Entering the Darkness
by Soledad
A "Pathways in the Dark" story
Part 21 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Submission".
For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.
Rating: 16+, for this part.
Author's note: The creation of a ghoul is mostly the product of my imagination. I know it contradicts White Wolfe canon in several points, but since this is a crossover and an AU anyway, I didn't really care. The whole thing seemed more logical to me this way, and I stick to it. ;o))
Summary: Michael makes the all-deciding step.
The news about Michael's decision spread quickly within Clan Toreador and was greeted with general approval. Especially Victor Girard was relieved to have the young man's status legalized according to Kindred law. He had always been a stout supporter of the Camarilla and wanted things to be done properly. Besides, Michael would have been a liability for him as the Toreador Primogen of LA in the long run. He had a strong enough opposition from the side of both Christopher Houghton and Rebecca Lowell as it was. Allowing a mortal to move freely among Kindred, without being bound to the Clan in any way, didn't bode well with the more conservative members, and Victor needed the support of the Elders if he wanted to remain Primogen.
Before Alain could have made his move, however, he needed to get the Prince's permission, as Angelus took the voluntary aspect of the Embrace very seriously. Granted, the creating of a ghoul was not exactly the same thing as the Embrace – in fact, the whole practice was somewhat frowned upon in orthodox circles, no matter how useful ghouls could be in certain positions – but it bound the individual to a certain Clan and bloodline just as infinitely. The ghoul might have a second chance forward – to the final Embrace – but none backward. He or she could no more go back to become a mere mortal than a vampire could. Therefore the creating of a ghoul underlay similar regulations and restrictions as the Embrace.
So Alain had to appear before the Prince again, voice his request and prevent his chosen one for approval. Unlike a fledgling vampire, a future ghoul didn't have to be presented to the Clan Elders, only to the Prince. Nonetheless, Alain had asked Victor to accompany him at this meeting. Having the Clan Primogen's obvious support was always useful in situations like this.
Michael was nervous like a virgin bride on her wedding night as he followed Alain up the broad marble stairs to the Prince's spacious mansion. As much as he liked Victor, who was a funny and easy-going person as bloodsuckers go, he sorely missed some personal support. Something that would come from his own circles. But neither Brian nor Emmett had been invited along, being insignificant neonates, and so Michael had to stand up for himself all on his own.
Well, it's high time to grow up, he thought a little sourly, because reasonable insight was one thing; pre-transformation jitters were another one entirely. I can't expect Bri to fight my battles for me. I've done what I had to do before, without him. This won't be any different.
But his stomach was still the size of a dried lemon when they entered the Prince's foyer, a grandiose room that had been turned into a library full of visibly old and most likely very precious books.
They were welcomed by a beautiful Creole woman who turned out to be Alex Moreau, the chief researcher of the Luna Foundation… and the Prince's personal ghoul. She was friendly, absolutely charming and probably very well-learned and intelligent, but she didn't seem to have the urge to show off said intelligence in any obtrusive way.
"Welcome to the home of the Prince, gentlemen," she said in a low, pleasant voice. "Angel is expecting you, Mr. DeLaigle; and Mr. Girard, too. Mr. Novotny, you are to stay with me for the time being. You'll be called when it's time to be presented to the Prince."
Michael wasn't very comfortable with the thought of Alain and Victor discussing him with the undead ruler of LA in his absence. But the two vampires nodded in agreement, so it had to be another one of those arcane Kindred customs. Will he ever be able to learn how to navigate among them?
"With time and the proper attention… yes, you will," Alex Moreau said, and Michael realized he must have voiced his doubts loudly. "It's an ancient and intricate world that needs some getting used to, but it's also a fascinating one. Well," she clarified, laughing, "fascinating for me, at least. But I've had a strong interest for the supernatural from childhood on, so my opinion probably doesn't count."
"May I ask how you…" Michael trailed off, not sure he was allowed to ask such questions at all. But the Creole beauty took no offence.
"How I've become a ghoul?" she asked. Michael nodded. "Well, my story is a little bit different than yours," she said thoughtfully, "as in my case it was perhaps the only possible way out of a fairly twisted situation. You see, during a university reunion a former college friend asked me out – only that in the years we hadn't met he'd become a vampire. A Sabbat vampire. Has Mr. DeLaigle told you about the Sabbat?"
Michael nodded, shivering. "He has. It didn't sound pleasant."
"No, they're everything but pleasant," Alex agreed. "They wanted to turn me, using a very specific Sabbat ritual that would make me especially powerful as a vampire. Fortunately, my friends from the Luna Foundation rescued me before my transformation would have been completed. But there were already changes that couldn't be undone: my sense shave sharpened, I could feel the presence of vampires amidst a crowd… and I've developed a craving for blood. Preferably for human blood."
Michael shuddered. "That's just gross."
Alex nodded in agreement. "Oh, yes, it is. I thought I'd go mad – it grossed me out to no end, and yet I craved it so much that it physically hurt. I'd probably have ended up as a crazed vampire, a Sabbat most likely, had I not been sent to LA to help founding the new Luna Foundation House. Here I met Angel, and with the help of his experts in supernatural, we figured out that becoming his ghoul would be the best solution, for both of us. It helps with my cravings – Kindred Vitae is so much stronger than human blood – and being blood-bound to each other stabilizes him; helps keeping his Beast on a leash."
She chose not to speak about Angel's curse and how it had been lifted by magically binding the Prince's soul to hers. That was not meant to be common knowledge, for reasons of security; and besides, it wouldn't help Michael with his own situation a bit.
"Have you… have you ever regretted it?" Michael asked hesitatingly.
Alex shook her head. "No; not for a moment. Our partnership is closer than I could ever have had with a mortal lover; and besides, I enjoy being a ghoul. The special abilities come handy sometimes, and the not aging part is a great appeal to every woman, you know."
"What about children?" Michael asked.
Alex' face clouded. "The changes the Sabbat forced upon me have already rendered me infertile. There was nothing left to give up in that area."
"I'm... I'm sorry," Michael said and he meant it. Being robbed of parenthood must have been a severe loss.
Alex gave him a sad, beautiful smile. "It's not your doing, is it? And it's not so that we could change it. What about you? Do you have children?"
Michael nodded. "A daughter. Actually, it was a favour I did for two lesbian friends, but I do love my little princess very much nonetheless."
"That could become a problem one day," Alex warned him. "After a while, people will notice that you've stopped aging, and that will raise suspicions."
Michael shrugged. "Lindsay and Melanie are planning to move to Canada with the kids. Same-gender marriages are legal there, and they will be able to live without the constant homophobic attacks. I'll miss Jenny Rebecca terribly, of course, but this move solves several problems at once."
Their conversation was interrupted by a tall, blond, handsome young man who looked in through the half-open door.
"The Prince is ready to see Mr. Novotny now," he said.
Alex smiled at him. "Thank you, Owen. Would you escort him there? I really need to finish the correction of this manuscript."
"Sure," the young man named Owen waved at Michael. "Come with me!"
He led Michael through several other rooms and then to an antechamber that opened directly to the Prince's private study.
"By the way, do you happen to be Michael Novotny, the new screenwriter of the Vignes Studios?" he asked, as they were walking. Michael nodded.
"Are you a Rage fan?" he asked. It would have surprised him, as Owen looked like someone with more… conservative literary tastes.
He felt his judgement of character reassured when the young man shook his head.
"No. But Dawn Cavanaugh told me she'd handed in my book to Brett Keller as a possible plot for the next Rage movie."
Now Michael was truly surprised. "You're Owen Thurman?" he asked.
The young man nodded. "I am. And I assure you that the descriptions in my book were not exaggerated by half. In fact, I've toned it down quite a bit, or else my readers would have gotten sick."
Michael gave him a thorough once-over. "You seem to have recovered well enough, though," he commented.
Owen smiled grimly. "The Prince has Embraced me in the last possible moment… and advanced vampire healing does have its advantages," he explained. "But the worst part wasn't visible anyway… and I'm still struggling with the after-effects." He stopped in front of the door. "You must go in there now. If you take my book for your next screenplay we'll have enough time to discuss later."
Michael shifted his weight uncertainly from one leg to another, reluctant to reach for the doorknob. Owen gave him an encouraging pat on the back.
"Don't fret," he said, "Angel won't bite… not without your consent anyway. And he's not so bad as his reputation; not in peacetime. But he doesn't like to be made to wait, so – go in!"
Taking a deep breath, Michael opened the door with a trembling hand and entered the study of the Kindred Prince, nauseous with nervosity.
The power radiating from the tall, dark, intimidating vampire hit him with the force of a thunderstorm before he'd have closed the door behind him. Those empathic abilities Alain had mentioned (and that he still doubted he'd truly possess) had sharpened due to the blood-sharing with Alain and the touch of the Wild that tasting Alain's Vitae had gifted upon him.
He knew he had to thread very carefully here. He had been told stories from the Prince's past, and despite Owen's reassurances, his first impression was that of a dangerous predator, kept on leash by sheer willpower only. He knew he shouldn't show fear – weakness only made him a victim in the world of darkness – but it was hard to keep up a calm appearance when facing this… this creature. Of all the vampires he'd been associating with since his arrival to LA, Angelus was the first he'd have recognized as a monster, even without foreknowledge.
Determined to make a passable impression, he bowed – the same way he'd seen Diego bow to his Sire the few times Joaquin Murietta visited his Childe in the Studios – hoping that it was the right thing to do.
"My Prince," he murmured as Alain had taught him, respectfully but without grovelling, "you wanted to see me?"
He could feel Alain's approval through their rudimentary link (Alain had just fed off him shortly before) and knew he'd done right. It was a relief.
Angel, for his part, eyed the fragile-looking mortal with interest. At first sight, one wouldn't have seen much in Michael Novotny – save those beautiful eyes – but someone as experienced as the Prince could feel the steely strength under that harmless exterior… a strength perhaps Michael himself wasn't at all aware of. Not yet, anyway. But one day he'd surprise everyone – before all else himself.
In some ways, Michael reminded him of Wesley. Just like the ex-Watcher and now Precept of the LA Legacy House, this young mortal too, had often been underestimated. Believed to be weak and meek and not particularly capable to best bigger, stronger, more aggressive adversaries. Unlike most people, Angel knew that this was far from the truth.
He could also feel that Michael Novotny – albeit perhaps not aware of it himself – was, in some way, stronger than Wesley could ever hope to become. No knowledge of the occult, of course, he hadn't been raised and trained that way, but he possessed a natural strength one wouldn't accept from his unremarkable appearance.
Perhaps he had grown up in a family marked by love and acceptance. Perhaps he was just born resilient. But he refreshingly lacked Wesley's inferiority complex and self-recriminations. He might have not looked like, but this skinny little mortal knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid of going for it. Which, if he wanted to survive in a Kindred family, was essential. One didn't show weakness when socializing with the undead, or one ended up as dinner.
Also, this natural inner resilience would enable him to accept the Embrace, should he ever choose to do so. The same resilience the lack of which had convinced Angel that Wesley would never make a passable Childe. The Beast of the Line of Aurelius would break him within weeks and make him a vicious monster that still won't be able to handle the clan's difficult heritage.
Michael Novotny, on the other hand, would be more than capable of handling the Beast of Alain's unknown yet powerful bloodline. Whether he'd ask for the full Embrace or not, he had the strength to live in Alain's family. Without taking serious harm. Without endangering the Masquerade. Angel was content with what he'd seen.
"Well, Michael," he finally said, and Michael was surprised by the light baritone coming from such a large body, "Alain here tells me that you have consented to become his personal ghoul. Can you confirm that statement?"
"Yes, my Prince," Michael replied simply, relived that the lead vampire apparently didn't stand on ceremony.
"Have you been instructed thoroughly what it means and what the transformation would do to you, with all the consequences?" asked Angel, in a manner that was more concerned than demanding.
Michael nodded.
"Yes, my Prince. I know that once started, it can't be undone, or I'd die, in a rather… unpleasant manner. And I also know that I'll be dependant on the Blood of Alain's line for the rest of my life."
"Do you accept those terms, and do you declare that you'll undergo the process of your own free will, without any pressure from your future Domitor?" the Prince asked, now more formally than before.
Michael, having been made familiar with that particular term, nodded again.
"I do," he said, and he almost began to giggle, because the question grotesquely reminded him of the marriage wows. Only that this bond would be a true one, not such a mockery as his so-called marriage with Ben had been.
The Prince looked at him for a moment, frowning. Perhaps he'd caught his suppressed amusement and couldn't explain it. Then he turned to the ghostly pale, dark-haired woman on his side; an almost painfully thin woman, one clad entirely in white – in an ankle-length, old-fashioned white gown generously adorned with lace.
"Drusilla, please confirm," he said.
The woman rose and came up to Michael, her unnaturally large, dark eyes unblinking. She didn't say a word, just stared at Michael the way a snake would stare at a bird it wanted to eat. Michael had heard of Drusilla, too, of course: the mad, psychic vampire, who had started out her life blessed – or coursed – with the Second Sight, then, to her eternal misfortune, caught the eye of the Scourge of Europe… and that was that. He'd broken her mind, made her a crazed, vicious creature of the night – then abandoned her, without guidance, without protection.
It was whispered in Kindred circles that Drusilla had been healed to a certain extent – as much as anyone in her condition, which she'd borne for a century or more could be healed to begin with. Currently, she served as the Prince's Archon, as due to her abilities, she could frighten the most hardened vampires out of their minds.
Considering this, Michael shouldn't have been a true challenge for her. She reached out to the young mortal easily, forcing herself into his mind, not brutally but mercilessly, determined to find out whether or not he'd been telling the truth. He could feel his pathetic resistance, than his rising panic at the inevitable intrusion, and then…
…then some sort of automatic self-defence the mortal hadn't even been aware of possessing kicked into high gear; his mental shields slammed down with the force of a train crash. The backlash made Drusilla stagger and sway for a moment with the unexpected strength of it. She could almost physically feel the impact, and would probably have fallen, had Angel not caught her in the last moment.
"Are you all right, Dru?" he asked in concern.
Drusilla nodded, still shaking a little.
"He's strong for a mortal… surprisingly so, and stronger still he will grow," she said in a strange, singsong voice that made Michael's hair stand on the edge. There could be little doubt that the woman – the vampire – still wasn't entirely sane, no mater what the rumours said. "The touch of the Wild…experienced through Alain's Vitae… had torn down some of his natural barriers, unleashing his Gift fully. This little duckling has great potential, Angelus. He must be guarded carefully. In the wrong hands his Gift could become a terrible weapon."
"What do you mean?" asked the Prince with a frown. "And for Caine's sake, Dru, try to speak clearly, just this one time. I really don't have the nerve to play twenty questions right now."
To Michael's surprise, the eerie-looking woman blinked and became… almost normal.
"He'd make a very powerful and vicious Lasombra, if turned by the wrong people," she explained. "They'd corrupt his Gift and make of him a monster even we'd have a hard time to deal with. He mustn't be Embraced, not yet, not for a while, and most definitely not by anyone even remotely associated with the Sabbat. But," she added more brightly, "he'll make an excellent Toreador one day."
"No, thanks," Michael said hurriedly. "No offence, but I prefer to stay on the sunny side of the road, thank you very much."
"Why are you doing this then to begin with?" the Prince asked in understandable confusion. He couldn't have known what was behind the whole arrangement between Alain and Michael.
"Because Brian needs me," Michael replied simply. "And this is the only way I can hope to remain on his side."
Angel exchanged a look with Drusilla – then he shrugged.
"As good a reason to become a ghoul than any I've heard," he said. "In fact, better than most people have. All right then. Alain, you have my permission to do this. But guard him very carefully. You've heard Drusilla."
"I've known about it already, my Prince," Alain replied respectfully. "As you probably know, I can see auras; his is a spectacular one, unlike any I've seen so far."
"Good, then," said the Prince. "Should there be more… undue interest in him and his Gift than you feel you can deal with, call on me. I've got the means to protect him, even where you can't; and I will do so, because I want this potential of his on our side."
Alain bowed deeply, formally. The Prince's personal protection was the best thing – the highest level of safety – any Kindred could hope for his household. And the Prince of LA was a powerful and ruthless one. Few would risk raising his ire about a mere ghoul, no matter what special gift said ghoul might possess. The Order of Aurelius still had a fearsome reputation among the undead citizens – and a well-earned one.
"As my Prince orders," he said formally.
Angel smiled, giving them a glimpse of the carefree young mortal he once had been.
"It was just an offer, nothing else," he said. Now, off with you; see the deed done. And Michael?"
"Yes, my Prince?" Michael was surprised to be addressed again. In Kindred terms, he was considered property from the moment on the Prince gave his permission to make him a ghoul, and Princes didn't talk to property, as a rule.
The dark, unfathomable eyes of the undead ruler of LA twinkled with for him unusual amusement.
"When you are settled in and have grown stronger, I'll have a taste of you," he said, and Michael shivered from the dark promise in his voice. "I'm told that your blood is of a rare favour… I'd like to know whether the rumours are true."
Michael knew that – in theory anyway – everyone within a Prince's Domain was considered his, but he also knew that Angelus only applied this rule in cases of emergency. That he would make an exception with a ghoul was a rare thing and a great honour in Kindred terms, as ghouls were not particularly well-respected, no matter how useful they were. For a ghoul, being associated with the Prince of the city, in whatever way, meant a considerable rise in social status.
"As my Prince orders," Michael echoed Alain's previous answer, bowing deeply.
After that, they were unceremoniously dismissed and returned to Alain's house that had already been prepared for the event. Sarina was present, of course – she counted as Alain's Childe in all but blood, after all – as well as Brian, and even Alain's older Childer, Oliver and Pierre had come to witness the soon-to-be extension of family boundaries. Peppone, as always, had seen that everything was ready and the guests comfortably seated while waiting.
Michael had already met Oliver Simon, who was the agent of several of the actors and models he regularly worked with the Vignes Studios, and found him rather… unremarkable, which was the unspoken reason why he'd never taken Oliver up on the offer to become his agent, too. As a rule, even the most promising and asked-for screenwriter ought to have an agent in Hollywood, and Oliver was a solid, reliable one as agents go, not to mention part of the same family, but Michael was still hesitating to accept him.
Like many young gay men – including Brian – he was a little too obsessed with youth and good looks, and couldn't imagine why anyone would choose an older man, whether as a partner or as a business associate. Even if that older man was witty, funny and generous like the late George Schickel had been. The ones like David were usually the limit of what he, personally, would have accepted, and the bespectacled, balding, meek-mannered Oliver, now stuck permanently in his early forties, was not on his list of desirable candidates. He knew he was being shallow, but thirty-plus years of Liberty Avenue training weren't easy to overcome.
But as he was introduced to Oliver's partner, he understood at once the potential attraction of an experienced and sophisticated lover… one as David should have been, only that he hadn't. The elegantly greying Pierre Mathouret was at least a decade older than Oliver – in mortal terms, that is – but borne his age in that… well… ageless manner only French men of a certain social class would do. He was also handsome, in an almost patrician way, very obviously well-educated, and, if the twinkling of his eyes was any indication, most likely had a wicked sense of humour, too.
What he saw in Oliver was a mystery for Michael, but perhaps he was just being shallow again.
Michael knew that Alain had Embraced Oliver on the Prince's behalf, to secure his loyalty for Victor against Rebecca Lowell, whose agent Oliver had been back then. But there could be no doubt that Alain would enjoy the company of the cultured and refined Pierre, who was not only a very successful landscape architect but also co-owned a series of art studios with Madame D'Excavalier.
And while Pierre was still barely more than a fledgling, having been only for a few years in the Dark, Michael was fairly sure that one day he'd become Alain's right hand and the second most important person in their undead family. What Oliver lacked in class and power, Pierre had in spades. Alain must have been glad to have him on his side.
The necessary introductions having been made, they could finally turn their attentions to the actual event of the day. As ghouling – as the making of a ghoul was usually called – was a semi-public ceremony, witnessed by the Clan Primogen and every family member within easy reach, the private salon on the ground floor had been selected as the location for it… not that a great deal of preparation would have been needed, unlike in the case of a proper Embrace.
It was an airy room, with stained glass windows that broke down the sunlight and thus rendered it harmless for vampires, and was furnished with dark red leather sofas around a long, onyx-plated coffee table that had bronze legs, shaped like animal paws. There was no other furniture, save from a narrow sideboard left from the door, and the bronze candelabra in the corners. The whole room was a curious mix of modern and old-fashioned things, remembering Michael of Alain's personal haven. Usually, it was used for impromptu meetings with Clan members.
As Alain had already told Michael, ghouling was a process quite similar to the Embrace. With the marked difference that the candidate didn't get drained completely, just weakened enough for his master's Vitae to take over the regulating of the body functions and kick off the Change. That would be a somewhat… unpleasant process, which, just like with fledgling vampires, could take anywhere from a few days to several weeks. It all depended on the bloodline and the master himself. Considering that Alain was an old and powerful vampire with very potent Vitae, Michael could count on a short but violent transformation process, of which he had only had a taste so far when first being fed a small amount of Alain's blood. As a test, for the lack of a more proper expression.
He knew that it would be painful, and he was glad for the supporting presence of his future family – especially that of Brian. Together, they had always managed to deal with just about everything.
"The Dynamic Duo," he murmured, more to himself, but Brian's acute vampire hearing caught it anyway.
"Always, Mikey," he said. "Don't be afraid. I'm here with you. I'll always be here with you. I promise."
He'd have said more, but he was interrupted by people more important for the entire event than himself.
"Let us begin!" Victor Girard intoned.
As ghouling concerned the entire family, other members were allowed – indeed, encouraged – to actively participate in the process, if they wanted… and if the head of the family didn't object. Alain did not, and thus it was Brian and Sarina who stripped Michael to the waist, offering his wrist to the Clan Primogen first, then to their older Brood Brothers, and finally to each other. Even Sarina was allowed to participate.
The younger vampires drank from him, sending him to ever new waves of euphoria through the execution of the Kindred Kiss. This was, basically, done so that Alain wouldn't have to absorb too much of his blood, for such a thing always made it hard to keep a strong grip on the Beast, unless a vampire had to feed a newly-Embraced Childe afterwards. The last thing they wanted was Alain to Frenzy in the middle of the process.
But finally, they surrendered Michael to his soon-to-be Domitor. Unlike the others, Alain gathered him in his arms and fed from his neck, signalling his ownership with that intimate gesture. Michael felt already light-headed from the blood loss, and now relaxed in Alain's arms, floating on the very edge of consciousness. His heartbeat had slowed down considerably, hand he heard the voice of Victor Girard as through thick fog.
"Now, Alain! Hurry up, or it will be too late!"
The voice was full of urgency, even with fear, which surprised him. He felt wonderful; why would Victor sound so worried?
But then Alain was kissing him with a long, deep-tongued kiss that took away his breath and stripped away all conscious thought. Suddenly, his mouth was filled with some cool, viscous liquid that vaguely disgusted him. He could not recognize what it was, though.
"Swallow, Michael!" he heard Victor's strangely urgent voice again. "You must take it on your own will! We can't force you!"
"Come own, Mikey, you were doing so well, don't leave us down now!" another voice, fairly scared, encouraged him. It was Brian's. Brian needed him to do this... for whatever reason. So he would do it… for Brian. He could do it. It wasn't that difficult, was it? He swallowed a million times every day, didn't he?
With more effort he'd have thought to be capable off, Michael forced himself to swallow the liquid filling his mouth. It had a coppery taste, and now he realized that it was blood. Alain's blood. But he'd barely begun to feel sick about the whole situation when the excruciating pain hit with the brutal force of a falling rock.
~TBC~