"The disease queen sleeps here," I mused as Kent dragged me up the corridor, "and the bear master, oh what a wonderful place. I think I dined upon a songwriter here."

"Yes Malk that's nice," Kent scorned as he pressed the button for the lift and then shoved me into it the moment the doors opened.

"Why such scorn poet?" I wondered as I looked at him curiously.

He flustered at me and swallowed down a curse. "You told those women I had a special relationship with the receptionist, the male receptionist," he snarled at me. "Then you asked the receptionist, loudly, if he would date me. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well you were looking at him," I mused, "and he gazed at you with such pretty eyes."

"I was checking in," he snapped, "and making sure that we weren't going to have to pick up one of the Ghouls in jail, frig knows if they bothered to check in normally or not. I imagine Heather did, she's a smart girl and subtle I daresay, probably headed straight up to the room and settled herself but Romero, I mean it's a little obvious he's not in public much."

"He was guarding zombies, and Isaac did not permit social breaks," I protested, "it's how we became acquainted." I smiled at that fond memory and then frowned slightly; my dear mad sire had interrupted that. I thought so little of him, it was too painful and confusing, was he madder from captivity or well? I had never asked Isaac, I feared the answer too much. Poor poet, I hoped he was out again, pondering the dark works of Poe and Dante, hadn't they been his favourites? He was more into art I thought, macabre art, hadn't Kent said that?

"Well I know that," Kent murmured as the lift moved up, "Ash told me, in his words you're a depraved slut and Romero was desperate, of course one could hardly expect Ash to be favourable about anyone, especially you. Even before the zombie business though, I mean until recently I've spent most of my time in Downtown but I've gone to Hollywood on errands and Romero has always been cagey. A big fan of the radio mind, bet he never told you that."

"History mars a persona, stains like oil on tar, an ugly mess of scars; they stitched the girl, and remoulded the friend."

"What?"

The lift doors binged open and I skipped out into a brightly lit corridor of cream walls with wooden panels, a rich carpet of navy and gold weaving and mahogany doors on either side. "Like a dish of porridge in the sky, the things that happened were unnatural," I called as I ran backwards down the corridor.

Kent caught up to me in a blur, grabbing me by my shoulders and shaking me. "Are you talking about Romero?" he demanded. "You know Isaac never said how they met, not that I've asked I suppose."

"Oh you and the grave keeper have a bond," I mused, "a dark familiarity, the craftsmen of the night, and the Anarch's kindness."

Kent shuddered and released me. "What do you know?" he grumbled. "You Malkavians always speak in riddles you don't even understand yourselves."

"Lies, tricks and truths, all mingled in the broken shards of the mirror," I mused happily as I turned and continued onwards.

"That's exactly it," Kent snapped, "and why Nines won't trust you, sometimes you speak the truth but other times you lie, sometimes without even realising it."

I glanced back at him and grinned. "Sometimes you lie too pretty poet."

"In our existence lies are needed," he retorted sharply before stopping at a door on the right and knocking it. I knew he could have picked the lock, we both knew that but then we both also knew there was a distinct possibility that if he did that Romero would blow his brains in and we would find out if a vampire could heal from such a wound.

Romero answered and stepped back saying, "so your Ghoul didn't even know she was a Ghoul or you were a Kindred, and why did you give her your blood if you were just going to abandon her? You know I stopped missy from doing the same thing, I didn't realise you were as stupid."

"Don't you of all people lecture me," Kent grumbled as he led the way into his lavish quarters, "I mean seriously, you slept with a Malkavian, you have no high ground to stand on here. Besides, I only had to abandon her because of the Malk and I knew she would find me, she's resourceful and clever, aren't you Heather?"

Heather was standing in the middle of a large living room giving Kent a feverish look. "Yes master," she enthused.

"Master?" I choked out. "I could have been master?" I glowered at Romero. "And you stopped me? Now Kent will have all the fun!"

"We've been through this Malk," Kent chided as he grinned at Heather, "you're bat shit crazy and can't even be responsible for yourself never mind another being and I needed a new Ghoul because you killed my last one."

"You know Nines asked me to do that," I retorted grumpily before forking out my tongue at him. "She chattered too much."

Romero sighed, closed the door and then walked over to one of the couches and flopped down on it sideways.

The television was on, intrigued I hurried until I was standing in front of it, causing Romero to quip, "you're not invisible."

"I can be," I said chirpily.

"No you can't," Kent growled out.

The funny newsman with the brown moustache was on reading out the latest headlines. "The Southland Slasher's last victim was in the Luckee Star Motel in Hollywood, witnesses described the corpse as torn as if by an animal, bits everywhere, murder, murder, murder."

"Rob," I said softly. The Southland Slasher, once my brother Robert Grey when I had been Sarah Grey, now he had a new identity just like me though he was Gangrel and not Malkavian. It was a title the media had given him, prompting me to wonder what he called himself. Had he made it to Hollywood? Had he gone elsewhere? Would I see him again? Would the Sabbat?

"They stole my bike." I sobbed, hiding my face behind my hands as I felt tears come to my eyes.

"Well we will steal it back," Rob said firmly. He was always so tough and confident, he had never suffered from bullying, no one would dare.

"They'll just take it again," I wailed.

"No they won't, I promise," he assured. "I'll make sure they won't."

"Malk?" I felt Kent's cold hands grasp mine and I found myself looking up into his concerned grey eyes.

"Is Rob safe?" I wondered aloud.

"I'm sure he is," Kent said.

"Lying again poet," I murmured quietly as I turned away from him.

"It's hard when it's family," he murmured, "I understand that."

"Yes," I answered softly, "you lost Abbey."

His hands stiffened and I found myself gripping them in reassurance. A role reversal, perhaps I could wear the expensive clothes and spout poetry and romance to charm women and he could dress in costumes and rant and rave for a change, maybe it would improve his relationship with Romero or possibly make it much worse. "She was my sister," he whispered before releasing me and turning his attentions back to Heather.

"Are you alright?" This query came from Romero.

I turned to the grave guard and grinned. "I am not wrong," I retorted happily.

"Who's Rob?"

I flinched and felt myself frowning slightly, who was Rob these days? "I don't know anymore," I murmured.

I felt Kent's grey gaze back on me. "I could ring Isaac," he offered, "I need to anyway to tell him we're coming and give him warning about La Croix's latest bullshit."

"So we're going back to Hollywood?" Romero queried in his deadpan way.

"Yes, to find lost treasures and the keymaster amongst the Sabbat."

"Sabbat?" Romero queried coolly. "Those guys that Isaac complains about?"

I nodded happily and Kent commented, "yes, the arseholes of the vampire world, they don't care if Kine find out what they are, frankly they couldn't give a shit, they think this world is theirs to rule, they're brutal, stupid and usually short lived. However, they do have numbers and most of their numbers are made up of Tzimisce and Gangrel, so they're not exactly without strength."

"Tzimisce?" Romero echoed with just a hint of a quake to his voice.

I realised when Kent kept a stare on him that he was deliberately trying to goad Romero into spilling truths. "Yes, Tzimisce, they can give Malkavians a run for their money in terms of fucked up."

"You certainly do curse a lot for a Toreador," I remarked brightly, "shouldn't you be better spoken? Perhaps a bit more pedantic?"

Kent took the time to give me an unimpressed glower. "Are you really lecturing me on Clan behaviour?" he sneered. "I have good diction if that's what you are getting at, would you prefer me to describe the Tzimisce as flesh bending, amoral Kindred who often suffer from being ostentatious as one can expect from the Sabbat?"

I clapped my hands in delight. "I think you've got it," I enthused, "I think you've got it!"

Kent rolled his grey eyes at me before returning his stare to Romero who was trying hard to hide his nerves, pity we vampires could smell it on him, it was sticky and sweet like a sprinkling of syrup left out too long in the summer sun.

"I don't think I'll be going with you," Romero murmured, "er...I mean I'll come back to Hollywood of course but then you're on your own."

I frowned and leaned close to him. "I'll miss you grave guard," I said sincerely, "you have a most accurate aim and the poet won't come with me either. Well at least I have the voices; the journey would be most unpleasant alone."

Romero flickered a curious olive gaze at Kent. "You're not going either?" he queried, almost accusingly. Hmm perhaps the grave guardian knew Kent was trying to goad him?

Kent shrugged. "I'm not feeling suicidal at the moment."

"That and he has a most tarnished history with the Sabbat," I said dramatically.

"Shut it Malk," Kent growled angrily.

Romero folded his arms and stared at Kent suspiciously. "Weren't you trying to learn my history?" he demanded angrily. "Why don't we hear yours?"

Kent scowled at him and paced back, turning to Heather briefly. The good Ghoul was hovering near the table trying to look inconspicuous, arms folded and tongue quiet, oh what a joyous pet I had missed out on. "Look I don't know anything," Kent confessed, "the Malk was just blabbing in that irritable and yet disturbingly accurate way of hers." He flashed Romero a biting smile. "What can I say? You are an oddity, it makes me curious."

"Oh and you're real normal," Romero retorted in a deadpan manner. "Look, I have a history with the..."

"Flesh makers," I filled in helpfully with a smile.

Romero shuddered. "Right, them, but I don't really see a point in discussing it."

"Because it might persuade your girlfriend not to go wandering into their den," Kent suggested.

"You have a girlfriend?" I questioned in surprise as I looked from the poet to the Ghoul in alarm. "Who is she? Is she prettier than me?"

Kent snickered. "I was referring to you Malk," he said sardonically, "although what the Hell right you would have to get jealous or paranoid I don't know." He shook his head. "What Isaac's deal with you is I will never know. Anyway, it's late or early depending on how you look at it; I think we should all go to bed." He looked at Romero and I pointedly. "I think it goes without saying that you two aren't sharing a room." He looked back to Heather and said, "Ghouls you can bunk together here in the living room, play nice. Malk, you can stay in the spare room and I will take the master suite."

"Of course," Romero remarked dryly.

"Well I am paying for this place," Kent grumbled. He walked over to Heather and patted her gently on her soft red hair. "You will be alright," he assured, "Romero is on our side even if he is a weirdo."

"Yes master," Heather answered with an adoring green look.

I sighed and grabbed Romero in a cuddle before he flinched back. "Good night," I said happily, "sleep tight and don't be wandering to the redhead when it's bright."

"I won't crazy cat," he muttered as he embraced me awkwardly with one hand.

I pulled back and smiled up at him. "Loss is tragic," I said seriously, "when you lose your friends like a cat loses butter, it's easier not to find new ones, no one to lose then."

Romero gave a heavy sigh before shrugging out of my grasp. "Good night," he said dismissively.

I frowned and skipped to the spare room. It was large but lonely and I was unhappy to curl up alone. When I slipped into slumber I thought of the dear Baron, Romero's warm embrace was nice but the Baron's cold, fond grasp was soothing and sweet, I longed for it and him.

Hollywood, I was so happy to see it I opened the taxi's door and jumped out before the taxi stopped. I ran off leaving Kent to curse behind me, darting into the first familiar building I came across. The morose music in the Asp hole was pounding as loud as ever and as expected the usual group of preened pretentious peacocks were gathered round in small groups- would be idols, models, B stars, it girls and those of rich families. I bit one once hoping to see blue blood but alas it had been disappointingly crimson and not worth Ash's scorn because I had attacked someone outside his club.

I noticed the obvious presence of tall, shady characters in long, brown coats with suspicious, beady black eyes and permanent scowls. They were not of the usual club goers, perhaps they were the Men in Brown, cousins to the Men in Black, maybe fey in disguise come to steal some youthful souls to take back to fairyland or perhaps they were simply foreigners trying to introduce a new trend, trench coats in clubs.

I darted round the club eagerly hunting for Ash and after bumping into his reflection, who frowned when I tried to shatter him with a simple tap on the head, I found him upstairs, as moody as ever. He scowled when he spotted me though I was certain his pale blue eyes sparked with delight. "Dead phoenix, I missed you!" I exclaimed happily.

"Well the feeling is not mutual," he retorted flatly.

"Did you know you have a new trend starting here?" I queried curiously. "Men in brown coats, I guess they're dedicated to fashion or maybe they have something to hide."

"They're hunters idiot," he retorted moodily, "in front, back, inside my club. That Sabbat's killings caused way too much interest here, throw in some more disappearances and they're getting suspicious. What does it matter though? I could challenge them; go out in a blaze of glory. And you know what- knowing that...it doesn't bother me."

"Yes dead phoenix, you're an emo, we all know and love you for it."

He frowned at me. "I don't know why I waste my time with you or why Isaac does for that matter. I was hoping you got staked in Downtown by that Prince but I guess he's either too dumb to do it or like Isaac, somehow able to ignore your annoying, idiotic, mad personality."

"Oh you say such lovely things firespawn," I mused happily. "I really did miss your sarcasm and your self-pity; you make my nights seem brighter. I would like to help you; shall I lure the hunters away? Lay a false trail, and be their fox. Not now mind, it shall have to be another night, I have important business to attend to."

"Exactly," Kent's less than impressed voice snapped from behind me. "Next time you feel the urge to jump out of a taxi don't. For one, Kine ask questions when you bounce onto the road with ease and run off without a scratch, for another, it's stupid and for a third, it makes it hard to keep track of you when the rest of us have to wait for the taxi to stop."

"Why bother keeping track of her?" Ash asked dryly.

"Someone has to," Kent grumbled. "How are you Ash?"

"Fine, until she returned," he said with an accusing look at me.

"Untrue!" I protested before forking my tongue out at him. "He is haunted by hunters."

"I noticed," Kent remarked grimly. "Why haven't they left yet?"

Ash shrugged. "I'm too interesting for them I suppose," he murmured dryly.

"Yes but we got the Sabbat killer who made the Ventrue disappear," Kent commented.

"Yes but there are others still disappearing," Ash replied glumly, "Isaac thinks it's Sabbat again, he's convinced they have a base somewhere near."

Kent glanced at me whilst I looked at Ash hopefully. "Where? Where?" I demanded.

He frowned at me and snapped, "well if we knew that it wouldn't still be there. Why do you care anyway?"

"Never mind," Kent answered quickly, "we need to go now anyway. Come on Malk, Isaac will be expecting us." He grabbed me by my left arm before I could protest and pulled me down the stairs and back to Hollywood's filthy, light filled streets. Heather stood on the edge of the footpath looking around in awe whilst Romero stood a few feet from her smoking.

"Time to go," Kent said as he started to pull me up the path. "Hopefully Isaac can persuade you that going to the Sabbat is suicide," he grumbled.

"I thought you and the grave guard were going to entertain and warn with stories," I said hopefully, "of lost battles with Sabbat, of treachery, murder and brave rescues!"

Kent said nothing, merely quickened his pace.

We eventually arrived at Isaac's house of treasures and trinkets and Kent all but pushed me through the glittering glass decorated door. For once my many personas and I were in union with our emotions- shock, joy and just a tinge of guilt.

He was a little more nervous than usual, glancing at me first with shock and then with apprehension. He turned up to the Baron curiously, as if awaiting an order or permission and clasped his hands together, to calm himself I supposed.

"Alex," I spoke his name, half-expecting him to vanish with it.

"Ariadne," he answered with a flicker of a smile.

"I missed you dead poet," I said sincerely, "Kent's poems are worse than yours, he's better at art."

"When have you read my poetry?" Kent snapped as he released my arm at last.

"I found it in your coat," I murmured happily, "'and all the world is black, red and grey', absolutely dreadful Kent."

"I told you to keep away from my stuff," he snarled at me.

Isaac and Alex both let out a chortle. I turned my gaze on the Baron then and sprang at him with an excited squeal. He raised his hands in time to stop me, before easing me into a gentle embrace. "I missed you too," I remarked as I nuzzled his chest, "it's never the same without you."

"I missed you as well Ariadne," Isaac said gently before pushing me back a little, "as has Alex. He has been out for a week now, feeding and recovering. He is doing well."

"I was in Romero's basement," Alex murmured, "after Xander, I was hard to trust, I know, he framed me, it made things suspicious but Isaac knows the truth now."

"Indeed," Kent muttered dryly.

I grinned at Alex reassuringly. "We all know the truth, twas the Malkavian, not the Toreador, worry not Alex."

"So how was Downtown?" Isaac queried. "And Santa Monica?"

"The less of the latter the better," Kent grumbled, "bat shit crazy here went madder than usual, as you know, but finally came to some of her senses, which is all that can be expected. Then we got jumped by some Sabbat, which we took care of, and then we went to Downtown, where the Malk got dominated into a suicide mission."

"What?" Isaac demanded as he gripped my shoulders and stared at me with worry.

"What about Rob?" I wondered aloud. "You missed out Rob."

"Right, her Gangrel brother, part of the whole unforgettable Santa Monica reunion," Kent muttered. "I told him to come here, did he?"

Isaac shook his head. "That's not to say he's not here," the Baron said to me reassuringly, "just simply that he has not brought his presence to my attention. Now what about this domination, a cruel ploy of that fop of a Prince I assume?"

"He wants her to find a Sabbat base here in Hollywood and get some sort of key from them, a relic or something, to unlock some old artefact he has," Kent explained.

"The Prince thought I played games so to the lady by the sea he sent me to find the relic master," I commented. "He considers me most loyal now and only one most trusted could be granted the task of finding the key to the nodding relic. I must obey, must succeed, failed before, can't be tardy."

"You see," Kent said pointedly, "Domination."

"Who's outside?" Alex asked suddenly.

We all turned at his words to the open doorway. "Oh, the Ghouls," Kent grumbled. "Come in," he called to them.

"I can't smoke inside," Romero called back whilst Heather poked a curious, slightly uneasy head around the door.

"Who's this?" Isaac asked.

"Kent made a Ghoul!" I exclaimed. "Twas meant to be me and mine but Romero stopped me," I looked at Isaac woefully, "it's not fair; she calls him master, I should be master! Romero said he'd get in trouble if I made one."

"I would get in trouble if you did!" Romero called out.

"He's right, you're not responsible," Kent said scornfully, "whilst I on the other hand most certainly am and I use Ghouls to their full potential and as has been said, I needed one after you killed the last one."

"Kk..kill...killed?" Heather stammered nervously. She came stumbling in suddenly when Romero gave her a helpful shove. Her green eyes fell on me and widened.

"I haven't made a habit of it," I informed her with a smile.

"And you won't either," Kent grumbled.

"Does your Ghoul have a name?" Alex queried as he studied her. I guess it was rare for natural redheads to meet, and we all knew V.V's hair wasn't natural.

Kent bristled and scowled at Alex, their old rivalry evidently not forgotten. "Heather Poe," he introduced waspishly.

"But not a relation to Edgar or Allen," I said sorrowfully.

"Well I am Isaac Abrams," Isaac greeted politely, "and this is Alex."

Heather nodded quickly at him before glancing about the place and then settling her gaze safely on Kent.

"Anyway, tell the Malk she can't go to the Sabbat Isaac," Kent implored.

"Does she even know where they are?" Alex queried as he looked at me with worry.

"She'll find them with that foresight of hers," Kent grumbled, "and we all know it. She always manages to find what she's looking for eventually, she found the Sabbat killer after all, and Beckett."

"Ariadne let that baby faced bit of a prince do his own deeds," Isaac addressed me with a stern look. "The Sabbat are no simple threat."

"Everyone says that," I murmured, "but no one goes into details. They played puzzles with Romero's friends and maybe the pony lover scream."

"Stop it," Kent hissed hatefully.

Isaac looked to him curiously. "Does something in that offend you?" he queried.

"Abbey," I mused softly, "little Abbey, never quite all there, such a tender soul." I felt his hand before I saw him move, pain flooded through my cheek and then my skull when I bounced off the wall.

There was a hiss and a cry as two blurs fought near my vision. I felt cold hands help me to my feet and embrace me loosely, as if they were afraid to hold me close. Kent hit the wall hard and gave an angry grunt. His lip was bloodied, his right arm crooked and his grey eyes brimming with tears. "You don't understand," he babbled up at Isaac's glowering form. The Baron was still, not a strand out of place, not even a wrinkle upon his fine, soft clothes, and yet we all knew it had been who had beaten Kent so swiftly. "That fucking sight of hers! She shouldn't know! She shouldn't say either," he snarled angrily.

"No she shouldn't," Romero remarked calmly as he entered at last, pausing to give a nod to Isaac, "but maybe we should. If you really don't want her going after the Sabbat, and I know I don't, maybe you should tell her what they can do." The Ghoul looked nervous again and I smelt his fear thick on the air coupled with Heather's fright and worry.

Kent clutched at his face with both hands and let out a low wail that sent a jolt of surprise through me, yes Toreadors were emotional but I never seen the dark haired one in such a state. "You won't understand," he muttered again, "you'll cast me out, I'm be a pariah to the Anarchs and it's not like that, it's not."