Acceptance

by Soledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 17 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Roots and Doubts".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: 14+, just to be on the safe side. Mostly for language and slightly disturbing topics.

Author's note: The Conclave members of LA are recurring characters of the "Pathways" universe. Their names are borrowed from canon, but I turned them into somewhat different characters. The only exception is Hawk, who's based on Avery Brooks' similarly-named character from "Spencer - for Hire". Nick Fallon is Simon Baker's character from "The Guardian", of course. I always thought he'd make a wonderful Ventrue.

Summary: Michael returns to Pittsburgh and has to face a few less-than-pleasant encounters. In the meantime, Brian meets his Elders and other undead celebrities.

Chistopher Houghton had chosen to appear on Brian's presentation, after all. For someone Embraced at the age of thirteen, he looked at least sixteen, Alain found, due to his height, his thin, haughty face and some carefully applied make-up that served well to make him seem even older. He wore a white suit that would have made Elvis cringle and his dark hair in fake Elvis-fashion. Despite his ridiculous outfit, his dark eyes revealed the arcane powers and the malevolent distribution in that youthful body.

It was hard to imagine that this youngling was the Sire of the late Don Sebastian and thus the grand-Sire of Victor Girard. Or that he'd somehow managed to turn a strong, athletic, handsome Latino man like Joaquin Murietta into a vampire. While Christopher might have succeeded in seducing a decadent fool like Sebastian Dominguez, Joaquin had always been a ground-solid person. Alain wondered what might have motivated him to accept the Embrace from such a seemingly young kid.

In any case, Christopher's bloodline was in definite majority among the Clan Elders. Even if one considered that Isaac would oppose his grand-Sire on principle, he was Christopher's progeny, just as Joaquin and Victor. This unpleasant, arrogant youngling was their Elder, and while Isaac, Anarch to the bone, could afford to defy him, Victor and Joaquin could not. Diego didn't really count. Just like Rebecca, he might be an Elder by generation, but he still was a neonate by (Kindred) age, and thus not a really important voice in any decision.

Alain eyed the… other fractions warily. Edward Blount was a known quality; he didn't need to be concerned about him. But the two women… Lorena was, at first sight, nothing special: a seemingly young woman of about thirty, dark-haired and dark-eyed, perhaps with a bit of Latino blood in his veins – until one really looked into those dark eyes of hers. The way she seized up Brian was that of a prize fighter sizing up a new opponent. Alain didn't like it a bit. Rebecca Lowell, on the other hand, apparently was still playing her "Raven" alter ego, clad in black, white-faced like a ghost, with a lipstick so dark red it seemed almost black. Her page hairdo made her face look even more like a lifeless mask. She eyed Brian with open disgust, which, or so Alain hoped, would be reason enough for Victor's fraction to support the fledgling.

With the exception of Christopher, of course. There could be no way to overlook the thin-veiled hostility with which the Elder glared at Brian. To a certain extent, it was even understandable. Brian was showing his best side right now: elegant, self-confident, but on just this side of arrogance, beautiful, aglow with success… everything the Clan could wish from a neonate who was supposed to move in the world of the Kine undetected and to make an impact for Clan interests.

Everything Christopher could never be. And that fact worried Alain to no end.

He wasn't afraid that Christopher would officially speak up against Brian's acceptance into the Clan. According to Kindred law, the teenaged monster, who still considered himself the ranking guardian of the Camarilla in LA, could not do that. After all, Brian's Embrace had been decided by prominent Clan members and sanctioned by the Prince of the City. And even though Christopher probably considered himself more worthy for Princedom than the reformed Anarch monster that was currently running the office, his main supporter, Joaquin Murietta, was a stickler to the law – both as a high-ranking Kindred and as a police detective. Whatever Christopher might be planning, he had t o obey the law – at least on the surface. Unfortunately, there were other methods. LA had an extensive demon population, most of them malevolent, many of them more than willing to kill a fledgling vampire – if the price was right.

With a sharp pang of discomfort, Alain realized that he'd have to do something about Christopher, and that soon.

He couldn't do that on his own, of course. He might be physically stronger than the child monster – though even that was by no means certain – but Christopher knew arcane rites only vampires of very low generations were familiar with. Yes, he was Camarilla, but the much newer Sabbat rites had come from somewhere. Alain needed a strong ally in this campaign.

Spike, who had already eliminated one child monster, would be one possibility. Faith, the Sabbat Slayer would be another one, assumed that Alain could make the Prince understand the danger that Christopher represented. Unfortunately, Christopher wasn't a newly-made vampire like the Anointed One had been; Spike wouldn't be able to catch him unaware. And as for the Slayer – she might be a vampire now, but not so long ago she had been an ill-fated human girl. She would hesitate to kill someone looking like a young boy. Even if that someone was a ruthless monster.

No, Alain needed stronger, older, more ruthless allies in this case. Allies who'd be well-versed in ancient rites, thaumaturgy and magic. The help he would need against Christopher would only be found within Clan Tremere… or the Nosferatu. And he happened to know just the right person for the job.

To say that Michael was not looking forward to meet his mother again would have been the understatement of the century. But there was no way to avoid her for the duration of his stay in Pittsburgh, and so it was easier to face her right away and be done with the venting, the accusations, the berating, the tears, the wailing and whatever else of her rich repertoire she would choose to comfort him with. Emmett's presence was a relief, in any case, and so was the fact that he'd ordered Ted to be there and help shielding Michael as well as possible. Even though no one was ever capable of stopping Debbie on the warpath, once she got into screeching mode. Not even Emmett, whom she genuinely liked, and who'd done nothing to raise her ire… yet.

So, understandably, Michael's stomach had shrunk to the size of a dry lemon already when they finally entered the Liberty Diner for breakfast. At this time, there were quite a few customers there, as always, which promised quite the audience for Debbie's grand scene. As always. Ted, however, had saved places for them at his own table.

"Lindz and Mel are coming a bit later," he said, after kissing Michael on the cheek, "so it's jut us pretties at the moment. It's good to see you again, Michael. What's LA like?"

"Hot," Michael replied. "Busy. Crowded. But we manage. The Rage movie is on schedule, and I'm already working on the sequel."

"But what if the first part turns out a flop?" Ted, ever the pessimist, cautioned.

Michael shrugged. "I'll get the money anyway. But Brett Keller doesn't produce flops."

"So, you and Justin are financially secured, no matter what?" Ted tried to clarify things. Michael shook his head.

"No, just me. Justin hasn't got anything to do with the movie. He's flown out of the entire project, early on. And besides, he's in Italy now, with a scholarship to the Belle Artes."

"What?" the screech coming from behind them would have put a vengeful banshee to shame. Debbie burst forth from the kitchen like a force of nature… a particularly destructive one. Her eyes were blazing in self-righteous indignation, and though one would believe it impossible, her wig was even more tousled than usually. "You little shit, how could you do that? How could you have my Sunshine fired? It was the chance of his fucking life, and you had to ruin it for him, hadn't you?"

"You managed to get Justin dropped out of the movie?" Of course, Lindsay and Melanie had to arrive in this strategic moment; and, of course, Lindsay had to take Justin's side, as always, without caring to look at the whole picture. "Oh, Justin, how could you…?"

"Let me ask you the same question, Lindsay," Michael forced himself to remain calm and reasonable, while all he really wanted to do was to scream in frustration. "How could you always assume that whatever goes wrong with Justin would be my fault? Granted, I don't particularly like that self-absorbed, arrogant little snot, but when did I do anything o harm him?"

'You've always tried to break him and Brian up," Debbie said accusingly. "You could never accept that Brian loved my Sunshine."

"Not according to Brian, he didn't," Michael replied with more patience than he'd ever thought to be capable of. "Justin had managed that entirely on his own, by lying and breaking his own stupid rules, and leaving Brian – twice. Just as he'd managed to screw his chance – and very nearly mine, too – with the studio bosses in Hollywood."

"I can't believe that, "Debbie protested. "Sunshine could always wrap anyone around his pinkie finger. He's super smart, sexy and talented. How come that the only time he didn't succeed was when you had to do something with the whole thing?"

"I hate to crash your rainbow-coloured illusions, Ma, but not everyone is impressed by spoiled, rude little brats," Michael replied, still clinging to the shards of his patience, although it was becoming increasingly harder every moment. "People like Vera Vignes are a bit… intolerant towards young nobodies who try to get into the pants of her star directors during a serious business meeting. Very few people get the chance to meet the boss of the Vignes Studios in person – she only gets involved in the really big projects and leaves the rest for the studio executives. Justin got that chance – and screwed it, cuz all he was interested in was getting fucked by Brett Keller. Which he didn't get, by the way – Brett doesn't do twinks – but he sure as hell tried his worst. I wasn't there, myself, but studio people who were said he'd behaved like a cheap whore."

"That's not true!" Debbie fumed. "Sunshine would never…"

"Your precious Sunshine was taught by Brian Kinney," Michael said dryly. "Of course he behaved like a whore. It's the trademark Kinney method to seal a deal. The only difference is that Brian actually does seal the deal before getting in the pants of the customer."

"In any case," Emmett took over breezily, "Vera Vignes flat-out refused to do anything with Justin. Brett Keller practically begged her on his knees to allow him to do the movie anyway."

"And you know that – how exactly?" Melanie asked nastily. Emmett gave her a brilliant smile.

"I fuck the executive producer, my dear – that's as much 'insider' to you as it gets. Anyway, Vera gave the project one last chance. That was when Michael got called to Hollywood for the first time. He came, he spoke about Rage – and he won. The studio bosses ate from his hand after the first ten minutes, and the movie was a go."

"Are you telling me that people liked him but they hated Sunshine?" Debbie all but gagged in disbelief. Emmett's friendly face froze to ice in a moment.

"Debbie, honey, I love you to pieces, and I'll be eternally grateful for everything that you've done for me," he said in a voice like steel, "but I have to tell you something I've wanted to tell you for years. You're either deliberately blind or completely nuts. You don't deserve a son like Michael, and since all you've been doing lately is treating him like shit, in a short time you won't have him anymore." He stood. "Excuse me, but I've completely lost my appetite. Don't expect to see me here again any time soon. You coming, Michael?"

"Not right away," Michael replied. "I have to discuss a few things with Lindz and Mel. Let's meet in my store, say, in one hour?"

"Excellent," Emmett fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "That gives me the time to make some business calls. In one hour, then."

"Okay," Michael turned to the lezzies. "Well, let's discuss paternal duties in the meantime."

"What is this place?" Brian looked with interest at the old-fashioned industrial building. It did look like an old house at first sight, but his trained eye told him that it had been either recently redecorated or completely re-built, so that it kept its old-fashioned flair while providing all conveniences of the 21st century. There were several plaques right and left from the front door, signalling the presence of Angel Investigations – which, Brian knew, was actually the cover business of the Prince of the City – Nabbit Enterprises (one of the biggest computer firms of California, owned by young billionaire David Nabbit) and of which Brian had never heard before. Well, he had heard it mentioned by Isaac Abrams, back when they were trying to win Ash Rivers for the Rage movie, but he still had no idea what it could be.

"That's where we're going," Alain replied. "The haven of the Nosferatu Primogen. One of the very few Kindred in LA who can keep Christopher in check – and after your presentation to the Clan Elders, I've come to think that it will be necessary."

"I don't see why," Brian said. "Everyone was rather… civil to me."

"Exactly," Alain agreed. "And that's what makes me worry. I'd be calmer if they'd questioned and criticized you all the time. Joaquin is a straightforward guy, but Christopher and Lorena… I need an advantage on them, and strong allies to keep you safe."

Brian shuddered, remembering the cold monster in the body of a teenaged kid and that seemingly harmless woman who'd been anything but really harmless.

"I still don't understand why they would want to harm me," he said.

"To weaken our side: Victor, me, the Prince," Alain explained. "I'm afraid you're just a pawn in Clan politics, Childe… although they certainly hate you personally, for your success, too."

"I'm so honoured," Brian commented dryly.

"It's not so different from what's going on in mortal society," Alain replied with a shrug. "We just have more time to plan our moves and are harder to kill, that's all."

"Would they…" Brian didn't finish the sentence. The thought of some ancient monsters planning his violent and painful death was not a reassuring one. Alain shook his head.

"Not openly, they wouldn't. They can't prevent your acceptance by the Conclave, either, since it's a gathering of the Clan Primogens, and our Primogen is Victor who's a great supporter of yours. But there are other ways – and I'll try to find help against those here. Come."

They went straight to Angel Investigations. Alain knocked on the beautiful stained glass door and entered, without waiting for an invitation. They came into a large, shaded anteroom, separated from the actual office by a huge window in the wall, furnitured with antique-looking stylish desks and bookshelves that made an interesting contrast to the up-to-date, high-tech equipment the employees used. There were also lush potted plants, although Brian wondered how they could live with so little light in there, and a few Tiffany lamps of stained glass, just to make the whole room look more elegant.

One of the desks faced the door directly. A stereotypical valley-girl sat behind it, wearing hip clothes and a plastic smile. She looked like the cardboard secretaries in dumb TV-series: with her long, straight blonde hair, overdone make-up and the empty expression on her smooth, oval face – only that she was a vampire, too. Brian recognized her as one of the standard models from the stored drawings of Alain's students. According to her name tag, she was called Harmony Kendall.

The other desk stood a little on the side, with a scholarly man seemingly in his mid-thirties sitting behind it. The man was completely bald, with distinctly long earlobes and old-fashioned eyeglasses. He was wearing a dark grey three-piece suit with a white shirt and a black tie, and looked like a college professor, down to the golden tie-pin and pocket watch chain. An undead college professor.

Which he actually had been, until some two hundred years back a rogue Nosferatu forcibly Embraced him in the basement of his own college. Having lost his former life, he remained a bookish person, and in time, he became a name-worthy Nosferatu scholar, and, more recently, the Primogen's right hand. The others jokingly called him Four-Eyes, because of his glasses, and that was the only name he ever used among his kind.

He glanced up at Alain over the rim of said glasses, guessing correctly that the Toreador was looking for him and smiled vaguely. The point of a fang appeared for a moment, proving the rumours that Nosferatu weren't able to assume completely human form. Brian glanced at his hands, saw the heavy talons on the ends of his fingers and wondered how difficult it could be to work on a keyboard with those.

"Can I help you?" Four-Eyes asked politely, in a very educated Boston accent.

"We've come to see Hawk," Alain replied. "I've called earlier… Alain DeLaigle."

He didn't introduce Brian. A fledgling, still not presented to and accepted by the Conclave, didn't count in Kindred terms. Officially, he didn't even exist yet.

Four-Eyes consulted the termin-planner on his desk, nodded, and grabbed the phone receiver, hitting the intercom button.

"Visitor for Hawk," he said simply. "Yes, the scheduled one. Good; I'll tell him," he hung up and looked at Alain. "Isis will be here in a moment to show you the way," he said and returned to his work, ignoring them completely.

Isis turned out a fragile Hindu woman of indefinite age and exotic beauty – a true miracle among the Nosferatu – save from the fact that she was completely bald, too. Even the unnaturally long earlobes suited her. Brian was reminded of Persis Khambatta as the Deltan woman in the first Star Trek movie. She wore the traditional sari – a blood red one – several golden bracelets on her wrists and ankles, elaborate earrings and multiple strings of pearls around her long, graceful neck. The customary red spot was tattooed in the between her delicate brows. She moved with the timeless grace of a temple dancer, which she had been in her mortal life.

Folding her hands in the traditional Hindu gesture of greeting, she bowed to Alain.

"Namaste," she said in Hindi, in a high, child-like voice. "Follow me, please. You are expected."

She shepherded them into the elevator at the end of the office, closed the grid, and they rode the thing to the basement. It opened directly into a huge, shadowy room that was apparently study and library in one, filled with furniture made of dark, polished wood, hundreds of old books… and the lingering smell of fine, very expensive cigars. In a corner, a boxing ball hung from the ceiling, which was a fairly strange contrast to the overall picture of old-fashioned elegance.

The Nosferatu Primogen, who now rose from a comfortable, dark leather armchair, was a huge, intimidating black man with a bald head, a bulbous brow, elongated earlobes, large teeth, a short-cropped goatee and heavy talons, even in his near-human disguise. The Becoming of the Nosferatu, or so Brian had been told, was the most brutal one from all the Camarilla Clans, the Change deforming the once human body to a recognizable monster… although rumour said that Hawk hadn't been much better-looking in his mortal days than he did now.

He'd once been a professional boxer, then a hired gun for any mob boss in Boston who wanted his services, then a somewhat reluctant help to an ex-cop and idealistic private investigator called Spenser. After the death of his mortal friend a couple of years earlier, he turned his back on human society for good and returned to his own kind – just in time to become the Primogen of LA after Cyrus' failed princedom. Now he was one of the most feared vampires of the city, both as a former Enforcer of the Nosferatu Justicar and as a skilled alchemist.

Which was the very fact that Alain wanted to use for his advantage and for Brian's protection.

"Alain," the Nosferatu nodded his greeting. "It has been a long time."

"Almost a century, give or take a few years," Alain agreed. "I need your help, Hawk."

"I never thought that this would be a social visit," Hawk grinned, showing large, even teeth… and two wicked canines in the process. "People usually don't socialize with us." He didn't seem to mind the fact terribly, and Alain knew better than to make cheap excuses. "So, who's your problem?"

"Christopher," Alain replied. "And Lorena."

The hairless brow of the Nosferatu rose in amusement. "You're about to join an exclusive club with rapidly increasing membership here, babe. Those two have become the problem of more people one would think it possible for someone not of the Sabbat."

"Whit those two as allies, who needs the Sabbat?" Alain commented cynically.

"True enough," Hawk said. "Now, have a seat and a glass of bloodwine and tell me about the nature of your problem."

Alain accepted the offer. Isis brought bloodwine in crystal goblets, asked if she'd be needed later, and at Hawk's negative answer retreated discretely. While Alain explained the problem, Brian tried to guess just how big this underground apartment might be and how many of the Nosferatu might live there. He'd been told that Nosferatu, the eldest of all Clans and the closest to the primeval form of vampires, were solitary monsters. These here, though, seemed to have a small colony… and some of them, like Isis or Four-Eyes, weren't even particularly ugly.

They must be of Weak Blood, Alain suggested through their link. That might be the reason for the lack of some characteristic traits. Pay attention now, little one; being impolite to Hawk would be… unwise.

Brian realized that his Sire was right and forced himself to listen to the conversation again. There was no way to tell what the Nosferatu was able to notice.

"Lorena might be a lasting annoyance, but she's not a real danger," Hawk said thoughtfully. "She's mainly a thorn in Victor's side, but Victor is old and shrewd enough to deal with her. Christopher, though… he's the best example why the law forbids the Embracing of children – and rightly so. Every single one of these undead brats I've ever met had either turned mad early on or was evil beyond imagination."

"So, what can we do against him?" Alain asked.

"I can't kill him for you without a sound, legal reason," Hawk answered bluntly. "although I must admit that I'm sorely tempted sometimes. But we've all sworn to live by the Rules of the Camarilla, and that means certain… restrictions."

"Can we find a reason, then?" Alain asked. Hawk shrugged.

"We can try. And we can make sure he knows we're watching him. That will keep him in check for a while… until we find something we can use against him. Or he becomes tired of the game and leaves the city."

"He won't leave," Alain said. "This is not just about the safety of my Childe. Christopher has a grudge against many of us – including the Prince, who, in his opinion, is usurping his rightful place."

"Angelus can take care of himself," Hawk replied. "And I'll let it known that Clan Nosferatu protects your progeny. That will keep the hired killers at bay."

"I'm in your debt," Alain said. "What is your price?"

"There's nothing you could offer me," Hawk answered. "I have everything I need – and what I don't have yet, I can get without your help. However, keeping up law and order in LA is a great interest of mine, and you're a useful ally in that… that's enough."

"You've always believed me," Alain said. "Even when others thought I were was the Sabbat."

"I watched you for a long time for my Justicar," Hawk replied with a shrug. "I knew who you were and where you stood. And that's why I'm gonna support you and your progeny – in the Conclave and outside of it, if necessary."

He rose. Alain and Brian followed suit, recognizing the dismissal. The graceful Iris reappeared and escorted them off her Primogen's haven. Once on the street again, Brian took a deep (albeit now unnecessary) breath.

"I know the guy's on our side, but he definitely gives me the creeps," he said. "I'm not that eager to meet him again. He's every bit as the rumours about him… and more."

"The Nosferatu don't take sides," Alain replied. "The only side they take is their own. If Hawk didn't think me a useful ally to keep up the order of the Camarilla, he wouldn't move a finger to help me protect you. You'll be very smart to keep out of his way."

xxx

Before meeting with Michael in the comic store, Emmett had a commission to take care of. A commission entrusted to him by Edward Vignes, the unofficial representative of the handful Camarilla Ventrue in LA. While the real Ventrue power lay in Anarch hands – namely in those of Louis Fortier and his undead family – the few Camarilla types followed the Vignes, even though there were too few of them to have an actual Primogen.

For that reason, Emmett had to visit one of the elegant restaurants he'd only ever seen from the inside during his short, happy affair with the late George Shickel. Clad in a for him atypical, restrained way, Emmett entered the place with a slightly fluttering stomach. He felt uncertain in this milieu without George like a fish out of water.

"I'm looking for Horatio Ballard," he told one of the snobbish waiters. "We've got a previous arrangement."

The guy's manners changed at once – this Ballard character had to be a regular here – and he led Emmett to a quiet table and the elegantly greying man sitting at it.

"Your visitor, Mr Ballard," he murmured and vanished smoothly again.

Emmett saw with surprise that Horatio Ballard had a vague similarity to dear George, even if he was younger, barely fifty. In mortal years anyway. He wasn't terribly old for a vampire, either – some hundred and twenty years in the Dark or so. He came from a well-respected bloodline, though, being the progeny of the late Prince of Chicago, and had excellent contacts to different cities through his numerous Brood siblings.

Aside from that, he was also the owner of the restaurant in which they were currently sitting, and one of the well-known, solid businessmen of Pittsburgh. For which reason Emmett had been sent to meet him… to test the waters, as Edward Vignes had said.

"Emmett Honeycutt, right?" he said, rising and shaking Emmett's hand. "Edward Vignes has announced you. I understand that you're the progeny of the Blount bloodline?"

"Exactly," Emmett replied blithely and avoiding to reveal any details. "They're with the Camarilla, just like the Vignes, and the Camarilla wants to extend its influence to the Pitts."

"That's nothing new," Ballard said with a shrug, "but there have never been enough of us here. That's why all my Childer and Brood sibs sought their luck in other cities – some of them in LA, by the way."

"A strong presence can be built, given enough time," Emmett chose his words carefully. "Perhaps some of your Brood would be willing to join you in a city where Kindred are scarcely present and positions within the Clan are still free to be taken."

"Says he who's left the city himself," Ballard riposted dryly.

Emmett shrugged. "I could be persuaded to return, eventually," he answered, batting his eyelashes prettily. "In forty years or so, when I've been safely forgotten, that is. And so are the others."

Horatio Ballard looked at him intently. "I feel an elaborate plan being forged behind all this small talk," he finally said.

Emmett nodded. "And you're right, of course. I don't know the details myself – I'm barely more than a fledgling and was only entrusted with this… message because I can come home without raising any suspicions."

"Does Edward have any particular suggestion about this?" Ballard asked. Emmett nodded again.

"Of course. The first step would be to strengthen the Ventrue presence in town. If our intel is correct, you still have two of your Brood-sibs here in the Pitts…"

"Joe Peterson and Lorraine Matthews," Ballard supplied. "Joe is my driver and bodyguard and Lori my secretary… as far as the Kine are concerned."

"But no Childer?" Emmett asked.

"One," Ballard said, "but just a neonate. Barely a year in the Dark. He's a lawyer – a good one – and works for the firm of his father."

"That could lead to complications," Emmett commented. Ballard shook his head.

"Not likely. The father has a terminal illness, won't live longer than another six or eight months."

"But the other lawyers in the firm…" Emmett said.

"One of the junior partners is a Toreador like yourself," Ballard replied. "The rest of the employees can be replaced… or Embraced, if necessary. Why? Do you have a lawyer as a possible neonate for me?"

"Not a lawyer," Emmett said with a sigh. "A book-keeper. But he's not an easy case. He has… self-confidence issues. And a porn addiction. And he's a recently healed Crystal Meth user."

"Why would I wish to Embrace such a loser?" Ballard asked bluntly.

"Because all he needs is structure and guidance," Emmett replied sharply. "He's a good man, and he's a wizard with numbers."

"That alone doesn't make someone good Ventrue material," Ballard pointed out.

"Perhaps," Emmett allowed. "But he'll be needed later, and he's needed here right now. We can't take him to LA for months or years – he's the only one of us who actually still lives in the Pitts, and we need him to keep things running until our return."

"Who's we?" Ballard asked. "I've never heard of you guys, so forgive me if I don't really see the reason why I should become involved in your little scheme."

"Does the name Brian Kinney ring a bell?" Emmett asked.

Ballard stared at him in surprise. "Kinney? The ad exec? The same one who first very nearly helped that brick-headed Stockwell to become mayor and then spent all his money to ruin his own campaign? The owner of Kinnetik?"

"The very same," Emmett said.

"Well, I'll be damned," Ballard murmured. "So Kinney got Embraced, eh? I'm not surprised. The man was born Toreador; had here been any with balls enough to Embrace him, he'd have been one of us for years. Who's his Sire?"

"Alain DeLaigle."

"Hmmm," Ballard was obviously searching his memory. "I've heard about him. Unknown bloodline, but an old and strong one. A good choice, I'd say. And Camarilla to the bones, despite the evil rumours about him. Oh, this makes so much more sense now!"

"Does it?" Emmett asked in honest surprise; he hadn't been told the detailed plans for the future, and, to be honest, he didn't really care. Conspirations were not exactly his thing.

Ballard nodded. "Oh, yes. Tell Edward Vignes that I'm not adverse to their plans. Unlike my Sire, I never had the ambition to become Prince. I'll cooperate. Now, tell me more about this… candidate of yours. Assumed that I'm willing to consider Embracing him – what would be the best approach?"

Emmett thought about it for a moment – then he broke into a broad grin.

"Seduce him," he replied.

Michael didn't know what he'd expected from the meeting with Lindz and Melanie… not really. But he most certainly hadn't expected it to take place within the respectable walls of Fallin & Fallin, one of Pittsburgh's most renowned private law firms. And he definitely hadn't been prepared for being represented by said law firm's junior partner and golden boy, Nick Fallin himself. In fact, he hadn't been aware of having a legal representative at all.

He told so, studiously ignoring the unbelieving looks of Lindz and Melanie.

"Actually, I don't represent you," the handsome, blond lawyer with the permanently troubled expression on his face said matter-of-factly. "I represent your unborn child; a task assigned to me by the Legal Services of Pittsburgh.

"I seriously doubt that the Legal Services could afford to hire someone from Fallin & Fallin," Melanie commented dryly.

"Under normal circumstances you'd be right, of course," Fallin Jr agreed. "Accidentally, though, I also work for the Legal Services."

"Oh, right, I remember now," Melanie's expression was positively smug. "You've been sentenced to fifteen hundred hours of social work for drug abuse, right?"

"Ya," Fallin Jr replied with an indifferent shrug, "but that was years ago. I found out during that time that I actually like the work, so I still do it in my spare time. I'd warn you not to underestimate me, Ms Marcus. I happen to be very good at what I do."

"I still can't understand why Legal Services would want to assign one of their lawyers to our case!" Lindsey clearly didn't like the situation – and she was very nervous, too.

"We've been aware of your…family situation for years," Fallin explained, "but we've only learned about the way you've been trying to shut the natural fathers of your children out of their life a short time ago."

"Oh, great!" Melanie rolled her eyes in disgust. "The vengeance of Brian Kinney has come upon us. I' m quaking with fear."

"Not exactly," Fallin corrected. "We've learned about it from one of our clients – a certain James H. Montgomery."

"Hunter?" Michael exclaimed. "What has the little brat done again?"

"No need to worry, Mr. Novotny," the lawyer gave him an unexpected smile that could have charmed off the pants of militant lesbians – present company excluded, of course. "Your ward is all right. He wanted a legal insurance that his mother won't be able to come any closer to him than half a mile, that's all. But he's told us how the two ladies wanted you to sign the papers that would allow you no rights whatsoever in your child's life… just as they've done it with Mr. Kinney, while still cheerfully accepting his money. I'm here to prevent that from happening."

"Does Legal Services fear that we won't be able to raise our children between the two of us?" Melanie demanded.

"That's not the point, although you must admit that your record isn't exactly spotless in that area," Nick Fallin said. "The point s, Mr. Novotny wants to contribute. He wants to have a role in his child's life. And the child has a right to his or her father, if said father is available and willing. It's that simple, and you know it as well as I do."

The pinched face of Melanie made it clear that yeah, she had known it all the time. She and Lindsey had just hoped that they could keep that fact from Michael – keep the baby for themselves.

Things developed quickly from that point on. Melanie might be a shark in he courtroom but still no match for someone with Nick Fallin's talent and experience. Within two hours, the parental contract was signed, everything worked out neatly, and Michael could lean back and wait for his child to be born. Which was only a matter of weeks by now.

"Not that I'm not grateful," he said to Fallin Jr, after the lezzies had left, "but who's really hired you to do this?"

The young lawyer gave him another one of that radiant smiles.

"Well, a good friend of me got a phone call from someone in LA, and since I owed the man a favour, I accepted the assignment," he said. "But it was my pleasure anyway. You'll make a good father, I'm sure about it."

"How can you know?" Michael asked doubtfully. "You haven't even met me before."

"I talked to people who know you," Nick Fallin replied. "Besides, you wouldn't fight for your parental rights so hard if you weren't interested in your child."

"Erm…" Emmett, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, raised a hand tentatively. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but does that friend of yours happen to be called Horatio Ballard?"

"As a matter of fact… yes, he does," Nick Fallin grinned at him and left.

"Who the hell is Horatio Ballard?" Michael asked suspiciously, walking out of the offices of Fallin & Fallin on Emmett's side.

"A business associate of Edward Vignes," Emmett replied with a shrug. "Edward sent me to him with some business proposals. He's a very… stylish man; reminds me of dear George. If I hadn't interests in LA right now…"

"You're hopeless," Michael laughed.

"And you love me for it… you all do," Emmett beamed at him, and Michael couldn't help but agree, because it was the truth.

The ringing of Emmett's cell phone interrupted their teasing. Em picked it up.

"Emmett Honeycutt… oh, Victor, hello! What's news? What? When? Oh… that's an awfully short time to get a decent plane, you know. Nah, I can do it, of course, but… I see. Yep, I'll be there on time. Bye, Victor."

He hung up, pocketed his cell phone and gave Michael a troubled glance.

"Well, sweetie, we're having a problem," he said glumly. "Victor needs me back in LA – preferably yesterday, or the day before."

"Is something wrong?" Michael asked worriedly. Emmett waved off his concerns.

"On the contrary. A project we had been waiting for for quite some time has emerged sooner than expected… and I've got a binding contact with Victor's firm."

Michael nodded in understanding. "You must go, Em. We both know what those sharks in Hollywood are like."

"Yeah, but will you be all right here, alone?" Emmett asked doubtfully.

Michael shrugged. "I'm legally secured now, and the birth can be expected any time. When I stay in the loft, there's little chance to run into Mum too often."

"But your are coming back to LA, aren't you?" Emmett asked. Michael nodded.

"Don't worry," he replied. "There's not much left for me in The Pitts, save that baby. I'll come as soon as it's safely settled. I don't want to give up my child, but I don't give up my career, either. That's what airplanes are for."

"Call me when you've got that flight ticket," Emmett said sternly. "I'll come and fetch you at the airport – and take you straight to your new home."

"That's a deal," Michael said with a faint smile. "Take care, Emmett… and don't worry about me. I'm a big boy."

"That," Emmett declared sourly, "is one of the infamous Last Words, you know. I'll call you as soon as I've arrived in LA."

"Do that," Michael agreed, "and good luck with the new project."

"Good luck with the baby," Emmett replied, before going on the phone to find the next night flight to LA.

The End – for now