in assent and I felt the tension enveloping the whole Theatre, as she gestured that it was time for the first round of voting. The first hands to be raised were Voerman's (unsurprisingly) and Raoul's, then someone who was probably a Tremere Elder, followed by Cutteridge (who was almost certainly dying inside, although smiling on the outside) and, little by little, one by one, a forest of arms stood up to attention. I guessed that most of them did not want to risk being humiliated by Strauss in the final ballot. Those few Elders who had yet to do so, were looking around furtively, doubtlessly to evaluate if the majority had been reached, and, in the end, they all joined the "forest" and the winning side.
An unanimous triumph: I felt my chest burst with a mixture of powerful emotions that I could not exactly make out, although the most prominent one was joy. Strauss appeared as collected as always, but, as our eyes met, I could see a twinkle in his eyes that betrayed his contentment.
"Brothers of Los Angeles, I present to you Prince Maximillian Strauss," the Ventrue Elder proclaimed and I joined the round of applauses that rose from the audience. Even Abrams was clapping his hands, although with the enthusiasm of someone who is carried to the gallows.
"I hereby declare this Conclave concluded, I thank you for your participation," Strauss pronounced at last, as the applauses dwindled down. Some people in the assembly started to stand up and head towards the exit: Abrams lost no time in uttering his greetings and doing so, not that I could blame him.
Strauss was busy saluting and thanking the various Elders and Primogen and I did not know if I should stay or leave.
"It has been quite a night," Mr Hopkins declared at my side, and I turned to him, having forgotten about his presence.
"Indeed," I replied with a slight smile, unsure about how he truly felt about a Tremere Prince.
"I guess we will see each other again very soon, Ms Wilson, until then," he declared and, although I did not know exactly what he meant, I nodded and bid him good morning as he left.
"Irene," I heard a familiar voice behind my back and turned around, to see Strauss standing near me. I could practically sense that he was gloating on the inside, although he was very good at masking it.
"Prim… Prince Strauss, my homage," I said, bowing: it would take some time to get used to the new title. As I stood back up, I could bet that Strauss was restraining from smiling or perhaps even chuckling.
"Thank you," he murmured, and from his tone I knew that he was expressing his appreciation about my contribution during the emergency and his campaign.
"It's been a pleasure, sir. I guess I will get going and… leave you to your obligations," I replied, hinting at the row of Kindred waiting for his attention and a chance to flatter the new man in charge.
"Rest well, Irene," he replied with a slight smile, as he got back to experimenting the first taste of the "joys" of Princedom.
I headed out of the theatre feeling much lighter, extremely grateful and almost astonished that in the last week everything had for once gone more or less exactly as planned: a record, considering that the fates had been tormenting me for the last two years... I hoped it would last.
I closed the door of my apartment behind me, plopped on the couch and kicked off my high heeled shoes, grateful for the fact that Kindred healed quickly: as a Kine those instruments of torture would have given me blisters for days. I had really come to relish these brief moments of solitude in my haven: they were the only times when I was allowed to let my guard down and be myself. Here I was not required to be perfect, or at least to act as if I were.
I felt my eyes slowly drooping closed and I forcefully dragged myself off the couch and up the stairs. As I was taking the last step a familiar noise almost made me stumble: a new email. Taking a deep breath and mentally chastising myself for my irrational nerves, I approached the computer: I was once again perfectly awake.
As soon as I saw that the sender was unfamiliar, I felt a clog at my throat. Opening the mail, I found two pictures: the first one was of a familiar looking chimney smoking white, while the second one depicted a newly elected Pope saluting the crowd after the end of the Conclave and the proclamation. I recognised him as John Paul I, the Pope who had reigned for about a month, before dying under unclear circumstances that had given birth to many conjectures about conspiracies, murder and the likes.
The message was clear and it made me wonder about how fast the news travelled these days: could it be that LaCroix had some contact in the Conclave? One of the Elders, perhaps… Secondly, since the Pope symbolised Strauss, why was he sending this to me? Well, probably threatening a new Prince directly was not the best of ideas, but even indirectly… No, this was not about Strauss, it was about exploiting my fears, since if he fell, I would almost certainly go down with him. Still, what was he hoping to get from these creative minatory mails, besides the modest satisfaction of messing with my mind a bit? The truth was, though, that this new mail had not managed to hit me as much as the first one had: things get old fast and, although I was not exactly thrilled, I wasn't as scared as I had imagined I would be.
In any case, since there was now no doubt in my mind that it was from LaCroix, I had to choose how to act. Ignoring it like I had done with the first one, not giving it – and him – importance and hoping he would get tired and desist? Perhaps… Telling Strauss about this? No, it would still be unreasonable: he had too much going on to be disturbed with these small problems. Or maybe…
Using Google I searched for the best image I could find that portrayed Napolen's death in Saint Helena. Selecting one, I hit the reply button and enclosed it in the mail, sending it as it was, without any text. A gentle reminder of what he was risking if he kept this up. Two could play at this game, right?
A/N: A looong chapter, I do not know why but Camarilla meetings tend to take a lot of pages to write, at least for me. I am very unsure about this chapter, truth to be told, on one hand I love it, on the other I don't, let me know what you think… We have Strauss in full glory here, but the hard work for him (and for Irene) is only getting started: as LaCroix says, the really difficult thing is not to obtain power, but to maintain power ;)
An enormous thank you to Pagan Witch, Olivia, sister-b, Loving Companion Cube, rednightmare and StrangeoneXD (yes, we are just at the beginning and, as I hinted at in the chapter Irene is not going to have everything going according to her plan, quite the opposite, do not worry) for your reviews: I am amazed by all the feedback, and it is really a great incentive, especially since it is exams time.
My gratitude to all the readers old and new!
A very special thank you to Loving Companion Cube who took some time out from her "visits" to Scotland to help me and reassure me about this Chapter and for throwing wonderful inspirations my way for future developments: you are not only incredibly talented, but also extremely generous.