The rain felt good against my skin. It fell in heavy, icy drops that struck against my bare flesh and made me feel alive. Alive, it was a strange sensation, one I had suffered for a few months now but never been able to enjoy or appreciate. Even now I had little desire for the life I had once again been rewarded with, I was too vulnerable as a mortal, weak to the voices as well as the many afflictions that plagued humans.

"Ariadne?"

His voice was soft, barely audible against the roar of the rain. He was reluctant to disturb me but fearful of leaving me. As a mortal I could be subject to a cold, fever or worse from standing in the cold rain for too long. It would be selfish of me to subject myself to sickness when I had only just been cured. Although, I did not think cured was quite the word. Bishop Vick's sickness might be removed from me but his touch had left its mark and I would never forget it. A week I had been recovering and yet I had still not ventured to see my attacker. He was allegedly cured too, a triumph of the blood wizard's but I had my doubts. He survived at Strauss' behest, part of his bargain with Isaac I had learned. I knew why Isaac had made the bargains he had made but I did not have to like it.

Isaac stepped up to me, grey blazer off and held out in a hopeful gesture. I couldn't deny it so I accepted the blazer and tugged it about my shoulders before slipping my arms through sleeves far too long for me.

"I never feel like me anymore," I said softly, "I'm Sarah in body but not in mind, Ariadne in mind but not in body and the vampire mind is plagued by vampire thoughts in the desert." I reached up to my brow with my right hand and pressed a damp palm against it. "The pain is numb but the images are always present, they won't leave me until I find them but I don't know what will happen then, will they devour this fly?"

"No," Isaac answered firmly as he reached out a hand to stroke my cheek gently, "I will never allow that."

I stepped closer to him and gifted him with a smile. Tall, proud, stoic Toreador, handsome and subdued, not the type to be paired with a mad young woman unrefined in culture and ever darting between phases of chaos and darkness and yet here we were.

"I love you," I confessed, "but I don't know what it means anymore, if it's selfish of me to burden you with the affections of a mortal spoiled in the mind and body."

His lips brushed against mine, warm from a recent feed and still faint with the copper taste of blood. I responded, eager to feel the touch of another who wanted me out of love, who desired to please me rather than control me, to adore me rather than hurt me. I wanted to feel something other than pain and confusion, I wanted this distraction. I reached for his belt hastily and for once he didn't stop me. I was surprised that the Baron was allowing a crude rendezvous on the streets and wondered if he has missed my touch this past while as much as I had missed his.

I jumped and he readied to catch me, his bare palms grasping at my buttocks under the folds of my skirt before he pressed me against a brick wall for support. I grinned and wrapped my arms about his neck before pulling his head forward forcefully, burrowing it against my breasts through a gap in my shirt.

I felt Isaac's hunger heighten as my pulse beat faster bringing my blood closer to the surface. Death, immortality, vampirism, with just a little prompting I could have it. I leaned my head back against the wall to expose my throat with a moan as I parted my legs about Isaac and welcomed his presence inside me. He kissed around my throat but he didn't bite me, he never would unless I asked it but I didn't think I could. I wanted to be Kindred again but I couldn't be a Toreador. The madness combined with the poetry might make an antitribu of me, a clan member gone rogue, perhaps even dancing to the side of the Sabbat.

I closed my eyes and kept my head tipped back to enjoy the fall of the rain upon them. I abandoned my woes to pleasure as Isaac moved faster against me. It felt good again, it hadn't felt good for so long. The Baron had had centuries of perfecting the techniques, an unfair advantage at times and a wonderful benefit at others. I gripped his hair with my left hand and sank my right hand down his back, pulling him closer against me as I kissed him deeply on the lips and licked at the minute blood droplets on his tongue.

"Faster," I pleaded as the rush of pleasure neared. It had been so long since I had last enjoyed sex and I wondered would I ever enjoy it again with Isaac or would this business with the Aralu rip us apart. I let out a cry of delight as I orgasmed but realised quickly with a pang of sorrow that it wasn't what it had been when I was Malkavian. As a vampire I had been more reckless and Isaac had been able to be more careless with me, my body wasn't so fragile as a vampire and it could move faster. I had more energy too and could last longer but as a human my body spent quicker.

I sagged against the Baron with a pleasurable sigh and allowed him to lower me back to the ground. He was swift in composing himself, taking care to smooth down the wrinkles in his clothes and push his stray hairs back into place, ever the perfect Toreador.

I wobbled slightly on my feet and accepted his hand, allowing him to pull me back to the town house we took refuge in. It was to be our last night here before we all departed on a lengthy journey to Egypt where four ancients supposedly lay in slumber. As for who we all was that was interesting- myself and Isaac of course, Strauss because that was part of the deal, my beloved master Beckett, Anatole because he gave us no choice, Rob because he wouldn't leave me, Damsel because she wouldn't leave him and Romero because he was Isaac's ghoul. I assumed Kent was coming too and Heather as his ghoul but there was no confirmation of this, Yukie was also an unknown factor and no one had discussed La Croix in my presence.

I wondered too about the ones left in Hollywood- V.V, Ash and Ginger- Hollywood was safe since we had left. The Tzimisce had departed in our wake avoiding war on the starry streets. Order had been restored with ease and even the hunters had backed off, pursuing the more dangerous Sabbat as they stood out just a little more than the preened Toreadors. I missed the Toreadors and Hollywood, I missed Ash's scorn, Ginger's gentle mannerisms as she overlooked my oddities and smiled with affection at the weird things I did, adoring me because Isaac did, and even V.V's way with words as dominated with lips and hips rather than brute strength. They were a formidable trio and I felt a little lost without them even if they didn't like me.

Mostly I felt lost without Kent. I wanted his snark, his sarcastic scorn, the roll of his eyes and his blunt curses that were so unbecoming of a Toreador but so very Kent. I missed his consoling too, the way he would sigh and reluctantly hug me or pat me on the way, ever the unwilling brother. It was unfair on Rob that I found a better relationship with Kent but Rob was angry, violent and sharp tongued, he cared but he wouldn't risk showing it again. Rob had lost too much in life, which was why he stayed with Damsel, she alone could accept him, she had a way of sharing of rage and even a way of calming it. Damsel liked rough love, for her there was nothing else and like Rob she wanted another. Rob wanted his dead wife, Damsel wanted Nines, they were unrequited but at least least with each other they weren't alone.

"Did you really think you could take off to find four antediluvians and it would escape my notice?"

We entered the town house to the haughty, scolding voice of a newcomer. I bristled warily and instinctively shrank back behind Isaac. Once I would have boldly skipped forward, curious and unafraid, but my experiences with the Bishop had made me cautious and all too fearful of my vulnerability.

"I had hoped as much, yes," my master answered dryly.

"Always the serious one," I heard Anatole scorn. "And a snake, a paranoid, filthy snake, serpent Judas!"

"Yes because you have avoided our clan's paranoia so well," the stranger retorted sardonically.

"I knew master collected the mad," I said smugly.

I felt Isaac's golden gaze upon me and glanced up to see him frowning with disapproval. "Are you suggesting we have another Malkavian in our midst?" he queried wearily.

I nodded with a smile. "If the top hat fits," I retorted confidently.

Isaac continued to lead the way up the narrow hall, following the voice into a small lounge room on the right where Beckett, Anatole and the stranger had taken refuge. Anatole was occupied with exchanging glowers with the head of the bearskin rug as he paced over its skinned back and almost slipped twice whilst Beckett was standing, arms crossed and looking heatedly at the new arrival who was glancing up at a painting of a field of cows.

"I always wonder what cows think," I said quietly as Isaac led me into the room.

"Rebellion," Anatole answered confidently, "one day the milk will sour and then they will know vengeance."

I realised at the silence that followed that I was missing the sarcastic scorn of Kent. The poet had been silent and sombre since Jezebel's attack on him and despite being healed from it he still chose solitude in the basement save for when he had to feed and then he either fed on Heather in a quick and unfeeling matter or he hunted with Rob and Damsel.

"Well at least I have some master of our curse," the stranger said frostily as his dark stare fell on me, "although you should too given you are mostly free of it."

"Mostly?" Beckett echoed.

"Beckett any fool can see that girl still bears the marks of Malkav, mortal or no," the man scorned.

I felt a burn of annoyance rush through me and realised it was Beckett's annoyance for this new arrival. Recovery from my sickness had included a stronger dependency on Beckett's blood. Unable to survive as a mortal I had barely survived the Bishop's curse as a ghoul. Strauss considered it a failure whilst everyone else was happy just to have me well and existing for another day. I wasn't sure how to feel about it, I didn't want to be human but my devotion for Beckett was just another kind of madness for me to be cursed with.

The newcomer approached me rapidly, his leather boots making a hard thump on the wooden floor with each step. He was dressed in the finery of a Victorian gentleman with an ebony ponytail and a Van Dyke styled beard and moustache that a hipster would envy, all rather neat and noble for a Malkavian and yet he was one of us, or rather one of them.

'Us,' the chief voice called in my head, 'one of my many children, another link to the web you dragged me off.'

He sniffed the air about me in deep snorts before looking from me to Beckett with ire. "You hate ghouls," he stated bluntly.

"It was a necessity," Beckett retorted tiredly. It was odd but I could detect a hint of protest in his voice like he was defending himself against a telling off.

"You hate me?" I queried sorrowfully.

Beckett frowned at me. "No young one I do not hate you," he said wearily. I felt his tired irritation and filled with sorrow until I realised it was directed at the stranger and not me.

"No," the man murmured as he pressed a single finger against my forehead, "you like her."

Isaac slapped his gloved hand down from my head angrily. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man stepped back, gave an eccentric grin and announced dramatically, "I am Aristotle de Laurent." He drew his left arm across his chest and bowed before extending a hand to Isaac. "And you?"

"Isaac Abrams," Isaac answered as he looked at the hand distastefully.

I looked to the black glove and spied the dark stain on the palm that was obviously unsettling Isaac. "I'm Ariadne...I think," I introduced with uncertainty.

"Ah well we all only think we know who we are," Aristotle said merrily, "but no one really knows, how can we? You're given a name at someone else's decision but how can they be right, how can they know your future and know that name will suit it?"

"Beckett why is Mr de Laurent here?" Isaac queried calmly.

"To join the expedition," Aristotle answered cheerfully.

"He wasn't invited," Anatole complained as he looked at Aristotle sullenly. "Brutus," he accused, "stab us all in the back and make a salad with his treachery, et tu Brute!"

"He's a Noddist," Beckett attempted an explanation, "and a Malkavian as you have gathered."

"I'm his sire," Aristotle bragged, "come now Beckett don't be embarrassed by your family just because we've had a fallout." He looked at Isaac keenly with eyes dark as bitter chocolate. "Let us all learn about other, who are you Mr. Abrams and why," he paused and sniffed the air keenly, "do you choose to have intercourse with this ghoul but not a feeding? Isn't the blood savouring that much more of a pleasure?"

"How does that work?" I marvelled before Isaac could shout a retort. "Isn't master a wolf? How can a shapeshifter be sired by a crazy?" I cocked my head in puzzlement. "Does he wear the guise of madman instead of sheep?"

"No," Beckett protested, "really Aristotle you cannot attempt to claim familial connections so you will be accepted on this exploration. There is no reason to allow you when you're liable to take whatever we might find and run off with it," his lips tugged down in a scowl as he added pointedly, "just like last time."

Aristotle waved off the accusation airily. "It was a matter of business Beckett and knowledge, I had to learn and I feared running out of time for it to all make sense, the madness you see, it makes a confusion of the knowledge sometimes. One wonders if it might make sense of it too, find the hidden meaning in the ancient passages, conspiracies from old times, oh the possibilities of the webbed mind!"

"I'm not sharing the map," Anatole snapped as he glowered at Aristotle once more. "You're a heathen and you will only taint us with your presence."

"But you will share that we have a map," Isaac complained as he looked at Anatole with a scornful amber glower.

"Isn't it a conflict of interest to hunt vampire lords in the desert?" I pondered as I looked at Anatole curiously. "Would Jesus approve of that?"

"It doesn't say in the Bible that he wouldn't," Anatole answered defensively.

"Hmm the Apostles must have skipped that chapter," Beckett murmured, "where they talk about Jesus' policies concerning vampires."

"Anyway," Isaac interrupted, "how did you find us Mr de Laurent?"

Ah Isaac, demonstrating the good manners of a Baron, still polite though I knew he probably wanted to tear this new Malkavian's head from his shoulders.

Aristotle beamed over at Isaac again. "Oh it was easy, like buttering bread," he said proudly, " or would that be putting jam on bread?" He paused and tapped his right hand against his brow with a look of frustation. "Damn it all what is it now?" He began to hum. "Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye," he murmured the rhyme hastily under his breath. Delighted with the tune I began to clap along. "The king was in his counting house counting out his money; the queen was in the parlor eating bread and honey. Aha!" He snapped his fingers with delight. "That's it, that's what I mean, it was as easy as eating bread and honey, no, no, putting honey on bread!"

"That doesn't explain how you found us," Isaac retorted impatiently with a frosty look of ire.

Aristotle looked back at him in confusion before he frowned. "No I suppose it doesn't." He grinned again and said, "I simply followed the same trail as those troublesome Tzimisce!"

We all tensed at that revelation and I started to shake. The edges of my vision turned red and I murmured, "Sascha is coming, Sascha will seek to devour the mind, to eat up the knowledge of the dead in the desert. Sascha will hurt, Sascha will bend the flesh to crack the mind!"

"Ariadne be calm," Beckett ordered, "the Tzimisce are not here."

I felt Isaac's hands about me in a gentle embrace. "I promise no harm will come to you," he said softly.

"They make everything burn," I moaned, "the mind, the flesh, they shift it and they destroy it." I shook my head. "Sascha will devour the mind slowly, he will savour the breaking, suck the knowledge to leave a shattered husk and it won't be repaired." I tugged free of Isaac and looked to Anatole and then Beckett in despair. "You know it, ancient foe, neither one way nor the other, ever seeking knowledge, always hungry for answers, Sascha won't be satiated." I clutched both hands to my skull and shook my head.

Loud footsteps called down the corridor as their owner came to us quickly with a wild look of alarm. It was Romero clutching a blood bag of the finest vitae in his left hand. "Kent's gone," he stated flatly as he became aware of Aristotle and tried to summon some calm. His worried olive eyes darted to Isaac. "Isaac I've looked everywhere and it's sun up soon and he hasn't feed in three nights."

Ah goodness are these guys ever going to get to Egypt? I've been wanting to bring Aristotle into this for a long time but I've been afraid of writing him because I only know what the wiki says about him. So I don't know if I've done a good job of him or not.

I realise this fic is confusing, it's difficult writing it at times because Ariadne/Sarah is meant to be mentally unhinged making her an unreliable author but this fic is told from her point of view. So, I'm trying to keep it flowing but showing her craziness and showing it's a different strain of craziness now that she's not a Malkavian but she is still influenced by Malkav.

I know the last chapter was especially confusing. Uncle Charlie is real, Ariadne has killed the spectre of him that haunts her mind at last (in the last chapter) but he is still alive in reality, he's also connected to her obsession with sandcastles. Ariadne and Kent have been cured of the blood disease caused by the Brotherhood, at least physically. Bishop Vick and Brother Kanker are still around and are effectively prisoners of Strauss but Jezebel met an unpleasant fate courtesy of Romero. I've always wanted to explore what the Ninth Circle and the Brotherhood could be and give a little more depth to that.