Gallery Noir, the wooden sign flapping in the wind that marked it didn't seem too impressive. Yet there was a decent sized crowd waiting to be granted entry. Tonight was the first night of Therese's exhibitions and already she was inside welcoming the press. I approached cautiously between Kent and Romero; we were all armed now after Kent had insisted. I had argued that my wonderful penchant for making people see things was enough but he had retorted that nothing was more certain than a blade, arrow or bullet. He had wanted me to take a dagger from the master of pawns' shop but after I had informed him that only a sword of Japan was good for tentacle monsters, ninjas and youma did he had finally consent to buying me one. I had it concealed, tucked under my jacket and skirt to nurse against me awkwardly.

"So if this guy's not here, what's the plan?" Romero queried in a bored tone.

"Ariadne goes back to Sebastian and says that Beckett moved on from Santa Monica," Kent answered calmly.

"I smell paint, blood and history in the air, and it's so fresh, like warm bagels, how could the nose of an archaeologist resist?" I remarked confidently.

We joined the queue but not content to wait, Kent used his presence to awe the people out of our way so that we were soon at the front. I noted a couple of male police officers waiting nearby, and wondered if there were often fights at art galleries.

"You know Hernaz," one said in a deep, gruff voice, "did you hear on the news, that slasher's been moving about. Downtown and Hollywood have all had corpses similar to the one we dealt with."

"I heard man; you know it's not the worst thing I've seen."

"Yeah you told me," the first cop dismissed as Kent pushed me through the double doors, "werewolves and all that nonsense, woo!"

"You're a jerk."

Inside I immediately detected two of our kind, Therese smiling for reporters and another, not far from her and close to the main exhibition, a ring of four paintings.

"You know I'd never even heard of Lilith until now," a Kine woman commented loudly, "it's very interesting art."

"The dark father," I mused as I eyed the paintings, "and the honey tongued guide. A curse, a punishment, the forefathers followed, murder and politics, a blood won crown."

"Could you maybe mutter to your voices internally?" Kent grumbled.

"But then they might not hear me," I pouted as I turned my attention to the dark haired man with the trench coat and the marvellous glasses. "They would go well with my collection; they would match Strauss' nicely."

"What collection? Your hat collection? Your shoe collection? Your stone collection?" Kent queried in exasperation. "Or the funny faced popcorn one? Maybe the broken glass one or the disturbing broken paintings of dogs acting like humans."

"How did you know about that one?" I asked as I looked at Kent curiously. I had thought that one nicely hidden behind the bar at the Asp Hole.

"Ash, V.V, Ginger and Isaac," Kent retorted, "Ash thinks it shows you're a pain the ass, V.V thinks you're obsessive and Isaac thinks it's cute, go figure."

I shrugged and turned, hurrying to the red eyed man who was looking straight back at me. His hair was long, black and thick, reaching his shoulders, a thick, dark brown, leather strap went across his chest and under his waist, holding up a backpack, a yellow shirt poked out from under the brown trench coat and his glasses were black, rectangular frames that did little to hide his red slits from view. "Woof!" I greeted as I reached him.

He cocked his right eyebrow up and said in a calm, almost patronising way, "you must be the one looking for me. Miss Voerman did mention you were...a tad different."

"The dark daughter of Janus would know," I answered with an agreeable nod, "our differences our few and many. Two halves of the mirror, I have many shards, though I've only counted four."

"Indeed. Well, what is it you are looking for me for?"

I leaned up to him, peering at his yellow ringed pupils with interest. "Did you come to play spying games on the sand?"

"Ah yes, well it's not that I've been following you per se, I do have my own reasons for being here of course but when I heard news of you, well I had to investigate. One can't be too careful these days," he answered in a sardonic tone, making me wonder how sincere he was being. "So sorry if I unnerved you."

"It's alright, I'm just sad there's no pet wolf to be had," I lamented.

"Beckett." Kent and Romero had joined us.

"Ah, good to see my reputation still precedes me," Beckett retorted with a degree of happiness and smugness to his voice. "And you're a Toreador, hmm well if the art doesn't prove too distracting; maybe you can explain why your companion wants me."

"Tis not I," I answered brightly, "but the crowned master in the tower, he wishes your services for a nodding relic."

"Noddist relic," Kent corrected, "and if you don't get it, she means Sebastian LaCroix, the pretender in Downtown."

Beckett nodded. "I gathered that," he said calmly.

Kent turned from him to flicker a glance at the paintings. "They're quite expressive," he mused, "good colours too; I wonder who the artist is."

"And there he goes," Romero commented, "typical Toreador."

"So great treasure hunter, will you accompany me back to the Prince so that I might be successive?" I asked hopefully.

"Hmm, well now I am intrigued if it's a Noddist relic but I still have studying here to do."

"What studying? Marvels of the undead art, buried treasure, or the unloved ones on the beach."

"Yes, the Thin-Bloods...They're a fascination of mine, I had heard a large concentration of them lived in this city- they're one of the reasons I'm in Los Angeles," he answered, his eyes filling with a spark of passion.

"They're boring though," I murmured, "a merman in disguise, maybe two, a doomsday girl, a stutterer and an imprisoned flower, once you know one you know them all. Come to Downtown, it's much more exciting, there are plagues, flesh eaters, sexual diseases, ratty anarchs who don't thank you for favours and more."

"How delightful," came Beckett's sarcastic remark.

I looked to Kent for help but he was busy inspecting a painting of a flaming blue bush with a man kneeling before it. I wondered if it was the first forest fire or perhaps the earliest known spontaneous combustion amongst trees. "Good use of blue and white," Kent commented appreciatively, "they blend well together, and the shadows, just excellent."

"Now who's talking to themselves," I grumbled, "or are the voices named? Perhaps two mad Toreadors then."

"No, he's just a Toreador," Romero answered, "it's their way crazy cat."

I looked back to Beckett and decided to switch tactics. "The relic looked very old," I informed him, "before the Egyptians, and it had strange markings on it, hard to decipher, and carvings."

"Of what?" The fish had been caught by the lie.

"Of a fanged being with a crown," I retorted, "and around him bleeding priests." One of my voices murmured to me, 'Elkabo, elkabo, pixie queen where all is green.' I turned and looked for the pixie queen; there were tiny shimmers near the paintings, drawn to the magic. "Paintings of acrylics and blood, a new form of art preservation," I murmured. "The pixies smell the magic but the blood recoils them, poor confused creatures."

"Ah you sense that too, yes I had noticed the minute carvings on the frames that indicate magic," Beckett said, still in a voice riddled with cynicism. "Miss Voerman's handiwork I would presume, she must be anticipating an attack on art."

"Hippies protesting the abuse of paint?" I pondered. "Or the religious taking offence? Maybe urchins angry at the door fees? Did we pay fees? Life and death, so expensive. We spite ourselves sometimes."

"Well I wouldn't presume to know the would be attackers or their motives," Beckett dismissed my ponderings. "Now, you have me interested in this relic of the Prince's, so if it means you will leave me in peace to study the paintings, then I will come with you to Downtown."

"Hurray!" I jumped up twice in delight. "When lone wolf? When? Must make haste, his highness gets impatient with me, he's doesn't understand the night's distractions, the yearning of the mad, the draw of the past."

Beckett just managed to curb a sigh. "Tomorrow night?" he offered. "Is that soon enough for you child of Malkav?"

"Soon enough to bake blood cakes of apology for the Napoleonic master, yes a return to Downtown tomorrow. Where shall we reacquaintance ourselves?"

"Is that even a word?" Romero wondered quietly.

"I will meet you outside The Diner," Beckett suggested, "at oh, shall we say, half eight?"

I nodded happily. Now Sebastian would be pleased with me, perhaps enough to divulge secrets, which I would hide from the number man but share with my sweet Baron. "Yes, and just one more thing?"

"Only one?" Beckett drawled.

"Are your glasses mere pretence? Might I test them?"

"No."

"Please, my sight grows blurry."

"I would say that's impossible for Kindred to have such weaknesses but then you are a Child of Malkav, blurry vision could easily be normal for you, in which case my glasses will not help you."

"What if I am considering a change? Maybe glasses will suit me?" I continued to plead.

"No, now then, until tomorrow evening...what was your name? I suppose it would be courteous to learn it."

"I am the lost princess, and the art student, and others, the many, the legion, the voices of one and several-"

"Just call her Ariadne," Romero interrupted my monologue, "everyone else does. Although sometimes, at least in Santa Monica, it's Sarah."

"I see. Well until tomorrow Ariadne-Sarah," Beckett said politely.

I shuddered at the thought of our names intertwined, we were not one, we could not be, she had no concept of Kindred, no use for Dementation, soppy, emotional, heartsick Sarah, still pining for Phil and dead Chase, oh but then, I pined for Isaac, perhaps we were not so different. Oh but acknowledgement, that was the curse, the trick, let her in too much and she would have control again.

"Let's get the art freak and go then," Romero suggested.

I followed his stare to Kent who was all but drooling at a painting of a naked man and woman, arm in arm in a pool of blood with droplets raining upon them. It made me thirsty. I headed over to him as he turned to engage excitedly with a human art lover, a student I guessed, one young with big, blue eyes and blonde hair streaked with pinks and lilacs.

"It is painful, sad when you compare it to the others," Kent told her with a grand gesture to all the paintings, "yet happy by itself, an odd contrast, one so deep though and full of much meaning."

The woman nodded agreeably though her eyes were not on the art but on Kent's smooth cheeks, chiselled jaw and elegant, handsome features.

"Casanova we must leave this dark gallery," I called in his left ear, "the deal is struck with the ruin hunter, he will join us tomorrow and together to Downtown we shall journey."

Kent nodded even as he pushed me away with one hand. "You see the drops," he said turning to point at the red rain on the painting, "they could easily be petals, giving a vision of beauty and yet the pool they wade through is crimson, an omen."

"Yes," the woman agreed.

I looked at her and grinned. When she collapsed into a fit of loud laughter Kent almost strangled me. "Must you do that?" he hissed angrily as the crowds turned to ogle the woman in surprise and scorn.

"Got your attention didn't it?" I replied innocently. "Time to flee the dark daughter's domain, our deed is done, mission complete."

"Oh and what, I can't enjoy the art and the company?" he snapped. "You're quite selfish Malk, I build ridiculous sandcastles with you but you won't allow me this?"

"Oh Kent, so moody over scribbles," I scorned. "Very well, enjoy your art, but do not be a prisoner of it Dorian, break free before sunrise." I turned from him and sprang for Romero, grabbing both his shoulders. "Just us tonight, a happy twosome!"

Romero eased me off and patted me gently on the head. "Let's go then."

I linked hands with him and we headed from the art domain and back to the welcome brown and grey streets of Santa Monica. We wandered up the pavements without direction until I found myself under the red glow of the Blood Clinic. I looked at its glass doors warily, within there a brutal mixture of torture and healing, the shame concealed underground, the secrets above. In there Lily and Phil suffered and only myselves, the grave guard, the poet and the mad slave knew.

"Whatever you're thinking," Romero said quietly in my ear, "it's not a good idea. I don't mind using Jamie Sue if it comes to it, wouldn't want her getting rusty but you; you're more unstable in this place than home, probably best not risking another incident."

"Should have freed the wallflower," I bemoaned, "but to risk torture for a stranger." I paused and looked at Romero keenly. "Would you do that?"

He looked uneasy for a moment, even as he held my gaze with his olive eyes. Debt, a friend in need, a love triangle like a tragic movie scene. "Once and it didn't work out so well for me," he confessed, sounding unconcerned. Screams in the night, so cold, so warm, down in the never ending dark, oh but I saw something horrid and deformed. Once you get a gun, get a gun, aim well, it'll be alright, once you get one, bastards. Oh the twists and turns of the flesh, who knew it could bend so easily?

"Scars even a Toreador's blood can't heal," I murmured, thinking of the pink trails running down Romero's chest coupled with the ones running through his brain. Such secrets the marksman had, but then didn't everyone in this dark world?

"Yeah, let's not talk about that," he dismissed with an awkward grin. "Let's just get away from here, you can't save everyone."

"But maybe we should try, Sarah wants very much to see Phil spared the Ghoul's final blow of death. She wants Phil, or is it revenge on Phil? Couldn't have him fully in life, he was a user, but then isn't everyone?" I sniggered. "Maybe he would make a fun Ghoul," I looked at Romero again, "is it fun being a Ghoul?"

"It has its moments though it's different for everyone, I would assume the obsession is the same, though to different degrees."

"Obsession?" I queried curiously.

He nodded. "Oh yes, the bond between Ghoul and vampire, impossible to escape, the blood drinking only makes it stronger but who can resist that taste?"

"So you're obsessed with the Baron then?" I guessed. "Should we duel for him?"

He frowned and shook his head quickly. "It's not like that," he scorned, "I mean...well...Baron's happy, I get my blood and I'm happy."

"But when you disobey him, how can you disobey him? This is most vexing, I didn't realise the bond I was playing with."

"No you didn't but it's alright, when you and I met I had no orders against...well against that so it was alright and then after..." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably with his left hand. "Well I'd no orders to not let you in my hut, just...nothing else, until you said something to him, then he said he didn't care, so long as he didn't have to know it."

"Ah I see, sneaky crypt keeper, wandering through the loopholes, a fun journey, I know. Obeying without obedience, a game I play with the Prince, nod and smile and then play bad games anyway."

"Er...well not quite, I'm loyal to Isaac, and not just because I'm his Ghoul, he's a good guy for one of your lot and I owe him. I mean if I'd known you and him, well I wouldn't have done it, but I did and it's history now. I mean I suppose I should've just...let it be a once off but...well I was in that shack for a really long time, no breaks, and you...well you're a striking piece of ass aren't you, and I get to escape Hollywood for a while thanks to you and...I like you crazy cat."

I smiled at him and grabbed him in a hug. "I like you too zombie slayer, you're fun." I flickered my gaze back to the clinic of wounded and wondered if saving the flower damsel might strike a blow against the mad wonder. Would it be worth it? Well the task of the archaeologist was all but done, why not another quest? I no longer had feelings of being Kine, so surely I wouldn't be bested by the cowardly Ghoul again. "I will make him mad," I mused as I released Romero and hurried to the Blood Clinic. "Make them all laugh."

I heard Romero groan but he followed as I knew he would. This time through the main doors, into a crowded reception and up to the grumpy receptionist. "Wait your turn," she snapped at me.

"The turning is now," I murmured as I grinned at her, "round and round, been waiting a while for the ride to get moving but it's turning now."

Her eyes went wide; she gave a moan and doubled over with a wretch. I giggled and hurried forward. I paused when I heard a voice call from above, "Dr. Malcolm to surgery please."

"God?" I wondered curiously as I searched for the source.

"Dr. Malcolm to surgery," it repeated.

"It's not God," Romero scoffed, "just a speaker. Now, can you please hurry up and do whatever stupid thing it is you're going to do?" he queried dryly.

I grinned and hurried on, pausing at each door I neared to peer in. Within one was an old man groaning on a bed with a dark skinned, dreadlocked doctor looking at him. He turned at my intrusion and frowned at me. "The doctor at play," I murmured.

"Excuse me?" he snapped at me.

I grinned back. "He shall turn pages no more." I turned and headed back out, no time for games and bribes though it was tempting.

In the next room I spied a groaning, youthful redhead. Her guts were out when they should be in, her rectangular glasses cracked, her skin paler than usual and her yellow top almost scarlet. "Help me," she pleaded, "help me."

I looked at her curiously, so young, a student probably like I once was, ah the shears of the Fates could be cruel sometimes. I considered aid briefly, there along the webs of destiny, so many different strands, on one a slave, a chore, a burden, on another...well that was yet unclear.

"Unless you're going to feed on her, can we get going?" Romero queried impatiently. He didn't like being back here again, he wasn't nervous, the gunman was never nervous, but he knew the dangers lurking below and he knew the risks of cops that gunshots and biting could bring.

"Maybe I want a Ghoul," I murmured.

"Hmm, I'm thinking if I let you make a Ghoul somehow I will get blamed for it and I don't fancy listening to that whiny poet yap at me or have the Baron mad at me again, all because you did something stupid."

I looked at him innocently. "Why would the crypt keeper take the blame?"

He folded his arms and gave me the scorning look a child might receive upon shattering dolls' heads. "The crypt keeper wouldn't willing take the blame; the blame would be forced upon him because he's meant to be the responsible one."

I clapped my hands and laughed at his sardonic third-person referral. Was it third? Were there three within him? "Do you have the many voices?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm just me, now come on, no Ghoul making."

I turned back to the delirious, whimpering redhead and reached out a hand to brush against her brow. "Let another do this dark deed," I mused, "I have not the permission." I turned from her and led the way back out in the corridors of grey walls and tiles. We wandered into several offices before finally spying the treacherous lover, slowly recovering in a ward, abandoned to his bed for the more seriously injured.

"What of this one?" I murmured as I stepped up to the bed and gazed down at sweaty Phil. "Can he be a servant in the night? Or," my grin widened, "a child of madness?"

"Yeah I think you guys need permission to make vampires," Romero said, with a little more anger in his voice, "and even if you don't, that's definitely a bad, bad idea. He looks like he's going to be alright, you can stop worrying."

I looked back to the grave guardian and was certain there was just an extra sparkle of green in his olive eyes, though he tried to appear nonchalant. "Doth the previous lover bother you?" I wondered aloud.

Romero's lips twitched as he resisted the urge to frown. "No," he answered briskly.

I looked back to Phil and Sarah pushed through with her wretched memories. He had toyed with her, never called her but waited for her calls instead. Never a boyfriend, wouldn't come out for dates, just to the clubs with the groups, sometimes she would go back with him but other times he would refuse her because he had studies. Then his roommate had talked loudly of Phil's girls, and that had made Sarah wonder... His face was still swollen and bruised but he did look better, provided the blood thief did not finish his work, Phil would live. Would he forget? Devoted Sarah never could, told herself it was okay Phil being with others because she wanted another too, she wanted Chase.

I turned away at last, too many memories trying to suffocate me; I wanted no more of the old. "Let's go rescue the wallflower," I said as I met Romero's gaze once more. I smiled at him. "Just you and the Baron, two for the many voices, two is enough, he makes the voices quieter, and you, you don't get angry with them."

"You are what you are, me getting angry isn't going to change that," he retorted calmly, "maybe you can help your madness but I doubt it, and I'm fine with it."

I wanted to hug him again but I could feel a prickle of longing in my throat, a burning that would soon bloom into a powerful need. With the stench of blood around me, tempting me, I knew I had to get out of here soon. "On to the imprisoned hippy then," I announced chirpily before casting one final glance at Phil. Say farewell Sarah, you are done with him.

We headed through two glass doors at the back of the corridors, which I had to help prise open, with the aid of the goblins naturally, who were excellent at opening locks. Then down, down the steps Chase had once led us astray, back to the corridors of treachery.

I ducked and yanked Romero down with me. Had to be sneaky, would obfuscate but then Romero would be left visible. He was there, up ahead behind his protective mesh, but there was a door just before it, maybe if I was quiet enough. I reached it with soft steps and raised a hand up to the handle. Locked of course, now how to open this quietly? Not possible. I stood upright and ran to the mesh prison. Laugh little Ghoul, laugh and forget. I grasped the frame, leaned close and laughed, laughed loudly and absurdly before he knew what was going on. His face crinkled up before he could help himself and then his own wild laughter began. I moved back to the door and broke the lock free with much noise and effort.

"Shouldn't you have knocked him out or killed him?" Romero queried.

"A blow to the daughter of Janus," I murmured, "but the wrong half would take the insult and then more wrath upon poor me."

"Uh huh."

I led the way on through the many corridors, searching for the entrance to the forbidden chamber. Down into the freezers where a box of numbers sat where no box should. "Tis a reference of moon landings and sexual games," I mused, "well the latter anyway." I keyed in the numbers that the voices whispered and the door opened.

There she was, thinner, paler and weaker than before. Slumped forward and murmuring to herself as my kind were wont to. "Little flower," I called out softly as I crept to the chair. "Little hippy of the thin red rivers."

"Er...when did she last feed?" Romero wondered aloud.

Ah good question. "Perhaps you should wait outside," I suggested.

"Perhaps I should." He stepped back out of the room and I unfastened the locks that bound the cuffs. At first nothing, then a snarl of savagery and up the redhead sprang.

"Blood," she growled, "I need it, it burns, oh it burns, I'm so hungry, the fire, it hurts, it hurts!" she shrieked.

I glanced about the room, the blood bags must be stored somewhere near. Only so many would fit in the Ghoul's box. I sniffed the air, the odour was thick, Lily's, and other Kine's, many different types, oh how delicious. "This way, this way," I mused. I headed out a door at the front of the room, round a corner to the left and then into a small room of cupboards. Lily did not wait; she crashed into one cupboard loudly and tore it from its hinges. Blood spattered the room immediately, painting the dull floors as she ripped the bags of blood apart.

I preferred the fresh, hot taste but now my thirst had grown and I cared not for pickiness. So I went to another cupboard, with a little more grace and started feeding. It was cold, almost slimy and not as welcome as a new bite. Still, it helped soothe the burn and cull the need. I drank down just one bag, determined to have a fresh supper. Then I waited as Lily coated herself in sheens of red.

At last she stopped and looked around in shock before her gaze fell on me. "What came over me?" she wondered fearfully.

"The beautiful beast of hunger," I answered merrily. "But explanations come later; we must leave before the mad captor returns."

She narrowed her grey-green eyes at me with suspicion. "You look familiar," she murmured, "it's hard though, I'm so tired and thirsty, it's been hard to focus here."

I nodded. "Let's go," I urged.

I led the way back to an impatient Romero who regarded Lily warily. She let out a sharp gasp as the smell of his blood reached her but when he pulled out his faithful shotgun and pointed it her way she let out a shriek instead and staggered back.

"Quiet now," I urged, "the zombie slayer will only shoot if you bite. Must leave silently and hastily, come now."

We hurried on and escaped without detection, back to Santa Monica's ever familiar, dark streets. Lily halted then and snapped at me, "wait, you were with me! I remember now, trapped just like me but he let you go! Why did he let you go? Why did you leave me?"

"Another of my selves was in control," I explained apologetically, "but I returned; yes, now you're free."

She frowned. "I was there was so long strapped- trapped...thought I'd never escape. You escaped though and you left me, but I suppose you didn't have to return." She shuddered. "I need to go, it's not safe here."

"Run to the beach then," I suggested, "join the rest of the outcast clan with the prophesier and the one between D and F."

"E?" she queried dumbly. "Wait E! How do you know E?"

"He witnessed the beginning of my birth," I said dramatically, "and then the grand building of the sandcastles."

"Wwwhat?" She glanced nervously from me to Romero who was keeping a careful eye on her.

"On the beach with the others, an odd little group of unloved fangers."

Her gaze softened and she said quietly, "I tried to tell E about his condition, but he was so furious at me for what I'd made him into..." She trailed off.

"Yes, yes," I dismissed, "no time for tales, time for supper. Remember the fiery ball in the sky, don't get a tan Lily."

She shook her head at me. "Well thanks I- I should go, maybe I'll see E." She turned from me and broke into a run.

"Hope no one notices the bloodstains," Romero commented sardonically.

I shrugged. "The deed is done, conscience eased, the rest is fate."

"Right."

"Now, time to find a bedtime snack," I commented mischievously. I led the way back into the night, spying on the crowds, looking for the lone stranger to stalk.