REVELATIONS

by Soledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 10 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Kindred Spirits".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: Adults only, please. This is a particularly violent story, so be warned.

Author's notes: Once again, I broke the story into smaller parts, to make reading easier. This is a direct continuation of Revelations, Part 1.

They reached Alain's house without any further incident, and Peppone, Alain's "cousin" helped Brian to support the artist, up to his private apartment. Despite the already healing wounds, the young Italian Toreador realized that Alain had been in a vicious fight, and he was worried about Brian's condition, too. The human was deadly pale, and that meant severe blood loss, even though he had no visible injuries.

"Can I bring you something?" Peppone asked.

"A bottle of blood and a phone," Alain replied dryly, "and Brian here will need some strong red wine. We've had a Sabbat incident."

"Alain…" Peppone warned worriedly. Alain had never been so careless in the presence of Kine. Was it just the injury, or had the artist broken the Masquerade?

"He saw me change, and he's a resistor, so it's too late to worry about him," Alain sighed. "I'll clear it with Victor. After you've called Gloria to take a look at him, and I've had more blood. I took from him all that I could without endangering his life, but it was still far from enough. Now, get going!"

Peppone nodded and hurried off, returning with two seemingly identical bottles or red wine and two tall glasses.

"Pinot noir for you," he handed one of the bottles to Brian, "and the house special for our host."

Brian eyed his wine suspiciously, hoping by God that Peppone hadn't made any mistake. He felt nauseous enough without accidentally swallowing a mouthful of blood. Alain caught his wary look and grinned tiredly.

"Don't worry, we can smell the difference, even if the bottle hasn't been opened yet," he said. A condition that Peppone changed with practiced ease, pouring them their respective drinks.

"We," Brian repeated slowly, sipping his wine carefully. "I'd like to know who – or what – you are. The truth, please. This… obfuscating is getting tiresome."

"I thought after what you've seen you would figure it out alone," Alain replied, nursing his own drink. "I'm a creature of the night. A being your kind calls a vampire."

"A… vampire," Brian said, in the calm, collected manner of a doctor who doesn't want to upset his obviously insane patient. "As in Dracula? Or Nosferatu the demon?"

"Not the ones you see in Hollywood movies," Alain shrugged, "but basically, yes. We don't live in crypts or sleep in coffins in these times – well, not the sane ones among us, anyway – but the bloodsucking part is true, and so is the low tolerance for direct sunlight."

"I see," an uncomfortable thought suddenly occurred to Brian. "So, all this bad skin condition shit you guys were giving me all the time…"

"Was an euphemism fort he fact that – unless recently fed – we would spontaneously combust and burn to ashes in the sun," Alain nodded.

This particular piece of news wasn't exactly suited to calm down, though.

"Does that mean that Victor and Phillipe and all the others I work with here are blood-sucking monsters, too?" he asked.

"Not all of them," Alain corrected, "but most of them, yes."

"Victor?" Brian asked, and as Alain nodded, he felt a strange coldness gripping his heart. "The Vignes sibs?" Another nod. "Edward Blount and his twin cousins?" Nod. Brian hesitated before asking, because it was just too much to accept at once. "Phillipe, too?"

Alain nodded again, and there was a long silence, as they both were nursing their respective drinks.

"Assuming that I believe it, which I do not," Brian finally began to speak again, "does this mean that you were not joking when you said that you've been permanently twenty-nine for five hundred years?"

"No, I was not," Alain said. "I was born in France, in the fifteenth century; in 1450, to be more accurate, and I've been Embraced into Clan Toreador in 1479, a the mortal age of twenty-nine. I haven't aged since then, though… well, not by my looks. Not much anyway."

"And the Leonardo, your master and teacher, the one you were speaking of…" Brian trailed off, not quite willing to continue. It sounded too frigging unlikely.

"That was Leonardo Da Vinci, one of the greatest artisans of the Renaissance," Alain finished for him. "He was my friend, mentor and lover, and I've protected him, for nearly three decades. He knew what I was, but it didn't bother him a bit."

"Was he also your… the one who made you…?"

"No," Alain smiled a bit regretfully, "although that's a popular misconception among my kind, and I don't correct them – it's good for my reputation."

Brian could imagine that. "And you met all the big guns at that time, right?"

"Donatello… Michelangelo… Raffaello… yes, but also the Medicis and Savonarola," Alain said thoughtfully. "The best and the worst of that time. It was a great gift from Fate, but also a great burden. In a lesser time, I could have become the lead artist, the greatest celebrity of my generation… well, the mortal one anyway. But compared with those giants, I could never be anything else than slightly above the average. I was – well, I still am – a good painter and an excellent musician, but I've always been a mediocre sculptor," he added with a self-ironic little smile.

"You're a musician, too?" Brian asked in surprise.

Alain shrugged. "The greatest thing of the Renaissance was that an artisan didn't have to limit himself to one branch of art. I never composed, if that's what you mean, but I was one of the best organ players of my time in my mortal days. They called me a virtuoso, and I played in the greatest cathedrals of Italy and France, from the San Pietro in Rome to the Notre Dame de Paris…"

"Why have you stopped?" Brian asked. Alain gave him a wry grin.

"Do you really think a vampire would be welcome to play in those legendary churches anymore?" He laughed with a certain bitterness. "In those times, clerics could feel the presence of my kindred, even without knowing what we were. I couldn't risk being revealed and burnt at the stake."

"But what about now? What about music halls?"

"They don't have the same acoustics," Alain waved dismissively. "The organs in those rooms sound… well, dead. But I've been lucky recently. I met this strange priest…"

The expression strange priest woke X-rated reminiscences in Brian, memories of the encounter with his mother's cherished priest in a gay sauna. He suppressed a snicker.

"A… strange priest?" he repeated with false innocence. But Alain's eyes remained serious.

"Father Callaghan," the artist explained. "He's an exorcist… someone who knows of our kind and yet he doesn't judge by one's species, only by one's deeds. He lets me play in his parish church whenever I feel like. Not during mass of course, but still…"

"An… exorcist?" Brian repeated, unbelieving. "You mean the whole growling like an animal and puking up green pea soup thing?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Alain laughed. "I mean real obsessions. Some demons can merge with their human hosts on a cellular level, and you need not only strong spells to exorcise them but someone with True Faith, someone who's been consecrated by the old rituals of the Church to do the task."

"Okay, stop right here," Brian massaged the bridge of his nose, feeling a killer headache coming. "I can't believe a word from what you're saying… only that I've actually seen you change into a wolf… and into something else that I can't even guess what it was."

"That was my true form," Alain replied. "Most of the time, we wear our old human form, the one we wore at the time of our Embrace. The Beast only surfaces when we are fighting for our lives – or when we're hungry."

"Hungry," Brian gulped nervously. "You guys really go around and kill people to drink their blood?"

"No!" Alain replied sharply. "We are no Sabbat monsters! We only take what we need to survive, which is not much, under normal circumstances – no more than what's taken by a simple blood test. Our Vessels don't even remember anything afterwards; there's a substance in our saliva that closes the wounds immediately."

"Then why do I remember?" Brian asked. "I'd certainly prefer not to. Does it have something to do with being a… a resistant?"

"A resistor," Alain corrected. "Yes, that's why. Fortunately, resistors are extremely rare. Otherwise mortals would become aware of our existence and would hunt us down and destroy us as they did during the Inquisition."

"But aren't resistors a threat for you?" Brian felt uncharacteristically nervous.

"A very big threat," Alain agreed. "So big indeed, that we can't ignore them. As a rule, they have two choices: since we can't make them forget, they'll either be Embraced – made one of us – or sacrificed."

"Sacrificed," Brian repeated grimly. "You mean killed, right?"

"Yes," Alain said. "That's Kindred law. We must protect ourselves."

"And when you Embrace someone… how does it happen?" Brian asked.

"If I'd Embrace you, I'd drink your blood – all of it – until your heart stopped," Alain explained matter-of-factly. "Then I'd feed you my blood. That would start the changes in your body, and after a few… unpleasant days, you'd wake up as one of us."

"Unpleasant, eh?"

"Unfortunately, the process is… painful. I won't lie to you about that. The body resists the changes, and there's a fight between old and new. But the neonates of my clan usually survive the transformation with a minimum of discomfort. By some other clans the Becoming can be true agony, prolonged for weeks, even months, if not done properly."

"But you still have to kill people to make them one of you," Brian said tonelessly.

"Yes," Alain admitted honestly. "We are a species that procreates by transforming humans into our kind."

"I see," Brian said. "So, since I'm a resistor, I have the choice between being killed – or being killed, right?"

"In a city ruled by the Camarilla, you'd be right," Alain said. "But LA is different. This is an open city, where many mortals know about our kind, work with us, fight with us against the Sabbat and malevolent demons. In LA, you are allowed to know a lot about us – and live, but not to tell the tale. Not even if you choose to leave the city."

"As if anyone would believe me," Brian snorted. "Vampires… demons… they'd think I was high on E or something."

"There are people who would believe you," Alain's voice was deadly serious. "People who'd make it their 'mission' to hunt us down and kill us."

That Brian could imagine all too well. Weren't there dickheaded idiots who would hunt down and kill gay people, driven by some arcane fear from their different nature? It was only logical that some would hunt and kill… creatures that were, as a matter of fact, bloodsucking monsters, even more vigorously.

But were Alain and the others of his kind truly monsters? Brian could still not wrap his mind around that whole vampire thing – it was easier for him to think about his new associates as humans who, for some weird reason, needed to drink blood to survive. That was eerie enough for starters, but it made him easier to eventually accept the whole truth, step by step, without freaking out seriously. After all, neither Alain nor the other Kindred had harmed him in any way. On the contrary, they had helped him to be successful in the advertising business like never before. And they had helped Mikey to make the greatest dream of his life true. Perhaps they were basically okay, despite their liquid diet…

Except that Yitzhak character. Now, that was a real monster, beyond even what special effects could produce. Brian shuddered in realization how close he'd come to be eaten by a savage beast. Apparently, the undead did have their sociopaths and madmen, too, just like the mortal world did.

"I won't harm you," Brian said, after a lengthy pause. "You've never tried to harm me, and I actually like Phillipe. It's just… it's a lot to digest in such a short time."

"I guess it is," Alain agreed. "We'll give you all the time you need. All we ask is to keep our existence secret. Our survival depends on secrecy, both as a species and as individuals."

"Was it not a great risk then to work so closely with me?" Brian asked. "To take me into your home… to your bed? I could have come behind your disguise any time. The whole 'skin condition' excuse wasn't very convincing."

"Only because you're a resistor," Alain grinned tiredly. "Other people have no problem accepting it for face value. You're right, though – it was a risk. But a calculated one, one that had to be taken."

"Why?" Brian frowned. It sounded highly illogical.

"We needed to reveal ourselves to you anyway," Alain explained, "since you've been selected to be offered the Embrace – the chance to become one of us."

Brian opened and closed his mouth several times, without being able to reply. Shell-shocked wasn't even beginning to describe his feelings. Speak about dropping a bombshell right onto the lap of the unexpected…

"Me?" he finally said… well, more gasped, actually. "Why me?"

"Our Clan has been looking for neonates for quite some time," Alain replied. "There have been a few neonates in the recent couple of years, of course, but those Embraces were hurried events, done for damage control, mostly. We have selected you because we found in you the traits of Clan Toreador – that's our Clan – already given: talent, beauty, ruthless ambitions, artistic interests and a healthy amount of arrogance. You would match the Clan fabulously… and I'd like to preserve your youth and beauty forever."

Well, that was a tempting idea indeed, but the price to pay – no sunbathing anymore and a liquid diet forever – still seemed too high for Brian. Speaking of which…

"You drink from anyone who comes across your path, right?" he asked. Alain nodded. "What about HIV or other diseases?"

Alain shrugged. "They can't harm anyone who's already dead. Viruses and bacteria die as soon as they become part of our blood stream. All we have to do is to brush our teeth carefully after feeding, so that we won't carry any germs from one Vessel to another."

"What… vessel are you talking about?"

"That's how we call people we feed from. It's an expression of respect."

"Yeah, sure…"

"It is. I for my part, and the others of the same mind, have tremendous respect for humans. They feed us, keep us alive… well, undead at least. Besides, we all were humans once."

"Somehow I don't think this Yitzhak person shares your respect towards humankind," Brian commented dryly.

"No," Alain replied sadly, "he does not. Yitzhak and the others of his kind consider mortals nothing but sheep and themselves as the shepherds. They belong to the Sabbat sect: a part of our society that doesn't bother to hide themselves from the eyes of mortals, and they frequently kill their prey when feeding. They celebrate dark rituals and have abilities way beyond mine – they allow their Beast to surface freely, whenever they please. They are proud of being vicious monsters. The fight between us, the Camarilla, and the Sabbat has been going on for centuries."

"Camarilla, huh?" Brian frowned. "So, it's like good vampires against bad vampires?"

"Kindred," Alain corrected. "We call ourselves Kindred. 'Vampire' is just an epithet, a word humans made to give their fears a name. Although the Sabbat actually don't mind being called that."

"So, you're the good guys, then?" Brian asked doubtfully.

Alain shrugged. "Good, bad… I'm not exactly sure either of those would apply. We are predators, all of us: the Camarilla, the Sabbat, the independent Clans – every single one of us. But we of the Camarilla are at least ethical predators: we don't break human law, don't kill the people we feed from and don't turn anyone into one of us without their consent. We have our own set of rules to live by; rules that are a lot harsher than human law. When someone breaks those rules, their life is forfeit."

"You mean they get killed?" Brian was a little shocked by the finality of that.

"Executed," Alain corrected. "The Camarilla is a more or less feudal system. Usually, each big city or large area has its own Prince, and the word of that Prince is law. If a member of the Camarilla breaks the law and endangers the Masquerade – our hidden existence among mortals – the Prince calls a blood hunt on this person, declaring them free for the killing."

"What about the guys like Yitzhak?" Brian couldn't really believe that they would follow such rules.

"They have their own set of rules," Alain shuddered. "Let's just say that you wouldn't like them."

"I'm not sure I'd like yours, either," Brian said. "Choosing between living in a feudal system of utter dependence or among a bunch of crazed, blood-thirsty monsters doesn't really seem a chance to me."

"I can understand that," Alain nodded. "Many of the younger Kindred have their problems with the old ruling methods – that led to the Anarch Revolt, clan wars and a lot of bloodshed. Here in LA we have worked out a truce with most of the local Anarch groups. The Sabbat threat had grown too great. Even Salvador Garcia, one of the greatest Anarch leaders has arranged himself with us. Because living in a Sabbat city would be much worse."

"If this Yitzhak is any indication, I believe you that," Brian pulled a face. "But you… doesn't it bother you to live in such an outdated society? Like in the Middle Ages or whatnot?"

"Brian, I was born in the Middle Ages," Alain laughed. "That's what I was used to, the one I knew and thought the only possible order of things. I've adapted to the changes in mortal society, even welcomed some of them, but the feudal system is what comes most naturally to me. There's a reason why the older Kindred are more devoted to the Camarilla, while the younger ones tend to become Anarch, without strict clan boundaries, rebelling against their Elders' authority."

"Well, I can't blame them for that," Brian commented. "They sound more reasonable for me."

"I thought you'd say that," Alain replied a little sadly, as he'd been always devoted to the Camarilla; that was why Yitzhak's betrayal had hit him so hard. "But LA is different. We have an Anarch Prince here, which is a contradiction per se, but it seems to be working, at least for now. You must know that Los Angeles has been the citadel of the Anarch revolt, the very first Free Anarch State in the entire world. The greatest, most respected Anarch leaders still live here and control large parts of LA and Hollywood. The harsh rules of the Camarilla have been loosened here. The only crimes our Prince punishes by calling a blood hunt are Embracing someone against their will and killing the people we feed from. He needs us all – Anarch and Camarilla, independent clans and even the Garou, to keep the Sabbat and the malevolent demons at bay. Living in an open city does have its risks."

Brian shook his head, still too bewildered to accept all this as part of his own reality.

"Demons," he said, turning the word around in his mouth as if it was something indigestible. "Vampire clans. Garou… whatever those might be. Next you'll tell me werewolves are real, too."

"Garou are werewolves, Brian, "Alain said matter-of-factly. "But it's unlikely that you'd run into any of them. They usually keep to themselves and prefer the outskirts of the city."

Brian raised a hand in defence.

"All right, can we stop this right now? I'm still trying to accept the fact that you're supposed to be five hundred years old… and that you've just drunk my blood and healed spontaneously from injuries that would kill an average man. Speaking of which… if you turn someone into one of you, would this person heal from any fatal illnesses, too? From one he already has?"

"I assume you mean cancer or AIDS or other virulent illnesses?" Alain asked. Brian nodded. "Well, it depends on the condition of the candidate. A weakened body wouldn't survive the transformation – as I said, it's a painful process. But once we've Become, human illnesses won't bother us anymore. We already are dead, after all."

Brian nodded again, digesting this particular piece of information for long moments. He could see that Alain's wounds were now completely healed. There was a lot to say for being undead, it seemed. He still had his problems with the price, though.

"And you want to make me one of you?" he finally asked. "A… Toreador, you said? What does that mean?"

"We are the most sophisticated of all the Kindred clans," Alain replied simply. "We are concerned with beauty in a way that no mortal can fathom, and use the rarefied senses and tastes given to us by the Embrace to become as consumed and impassioned as possible."

"So you are artists and hedonists?" Brian tried to translate the sudden flood of information into terms he could understand.

"Yes," Alain said. "And like all true artists, we search for a truth beyond the mere physical existence. This very search has inspired us to what we consider our mission – to protect talent wherever it shows itself within the human race."

"Like you have lived with Leonardo?"

"Exactly. Our protectorate has consisted of the world's greatest artists during history. We specifically seek out the most talented and grant them the gift of immortality, to preserve their talent against the ravages of aging and death. We constantly search for new talent and spend a great deal of time deciding whom to preserve and whom to leave to their fate. Among us are some of the greatest musicians and artists who ever lived."

"If that is true," Brian said, "I still can't understand why you would want me. I'm not an artist, and my only talent lies in seducing people – either to let me fuck them or to buy things they don't really want."

"You've just answered the question yourself," Alain replied. "Seduction is one of the specific gifts of our Clan; and beyond that, one of the things we are drawn to most is beauty. The Clan would greatly profit from your so-called only talent. But that's not the true reason why I've wanted to Embrace ever since I started researching your personal background on Victor's behalf."

"Oh, I know," Brian said sarcastically. "My looks did it, once again."

"To a certain extent, yes," Alain admitted. "The sort of classical beauty you possess, the one so often seen on Greek vases and murals has become exceedingly rare in these times. You're a great inspiration to me – to the artist in me – by your mere existence. But I've also come to know you a little since you moved here, and I began to want you for yourself; for the person that you really are. I'd like to keep you with me, forever. I haven't made a Childe of my own choice since I left Europe. I did Embrace people for the Clan, out of convenience, but you're the first one I want to make mine."

"Yours as in your undead progeny or yours as your bed slave?" Brian asked, dripping with irony.

Alain looked him straight in the eyes and answered simply, "Both. Well, in a sense. The Sire does have the right to take his Childe to his bed any time he wants, that's true. But I won't Blood Bound you, not unless you ask for it, which is extremely unlikely, so you won't be a slave. If you decide to accept the Embrace from me, that is. I hope you will."

"I really don't know," Brian said honestly. "As tempting as remaining young forever sounds, living without sunlight and drinking blood for eternity just isn't my idea of a good life. Not to mention having to bend over whenever you happen to get a boner."

"This isn't an easy decision, I won't deny that," Alain nodded, "and while I swear that I would never abuse you, I would use the Sire's prerogative to take you to my bed. I desire you greatly, and I don't think I'd ever grow tired of you."

"But why?" Brian asked, a little bewildered. No one but Mikey had ever wanted him for the duration. "Good-looking as I am, it's certainly not just my pretty face."

"No," Alain said quietly, "it is your beautiful soul that you are hiding behind the many masks you wear all the time. I can't assume that I've ever got more than a glimpse of it – at the time when your friend was visiting – but I'd like to see more."

Brian shook his head in bewilderment. "I'm nothing special, Alain."

"Oh, but you are," Alain rose and draped an arm gently around his shoulders. "Why else would your best friend still be loving you, after twenty years? I knew that you were one of a million the moment I saw you. You probably don't know it yourself. As I've told you before, I'd like to help you discover your true depths, if you'll let me."

"Alain, I… I just don't know," Brian sighed, the stress of this strange night and the heavy blood loss finally catching up with him. "I'll have to think about this… very carefully. Once it's done, we won't be able to undo it."

"Take your time," Alain murmured, stroking his face with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I'll be waiting for you."

As soon as Brian sank into exhausted sleep, Alain kissed him softly and laid him into his own bed.

"Watch him," he ordered Peppone. "I have some phone calls to make."

TBC