Submission
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 20 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Triangle".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.
Rating: Adults only, please!
Author's note: Mick St. John is, of course, a guest star from the excellent TV-series "Moonlight". I just couldn't withstand the temptation to include him.
Summary: Justin intrigues are revealed, and Michael tries to make his decision. As always, though, things are a little more complicated than they look.
It was to Mick St. John's great relief that the clean-up service arrived within twelve minutes. A troika of black-clad Nosferatu, looking very much like extras to a really cheap vampire B-movie, emerged from the sewers and quickly and efficiently disposed of Bernie's assorted body parts and the blood that was practically everywhere in the shop. After Blondie had puked into the waste paper basked twice, Mick decided not to watch the process, either. Some things could make even a vampire sick.
Barely were Bernie's mortal remains carried off to be burned in some crematorium where the Nosferatu had interests, the Prince's Enforcer arrived, too. Mick had never met Faith the Sabbat Slayer before, although he knew her reputation, of course. Every vampire in LA knew. Perhaps even those dwelling beyond the entire state of California. She was something they hadn't had since the days of Caine himself.
A Slayer gone rogue after her first Watcher had been massacred by Kakystos. A Slayer who had allied herself with a mortal who's sold his soul to the Dark Powers a century earlier, so that he could turn into a giant demon snake. A Slayer who had tried to kill her fellow slayer first and tortured her second Watcher-to-be, who'd tried to unleash Angelus' Beast on the world, so that she'd finally belong somewhere. A repentant Slayer broken out of prison by Angelus himself, because she was needed in the good fight against evil, which sounded strange but was true nonetheless. Embraced and Blood Bound to the Prince at her own request, so that she could have help with controlling her violent tendencies that had caused her so much trouble in the past.
She was an enigma in the world of the undead, and Mick had expected her to be mysterious, perhaps even disturbing and frightening. He had not expected her to be so hauntingly beautiful, though, with a pale, heart-shaped face framed by dark locks and liquid dark eyes that had mirrored horrible memories from her past, and a full, sensuous mouth. She wore sorrow and darkness about her like an invisible cloak, but she positively radiated power all the same. Mick thought that the Lasombra trait in the mixed heritage of the Aurelians manifested in her rather obviously.
She came in with long, purposeful strides, black coat swirling around her shapely legs in an almost theatrical manner, showing off a short denim skirt, a lacy black blouse and high-heeled black boots. She looked around in the half-cleaned shop with slight distaste, then down at the incapacitated Sabbat… and her eyes became hard and dark like obsidian.
"I know this one," she said in her husky voice. "He's the swine who makes underage girls work in hardcore movies. The agency has been after him for a while, but we could find no hard proof against him."
"I suggest we don't wait for a proper process, then," Mick replied, "as much as he'd enjoy a nice, sunny cell…"
"Fine with me," she said, and to Justin's blank horror, she pulled out a long sword that looked like a Japanese katana from under her long coat. "I thought wooden stakes might not be efficient enough in this case," she added as an explanation, "although I do prefer working with them."
"Not in this case, they probably wouldn't," Mick agreed. "Do it any way you like. He's all yours."
"I like to hear that," she replied, "although I wouldn't want to get a guy whom I could, you know, keep for a while from time to time. Not one like this, though. Shall we…?"
"Be my guest," Mick said, and she whirled around with a deadly grace and beheaded the helpless Sabbat with a clean, elegant blow. Jean-Vincent burst into a small fountain of dry ash as soon as his head was severed.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," Faith quoted ironically. "See, that's what I like in killing vampires… I mean, Sabbat," she corrected herself, still unused to make the distinction. "They don't make such an ugly mess as demons when they die." She gave Mick a quick smile. "When the freaks are done here," she meant the Nosferatu clean-up team, "you are expected in the Hyperion. Angel wants to speak with you."
That little bit of information made Mick a little nervous. Angel – or Angelus, as most Kindred knew him – was known of his violent dislike of stray vampires. He'd arranged himself with the Camarilla and the most powerful Anarch leaders to keep the Sabbat out of his city as much as possible, but he was said to be suspicious towards unattached individuals. Mick hoped that having delivered Jean-Vincent would buy him some favour by the volatile Prince. With his uncertain origins, LA was one of the very few places where he would be tolerated by other vampires; he'd have hated to leave.
Faith must have guessed what he was thinking because suddenly she smiled at him. This time it was a genuine, surprisingly gentle smile, almost vulnerable – it changed her entire face, showing who she could have become in a different life, had the harsh fate of the Slayer not been laid upon her shoulders.
"Oh, don't worry," she said. "He's not that bad, actually… unless you cross him, of course, but you haven't so far. On the contrary, you've just done him a favour. But I won't make him wait if I were you. That makes him… cranky."
No, Mick definitely didn't want to make the former Scourge of Europe cranky. But he still had some unfinished business here. Like cannibalising the computers and get Blondie some dry undies. He told so.
"I can't really bring him before the Prince in this condition," he pointed out.
Faith shrugged. "Why not? It's not your fault – and it may teach him a lesson not to mess with the Fang Gang next time."
Somehow Mick doubted that Blondie would draw the right conclusions from the lesson. The twink didn't seem to be the type to learn from his own mistakes… or to learn at all, period. Still, he wasn't going to bring the kid before the Prince in such condition, even though Angelus might have seen a lot worse.
"I have to wait for clean-up to finish anyway," he said. "I can change Blondie's diapers in the meantime."
"All right," Faith replied, "I'll see you in the Hyperion, then. And do hurry up."
The offer to write the Rage spin-off for the Japanese market had surprised Michael greatly. He could handle his own brain-child in its various incarnations well enough by now, but a story with all-female leads was not exactly his field of expertise. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to write them convincingly. After all, what did he know about women? His own mother and the lezzies were hardly the right role models. Although Melanie would make a nice basis for a vengeance demon if needs must be, he thought wryly.
On the other hand, as Brett had pointed out, accepting the job would bring really big bucks, both for them personally and the Vignes Studios; money that could help financing the Rage sequel without having to be too dependant on the main sponsors and having to make too many compromises towards them. Besides, he didn't want to sell the rights for any of his characters to a third party. He wanted to have control over their development in the future, too.
So he sat down with the actresses to talk with them about the characters and found their input very helpful. Especially Suzie Wong was excited about the chance to make a movie with Dragonfly and the Jade Flower in focus, and as she was the more important of the two, it reassured Michael a bit. If they could create another successful movie, there was room enough for further sequels. After all, both women were vampires; it wasn't as if they'd have to worry about getting older and not being able to play their characters again in a few years to come. Since Michael was practically done with the script for Rage II – The Black Widow, he had some free time to develop plot ideas for the spin-off as well.
His willingness to write the script made Vera Vignes supremely content, and they met Mika Ishimaru and her associates in the evening to work out the details. Both Henry Waters and Phillipe Navital were present, which clearly showed how important this deal was for the Studios – they rarely called both their lawyers to the field, since one of them was usually more than capable to hammer out a deal.
"You really think I'll be able to come up with a convincing script for a Japanese-oriented movie?" Michael asked, still a little nervous, after the sponsors had gone.
Edward Vignes grinned at him. "The only one who doesn't know it are you, Michael," he said. "You've come to this meeting with complete plotlines and additional character sheets already, for God's sake!"
Michael shrugged. "That's how I work on my comic," he explained. "Continuity is important, and so is character development if you're working on a serial, or else you'll lose a great deal of your readers. I can't risk that. People read the comic for the characters in the first place."
"And that's why your script will be great as usual," Edward Blount replied. "Because you've got the eye and the patience for the detail. Don't worry about the action sequences; that's Brett's job. Concentrate on the plot and the characters. If the movies turn out real blockbusters, which I don't doubt for a moment, we may be able to make a TV-series as the next phase. Or two: twin series, with multiple crossovers, like with Hercules and Xena." Needless to say that Blount had been one of the executive producers of said successful shows.
"Keep that thought for later," Vera Vignes said. "Let's finish the movies first, that will be work enough, and see how they'll do in the theatres. If the first movie does bring the success we all hope it will, we can begin to shoot certain scenes back-to-back for a potential series, though. Now that Raven has ended, there's a vacancy for genre shows, and since we have the sets already…"
"In any case, we need Brian to prepare the campaigns for both the new movies and the shows well in advance," Edward Blount suggested. "We'll have to launch them right after the first movie hits the theatres – unless it flops, of course, which I doubt very much. Neither Brett, nor I produce flops."
"There's always a certain amount of risk involved when we're launching someone this new," Vera Vignes said, "but you're right. That's exactly why an aggressive campaign is so important. People tend to believe that they need things if they hear it often enough. Michael, make Diego work on the Rage website hard. We need to keep the interest alive. Are the interviews with cast and crew ready for release?"
"They're all in the box," Michael replied. "We've got the lead actors in the chat room for a few times, and Brett too. Merchandising is well on its way. Diego has standing orders for costume replicas, T-shirts, posters, cards and other collectible items. And the comic sells better than ever before. This new artist Alain had suggested does great work… plus I don't have to fight with him all the time, which is nice."
"Very well," Edward Vignes stood. "Then we're done for no, I've got another meeting in forty minutes, so if you'll excuse me…"
The others rose, too. Studio bosses have always a lot to do, and the Vignes siblings and Edward Blount were no exception. Even if they had the advantage on their mortal colleagues not to waste too much time with eating. Liquid diet had its advantages.
After they'd left in the company of Henry Waters, Phillipe Navital held Michael back.
"Michael… stay with me for a moment. We've got some… private stuff to discuss."
"Oh?" Michael asked warily. "Is it about Brian?" He knew that Brian and the lawyer had an on/off thing between them.
"In a manner," Phillipe answered. "But mostly, it's about you and Alain… and what you intend to do about this little love triangle of yours."
And with that, he flipped his palmtop open, showing Michael a snapshot of him and Alain, kissing passionately in front of Alain's private haven.
"Brian has been getting photos like this via e-mail for a while," Phillipe added. "And now we've finally found out who's been sending them."
The foyer of the Hyperion – once a hotel in the best Spanish-Californian art deco style, now the local House of the Legacy hunters and the Prince's secondary haven, both under the disguise of the Luna Foundation, a really existing charity organization – impressed Mick St. John greatly. Whoever had been responsible for the reconstruction of the building, he or she'd done an excellent job. The furniture looked as authentic as in his mortal days, yet at the same time he spotted discretely hidden pieces of a high-tech security system… which was understandable, considering what the Legacy usually dealt with. The really surprising part was the fact that they apparently worked in league with the Camarilla in this city, which, to Mick's knowledge never happened anywhere else.
They were welcomed by a harmless-looking, skinny Englishman with a posh accent, bespectacled and wearing a conservative three-piece suit. However, the heavy signet ring on his hand with the L symbol of the Legacy hunters revealed that there was more about him than one would have guessed at first sight… much more. He introduced himself as Wesley Wyndham-Price, and it clicked in Mick's head immediately, his respect for the man going up several notches. So, this was the Precept of the Los Angeles Legacy House; the ex-Watcher of the rogue Slayer, who nonetheless had the courage to work with the Slayer-turned-vampire who'd tortured him, and with the former Scourge of Europe.
That was a lot for a mere mortal to bear. Despite his meek looks, the man had to have balls of steel.
"We've lent Angel our conference room to deal with this problem, he said, calling the Prince by his more… civilized name, as mortals usually did. The thought that Angel and Angelus were basically the same person, just with a different attitude, made them uncomfortable, so they tried to avoid facing that fact.
The conference room of the Legacy House was marked by the same creative anachronism as the rest of the Hyperion: expensive, stylish furniture met high-tech. The Prince sat at the head of the dark, polished conference table, flanked by his two senior Childer: Drusilla, the Archon of his House, a deathly pale, dark-haired woman in a long, white gown that was at least a century and a half outdated fashion-wise, and his chief Enforcer, Spike, also known as William the Bloody, who, in striking contrast, looked like the boss of a biker gang. A particularly vicious one.
The Prince himself was clad entirely in black and seemed to have a rather expensive taste in clothes… comfortable Armani slacks, in this case, and a silk shirt. His ruggedly handsome face, framed by spiky dark hair, looked unnaturally pale among all that black, even for a vampire; his eyes were dark and cold. Although he was barely more than half Josef's age, he seemed to radiate a dark aura of power, noticeable only for other vampires and psychic mortals. Mick had to stomp down his own rising panic forcibly. Never had he met anyone of his own kind who'd have raised this kind of fear in him. From the corner of his eye he could see Blondie shaking in his sneakers. Hopefully, the little fool wouldn't soil the pants borrowed from the late Bernie's stock, too.
Deciding that proper manners were in order, especially if he wanted to stay in the city (preferably not in the form of a pile of ash), Mick came to a halt at the lower end of the table and inclined his head in the most formal manner he could come up with. Fortunately, while relatively young for a vampire, he'd once belonged to a mortal generation that still knew what proper manners were.
"My Prince," he murmured respectfully," you wanted to speak me?"
Angelus nodded, clearly pleased by that display of respect. "Come closer," he said, extending his hand towards Mick in the manner of a mafia don. Knowing what was expected from him, Mick kissed the ring symbolizing the Prince's office and touched the hand wearing it with his forehead.
Angelus then gestured towards one of the nearby chairs. "Sit," he ordered, "and have a glass of bloodwine with us. Younglings like you need to keep up their strength, and as I hear you've had a rough morning already."
The patronizing manner irritated Mick a little, but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Besides, the bloodwine was excellent: a good vintage, with a relatively low percentage of actual blood in it. He briefly considered whether feeding through a syringe was really such a good idea. Perhaps Josef had been right; as long as there were volunteers…
"Now," Angelus interrupted his thoughts, shooting Justin a very displeased glance, "I want to hear the full story, from the beginning."
After a moment of thinking, Mick placed his empty wine glass on the table and began to speak.
Michael looked at the photo on Phillipe's palmtop with mild annoyance.
"Well, that answers the main question," he said. "That porn director's 'Sunshine' is Justin, after all."
Phillipe nodded. "And he's apparently stalked you – all three of you – for quite some while."
"Seems to be a hobby of his where Brian is concerned," Michael commented dryly. "Aren't there laws against this sort of things?"
"There are," the lawyer answered, "but you'll understand that we prefer not to go to mortal courts if we can solve the problem otherwise."
"And how, exactly, are you planning to do that?" Michael asked. "By turning him into dinner? Cause Justin's not the kind of guy who'd listen to well-meant advice, even if it could spare him a great deal of trouble. I know what I'm speaking of – I've often tried to reason with him, but it never worked."
Phillipe frowned. "You've tried to tell him to stay away from Brian?" he wanted to clarify.
Michael shook his head. "No. I tried to warn him not to expect from Brian anything he wasn't capable of delivering. Like romance. Or an exclusive relationship. He didn't listen. He never does."
"Didn't you want the same things from Brian?" Phillipe asked.
"No," Michael replied simply. "Oh, I longed for it, sure, I even dreamed of it, but I always knew it will never happen. It's not in his nature."
"It's even less so now," Phillipe warned. "It's not part of the Kindred nature in general. Many of us have long-term relationships, friendships and love affairs alike, that go back decades, even centuries, a few of us are even legally married, but I can't remember having met a monogamous vampire. Ever."
"I know," Michael nodded. "I've long accepted that about Brian, undead or alive. I might not like it, but if the only way to have him is to share him, I will share. I've tried the platonic thing, and in the long run, it's not all that people say about it." Suddenly he laughed. "You know, it's funny. The only one Brian has ever been exclusive with is me, and until recently, it hadn't even included sex at all."
"Your friendship?" Phillipe guessed correctly. "Yeah, I know about it. It's a beautiful and rare thing among mortals – well, former mortals in Brian's case – but if you think it didn't include sex you're mistaken. You might not have acted on it, technically, but it has always been there between the two of you: the sparks, the chemistry, a profound feeling of belonging together."
Michael shrugged. "I've always loved him," he said as if it were the most self-explaining thing in the world. For his, it actually was.
"And he's always loved you, in his own flawed way," Phillipe said. "He still does; the question is: do you still do?"
"Of course I do, what are you talking about?" Michael protested.
"I mean," Phillipe said slowly, "that now you also have Alain in your life. He's chosen you, not for Brian's sake anymore, but for your own self. That can be a heady feeling. I used to be in your place a long time ago, so know what it means to have Alain's attention focused on me. How… intense it can be. Becoming a part of his family, in whatever manner, can be your golden opportunity to get back together with Brian, and that for a very long time, but you must understand that you'll never be an exclusive couple. Brian belongs to Alain now; nothing can change that, not even Final Death. They are Blood. And you, too, will belong to him if you accept his offer. Will you be able to live in such a tight threesome bond?"
"I don't know," Michael admitted. "I… I liked it what we did together, Alain and me, and Brian… well, he is Brian. Assuming I'm willing to live with them both – would Brian be able to bear it? Whether he admitted or not, he was always jealous of my partners, and this isn't just some tricking… it's really serious, isn't it?"
"It is," Phillipe nodded, "but Brian isn't the key: you are. He'll have to learn to share: to share you with Alain, and to share Alain with you. Because if you accept to become his, Alain will never let you go, either."
"I'm not gonna become anyone's possession!" Michael declared forcefully.
"Not possession; bond-mate," Phillipe corrected. "Whether as a Childe or as a ghoul, you'll become part of Alain's bloodline – part of his very being. There's nothing more intimate than the bond between Kindred who share the same blood. Not even sex."
"Is it why it didn't work out between you and Alain?" Michael asked.
Phillipe laughed. "That and the fact that two Alpha wolves never manage in the same pack," he said. "We are both very dominant, despite our willingness to sometimes switch in bed. After six years we simply stopped trying and decided to remain friends instead."
"That works?" Michael asked doubtfully. "After six years?"
"Oh, yes," Phillipe replied. "We are both mature monsters; besides, six years count as a really short affair between Kindred."
"It's so strange," Michael said slowly. "The way you count time… the way you see things… I wonder if I'll ever understand you."
"Not until you become one of us," Phillipe answered seriously. "We are a different species. Even though we look human – well, most of the time – we aren't humans any longer. We have different urges, different abilities… and a vastly different morale."
"And that's exactly what makes me wonder whether it would work for me," Michael pointed out.
"You do have the potential to become an excellent Toreador one day," Phillipe said. "About that there's consensus among us. We can also see that you're not ready yet to go all the way – that's only reasonable. But becoming a ghoul would make you share their Blood and help understand our ways – with the further perspective to became one of us later. If you choose to, that is."
"And if I stop share their blood, I'll die," Michael said sourly.
Phillipe shrugged. "As a mortal, you'll die anyway, rather sooner than later as we count time. The only difference is dying old and broken versus dying young and good-looking."
"Oh!" Michael said; he'd never looked at the problem from that angle before. "So, assuming I decide to attach myself to Alain's Lost Boys in any way, does it mean that I'll start fucking anything on two legs as Brian does?"
"Mon Dieu, quelle horreur!" Phillipe laughed. "Of course not, what are you thinking? The Becoming only changes what we are, not who we are. It only means that if you chose to go to bed with someone else, you wouldn't be plagued by any unnecessary guilt attacks, because you'd know that it wouldn't really count. Not in Kindred terms."
Michael tilted his head to one side, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Like if I dropped my pants and let you do me on your desk, here an now, just because I felt like it?" he asked.
"If that's what you need, why not?" Phillipe replied with a shrug. "Is that what you need right now? I can clear the desk in a minute."
That completely unflappable reaction made Michael laugh so hard he'd nearly wet himself.
"I'm not quite that desperate," he said. "It hasn't been so long since Alain worked me over well and truly. What I really need is some distance from both him and Brian, so that I can make my decision in peace, without being influenced by… by wanting to be with either of them so much that it hurts."
"In other words, you need to be laid by a third party to clear your mind," Phillipe said, still in that matter-of-fact manner.
Michael laughed again. "Something like that, yeah. Are you volunteering?"
Phillipe shrugged. "Why not? You're cute, and I've done the same for Brian, several times. It was very enjoyable, for both of us." He saved his work and powered down his laptop. "If you serious about it, we can relocate to my haven. It's not far, and I've got bottled supplied there so that I won't have to hunt tonight."
"You can always drink from me," Michael offered, surprising himself as much as the lawyer. "I'm getting used to being nibbled on."
"You shouldn't," Phillipe said warningly. "That could quickly become an addiction, every bit as bad as drugs." He leaned in and kissed Michael. "Let's go. I'll try to distract you properly."
Justin had never been so frightened in his entire life. Not even after the episode with Chris Hobbs that had almost caused his untimely death. Not in the same morning, facing the clearly insane Jean-Vincent in the shop decorated with Bernie's assorted body parts. Even that was more comprehensible (because, hey, crazy killers did exist in the normal world) than standing there, watched by the Prince and his Childer, while the other vampire, the one who'd saved him, was giving chapter and word of his entire life for the Prince to judge him.
He wasn't used to face judgement. He was accustomed to get away with almost everything, because he was young and cute (which made the women adore him, even though he wasn't interested in them) or because he had a willing ass and a talented mouth (which brought most men to his side, at least the gay ones). He was used to get whatever he wanted, regardless of the prize. Sometimes the prize had been fairly high, like in the case of Chris Hobbs. But usually, he'd managed to have someone else pay for him, be it free accommodations in Debbie's house or Brian financing his education when his father refused to do so.
That didn't seem to be the option now. This time, he'd have to face the consequences of his own stupidity.
His rescuer – presumably some undead PI – had apparently done his homework. He'd somehow succeeded in digging out every shitty little detail of Justin's life, starting with the episode when he'd stolen Brian's credit card and run off to New York with it, through his patrols with the Pink Posse to his latest stunt of stalking Alain and Michael and sending photos to Brian of them. There were small details Justin had long forgotten himself, but it seemed that other people hadn't, and the vampire detective had collected and presented them all.
Justin found it unjust that they discussed his life as if he were some sort of petty criminal. After all, Brian hadn't pressed charges concerning the credit card episode, and the Pink Posse was an act of self-defence for young queers. However, for the first time in his life, he was sensible enough to keep his mouth firmly shut. The dark vampire the others called the Prince didn't seem like someone who'd take youthful insolence kindly. Even the bleached biker type seemed to be wary around him, and bikers weren't generally easy to intimidate, be they alive or undead.
"Thank you," the vampire Prince said when Justin's rescuer finished his report, "that was… informative." He had a light baritone; surprising, coming from such a large body. He looked at the woman on his left. "What do you think, Drusilla?"
The woman came closer to Justin and began to circle him in an almost trance-like manner; and Justin began to panic in earnest, seeing the madness glittering in her dark eyes. She was clearly insane, the extent of which could only be guessed.
"Poor little duckling," she cooed in a soft singsong voice. "He's so confused… so delusional… He believes he can play with us as he plays with his little peers… play us against each other… use us for his own purposes… bend things to his liking… He's so very wrong… the stars say he's lost, lost forever…"
"You should let her wipe the whelp's mind, Angelus," the biker vampire said in a bored manner. "He'd betray us to the Sabbat… or to any other adversary in the moment he hopes any advantage of it."
The Prince sighed. "You know I don't like to meddle with people's minds, Spike. It can have unexpected side effects. The more they need to forget, the more unpredictable are the results."
"Perhaps the little duckling would be happier if he could forget everything," suggested Drusilla sweetly, eyeing Justin like the cat the canary before dinner. "Perhaps I should wipe his mind clean of all those nasty, nasty details of his former life. To make him pure and innocent like a newborn baby again. He'd be so much happier that way, the poor dear."
The Prince shook his head. "That would destroy his ability of independent thinking."
"So what?" the biker vampire asked with a shrug. "He's nothing but a little parasite… and a useless one at that. But he'd make excellent cattle… as a steady food source, with an always ready piece of arse and a willing mouth, he could service the male members of the household just nicely."
The image of being a lobotomised fucktoy in a vampire household terrified Justin so much that he couldn't suppress a frightened whimper. He prayed that they'd just kill him then and there, rather than expose him to such a terrible fate. The biker vampire Spike – and what kind of name was that anyway? – grinned in evil satisfaction.
"Stop it, Spike," the Prince ordered. "It's disgusting."
"Why?" Spike shrugged. "The Prince is entitled to have a personal herd, and if we feed him well, Blondie will last a long while. He's still young. Or you could turn him into a ghoul and use him as a long-term blood bank."
The Prince gave him a withering look. "You don't really think that I'd share the Blood of the Aurelians with a useless piece of blond boy ass in any way, do you?" he asked icily. "By right we should kill him on the spot; he's assigned himself to the Sabbat voluntarily..."
"But you're too queasy to kill humans if there's another way," Spike finished for him. "We still might have to kill him later, ya know. Dru's good at this sort of mojo, but a partial mind-wipe is still a tricky thing. He just knows too much."
The Prince nodded. "I know. Let's try the complicated thing first, though. Take him to the soundproof room below and Dru can try her skills on him. We'll see how it turns out."
"All right," Spike grabbed the petrified Justin like a rag doll and threw him over a leather-clad shoulder. "But if it doesn't work, he's mine, right?"
"Sure," the Prince replied with a shrug. "It's your job to deal with Sabbat leftovers."
The bleached blond grinned. "And people wonder why I love this job," he said, sauntering out of the room with a now screaming and kicking Justin over his shoulder. The insane woman followed them with a dreamy smile that made Mick shiver… and not in a good way.
"Do you think she really can clean the boy's mind from everything Kindred-related?" he asked doubtfully, for Blondie had indeed seen too much of the life in the Dark.
"There are no guarantees by such an extensive mind-wipe," the Prince admitted, "although Drusilla is very good at these things. She'd been a psychic already before I turned her. She'll plant false memories in the boy's head, and then Riley – my youngest Childe – will take him home. Still, I'll have the Nosferatu watch him. If the memories resurface… well, we'll have to find another solution."
"What about letting the Nosferatu Embrace him?" Mick suggested with a little malevolence; he'd come to utterly detest Blondie during the short while of the observation job. "Becoming ugly and misshapen forever would be much harder on him than simple death."
"I don't want to punish the Nosferatu so cruelly," the Prince replied. "They are too useful for me," he added with an unexpected grin. "Let that be my problem from now on, though. I wanted talk with you about your future."
"My future?" Mick replied in surprise.
The Prince nodded. "You've done me – us all – a great favour. And you're very good at your chosen profession. I'd like you to work more closely with my people in the future."
"In what way?" Mick asked. "I could hardly take on any role within Camarilla hierarchy. I'm a Caitiff; I don't even know which Clan my bloodline might belong to."
"Neither did Caine, if our scholars are not mistaken," the Prince answered with a shrug, "and my bloodline is of grossly mixed origins, too. I've accepted the role of the Prince because I wanted to protect the innocent and to help the helpless, as the slogan of my agency says. Against our own kind, if necessary, but also against human predators who can sometimes be a lot worse. Personally, I'm not that big on Camarilla protocol, but if respecting it keeps the influential Camarilla types on my side, so be it. Whether you formally join the Camarilla or not is of little importance, since you already live according to its rules; but I'll officially accept you if that's what you want."
"It's worth thinking about," said Mick carefully, not wanting to bind himself in any way before he'd figure out what the Prince really wanted from him. "But I still don't understand how I could be of your assistance."
"That's simple," the Prince said. "I need you to be my eyes and ears in places where I can't go myself. "Angel Investigations has become too well-known in certain human circles that contain people who prey on the weak of their own. There are places where I can't investigate; nor can my human associates. We'd be recognized right away. But you're relatively unknown, even among us, and I doubt that most of my mortal adversaries even know that you're a vampire… if they've noticed your existence at all. I'll need you in those places. Mostly for observation jobs, which's what you mostly do. Officially, the assignments would come through Phillipe Navital's firm, so that you won't be directly associated with me. Interested?"
Mick hesitated for a moment. Oh, he was interested all right; being associated to the Prince of the City, even unofficially, would cement his status in LA, and it would also mean that the Camarilla would accept him, unspoken at least. Of course, it would limit his independence a little, but the advantages outweighed the disadvantages by far.
"Yeah," he said, a bit dazzled by the rapid changes of his unlife, "I am interested."
TBC