Vampire®: The Masquerade—BloodlinesTM

Vampire®: The Masquerade—BloodlinesTM...... 1 Preface...... 2 The Embrace...... 3 Mercury...... 11 Thin Blood Beachcombers...... 13 A Flower Named Lily...... 16 Prophecy...... 20 The Asylum...... 24 Spirits and Paintings of Caine...... 29 Farewell to Santa Monica...... 37 Faction Meetings...... 43 Of Female Ships and Ghouls...... 53 Plague Bearers...... 57 Malkavian Primogen...... 65 Natural History Museum...... 71 Molded Horrors...... 76 The Nosferatu...... 85 Gargoyle...... 91 Welcome to Chinatown...... 93 Fu Syndicate...... 100 The Giovanni...... 105 Detour...... 111 Hollywood Stripper...... 115 Society of Leopold...... 121 Confrontation with the Sabbat...... 124 Werewolf...... 130 Decision Point...... 135 End Game...... 139

1 Portions taken from Vampire: The Masquerade—Bloodlines copyright  2004 by Activision, Inc. All rights reserved. Vampire: The Masquerade is a registered trademark of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. Vampire: The Masquerade—Bloodlines is a trademark of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. Other trademarks are property of their respective owners.

Preface This is a walk-through of the story for the computer game Vampire: The Masquerade— Bloodlines. The dialogue is taken almost directly from the game. I assume you have played the game, and are interested in reviewing the story or finding parts you missed. In the game, it is possible to play as a member of several different vampire clans with unique abilities. A member of the Malkavian clan, which I chose here, also uses unique lines in many encounters with the game’s inhabitants. Thanks for design, dialog and story: lead writer Brian Mitsoda, Chad Moore, TJ Perillo, Jason Anderson, and Leonard Boyarsky. And everyone else at Troika Games. Unfortunately, this game wasn’t very successful in its initial release, mainly due to gameplay problems and poor marketing, which contributed to the failure of Troika Games not too long afterwards. However, it has become something of a classic since then.

Rhys Hess (rhyshess2 gmail.com)

February, 2005: Initial creation August, 2015: Minor corrections and cleanup

2 The Embrace She remembered the night, the bed, the male voice saying, “I want to show you something…” then the sharp pain and losing consciousness… There was no longer any pain in her neck. Actually, she felt vibrant in a way she had never before experienced. She made an abortive move to feel for a wound, but something was holding her hands. No matter. She listened. A voice was speaking. She heard each word clearly, so clearly. “As prince of this city,” she heard, “under Camarilla law, I am within my rights to grant or deny the Kindred of this city the privilege of siring Childer. Many of you have come to me seeking permission…” She stopped concentrating on the meaning of the words, letting them string together into a flow of sound, imagining she could sense the intentions behind them. She realized she was not alone in her head. Several voices were present, inside as opposed to the one outside, speaking separately, but blending into one chorus. Well, as long as they weren’t in conflict, no trouble there. She stopped paying attention to sound, looking around. She was on a stage, in a theater. Although the lights were all pointed towards the stage, she could see the seats in the audience were sparsely occupied. She was sure she would have been unable to make this out in the gloom, before tonight. She concentrated on three figures seated together. One of them, in appearance a young man, was visibly agitated. He was whispering to his comrades; despite her improved hearing she could not make out any words. He gesticulated forcefully as he whispered. Evidently he didn’t like something about the proceedings. She glanced left and right, at the other figures on the stage. The figure speaking was dressed in expensively tailored clothes. “They were caught shortly after Embracing this Childe. It pains me to announce the sentence, as up to tonight…” Most of the rest of those on the stage were flunkies. One was holding her arms behind her, forcing her to remain in a kneeling position. The same with the one holding the half-naked man in a similar position. Several more were ranged behind her. A large man, who must outweigh her by several times, was standing to one side. There was something wrong with his face. She examined the man kneeling not far from her. She recognized he wasn’t really a man, no more than she was any longer a woman. He was the source of the sharp pain. She formulated a question, “Is this what you wanted to show me?” Before she could ask it, she realized the speaker had turned towards the kneeling figure. “Forgive me,” he said. He turned to the audience. “Let the penalty commence.” The large man standing off to the side stepped forward, with two hands effortlessly hefting an enormous sword into the air. He smoothly brought it down. She marveled at the changing reflections of the light from the weapon as the blade descended. It cut through the neck of the kneeling figure, separating the head from the rest of the body.

3 There is no blood was her first thought. Her second was wonderment as the body burned to ash. It’s Christmas, she thought in amazement, and I am the present. She glanced at the animated figure in the audience. He was talking a little more loudly, she could just make out, “All’s I’m saying is that he better not do it.” The figure on stage, after what he no doubt considered a dramatic pause, resumed speaking. “Which leads to the fate of the ill-begotten progeny. Without a Sire, most Childer are doomed to walk the Earth never knowing their place…” He aped the forms of leadership and control, but he was like a jester who had donned the king’s robe and crown. If her hands weren’t still held she would have clapped at his performance. She focused again on his words, “Therefore, I have decided that—” “This is bullshit!” interrupted the impetuous one in the audience, jumping to his feet. His two companions rose as well, not to silence him, but to add their support. “If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish,” said the primary speaker, “I have decided to let this Kindred live. She shall be instructed in the ways of our kind and be granted the same rights. Let no one say I am unsympathetic to the plights and causes of this community. I thank you all for attending these proceedings, and I hope their significance is not lost. Good night.” She waited for the audience to cheer and laugh at the jester’s performance, but there was only the rustle as those seated got up to leave. She nearly laughed herself as a voice in her head pointed out something. Everyone there was united by a shared bloodline, so unlike her before tonight. They all, at some point, had been shown what she had been shown. Her escort permitted her to rise, guiding her through the curtains which shielded the back of the stage. In the hallway behind the stage the speaker spoke to her. “Your Sire, tragic, my apologies, but you see there is a strict code of conduct that all of us must…must adhere to if we wish to survive.” The words were in the form of a polite explanation, but they screamed to her “annoyance, mistake, begone.” “When someone, anyone, breaks these laws, they undermine the well-worn fabric of our centuries old society. Understand my predicament. Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behavior. So…what I’m offering is not generosity, but the opportunity to transcend the fate woven by your Sire.” “This is your trial. You will be brought to Santa Monica. There, you will meet an agent by the name of Mercurio. He will provide the details of your labor. I’ve shown you great clemency. Prove it was more than a wasted gesture, fledgling. Don’t come back, until you do. Good evening.” She had a new life, the one who had guided her into it was dead, and if she wished to remain not-dead, she had to follow the wishes of the Jester. She stepped through the side door leading out of the theater. A man was waiting for her. Well, not a man, but a thing like her. In another life, she would have called someone with his long, unkempt hair and beard and heavily muscled arms a biker, which would make her a biker chick. In this life, she could see him smiling while he created chaos. Perhaps she was the chaos seed?

4 “What a scene man!” he yelled, enthusiastically thumping her on the shoulder. “Hoo-wee! They just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods. How ‘bout that? Look, kiddo, this is probably a lot for you to take in, so uh, why don’t you let me show you the ropes. Whattya say?” “The rain of ages plot again to wash away revelation,” she said solemnly, for it revealed a great truth. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say which great truth. “What? Oh, man.” He shook his head in mock despair. “And you’re a goddamn Malkavian too? Wow, you really are fucked.” “Who is this dark demon I see before me?” she asked. “I’m Jack. What’s important is I’m offering help. You make it back from Santa Monica with your hide and we’ll trade life stories, okay? ‘Til then, I got about this much time.” He held up his forefinger next to his thumb to illustrate how short. “You in or out?” “I shall undertake your dark tutelage…” she replied, since she saw no others waiting to offer her an education. “Alright. Now, we ain’t got much time but I figure somebody should fill you in on the bare bones stuff at least. You know, could save your hide...” He trailed off, looking at her more closely. “You look wobbly. You even had a drink yet?” “About what beverage do you babble?” “Oh man—we’re poppin’ a cherry here!” Jack chuckled. “Ah, you’re gonna love this! Alright, check it out. Blood—it’s your new rack’a lamb, your new champagne— blood’s your new fuckin’ heroin, kid. Get ready though, cuz, heh, it’s never as sweet as the first time.” “Sweet like a prom date?” she asked, thinking, all giggly and giddy? “Well, down around the corner there, I saw this human. Poor S.O.B., can’t start his car…” He chuckled again. “How do I do this dread deed?” “You go down there…casual like…creep up on him, then bare those little fangs and feed. Don’t worry if you weren’t captain of the wrestling team or something, ‘cause it’ll come so naturally you’ll think you’d done it a thousand times already.” “Will he then carry this curse in his veins?” Was it her turn to create a “Childe”? “Forget that comic book crap kid,” he snapped back. “It don’t work that way. Now go for it. Be sure though, and this is important so listen up, be sure not to drain ‘em dry, okay? It might be hard to resist, but don’t kill ‘em.” “I go to drain the luscious liquid…” She walked down the alley, turning a corner where a human was standing by his disabled car. He started speaking when she approached, which she ignored. She concentrated on his neck. She could see his beating pulse; she had missed that sound and sensation, without consciously knowing she had missed it, the effect of blood pushed through her own arteries from a living, beating heart.

5 She suddenly pounced, sinking her fangs into his neck. She had thought she was feeling well before, but this went beyond that. This was the best sex, the best meal, the best delighted shiver while watching a horror movie, all at the same time. With an effort, she wrenched her fangs out of him, overcoming a sudden urge to drain him dry, to suck all the life she could while she had the chance. He stood there, swaying a little, plainly dazed by the experience. She returned to Jack, swaying a little herself with the dizzying rush of new blood suffusing her body. “Yeah…ah yeah…,” Jack crooned. “Hell yeah, you’re feeling it. I can see it in your eyes…you’re a born-again predator. Feeling that blood bubblin’ inside you, lifting you up. That’s it, kid, that’s what it’s all about right there.” “So spooky! And when do I choose the color of my cape?” “Alright now,” he said, shaking his head, “you got the blood, you’re feeling all kickass, feelin’ better than your best day livin’—but wait! It gets better! All Kindred… Kindred, that’s uh, our word for vampire…all Kindred have a few things in common, things that set them right square above humans on the food chain. “Tell me this tale,” she whispered, anxious to know more of life as a “Kindred.” “Like sharper senses, a body that can take a beating, and, if you play your cards right, eternal life. That’s no sure bet but still, a chance at immortality is not a bad deal. And that’s just for starters. Fringe benefits for joinin’ the club.” “My life line will go on forever?” she asked, although she wasn’t sure if she was any longer actually alive. “Well, you can still be destroyed but forget the books and movies. Garlic? Worthless. A cross? Shove it right up their ass. A stake? Only if it catches you in the heart, and then it just paralyzes you. Running water? That’s no problem. I bathe… occasionally. Now a shotgun blast to the head; that’s trouble. Fire? That’s real trouble. Sunlight? Well, you catch a sunrise and it’s all over kiddo, get it?” “Like a bad sunburn…” “Okay, now—what the fuck is this?” An explosion sounded nearby, followed by the ripping sound of automatic weapons fire. “Look, you get inside here and head upstairs,” he said, pointing at a door in a building on the opposite side of the alley from the theater. “We’ll meet in a little bit. I’m just gonna see what the ruckus is.” He leaped upward, balancing for a moment on a fence which blocked one end of the alley, then jumped down out of sight on the other side. She opened the door, cautiously creeping inside. She was in a car repair shop. Seeing no movement, she slowly moved across to the other side of the room. She clambered up some boxes piled there, reaching a second floor balcony. The sound of a window opening came clearly from ahead, where a corridor branched off the balcony. She slunk forward, looking around the corner. Jack was standing by some windows in one side of the corridor. “Come down here! Stay away from the windows.”

6 She crept down to him, bent over so her silhouette would not be visible to anyone outside down in the alley. When she reached him, she stood back up. “It’s a Sabbat raid,” he said in disgust. “The Sabbat, they’re uh… Christ, I was hoping to spare you this shit ‘til later. The Sabbat…well, they’re mostly mindless, bloodthirsty assholes, that’s all you need to know for now, alright. The Sabbat got wind of the gathering here, so they figure they’d raise a little hell and put a little heat on the new ‘prince.’” “Tell me of the jester-prince!” she cried in excitement. She had almost forgotten her judge and taskmaster. “No time for the political rundown. Job one? Get out of here alive. Sabbat might be mindless but they hit like a Mack truck, like raging savages…nothing a fledgling like you wants to mess with.” “If not the sword…?” “Heads up.” Jack nodded towards the alley below. “Back away.” She looked outward. Three figures, what must be Sabbat vampires, stood in the alley below, to her left. Another figure walked into view to her right. From his size alone, she recognized him as the Jester’s executioner from the theater. He gestured; suddenly, two ethereal wolves appeared and attacked two of the Sabbat, while the third just exploded in flame and ash. The figure stood for a moment while the wolves finished off their targets. The wolves vanished to wherever they had come from, while the large figure turned and walked out of sight. “Dumb frenzied Sabbat bastards.” Jack was grinning, plainly delighted by their fate. “Alright, we gotta vamoose out the back, quick. Now, if you want a lesson on how really not to act, take notes from those Sabbat assholes. You’re a big bad vampire…yeah, great, congrats…now keep it to yourself. You go roar and beat your chest and that’s what you can expect.” “Why need we hide our nature?” she asked. “Same reason you don’t let humans see you feeding. It’s why the wolf doesn’t want the sheep to know he’s there. It’s also why you don’t go jugglin’ dumpsters or outrun the 8:15 from Sacramento. And it’s why you didn’t know any of this when you woke up this morning.” “My eyes are beginning to open…” she said wonderingly. She could see medieval serfs, egged on by the Inquisition’s priests, burning out the darkness festering among them. How much more efficient the cleansing with modern technology? “Keep our secret secret and you make things easier on all of us. We’re living in the age of cell phone cameras…fuckups ain’t tolerated. Makes sense enough, right? Well, it ain’t a casual thing for a fledgling like you.” “My mind is beginning to cloud. Shine a light and explain…” “That party back there, with the guy in the suit and Magilla Gorilla…the assholes that put your sire to death? That’s the Camarilla.” Jack grunted. “They make a tidy business out of enforcing ‘vampire laws’ like this one.”

7 “These Camarilla are my comrades?” Herself, Jack and the Jester, the three musketeers. “I’ll tell you what I think some other time maybe. I like to let people form their own opinions…” “My minds have many opinions,” she wisely agreed. It wouldn’t do to pick one too quickly. “Alright. Now, don’t worry cuz I know the area a little—and you know what? I’m glad we’re in this situation, you and I. It illustrates a point…you gotta utilize your surroundings.” “Paint me a picture…” “You do what you gotta do. Theft, destruction of property, breaking and entering. Heh. These’ll be the least of your sins before the night’s out. So look around here. We gotta get out the back there through that magnetically sealed door. Must be a key someplace…” He looked at her, all but tapping his foot in impatience. “I shall seek this key,” she agreed, accepting the task of her new taskmaster. In a nearby office she hacked into a computer, bypassing its simple security to remotely open a wall safe. Inside was a key-card. She returned to Jack. He seemed unsuited to the role of teacher. If she had taken a little longer, she might have returned to find him gone. “Now take that key-card and head out the back. I’ll meet you out in the alley there. I’m gonna check out things from topside.” He climbed some steps to the roof. She opened the indicated door. It revealed steps leading down to a door. She opened it, stepping into another alley. There was a burst of gunfire to her left. She felt numerous hammer blows, causing her to fall onto her side. She propped herself up on one elbow, in time to see Jack jump down from the roof next to the two Sabbat who had fired at her. He practically twisted the head from one. The other he hit with such a powerful blow that he slid almost all the way down the alley to where she lay. All that was left of the shooters was drifting ash. “Fuckin’ waste of unlife these Sabbat vatos,” he said, casually brushing their ash off his clothes. “You get winged?” he asked as she walked over to him. “Hey hey!” he laughed. “Look at them potholes! Those’ll close up soon enough…” She looked down, realizing the blows she had felt had been bullets hitting her. The dimpled holes they had caused were indeed visibly closing as she looked. She felt only a vague pain. Feeding—she realized she had a question for Jack. “Does blood have vintage and bouquet?” “When it comes to feeding…it’s quality blood you’re looking for, not the quantity. Bums and lowlife don’t pack the same punch that a healthy well-bred human will. Juicebags with a pedigree; that’s the good stuff. But you gotta take what you can get. You ever had a PhD., kid? Oh, that’s good stuff.” “The thirsty rarely avoid an oasis…”

8 “Remember what I said though; don’t kill them. Least not the innocent ones. You’re a monster now, make no mistake…one of the damned and the fallen. You need to hold onto every last shred of humanity you have.” “What if I drain him dry?” “An innocent’s an innocent. You kill one, even a worthless bum, even by accident, and it’s gonna cost you a piece of your own humanity, bring you closer to that Beast you got welling up inside you.” “Yes! The dark beast coiled beneath the surface!” She had sensed it when she had bitten the hapless human. “The Beast is always there, waitin’ to take over. When it does, it’s like a wild animal wearin’ your skin…desperate, scared, reckless. He’ll do anything to survive and it’s you that has to deal with the consequences.” “What if a human tries to harm me?” she asked, suddenly concerned about the humans that must outnumber vampires by thousands to one. “I said innocent humans. If some asshole levels a twelve gauge your way, you drain him, skin him and bash in his skull. Self-preservation is a vital part of humanity after all. My favorite part, in fact.” “Drain, skin, bash and dash.” She got it. “The only way to fight the Beast is to keep in touch with your humanity, and don’t go hungry. It’s a fine line.” “Such lines divide this world from the last…” “You can survive feeding on animals, if you can stomach that kind of thing.” He made a face. “Hey, I don’t care what you do, but, uh, just so you know…polite vampire society looks down on feeding on rats and that kind of thing. “Etiquette demands they pass the salt for my rodent feast!” “Keep it down.” Jack held a finger to his lips. “Got someone around the way here.” “Only one?” “Not too much of a threat by himself, but you never know if there’s more in shoutin’ range. You’re gonna have to sneak past.” “Where shall I sneak?” she asked, accepting another task from teacher Jack. “The building across from us, with the garage door? There’s some double doors on the far side. I’ll meet you inside. Just stay low and stick to the shadows. Don’t let him see you.” “I will do this deed.” She moved slowly, carefully keeping to the shadows, stopping whenever the Sabbat vampire looked her way. Eventually, she made it into the building. Jack was waiting for her. “Keep it quiet, they’re inside here,” he said. “Seems that shovel-head outside just got separated from his pack. He’s wounded too. Go take care of him. Don’t worry, he’s probably greener than you.”

9 “How can you see his shade from here?” she asked. Perhaps Shovel Head was a title. All Sabbat might take their titles from parts of the shovel, ruled by the Handle. “The Sabbat, you see, they don’t got the most rigorous training program. In fact, that poor sod is lucky if he knows he’s a vampire.” “My own green paint is still fairly fresh,” she protested. “He was probably just turned and beaten over the head. They like to do that…make shock troops. Cannon fodder. Put him out of his misery.” She nodded, hefting the tire iron she had picked up in the car repair shop, without any clear idea at the time why she had done so. “He is a vampire, so be ready,” said Jack as she left the building. “Vampire or no, he meets his maker,” she said more to herself than to Jack. She boldly walked outside. The Sabbat vampire immediately saw her, and came loping over on his too-short legs. She clouted him on the top of his head. He backhanded her. She staggered back a few steps, then swung two quick blows, right-to-left, left-to-right, as he approached. He burned away, gone. She reentered the building. Jack led her into the basement, following connected underground rooms, avoiding the dangerous streets. They returned to ground level in another building. “Not sure what’s goin’ on…sounds like the Sabbat’s gettin’ scattered,” he said, listening to the sound of a few faintly audible gun shots. “I’m gonna keep an ear to the ground. Be careful goin’ forward here…could be a whole mess of ‘em holed up.” He motioned her to stay still, then he walked ahead, passing through a door. He came back within a few minutes, shaking his head. “Fucking humans. Gangbangers. ‘Protectin’ their turf.’ Ah man, I’m here thinkin’ it’s Sabbat moving in up there…it’s the fuckin’ locals about to take one for the hood.” “Do we lick these locals?” She wondered if killing them would damage her precious “humanity,” not that she was sure what to do with it. “They probably seen too much. Here…take this thirty-eight. Fuckin’ peashooter, but a few shots and it’ll take down a human.” “These kinds of peas are undoubtedly deadly…” “Well, I’m gonna want it back so don’t go die and lose it. I don’t use guns much. They’re noisy, they’re clumsy, practically useless against vampires. But still, a Kindred’s gotta keep up with the times and in modern day Los Angeles, that means comin’ strapped.” “Firearms sound foolish and feeble.” “Well, some are more lethal than others, of course. Watch out for those shotguns. Those things can smart, I tell ya.” “I’ll make sure to bypass any boom-sticks.” “Clear out what’s left of ‘em. Can’t have them running their mouths about any of this. I’m gonna make sure there’s no stragglers around outside.”

10 She passed through several doors, entering a warehouse. Two gang members were inside. One ran at her, swinging a baseball bat. With absurd ease, she wrestled it from his grasp, clubbing him alongside his head with it. He dropped to the ground, his head at an angle which bespoke a broken neck. The other human had watched in shock while this sudden reversal took place. He pulled out a thirty-eight, firing at her. She smiled, dropping the bat and drawing her matching weapon. She noticed he had gone white, realizing some of his shots had hit, but barely staggered her. She fired to more effect, dropping him. She was standing over his corpse when Jack entered the room shortly thereafter. “That’s it kiddo. Just like that and it’s all over. Everyone slinks back to their corners of the city for the night.” “Surely this blood drama continues?” she asked. “‘Til the next night, when the Camarilla finds some way to strike back. Parry, dodge, spin n’ all that. And so on and so on and so on…” “These are the nightly battles of this ancient game?” “Well, to be honest, you came at an…interesting time. The Camarilla, the Sabbat… in L.A. these are the new kids on the block. There’s already plenty’a Kindred had stakes down in California long before them. Now we got every ancient Kindred rivalry playing out all over the city. Lotta tension out there. Lotta fear. Lotta jittery, high strung predators clingin’ to their little pieces of eternity.” “Hell is my eternal madness…” A car horn sounded from outside. “I think they’re looking for you outside,” he said. Her teacher was finished with his lessons. She got into the waiting car. The driver took her to her destination in Santa Monica, breaking his silence only to tell her the number of the “safe house” apartment above the pawn shop. She entered the apartment, aware that the sun would shortly rise. She would put off her tasks until tomorrow’s night, except one. She needed a name. No appellation from her former life, which she had already half-forgotten, would do. She considered a few moments, the voices trying out various titles. “Henoir.” That was good enough.

Mercury The safe house was a dive. Being what she was, it was at least honest, reflecting her inner being. There was a television, a radio and a desk with a broken drawer. On the desk was an envelope containing a small sum of money, a mysterious note imploring her to seek the house of the burning sun when she returned to downtown Los Angeles, and a beat-up computer. She turned on the computer, accessing her own online account. She checked her email. Two messages, one a reminder to seek out the Jester’s local representative. The other had the provocative subject, “The Opening.” When she opened it, the body was only “The game begins. A pawn is moved.” She was certainly a pawn, often sacrificed at the beginning of a game in a gambit, or in positional maneuvering. But sometimes a pawn checkmated the king.

11 She left the apartment. The building that contained her contact was quite nearby. As she approached it, she saw a bloody man crawl though its front door. She walked over to the door herself. The blood smears on the steps vaguely excited her. Inside was a short hallway, opening onto individual apartments. The blood trail led to the apartment number of her contact. She entered. On a couch was a man covered in blood from his own wounds. He was human, which made him a strange representative for the prince. He turned one eye towards her; the other was swollen shut. “Those mothers…ripped me off…I’m dying here!” he gasped out, recognizing her as his expected visitor. “Are you the fleet-footed god?” she asked, wondering if he was hiding little wings under his socks. “Mercurio,” he grunted, “if that’s what you mean. Ah, shit,” he said, looking upwards, “you’re Malkavian, aren’t you? Damn it, that’s the last thing I need. I’m bleeding all over the carpet, and I can’t even understand what the hell you’re saying…” “You need only open your eyes,” she said, to hear her thoughts. “Now, tell me your tale…” “I got…I went…” He stopped, feeling along his side with his hand. “What the hell is this lump? Is this my rib? Holy shit, is my rib poking through my side? I’m all numb. You gotta look and tell me!” “Hippocrates is not my forefather,” she said dismissively, annoyed he had stopped his narrative. “Who broke you, Mercury?” “Goddamn chemist! Can’t trust any operators in L.A. I verified him, organization seemed reliable. Guy mixes up speed, his crew sells it. Occasionally, he does explosives. I set up a drop. I show up at the beach with the money, right? Four of these guys, they come out of nowhere, junkie pricks—hit me with a bat!” He choked, coughing a few times. “Head feels like I gotta friggin’ horse kickin’ it. Those cocksuckers beat me rotten and left me for a stiff. Had to crawl to my car, crawl my ass up here. The vamp blood’s the only thing holding me together. But shit, they got the money, they got the Astrolite…” “Of what blood do you speak?” There was much of the succulent fluid covering him. “Right, you’re straight off the bus. Once a month I get fed vampire blood. Heals me faster, makes me stronger than a normal human. I don’t age. By looking at me, you wouldn’t realize it, but I’m almost sixty.” “Where do I get the boom-boom?” she asked, anxious to take her first step on the Jester’s path. “Those small-time sons of bitches live out in a dump on the beach. Four or five of ‘em. The one’s got the explosives is Dennis. Got my money too, that prick!” “Tell me where my feet must travel,” she insisted. “Laying in a pool of my own blood and you want friggin’ directions, right, okay— Down the street, in the parking garage, stairs down to the beach…on the right…those better not be some of my last words…”

12 “Mercury is not so fleet.” His broken wings would not carry him far. “So must I be in his stead?” “You gotta’…gotta’ get it back from ‘em. Maybe reason with ‘em, maybe break in… I dunno, I wanna kill ‘em. Do whatever you people do. I blew it, I know.” “My assistance may help you greatly?” “If you could…unhhh…ah, something just started leaking—I need something for the pain.” “I shall return with some numbness, Mercury.” She had found a use for her humanity after all. “Unh…one more thing. About the deal, I mean it…you tell anyone about this and I’m dead. I’m beggin’ you. I got a way of getting people what they need. You don’t say anything, I can help you out.” “Hiding this from the voices won’t be easy. I will try.” She held her hand in front of her eyes. Out of sight, out of mind.

Thin Blood Beachcombers Henoir exited the stairs from the parking garage onto the beach. Three men and a woman were standing around a fire burning in a rusting oil barrel. The woman ran over to Henoir, pointing up and off to the side. “Up there. Though that chain link gate and up those stairs.” The woman’s knowledge fired Henoir. “Ah! The demons who broke the fleet-footed god!” Henoir could almost see them, spurred on by the stranger’s vision. “Those men you are looking for,” agreed the woman. “You see the twisted strings of my tomorrows! Speak more!” begged Henoir, anxious for her aid. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand,” the woman said, turning away. “May the moon light your twisted path, shadow-seer. Farewell.” She climbed the indicated steps. At the top was a bungalow. A single tough stood in bored guard duty out front. She sneaked around to the rear of the beach house, shutting off the power where the electrical feed entered the building. She killed the first one who came to check on the power. She then killed the two who came to check on him, and the two that came to check on them. Finally, she entered the house, killing the boom-boom maker. She took the finished boom-boom and recovered Mercury’s mislaid moolah. She returned to the beach. She was disappointed to see that the seer had left. One of the guys, in a dark shirt and pants, walked over to her. “Um…a…uh,” he started hesitantly, “do you know who the head vampire is?” She considered his question. Evidently, this group was Kindred, like her, although a voice was still insisting inside her head that he was a human.

13 “He walks among us, playing his ancient game,” she said, a true statement. Frustratingly, none of the voices knew what it meant. “Huh? You mean he’s around here?” Henoir decided this one was Copper, brightly gleaming like gold but a base metal nonetheless. “Where? And what game is he playing? I really need to find him…” “Why do you seek the dark father?” she asked, when she should have told him to stay away, only a fool would try to find him. “If the head vampire dies, we all become human again, right?” Henoir smiled to herself. Here was a tool suited to a beginner at the game. “You need only the Holy Stake…” she dangled the idea before him. “Okay,” he said, biting on the hook. “But first I had another question. How about blood transfusions—if I get a full blood transfusion I can become human again, right?” “You can transfuse the blood of a one-horned horse,” she agreed. “Unicorn blood?” echoed Copper uncertainly. “We are walking myths.” Oh, she was pleased with herself, misleading with the truth. “I’ll buy it, I’ll buy it,” Copper said, voluntarily burying the hook within him. “I’m gonna go get some money. Come back in a little while.” Henoir turned to the other two standing around the fire. One, in a light shirt, mostly hairless on top although with the appearance of youth, half raised a hand. “Eve-va-vaning,” he stammered. Never had she met someone of such few words who was so long winded. “Listen, it’s like I’ve told you types ‘bout a thousand times now,” broke in the other, shirtless, one, “we know we can’t hunt ‘round here, alright? We’re minding our own business, no reason to hassle the weaklings.” “I will cast no shadow on your flame, little sickling,” Henoir replied, surprised by his vehemence. “You mean you ain’t here to run us off?” “No. But a pity to be trapped within invisible walls…” she said. It was clear they were gathered here because they had no place else to go. “We’re getting pretty sick of it. Someone citing domain or in the worst cases, hunting us for sport.” “Who is the hunter and why?” “Don’t know. We all seem to have come down with the same disease—ah, hell, who am I kidding, we’re a bad horror show, alright. And we seem to be the runts, the mistakes. You types call us Thin Bloods…I say we’re all equally screwed.” “Tell me of the thin blood…” “Damned if I know. I know you don’t want to be one. You seem to be in the loop— you tell me.”

14 “Whose clan blood is it that runs thin in your veins?” Henoir still had little knowledge of these clans herself, other than that she was a “Malkavian,” which obscurely explained the voices to those she had met so far. “Clan?” echoed the shirtless one. “See, I’ve heard that all that before, and I still don’t know what the hell anyone’s talking about. I’d like to know just what I’ve become…we’d all like to know just what the hell kind of devil’s contract we’ve apparently signed.” “How did your blood go from thick to thin?” “I’d just come to town for a surf tourney—seems like years ago, but it’s been about six months now. Every night during the finals I used to hit the local diner after the beach parties fizzled out in the A.M. That’s where I met her…” “The flower girl…” Henoir dreamily commented, not that he paid her any mind. “She had a natural beauty, not like all the plastic dolls littering the sand. Her name was Lily. I remember introducing myself, the way she seemed grateful for the company. Well, a few nights after our meeting, we were on the beach alone and…” He looked stricken, gazing out to the horizon. “Tell me your tale, little sickling…” “She tried to tell me what she was, but I didn’t understand. And so, she showed me. I was furious with her when I took it all in. I cursed her and left, never really knowing what I was. I realize now how she must’ve felt. So, here I am, now, a mystery to myself.” “Is your flower dead?” “Clinically, yes. But honestly, I don’t know. I suppose I’d have moved on by now if I didn’t think she’d show up one of these nights. There’s a lot I’ve got left to say to her.” “Perhaps I can delve the mysteries of your thin blood,” she suggested, obeying the promptings of humanity’s voice. “Hope you have better luck than I did. No one’s been particularly friendly to me in this city. Only reason we’re in Santa Monica’s ‘cause we haven’t been chased out yet.” “Does the thin blood flow for you at all?” “Aye. Most of them just recently arrived in L.A. Got chased off by the Sabbath or some such thing from their home cities. They’re more in the dark than I am. They’re a good bunch, but…they’ve been through a lot. It’s affected them.” “We’re all children of the night, blood-thirsty and damned.” “That’s what Lily tried to tell me. But what I don’t understand are the rules and the terms and the reason some of ‘em are at our throats claiming we’re harbingers of the apocalypse. That’s what I want to know.” “I will return if I learn anything of your thinness,” she promised. The mention of apocalypse had sent shivers up her spine. Was this the interesting time Jack had referred to? “We’d appreciate it. Oh, ‘fore I forget, name’s E. The black-haired beauty who was around earlier is Rosa. Sees the future, so she says. That nervous bloke is Copper, and the one who can’t speak so well’s Julius. Kid’s gloves with them, they’ve had it rough.”

15 “Where might I find thin little secrets?” “Seems no one’ll talk about it... This all started that night in the diner...maybe you could start there.”

A Flower Named Lily Henoir decided to follow up on the flower girl before returning to Mercury. She visited the all-night diner, which led her to a bail bonds establishment (and she had to remember the scrumptious blood bag owner if she was ever in need of a quick drink), then to a car’s trunk in a parking garage, finally to a medical clinic. Before she could enter the clinic, a young man standing outside accosted her. “Oh man—you! Whoa!” He had trouble finishing a sentence in his enthusiasm. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?” “Death’s shadow will fall on you if you look deeper into her eyes,” Henoir warned. “Hey, I work for a vampire!” He vigorously shook his head in affirmation, as if that would lend his words more weight. “I don’t know how much I should tell you but, ah man, damn, it would be awesome to talk to someone else ‘on the inside,’ know what I mean?” “Awesome are the magical monkeybars in my head…” “Oh, damn! You’re talking all this crazy shit! Ah man, I bet that means you’re Malkavian, huh?” Henoir was a little nettled how easily everyone recognized this. She resolved to check later if someone hadn’t slapped a “This Person: Malkavian” sign on her back while she wasn’t looking. “I know a little about you guys. Your heads are like messed up, right? Like Hannibal Lechter crazy, know what I’m sayin’?” “This is a secret little whisper that we will share, golden one,” she warned him again. “Hell yeah! Oh man, I knew it!” Her confirmation, if anything, increased his eagerness and volume. “I just, oh jeez, I knew you were. I could just tell. Oh man, this is great! Then I saw your teeth, and I was like damn, it was like I could just sense you. The name’s Knox Harrington. Pleasure to meet you.” “Are you the child of an ass?” she asked in annoyance. “Hey, chick, just because I’m a ghoul and you’re some cool vampire you don’t need to treat me like crap. OK?” “I apologize,” she said, a voice cautioning her he might have useful information. “What is a ghoul?” “Well, the way it was explained to me, whenever a vampire lets a human drink some of their vampire blood, the human gains a little vampire power, can heal up quick and that kinda stuff. Jeez, oh man! Then they’re a ‘ghoul,’ and ooh, watch out.” “Are you a happy little golden ghoul?” Surely a rhetorical question. “It’s awesome! Man, after that first taste of vampire blood…it’s like the best drug, oh man I’m telling you it’s like…only it didn’t mess me up, just made me feel like I was better at everything. I felt like a god, just sucking on that nasty dude’s wrist.”

16 “Who is the Nasty Dude?” “Oh man, I really wish I could tell you, but I don’t think I’m supposed to. But it’s really cool to be talkin’ to you because I don’t get a lot of chance to talk to vampires other than my master, so I thought I’d just say, you know, what’s up, ya know?” “What occupies the golden ghoul’s time?” “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m on a ‘secret mission’ for my master. Well, hey, it’s been great talking to you, man, but I better be going—important stuff to do, ya know?” Henoir and the golden ghoul parted ways. She entered the clinic. Despite the late hour, several people were waiting; she approached the receptionist. “Please wait your turn and you’ll be seen,” said the receptionist, repeating in a tired voice what must be a well-used line. “The spider’s web of computation needs repair, so I am here,” said Henoir, coming up with a reason to get past the clinic’s guardian. “What the hell? Web?” Henoir wondered why she had such trouble understanding; her statement had been clear enough. “You mean our network? What about it?” “Your driver conflex has a security nagle in the IP routing matrix.” Several voices had supplied the terms; they didn’t quite go together, but she thought the guardian hadn’t noticed. “Fine, whatever. Here’s the key for the second floor. Stairs are down the hall. Tell the guard upstairs you’re here to work on the network.” “The lost are those that cannot see,” said Henoir, but the guardian was already ignoring her. Henoir walked down the hall behind the receptionist. She had little idea where to find the flower she sought, so she entered the first room she came to. A blood-covered woman was lying on a table in the examining room, too far gone to notice her. Henoir was reminded of Edgar Allan Poe’s the Masque of the Red Death. “Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” Humanity’s voice prompted Henoir; the woman needed blood to replace that which she had lost. Remembering the golden ghoul’s words, she slashed her wrist with a fingernail, then hesitantly held it out to the moaning woman. The woman, who up to now had ignored her presence, grabbed the offered wrist, sucking at it. “Mm…” she murmured after a moment, releasing Henoir’s arm. “Rise—my divinity is your salvation,” said Henoir. “You…who… Who are you?” The injured woman was no longer in shock. “What did you do? What did you do to me?” “I am a simple worker, a hospital healer…” said Henoir, belatedly remembering the Jester-enforced law against revealing what she was. “No, no you did something,” insisted the woman, “I can feel it… It’s…fixing me,” she said in wonder. “You—I kissed your wrist. What did you do?” “Some things are best forgotten,” said Henoir. “Wash me from your mind…”

17 “You—I feel like I know you. Like you’ve always been here.” “I must leave you, my blood-love. Farewell.” Henoir hastily backed from the room. She continued searching that floor. She broke into an unoccupied office. Remembering Mercury, she took a bottle of morphine lying on the desk. Cracking the simple security on the office computer, she looked up patient files, concentrating on tonight’s entries. One was of interest: h. poe Diagnosis: Ruptured organs. Lacerations. Internal bleeding. Condition: Critical. Perhaps vampire blood wasn’t an unalloyed curse. Henoir continued her explorations, finding her way to the basement. She met an orderly, one vandal, who recognized what she was, and offered to trade blood packs, portable packages of precious blood that might be tapped when other sources were not near, for money. She readily agreed. She entered the clinic’s small morgue. Breaking through a poorly patched wall, she entered another section on that floor. In an examination room she came across another orderly. “Who are you? What are you doing back here?” demanded the hen-pecked medico. “I came back here to play doctor…” she cooed, smiling at him. “Well, I, um…alright, Phil,” he said, starting to sweat, “be cool… I don’t know if you’re supposed to be down here…” “I just love doing things I’m not supposed to do…” she said, moving up next to him. “Are you for real?” he asked incredulously as he closed his eyes and puckered his lips. “As real as edible underwear,” she said, noticing the tremor in his hands, but even more the rapid beat of the blood at his neck. She bit down, taking just a taste, since she was still satiated from Jack’s feast. If it weren’t for the precious liquor, these kinds of games with humans would hardly be worth the bother. She left him standing half- unconscious, imagining some sexual dream. Hacking a computer in a nearby room, Henoir obtained the code needed to open a locked room. Inside, strapped to a chair, was the flower she had come for. The instruments hanging nearby made it obvious that someone had been draining her blood. “Hunger…I need it…” raved the flower, “A drop of it on my tongue, sliding down my throat, the hot flash in my brain lighting up my body… I can smell it everywhere… blood.” “Ah! A lost little sickling flower,” said Henoir, feeling an emotion that came close to pity. “Let me go…it’s painful, like I’m going to die,” insisted the bound girl, “It’s calling. Never felt like this before… Let me go!” she screamed, “I can smell it! I have to have it!”

18 “I will free you from this fox’s den, little flower,” she said, working to undo the restraints. She had just finished when the hen-pecked orderly entered, attracted by the noise. With a cry, the flower girl launched herself at him, knocking him to the ground, then bit his neck, ignoring his thrashings. As Henoir bemusedly watched, she didn’t stop until she had drained him dry. “The heat, mm, it’s never been so satisfying,” the flower said, a trickle of blood escaping the side of her mouth. “All of it, I drank until I heard his heart stop and I was sucking on a dry, dead artery. It was euphoric. But I’ve…killed him. I’ve never killed anyone before. What happened? What came over me?” “You wore the mask of the beast,” said Henoir, wondering what her beast would do if it ever escaped. “Beast? What is that? Why couldn’t I stop myself? Why did it…feel so right?” “A hunter can only see the blood that she seeks.” “No…No—I’m not a monster,” insisted the fiendish flower. “It was instinct…I couldn’t control it… I’m not responsible for my actions.” “Are you the beautiful, sickling flower?” asked Henoir, although the voices assured it was indeed her. “Flower? My name’s Lily, if that’s what you mean.” “You are the flower of he that comes before F and G…” “E.? You know E.? I…how do you know E.?” “You and he are connected by strands of thin blood.” “I tried to tell E. about his condition, but he was so furious at me for what I’d made him into he wouldn’t listen… A Thin Blood, from what I’ve been told, is a vampire whose blood is weaker than most.” The youngling flower, although not nearly as newly fledged as Henoir, was expressing…love. Humanity’s voice was troubled that Henoir couldn’t evoke even an echo of such an emotion. “Rolf, my sire,” the flower continued, “told me some vampires consider Thin Bloods a bad omen and want them destroyed. Rolf wasn’t a Thin Blood, and apparently I am. I don’t know why. Rolf abandoned me. His group wouldn’t take me in, they said I was a liability. He left me with so many questions. And I did the same thing to E. But I didn’t want to leave E. He forced me out of his life… I-I should go. I have to get out of here. Maybe out of this city…soon.” “Seek out your thin-blooded lover…” prompted Henoir. “E. doesn’t hate me anymore?” “He misses your dark bloomings.” “I’ll go see him… Thank you.” “The path is treacherous, as is love.” “Oh…about tonight…what I did. Please don’t tell E. It’s not my fault; I couldn’t control it. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m no killer.”

19 “This secret dies here between us. Farewell.” Henoir stood still for several minutes after the eager flower had left, cherishing the emotions which had been expressed. Suddenly, another orderly stormed in, the vicious vandal. “Why’d you have to go and let that bitch out?” asked the aggrieved vandal. “There’s one less Phil in the world now. Why’d you have to let her go and eat him, huh? Now I’ll never get to do in that bastard myself. Well, you know what—no blood for you, no more!” Henoir, only half-listening, was concentrating on an inner voice. It was so obvious, why hadn’t she thought of it before? She could share her inner voices with those around her. She began to laugh, laughing with the voices, and soon the vandal was laughing along. They laughed until tears came from the eyes of the vandal, then quickly the laughter turned to titters to silence. “What were we laughing about?” asked the vandal. “Does one need a reason? Until we meet again—laugh,” suggested Henoir. She felt drained. Some of the energy of her precious imbibed blood had been lost. She decided to seek out Mercury the following night. She returned to her room, turning on the TV. The all-local news channel was on, the only channel the television would receive. The announcer was speaking. “A drug deal gone bad left several dead at a beach house in Santa Monica tonight. Police suspect this may be the work of vampires and… Hey, have you seen any vampires around here?” Henoir shook her head no, quickly turning off the set.

Prophecy The next night Henoir returned to the beach. The flower was with her single-lettered love. She greeted them, but quickly excused herself to talk to the one she had come to see, the dark-haired seer. “You have been…no, you are going to China,” greeted the seer. “Yes. The future may take me where you see,” she agreed. She could see the shadowy form of a pagoda-like temple, her inner prophetic voices sharpening at the words of the seer. “Why is he smiling? The father? Is it…is it the father behind him?” said the seer. “I see the dark father, and the one who stands in front of him…” said Henoir, excitedly sharing the seer’s vision. She knew who they were, could sense their game. “You chased it for the one at the top of the city…on the sea, underground… You found it in the crypt… It’s open…oh, it’s open…oh, God, oh God…run!” “Yes. The tomb will light up the night sky…” said Henoir, seeing the yellow and red tinged light against the darkness, she knew the end, she knew the players, only a little more and she might know everything. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I see…nothing,” said the seer, breaking the communion between the two. “Disregard what I said.”

20 “You see things clearly that for me are blurred in a colorful haze…” commented Henoir. Her certainty had vanished; she no longer knew who the two players were, nor the significance of the light. “One hand moves the pieces of the game,” the seer suddenly said, “the winner keeps his hand on the pawn.” “Yes. The pawn will finish the game…” encouraged Henoir. She was the pawn, but she had felt a growing conviction that she would still be around for the end game. The seer shook her head, offering no more. “Tell me how fate has laid the road before me,” asked Henoir, hoping for some further insight. “Fortune is not your destiny. All of us are unfortunate. Every time I sleep the future plays out before me. I know the ending…it will end over and over until I cease to dream. I know your questions. For $100, I’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear. I need the money to leave this place.” “Take your gold and speak your riddles…” said Henoir, handing over the requested cash. “Then ask…again.” “Tell me of these final nights and what they hold in store for me.” “The crimson ship…he’s not who he says she is and it’s going to burn… Dinosaurs? He’s furious…the man with the crest… The voice in the darkness, boss… Chinese brothers…follow the lights to the end of the tunnel… Where do you want to go?” “Who can I trust?” “Hmm…the man on the couch…the lone wolf…all others—tread carefully.” Henoir recognized the man on the couch as Mercury, but she would have to be sure not to miss the wolf. “What shadows seek to curse me?” she asked. “Where lie the snakes in waiting?” “Many. Everywhere. Some with swords, some with smiles. But I pity them. You are a remarkable foe.” “Tell me of someone who needs a deed done.” “Those with a lot to say usually have something on their mind. There are many unique individuals around the city. It’s almost as if they’re waiting for you to ask the right thing.” “Do you have fortuitous words, a fateful phrase to save me in the future days?” “Don’t open it.” How profound, thought Henoir. How useless, she then thought. Dozens of times every night she performed actions that could be considered opening something. “Will I stand victorious at the close of the curtain?” she finally asked, the most important question.

21 “Whether or not you win the game, matters not. It’s if you bought it.” An unsatisfying, but she sensed completely truthful, answer. She could think of no more questions, and the seer volunteered nothing else. The copper one was also present among the little group of beachcombers. Henoir walked along the water’s edge for a little distance, passing under a pier. Among the flotsam washed ashore, she picked up a stout wooden rod whose end had broken off, leaving a sharp, jagged point. She returned to Copper. “You have any of those items you mentioned?” he asked, greeting her. “I have the blood of the magical stallion. How much do you desire?” She pulled out the bags of blood she had purchased at the clinic. “I’ll buy as much as you’ve got,” he said eagerly. “Three bags of magic for $360,” said Henoir, considerably above what she had paid. “I think I have enough for the procedure now,” he said, greedily exchanging the money for what she held. “Thanks for the blood.” “A start, but the heart of the dark father will free us all.” She displayed the wooden stake she had found. “100 smackers for freedom.” “Yeah, here you go.” He took the stake. “Uh, now where can I find the head vampire?” “The Jester lives in a mansion in the sky…” said Henoir. “We won’t have to live like this anymore. I’m going to kill the head vampire!” Henoir proudly watched him leave, the results of her first fumbling attempt to play the game. She ignored humanity’s voice, which complained she had sent him to his death. Her beach trip finished, she returned to Mercury. She found him stretched out upon his couch. “Have you crossed the dark river, Mercury?” she asked, reaching out, almost touching him. “Unh…” he mumbled, rolling over to face her. “I have some numb-juice,” she said, holding out the bottle of morphine. Mercury took the bottle, swallowing several of the pills inside. “Ah…Oh, holy Christ I needed that.” “I got the boom-boom,” announced Henoir. “Yeah? Did you waste those sons of bitches?” “I sent them to the other side…” “Good, great—hope it was painful. Didja get my money back?” “Your gold? Yes! Here is your gold, Mercury.” She was pleased to please the one she must trust. “You’re a lifesaver. I might have to buy some new kidneys with this.” “Astrolite is fun, no?” Henoir wondered how big a boom it would make.

22 “That Astrolite…twice as powerful as TNT. Instant demolition. Be on the other side of the world when you engage that timer. You need to make some place disappear, a warehouse. Looks to be a Sabbat interest.” “I can’t fit Sabbat into my cerebellum…” said Henoir. Smiling Jack had told her little. “You haven’t been doing this too long, have you? The Sabbat, as I understand it, are your typical, power-hungry movie monsters. They specialize in causing grief. I’ve tangled with their like—let me tell you, I didn’t enjoy it.” “Tell me of the house of wares.” “I heard a lot about that operation. I’d love to get in there, get my hands on the equipment they’ve been unloading. But it’s suicide to walk in there…got a small army of trigger-happy types and they’re all packin’. I don’t know…maybe…uh…” “Yes, fleet-footed one?” “There’s a guy, I never met him, but I heard a lot about him. His name is Tung, Bertram Tung. He’s a, one of you types. If there’s anyone who knows more than me about this city it’s him. Unfortunately, Tung’s hiding out at the moment.” “Tung…I hear this within my head.” Tung, the nasty dude, the voices said. “Tung’s lying low ‘cause of Therese…Therese Voerman, you know her? Anyway, word is Therese and Tung are feuding, I don’t know the details. My take’s that Tung thinks he’s about to get whacked, so he’s gone underground ‘til Therese calls it off. If you want to put that warehouse into orbit anytime soon, you’re going to have to get Therese to call off the feud. I’d like to meet the guy—kind of a local legend. He and Therese seem to be contenders for this city. He’s crafty, a smart guy. I haven’t heard anything bad about him.” “Where is the dark daughter of Janus?” asked Henoir, the name of the ancient god in her mind naturally associating itself with this woman. “She and her sister, Jeanette, they run the Asylum. Some freaky customers frequent that place. I try not to do business there.” Of course, the other is the white daughter, she thought. “What can you tell me of the dark daughter of Janus?” “She’s the woman around here. Power player. Nice looking broad for a dead chick, but, uh, personality like a stone.” “What can you tell me of the white daughter of Janus?” “Therese…Therese I don’t like but I can respect her. Jeanette’s different. I don’t know what to make of her. She’s a little, you know, in the head. I know Therese is, well, like you, and I would think so’s Jeanette, but I hear rumors about her…” “What whispers?” she whispered. “Call me old-fashioned, but I just can’t talk about that kind of thing in front of a woman.” “Refuse me again, and I’ll make you my eunuch,” she said. The battered god had forgotten he was addressing a thing, not a woman.

23 “Alright…Jeanette. Gotta’ body built for bedrooms. And I got close acquaintances says they conquered that territory. But I asked the main man and he says you types, you know, can’t or don’t, uh, do that kind of thing… Anyway, whatever she is, I hear Jeanette’s a wild girl.” “Tell me of the fleet-footed god.” “What’s to tell? I can get anything anyone wants at anytime. Could say it’s my calling. ‘Til the Astrolite, wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle—well, back East, some shit went down, Big Apple, can’t go back. I hate L.A., but whatta you gonna’ do?”

The Asylum She searched out the Asylum; at least the name sounded promising. She entered. A rock beat pounded around her, the bar to her left, ahead the dance floor. A not-dead woman flounced over to her. The two ponytails in which her hair was gathered to either side, white socks and school-pattern miniskirt lent a girlish touch to the raw sensuality of the overdone, bleeding eye shadow and red neck collar, not to mention the skirt was riding so low it was threatening to drop to the floor with every movement. “What do we have here?” she asked, her voice a teasing, girlish, sensual mélange. “Another scrumptious young plaything straight out of life and into my club? You smell new, little girl, like fabric softener dew on freshly mowed AstroTurf. Oh, I’m not frightening you, am I, duckling?” “I see before me a beauty who shares the madness of my mind,” said Henoir. She felt their energy like two poles of a battery, with sparks between. “What? Oh my! A Malkavian! This ought to be absolutely delicious! Two minds as crazy as ours, and who knows just what might happen?” “Greetings, daughter of Janus.” “Oh! But you’ve got it bad, little girl! Not sure exactly what is real and what isn’t? Janus…let’s see…isn’t that a two-faced Roman god? Of course, you’re right. You just happened to meet the prettier face first.” “You are the whiteness, she of alabaster and ivory,” Henoir said in a monotone, entranced. “Ha! Wait until Therese hears that! I am white to her black. She’ll be absolutely furious. Of course, I won’t be wearing white to any weddings. But we can talk about that later.” “Fear and love are two sides of the same coin…” The white daughter laughed, tossing her head. “I can tell you and I are going to get along just like fire hoses.” “You mean we’re both rolled up and twisted?” Henoir’s body beat to the music surrounding them both. “When we get turned on, there’s bound to be flames.” “Burn, baby, burn. Give me the pleasure of your label…” begged Henoir, knowing the name, but wanting her to say it.

24 “I’m the finger down your spine when all the lights are out. I’m the name on all the men's room walls. When I pout, the whole world tries to make me smile. And everyone always wants to know, who…is…that girl?” “My heart beats like a thousand primal drums. Give me the gift of your name…” She was deliberately toying with her, knowing it was sweet agony. “I…am…Jeanette,” she said, relenting. “And this bit of chaos crammed in a certifiable giggle is my club. Oh, I’d just love to give you funny feelings all night, sweetheart, but I really must trouble with some business. We’ll reunite sweet and soon, I promise.” “Until our shattered selves once again collide.” Henoir watched her as she sauntered away, until the closing elevator door hid her from view. It might be impossible for her to feel even the shadow of love, but the white daughter of Janus had taught her she could still feel passion. She went over to the elevator and pressed the button, but it was somehow locked out and would not operate for her. She glanced around. By the bar was a familiar figure. She went over to him. “Hey, girl,” greeted the golden ghoul. “Golden ghoul! What say you?” “Not much. I’m just waiting around for my master.” “The ‘Nasty Dude’ you would not speak of?” she asked. “Okay, okay. I guess I can tell you. Oh man! His name is Bertram Tung. He’s a Nosferatu.” “Ah! I, too, seek the Nasty Dude.” “Oh man, I wish I knew where he was. I’m getting antsy waiting around for him. I need to tell him some stuff, you know? I dunno where he is or stays or anything. Whenever he needs me he just, you know, appears.” “Tell me of the Nasty Dude…” “Oh man, well he’s like the only vampire I know but he seems pretty damn powerful. When he’s looking at you it’s like he’s really scanning your brain. It’s like trippy, it’s crazy. But I guess that’s the Nosferatu’s thing. They like, know everything, I guess.” “How does the Nasty Dude contact you?” “It’s crazy, he just appears out of like thin air. The first time he appeared, bam!, man, like to give me a goddamn heart attack. Especially how he looks, blech.” That reminded her of something she should be able to do. She couldn’t quite remember what, but she was sure a voice would remind her if it was important. “What nasty things are you doing for him?” Henoir asked. “Oh man, well, Bertram had me keeping an eye on this guy, this Asian dude who’s been poking around Santa Monica. Bertram thought he might be a vampire or… something like a vampire, I dunno.”

25 “A life-eater from across the sea,” she said. Chinese brothers? No, just one. “Life-eater? Damn! I don’t even know what that means! Is that vampire for scary- ass-Asian-dude-that-can-probably-kick-my-ass? ‘Cause, man, like…that’s what I think he is.” “Tell me more of this creature.” “This guy…this thing…got wise to me. Now instead of me watching him, he’s watching me, you know? I see this guy appear around me all the time, like off in the distance watching me then he’ll, like, warp up next to me, oh man, then disappear.” “The cat plays with its prey,” she said, wondering at the life-eater’s motive. “It’s freaking me out. I know this thing is totally toying with me; I want to put a bullet in its head but who knows if that’ll do anything. So I was waiting ‘til I talked to Bertram, but hell if I know where he disappeared to. It’s messed up.” “It is far more messed than you will know,” she said, messed up in the mess she was in. “Look, I didn’t want to ask you but since you’re a kickass vampire and I’m just the lowly ghoul, would you mind getting rid of this thing?” “I’ll hunt the life-eater.” She might gain information, and the battle was sure to prove interesting. “Hell yeah! Right on. Okay like I said he’s some kind of Asian vampire…thing. The only clue I’ve got is this driver’s license that he dropped once while I was tailing him. I’ve been so freaked out that I haven’t even had a chance to check it out.” “Does not this license tell the tale of his location?” “No…the picture on the license isn’t him. I don’t know why he had it, but it might help you find out where he is and what he’s doing. Here, take it.” He handed her a driver’s license. “I will rain blood on this eastern nightmare.” “Right on. Just come back and let me know the job is done so I can stop freaking out. And maybe I’ll see Bertram by then.” She nodded at the bartender, a heavily muscled and tattooed man. “What can I get you, beautiful?” he asked. “I seek the daughters of Janus,” she asked politely. “Janus? What the hell are you talking about? Damn. Why do I always get the weird ones?” “The sisters, spawned of the two-headed god,” she explained, annoyed again at the lack of understanding displayed by others. “Huh? The only sisters around here are Therese and Jeanette, and they own the place. They’re both upstairs, fighting as usual. Why do you need to see them?” “Their voices are the mother of my ears…” “Wow. I have no idea what you just said. Is she expecting you?” “Therese waits in the arms of her own shadow.”

26 “Uh, yeah. Whatever. Look, I’ll let you on up, but if you start getting too weird up there I’ll have to come up and escort your pretty little behind back out on the street. You hear me?” “Your blood is thicker than an alehouse brew. Farewell.” Having solved the riddle of the elevator, she rode it up to the second floor. She exited the elevator, standing in a small anteroom. Through a door, she could hear muffled voices, in the midst of an argument. “I wasn’t sticking my fingers in anyone’s pie, dear sister,” said the white daughter. “Of course you weren’t! Just like you weren’t working with him in my city—” said the dark. “Your city?” interrupted the white. “Last time I looked it was called Santa Monica, not Stuck-up Bitch.” “So vulgar. I can’t even look at you sometimes, you Jezebel.” “Oh, Therese, you really do paint a flattering portrait of me with your turn-of-the- century barbs. I always assumed you could do nothing but look down on me.” “Just the sight of you, the sight of that wicked, painted pout concealing that dirty, diseased mind. Sin! You have no shame.” The white daughter laughed. “Let she who is without sin, cast the fierce tone.” “Go ahead and mock me. You pull your pranks, make fun of my ways. It suits you. You’re just one big joke.” “Don’t you call me that!” cried the white daughter, stung. “Should I start calling a duck a pig as well?” “I’m your sister!” Her voice sounded close to tears. “How can you treat me like this!” There was the sound of a door slamming. “That’s it, Jeanette. Run away from the truth. I’ll take care of everything, as always.” Henoir opened the door in the anteroom. “Please, come in,” greeted the dark daughter of Janus. “I do apologize for my sister’s crassness if it made you uncomfortable. She’s unabashedly scandalous—but in the club business, I suppose that kind of personality’s a necessary evil.” Henoir examined the dark daughter. She wore a conservative business suit and a pair of glasses. Her voice was calm and cool, just as it had been while arguing with her sister. Henoir wondered in what form her madness would manifest itself. If one removed her glasses, and the white daughter’s eye shadow, their faces were the same, twins. “Where is the ivory princess?” asked Henoir. “She’s got issues she’s still trying to get over and so she’s locked herself in the bathroom. Jealousy, really. You see, I was the family favorite and I’m the successful one and as you may have noticed, she’s obviously starved for attention.” “I will satisfy her endless hunger,” said Henoir, disappointed. “Ugh. Under the half-shirt and mini-skirt she’s rotten to the bone.”

27 “You wear jealousy like a thorned crown, dark one,” said Henoir. “Please get to the point of your presence in my city.” She was now frowning, and impatiently tapping her toe. “Are you called Therese, dark daughter?” “Therese Voerman, yes. I’m the proprietor of this club, and the only person in this city whose good side it’s in your best interest to stay on. What brings you to Santa Monica?” “Does not the white mistress own this asylum?” “Jeanette is the freak show I keep around to lure in curiosity seekers.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s very good with the clientele, but her business skills are approximate to those of a four-year-old with a one dollar bill in a five-and-dime.” “Call off your conflict with the worm, dark one…” “Tung’s exile is self-imposed, I assure you. But then, what reason would I have not to hate that loathsome Nosferatu scoundrel. Bloody Nosferatu. They’re so…unclean.” “What has brought your darkness upon him?” “He meddles in my affairs. He’s a bad influence on my sister, and she on him. If you were in my place, would you let him compromise your authority? You most certainly would not. I’d quite like it if I never had to hear that name again.” “Please tell the worm that all is forgiven…” “Why would I do that? Let him think I mean to kill him—that way, I don’t have to worry about him sabotaging everything. Do you realize how his subterfuge makes me look to the Camarilla?” “I am no politicking blood-sucker. I need to see the worm…” “Tung and his co-conspirator’s actions ruined my chance at partnership in a crucial piece of property. I do have several other promising ventures, and one in particular has been, to say the least, an ordeal. Hmm…I’d be willing to put the word out that my grievances with Tung have been swept under the rug, but in return, you’ll have to help me remove a particularly burdensome spirit from a property I’m looking to invest in.” A task from her newest taskmaster. She could respect its disguise as a simple business transaction. “Spirit? A reflection of the living?” Henoir asked. “Oh, I forgot, you’re still new to this.” She glared, allowing annoyance to edge her voice, “Allow me to break you in—yes, ghosts exist. Werewolves, mummies, and I’d expect a whole lot of other things I’ve never seen share the night with us.” “I will cross into the world of spirits. What needs to be done?” “Rumor is that a personal item of a ghost may be used to draw it out or excise it from its haunt. While I don’t put a lot of stock in hearsay, it’s my last option. So I want you to go to the Ocean House hotel, find an item of the spirit, and bring it back.” “And if this trinket will not be found?”

28 “If you have to tear the building apart, do so. Three construction crews have already refused to go back to work because they’ve been…spooked, so to speak.” “How to battle the ethereal?” she asked, giving up questioning whether the task was possible at all. Plainly, she had to finish it, even if that required inventing a new way to get rid of a spirit. “You don’t. They’re perfectly harmless.” “If you will give me your word to tell the worm that he is not wanted, I will go.” “Oh, I fully intend to do so. You’ll find that dealing with me on the whole is appreciably more predictable than dealing with some of the egomaniacs that are my peers. So long as our business doesn’t go sour, my word is gold.” “Your words are like the reddest nectar, dark daughter. Farewell.” “Before I forget, take this.” She handed Henoir a key. “The only way to reach the Ocean House this time of night is through a tunnel in the sewers. You’ll need that key to open the gate for that tunnel.”

Spirits and Paintings of Caine Henoir traveled to the Ocean House. Inside were the harmless spirits, if one didn’t count the psychokinetically thrown objects, or the suddenly released elevator that nearly crushed her. The spirit of the husband who had murdered his two children and his wife before killing himself still manifested burning rage, even after many decades. With the help of his wife’s ghost, Henoir located a locket on a golden chain. From the effort made to distract or destroy her, the angry haunt obviously believed it could be used to exorcise him and his captive family. Henoir returned to the Asylum. The white daughter of Janus was in. “How odd,” she greeted Henoir, “I was just having naughty thoughts about you. You made quite an impression earlier. Did you come up just to cheer lonely, little me?” “All of my selves are intoxicated with you, white mistress,” Henoir assured her. “Really? Do I often pogo stick through your thoughts wearing nothing but a smile? Be honest…or don’t.” “You haunt my dark dreams, but what deeds do I do in your own?” “What all suede kittens do…on hands and knees, you lap up the milk of me…and we purr, kitten, like dragonflies buzzing around frog bellies.” “Your words make me blood crazy and feverish, lost in a remembered life lust…” For a moment she shared with the alabaster goddess a vision of their shared dreams. “So,” said the white daughter, breaking the moment, “Therese told me you might be back with something for her. Do you have it with you?” “Yes. Here is the ghostly locket,” said Henoir, holding it up by its golden chain. “Ah! It’s beautiful. Like a knight in shining armor…dangling at the end of a noose.”

29 “I would like to see it glistening against your bloodless pale heart-place…” said Henoir. “Mmmm. No one flirts like a Malkavian. Your compliments make me positively tingly.” “Your father’s darker daughter said she would forgive the hiding worm…” gently suggested Henoir, although the latest step along the path laid out by the jester-prince seemed of little importance at the moment. “Oh, did she now? I spend a few nights with Bertram and all of a sudden he’s the pox of Santa Monica.” She laughed. “Paranoia and Therese have been bedfellows for longer than I can remember. Indulge my curiosity…what did you really think of Therese?” “Nightmares and needles. She sickens my very skin,” said Henoir, echoing what she knew the white daughter wished to hear. “There are nuns that sin more often then her. In fact, she won’t even feed unless it’s poured into a glass for her. Myself…I like to bite.” “You and me both, my pale moon-maiden. Will you help me, please?” “I wish I could do something about it, but Bertram won’t believe it’s off until he hears Therese say it’s off. And as I told you, I’m really not sure where Therese is… However…” “I cannot travel in straight lines.” Henoir knew a task was coming, since it was in the white daughter’s nature to require tribute of those she had leverage over, while she decided it was in her nature to accede to anyone who could rouse such passion in her. “Do you know Gallery Noir, down the street? I happen to know there’s a charity event being organized there. Lots of influential Santa Monicans slithering in for token appearances. But there’s one thing they don’t know—the whole event’s been set up by a Kindred trying to establish their own power clique in our city. And we can’t let that happen, can we? So I need some brilliant young upstart to spoil the milk.” “For you I would face the flame at noontime,” said Henoir, wondering how the burning light of a sun would compare with the radiance of the white moon. “I promise this won’t take long. Take this knife. Give the paintings in the gallery a good slashing. Don’t get caught and don’t turn it into a massacre. And steal the charity box, would you? Buy yourself something velvet.” “Slashing is now my existence.” “I’m sure Therese will be thrilled to honor your agreement when you get back. But in the meantime, get to the museum and ruin those paintings, then pay me a visit. I want to hear all about it.” She made small shooing motions with her hands. “Hurry up, I can only amuse myself for so long.” “I will think of you only as I slash these splatterings…” said Henoir, turning to leave.

30 “Oh, and there was something about the paintings…” started the white daughter. “What was it?” she asked herself, then shrugged. “I can’t remember—oh, well, have fun, duckling!” The medical clinic was but a little out of the way on her path, so she stopped there first. In the mortuary she found the body from the golden ghoul’s driving license. More importantly, she found his belongings, including a key-card to the business “Foxy Boxes.” This was something she would have to investigate later. At the gallery, she checked the sign outside twice to make sure it said “Noir” and not “Henoir.” The front entrance was brightly lit, but an alley ran alongside. An overweight, middle-aged security guard stood at its head. He challenged her when she made to walk past him. “Hey! Hey, hold on a minute there,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re committing a 351, that’s trespassing on private property. I’m gonna’ have to ask that you vacate the premises immediately or I’m afraid I’ll be forced to radio this in.” The thought of Jeanette inspired Henoir to suggest another numbered violation. “Come on. Let’s have some fun. Why don’t you put me in those handcuffs?” “Well missy…that’s just a natural response that people have to someone in my kind of position. The risk, the prestige, the authority…it’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta’ do it.” He had undoubtedly said these same words many times before in his fantasies. “Yes, yes, yes…these words make me feel alive.” “Uh…yeah, you’d be surprised how often I hear that in this line of work.” Henoir would have thought never. “It’s the uniform, you know. Women just can’t get over the uniform.” “The chocolate stains are like medals of honor…” “Well…uh…unfortunately if I continue to engage you in conversation it’s a violation of code 613. You know, uh…you and me should hook up for a cruller after I get off my shift, huh? I know this sweet little doughnut shop down the street…” “I’ll be your doughnut shop— Whisper your order in my ear.” She took him into her arms. Her fangs took some of his blood. He tasted like a red-jelly doughnut. Afterward, she lifted the keys to the gallery from his stupefied form. Inside were four paintings from the life of the biblical Caine. She had the feeling she was being watched as she cut them with her knife. She kept glancing over her shoulder, looking for—the Dark Father? But nothing appeared; when she was done she stood in the center of the gallery, admiring her work. It was then that the blood guardian attacked. The construct, which seemed to be formed of flowing blood, was the first significant supernatural opponent she had directly faced. She spun and danced, slashing at it when she could with her knife, avoiding its blows, or sometimes not, their force nearly knocking her off her feet. She found that, although her bones might heal a thousand times faster than a human’s, once one was broken it made a limb nearly as hard to use as though she were still in her previous life. She considered running, but was afraid if she took her attention

31 off the guardian for a moment it would be able to land so heavy a blow that she could not survive. She hadn’t been certain her knife-hackings had had any effect, but eventually the guardian dissipated. She was battered, but that would quickly heal. When she left, she couldn’t help but glance up at the gallery’s name, making sure it had not changed to show that of the paintings’ despoiler. She returned to the Asylum. To her disappointment, only the dark daughter was there. “You!” she blasted her in anger when Henoir entered. “What were you thinking?” “I—” “How could you give her that item from the hotel?! Do you know what she did with it?” “Jiggy,” Henoir stated in confusion. “She threw it into the Pacific! Do you know what this means? It means that I can’t get rid of the spirit now—which means that that property is useless to me! And to make matters worse, someone’s just gone and ruined my event at the gallery!” “I can—” It was also in the white daughter’s nature to abuse her power, but even knowing the results, Henoir would have done nothing differently. “Shut up! I thought I could control my sister as long as Tung was out of the picture, but nothing’s changed! Because of them I’m in a worse position than I was before. The Ocean House is worthless. So, our business is forfeit—the feud is on.” “Let us talk as equals, dark one. Let business be our sweet nothings,” pleaded Henoir, belatedly realizing the Jester’s path was now blocked. “I made some threats against my sister,” the dark daughter said, sighing. She ran her hands down her sides, composing herself. “Idle threats, involving fire and her impious satin sheets. She took them quite seriously and is avoiding me. I want to meet with her and explain that they were said in the heat of the moment. I asked her to meet me at the Surfside diner, to reconcile, but I’m busy with the club and my other endeavors. I’d like you to go to the diner and promise her that I don’t plan to take any action against her. Wait for her in the back booth, near the phones.” “This is more convoluted than my psyche. I will find her, and then we finish this…” said Henoir. She was sure this task was not what it seemed, and that she was about to get a glimpse of the dark daughter’s madness. “I want to see my sister. Yes, I’ll call it off once I’ve spoken with her myself. Just do what I ask.” Henoir dutifully went to the diner. Besides a single cook, there were a group of young men hanging out at one end of the counter. They had no food or drink before them, which suggested they hadn’t been there long. She moved over to the payphones, which were at the far end of the diner. Suddenly, the men opened fire on her with pistols and at least one shotgun. Since her revolver had only a few bullets left, she was forced to pull a knife and run to the opposite end of the diner. Moving crouched over did not prevent numerous bullets

32 from hitting her. Their nervousness over the fact that she had not gone down under the fusillade of gun fire became fear when she reached the first of them, who she backhanded with the hand holding the knife, simultaneously opening a gaping wound in his chest and sending him spinning into the diner’s wall. Their terror made the remaining gang members’ shots mostly go wide, those that weren’t simply gaping at her in shock. She made short work of the rest. The cook had disappeared in the confusion. As she stood over the last of them, she heard a pay phone ringing in the rear of the diner. She went back over there, picking up the handset. “Oh, I’m so relieved you’re safe!” It was the white daughter. “I wanted to warn you when I heard it was a setup but Therese pulled a gun on me and I locked myself in the bathroom and she’s threatening to kill me and you have to help me!” “Patience, white mistress. Tell me what troubles you,” said Henoir. “Therese knew it was you at the gallery all along. She set you up and— Did you hear that? She’s crazy! She paid those thieves for a hit. She’ll kill anyone who gets in the way of her becoming the top dog of Santa Monica.” “I will deal with the dark daughter, ivory goddess…” promised Henoir. “Hurry! I don’t know how much longer I have!” “Here I come to save the day!” Henoir left the handset hanging, running out of the diner and over to the Asylum. She impatiently waited for the elevator inside, then ran into the room where she had met the two daughters of Janus on previous occasions. The dark daughter was holding a revolver, glaring at the door to the bathroom. She glanced Henoir’s way. “You stay out of this! To think anyone would risk their life for this filthy, tainted waste of blood! This will just make it easier to kill both of you.” She turned toward Henoir… “Help!” said the white daughter, who was now standing there. Frantically, Henoir looked around, trying to see where the dark daughter had gone. “Save me and I’ll help you find Bertram, I swear!” The white daughter darted a look to her left… “Shut up, Jeanette!” The dark daughter had been standing in front of Henoir all along. But where was the white daughter? “I warned you to stay away from Tung—he’s turned you against me! I always looked out for you! But you couldn’t stand my success… You had to meddle, didn’t you? I didn’t want it to end like this but you forced me!” She turned… “You never gave me any credit for anything, Therese!” said the white daughter. Henoir violently shook her head. The white daughter and the dark daughter had seemed to merge, to become one person. But that wasn’t possible. “I was the one calling the shots! Bertram was dancing on my leash! How does it feel to know that I beat you?” “From where this hateful quarrel?” asked Henoir in confusion, trying to sort out what was going on. “Isn’t it obvious?” said the dark daughter. “I’m about to rid the night of this deviant, backstabbing whore! Do you realize that, despite her condition, she still… fornicates…with Kine, no less! So despicable…so unclean.”

33 “You’re one to talk, dear sister, or should I say Daddy’s little girl,” said the white daughter, to Henoir’s unbelieving eyes still somehow joined with her sister in one body. “Do you want to know just how depraved the ‘baron’ of Santa Monica can be?” “Shut up, Jeanette!” “You’d love the world to think you’re a saint…when you thought I was asleep, I used to hear father come in at night… I heard him whisper how much he loved you in your ear before he—” “Don’t finish that sentence or you’re dead!” “Both sides need to cease this conflict…” implored Henoir. She wasn’t sure what was happening, and she certainly didn’t care for the dark daughter. But she didn’t like the destination to which this conversation was headed. “Don’t you want to hear what happened?” asked the white daughter. “How she became the pillar of the community she is today?” “Shut up! Just shut up!” “Become mute both mouths! Both sides need to cease this conflict,” Henoir tried again. “Don’t try and stop me!” yelled the dark daughter, waving the gun. “I’ve had to overlook her treachery, her seduction—relations with my enemies, and the consequences of it…but I won’t endure her any longer.” “Endure me?” said the white daughter in rage. “Dear sister, you’ve done everything you could to smother me. You’d love to bury me in your closet, along with all your other skeletons.” “I’m the good girl,” protested the dark daughter. “You’re the wicked one. You’ve done nothing but plot against me when I had our best interests at heart. And despite that, I’ve always covered up your mistakes. I’ve taken care of you. And this is how you repay me?” This similarity to the whining of the white daughter suggested to Henoir they might be closer than she had thought, perhaps close enough to share the same body; it was not chance that she had not previously seen them together. Henoir firmly squelched that crazy voice; she needed clear thought to pick her way through this. “Taken care of me?” said the white daughter. “You’ve done nothing but keep me down, blamed me for every mistake—did you expect me to let you rule my life until the end of time? No, sister, you’ve had it coming since our last sunrise.” “Is that right, dear? If it wasn’t for me, you would have never survived this long. Remember? They tried to separate us, but I refused. I chose this life and brought you into it so that we could stay together. Obviously, you’ve forgotten.” “You must both learn to live in the same skin,” Henoir said. “She’s a control freak!” protested the white daughter to Henoir, at least acknowledging that she had spoken. “People, things, emotions…if she can’t control something, she gets rid of it.” “And you’re a wild animal! You’ll rub up against anything that’ll take you in for the night, then, when you’re stuffed and bored, you bite the hand that fed you.”

34 “If you could learn to join hands, think of the strength you command,” said Henoir. How could Janus exist with only one face? It was impossible. Her task was clear. She must convince them that the death of the other was not the solution to their problems. “I don’t think that’s possible,” said the dark daughter. “How could I ever think to trust her again?” “Trust me? Who could trust you after what happened with Father dearest?” “Father loved me. I was a good girl. I always did what I was told. You always hated that he loved me. You disobeyed him. You brought men home when he wasn’t there. You were an awful daughter to him.” “The past is a worn garment, dispose of it…” said Henoir. Are you sure discarding your human memories has been an advantage to you, asked humanity’s voice, but she didn’t have time to listen to it. “Father came home drunk one day,” said the white daughter, musingly, “and mistook me for Therese, because I had fallen asleep in her bed.” “Don’t listen to her!” said the dark daughter to Henoir, desperately. “She’s lying!” “Therese walked in while he was there and she saw me lying with him. And so, she went to the closet and pulled out his hunting shotgun, loaded it with deer shot, and blew his mind out all over the silly clown wallpaper.” “That’s a lie!” cried the dark daughter, the side of her mouth gaping in a rictus of distress. “Father killed himself because of Jeanette. She made him miserable!” “As I recall, he died with a smile on his face.” “History’s shadow need not fall on you both…” said Henoir, trying to offer her alternative. “Why?” said the dark daughter. “How will this time be any different?” “Work together and your power will more than double.” “Therese doesn’t like to share,” pouted the white daughter. “Jeanette’s irresponsible. She’s undependable. A venture like mine requires class and distinction, which is something a pig-tailed, face-painting harlot does not lend very well.” “You do have a way with words, sister. You’re right, I’m not in the same class, am I? I mean, murderers are so respectful these days.” “White mistress, stand not in the way of the dark one’s plans,” said Henoir. “But I only do it for attention, and out of love,” said the white daughter playfully, starting to bend to Henoir’s suggestion. “You do it because you’re vindictive and jealous,” corrected the dark daughter. “And you deserve it!” the white daughter responded with anger. “Dark one, let the light carry more of the burden,” said Henoir, trying her arguments on the other daughter. “More responsibility?” said the dark daughter in disbelief. “So that she can ruin every opportunity I give her?”

35 “Of course,” said the white daughter sarcastically. “You’re the only one who can secure zoning permits and shake hands. I’d never be able to keep up!” “Run this house as a family, and you both may unlive another day.” Henoir’s arguments were finally starting to penetrate. “If she would stop treating me like a child!” said the white daughter petulantly to Henoir. “If she would start behaving like a rational adult!” said the dark daughter petulantly to Henoir. “Was there never a time when you looked each other in the eye?” Henoir asked. “Yes…there was a time,” allowed the white daughter. “When I was a child…” started the dark daughter hesitantly. “I didn’t have many friends. I suppose Jeanette was the only one. We never did get to go out of the house much. Father wouldn’t allow us—” “He said we’d get hurt,” interrupted the white daughter. “So we stayed inside and we imagined our own worlds. And we spent so much time there, together, ruling over those places. Those were…” “Happier times,” finished the dark daughter. “Before we grew apart.” “You don’t really wish to become an only child?” asked Henoir. She realized she had allowed her own fevered imaginings to overwhelm her earlier. Both sisters were right there, standing before her. Certainly they resembled each other as only identical twins could, but no one could mistake them for the same person. “I never did,” agreed the white daughter. “No…I guess I don’t,” said the dark daughter, finally agreeing with her sister on something. “Jeanette…if I were to give—offer—you equal control in Santa Monica, would you quit consorting with Tung?” “I’ll stop working against you with him…but since I’ve got him in my pocket already, there’s no reason for me not to pay him a little visit once in a while, when he can be of use.” “That’s not a bad plan. There’s just one more thing. I want to be in charge of Santa Monica; but only publicly. I want you to continue to convince others that are relations are strained. That way—” “We know who our enemies are. I agree.” “Give me the boom-stick, dark one,” said Henoir, holding out her hand. “Take it,” said the dark daughter. “I’d hate to look at it again and think of what almost transpired… I suppose now that Jeanette and I have settled out our differences, I’ll call off the feud with Tung.” “Bertram’s hiding in an empty oil tank at the old gas station,” chimed in the white daughter. “I’ll tell him to expect a visitor and I’ll ask him to be extra nice.” “We share the same sweet madness, daughters of Janus,” said Henoir. “Farewell…” “Please give Santa Monica’s regards to the prince,” said the dark daughter

36 “And keep your tongue tied about what happened tonight,” added the white daughter, “or we’ll have to—” “Kill you,” finished the dark daughter. Henoir returned to her haven, since dawn was not far away. She flipped on the TV, listening to the newscaster reading the latest bulletins. “A robbery gone bad at the Surfside Diner left several dead after the attempts by the would-be robbers were thwarted by a diner patron turned vigilante. Witnesses saw the vigilante run from the diner after they were alerted by the sound of gunfire inside. Police have stated that vigilantism will not be tolerated and that they know it was you.” You probably say that to all your viewers she confidently told him, before turning in for the day.

Farewell to Santa Monica Henoir used her key-card to enter Foxy Boxes. She searched the front offices. On a computer she found a record left by the Asian life-eater: Oct. 12 My initial observations of the city indicate that the Cainites here are both scattered and unorganized. There are three individuals of note, but they seem to be involved in some sort of dispute. I shall continue to watch and listen. Oct. 18 These Cainites are a curious and fragile race. They waste the gift of their immortality on petty schemings and fleshly gain. We will have little problem making this city our own. Oct. 21 It seems that my presence here has been noted by one of the Cainites, a ‘Nosferatu’ I believe they are called. He has entrusted the responsibility of my surveillance to a bumbling mortal fool. I have begun to follow this so-called spy…a small, amusing respite from my usual duties. Oct. 23 It seems that I have drawn the attention of a newcomer, an agent of the prince. I know very little about this individual, but she seems much more resourceful than most Cainites I have observed. I will prepare myself in the event that our paths cross. Oct. 24 The agent of whom I spoke before has discovered the corpse of Virgil Crumb. An altercation seems imminent. If I do not survive, let my last report state that Santa Monica is ripe for the taking. You will find little resistance if we come here in force. Henoir didn’t know whether to be pleased or concerned that she had come to the notice of this Asian group. In any case, it was time she dealt with the agent. The rear of the business was an open loading dock, with piles of crates and boxes. The life-eater met her here. Perhaps because she didn’t have any life left that could be eaten, he attacked her with a crossbow rather than a more mystical assault. He jumped on and around the piled boxes, attempting to keep her at a distance and taking shots when he had the chance. When she got close enough to knock his crossbow away, he switched to a sword. She danced with him a while, emulating his swerves and jumps, until he made a fatal

37 misstep. She then took his life…or un-life, she wasn’t sure which was the more accurate description. She returned to the Asylum. The golden ghoul was there. “Yo girl,” he greeted her. “You do that thing yet?” “The life-eater has enjoyed his last meal.” “Oh thank God. Yes! That thing was hounding me like every night. Look, I still haven’t heard anything from Bertram, sorry. I’ll still let him know but for now I have no way to repay you.” “The life-eater was a thing of death and shadows…” She hoped he might have more information on them. “Bertram said it’s like a vampire, but different. It’s like what they have in China instead of vampires. He said lots of them have been coming to California for some reason, I dunno.” “Don’t take any brass nickels, little golden ghoul. Farewell.” She glanced upwards, considering going upstairs. But the twin sisters of Janus still had many things to work out; she doubted they would have any time for sweet distraction. Now that Henoir knew where to go, it was not difficult to find the rusted oil tank that was the Nosferatu’s home. Inside the Kindred awaiting her was even more disfigured than the golden ghoul had described. It appeared he had lost a fight with a dozen rabid dogs. “The one and only,” he greeted her, bowing slightly. “Don’t bother with the introductions fledgling, I know who you are.” “You do?” She shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, the golden ghoul had indicated he traded in knowledge. “News travels down the Kindred grapevine like wildfire and that courtroom spat between LaCroix and Nines Rodriguez is a juicy little morsel, and you in the middle… how interesting.” She filed away the information that Nines was the one who had intervened in the theater, when she nearly lost her head. “I seek a strange house of warez, oh Nasty Dude!” she stated, hoping he would at last allow her to finish the Jester’s task. “I’ve been watching the place. The Sabbat has a bunch of lowlife humans working day and night to move stuff through there. There’s some major staging going on.” “Secrets, sorrow and sickness…tell me of the Sabbat.” The Sabbat—jeez you are green... It’s like this; we’re all monsters, like it or not. I’m not gonna say the Sabbat are the evil vampires cuz none of us are the good guys here. But the Sabbat, they glorify their monstrous nature. They refuse to hide it, and go out of their way to show it. They’re also brainless and reckless; they have a life expectancy of vampire fruit flies.” “What of the hapless humans?” If she had to dance the masked dance of the masquerade it would greatly complicate her task.

38 “As far as I can tell, the humans seem to know the score from the way they’ve been talking. I think most of them have aspirations of joining the next graduating class of shovelheads. Losers.” “Do they know of their dark masters?” “Yeah. The Sabbat like everyone to know just who they’re dealing with. So if you get in there and have to bust a few heads, don’t feel bad—think of it as ‘upholding the masquerade.’ ” “Can you lead me there, your nastiness?” “Yes I can. Just tell me when you’re ready and we’ll leave. Once you’re there, however, you’re on your own. You’ll have to get into the place and plant the explosives in the middle office to take the whole structure down.” She indicated she had been fledged ready. The nasty dude took her to the warehouse via an underground path. Then, true to his word, he left her to manage on her own. She was in a train marshaling yard in front of the warehouse. She circled around, avoiding or killing humans as she must. The shots they got off alerted more of their fellows, but she had always moved on before any substantial number could gather against her. Henoir reached the back door of the warehouse. Entering, she killed the half-dozen humans there. A staircase led to the second floor offices. Stopping only to kill two more humans, she set the explosives with a short time delay. On her way out, she outran one Sabbat vampire, and had to pause briefly to dispose of another. When she reached the far side of the train yard she stopped, looking back. After about thirty seconds she was rewarded with a loud boom and a flash of light. She clapped her hands in glee; big booms were definitely something else that could stir her passion. She noticed a wolf running along the top of a freight car, headed her way. Lone wolf, trusted wolf, she thought. The wolf leaped down beside her, transforming into a Kindred. He wore a long coat and colored glasses. They must have been stored somehow on the inside of the wolf form. “The warehouse…your handiwork, I presume?” he asked. “Explosions always remind me of my childhood,” she agreed. “Hopefully no Sabbat saw you escape, they can be somewhat antagonistic.” “Are you the big bad wolf?” “I see my reputation, for once, does not precede me. My name is Beckett. I haven’t been following you per se, we’ve just coincidentally been at the same places at the same time for different reasons. So sorry if I unnerved you.” He turned a penetrating gaze upon her. “Tell me, have you by chance seen or felt anything strange since your embrace?” “I see dead people,” she offered. “A ghost? Quite ordinary. I generally pay wraiths no mind. All but a few are willing to give up their secrets.”

39 “On the beach, their blood was thinner than water.” “Thin Bloods…they’re a fascination of mine. They are considered a weaker, more human-like Kindred, hence the name Thin Blood, but they are sired same as any of us. I’ve heard a large concentration of them live in this city—they’re one of the reasons I’m in Los Angeles.” “All I care to share,” said Henoir. “Most of my contacts here report sensing something unusual in the night air, like a sense of dread or pressure…but I’m not a native to these parts, so I can’t tell if it’s irregular—and since you’re still fresh, perhaps you’re not attuned to it.” He nodded. “Pleasure making your acquaintance, but there are rumblings for me to discredit. We shall, I’m certain, meet again. Or never again. Goodnight, young one…and be careful, you’re very likely being hunted by the Sabbat.” “Goodbye, wolf,” she said. She was surprised he hadn’t assigned her some task. It was time to go back to the Nasty Dude. “Nice work, cupcake,” greeted the Nosferatu when she returned. “I felt that explosion a mile away. It’s all over the news too. Man, there’s gotta be some pissed off Sabbat just howling for blood tonight,” he chuckled. “Do you know of Beckett, the noble savage?” she asked. “Beckett? I know of him…why?” “We traded words.” “No kidding? Humph. Must be something major happening if he’s in town... Beckett is a historian of sorts. He’s unearthed more vampire lore than anyone. That’s all Beckett does, seek the truth behind our…condition. “Shine the light on the clans,” she asked, hoping to get more freebies from the information trader. “Hmm. Clans are just bloodlines you know, a common root shared and passed on from sire to child. There are seven main clans that make up the Camarilla.” “The Brujah are a bunch of malcontents. They get pumped up by rousing the rabble they keep around them, like that’s hard. Nothing breeds faster than contempt, and that’s what the Brujah are all about. Jealousy and contempt.” “The Gangrel fancy themselves loners and drifters, running around the countryside and barking at the moon. Humph. It’s all just an act. Gangrel can walk upright, they just choose not to.” “Malkavians are…interesting. There’s something to them. Learning to sort the wisdom from the bullshit can be some work and not all of them are worth listening to, but they are all good fun if you ask me.” “I don’t rub elbows much with the Toreador, the pretty bloodsuckers, but I’ve seen them work people like puppeteers and that’s admirable. Now if only they would get off their slimy asses and put their talent to some use besides feeding their egos.” “The Tremere. Mages,” he spat out contemptuously. “I don’t have any reason to trust them. They’re creepy and I think they like it that way. But to be honest, I don’t hear

40 much about the Tremere. There’s a few in L.A. but all in all there’s not that many of them.” “The Ventrue get a bad rap, if you ask me. Everyone likes to take shots at the man in charge, but when it comes to getting the job done the Ventrue know how to step up. They can take the heat.” “The Nosferatu are damn good at what we do; no one even argues that. If you need to know, if you want it found, you come to us. We’re indispensable; not a bad place to be in the afterlife.” “Fate shines well on your twisted visage…” Henoir noted. “The Nosferatu stick together, pool resources; we have more going on than anyone could guess at. Our web blankets the night.” “Are the creeping worms a part of the Jester’s family?” “Jester? You callin’ LaCroix a jester?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You better watch that, fledgling. I’m loyal to the clan, loyal to my primogen, and therefore…loyal to the Camarilla.” “Do you like the Jester’s family?” “The Nosferatu are the eyes and ears of the Camarilla so they take care of us. They value our services… Or don’t want to be on our bad side. Either way, no one bothers us.” “Tell me of the jester-prince!” “What am I gonna say?” He shrugged. “He’s the boss now.” “What appraisal of the Anarchs?” she asked. A voice supplied the name of the faction that her savior belonged to. “The Anarchs—I respect what they do, strenuous liberty and all that jazz, but they’re kidding themselves. Wherever there’s an ounce of power to be had there will be people dicking each other over. You think the Camarilla invented that?” “What do you know of the one with a number for a name?” “From what I hear he’s a likeable sort, and that’s a problem. Nines Rodriguez is the kind of guy you want on your side and more Kindred go Anarch every day cuzza him.” “Clue me on the Camarilla!” “The Camarilla works. When you let vampires run wild you wind up with caitiff frenzying in the streets, Thin Bloods blowing the masquerade, and hunters sniffing around. Law and order is the Kindred’s friend.” “Caitiff, the motherless dogs…” she asked. “Pretty close to the mark. Caitiff are just kind of riffraff vampires who don’t know anything about vampire society, don’t know their clan; mutt vampires: What I suspect you were perilously close to becoming if LaCroix hadn’t intervened.” “Thin-blooded and short-lived…” “You said it. Theory goes that the farther down the bloodline you are from Caine, the weaker the blood is. So if you’re, say, fifth generation, the blood is strong. If you’re fifteenth generation you barely qualify as a vampire—a Thin Blood.”

41 “Thin Blood, thinly seen. And yet, they cast a long shadow…” “Long shadow? Yeah…I see what you’re saying. You Malkavians and your damned insight. Most fledglings don’t know anything about Gehenna.” “Gehenna! The falling of the eternal shadow…” she said excitedly. The term triggered barely seen visions at the edges of her eyesight. “You don’t know the half of it, kid. Gehenna: The day we all die, when our sleeping forefathers rise and bring about the end of the world. Many believe we are living in the Final Nights.” “Caine? Creepy!” The Dark Father and oblivion. She was glancing around now, wishing the Nasty Dude had put more than one faint light in his crumbling home. “Yup. That’s him. Caine, the biblical brother-killer…father of all vampires.” “Secrets, sorrow and sickness…tell me of the Sabbat!” “You ask me, the Sabbat makes no sense. They couldn’t care less about the Masquerade, and they seem to care even less about themselves. It’s like, ‘Hey! Let’s all spread hell on Earth so we can feel big and bad—oops! I’m dead! Now how did that happen?’ ” “I am acquainted with your golden ghoul,” she observed. “I know you are. Sharp kid; can track like a bloodhound. I watched him work for a while before I approached him. I had no idea how…eager he would be to help.” “The forms I took festered in your brain?” “I knew you would. I had him watching you-know-who for me; it was inevitable you’d pass through her joint. I told him to keep an eye out for you, gave him lines to feed you, the whole bit.” “He played unawares,” she protested. “C’mon fledgling. Don’t ever think you’re ahead of the ball in this game. No matter what action you take, some Kindred you never even met already foresaw it and found a way to profit from it.” “But I vanquished the Asian nightmare in his stead!” she protested more strongly. “No, you helped me remove a spy without revealing myself or getting my hands dirty. Pretty good actor, that Knox? Eh?” “You have mastered my brain. Bravo.” She politely applauded the taskmaster who had set her a task without her knowledge. “Don’t take it hard cupcake! I won’t be the last elder to milk you for a favor.” “Was the war with Janus’s daughter burning everyone’s lips?” “That was just silly vampire politicking cupcake, no more. You get used to that kind of thing.” “To my ears it sounded like a devilish dogfight.” “Of course it did. As if vampires and women both weren’t insecure enough, get them together in one Malkavian body and look what happens.” “I think Nasty Dude is drawn to the queen of drama.”

42 “No kidding. Now that the Camarilla has moved into L.A., Therese wants the title of Prince of Santa Monica. I guess she saw me as a threat. Funny thing is, I could care less.” “Is the task beyond your nasty self?” “I wouldn’t want to be the prince of Terre Haute. I leave that headache to the Ventrue. Besides, there’s only like 4 vampires in all of Santa Monica. Humph. Some kingdom.” She walked back to her haven, checking her email. There was one of interest titled “The first move” with a body of “The white king moves to protect his pawn.” She then flipped on the news. “A massive explosion rocked Santa Monica tonight, sending several fireballs into the sky and prompting a lock down of the warehouse district where the explosions took place. Early reports suggest that the warehouse destroyed in the explosion was being used in a weapon smuggling operation, and that the source of the detonation possibly came from you.” Henoir dropped to the floor, so she would be out of his sight. “Stay tuned to channel 9 for further updates.” She cautiously reached behind the set, pulling out its plug. She then turned it so its eye was against the wall before sinking into torpor for the day.

Faction Meetings Henoir left her haven, noting the newspaper headline in a vending machine she passed, “Beachside Boom! Mysterious explosion destroys Santa Monica Warehouse!” Yes, big boom, she thought. She engaged a taxi to take her into downtown Los Angeles. Not having any precise idea where to stop, she told the driver to leave her off at a corner randomly picked by a voice. She stared upwards, trying to figure out which of the towering skyscrapers contained the jester-prince. Her head exploded. Moments later, she realized she was being carried, two individuals holding tight her arms. She struggled without success, indicating her captors must be Kindred. She was thrown to the ground onto her back, and one put his foot on her chest to prevent her from getting up. She wriggled fruitlessly, then examined those around her. There were three captors, members of the Sabbat a voice assured her. “Let’s drain it,” suggested the third Sabbat indian. “Let’s stake it and leave it out for the sunrise,” chuckled the second Sabbat indian. “We’re going to have a lot of fun with this one,” said the first Sabbat indian. “Think you could blow up our warehouse and get away with it? Huh, lick?” The second one chuckled a snorting laugh at the first one’s witticism, while the third added, “Let’s pull out its eyes and its tongue and its teeth…” “I want its teeth,” said the second. “Camarilla fuck!” The first one kicked her. “Boys, I think we all could use a little entertainment… Those of you sitting in the first few rows will get wet.” There was a crack, and the first one yelled out “Son of a bitch!”

43 “Leave,” said a voice. Henoir looked that way. Nines stood there, holding a just fired pistol. It was as she had suspected, this wasn’t to be a tragedy, but a best western, where everyone got to go home happy. Except the indians, of course. “There’s three of us Rodriguez,” warned the first indian. “Yeah,” laughed the second, “Three of us.” “Whaddya gonna do? Shoot us?” challenged the third. Nines significantly tapped the grenade hanging at his belt. All three Sabbat looked at one another, realizing that no one of them had the courage to continue the contest. They were too slow to consider that the thrown boom container would have harmed Henoir as much as themselves. “This ain’t over,” promised the first one, looking down and taking his foot off of Henoir. “We’ll find you,” he assured her. He pointed to Nines. “You too, Rodriguez. You’re both dead. Nobody messes with the Sabbat and lives.” “Keep moving,” said Nines. As all three Sabbat backed away, he moved over to Henoir, who rose to her feet. “Trouble sure seems to like you,” commented Nines. Henoir had been watching in fascination as the first indian sneaked up behind Nines. Nines suddenly whirled, pumping two shots into the Sabbat, who was only a couple of feet away. The figure incinerated, turning to dust. “Good effort,” said Nines dryly. “Execution needs a little work.” “You look like shit,” he said, shaking his head at the side of Henoir’s skull, which had been caved in by a baseball bat. “Names Nines.” “What happened to one through eight?” asked Henoir. She remembered his part in the Jester’s play at the theater, as well as what she had been told about him by the nasty dude. “Same thing that happens to a lot of Anarchs, Malk. But you already know that somehow, don’t you?” He shook his head again. “Should’ve been more careful, newbie. This ain’t the burbs.” “Your face is familiar… Do you have your own cereal?” asked Henoir. “Kid, I got things to deal with. Why don’t you pay me a visit at the Last Round tonight. I don’t know what you’ve heard so far, but it’s time you heard the real story.” “I like stories,” said Henoir. Nines had now saved her twice. Obviously, he would always be there to save her. “This is a mean existence,” said Nines. “Stay out of trouble kid.” He walked off, like the cow poke / hired gun, thought Henoir. Henoir found the Jester by thinking to herself, if she were he, what gaudy tower would she inhabit? The fact that it was called the “Venture Tower” was only a slight help. Inside, she walked up to the ground floor reception desk. The night security guard greeted her. “Snack cake?” said the rotund man in surprise. “What are you doing here? I mean, I gotta admit I’m a little flattered if you’re stalking me but, uh…anyhow, you see where

44 your little security muffin’s ended up? Night shift lobby sergeant, eh? Eh? You stick with me, because I’m going straight to the top, baby.” “Like you, I must also go to the top.” Henoir remembered him, the security guard from the dark sister’s gallery. What vampire wouldn’t remember such a luscious bag of blood? “I’d love to buzz you up but according to building security protocol 916 I’m going to have to verify you’re supposed to be here before I can open the elevator. I hate to be a Louis Law, but I’m new here and you don’t get a second chance like this every day.” “Louis, the name I seek is Jester LaCroix,” said Henoir. “Would that be Sebastian LaCroix of the LaCroix Foundation, or Dwayne LaCroix of Insurrection Baby Formula Company?” “I have no suckling youth,” replied Henoir, nettled that he could think there were more than one jester in the building. “Uh, okay then, Mr. LaCroix he told me to expect someone fitting your description sometime tonight—you go right on up.” “May the fat of many creatures fill your belly.” “Yeah, you have a good power meeting or whatever it is you types do up there. You need any security, why you just ring the front desk and ask for Officer Chunk. That’s me, case you were wondering.” She had half-turned away, but looked back at his utterance. “What are you a chunk of? There is a bigger piece?” Henoir imagined a giant blob of flesh. Helpers would carve pieces of meat off of it, which would be used to fill all the boring night jobs no one else wanted. “Ah, yeah, I get that all the time. The name goes back to my football days, uh, actually my fantasy football days…at the station…Stationarium. That was this office supply outlet mall I used to watch. ‘Hey, you kids—no skatin’ in the parking lot!’ That was me.” Henoir took the express elevator to the penthouse. The Jester was there, along with his gorilla-like silent executioner. He was seated in a leather chair behind a carved wooden desk. The walls and ceiling were inlaid with strips of gilded wood, reminding her of some eighteenth century French noble’s bedroom. “There you are,” the Jester greeted her. “I was informed of your presence in the building. Since you’re here, I’ll take the liberty of assuming you’ve destroyed the warehouse. This is correct, yes?” “Boom,” said Henoir, nodding her head. “Most excellent. I had no doubt you’d prove my decision a prudent one. I trust you encountered no impediments to your progress on account of my personnel?” “Bloody Mercury, Two-faces, diner assassins, wolf people—” she started to enumerate, ticking off the points one by one on her hand.

45 “Yes, yes,” he impatiently interrupted, “I’m sure it was quite an experience. You’ve done well—circumstances being what they were. I will admit, not many in your position would have overcome such a trial…but don’t misunderstand me, it was no fool’s errand.” A voice translated for Henoir his words: Very well, you weren’t destroyed like I hoped, nuisance, but maybe you can solve another problem for me. Whether you succeed or fail, I come out ahead. “You may yet prove to be a genuine asset,” said the Jester. “It’s a bit disturbing, the lack of talent within this organization as of late—tell me, what would you say to doing a bit of reconnaissance for me?” “When you say ‘jump,’ I say, ‘Where’s the cliff?’ ” Henoir saw no reason to dispute his assignment; there was the presence of his executioner. Besides, what use fighting the currents of the game? “Excellent. Were you by any chance in the military at all? I was an officer myself, actually, in Napoleon’s ranks.” He steepled his hands, emphasizing the importance of his next words. “There’ve been whispers, rumors spreading around the Kindred community concerning the Elizabeth Dane, the cargo ship that was towed into port recently. Have you heard of it?” “You hear them too? I mean, continue.” “The police are investigating the Dane as we speak. Even the Nosferatu have little information on what’s been found; however, the reason the ship has caused such speculation is because it was transporting an object called the Ankaran Sarcophagus. Now, I’m not one to predicate a decision based on conjecture, so what I need is fact—and more importantly, I need evidence that the occurrences on the Dane were not supernatural in nature, and in no way relate to this Ankaran Sarcophagus.” “Why this one?” she asked. The executioner, the game—good reasons to go along, but why should she be expected to always follow good reason? “Should I repeat myself? I do believe I mentioned the fact that I bent the delicate laws that govern our society to allow you a chance to live. If that isn’t enough…I can give you another reason.” He glanced at the large figure standing to his side. “Help me understand,” she said resignedly. “You have three objectives. One, I want you to examine the Sarcophagus for anything unusual. You may sense something peculiar about the sarcophagus—in fact, many Kindred in the city have reported an uneasiness in the air since the Dane’s arrival. Do not, under any circumstances, open the Ankaran Sarcophagus. Secondly, the police have begun their investigation. Find out what they have concluded thus far. Thirdly, take the cargo manifest for the ship. I want to find out what else it was carrying. The last thing we want is police aware of our existence—so be careful what you do in front of them. And unlike the warehouse, you cannot wholesale slaughter a ship full of lawmen without consequences. Is this understood?” “More than you know,” she replied.

46 “Good. Oh, and it has come to my attention that you had an encounter with Nines Rodriguez earlier. The man so does love to throw that cretinous charm of his brashly about—what exactly did Mr. Rodriguez say?” “He wants me to find the Last Round in this field of massive rectangles.” “I see. Then you should go humor the by-the-numbers rhetoric he’s so desperately aching to spew. Oh please—before the chants of ‘fascist oppressor’ from that dive of theirs clog the air and choke the local Kine.” “I love humoring, I am there.” “Give the Anarch community my regards.” “Good one,” she chuckled, bowing herself out. She walked the streets of Los Angeles, searching for the home of the Anarchs. As she walked, she noticed a building whose upper stories were wreathed in a heatless, non- consuming flame. That should mean something to her. Fire hoses, she thought? No, that wasn’t it. Then she remembered the poem left at her haven. Probably the flames were only visible to Kindred. She entered the building, to meet the poem’s writer. The passages inside seemed to twist as she traversed them. She stopped briefly when one passage led to a library, idly glancing through several volumes within. She had no trouble finding the chamber in which the sender waited. She was sure no matter what turns she had taken, she would have ended here directly. Just as, if he had not wanted to be found, she could have wandered all night without success. The Kindred standing by the fire was clothed in blood red robes. His hairless pate was there for all to see, but his eyes were hidden behind glasses with reddish-tinged lenses. “Greetings, neonate,” he said. “Might I assume you received my invitation? I have been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time.” “Blood magicks and betrayal! And the true king upon his throne!” She had a momentary seeing, as usual its meaning eluding her grasp. “Ah. A child of Malkav, no less. Do dark visions cloud your sight, young one, shattered reflections of your clan father’s mind?” “The glass is cracked, but strangely clear…” “There is truth in your words, neonate, more than you yet realize. Your madness allows you to glimpse the truth of this existence, to see through the shadowy veil into the world beyond.” “On your head an iron crown, and the Jester dances before you…” she intoned. Oddly, she had the feeling that what she saw was just a possibility, something that could only come to pass based on her choices. Perhaps the pawn would be allowed a little freedom. “Hmm. Be cautious when speaking of these visions. Truth is rarely welcomed by those who cannot see it. There are many Kindred who will be less, shall we say, accepting of it than I am.” “Tell me your name, wizard-king,” she asked. “Strauss. Maximillian Strauss. I am the Regent of this chantry. Welcome.”

47 “‘Chantry’ holds mystery for me, while ‘Regent’ is opaque and shadowy…” “A chantry is a local gathering place for those of the Tremere clan. I live here, as do apprentices from time to time. A Regent is the leader of a chantry, as well as a teacher to young Tremere apprentices who are studying the mysteries of our clan.” “Reveal these mysteries, wizard-king!” She could dispatch her opponents with magic blood powers—bam, bam, bam. “I’m sorry, neonate. The secrets of the Tremere clan are hidden from all but those who share our blood. You would do best not to look into them any further.” “Tell me of this dark city of angels,” she asked, sensing he had something he wanted to tell her. “Let me give you some advice, young one. Your survival in Kindred society will often depend on your ability to find out yourself what is going on around you. Remember that well….” “Memory is rarely a gift of the schizophrenic,” she prompted, anxious for him to pass on his message. “As for what is going on here in downtown, the word on everyone’s lips, Kindred or Kine, seems to be ‘epidemic.’ ” “Ah! A withered horse runs among us.” “It seems that disease has been spreading at an alarming rate throughout the downtown population. Considering our particular…appetites…the local Kindred are more than concerned about these developments.” “Dirty blood is our doom.” Henoir remembered the individuals in the funny plastic suits on the streets. She had been tempted to cut one open to find out what was inside, but had been afraid of breaking some vampire rule against bothering funny suit people. How clever of the humans, to protect themselves from disease! She hoped they didn’t start wearing iron collars too. “Yes, indeed. My opinion is that the local Anarchs are responsible for these outbreaks. Their precipitous indulgence of certain passions often leads to such things. Ergo, their need for the watchful eye of the Camarilla.” “Perhaps I might probe the problem of this pestilence?” “Hmm. An interesting proposition. If you succeed in finding the cause of this epidemic and putting an end to it, I will compensate you appropriately for your efforts.” “I shall do this deed.” So, the wizard Max had been anxious to let her know there were other powers within this “Camarilla” besides the Jester. And he had assigned her a task. The Anarch bar, hideout and headquarters was only a few blocks away. Inside, Henoir ignored the humans, approaching the Kindred standing by some steps leading upwards. Her hair was red, her skin pale, her attire trendy Che Guevara undress. Henoir wondered what communist Anarch faction was celebrated by the “Troika” logo on her T- shirt. A small faction, since it had only three members. “Sabbat chase you in here, Cammy?” she asked sarcastically.

48 “You are the damsel of distress, yes?” said Henoir. “I’m Damsel…someone talking shit about me over in that ivory tower?” she asked suspiciously. “Who said it? Huh? I’ll kick their ass!” “The only words spoken were in my head,” Henoir assured her. “Lunatic…I’d give you a piece of my mind, seeing as how you’re just another do girl for the Camarilla, but shit, no amount of good sense penetrates that white noise you Malks call a brain, does it?” “The words of sevens and eights I ignored, but to Nines I listened.” “Alright, maybe you’re not completely batshit.” “Something is plaguing you…” Henoir noted. “What? Weird you say that, yeah…you might say something is plaguing me—a plague-bearer as a matter of fact.” “Help my mind digest this creature.” “A plague-bearer’s a fool that doesn’t care who they feed from—yeah, I know what you’re thinking, we can’t get sick. But the Kine can, and Kindred that feed on them start spreading disease. Enough get sick, it’s an epidemic—CDC’s in town as we speak.” “Can’t you just shoo the dirty carrier pigeon away?” It was curious that wizard Max had been right to direct her here, despite his wrong underpinning reasoning. “Seen Old Yeller? May sound cruel, but it’s necessary. If someone puts together two and two as to the real cause of an outbreak of blood borne diseases, guess what happens? So the plague-bearer’s got to be found and put down. If the Camarilla really gives a damn, they’ll help us out.” “My neck owes a debt to the Anarchs. What shall I do?” “One of our boys’ ghouls name’s Paul, lives nearby in the Skyline apartments. Been a stranger lately. Looked like death last time he was here. Said he didn’t get bit but… maybe you can get more info out of him.” “Does anyone in this city not drink our blood? This ghoul I will see.” “Wait—if Paul’s not talking, you might want to start questioning the homeless pop. So many have been dying lately that it takes the city a few days to pick up the bodies.” “The broken brains of the city’s forgotten, I shall play there.” She nodded to the damsel not-in-distress before heading up the stairs. A Kindred standing next to the top of the steps gave her a hard look, pointing his finger at her. “Well, if it ain’t the talk of the town,” he said. “Poster child for Camarilla benevolence. What does the prince have his little bitch doin’ today?” “The Jester plays his little games, and sends his little pawn before him…” she acknowledged. “Jester? What? What the hell did you say? Hold on…you’re Malkavian, right? Wow, you’re doubly screwed…crazy as hell, and the prince’s bitch. Little pawn, you say? Yeh, you got that right. Maybe you’re not as crazy as you look.”

49 “Greetings, Helter-Skelter!” She could picture him standing in a jungle, his sweat- soaked green uniform weighing down his limbs as he fired his weapon, all the while cursing his situation, his orders, and his officers. “Huh? How did you?” He had been momentarily disarmed out of his anger. “Damn. Malkavians and their goddamned insight. That shit is creepy. Anyway…yeah. My name is Skelter. I do my part to keep California a free state for the Anarchs.” “Why do you curse the Camarilla?” she asked. “The Camarilla just ain’t necessary. Their rules is just common sense shit. The Masquerade and all that; sure it makes sense. Like the 10 commandments. You know the 10 commandments, don’t you?” “Twelve plagues and the calling of the gilded calf…” “Yeah, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill. Sounds good but you and me both know that shit don’t always fly. What if some ‘society’ like the Camarilla comes along and just up and kills you if you break one damn commandment?” “Your words wear truth like a well-fitted truss…” she had to agree. “Right. See, we weren’t meant to live like that. Man, I followed someone else’s rules for 3 years in Vietnam…but it wasn’t until after the Embrace that I understood real oppression.” “Your words are lofty, but you kneel to Nines,” she pointed out. “No one bows to Nines Rodriguez. He leads by example, down here with us. Better’n some chickenshit limp-wrist paperpusher hidin’ up in his tower. Only Camarilla sheep couldn’t see the difference.” “Do you also hide behind the Masquerade’s Veil?” “I don’t need to bare my fangs to feel good about myself. The Masquerade is a fruity Camarilla label; other than that I got no problem with it. Live and let live—we got enough to worry about.” “Hallelujah and Holy Rollers!” Henoir made her way over to smiling Jack. She wasn’t surprised to find him here; after all, he must be the Anarch's Anarch. “Well, well, looky who made it back in one piece,” he greeted her. “How was Santa Monica kiddo?” “The Lady was sad and beautiful…” “Yeah I’m sure it was a stroll on the beach. So, did you score a lotta skeeball tickets down on the pier there?” “I whipped around the wooden ball, but procured no prize.” “Heh. I can’t imagine you did. Probably too busy getting’ pushed around by every vampire with a week of seniority over you, am I right?” “Right as a red rain…”

50 “That’s usually the way the story goes. Same old bullshit politics from when you were alive, huh? Don’t it just make you want to rip someone’s spine out?” He shrugged at her lack of reaction. “What? You sayin’ that’s just me?” “Politics?” “Politics, the stuff that makes the rich get richer, keeps the powerful in power. Look at why you were out in Santa Monica in the first place; cuz Prince LaCroix said so.” “You follow not the laws of the Jester?” Not that she thought he did, but she wanted to hear his answer. “Kid, I never answered to no man in life, now I sure as shit ain’t takin’ orders from a vampire with a suit and a funny name. And when I die again the devil’s gonna hafta cut me a deal if he wants my ass! Besides…I never trust anybody with an ‘X’ in their name.” Henoir silently sounded out her own name. No ‘X.’ That was good. “Why did the spider send this little fly to Santa Monica?” she asked. “Cuz he never thought you’d make it back! If Nines didn’t stand up for you in the courtroom you woulda been toast right there man; everybody knows that.” “Why would the Jester hate this little fly?” “It’s bullshit Camarilla law; you gotta get it approved before you sire anyone. Vampire population control. Fascist crap. LaCroix wanted to look like the strong leader, upholding the law.” “So why has the spider not killed this little fly?” “Public relations, man. ‘Calculated risk.’ Ventrue are born in the boardroom. When Nines called him out LaCroix realized it was time to show a carefully measured dose of Camarilla compassion.” “Have you public relations propensities?” “Yeah man, it’s called kickin ass and crushing the skulls of any asshole who steps on my toes. That seems to work. People dig it.” “Why does the Jester fear the shadow of Nines?” “LaCroix is the boss of the Camarilla in L.A. That’s it. Humph. LaCroix the boss. That’s rich.” “Even a Jester may parade in the king’s cloak…” “The facts are like this: The Camarilla needs us to buy into their bullshit for any of their ‘laws’ to mean dick. Now telling free-livin’ vampires they need to follow rules is a hard sell, so the Camarilla baked up a play nicey plan, show everyone how great they are so we’ll all just jump on board!” “Are the little demons jumping?” “Kid, we’ve lived in California, some of us for over a hundred years, and we’ve kicked the Camarilla’s ass out of town before; seems like every time they smell blood they’re back trying to take over.” “Who is ‘we’?”

51 The free living dead kiddo. A lot of people like to use the label ‘Anarchs,’ whatever the hell that means… Anarchs. Does got a nice kick to it, though, huh? Yeah.” He paused, jumping to a new track in his thoughts. “So I heard you and Nines had a run-in with the Sabbat huh? And you let them go? Tsk tsk. Nines must be gettin’ soft. How could you pass up that kind of fun?” “Why does Nines keep saving this little fly?” she asked. “He was left sireless too. I dunno. Maybe that’s it. He’s got a thing for the little guy.” “And perhaps I am merely a pawn to be played by this street prince…” “You’re free to choose who you trust, kiddo.” The Nines was also there. Henoir had gotten as much of a feel for the Anarchs as she could before this confrontation. “You showed up,” Nines greeted her simply. “Here’s what I got to tell you—and so you know, I don’t lecture, I don’t rap, I’m no bureaucrat, I’m just a guy out of nowhere came to be involved in something five-hundred times bigger that you and me.” “More!” she demanded. “You got a right to know the score. The Camarilla—this is the short of it. They operate a lot like a pyramid scheme. There’s a bunch of these old timers at the top, with God only knows what plots in mind. They lose their power, they die. They Sired more to carry out their plans, and looking for a little power, then those Kindred Sired for their own schemes and so on, on and on—it hurts my head just thinking about the mess. What it works out to is this, only a few people at the top have any real power.” “The jester-prince is not the head vampire?” “LaCroix? Shit…LaCroix’s just the guy who backstabbed and wheeled-and-dealed his way into becoming king son of a bitch of all the local Camarilla. Him and any of the traitors that sided with the Cam want power here, they’ll get what’s due.” “Let me hear your truth.” “I learned the way of this world during the depression. Bunch of old, rich bastards screwed the country—but did they suffer? No, the little people suffered. You can’t trust the people at the top. The world’d be a better place without them. All you can do is get a group of people together who aren’t assholes, find a place to put your feet up, and make some examples of the quote unquote elite to keep the rest the hell out. Everyone’s an equal here, the same thing this country used to be about. That’s what L.A. has been, an Anarch Free State.” “The Camarilla is a sapling here?” “The Camarilla was kicked out on their ass a long time ago. We, the Anarchs, didn’t want to play their politics anymore. Now, LaCroix and crew pop in like they never left. Nuh-uh, no goddamn way. Their laws don’t apply to us.” “Meat with them,” she suggested. “Baloney all around!”” “I got their meeting right here.” He tapped the bulge of a shoulder-holstered gun. “You and the Jester don’t golf on the weekends?”

52 “LaCroix represents everything I hate—the Camarilla, stuck-up aristocrats, rich businessmen, crooked politicians. The only place LaCroix belongs is in an urn.” “Are you the prince of thieves and are these your merry men?” “Don’t use me and prince in the same sentence, Malk. I’ve fought to keep L.A. free since I was Embraced. Long time later, I’m one of the only ones left that hasn’t bit it or switched sides—the most veteran soldier on the battlefield.” “My mind is still soft. Any shape I should set it in?” “Here’s what I tell all the new blood—one, you get careless, that blood’ll make you into a monster, but you rampage ‘round here you get put down. Two, don’t kill when you feed, no reason to—in this city, there’s lots of ways to slake the Beast without leaving a trail of dead. Three, the Camarilla’s full of shit. Four, watch your back, always. And lastly, learn how to fight, ‘cause a speech ain’t going to save your ass when you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun.” “Teach me the razzmatazz,” she said, holding up her balled fists before her. “After picking your ass up off the pavement back there, yeah, I can tell you don’t even know the basics.” He reached out, grabbing her wrists. “Hold your hands up like this, and keep your body at an angle, makes you harder to hit. Keep your thumbs out of your fist and put your weight into your punches.” “Interesting words. I will savor them.” “You poor bastard. Listen, L.A.’s the school of hard knocks so keep your friends close and your enemies in a barbecue pit. Once you square things with LaCroix, don’t give that son of a bitch the time of night. I got my eye on you, kid.” Nines hadn’t tried to foist any tasks onto her. It must be because he viewed himself as the embodiment of the Anarch’s ideals, freedom of choice and rejection of authority. Smiling Jack she could see using anyone and doing anything if it furthered some scheme of his. However, he had done nothing but help her…so far as she was aware.

Of Female Ships and Ghouls The next night, Henoir decided it was time to check on the Jester’s precious coffin. Ironically, it involved a trip back to Santa Monica, where Mercury arranged a boat outing from the same beach where she had met the Thin Bloods. Most of them were gone, although she thought she caught a glimpse of one of them, back under the pier. She rowed out to the ship of the Dane, Elizabeth. She climbed up a rope ladder, pulling herself over the railing. She noticed one of the human fuzz not fifteen feet away, motioning her closer. Belatedly, she crouched down, slowly making her way over to him, while he waited impatiently with hands on his hips. “Ah, for chrissakes,” said the human fuzz in irritation. “Tell Jacobson if he plans on making editor-in-chief he’s gotta start working with me. I can’t keep getting him these scoops if he’s gonna send high school journalists who don’t know enough to wear something that would blend in.”

53 Henoir adjusted her cowboy hat, pushing it lower so it almost hid her eyes, in what she imagined as an appropriate position for secrecy. She could see this human was not satisfied, might momentarily call an alarm. Henoir concentrated, willing the voices to show him what he expected to see. “Take it easy Lois Lane,” he said, in reply to some comment heard only in his mind. “This is still a badge you’re talkin’ to.” “Where are our hands in this business?” she asked “Alright look, I got you a copy of the initial report.” He gave her several pages stapled together. “And I can get you into the cabin, but you gotta make yourself real scarce after that. Anybody catches you, I don’t know you. And no goddamn flash photography, brainchild.” “Where does my path lead?” “Hold up a sec.” He held a two-way radio to his mouth. “Heinz to Marsh, Heinz to Marsh…Marsh they need you up in the bridge, over.” He put the radio away, nodding at her. “There, the security room’ll be clear.” “Clarity is not my goblet of Earl Grey…” “Head down the stairs behind you and stay low. When you get down there, wait for me to call off the guy guarding gangway A. As soon as he leaves, get your ass movin’. And don’t let him see you. I’ll give you a couple of minutes but don’t dilly-dally. In and out, K?” “Dilly and Dally are strange bedfellows,” she commented, momentarily distracted by the alliterative names. “Don’t forget to stay out of sight—if anyone sees you, you’re on your own. Take the stairs up to the security room—there’ll be a computer in there. The password is Lighthouse. Lighthouse. All one word. You gettin’ all this?” “I shall sail toward this beautiful beacon…” she nodded vigorously, although he should still be seeing exactly what he expected to see. “Now get a move on. And don’t forget to tell Jacobson I get double my usual fee for this one.” Henoir went down the indicated stairs, crouching to make herself as unnoticeable as possible. She heard the bent fuzz call out to the fuzz guarding the indicated gangway. As soon as he left his post, she scurried into the corridor. The computer room was not hard to find. Inside, she was able to access the security camera system the fuzz had installed, remotely viewing the sarcophagus and most of the rest of the main deck. Someone had made gay blood paintings on the sarcophagus and its surroundings; the sarcophagus was closed. The ship’s manifest she found in the ship’s records room, which was nearby. She had no trouble sneaking off the ship. She had returned to the Jester’s tower, about to enter, when someone called out to her. “Hey!” yelled a young woman. She was dressed in a brightly colored, off-the- shoulders tight top and wore glasses. After attracting Henoir’s attention, she ran over,

54 closing the few feet separating them. “I know this might seem creepy and all, but please don’t blow me off, okay? Someone told me I could find you here, I mean, I’ve been looking all over for you since that night, because I just wanted to… I’m in your debt…” Henoir recognized the young woman from the clinic, the one she had fed her cursed / blessed blood. “I want to…help you. I owe you my life and, I feel like I need to repay you. Oh, I almost forgot—I’m Heather, Heather Poe. I’m not weirding you out or anything, am I?” “I do not see Death over you anymore,” said Henoir. Indeed, she seemed in perfect health. “Only because of you, what you did for me…” She trailed off uncertainly, perplexed by Henoir’s lack of reaction. “Here, I-I got you this, I thought you might be able to use it.” She handed Henoir a watch. “I can be useful to you… I’d do anything— just tell me you’ll let me help you, let me stay with you…make me feel this way.” “Your life was escaping, so I locked it back in its cage. I should have let it go,” Henoir said with an echo of sadness. If she took up with the little fly, there was every chance one of the spiders would suck her dry. Young Poe needed spectacles that would show her what Henoir truly was. “What do you mean, you’re like, you’re like…” she said, almost in tears, trying to come up with the one argument that might make Henoir allow her to stay near. “The effect you had on me made me want to live, it’s all because of you. You saved my life… please, let me be of use to you—I’ll do whatever, I don’t care.” “Only a fool would wish for this. Welcome to my madness, fool.” “Really?! I promise you won’t regret it! Promise! I’ll get you money, I’ll get you things… Everything! I want to be…important to you.” “Good. Go to our home. But no one can know about you, my pet.” “I know where you live… I checked there first. I’ll wait for you at your place. And when you do come back, I’ll take care of whatever you want. I’d do anything for you.” “You heard the rattle, if you want to stick your hand in the hole, be my guest.” Henoir entered the building. The Chunk of security guard was on duty. “Mister LaCroix told me to keep an eye out for you, coffee cake,” he greeted her. “Said to send you right up… You know, I gotta break in an hour and a fresh box of krusty creams in the back. How about on your way out we…?” “How do you fare, my cherry gummi man?” “Ah, you know, I’m keeping the undesirables out, and the innocent safe and secure. I’m the thin blue line that separates the crazies from the hardworking decent folks. Yup, long as I’m around, Mister LaCroix’s got nothing to worry about.” “As long as no crows come, the scarecrow does his job admirably. Later.” As Henoir entered the Jester’s penthouse office, she just overhead him saying “I’ve said all I need to for now.” to a group of Kindred standing before his desk. As they walked away, dismissed, she recognized wizard Max among them. When they had left, the Jester turned his attention to her.

55 “I don’t have the time for a monologue. Give me the bullet points of what you saw.” “The decks were washed with the blood of seamen.” “And the Ankaran Sarcophagus—what did you see?” “Bloody hands crept out from within and made wonderful patterns all over.” “Opened? Let’s not jump to conclusions. Give me the manifest and your notes, I’ll sort this mess later. You might have noticed when you came in, the parade of malingering mollycoddles filing out.” “Oh, yes, I wondered about them all this time,” she said enthusiastically. Even though she hadn’t, she was sure the voices had. “Those were the primogen, this city’s clan elders. A worrisome bunch devoted first and foremost to the security of their own skin. Which is why they were here. It seems Alistair Grout, the Malkavian primogen, has either forgotten how to answer his phone or is missing. The Sabbat’s appearance has put the primogen on edge. Grout’s mansion is in the Hollywood Hills. I need you to pry Grout out of whatever crack he’s crawled into and have him contact us.” “Grout…I cannot find this name. I should not go.” She was afraid the Jester’s tasks would never end, she would be on the Jester merry-go-round for the rest of her un-life. “Each minor problem like a grain of sand, each night I inherit the desert…” His words invited her to feel his burdens, the tiresome load, so she could understand why he was asking for her help. “It’s the seemingly insignificant, time-consuming trivialities that plague my night—which is why when I assign you a simple task, I only want to hear unbridled vehemence on your part. Understood?” “Yes,” she said resignedly. “Where does this body go?” “Yes, about Grout… As I said, Grout is the Malkavian Primogen…his behavior and home are eccentric, to say the least. He’s developed a paranoid bent lately…so you may have to check under every bed in the place for him.” “My body moves now.” “When we hear from Grout, you may come back.” Henoir returned to her haven, to wait for another night. The ghoul Poe was there. “While you were gone,” she said, “I tapped my foot over three-thousand times… I don’t know why I counted.” “Huh…I have the same habit,” replied Henoir, resisting the urge to start tapping her own foot. “Is there something I can do for you? Anything? Just ask…” “There is a truth you must know, my pet.” “Oh…are you married? Is that why you don’t want me around?” Henoir barked a laugh before stating, “No. I’m a vampire. Still love me?” “That…makes sense…it all makes sense. Those feelings that something’s there in the dark, it wasn’t my imagination…it’s not crazy at all.”

56 “Ah, you’re starting to understand, my ghoul. I am so proud of you.” Henoir was. Poe was like a child, there to teach, to order around, to abuse however she wanted. Hmm…she didn’t need humanity’s voice to know something in that wasn’t quite right. “It’s like you’ve pulled the shades off my mind’s window,” enthused Poe. “I can see now…there’s a whole world out there, it’s mind-blowing.” “Are you saying you want to leave? Because I can disappear anytime I want!” “No! Please don’t leave—I’ll be your moon, don’t make me drift through this lonely universe alone!” “I do love moonlight so much.” How could Henoir not forgive her, not want her around, her loving child? “Shine for me, my pet.” “What can I do to show my appreciation?” “Tell me a story about yourself.” “It’s all a blur of nonsense. I’d rather forget the past, the ignorance, and just follow your trail of headcrumbs into wonderland.” So, there was to be no narrative of A. Gordon Pym from Poe. A pity, but Henoir decided she would still keep her. “Wherever the rabbit hole leads, you’ll be right beside me.” Poe laughed, the sweet vampiric drug inside causing her to see light when she looked at Henoir’s darkness. “Your skin…change it,” ordered Henoir. “Okay.” “Spin your cocoon, little caterpillar. I want to see a butterfly later.”

Plague Bearers The next night, Henoir returned to question the Nines. “Two minutes, newbie,” he said when she presented herself, “all the time I’ve got to spare right now.” “What is the sum of Nines?” “Came to California to get out of the dust bowl during the thirties. Been fighting this fight since the forties when we kicked out the Cam. I was new to it all back then. Not a whole lot of people from those nights still around. And some of ‘em are, they’re just not Anarchs anymore.” “Become a prince! Nines for prince in ‘04!” Couldn’t everyone just get along? “Roll over? Play ball? Give up all we’ve fought for—died for? Do you really think that’s an option? Do you really think anybody’d be willing to trade their freedom to become a cog in an elder’s game? If you do, then you just don’t get it. Time’s up. Come around in a few nights if you’re still alive, but I doubt it.” Henoir decided to investigate further the disease spreaders. She visited the ghoul Damsel not-in-distress had suggested, but she found him dead in his apartment. There was a message on his machine, from upstairs Hannah. It was likely they had been thrusting their bodies together, and that this Hannah had spread her sickness to the ghoul.

57 Henoir broke into the diseased Hannah’s abode. She found the woman in bed, unconscious. She shook her awake. “What?” she asked groggily, pausing as several coughs racked her frame. She looked up at Henoir, trying to make her out in the dim light. “Who are you? I’m going to call the police!” Henoir concentrated, sending out a voice that would carry a vision of her lover to the woman. “Paul?” she asked, coughing again. “Paul, I knew it was you!” Several more coughs passed before she could continue. “I knew you’d come to take care of me!” “Yes, sweet little fly! Tell me of the sickened spider who bit you...” “Oh, Paul...you say the most beautiful things. You want to know how I got sick? How sweet of you to ask...” “Tell me your tale, little fly...” “Her name was Jezebel...Jezebel Locke...I’m usually not too good with names, you know, but hers was so strange...” She broke off, coughing, then continued, “can’t seem to get it out of my head...” “Did you dance with the spider, little fly?” “Yeah…I mean, I think so… To tell the truth, I don’t really remember a whole lot about that night… Everything’s a little blurry. I’m not…well…usually into women, but I remember feeling so attracted to her… I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.” She paused a moment as several coughs prevented her from speaking. “The next thing that’s clear is when I woke up here the next morning. I haven’t been feeling too well since then. To tell you the truth, I have other friends who have, uh, worked with her and they’re not doing too hot either…” “Where was the web of this Black Widow?” So, sex-sellers spread sickness for the spider. It only remained to find the lair. “She had a room at the Empire Hotel. I can’t remember the number...” More coughing interrupted her. “Paul...I-I really like you. You were so nice to me the other night...” She coughed a few more times. A trace of red appeared at the edge of her mouth, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t meet a lot of guys like you...” Henoir decided to end the illusion and tell her what had actually happened to her lover, curious at what her own reaction would be to the diseased whore’s reaction. “I lift the veil from your eyes! Death visited Paul not long after you did, little fly!” “No! Paul...it’s not true…” she cried, coughing. “Oh god...no!” She coughed several more times and then collapsed, this final strain too much for her. Henoir stared at the corpse for several moments, unable to summon even a bleached remnant of any emotion. “Go and buzz in the great beyond, little fly,” said Henoir, reaching down to force her eyelids closed, covering the staring eyes. Henoir visited Jezebel, the queen of disease, at her hotel.

58 “Ooh, yeah. Who do we have here?” said the queen, recognizing another Kindred. “Are you a believer, little morsel? Have you come for the kind of enlightenment only Jezebel can give?” “Are you the wicked Queen?” “Queen? Ah, yes! I am Jezebel...Jezebel Locke. You are Malkavian, are you not? Speaking in twisted riddles, your eyes dancing with visions they don’t understand? Won’t you dance with Jezebel, little morsel?” “You are a dangerous, dark beauty without compare...” said Henoir, attracted despite herself to the twisted obsession that drove the queen, not unlike the voices that drove Henoir. “Oh, come on now…don’t deny yourself the pleasure of Jezebel’s talents. Just a few more steps, and we can be enveloped by the sweet darkness, become slaves to the desires of our wasted flesh.” “I seem to have forgotten Jim’s little hat…” “Oh, you cannot escape me, little morsel. One way or another, you and I will intertwine our beings on the way into the Ninth Circle. And I will send you forth, full of the sweet sickness I carry…” “You seem to be a kook who sips poisoned kool-aid…” Henoir decided her own obsessions were already too numerous to include infecting the human herd among them. “Yes...I follow the path of the Ninth Circle! Come and join the enlightened, indulging your animal instincts, until both Kine and Kindred lie spent upon the altar. Desire will be our truth, desire and the death that follows…” “This dread quest has no rhyme or reason!” “I cannot control my hunger any longer! Come! The truth will be shown to you as I drink the blood from your twice-lifeless body. It will be ecstasy! Oh, ecstasy, little morsel! Sweet ecstasy!” “I will feed your ashes to the fires of Hell!” Henoir and the queen danced for a while, round and round, until only Henoir was left, knife held high. The queen of plague had spread her wares among the sex-sellers, but Damsel not-in-distress had also mentioned the city’s bums were ill. Henoir decided to seek there as well. Inquiries among them directed her to one who might have seen something, the Tin Can. “Who’s there, huh?” said Tin Can when she found him in his alley abode. He coughed, spitting phlegm upon the ground, before continuing. “Old Bill can’t see too good, these days. Is that you, Betty? I ain’t got no booze tonight, so you may as well get the hell out of here…” “Ah! I see you wear the Dark Brother’s mark!” said Henoir, pleased. “Eh? ‘Dark Brother’? What’re you talkin’ bout, girl? It’s jes’ me…old Tin Can Bill. Now leave an old man alone to sleep in peace. I don’t want to be bothered unless you’ve got a bottle to share…”

59 Henoir didn’t have much time and Tin Can certainly didn’t have much time. She concentrated, sending forth a voice to call forth the terror that haunted him. “It was a monster, y’see!” he cried in fear. “A monster with his face all twisted and ugly, with teeth longer’n your finger. And these eyes…piss yellow and full’a hate…I-I never seen eyes like that before…still givin’ me bad dreams…” “Ah! Tell me of the Dark Brother’s lair!” she commanded. “Came up through the sewers, he did. Just around the corner there. Don’t want to go back to the bad place, friend. Don’t let the monster come back and take me there…” “The Bestial Brother will haunt you no more… Another thread of the tapestry unravels. Farewell.” Tin Can collapsed, dead. Henoir was pleased with the obedient humans, living just long enough to give her the information she craved. Henoir entered the sewers, seeking the lair of Tin Can’s infector. Her search ended in a large underground chamber, its walls hung with rotting human corpses. As she was considering the room’s decorations, a Kindred suddenly appeared next to her. His face was disfigured, like the Nasty Dude, a Nosferatu. “Found your way down here, did you?” the Bestial Brother said. “Following the smell of entrails and rotting flesh? Looking for a free meal, little bloodsucker? There’s meat galore here in my kingdom…” “This place is a maelstrom of madness!” “The doors have been opened! The seals broken! And the final steps into the abyss, the terrible mysteries of the Ninth Circle! The Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle! The darkest dawn is almost upon us! Come! Join us in these last nights, spreading our disease upon the Earth, sharing this unholy communion with our human herd!” “The Bestial Brother you are!” “Brother Kankar, they call me…high lord in the diseased halls of the dead. Look around you! The blood, the bloated bodies, the maggot-ridden mortal shells…these are the signs, the coming of a new age!” “Why do you prey on society’s dregs?” “They are the weak, sick, hopeless. I bring them a new purpose. They are the vessels of darkness, carrying the diseased truth in their veins.” “I will stand no more for the spreading of your sickness…” “Come! Join the disciples who have gathered here, floating in their own putrescence! I will show you the mysteries of our Brotherhood as I feed on your flesh!” “Yes…we will dance this devilish dervish until you are dead…” They danced until the brother was destroyed. Searching, Henoir turned up a flier, calling upon the enlightened to join with the Brotherhood. On one side was a symbol, one she had seen painted on a building not far away. She went there, using the flier to prove she was “enlightened” and should be admitted. The building was run-down, about to fall down. The ground floor where she entered was vacant, once she got past the gate keeper. Except for a single human girl.

60 “Hey…d-did you get s-summoned?” she asked nervously when Henoir appeared. “You going u-upstairs to see the Bishop?” “Your words are twisting my skull-taffy…” “You’re n-new to the Brotherhood, huh? Just got enlightened? I-I’ve been here a few d-days. When the Bishop wants to see you, y-you’ll be summoned and then you go up these stairs…up to the t-temple…” “What of this disease-ridden demagogue?” “The B-bishop? I s-saw him once…he is b-beautiful…and scary… I d-dream about him all the time… H-he does, uh, things to me…i-in my dreams, he does, uh, things I d- don’t like to remember…” “What of this torrid temple?” “I don’t know, I m-mean, I hear things, but I haven’t been summoned. I-I…had a friend…s-snuck up there a few days ago…s-said she s-saw things, bad, bad things…” “What vile visions?” “B-blood, she said. B-blood everywhere. She s-saw a few of the s-summoned, t- tried to talk to t-them but they just s-stared at her with these blank looks. O-one of them s-started reaching for her, a-and she ran away…” “Soon you will be summoned and revel in those rituals…” “Y-yeah. I-I know the B-bishop says we have to shed our Earthly f-fears on our j- journey to the N-ninth C-circle…b-but I’m scared to go upstairs. I…I just want to go home… I wanna go home.” “Shed your fear. Death has come for the bishop and his brotherhood…” Henoir passed upstairs. She met the twisted human members of the Brotherhood, who attacked her. She felt as though she was in a cheap Romero zombie flick. She hacked and blasted her way through them, to the worship-room of the chief disease bringer, the Bishop. “Ah! Welcome, sister! I see you have been enlightened!” he cried upon her entrance, sounding like an old time tent preacher. “Are you searching for something? Do you seek the truth? Well, you have come to the right place, sister. We’ve got more truth here than we can handle…” “The disease-ridden demagogue!” “Disease? Sister, you’ve got to open your mind! One man’s disease is another man’s sanctity! Here among the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle, we have shed these earthly labels! Come! Partake of our divine communion!” “Tell me you name, plague-bearer!” “They call me Bishop Vick, Shepherd of the Damned, your midnight guide through our last days here on Earth. Do you feel it, sister? The curtain being drawn back at last, drawn back by my hand, by the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle!” “Do your days also end with Gehenna?”

61 “Gehenna? Judgment Day? The Apocalypse? Oh, again, sister, you are too indoctrinated into the antiquated beliefs of this material world. There is no rhyme or reason, no all-powerful and terrible gods who watch over their children… You talk of disease, but what about the disease that you and I both carry, our flesh remade into nothing more than an abomination, feeding on our brothers and sisters like so many cattle. What god watched over me when that demon tore into my neck and made me into this monster you see before you? No, sister. There is no god who would tolerate such a thing. And so I have become god, and the diseases I carry to the masses will bring about an end of my own making, until we have all journeyed below into the Ninth Circle…” “Your vision is more twisted than my own. Turn from this path, dark Bishop!” “The time for words has come and gone, my sister. You and I will take those last steps together, and see what truth lies behind the curtain. Let the night fall forever on this cursed Earth, and let the fruits of my labor bring a long and bloody harvest!” “I’m the cure for your viral viciousness, Vick. Die!” Not to mention his prolix preaching. The Bishop was hard to catch. He would use some trick, speeding himself up, running to the far side of the room, where he pumped shotgun blasts into Henoir as she ran after him. She would reach him, get in a few blows, he would speed up, and the whole cycle would repeat itself again. Eventually, her knife work proved more effective than his buckshot. When it ended, and she stood over his ashes, she hoped Gehenna was no more real than had been the Ninth Circle. Henoir visited the wizard Max, now that the disease spreaders had been stopped. “I broke the withered horse of Pestilence, and his Dark Bishop in the grave,” Henoir proudly announced to him. “You have? Impressive, young one. What, exactly, was the source of the epidemic?” “Bishop Vick sat upon the withered horse…” The wizard Max showed no visible surprise that it had not been the Anarchs. According to Nines theory of how the Camarilla operated, he had known that the Anarchs were probably already looking into the matter. Rather than become more fully involved himself, he had sent Henoir off to the Anarchs, assuming that between them they would find the source. “Tell me of this so-called Bishop,” he asked. “He wished to close the curtain on our cursed drama…” “Hmm. I see. That end may very well be upon us. But to business. I have a debt to pay for your services.” “What treasures?” “If you so desire, I can give to you a unique talisman that might be of use in the future. If that does not interest you, I can compensate you with hard currency. You decide…” “I’ll take the treasured talisman…”

62 “A wise decision, neonate. True power lies not in wealth, but in the things it affords you. I hope this object serves you well.” “What know you of the Ankaran Sarcophagus?” “No more than yourself. But I do know that LaCroix is much too focused on acquiring it. His obvious need for it reveals a weakness that his enemies may one day exploit.” “What secrets lie beneath its lid?” “I do not know, although I must admit that I sense a change in the night air, something subtle and not altogether pleasant. Perhaps the arrival of the sarcophagus is the harbinger of something more dreadful…” “A dark shadow, a curious hare, and the pillar ablaze in the night sky!” She could clearly sense the burning boom, but as before, the rest of the future puzzle remained unclear. “You seem to know more than I about these matters. I pray that your visions don’t portend the end of us all.” Henoir also visited Damsel not-in-distress, repeating her announcement of her success. “The king of the carrier pigeons and all his filthy chicks are finally extinct.” “You killed all of them? You?” She looked at Henoir skeptically for a few moments, before coming to the conclusion that she could trust what she had to say. “Huh. So, I guess you want me to thank you or something. Damn it… Thanks…okay? We’re cool, for now. But just don’t go bragging to everybody about it.” This was the first time Henoir had seen the damsel smile, although she had observed with interest the writhing of her lips when she became angry, a common occurrence. “You are a thorny and fire-breathing damsel, but I would still rescue you.” “Righteous. You know, you just may have an Anarch’s soul. I’ll let you chew on that, Cammy—some of the boys might have overhead our conversation and gotten the impression I’ve gone soft. Somebody in this joint’s got to lack the restraint to keep their mouth shut.” “Wait… What if I said I’m sick of the Jester and I want to join the Anarchs?” The thought had come suddenly to Henoir. Rather than follow the Jester who would use her until her second death, she should join with those who had twice saved her. “I don’t know… You seem pretty tight with nancy pants up there….” “I tried on nancy pants, I didn’t like them.” “Say, you really want to help us out, stay close to LaCroix. Smooch his ass, play ball—keep an eye on him for us. You hear anything spicy, you come talk to me. Don’t advertise. For all anyone in that tower’ll know, you’re still a worthless bootlickin’ Cammy do-girl.” “I will wear my Camarilla uniform, and underneath that, my combat fatigues.” “Cool…with someone on the inside, we should be able to eject his candyass a whole lot sooner. Keep us conscious, ‘Cammy.’ ”

63 Henoir also passed words with Smiling Jack while she was there. “Hey kid. Where ya been?” he greeted her. “I went to the ship of slaughter…” “Oh yeah? Running a little fact finding mission for LaCroix, were ya?” “The Jester commands, and I obey…” “And the Sarcophagus; did LaCroix tell you about the Ankaran Sarcophagus before you went?” “Only shadows of secrets.” “Yeah, well, maybe I should fill you in on the details; that Sarcophagus is bad news. Kindred around the globe have been going batshit since it was discovered.” “Tell me more of this curious coffin.” “The word is there’s an ancient asleep in there. One of the fathers. One of the vampires that, if you traced your lineage way back, there’s a chance it’d end up with him at the root.” “And for centuries he’s been sawing logs?” The thought of an ancient father inside the sarcophagus bothered Henoir. She struggled to come up with reasons why it couldn’t be. “Ancients don’t just nap,” said Jack. “They sleep whole ages away. And when they wake up, they’re hungry.” “Ah! Such a horrendous hunger he will have!” She glanced around, assuring herself nothing lurked in the shadows. Such nervousness was one reason she wished to believe no horror from an age long since dust resided in the sarcophagus. “It’s more than that, kiddo. Most Kindred think it’s one of the signs of the end. The apocalypse. Every religion has their own version of it. Kindred call it Gehenna, and the way they tell it, it starts when the ancients rise to devour their children.” “My visions cast a dark shadow on this drama…” “So what did you find out?” “A slaughter! The talisman opens, and death lies within!” Something about his words inspired her, lending her a confused vision of foreboding darkness within the coffin, mixed with the flaming boom. “No kidding. Well I guess there’s got to be something in there then, huh? The Camarilla’s gonna be scraping for answers when this gets out.” “Do you also see a shadow within?” “It’s in the air alright. I’ve been around longer than most kid, and I’ve felt the change in the past few decades. It’s in the blood. We’re racing toward something…and pickin’ up speed all the time.” “None know the truth of the talisman…” Perhaps she could still deny her visions. “OK. So what you saw on the boat—what about that? Conjecture? Old wives tale? Mass suicide? Think about it.” “This web is weird and well-woven…”

64 “You seen the evidence with your own eyes. You’re caught up in all of this.” “My eyes are blind to the road’s end…” “Where you headed now?” “I seek the mad Malkavian primogen!” “So a Malk’s gone AWOL. If that caught LaCroix off guard I dunno how he’s dodged a hundred years of sunrises.”

Malkavian Primogen The next night, Henoir was dropped off by a taxi at an old mansion, the kind that in a ghost movie would be shown with mysterious lights flickering from the window of the topmost cupola. Her concentration on the house was broken by a figure striding away from it. “You—what are you doing here?” the figure called out to her. “He of the numbered name!” There was no question, the figure before her was in the exact form of Nines. “No—” said Nines, stopping to stare at her. “Your words are a little wobbly…” “You should get out of here. This place is bad news. Uh…pardon me.” He started walking away at a rapid pace. “Your mouth is making mystical mush…” she said to herself, since he was too far away to hear. Truly, looking at him and hearing him speak had caused her head to ache. If he had bothered to give her a few more words, maybe she wouldn’t need to search the house before her for the Malkavian muckety-muck. Inside, she found the primogen’s ghouls in two flavors. One type was the expressionless stalkers. The second was the stationary criers. But when Henoir came close to either type, they were eager to join her, laughing, in dance, forming bright red streaks on the walls and floor, until they tired and lay down for the final sleep. She greeted the ghouls as she searched the mansion. In the library, actually the first floor of the library, since it had a second floor balcony circling the room, she found a curious note: “Perception at once shapes the Mind and rules over Time. Time however erodes human Perception, and then in turn warps the Mind. The Mind is capricious, having various effects on Perception, Time and the Mind itself…with harmony progress is made.” Nearby were three movable electric candle holders on the wall. As one manipulated them, the electric flames of the holders would turn on and off. They formed a puzzle, which Henoir solved, unlocking a door she had already passed. Perhaps she used the note to unpuzzle the puzzle, perhaps she had solved it by chance—in the instant after solving it, she could not have said herself. Her attention was caught by a very old model dictation machine. Besides recording, it could play back tapes already made. There was a tape in it, a blank one at its beginning set to be recorded upon. Or perhaps one already recorded… She pushed play.

65 “It is quite peculiar, the happenings I have been made to witness for my supernatural longevity. I am thinking of one unfortunate phenomenon in particular of unique interest to my station both as a professional and as a sufferer of this vampiric condition. It seems the stream of time has begun to erode the moorings of my chosen course of study, for the methodologies that gave birth to psychology are slowly disappearing.” “I find myself in an era that overlooks the physical component of psychological pathology time and again in favor of the sophistic practices of Freud…” Bored, she fast forwarded the recording, stopping occasionally. “…make my voice heard again, although it may be suspicious should I return to popular medical discourse fifty years after my apparent death…” “…may I hold up my own cure as validation of the methods. I am confidant no cure for my condition or that of my beloved wife lies within our figurative minds waiting to be unlocked by the correct combination of memories recovered from our childhoods. And I am most certain it has nothing to do with the relationship between myself, my parents, and my genitals…” Henoir turned to a second dictation machine in the library. “Another unfortunate casualty of the tide of time—insane asylums. I lament their loss not only as brokerage houses for the breadth and depth of human psychoses…” “…Well, I shall still find test subjects as surely as I find bloody sustenance in the night. But this climate, I fear, may never be replicated.” Henoir investigated more of the house. She passed up a flight of stairs, stopping at another dictation machine. “Often, I reflect with great regret on the missed opportunity that was my infector. Had I been conscious after the attack, I could have stopped the orderlies from locking her in the roaming pen. What I would give for just one interview, a few simple questions of the plague-ridden woman who met her end that dawn.” “Of course, there is no guarantee she would have been any more helpful than my current crop of test subjects, mewling wretches…” “…John went so far as to gnaw off his arm and escape into the floorboards like some feral rodent. I still hear him scurrying about at night; he must be making an atrocious mess in there…” In the next room she found another dictation machine. “My studies proceed at a languid pace. I’m mired in a foul ennui as my wife’s illness advances. My subjects grow restless without proper supervision, but I cannot pull myself back from this black depression. How many nights I’ve wasted now, gazing from the tower walk, pondering the frailty of existence…” Henoir entered the mirror room. She killed two ghouls, but their standing forms were still reflected in one of the room’s mirrors. Disturbed by this lack of symmetry, she passed through the fireplace, carefully killing the two ghouls in the mirror room so that

66 the bloody trails and splayed corpses were properly reflected by the mirror. She also paused to listen to the tape in a dictation machine. “After decades of solitary study into this affliction, I have learned that it is by no means mine alone. Indeed, this city is home to an entire society of similarly afflicted individuals with whom I have only recently made contact…” “…I have been able to confirm with them that the condition is indeed vampirism, which apparently comes in a multitude of strains, each with a spectacular set of symptoms such as invisibility and even a sort of lycanthropy…” “…I have concluded that their fundamental understanding of the vampiric condition is woefully lacking, and mired in suspicion and pseudo-religious dogma… Indeed, they seemed impressed with my studies, and the eloquence with which I was able to present them…” “…offered me an office in their government, a rather high office by the sound of things. I believe I shall accept. If nothing else, it should provide a lofty vantage point from which to observe the breadth and epidemiology of the affliction so that I may move more expeditiously toward a cure…” She followed a corridor, which ended in the second floor to the library she had been in before. On this upper level there were again three wall-mounted electric candles which could be manipulated, and a note: “Chaos, like the Mind, can be understood only though the scientific process. Order, however, is only as good as the Perception thereof. Time is the key that links the two and bears witness their ebb and flow.” Solving the puzzle opened a bookcase on the floor below. Before investigating it, Henoir listened to another tape. “I have accepted the role of primogen for clan Malkavian, the dreadfully winsome label applied to the particular strain of vampirism I suffer…” “…even among my would-be peers in this governing body of vampires, the level of paranoia and superstition is frightening. Their intelligence is not the question, no indeed, as they courted me for this appointment, I had to suspect that their overtures were hand- tailored to what must be my obvious infatuation with reason, for the devil would do well to have such honey-tongued tempters…” “…their linguistic flourishes belie a faith in superstition over the providence of empirical reason that must be an all pervasive theme in this society of darkest night…” “…As I expand my dealings with the vampire government, I have encountered a disturbing new symptom of this affliction. Frequently in conversation, I will hear voices emanating from other vampires, voices that are not their own but which seem to have insight into their lives beyond what I could gather from simple conversation…” “…The voices are various and inconsistent. I dare not mention this symptom to my vampiric peers, for they have proven themselves true predators to whom I would be loath to reveal any sign of weakness. Indeed, these voices have counseled me against confessing their presence, and until I can confirm their source I will listen. The information the voices have given me ranges from curious to frightening. The latter case

67 is especially true of one powerful vampire whose name I shall not commit to recording in the interests of self preservation…” Henoir passed through an underground sizzling electric puzzle room, and further stairs, corridors and rooms beyond. She stopped only once, to listen to a tape. “The voices have increased in frequency and direction of late. They have begun to stay with me long after conversation has ceased and are serving as quite a distraction. I fear others are beginning to notice my preoccupation at the vampire gatherings. I am thinking again of the particular vampire of whom I spoke previously, who I dare not name for my growing fear.” “If the voices are to be believed, than my caution is warranted, for they speak of his blackest crimes, both past and future. More than once, I have seen the suspicion in his eyes, and heard the distrust in his voice when speaking with me. The fear must register on my face as it is all I can do in these moments to keep from crying out in chorus with the voices...” At the base of a set of stairs she found another recording. “I am no longer safe. I know it. The voices have proven themselves authentic and I have withdrawn from the vampire society entirely. My absence will no doubt draw attention but I could no longer hold my fragile composure around the ravenous eyes of my vampire peers, especially not around him.” “The voices compelled me to make what I fear is a Faustian bargain, but I had to, for their demands are constant and merciless. I have secluded myself within the mansion. I know he will strike out at me. He will go to any length to achieve his ambitions, and he knows that I know. I have taken precautions to protect my beloved wife. The cure will have to wait until our immediate safety is guaranteed.” “The mansion was constructed with security in mind, but at that time I was not privy to the full range of vampire capabilities. The voices echo in the twisted corridors of my psyche, dark whisperings of a macabre and formless menace, the approach of which portends an end, an end to all of this…” At the top of the stairs Henoir found a clear crystal container containing, if not the essence, the image of his wife. Beyond, in a small room, were the remains of the former primogen. Henoir filed the lesson that it pays to be paranoid, since eventually, they will be out to get you. She used a door on the far side of the room, which opened onto a balcony overlooking a large room. Flames were licking up the walls of the chamber, just recently started since she had earlier passed through there herself. On a balcony on the opposite wall she saw a gesticulating figure which she took to be another of Grout’s ghouls until it started to speak. “Grout, lay low and be cleansed by the flames!” “Grout is no longer a corpse—he is ash,” she helpfully pointed out. “Grout is dead? A pity it could not be by my hand! No matter—soon your self- made kings and false prophets, and all who bear the mark of the beast will be washed from the Earth, for the coming of the Lord!”

68 “Where are your manners? How about an introduction?” “As you burn, tell them it was Grünfeld Bach who sent your damned soul to that lake of fire! All agents of Satan shall return to whence they came! Let this righteous display serve as a promise to all who serve the archfiend LaCroix! I’m coming for you, LaCroix! By the power of the lord I will cleanse your black soul!” Henoir jumped down into the burning chamber below. An already flaming ghoul attacked her, seeking to join with her in one flaming pyre. She pushed him away, beating on her hands to put out their flames. The fire wakened the snarls of a ravening beast within her, which had only stirred before when she sucked the warm blood of the living. She lent the beast her body, since it wanted what she did, escape from the hurtful fire. She ran out one door, heading up a flight of stairs. Another ghoul attacked her. She killed it, running faster, down one corridor after another. Everything was on fire, including her. She burst through the door to a room, running straight at a window, plunging groundward like a meteor amid the shattered glass. She rolled over and over through the grass until her clothes were just smoldering. Standing, she stared at the burning house. The Bach couldn’t be entirely bad if he could create such beauty. Fortunately, a cab was waiting to take her back to downtown L.A., to the Jester’s tower. “Evenin’ there,” the Chunk said airily to her as she entered. “Something burnin’? Smells like someone burnt the burgers…” “My nose knows no such thing. Send me to the top.” “Ah, sure, I’ll open her up for you…” As Henoir walked away, she could hear him sniffing and then say to himself, “Aw geez, I could go for one of them double Space Burgers…with the onions and cheese and some bacon and that guac-a-mole…” “The primogen still haven’t been contacted by Grout,” the Jester said testily to her when she entered his penthouse office, “I thought I made it clear that you were not supposed to come back until we had heard from him.” “We no longer hear the voice of Grout.” “Grout’s dead?! What?” If she was a credulous, just-born fledgling she almost might believe he was actually surprised. “Who is Bach?” she asked. “Why does he want to set me on fire?” “Bach! Every time I think he’s lost the scent…so, Bach killed Grout to draw me out.” “Grout was not hunted, he was disposed of.” “Bach is a hunter—they stalk and kill our kind to appease their God—but like many mortals, their so-called faith is nothing but a conduit through which they quench their killing urge. Who else would have killed Grout?” “Grout minus Bach equals Nines. He was the sum I saw first,” she blurted out, before considering it might not be the smartest thing for the newest member of the Anarchs to say.

69 “Look at me. Are you sure it was Nines Rodriguez? Because if it was, the consequences…do you know where this might lead? Do you really have any idea?” “I don’t like dramas…please change your channel to a comedy.” It was time for a little damage control. “I’m glad you find this so amusing,” he said coldly. “It means—under most circumstances, I would call a blood hunt on the murderer immediately. However…the Anarchs of this city may interpret such an action to be a declaration of war. I do not want a war with them. This decision will take some time. I need to confer with the primogen on this.” “In the meantime, I’ve come to a decision on the Ankaran Sarcophagus and I believe that, for the safety of the inhabitants of this city, we need to place the sarcophagus under Camarilla protection until its contents can be confirmed. This also is very important, so I need to call upon your skill once more. The Ankaran Sarcophagus was quietly delivered to the Museum of Natural History a few hours ago. I would like you to bring it back here for safekeeping.” “Dogs fetch, I—” “Let me finish. The manifest from the Dane shows that there was a small box from the same dig on board, but it was listed as missing. Keep an eye open for it—it may have been overlooked. It’s crucial we get the sarcophagus in our possession within the next few hours.” “My pockets are hungry.” “Yes, of course. Here.” He handed her several folded bills. “I can’t have one of my representatives running around ill-equipped for their task.” “This will speed the sarcophagus to you.” “Here are the keys to the front door of the museum. The sarcophagus should be in an examination room of some sort. There’s a small security staff on site but I don’t want a massacre. Mortals are just as easy to deceive as they are to kill.” “I will take the field trip to the museum now.” “There is a degree of immediacy attached to this task…” Henoir returned to her haven. It had not been chance that Grout had left the messages she had found scattered about his mansion. It was convenient that he, a danger to the local head of the Camarilla, had died while simultaneously implicating one of the Jester’s most dangerous foes. “Oh, finally you’re back…” said the ghoul Poe. Henoir noted with approval she had changed her hair color, makeup and dress, just as ordered. She also observed dark circles under her eyes and a slight tremor in her hands, which she hadn’t ordered. “I thought maybe something happened to you.” Poe shook her head in horror. “I shouldn’t even think such a thing… I mean, if you disappeared, how could I go on? But you’re here now…oh, I’m so glad when you’re near me…” “Withdrawal sucks, doesn’t it?” chuckled Henoir, recognizing her condition. “Addictive stuff, blood…”

70 “Blood? What do you mean?” said Poe, although the anticipatory quivers in her body belied the question. “You already know the answer.” “Let your wrist cry your love,” she begged, giving in to the imp of the perverse. Henoir cut open one wrist with a swift slash of a knife. “It is weeping.” She held out her arm. Poe got on her knees, sucking the precious drops of blood welling from the wound, writhing in ecstasy. “Ah…oh…this feeling,” Poe crooned. “It’s…it’s love, all I can feel is…love for you…” Tears streamed from her eyes. “My way of showing mine for you.” She could make Poe feel love, but in her dead body only a vague fondness could be mustered. “I almost forgot… I got a college loan check today. Here, I want you to take some of the money.” “Ooh…mad money,” said Henoir, pleased. “I’ll try to get more, you know, when I can.” “When I return, surprise me,” she ordered. She left Poe to her happy haze, high on a binge of vampire blood. Henoir checked her email. Only one message was of interest, its body reading, “A bishop is sacrificed for the king.” She had flipped on the radio, which like the television seemed capable of receiving only one station. “Caller, you’re whiling away the evening with the Deb of Night.” “Good evening, Deb.” Henoir perked up at the sound of the voice. The accent was odd, reminding her of a B-movie “Transylvanian” vampire. She was sure she knew the voice, or that she would know it. “Yes, I think that’s implied by the title of the show.” A laugh, followed by, “Do you ever worry, Deb, that the world is going to end?” “I haven’t felt that way since Brad Pitt got married.” Another laugh, “Do you have any idea how insignificant you are? When they start devouring the world, you will be but a bloodstain on their capes.” “I bet you say that to all the girls.” “There is a red star in the night sky. The blood of mortals and the blood of ages, all will be consumed. They are coming. These are the final nights.” “Well, good luck in the next election, senator…”

Natural History Museum Henoir broke into the natural history museum, the famous one, the storied institution whose name she could not remember. She lost herself for a while in the hall of dioramas, stuffed animals (she wondered what was done with the blood) and sculpted dinosaurs, set against painted backgrounds and protected by glass, like so many amber-caught insects.

71 She worked her way to the lowest level of the museum, where tourists were not allowed and the real work went on. She avoided killing any human security guards, well, not many died. Henoir penetrated to the temporary storage area, where the sarcophagus would be kept until it was moved to a research lab. The crate the sarcophagus had come in was there. The sarcophagus was not. Beckett did show up, however. He nodded to her before making a laconic comment. “I can’t understand why someone would go through the trouble of stealing a box with a very ancient corpse. This city’s not that dull…” “Where’s the box?” asked the annoyed Henoir. “Since it’s missing, I’m inclined to believe it was stolen, or intentionally misplaced if you like. Clearly though, it’s not here.” “A supervillain must have stolen it! To the batty signal!” “Interesting choice of words…weren’t you here to take it away? Wouldn’t that make you an attempted thief?” “I came here because the man in the tower said to. I think.” Henoir frowned. She might be a murderer, but she certainly wasn’t a thief. “That definitely doesn’t make it theft…” “So…you live here?” “I’m an archaeologist, and so I thought I’d indulge in a quick study of this Ankaran Sarcophagus everyone’s so riled up about. My guess, from what I’ve read about it, is that it’s a mummified Mesopotamian king. I needed confirmation.” “Did you stare at the box? Sometimes I stare at things for hours.” “Oh, I really wish I had. All this speculation about the sarcophagus containing an Antediluvian and being a portent of Gehenna is making me cringe. These are the kinds of ridiculous, superstitious assumptions I came here to debunk.” “The g-word makes my thoughts frightened. What is it?” “Armageddon, doomsday, the end of all Kindred. It’s a common facet of most mythologies—fear that the world will end. It’s a fear of many that Caine and the Antediluvians will return to consume or destroy all Kindred. I wholeheartedly disagree.” “The old ones…tell me they are not real…please…” “The Antediluvians? No one I know has ever met one, but each bloodline, or clan, supposedly traces its origin to an Antediluvian. Some say these Grandsires still exist into the present, but then, Kindred and Kine believe a lot of strange things.” “And the Dark Father?! Where is he?” “Caine, who I assume you mean, is the biblical first Kindred and founder of the mythological first city, Enoch—a place where Kindred and Kine coexisted. I believe Caine’s a figure concocted to personify the transition from nomadic society to agrarian society. That myth, like most, has been twisted by time.” “Tell me the other signs, so I can peel my eyes.”

72 “What prophecy doesn’t have vague, apocryphal signs? Let’s see, the usual ones cited are the appearance of Thin Bloods, Caine sightings, doom, gloom, that route.” “Why do you doubt the feast of the forefathers?” “As I said, many cultures have the fear of some form of apocalypse. Kindred believed in these stories when they were human, and naturally carried them over into Kindred myth. But it doesn’t take a supernatural act to cause widespread destruction. Humans and Kindred are just as capable of managing their own destruction as a deity. A self-realized Gehenna warrants more vigilance than a god-induced one, don’t you agree? Such is my argument…which so frequently falls on deaf ears.” Henoir told the voices that they should believe the words of lone wolf Beckett. It was too unsettling to worry about the Dark Father ancient ones end of the world. She heard no dissenting voices. Good, she could go back to worrying about the Jester’s task and the hand making her pawn’s moves on the board. “Seen an old box around here? That’s all I need.” “Oh, don’t let me interrupt your progress, if indeed you’ve made some. My reason for being here’s probably being bid on as we speak. Someone is certainly going to be surprised when they find out they’ve just paid a kingly sum for a desiccated old corpse.” “I will rediscover the old box. Here I go.” Henoir again returned to the downtown tower. The Chunk of a security guard yawned and stretched when she entered, pretending he had not been asleep. “‘Scuse me. Startin’ ta doze there. I need to get a guard animal of some sort to alert me when folks come in. Maybe one of them chimps like on that show Ape Detective.” He chuckled appreciatively at a memory. “That monkey always gets his man.” “Send me to the sky as quickly as you can.” “Say, fruit pie, uh…if you’re still up and about in a few hours, why don’t you stop by at the end of my shift and I’ll treat you to breakfast, eh? Endless stack of flapjacks… little boysenberry syrup…your security teddy bear…” “If my night never ended, I’d build a syrupy tower of Babel, but I must go.” The Jester greeted her with a soliloquy when she reached his office. It was a telling commentary on his isolation that he took her into his confidence. “The folly of leadership is knowing that no matter what you do, behind your back there’s hundreds certain that their own solution is the sounder one, and that your decision was the by-product of a whimsical dart toss. I pronounce the blast sentence and I soak the critical fallout. I make the decisions no one else will. Leadership…I wear the albatross and a bull’s eye.” “No! You wear the pants in this family! The city, she adores you!” Henoir smiled proudly, having remembered Damsel not-in-distress’s admonition to keep close to him. “I’ve had my fill of sycophants…I need adjutants I can trust.” If he wanted insults, Henoir was ready to supply them as well. “Prince is a dirty word these nights. Now, why are you the color of dolor?”

73 “The blood hunt on Nines Rodriguez for the murder of Alistair Grout will be called. Rodriguez’s execution is only a matter of time. I have lit the fuse—if a war ignites, it’s my head they will sharpen the pikes for. At least I can rest easy in knowing that you, my most promising attendant, have relieved me of one encumbrance tonight. Do you need assistance bringing the sarcophagus up to my office?” “It was stolen, but there were lots of dinosaurs, so I had fun.” “Stolen?!” “Sto—” started Henoir, confused by the fuss. “Stolen?! How?! Who would…? Oh, Gary. Gary, you treasonous maggot—I should have anticipated your treachery, sewer rat.” “Me too. Who’s Gary?” “The Nosferatu primogen…the Nosferatu were responsible for finding out where the sarcophagus was taken after the Dane, and for getting keys to the museum. They were the only ones who knew! It’s obvious to me now, my mistake…” “The Nos—” “I want him found! I want him…found. The sarcophagus could be…exploited, causing who knows what catastrophe to this city. If it were to fall into the wrong hands…” “First a dead man, then an old box, now a Gary…it’s like a scavenger hunt.” “The Nosferatu lurk in the filth below the streets of Hollywood, but not even I know just where they hide. Hollywood is, unfortunately, lacking in any Camarilla loyalties. Hollywood’s baron is an Anarch named Isaac. Isaac’s more civil than the Anarchs downtown, but nonetheless, he wears his mistrust of me on his sleeve. He may know how to contact the Nosferatu. Find Gary and get him to talk. That sarcophagus could be used against us. Do not come back until you have it. Now I must announce the blood hunt—and bear the brunt of all consequences. Escort her out.” Henoir was partly responsible for the accusation against, big search for, and death sentence on Nines. Therefore she decided it was logical to visit the Anarchs so they could congratulate her on how well she had ingratiated herself with the Jester. “Heard anything?” was all Damsel somewhat-distressed asked her when she showed up. “LaCroix wants that old box from the boat real bad.” “It’s probably just like the Rolls of coffins or something…lousy aristocrat bastard.” “There are rumors he is into field hockey players,” she made up on the spot. “Got it…keep it up.” Damsel somewhat-distressed had barely growled, which showed how worried she was. Better yet, she hadn’t growled at Henoir, which indicated Nines (for she must have a good idea where he was) understood her position. “You measly fuck,” greeted Helter-Skelter when she went upstairs. “You got a lot of nerve showing up here, Lick.”

74 “Why such harsh words, Helter-Skelter?” After the gentle treatment downstairs, she was almost relieved at his reaction. She hadn’t resisted the current, letting it carry her along and all the consequences that came from it. She felt as though she deserved some punishment. “You fingered Nines. Said he killed a goddamn primogen.” “His shadow crosses my path at the primogen’s palace…” “I’m willing to believe you were a patsy in all this, but I’ll be watching you kid.” “Where is he with the name of numbers?” “Don’t expect to see him until this bullshit is resolved.” Henoir suddenly wished she had been perhaps a little less helpful to the Jester. She went over to Jack, who had been listening to her conversation with Helter-Skelter. “Listen kid. You did what you had to do—just the messenger, right?” “Where is Nines now?” “I hear Nines got word. I’d wager he’s gonna be layin’ low for a while.” “Will not the Anarchs protect this warrior-prince?” “Yeah sure, but there’s packs of youngsters out there who’d love to make a name by bringing in the head of Nines Rodriguez.” “Can I aid the Anarchs?” “Just eager to please, ain’t ya? I could give a goddamn kid, but I’m sure the boys here would appreciate it if you kept it business as usual, hear me?” She started to turn away when he spoke again. “Just a second—I heard you were down poking around the museum.” “The Jester sent me to take the terrible talisman!” “Seems like he has a lot riding on that sarcophagus, to get such a fierce bug in that powdered wig of his.” “What need has he of this terrible talisman?” “I got another scenario for ya here kiddo; gonna bounce it off ya, see what ya think. Ever hear of…diablerie?” “My ears have never seen such a thing…” “It’s when a vampire drains another more powerful vampire to death. Diablerie is the Sabbat’s specialty, but it’s a big taboo in civilized Kindred circles and damn sure forbidden by the Camarilla.” “Voodoo, taboo?” “When a younger vampire diablerizes an elder, the younger vampire gains all of their power.” “Ah! Dark blood and precious power…” “The prince is willing to tear L.A. apart to find this thing so he can have it—why? What would a power-hungry vampire like LaCroix want with a sleeping ancient? Hmm… I wonder.”

75 “The Jester wants his prize. What do I do?” “You gotta figure a drop of ancient blood would make any Kindred just about invulnerable. Anyone who has the Sarcophagus is going to be thinking the same thing. If LaCroix gets the sarcophagus at least we know where it is.” His words triggered a thought, something about Henoir’s embrace, an addition of dark power, but before the supposition solidified it was replaced by a new question. “Perhaps you also want to drink from the terrible talisman?” “You’re free to choose who you trust, kiddo.” Jack’s crooked wish to give the Jester his prize couldn’t slither into even Henoir’s twisted mind. She was no more enlightened by the email she found back at her haven, “A gambit has been played. The king leaves himself open.” The ghoul Poe was in as well. “I went fishing today and I caught a big one.” Poe was smiling, pleased at her coup. “Can you hear him flopping around the bathroom? That’s how you can tell he’s fresh.” “No no no no…fish travel in schools! Where is it?” This fish might be expected by other fish, who knew other fish, and soon there would be a whole ocean of trouble. Henoir did secretly admire her ghoul’s choice of slightly cracked language. They were getting to know one another better all the time. “You don’t like fish? I just thought, you know, it’d be a nice change of pace if you dined in for a change.” “Isn’t that sweet? I withdraw my words. Soup’s on.” Henoir couldn’t remain angry with her favorite ghoul, although she wasn’t hungry. She unlocked the bathroom door, throwing it open. “Hey, what the hell is this shit!” yelled the man inside. “Let me out, goddammit! I’ll kill that crazy bitch!” “Blah blah blah…” said Henoir, unimpressed by his bluster. “Soon as I get out of here I’m calling the goddamn cops! Let’s see what they think of this, huh? I’ll have them lock up both your asses!” Henoir let one of the voices whisper in his ear, that he should see the fuzz, and tell them “I’ve got a gun, piggies.” “Yeah, that’s right, you better let me go,” said the man. “I’m going to the cops soon as I leave. You just wait ‘til they hear what I’ve got to say!” “Whatever you say. See ya.” Henoir stepped aside, no longer blocking his exit. He looked at her and Poe for a moment, questioning if they would really just let him go. He suddenly ran across to the haven’s outer door; his rapid footfalls could be heard pounding down the hall and steps.

Molded Horrors A few nights later, Henoir took a cab to Hollywood. A man approached her as soon as she left the taxi. He wasn’t breathing, and no blood was visibly pulsing through the arteries in his neck. She suspiciously examined him for any hidden baseball bats.

76 “Ain’t seen you here before,” he said, “and if I haven’t seen you, neither has Isaac, so that’s your next stop.” “That is my next stop. Do you do parties?” “Issac’s in the jewelry store at the end of the street. Consider yourself invited.” “This town loves me already.” Henoir hurried herself down the street, entering the abode of Isaac. “Good evening, neonate…Isaac Abrams,” he greeted her. Unlike most of the Kindred Henoir had met, he had been Embraced long after his youth. “I’ve been expecting you. Seems the wooden soldiers of the Camarilla shuffle in a little too often these nights. That baby-faced, two-bit prince LaCroix got something to say to me?” “Your messenger spun me around and pointed me in your direction.” “Very courteous of you to stop by. All Kindred that enter my domain are expected to introduce themselves. It may seem like an outdated formality, but it serves its purpose.” “Does the La in LaCroix not stand for L.A.?” asked Henoir. The organization in Hollywood smelled more like the Camarilla than the Anarchs, making her wonder where he stood. “Gah, LaCroix,” he spat out, “that egotistical fop. His reach in Los Angeles far exceeds his grasp. Prince…don’t make me laugh! Prince is a title—an outdated and absurd bit of jargon given to any fool that would scheme hard enough for it. I don’t recognize it, and neither will any Kindred under the protection of this barony.” That went well, she thought, before bringing up the reason for her presence. “Where have all the sewer rats fled?” “Your clan appreciates a good joke, doesn’t it? Don’t you find it the slightest bit hilarious that LaCroix would send you to ask me of all people where he could find the Nosferatu? Has it truly come to this?” “Hilarious,” she agreed, laughing for some moments. Training as a toady under the Jester had proven its worth again. “It has. What information are you willing to part with?” “I’m willing to give you my full cooperation, provided you pay proper tribute.” “Pay? For one who lives in a jewelry store, very greedy. What is the cost?” She pulled out her wallet, hoping he wanted pictures of Washington and not Jackson. “What I want is a simple exchange. Last week I paid for a certain item, a movie, and this evening I got an email saying that the seller is ready to deliver it. Unfortunately, he’s become a bit paranoid all of a sudden… Won’t meet me in person, won’t drop it off, won’t even answer his phone. Says he’ll send the location of the pickup to a computer in the nearby internet café tonight. You see where I’m going with this?” “I am your executioner.” She was getting good at the prediction business. “Absolutely not!” he roared. “You pull that cowboy routine anywhere in my city, and I’ll personally take an interest in seeing you suffer.” Henoir quickly pulled off her cowboy hat, hiding it behind her. “I had in mind something a bit more subtle. Now, pay attention. Here’s what I want you to do… Go to the Ground Zero internet café, look for a

77 directory named ‘Josefk’ and use the password ‘Kafka.’ There’ll be an email in there that will specify a nearby location. Meet the contact, pick up the item, come back. Not too painful, right?” “You old ones like leashes, don’t you?” “You live long enough, you’ll be asking some whelp to do the same thing. And as I mentioned, this is simply a matter of tribute.” “I must pick up your mail…” “Excellent. In the meantime, consider yourself a welcome guest in my Barony. Welcome to Hollywood.” She left, silently repeating his instructions so that she wouldn’t forget them. She didn’t notice the woman who gasped when she saw her, not until she ran up. “Oh my gosh!” she yelled out. “Is that you? Everyone was worried sick about you! When you didn’t show up a-and didn’t call and nobody knew anything about what happened to you—we thought you were dead! Are you okay? You know what, never mind, we have to help you.” “Madness, believe me, I know.” Henoir was thinking, no, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, Samantha. “It’s me, Samantha! Don’t you…” She looked concerned, as if she’d found a lost puppy. “Did you suffer amnesia? Is that it? Let me make a call, we’ll get everybody together, we can talk, maybe you’ll remember something. The important thing is that they know that you’re alive.” No, don’t remember me, thought Henoir. It’s better for all of us that you don’t remember me. Henoir focused, sending out a voice, urging her to recall something else missing, something from a long time ago, when she was a kid. “Shelly? Holy Crap!” Samantha’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “You got big! I’m sorry I flushed you, I thought you were dead.” “Nah, I wasn’t dead, I was just asleep.” “So…what’s it like to be a turtle?” “It’s a lot like being a walking house that eats lettuce.” “Can I give you a hug, Shelly?” “I’d let you, but the other turtles might start talking.” “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Shelly. We should get together for the holidays. Call me, okay?” “You know I’ll be there. Goodbye, Samantha.” Henoir hurried away. She tried to remember her instructions. She was to meet Josef Kafka at the café and, after using the password ground internet, find out the location of the director Zero. Somehow, much later, she found herself in the alley behind the Fast Buck, a local legal loan shark. A young man was already there. He nervously looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder. Feeling this was a good idea, Henoir looked over her shoulder several times before approaching him.

78 “Y-yeah? What do you want?” he said. “The blood baron sends forth the pawn to obtain the terrible tape…” “What? Blood baron? What the hell? Who are you? Didn’t Isaac send…ah, damn… you must have the wrong guy. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get lost.” He was sweating heavily, which didn’t make sense unless he knew what Henoir really was. “Shadows draw near to you, little messenger. Tell me what you fear…” she suggested. “Alright. S-sorry. It’s just that…I mean, something is… I just want out of this whole thing. I don’t want anything to do with that damn tape.” “Speak your secrets, little messenger…” “I-I don’t know, I mean, when it comes to video, I’ve seen everything…and I do mean everything! But this thing…it’s sick…it can’t be real…but it is. I know it. It’s real and it scares the hell out of me.” “I see teeth and terror, a girl lost to the blood storm…” said Henoir. She could strongly see the rich, red blood everywhere. To her, just another day at the office. “Oh, you have no idea…it’s disgusting…that girl… The things that are happening to her…it just ain’t right, man. It just ain’t right! And now…something’s wrong. Something’s after me, I swear to God, something’s after me…” “Rid yourself of its curse, and hand me this horror.” “I don’t have it…I stashed it someplace. Look, you need to find Ginger Swan’s. Huh?” His eyes widened at something he saw behind her. “What the hell was that? Oh shit! Did you see that? I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Henoir whirled around, but saw nothing. When she looked back, the human was running off. He rounded a corner, there was a cry cut short, then she heard the sound of a manhole cover. She ran around the corner. Nothing was moving, but there was the cover at her feet. She moved it aside, climbing down into the sewers. She searched a few minutes, but found only a severed arm. She considered taking it with her, but the taskmaster Isaac had wanted a tape. He hadn’t specified any pieces of the tape’s supplier. “You made good time,” said Isaac when she returned. “Hand me the item.” “It did not travel with him.” “Hmm…did he at least make a good excuse?” “His excuse was that he was a dead man.” “You didn’t…” “No. On what lakes can I find ginger swans?” “Ginger Swan? Swan…hmm. Not an animal—a name. Brings back a lot of memories. Seventy years ago wasn’t a man in this city that wouldn’t have given up his family, career, or anything else for one night with her.” “Where may I view this fossil?”

79 “That depends…you believe in an afterlife? Ginger Swan’s been dead since the fifties…twenty years after there were still grown men weeping at her grave. I don’t know how she’s relevant—but I have faith you’ll figure it out.” “This makes no sense…perfect!” Henoir located the local cemetery in which Ginger Swans were buried. Entering, she randomly searched, reading the inscriptions on grave markers and entering mausoleums. One mausoleum that looked like a house proved to be a house. As she entered, the caretaker, who had been sitting on a sofa, snatched a shotgun and pointed it at her. “Whoa there, sugar puss—might want to think about knocking next time, I damn near blew your head off. Thought you might be a zombie.” “I think my shambling needs work. What makes you say different?” “Who else would be waltzing in here in the middle of the night? Name’s Romero… I’m the caretaker here—well, that is, I don’t exactly keep people from getting in, although that is part of my job. No, you see, I’m here to make sure nothing gets out.” “Really? I’m in charge of making sure the stars don’t go anywhere. Stay! Good star.” “See it’s like this…every night ‘round this time for the past, oh…several months now, the dead’ve been getting up with an itch to stroll down Hollywood Boulevard. Nobody knows why, but they’re working on it. ‘Til they figure it out, they needed a volunteer to patch the problem and I stepped forward. Problem temporarily solved, the baron’s happy, I get to shoot zombies and guarantee I get my blood for another month. I’ve carved out a nice niche here.” “Ooh…fun.” “You’re telling me. Far as I know I’m the only person around Hollywood who considers marksmanship an art. A lot of the stiffs around here used to be asshole celebrities too. Bonus.” “Uh, you know,” he said, looking her up and down, “I know you’re technically dead and all, but…goddamn you are one striking looking piece of ass. Where were you when you were still breathing, huh? I don’t suppose you’d still be interested in a little, a…” “I can slick my parts with blood as you thrust up against my corpse. Okay?” An educational experience for both of them. “Well, when you put it that way, I’ll just pick up a magazine or something.” Romero seemed to have lost interest in further conversation, so Henoir continued her search. She found the ginger swan in an indoor mausoleum, numerous corpses laid up in the walls. She impatiently smashed the swan’s coffin and rooted through the bones inside until she found the tape she was looking for. She then returned to the baron. “You still don’t have it, do you?” Isaac skeptically greeted her. “I fetched a rental for you.” She laughed since he didn’t, thanking herself by saying, “Good. Joke.”

80 “I didn’t doubt you’d find this…and I apologize if I was overly imperious before— a reflex action. I get a lot of young blood in here forgetting their place. I’ll assist you as reasonably as I can with your task, but first…” He inserted the tape into a VCR. “This tape…I’m in a hurry to find out what’s behind all the hype, so get comfortable. I do have a feeling that whatever’s here may be of use to both of us, however.” The beginning of the tape was damaged. After that, it showed a young woman inside a house. She was chased by creatures that consisted of little more than two legs and a mouth; her end was extremely bloody. The film finished with a short credit, just a logo consisting of a mask overlaid by the letters “DMP.” “It’s more disturbing than I was led to believe,” said Isaac afterward. “You can understand my concern now, can’t you?” “This tape hides the sewer rats from us?” It only made sense that anything that was trouble would involve her. “I assume it does, it’s awfully coincidental otherwise…and those creatures—I don’t know how many professional FX houses could pull those off. There’s a problem though in that the film’s incomplete…the first half is damaged—we need a complete copy.” “This copy must have a twin somewhere…” “Behind the spit-shine gloss of the Hollywood dream factory, there’s another city churning out a vile by-product for the furtive consumption of a debauched audience. I have no doubt the film’s found its way to another smut peddler. I’d ask around.” “Toreadors’ hands are so pristine—let me adore yours!” He was good at making speeches, but lacking in practical assistance, very like the Jester. “I get them plenty dirty when a neonate doesn’t know their place. Not one brick of this city’s Camarilla ground, so mind your manners…that’s all I ask of visitors to my streets.” “Manners, yes…do you sell ponies and weed-whackers here? Okay, I’ll go…” Henoir stopped at an all-night convenience store, a full-service establishment where she purchased some ammunition. A TV was blaring in the background with her favorite newscaster. She stared in fascination at the screen. “The search for an L.A. sewer worker is beginning to look grim, as police and family end their seventh night looking for Luis Salvadore, after he failed to return home last Friday. Salvadore was last seen entering a manhole in Hollywood to carry out a routine inspection. Salvadore’s family is hopeful the husband and father of three will return safely, but he’s floating face down, folks.” Henoir went in search of a peddler of the vile product. She stopped outside an establishment called the “Sin Bin.” It was either a church or what she wanted. She went inside. The acres of flesh visible in the covers of the racked videos and magazines would have put a convention of nudists to shame. A middle-aged man stood behind the counter. “Hey ya, hot pants,” he said to her, winking. “Ah! The Prince of Porn!”

81 “Prince of Porn?” He considered the title. “Yeah! Flynn Boyle—the Prince of Porn, the Senator of Smut… I’m the proprietor of this here establishment. Anything you want, you can get at the Sin Bin. ‘Depraved’ ain’t a four-letter word here, you know what I’m talking about?” “What of this sinful bin?” “The Sin Bin? Oh, we’ve got filth of every flavor. Just tell me what makes your bits tingle, honey. I’ll set you right up.” “Describe to me your wicked wares!” “Man, we got everything you’ll ever need. Soft-core, hard-core, gay, straight, farm or furry. We got shockers, shiverers, self-lubricators and strap-ons. Chains, crops and canes are in the back next to the triple-ripples. Like I said, we got it all.” “Do you know of the Death Mask?” “DMP? Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Why do you want to know?” “I am a curious collector…” “You read something about DMP in a magazine? Shit, slick. I look like my mom just popped a squat yesterday? You didn’t read anything about DMP in a fucking magazine.” “Its name is so secret I cannot say it aloud…” “Alright. Listen, I’ll tell you a little bit, but if anyone comes askin’ you never heard it from me. DMP produces only the most hard-core video. I’m not even talkin’ black market here. More like black-hole market…not the kind of product you want to get mixed up in…” “Where can I find the Death Mask?” “Forget it, man. I don’t even know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. Huh? What? Who’s DMP? Seriously, get the hell out of here.” Henoir loosed a voice, passing along a vision of what would happen if he didn’t come up with the information. “O-okay. Look…all I know is that a guy calls on the pay phone down the street every once in a while. He’ll say something like ‘the Moon is a terrible mistress’ or some creepy shit like that…” “What then?” “And then all you have to say is ‘who walks the night with demons of dread.’ Supposedly, you’ll be told where to meet the guy to pick up product. I don’t know for sure… I, uh, I never tried it. It scared the shit out of me.” “I leave to remove Death’s Mask…” Henoir found the ringing phone, gave the correct counter-phrase which led her to a motel room. The occupant was missing, although he had left most of his blood behind. There was also a key-card with the name of the Internet café Ground Zero. The key-card opened a door to the café’s back office, revealing steps leading down to the production studio for DMP. It also introduced Henoir to the living creatures

82 pictured in the videotape. Their headlong attacks, although featuring deadly claws and a fanged mouth, were predictable and easily countered. Not so easily countered by the staff of DMP, whose bodies Henoir found scattered about the premises. She also found an intact copy of the tape. “Any luck?” asked Isaac when she returned. “The tape monsters are not muppets. Dreams do not come true this night.” “Then this is no doubt the work of a fiend. Hand me the tape. There might be something on it that will give us some insight into what its motives are.” They watched the tape together. The beginning of the tape showed the woman approaching a house and entering through the front door. “The house in the tape, I know it,” said Isaac. “It’s in the Hills. King’s Way, if I’m not mistaken. My guess is that the fiend that made this tape is using these creatures to hound the Nosferatu, which would explain their sudden absence. They’re trapped. Well, it’s unfortunate that the Prince needs you to see the Nosferatu, because it looks like this fiend knows how to get at them, and I doubt he’s going to draw a map for you. Looks like King’s Way is your only way in, unfortunately.” “To the way of kings I travel…” Henoir was unsurprised that Isaac was offering no help in eradicating this menace, despite the fact that it was in his interest as well that it be dealt with, again very much like the Jester. “If I may give you one final word of warning—do not trust LaCroix. Do not play the damned politics of the Camarilla. This city hasn’t needed them in a long time, and won’t ever.” “Where will my trust keep safe?” “That’s for you to decide. I only know who you can’t trust.” “I bet my trust on me. I am gone.” The house on King’s Way Henoir found housed blood and twisted creations, the same creatures she had faced in the studio of DMP. She searched the house from top to bottom. In the basement, she found a Kindred, his face twisted not by clan affiliation, like the Nosferatu, but by choice. He was half-turned away from her when she entered, but he sniffed, muttering “What is that smell?” As he faced her, she realized she was hearing a familiar bad-movie vampire accent. “Ah, hello young Cainite.” She was surprised by the implication that all of the monstrous creations she had faced had been created by only one Kindred. “I see your face is not so lifeless, your nerves not so deadened, that you cannot express shock. Tell me child, is my appearance that frightening, or is it my knowledge of you that is so unnerving?” “Ah! The Sword of Caine!” She cried, scrabbling towards a half-seen prophecy. “You see the truth of things, don’t you, Childe of Malkav. Blessed with your beastly visions, you are shown that the Sabbat are the only true heirs to the legacy of our dark father.”

83 “The Dark Father walks among us, with scales in his hand…” We shall see, she thought, who is still around to comment on which way the scales have tilted. “Indeed. And I fear not his wrath nor his judgment. Can you say the same, Camarilla pawn? The pathetic schemings of your new prince will not save you all from destruction…” “It is you who made the terrible tape!” She pointed her finger at him accusingly. “Oh yes, the ‘tape.’ Merely a test. Certainly not intended to fall into mortal hands. Fortunately, we are in the capital of mortal trickery and illusion. So did the tape drive you to find me? From whence flows your longing, Childe?” “Why do you haunt these hills, Childe of Caine?” she retorted mockingly. Like all vampires, according to their mythology this must be true. “To gouge out the eyes of the Camarilla. The sewers are clogged with my creations. I will kill or drive the Nosferatu from their pestilent nests. Without the sewer rats to guide them, the Camarilla will be blind to the Sabbat’s designs.” “Did you devise this devilish design?” She had no idea how many members belonged to the Sabbat. Maybe she faced their leader. “It is not for me—it’s for the will of the Sabbat! The Camarilla is stunted; dead and festering in the womb, good only as pawns of the fathers. Even now, they answer the call of the Ancient and seek to free him from his torpor.” “Ancient?” “He slumbers within the Ankaran Sarcophagus; one of the fathers whose return shall hearken the Reckoning. Gehenna is at hand, and the Camarilla are unwittingly speeding us all toward our doom.” “Are these creepy creatures your creations?” “Blessed creatures, I have broken through their mortal crust and drawn from them their greatest strength, mutability. I coax bone, weave flesh, and lace sinew tight until it strains to lash out!” “Their appearance is appalling…” “Perhaps, but they are exquisitely functional. Still, there’s an uncanny elegance to even this, my most mercenary of designs.” “Your wretchedness weighs heavier than theirs…” Henoir was surprised to find she felt a deep-seated repulsion to the flesh-crafter’s productions. Perhaps it was the influence of humanity’s voice, but she would have opposed him even if it hadn’t been a taskmaster’s task. “Revulsion is instinctual, and instinct is a powerful level to work toward, to evoke it, a glorious accomplishment. Revulsion is a striking color on my palette. I see wonderment in your dead eyes; you long to wield such power as deftly as I.” “My soul is a dark mirror you cannot fathom…” “You are instantly known to me. I smell your vitae and can imagine the taste of your viscera on my talons.” He sniffed loudly. “Ah yes, it’s in the blood, strong and balmy. It’s not yours to hide, child.”

84 “Your words have become a bloody bungle…” “Do not fear your nature, Childe. Your body is not a dead husk, but a chrysalis of beastly splendor. Embrace it. I can take your body—this passing, mortal machine—and reshape it into an engine of Cainite fury.” “My neck will stay leashless, false-prophet!” “Now, Camarilla whelp, let me see you fight your nature in the face of those who have embraced their beast. Deny yourself Caine’s gifts, and be torn asunder by my minions!” “The angel of death comes swift and furious, fiend!” Henoir attacked. Her opponent’s only defense was to vanish each time she got close enough to swing her knife at him, reappearing somewhere else in the room. He also called more of the flesh-shaped two-footed nightmares. Henoir concentrated on the Sabbat crafter, killing his creations only when they got in the way. Finally, he disappeared and did not reappear. Henoir decided to call it a victory. An exit from the basement led into the sewers. Almost immediately, she found the face down body of sewer inspector Luis Salvadore. Henoir was impressed by the knowledge of the newscaster.

The Nosferatu The creator was defeated, but Henoir still had to face the creations as she penetrated further into the sewers. Besides the two-footed horrors, there were stranger, stronger hybrids. She sneaked by, fought or outsmarted the guardians. Eventually, she advanced to underground tunnels below the sewers, empty of the flesh-crafted creatures, carved out of the bedrock upon which Los Angeles sat. As she walked the empty tunnels, voices followed her, seemed to surround her. She welcomed their presence, inviting them to join the chorus that had been with her since her Embrace. The bare walls began to be broken by wooden doors inset in the sides of the tunnel. She tried the doors as she came to them. They were locked or jammed; she didn’t deem it advisable to force any, since she needed the goodwill of the Nosferatu if she was to gain any information. She came to a door, which when she tried it opened. A Nosferatu was rapidly typing at a keyboard. “What the…? Huh?” said the Kindred, fractionally turning his head before whipping back to study the computer’s monitor. “Oh, you did not just try and run a trace on me. Alright. Take that. Oh yeah. I hope you backed up that server tonight. Boss is gonna be real pissed when his mom starts getting love letters from porn sites…” “Greetings, grid master…” said Henoir quietly. “Wha? Oh, yeah…hold on a sec…oh my god. Are you kidding me? What are you using for security down there, a Trash 80? Guys, it’s called encryption. This is too easy. I’d let you off the hook, but stupidity always brings out the asshole in me.” “Might I speak with you, console jockey?”

85 “Uh? Right, yeah…just one minute…no, no…nothing to worry about… Just a harmless email, not a self-replicating embedded virus or anything… Uh, wow…you really opened it. I can’t believe you just opened it. What kind of a freakin’ idiot just opens it?” “Perhaps another time for this tango…” she said regretfully. “Huh? Tango? You came to the wrong place for dance lessons. Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’re Malkavian. Got more than a few bugs in the software, right? Sorry, but that’s a tech problem I can’t fix.” “Who are you, joeboy?” “Whu…? Oh, yeah. Sorry. The name’s Mitnick. I’m in charge of computer systems, network security, that kind of thing. You’re the new kid, right? LaCroix’s girl? Surprised you actually made it down here…” “Why surprised, binary boy?” “I’ve been following your progress on the cameras…handled yourself pretty well with all of the creepy crawlers in the sewers. Like a bad sequel to C.H.U.D. up there…” “Could you not extend that withered hand?” “Nothing I could do from here. Those old sewer systems are wired with punch cards and vacuum tubes…built back in the technological dark ages. Sorry, but I don’t do analog, newbie.” “I seek Gary, king of this crypt.” “Yeah, he knows why you’re here. LaCroix must be pissed. But I hope you’re not here looking for some payback. LaCroix knows better than to mess with Gary, sheriff or no sheriff.” “There will be a reckoning in this rat’s nest…” “His room is just down the hall. You’ll probably find him there. Or maybe he’ll find you.” “Tell me of this underworld.” “What, the warrens? Not much to tell. Just a bunch of us living down here, trying to stay off the radar. It ain’t pretty, but it’s home. Gary’s the big man on campus…he’s runnin’ the show.” “This underworld seems devoid of demons…” “There’s more of us than you’d think. They’re around. You won’t see too many of the brood down here, but they’ll be watching you.” “How do you fit into this grid?” “Me? Like I said, I’m the resident tech head. Keep this place wired to the outside world. Gary wants me to keep a close eye on the street, and at the same time I’m supposed to be upgrading Shre…uh, the network…” “What? I see a secret web, spun by scurrying rodents…” “Nothing. Forget about it. Like I said, just some network stuff.”

86 Henoir nodded, forgetting everything he had said. She left, continuing along the tunnel, trying doors as she came to them. Another door opened under her hand. A Nosferatu, her hands on her hips, was staring at a poster on the wall of a female model. The poster had been disfigured using a marker. “Bitch!” she said, ignoring Henoir’s entrance. “I can’t believe she got the cover of Glamorella this month!” “Glamor fades, bitterness petrifies…” said Henoir. “I mean, just look at her! Too fat, big teeth…and her complexion! Does she wash her face with a cheese grater?” “Who is this cheese queen?” “I mean, like anyone even knew who Tawni Sessions was before I left the scene. She’d still be fluff girl for Vivisexion, making ten bucks a stiffy if I was still around. Arrgggh!” “Often I enjoy a fluffing with my vivisections…” Henoir couldn’t understand what she was saying. “What? Oh, no. You have got to be kidding. You’re a Malkavian? Gary actually lets you guys in here? My day just went from bad to coach class.” “Tell me of this Tawni Sessions.” “Tawni Sessions is a wanna-be face-girl with no talent whatsoever and scabby little knees. Do you know she got Model of the Year? Before I got here, she would have had a hard time making the catalog for ‘Jacque Penney.’ ” “That’s a good one. Uh, who are you, by the way?” “Oh, right. You probably don’t recognize me with this whole Texas Chainsaw Massacre thing I’ve got going on here. My name is Imalia…” “Just Imalia? What’s your last name?” Actually, Imalia sounded more like a title than a name. “Last name? God, that’s so blue-collar it makes me want to puke. I don’t have a last name. Imalia is a look, an attitude, a state of being.” “Why this terrible hatred of Tawni?” “Before this neat little makeover I used to be a model. I was all over the place…TV, magazines, billboards. I mean, I was hot. Super hot. And I knew it. Which is why Gary decided to invite me into his freaky little family.” “Tawni is a cracked mirror, reflecting the shards of your former life…” Henoir could feel her insanity, and offered this advice in a spirit of helpfulness. “Spare me your head shrink bullshit. You’ve got no idea what I’m going through here. I mean, I can’t sit here and let the world think she’s better than me. I’ve got to do something…” “Exfoliation might be your next endeavor,” suggested Henoir angrily. “What did you say?” she shrieked. “Nobody talks that way to me! I’m Imalia! Do you hear me? Imalia!”

87 Henoir heard her, just barely, since she had already exited and closed the door behind her. She continued walking down the tunnel, which ended at double doors after several twists and turns. She pushed open the doors, cautiously moving into the room beyond. A dining table was set, several guests in formal attire were seated— unfortunately, deceased. “By the clack-smack cracking of my thumbs,” said a voice that seemed to originate near the head of the table, although nothing was visible there, “something wicked this way comes. I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list for the dinner party… We’re having a wrap party for the Misfits about forty years late. Cast and crew only, boss…” “Voice? I don’t see you…” said Henoir, looking right and left. “Maybe I’m in your head…Uh, oh…you might have picked up one of those psychoses so common to new Kindred…” “You don’t sound anything like the voices in my head.” She wondered if the Nosferatu had lost any voices, and if so, if there was a finder’s fee. “Maybe I killed the voices in your head, boss.” “You amuse me, new voice. Old voices didn’t make much sense.” “Tell me, the voice in your head, why are you down here? You can trust me, boss…” Henoir relied on the voices to give her direction, not the other way around. “If you are in my head, then you already know. You tell me.” “Think carefully…Who are you here for? And Why?” The voice was making too much sense to be one of hers. That must make it one of his. She chuckled. “You are him. Good joke. Come out, let’s play.” “I’ll show you the cards I’ve been dealt, but you put yours on the table first.” “I’ve got a nines, a jack and a jester, and you were about to deal me a queen.” “You may be on to something, boss. Or maybe you’re still talking to yourself. Insanity isn’t given enough credit. The insane know not what they do…do you?” “Where. Are. You.” “I’m over here, boss!” said the voice, close at hand to her right. “Wait…maybe I’m over here!” This came from her left. “Or maybe I’m behind you, with a hatchet in my hand….or did you ever stop to think that your fear, if given a voice, would sound…like… this.” The voice was behind her. She turned around; nothing was there, although she was sure now it was just the boss Nosferatu having fun with her, since his enjoyment of the decayed dinner guests must have ended long ago. “You want something?” she asked. “I don’t know, boss. You tell me. After all, I didn’t crash your party.” “I’m here for that old box.” “You don’t say…Wake up, boss! Who do you think you’re dealing with? Why else would LaCroix send you on this snipe hunt? That’s right…I know you work for the prince.”

88 “Why do you ask answered questions?” she asked, confused. “Because I like the sound of my own voice.” He growled, emphasizing his command of the situation. “It’s not everyday we get visitors, boss. I needed to hear it from you. You’re a long way from home…and neither the prince nor Isaac nor Nines have any domain down here. Tread carefully.” “Tell me the tale of the box.” “You should have got here sooner. That lot’s been sold.” “So you have a copy of the receipt?” “I like to discuss business face to face.” “Than face me,” she urged. “Are you sure boss? You don’t want my image in your subconscious. It’s the stuff nightmares are made of.” “Nightmares are all I’ve got.” “Careful what you wish for… Behind you boss. Boo!” She whirled. A Nosferatu, disfigured like all of those she had already met, was standing there. He was dressed for an evening’s formal party. “Hi. And you are?” “What? You don’t recognize me from the pictures? Gorgeous Gary Golden? Don’t tell me you missed Pirate Town or Tap Hotel? Little before your time, eh, boss? Well, those days are long past. Nowadays, it’s just Gary.” “Charmed. The box?” “Where, where, where did it go? That thing seems to get around more than Mae West… Why, might I ask, should I give you that information?” “I saved the voice from the fiend’s children.” “Oh, my hero. Had it not been for that damn Tzimisce, you’d still be searching under rocks for us. It was hardly a favor. But—I know where your Prince’s prize is. There is very little that doesn’t leak down into this place… Tell me, boss, you ever gone up against a Kuei-jin?” “Maybe…those the things that come out of holes that you hit with a hammer?” “The Kuei-jin are vampires, but not like Kindred. Sometimes known as the vampires of the East. But they ain’t kin, boss…they’re just someone else that, if you ain’t being careful, might give you the Final Death.” “I’m supposed to be rescuing the box.” She wished he would hurry up and give her the task. “Even for old Gary, there ain’t much more to tell. You see…I sent an agent, Barrabus, to snoop around Chinatown…do a little hacking, make a few contacts… But he hasn’t been calling lately, and it’s breaking my heart…” “You want me on this case…because I don’t play by the rules.” Henoir assumed a dramatic pose, but the natty Nosferatu seemed unimpressed.

89 “You up for a little trip to Chinatown? You’re in no danger there…me—best you don’t mention my name there, boss. That’s the going rate for my info right now…you get our chum back from Chinatown, I’ll give you what you need.” “For more than what I need!” appended Henoir, nettled at the finally announced task, which would undoubtedly turn into ten tasks before she could call it done. “Hey, save yourself some time, boss! You’ve got no bargaining power. I know prince priss is breathing down your neck every second you keep him from his prize. Close your mouth, chew on the resentment, and open your ears. The Golden Temple in Chinatown, it’s a piss poor copy of a real place, looks like it’d be more at home in a theme park. That eyesore’s where you’ll find the leader of the L.A. Kuei-jin. They call her Ming Xiao. Sounds dangerous? No, this ain’t a suicide mission, boss. You’ll be more of a curiosity than a threat… Talk to Xiao. Ask her where my boy is and get him back. Once he’s safe, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about the Sarcophagus.” “Is our blood not feuding?” “Not that I know of. It’s like the eye of the hurricane right now. Don’t make those winds blow, boss.” “How do I enter the minefield without getting blown up?” “Use your head. And your eyes. Chinatown’s more liable to off you than ten Hollywoods. But not if you’re smart.” “Why doesn’t your voice sound there?” “Forget it, boss…it’s Chinatown.” “Hmm…I will go to China…but do not cross me, voice.” “Of course. What kind of a monster do you take me for? There is a method to my madness, boss. There’s a payphone in Chinatown. I’ll call you with the info once Barrabus is safe…until then, you’ll never know where I am.” Henoir stopped by her haven in Santa Monica to check if there was anything which required her attention. Her ghoul, Poe, immediately accosted her when she entered. “I’m being watched!” she cried, practically shivering in fear. “I know it, something followed me—they could be watching me right now… Make them stop, make them stop! Get their eyes off me!” “I do not sense any eyes here now,” said Henoir gently, trying to reassure her. “Are the eyes really gone? Will it really be okay?” “The eyes are looking for me, not you,” Henoir assured her. Henoir took her into her arms, gently stroking her hair. “Do I still distract you?” asked Poe, muffled since she had buried her head against Henoir’s shoulder. “No.” Henoir hoped whichever faction was following Poe would regard her as harmless, as knowledgeless. She knew she should treat Poe as replaceable, a tool to be used and discarded if necessary. But shadows of pity and guilt prevented her.

90 Gargoyle Henoir returned to the Hollywood Baron, to inform him of her progress. “The Fleshcrafter who walked with royalty is not so crafty now,” she said. “Exceptional,” Isaac chuckled. “And remember what I told you about LaCroix— you’re good, kid. He doesn’t deserve you.” “What can my idle hands make playthings of in your city?” she asked, bored and looking for a little excitement. “There is something, but it involves a…gargoyle. Hmm, I can see that’s got your attention…” “Tell me of this stone one.” “It’s taken up residence in my beloved Asian theater—it is closed now, but that’s beside the point. I sent some people to evict it, and it sent them back with a few less limbs. I can’t have that monster attacking Kindred in my city.’ “How does one smash a stone?” Moving rock—joining the Masons was advisable. “It’s a walking block of stone with a taste for blood—I’d suggest whatever method doesn’t result in you being eviscerated. In truth, I’d rather have it as an ally, but I doubt it’s going to be chatty. Here’s the key for the theater. I’ll leave it up to you.’ “Let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby, kill ourselves a rock…” Henoir recalled a book she had glanced at in the wizard Max’s library. It had said the Tremere created gargoyles. She decided to pay Max a visit. “I seek knowledge of gargoyles, the stone-skinned blood golems!” she demanded of him. “Gargoyles? Why are you asking about gargoyles?” “One haunts a theater in Hollywood. Tell me more.” “What can I tell you about them?” Max seemed slightly ill at ease, which intrigued Henoir. She impatiently motioned for him to continue. “A gargoyle, put simply, is a creature that was created to protect the Tremere clan in the early years of our existence. They are very powerful creatures, and not to be trifled with.” “Do these demons still serve their magical masters?” “Well, many gargoyles still serve their Tremere masters, but a number of them have since rebelled and gone into hiding. They are a sentient race, but ultimately unfit for the freedom they desire. They need the guidance of their former masters…” He had sounded hurt when he spoke that last, as though he had been betrayed. “Sounds like you have some personal experience in this matter, Max…” “Yes. I know something of gargoyles, and of this gargoyle in particular. I had hoped that he would meet his final death, but it seems my creation still lives to torment me…” “You fathered this fiend?” Henoir was surprised he was willing to reveal any secrets, but while he was exposing himself she was going to take pictures. “Many years ago I created this gargoyle to protect the chantry from our enemies. He was a faithful servant, and saved my life more than once. Unfortunately, he became

91 increasingly upset about his role as my protector, and wished to be set free. I refused to do so. Finally, he stole away into the night, and I haven’t seen him since.” “I see. Well, Isaac has asked me to get rid of the gargoyle.” “Isaac Abrams? His disrespect for the Camarilla is surpassed only by his hatred of LaCroix. If he finds out, it will be a source of great embarrassment for the clan and the Camarilla. He cannot learn that this gargoyle was my creation, do you understand?” “I have options to weigh, wizard-king…” The voices suggested myriad ways in which the information could be used. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, neonate. I trust you’ll make the right decision. Farewell.” Henoir returned to Hollywood, visiting the Asian Theater. At least the search for the gargoyle was quick. As soon as she entered, it jumped through a skylight, crashing to the floor directly in front of her. “Kindred invader!” The creature’s voice was loud and deep. “Monster! I will smash you! Crush you! Tear the flesh from your bones!” “Calm your blood furor! I wield nothing but words!” Henoir found herself yelling in response, although her voice was a pocket radio to the gargoyle’s boom box. “Talk? No! Always Kindred are talking, scheming, hurting others with their lies! Monsters, you all! Abominations! A curse upon the earth!” “I bring you an olive branch from the blood baron!” She was still yelling, as though its loud voice proved it was hard of hearing as well. “Blood baron? Olive branch? You speak in twisted words and lies, as all your kind do! “Abrams, he of the celluloid dream! An offer, extended hands…” She was glad she had decided to talk; she should have brought a sledgehammer if her plan had been to fight it. “Offer? What offer? Yet another lie! He hopes to control me, to enslave me, just as my master before him! First, he sends his underlings to destroy me and now he wants to make peace? No! Curse him! Curse you all!” “Believe me! He doesn’t want to control you! He said he needs your protection!” “What is this? Another devilish trick? Am I to trade one chain for another? Bow to Abrams, now, instead of my old master? Never!” “You, a mountain behind him, and the blood baron battles the Camarilla…” She now saw the way to convince its convictions, by working around to waving the red Tremere flag in front of it. “Camarilla? What means this Camarilla?” “Enslavers of our kind, and the blood baron rages against them…” “He…fights? Fights against his own kind?” “He stands against the blood sorcerers, the makers of your chains…”

92 “The Tremere…hate them above all your kind, I do. Secrecy and sorcery, betrayal and blood magic…damned to hell are all of you, but the Tremere most of all.” “The blood baron hopes to cure this disease…” “Yes. I will fight alongside this Abrams, and help him in his battle against this… Camarilla. Lifeless demon he may be, but I swear to fight at his side.” “The blood baron will be pleased. Farewell…” She was pleased as well. No longer was she an apprentice when it came to the manipulative games of the vampire clans. “Yes. Now leave me! This theater is my domain, and I seek the peace of solitude.” Henoir returned to the blood baron Isaac. “The stone one has sworn fealty to the baron…” she announced proudly. “I also know something I won’t tell…maybe…” she added. “Yes?” “The king of the blood wizards was its Frankenstein. And it too rebelled.” “Are you positive? So, ho ho… That’s where the gargoyle came from. If something like this got out, it’d be humiliating for him. Why if the right people found out about this, it’d be all over town by the end of the night. Well done, neonate.” “Blood wizards boil my blood…literally. Farewell.” Henoir had not betrayed the wizard Max because she wished the favor of the blood baron, or because she hated the wizard, but because she could. Her success against her opponents up to now, combined with the evidence that a hidden player was backing her, had bred a self-confidence that led her to gratuitously make a powerful enemy.

Welcome to Chinatown Henoir got out of the taxi. She was in front of an arch, its top roofed as though it were a neon pagoda. She was at the boundary of Chinatown. The Chinese temple the baron had mentioned was not hard to find. Inside, in a small building which served as an anteroom, she found only a single individual. In appearance she was a slim Chinese woman, neither old nor young. Henoir sensed power. Not the power she had felt from other Kindred, but beyond that of a human. “Welcome Kindred,” said the woman, “and thank you for respecting our traditions by announcing your presence in our domain. I am Ming-Xiao, High Priestess to the people of Chinatown.” “Ah! The Mistress of Mirrors!” Henoir could almost see the reflections. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I heard you correctly…” Her air of calm had been bent enough that she showed a trace of mystification. “The surface is cracked, tarnished, revealing more mirrors beneath…” Henoir could now plainly see the mirrors, the reflections of those around her, human and monster. “What wretched strain of Caine’s curse is this?” she asked, annoyance bringing a sharp edge to her voice. “Truth wears many masks, mistress,” said Henoir.

93 “Indeed it does, Kindred.” She had managed to regain her center, no longer allowing any emotions to leak out. “But let us speak of other things. How might I assist you? Might I offer you some refreshment?” “Earl Grey is no saucy sustenance…” said Henoir. “Ah, that is right. Your kind drinks solely of mortal blood, correct? No longer may you partake in the simple pleasures of the mortal realm. A shame.” “You still partake of such pleasures?” Henoir didn’t think the mirror mistress had forgotten. Instead, she was demonstrating some perceived superiority of her kind over Kindred. “Yes. We Kuei-jin are similar to you Kindred in fewer ways than you might imagine.” “Does Caine’s curse flow in your veins?” “We are supernatural; that does not mean we are like you. We are beings returned through the Second Breath for a purpose.” “So different, the souls of Kuei-jin and Kindred?” This was the first faction Henoir had met who were not bound by the vampiric curse. Whatever else might be different, she thought the means used to achieve power would be similar. “We share superficial similarities; Kuei-jin feed on essences that can be found in blood, yes…but as we refine our existence, rarely are we lowered to consume the bodily fluids of others.” “What other rivers flow between us?” “Most of us are also banished from the realm of the sun. Although we suffer rot instead of burning, the day’s light is no more kind to our existence.” “Explain this enigmatic existence…” “The Second Breath—our rebirth into the supernatural form. It is a spiritual awakening, not some lowly blood ritual meant to spread a despicable curse.” “You choose this supernatural state?” The Mirror Queen must have a purpose behind emphasizing the Kuei-jin’s superiority beyond simple bragging. “No, we do not choose, but events of our lives can awaken dark spiritual energies. We are not born of the whims of another as the Kindred are.” “What reason behind this unfortunate fate?” “The reasons are as numerous as the Kuei-jin themselves. Each is reborn with a purpose that they must find. Once their path is evident, they must seek to fulfill it, even if it takes eternity.” “Your dressing is different, yet cursed also you are…” said Henoir. The Mirror Queen was as much a monster as she. “On the contrary, it is another chance for us to find our place in the universe, a chance for transcendence. We are not damned, not burdened with an ancient guilt, as in the legend of your biblical progenitor…”

94 “Have your ears seen the Ankaran Sarcophagus?” Henoir had given up on philosophical exchanges, especially since the mistress was constantly twisting her statements to make her state seem more desirable than Henoir’s. Perhaps her goal had been to entice her to the queen’s side. “Of course. The entire city is alight with news of its arrival and speculation about one of your ancient vampire grandfathers and his evil apocalyptic plot.” “You sound skeptical of this secret…” “Kuei-jin do not share your history, nor do we share in your false prophecies.” “False then also the shadow of the Yama kings!” She spoke the words a voice provided; she understood not their meaning, only that they would twist the queen’s tail. “How did you…? You would do well not to speak of such things, madman. The Yama kings are no child’s ghost story.” “Hail the coming of the Demon Emperor!” “The Sixth Age has not yet come! Let us talk of something else…” “Can you foretell Kindred fate?” “No, I do not. But with my help you might find the path you were meant for. Instead you stumble through the afterlife, a meaty remnant still clinging to the mortal rib.” “Know you where lies the terrible talisman?” said Henoir, ignoring the offer to switch sides. “We seek it, of course. I have two of my best agents looking. It could be a powerful bargaining tool.” “Who are these agents?” “Let me just say that I do not encourage you to seek the Ankaran Sarcophagus.” “I seek a Nosferatu night-child…” “So. The great Nosferatu have lost an agent, have they? It was not by my hand, if that’s what they think. “ “No knowledge at all of this Nossie?” “I don’t know where he is. Perhaps you should speak with Wong Ho about this.” “Who is Wong Ho?” “Wong Ho owns the Red Dragon restaurant. He is a prominent businessman who has garnered much respect among his people. If something is amiss in Chinatown, he may know how to help you. I grant you permission to operate in the Kuei-jin domain. For now. May you find your path, Kindred.” Henoir decided to return to her haven, to check on Poe. She found that another concern had banished all thought of fear from her. “My veins are so dry…” Poe greeted her, dark circles under her eyes, her hands shaking. “I’m a desert rose… I want your storm, I need your rain, just a few drops. Make me blossom.” “Do I hear thunder, my rose?” Henoir took out a knife, slashing her wrist.

95 “Oh, thank you… Amazing,” said Poe, sucking on the offered wound. “I feel so much better…like I’m the most important person in the world—next to you, of course…” “Ah, you are precious when you speak such nonsense. Goodbye, pet.” Henoir lifted her up, placing her on the bed. Poe, lost in the pleasure granted by her fix, did not react when she was moved. Henoir stared down at Poe. Perhaps, like the purloined letter, she would be safe from the Sabbat due to Henoir’s hiding her in plain sight, sending the message that Poe neither meant anything to her nor had any useful information. Henoir checked her email. She opened one, its body containing, “The cost of an attack is often paid later.” Did it refer to one of the many attacks the different factions had made on one another over the years? The recent attack of the Sabbat on the Camarilla? Or her own attack that destroyed the warehouse? Henoir returned to Chinatown, searching out Wrong Hoe at the Red Dragon restaurant. She found him in his upstairs office. “They took her! They took her!” he cried out to her, as if she could understand. “Ah! Your most precious treasure has been taken!” Henoir did understand; she could see three running Chinese men, one with a bound girl slung over his shoulder. “Yes…yes, she has. Kiki, my daughter is indeed my most treasured possession. How did you know?” “Taken by children, servants of an unknown shadow…” she added. “Again you are correct. She was kidnapped by the Tong, a local street gang. I do not know who ordered this, but I intend to find out. Who are you, stranger? You seem to see things as if through the eyes of the gods…” “Often gods dress as demons. I come from Ming-Xiao, mistress of mirrors.” “Ming-Xiao? Oh…of course. Please forgive me, but as you can see I am in a most terrible situation. I am Wong Ho, owner of the Red Dragon. Again, I apologize for my inconsiderate behavior.” “Tell me your tale…” “The Tong….a local street gang here in Chinatown…just broke into my restaurant and kidnapped my daughter at gunpoint. The Tong grow more bold every day! And now they have my Kiki…” “I will find your lost treasure. Do you know where it is buried?” It could not be chance that the daughter had been kidnapped so soon after Henoir’s arrival. She would take the proffered bait. “No. The Tong have many…” His cell phone rang. “Wait,” he said, opening it up, “please excuse me a moment.” Henoir impatiently listened to one side of the ensuing conversation. “Hello.” … “Zhao!” … “Uh? Yes! How did you—” … “Ah, of course. I see.” … “Thank you, my friend. Your debt has been repaid a thousand times over.” … “Yes, of course. Goodbye.” “Not the lost children on that line, but who?” asked Henoir.

96 “That was…someone who owed me an old debt. It has been repaid. I know where the Tong are keeping my daughter.” “Perhaps I can help you dig for this precious cargo…” “Kiki is being held at the Lotus Blossom, a massage parlor here in Chinatown. If you bring her back to me, I will help you in any way that I can.” “This treasure in your hand, and then answers on your lips.” “Thank you. I shall wait here until you return. Strike fast. The Tong will not be expecting anyone so soon. Good luck, my friend.” Henoir was surprised she had so quickly gained his trust, without any help from the voices. It must be the cowboy hat. When Henoir arrived at the Lotus Blossom, she found many muscular young Tongs with automatic weapons already there getting massages. She demonstrated her own finger magic, manipulating her weapons to leave them in bloody heaps. She found Wrong Hoe’s daughter locked in a closet. “You bitch!” said the daughter when the door was opened. “I can’t…I can’t breathe in here!” “I’ve come to free you from the lost children,” said Henoir. “Huh? Who are you?” She had realized the pale, bloodless face before her was not Chinese. “You’re not with the Tong.” “I am no toothless Tong…” “Didn’t I just say that?” she said in a grating voice. “You may not be with the Tong, but you seem to be about as smart as they are.” “You are Wrong Hoe’s little weasel?” asked Henoir politely. “Yeah. I’m Kiki. Who the hell are you? The Tong welcoming committee?” “I bring you freedom’s key…” “Oh, I’m sooo impressed. What? Like you want me to like thank you or something? In your dreams, bitch!” “Let us exit this lair of lost children…” “That’s an original idea. Man, dad must really be hurting for good help. Lead the way, hero.” “Rarely are heroes so defecated upon. Let us leave.” Henoir escorted the weasel out of the building, although she insisted on returning to her father by herself. Henoir trailed along behind more slowly. When she again met Wrong Hoe she was glad the daughter weasel was not present. “Ah! Welcome my friend! I owe you a debt of gratitude! You have returned to me my greatest treasure. Kiki told me how you rescued her. You are a woman of great courage and honor. Thank you.” “Why did the lost children take your treasure?” “No, I have not been able to find out why they took Kiki. But I fear that it goes much deeper than the Tong.”

97 “Your words are slightly opaque…” “For a long time I have been trying to clean up Chinatown. It was a difficult job, but the community came together and we started to take back our streets from criminals like the Tong. Businesses re-opened, families moved back into their homes…” “It seems the bugs have crawled back into the basket…” “Yes. I thought that the Tong were almost gone. But then something happened. Their numbers began to grow, and suddenly they had a lot of money to buy weapons. With them followed the drugs and the violence. It is almost worse now than before.” “Who is the hand that pulls the strings?” “I do not know. But there is a change in the air. I meditate, but my spirit is restless. The words of the I Ching are dark and unclear. Everything seemed to change as soon as, uh…” “Give voice to your vexings…” “I am sorry. I have said too much…” “Put your trust in this shattered psyche…” “Well, things seemed to change as soon as Ming-Xiao arrived and reopened the Temple of Golden Virtue. That was three years ago. I do not mean to insinuate that she has anything to do with the resurgence of the Tong. The two events merely seemed to coincide.” “Your blindness is as deep as my madness…” “No! I will hear no more of it! Ming-Xiao has been my trusted adviser ever since she arrived. I trust her completely.” “Then let us delve into my own dilemma.” “Of course. What can I help you with?” “I seek the shadow of a missing soul.” “Who is this person?” “Barrabus…” “Hmm. What else can you tell me about him?” “It seems my personalities persist in their silence…” “I see. I do not think that I could find him for you, but I know someone who could.” “Cool. Where do I find this person?” “His name is Zhao. He is the man who called me and told me where Kiki was being held. Zhao has many connections. He owns an import-export warehouse in Chinatown. Go and see him there. I will call ahead and tell him to expect you.” Henoir traveled to Zhao’s warehouse. He was in a small office up a flight of steps in one corner of the warehouse. “Wong Ho called,” he stated. “You’re looking for someone, hmm?”

98 “Did I already say that? I’m always saying things like that…” replied Henoir, disturbed by his depth of knowledge. “I don’t know where your friend is, but I know the Tong are involved. The leader of the Tong, Johnny…he’ll know where they are.” “It will dribble from his lips, mingled with blood if I must.” “Johnny’s at Glaze…it’s his club… You’ll need a password to enter… The password is ‘725.’ There will be Tong everywhere… Johnny’s office is upstairs.” “Your benevolence is a mystery to me…” “I am a man of my word and I owed a debt to Wong Ho. By paying that debt, I have made an enemy of the Tong, who I once belonged to.” “Wait…they’re coming…” said Henoir. A few seconds later, there was a crash below as an outer door of the warehouse was forced open. “You should leave now,” said Zhao, pulling a large revolver out of his desk. “Do you mind if I eviscerate a few? I’m kind of bored…” said Henoir, readying her own weapon. “Excuse me,” said Zhao, firing through the window of his office at the figures below. Henoir exited the office, bypassing the steps by simply jumping directly to the floor of the warehouse. Again she faced Tong boys with automatic guns. Dodging among the rows of shelved merchandise allowed her to at times to leave the sight of all her pursuers, so she could mystically obscure her presence and strike by surprise. Even when a second wave of reinforcements showed up, she was able to kill all the attackers. Afterward, she found that Zhao had lost his life as well. Henoir used the same approach at the Glaze, directly attacking the Tong gathered at the club, ignoring the bystanders whose evening was proving more exciting than they had planned. The head Tong, his followers dead or fled, was upstairs in his office alone when Henoir entered. “Who do you think you are, bitch? You know who I am?” he asked her, although he was trembling, as well he might, considering the number of his men who had met their end. “You know where you are? You want to die?” “Me? Want to die?” Henoir chuckled at his bravado. “Someone beat you to it.” “What the fuck do you want?!” he cried, fear causing his voice to break. “Who are you?!” “You look like the helpful type, which is good, because I need assistance.” “Who told you that? H-how would you know about that? Who are you? Answer me!” “I am an FBI cop fireman first-degree black belt with a devil may care attitude!” The wall mounted television behind the Tong suddenly activated. A figure, his face shadowed, was visible on its screen. The head Tong turned to the screen, saying, “You told me that guy was a nobody! Just what the hell did you get us involved in?”

99 “Don’t tell it a thing, Johnny,” said the man on the TV. “Shoot it! Shoot it. You’ll find out.” “You’re dead, asshole!” Johnny cried, firing a small revolver once at Henoir. She staggered slightly, glancing down to look at a hole which had appeared in the clothes she had just recently obtained to replace a set destroyed by a previous battle. “What the fuck?” he cried in disbelief. “I shot you! You’re dead!” “That’s exactly it, Johnny,” said the figure on the television. “It is dead. It’s quite difficult to kill something that’s already dead. And I assure you, it’s not wearing a vest, the bullet entered cleanly through the lower abdomen…” Now that the head Tong had led her to the next link in the chain, Henoir no longer needed him. She killed him with a thrust of the knife she had in her hand, ignoring the further shot he got off. The shadowed figure seemed unperturbed. “You had to kill him, didn’t you,” he commented. “It’s part of your code of survival —covering your tracks, so to speak. And before you attempt to deceive me, you should know I’m monitoring your heat signature… It’s room temperature.” “Oh, no…I’m deceased!” cried Henoir in mock surprise, before bursting into laughter. “What is your nature?” “I also must protect my true identity,” said the figure. “You may refer to me as the Mandarin. You are searching for one of your kind, I understand. I have him at my facility. Come to the Fu Syndicate building… We’ll discuss terms of release.” The picture disappeared. Henoir fiddled with the set for a few moments, trying to get it back. She hit the set with the flat of her hand, cracking the protective glass face; the picture flickered on, with the all-night local news channel. “A shootout in a popular Chinatown underground club tonight,” said the newscaster, “left several dead and wounded after shots were exchanged between a local gang and you. The club, Glaze, was a known hangout for one of Chinatown’s largest street gangs, but was also a popular hangout for local club kids. One witness stated that the exchange was all like ‘pow, pow, ah, take that, oh, you got me, ooo, you wascally wabbit, take that, blam-o, aieeee!’ ” Henoir was impressed by the timeliness of the report. She would have to remember this in the future, in case she forgot what she had just done.

Fu Syndicate When Henoir entered the lobby of the Fu Syndicate, a door to her left was open. She walked into the conference room beyond. Another television was on the wall, situated where normally a chair would be placed at the head of the conference table. The set came to life as she entered. “So glad you finally decided to show up,” said the shadowed figure pictured there. “If you want to meet your comrade, walk through those doors.” “I’m coming for you,” said Henoir. He was confident he had her trapped. She was confident as well, a confidence born of the success she had so far achieved since her Embrace. She faced away from the television, where doors had opened in the far wall

100 revealing a circular chamber. She stepped inside. The floor rose upwards. She was now in a square concrete room, the platform forming part of its floor. Several windows looked into the room, lined with metal mesh. She doubted any of the weapons she carried would more than crack them. Figures could vaguely be glimpsed beyond them, looking in. She sensed her tormentor was one of them. “I am told you are a rather resourceful individual,” the voice of her tormentor said from a loudspeaker. “This should make you a most intriguing specimen. You and your kind may play mortals for weaklings and fools, and that may be fitting for some, but you underestimate me.” “Subject is female, appearance suggests early to late twenties, true age unknown.” The voice had become dispassionately cold. “As with the other, there are no vital signs— no heartbeat, no body heat. Test chamber air sample is 97% carbon monoxide, normal respiration cannot take place. Subject is by all definition, clinically dead.” “Hello in there,” the voice said, “I’m going to run some tests on you. I’m interested in how you work—but only because it’s my task to find the most efficient way to kill your kind. Please, give me everything you’ve got.” Somewhat muffled, the voice continued, “Begin the experiment.” Bright light filled the chamber. The voice started speaking again in its clinical detachment. “Test chamber has been filled with ultraviolet light, releasing moderate UV radiation. Does that burn at all? …Subject exhibits no sign of pain or even physical discomfort. Shut down the lights. Conclusion: UV radiation does not produce the desired effect.” “Please, move on to the next chamber.” This time, the voice was almost polite. A steel door, the only one in the room, opened. Henoir walked into the next room. A half- dozen laser beams shot across the room on moving mounts. They moved forwards and backwards, up and down, turning on and off in a repetitive cycle. “Your kind is resourceful,” said the voice. “Your survival instinct borders on animalistic… I’m curious about your innate abilities. Let us see what you can do.” Henoir stared at the lasers for a couple of minutes, then moved forward, stopped, moved forward crouched, stopped, and moved forward again, passing the last of the beams. She hadn’t used any abilities a mortal didn’t possess. She exited the door at the far end of the room, traversing a short corridor to the next testing chamber. Looking inside, she saw three horizontal rotating blades, moving back and forth along tracks set into the floor. “Only the most simple creatures can survive dismemberment,” said the voice. “I am told you can regenerate parts of your body—I’d much like to observe this. I wonder, how many limbs can you lose before you cease to function?” Henoir leaned slightly into the room. At one end, she could see electrical boxes in small alcoves, protected by grill-work set into the face of each alcove. She deliberately stepped into the room, into the path of one of the whirling blades. It chunked into her, deeply cutting into her chest, but as she had surmised, her strength was enough to prevent it from continuing to turn. She pulled out a revolver, aiming at the electrical box that lined up with the track her blade moved along. She fired several shots. There was a

101 shower of sparks from the box, and the blade stopped trying to move. It was a simple matter to put shots into the other boxes, stopping their corresponding blades as well. “You’ve shown great resilience so far,” said the voice. “Let’s see how you do against some live targets…. Proceed to the next room.” In the next room was someone in one of the protective plastic suits she had seen in Los Angeles. He was holding up a wooden cross between himself and her. “Sometimes myths are constructed around legitimate observations…” said the voice. “Let us find out if there’s any truth in an old superstition. Initiate Van Helsing experiment.” Henoir walked over to the plastic suit man, trying to see what was behind the suit’s mask. The figure, seeing the cross had no effect, dropped it, retreating into a corner. Henoir followed, slashing with her knife to see what was inside. She was disappointed when it proved to be just a human. Her strokes opening the suit had inflicted fatal cuts to him. “Van Helsing hypothesis tests false,” said the voice. “Well, when god fails, put your faith in the gun…proceed commander.” She heard a door open above her. There was a ledge six feet up all around the edge of the room. Four men appeared upon it, dressed in black, carrying shotguns. “The men are veteran mercenaries,” said the voice. “The weapon modifications are my own design… You may feel a slight burning sensation.” She leaped for a ship’s ladder on one wall, climbing it rapidly. Several blasts of gunfire caught her in the back; she felt as though she had been burned by torches. She reached the ledge, tossing the mercenary there over her head. He fell to the floor below, his neck breaking with an audible crack. She raced around the ledge, calling on all her powers, as more shotgun blasts hit her. As she attacked the other mercenaries, she heard the voice say, “Refined incendiary rounds are promising…suggest field tests.” “Subject has terminated Belmont team…” was the voice’s only reaction after she had killed the mercenaries. “You are turning out to be a very useful guinea pig. But we have a conflict of interest—you continue to endure even though it’s my instruction to incapacitate you. This calls for a more drastic approach. Continue to the next room. I’m very enthusiastic about this next test.” Henoir decided to rest for several minutes. The special rounds had nearly finished her, made her dust, special destiny or not. When she was somewhat healed, she continued onwards. She entered the next room. She noticed electronic equipment attached to the ceiling. The floor beneath her feet was wet. “Many regimes use electricity to torture information out of their captives,” said the voice. “It would be useful if this applies to your kind as well. Or will the voltage have results similar to fire? Let’s find out—start the generators.” Bolts of electricity began discharging from the ceiling to the floor. “Does that hurt? Do you feel pain like we do?” Henoir wanted to scream at the voice that of course she felt pain. “I’d hate to think that you don’t, but your nervous system should no longer function. I’m at a loss really to explain your physiology.” Henoir raised a shotgun she had taken from a dead mercenary.

102 “Can you scream if it hurts?” continued the voice. “It would assist me greatly.” Several blasts of the shotgun and the electrical discharges stopped. “You have demonstrated considerable mental and physical acumen,” said the voice, “and I’m quite perplexed how something that should be dead can display such strong survival skills… Let’s begin the final test. Step into the next room.” Henoir exited the room, passing though a small corridor to stand in the doorway of the next chamber. “Standby,” said the voice, muffled as it talked to a subordinate, “run a check on the extinguishers one more time.” The voice returned to addressing her. “I’ve already determined fire is a weakness of your kind. I would like to know more about the psychological effect it has on you and how it may be exploited.” “Extinguishers check, recording devices check. Start the fires,” said the voice. “I’d rather the experiment didn’t end here. Please don’t disappoint me.” From the doorway, Henoir stared at the four flamethrowers which had begun operation. Each would flame on for a short time, and then deactivate, to resume flaming a short time later. She studied the fuel reserves for them. Backing up as far as possible into the corridor while still retaining a clear view of the room, she sighted on one of the fuel tanks with a revolver. A single shot and the tank blew up, followed almost instantly by the other fuel tanks. She ran into the room. The metal lined windows had been blown out completely. She ran through the lingering flames, jumping through a window frame. She was in a corridor, its walls lined with more windows looking into test chambers she had already passed. She killed the two guards here, as well as a technician. Beyond a door, in a storeroom, she found her tormentor. He was an old, frail mortal. “My employer’s punishment for your escape would be a thousand times more painful than anything you could devise,” he said, bravely holding a machine pistol on her. “I refuse to give you the satisfaction.” Henoir had grown tired with this game. She decided not to flay his skin an inch at a time to see if he preferred that to his employer’s theoretical punishment. She instead drained all his blood to regain her strength. A cell door opened off the same room. Inside was the missing sewer rat. “They get you too?” asked the ugly Nossie inside. “I’ve got no excuse… A Nosferatu getting caught by a bunch of humans… This is a new low.” “I made a hole in the wall…why didn’t you do that?” she asked tartly. “I paid for my mistake! The experiments…the torture…that voice… You don’t know—you don’t…know.” “You are my quest item, so I will still save you.” “Wait…we can’t go yet. There are servers here… We need to hack in and delete all of their research. Should be a mainframe on this floor.” “Computers and I are both a little buggy, so we get along swell.” “Let’s check the computers. Anything on Kindred needs to get wiped. Anyone interferes, you leave ‘em to me… If I tore the lungs out of everyone in this place, it still wouldn’t feel like revenge.”

103 “But it would be art. Let’s go put on an exhibition.” Since only a few human guards were in their way, they made swift work of deleting the files. Henoir also broke into the office computer of the head test-tormentor. She found an email from “Priestess.” She read the body: “What is the current status of the project? A new subject was delivered to you last week. If I do not see results by the end of this month, you understand the consequences.” It did not take much imagination to realize who the priestess was, and that she had obligingly sent another test subject his way. After reaching the building’s entrance, Henoir let the sewer rat run off to find his nearest hidey-hole. She had spotted a row of payphones outside. She walked over to them. As she knew it would, one began to ring. She picked it up. “Are you interested in saving money on long-distance calls?” said an unfamiliar voice. Its timbre changed, to that of the head sewer rat. “You done real well bringing our boy back. I got your info, hero. The same information I gave your prince, I also traded to the Giovanni for a bit of juicy gossip. You both had an equal opportunity to take it, they just had a bit more initiative.” Henoir was silent, trying to determine who he was speaking about. She didn’t know any group by that name belonging to the Anarchs, the Kuei-jin or even the Sabbat. “What are Giovanni?” “If you’re going to play Jihad, you need to do your homework. Knowledge is power and power has a price. But seeing as how I’ve already got what I want from them, I’ll give you a freebie. Oh, you’re going to love this—they’ve got skeletons in their closet —literally!” the voice laughed. “I should’ve played the Catskills. Incest, organized crime, death cults—that’s the Giovanni. Spaghetti and corpses, boss.” “Where do Giovanni grow?” “Oh, I’ll tell you. And if you’re foolish enough to go there, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, boss. They have a mansion in the city. I’ll draw you a map. They’re having a reunion. Anyone who isn’t a Giovanni shouldn’t get within a fifty yards.” “Sounds like a dare…I accept.” That brought a laugh from the voice. “You get ‘em, boss. You give ‘em one for Gary! If you should survive and ever need any information, come back and see me. I’m always here. And everywhere.” “Now I know not to whisper in my sleep.” Henoir returned to Wrong Hoe, at the prompting of humanity’s voice. “I found the silver-haired demon,” she told him. “Really? Who was he?” “Secret societies and shocking experiments…” “Experiments? What kind of experiments?” “The truth is too terrible to tell…” “I see. Where is he now?” “Death came knocking on his door.”

104 “I understand. It seems you have done this community a great service. I thank you, my friend. And I’m sure Ming-Xiao will be pleased to hear it as well.” “Look no longer on her reflection.” “What? Why? Ming-Xiao is my spiritual adviser…a trusted friend. What reason would I have to stop talking to her?” “A demon knows its own kind…” “Hmm. I consider you a friend, and I trust your counsel. Perhaps I will think on this matter for a little while. Maybe I will speak with Ming-Xiao about it.” “Speak no more to mistress, and take your treasures to distant lands!” “I believe you. Perhaps I will close the restaurant, get Kiki and go away for a while. Thank you, my friend. I owe you yet another debt of gratitude. May the gods be with you, whatever path you decide to take.” “My gods are beautiful and bloodstained. Farewell.” When Henoir reached her haven, only slightly beating the dawn, there was one email of interest. “Beware the Black Queen.” She had already figured that one out on her own.

The Giovanni When Henoir showed up at the Giovanni mansion, the last guests were just straggling in. She noted with interest one couple arguing. The woman was swaying slightly from side to side. Henoir walked up to them. “Yeah, what is it?” slurred the woman. “Is this where the Giovanni gather?” she politely asked. “Giovanni? Oh yeah, here’s the place… Haven’t met you before…you a…family— member of the…family?” The woman had not quite drunk herself into insensibility, but it was a close thing. “I am flesh and blood…” Her flesh, others’ blood. “Issat right?” She leaned closer, nearly overbalancing. “Helluva family to be born into or marry into or both…have an invitation with you?” “That’s a good possibility.” “Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll let you in. Just tell ‘em they…just tell you…just tell them you lost it. I lose things all the time.” “Great plan. But who are you?” “Maria…Maria Rossellinis.” “Maybe we’ll meet in a dark alley some day. Or in that house.” Henoir said to the man, “That woman is drowning…” “She’ll be fine…after I get a pot of coffee in her,” he said heartily, although he cast a worried glance at her. “Next time leave her at home. Except this time, too,” suggested Henoir.

105 “Well, she did pretty much cause the last function to come to a screeching halt… That woman has the self-control of a pubescent chimpanzee.” “Quickly, before she loses her guts,” said Henoir. The words had barely been said when she did vomit, splashing a little on the man’s shoes and pants. “C’mon, Maria, we’re going home,” said the man in disgust. He ripped an embossed envelope out of her hands, letting it drop to the ground. Henoir picked it up. “You have invitation?” said the doorman stiffly when she approached him. “I have my ticket, let me in the fun house,” replied Henoir, handing over what she had picked up. “Hmm…please have a wonderful time.” “Always.” Inside, Henoir joined the crowded guests in a large room. It was a formal affair. Henoir thought her chest-baring vest and stylized cowboy chaps might draw a little too much attention, so she decided to conduct her business here quickly. She glanced around, cocking her head to listen to a voice only she heard. She approached a woman clothed in a long, white dress. “Hi…I don’t think we’ve met before,” said the woman. “It said Maria Rossellinis on my invitation.” “That’s pretty funny! Everyone’s here so serious. Nadia Millner. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maria. Are you from the Chicago Rossellinis?” “Middle America and me are like propellers and manatees.” “Oh. I’m from back east myself. I’m working on my Master’s out here though. The Giovannis have been nice enough to let me stay here while I finish up my studies. I’ve learned a great deal from them—like you wouldn’t believe.” “What sights have your young eyes witnessed?” “I, um…I really can’t say much about that.” “Things do not die here, they become servile,” said Henoir, for once not relying on the clairvoyant voices, but playing on her limited knowledge to put Nadia in white at her ease. The woman glanced around conspiratorially. “There’s something I want to show you. But you absolutely can’t tell anyone—even other people here, okay? Follow me.” She led Henoir into a deserted library. She manipulated a plaque on the wall, which opened a bookcase, revealing a tunnel leading downwards. Henoir was not surprised. Since Grout’s mansion, she was sure every library had at least one hidden exit. If she had the time, she wanted to return to the wizard Max’s abode, to take every bookcase in the library apart until she found the exit that must be hidden there. Of course, after her betrayal it was doubtful she would find admittance to the Chantry. The tunnel led down to a room of stainless steel and antiseptic tile. Although she had never seen one, it reminded Henoir of a mortuary. “You know what they do in this room?” asked Nadia.

106 “Slurp out the cold red sauce,” replied Henoir, momentarily excited at the thought of all that blood. “Mm-hmm. Know what they do with the corpses?” “Hot dogs, amore hot dogs, what kind of kids like amore hot dogs…” “I shouldn’t do this, but…why don’t I show you…” Nadia in white said, leading the way through a door to one side. Steps led down to a room made of stone blocks. Corpses which should have been deliquescing in the grave began to shuffle out of chambers in the sides of the room. “It gets pretty weird from here. And get ready to run.” “Shh,” she said, “they don’t usually attack…just don’t provoke them.” The corpses began to move in their direction, creating a logjam directly in front of them where several abreast blocked the width of the room. “What’s happening?” The woman was nervous. “They’re coming to get us! Oh my gosh, we’ve got to get out here!” She began backing up, then turned and ran up the steps. Henoir stepped forward, using a knife to cut through the packed corpses. She ran to the far end of the room, knocking aside any who blocked her way. She exited through the door there, penetrating deeper into the Giovanni catacombs. She passed through more corridors, going deeper. She ended up peering down into a large chamber from a ledge. The sarcophagus was there, as were two Kuei-jin. “Kindred!” one yelled up at her. “Your presence here violates the agreement between our leaders! Leave now or face the consequences of your actions!” “From a spaghetti horror to a kung fu film, this is some double feature.” Seeing her goal finally in sight, Henoir was absolutely not leaving without it. “There is an alliance between your leader LaCroix and mistress Ming-Xiao! You violate the agreement! If you do not leave, we are not responsible for your death!” “Alliance? Is that another word for untruth?” Henoir was unsure who was lying between the Jester and the Queen of Mirrors. She decided to split the difference and call both sides liars. “We’ll give you one more chance to leave this place and keep your life… You will go?” “In the words of George Washington, ‘No can do, Pedro.’ ” “The time for decisions has passed.” The Kuei-jin were a tough tag-team twosome. One favored the sword, while the other used metal claws strapped to his hands. Henoir retreated up the passage she had entered, so she only had to fight one at a time. The final score was Henoir, two, the Kuei- jin, zero. Henoir was pleased to discover a modern loading dock off the room housing the sarcophagus, complete with the truck originally used to move it. It was a simple matter to load the truck and drive back to downtown Los Angeles. The Jester had the sarcophagus moved to his penthouse office. Henoir joined him, his ever present gorilla, and lone wolf Beckett there.

107 “My wunderkind returns!” said the Jester excitedly, the object of his desire finally at hand. “In my entire court, I knew there was only one who could have succeeded in this task—finally, the Ankaran Sarcophagus is ours! Come—I’ve granted Beckett’s request to study and document all the markings on the sarcophagus. You’ve met Beckett, haven’t you? Let’s go take a look inside, and see what the commotion around the city has really been all about.” “I know. I know. I know. I know. I know. I know,” repeated Henoir until the Jester finally asked in annoyance, “Know what…?” “How do you say alliance in Chinese? Did the Kuei-jin teach you that?” “What? Preposterous.” The Jester showed hurt surprise at her accusation. “No Kindred would trust them, nor would they trust us. Did Jack tell you that? Because it sounds like you’ve been taken for a fool.” “I’ve been taken for a ride,” she corrected. “And you believed them? They’ve been trying to take over L.A. for years. It’s a ruse—a falsehood spread to undermine my rule and turn Kindred against each other— thin our ranks. They are duplicitous, evil creatures. Did they not try to kill you?” “Lots of people have.” “Insurance. They lied to you in case you lived through the encounter. They hoped to create dissension in the ranks, rumors. It’s a trick older than you or I.” “Lies…I mean your words,” insisted Henoir. “I’ll indulge your baseless paranoia no further. Let’s open the sarcophagus, shall we?” The Jester strode over to the sarcophagus. Henoir trailed behind, despite her misgivings about what might be inside. Beckett, who had been studying the carvings, looked up. “What have you assessed so far?” asked the Jester. “Unfortunately for the heralds of doom, it appears we won’t be opening Pandora’s Box. The markings, as far as I can tell, are of Assyrian origin—an extraordinary piece, but nothing earth-shattering.” “I see,” said the Jester. “Then there is no good reason why we shouldn’t open it.” The Jester pushed at the lid. Henoir scuttled behind Beckett, peering around his shoulder, waiting for a boom…doom. However, the Jester, no matter how hard he pushed, was unsuccessful. “Won’t budge. Beckett, do you see any mechanism for the lid?” “I haven’t as yet had a chance to pour over it with my fine-tooth comb, I think I have one in my bag.” “Why won’t it…why won’t it open, Beckett?” “You!” he pointed at Henoir. “You and Beckett figure out a way to open it. I need to know what’s inside. I have other matters to attend to. Come get me when a solution has been found.” He stalked off. “Ah, the depths to which I’ll sink to prove others wrong,” said Beckett. “The young ones get so temperamental… Fortunately for Sebastian, is it?—I’d already made up my

108 mind to open the sarcophagus, if only to show the city that Gehenna, contrary to popular belief, has not begun.” “Ooh…what’s in the box?” asked Henoir. “Put your ear to it. I’ll shake it and you tell me what you think’s inside.” “Brilliant! That’s why you have your own TV show.” She knew she could trust the lone wolf to come up with a solution. “How have you gotten this far?” asked Beckett, shaking his head. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I know of someone who can help… His name is Dr. Ingvar Johansen, a professor of archeology from Norway. He was the one responsible for finding the sarcophagus, and as far as I know, the only authority on its origin and design.” “Is he in the bathroom? You can always find mortals in there.” “Until yesterday, he could have been found in his suite at the Empire Hotel downtown. But when I stopped by earlier this evening, all I found was spilt coffee on a morning paper opened to the World News section. Appears he’s been abducted.” “Damn aliens! That’s who did it, right?” Henoir thought she remembered Gomez saying something about that on the radio. “I detected the scent of myrrh incense, which is usually burned in monasteries. Also, I found beach sand in part of a muddy footprint. Putting two and two together, I located a monastery near a beach in Malibu, where I believe hunters are holding Johansen captive.” “Neat…I would have taken the opportunity to see if mattresses can fly.” “Actually, there were two hunters on the roof of the building opposite the hotel who were positively delighted to tell me everything they knew, provided I stopped dangling them head first over the side.” “What hunters? Where? Who? Why? Which?” “The hunters abducted Dr. Johansen for his own protection, or at least, that’s how they’ve justified it. He’s being held by the Society of Leopold and used, quite ingeniously, as bait for prince LaCroix’s minions.” “Hunters are like corn chips. They come in bags…I mean they crunch underfoot.” “It’s easy to assume proficiency in something you’ve never done, isn’t it?” “I killed seven in one blow! Maybe it was giants, though.” “Be that as it may, these hunters are leagues above the security guard turned vampire killer you might have encountered thus far.” “Alright, I’m a fish, where’s the hook.” Beckett had finally given her a task. She felt much better now that he fit the pattern of the elders ordering the youngsters around. If only Nines would give her a task as well. “You’ll have to go to the Monastery and find a way into the tunnels beneath where the hunters are holding Johansen. I’m afraid I can’t accompany you, but then, it’s best you go alone—too many of us might set them off like fundamentalists on contrary opinion.”

109 “Come with me, we’ll have fun.” “It’s not that I don’t love walking into the heart of danger to curry favor with the local magistrate of the hour, but…actually, that’s exactly it. I’d rather not get involved in the politics of it. Besides, I’d better document the sarcophagus before Sebastian’s goon smashes it open.” “I don’t want to get involved either, but tell that to whoever is playing me!” “Remember, Dr. Johansen is an innocent—he has no idea we actually exist. Try not to put the idea in his head.” Henoir returned to her haven, flipping on the news. “The story of the Ankaran Sarcophagus took an even more bizarre turn when Professor Anders Johansen went missing from his hotel room earlier today. Evidence of a struggle in the professor’s room at the Empire hotel indicates to investigators that Johansen was abducted. Johansen’s family has received no demands yet, and there is speculation that his disappearance and the earlier theft of the Ankaran Sarcophagus are related. Police officials have gone on record as saying, ‘don’t worry, that crazy bastard will save him.’ ” Henoir turned the TV off. She was interrupted as she was turning away by a voice saying “Hey” behind her. The screen was lit up with the newscaster. “TV man…?” she asked cautiously. “Heard anything?” asked the newscaster. “What’s it like in there?” She didn’t think she would fit into the box. “Kind of musky.” “So, what’s news?” “Did you hear the one abut the tuna and the chef?” “No.” “A tuna walks into a sushi restaurant, says to the chef—‘Hey, you killed my father.’ Chef says to the tuna, ‘That’s my business, fish.’ Tuna thinks about it, says ‘Then I challenge you to a game of chess. If I win, you stop being a chef forever.’ ” “‘And if I win?’ asks the chef. ‘You can feed me to your customers,’ Tuna replies. So, the chef and tuna play chess. Tunas love to play chess, so in a few moves the chef was checkmated. ‘Well, looks like I win,’ says the tuna. Chef nods and plunges his knife into the fish’s belly.” “‘But I won,’ says the tuna as he feels the knife wiggling into his guts. ‘So did your father,’ says the chef.” “Ah…I don’t get it,” said Henoir, thinking that prolonged confinement must have driven him mad. The newscaster chuckled evilly before saying in a serious voice, “Goodnight and have a pleasant evening.” The television screen blanked. Checking again to make absolutely sure the TV was off, Henoir also checked her email. There was one new message, with a body of “The success of a campaign is weighed by the commitment of your opponent.”

110 Detour The Jester expected her to immediately work on opening his sarcophagus. Lone wolf Beckett expected her to immediately free the archeologist. Those holding the archaeologist undoubtedly expected an immediate attack. Therefore, the next night she went to Chinatown. She paused to look at a newspaper vending machine as she was walking up a street to the temple housing the mistress of mirrors. The newspaper headline was “Fu Fighter! Shadowy Corporation Assaulted by Chinatown Vigilante!” She entered the temple. The mistress was in. “Was there something else, Kindred?” she asked. “I crushed the Changs into gooey gristle…” Henoir stated, their name coming to her as she spoke. “A most unfortunate crossing of paths.” “They spoke of your clandestine connection with LaCroix…” “Let me assure you that my agents, the Chang Brothers, speak with no diplomatic authority.” “Have you joined hands with the Jester, demoness?” she asked more directly. “I may or may not choose to speak with you, the prince, or anyone else for that matter. Speaking does not make us allies.” Henoir thought the Mirror Queen should have been a politician. She left the temple, not paying attention where she was going. She found herself in front of a noodle shop. Shrugging, she went inside. A young woman, or old girl, was behind the counter. She was obviously Chinese, only not. She bowed slightly to Henoir; meanwhile, her right hand unclenched, ready to seize the hilt of the sword lying in front of her on the counter. “Ayashi, ne…?” said the young woman. “Blah, bleh, blee, bleh?” replied Henoir, matching her gibberish. “I saw you enter the temple…suspicious,” said the woman. “I know what you are…” “Oh. No.” Henoir had hoped to get through the night without any old girl killing. “Shen, demon…I know your nature…” she said. “Nande… Why are you here?” “I died here, how about you?” “O-gami Yukie desu… I am shih, demon hunter…” A hunter, which meant Henoir didn’t have to protect the Masquerade. “I come to this city for the blood of the demon that kill my master… Do not interfere—my revenge will cut through you if it has to…” “If you’re here for my head, my body is using it.” Henoir didn’t have to kill her, but, as a hunter, she should be trying to kill Henoir. “Demon and man live in this world against each other—it is forever, maybe. I cannot kill all demons deki do I can punish most wicked. Behave yourself…” “You are on the trail of…something hidden from my mind,” said Henoir.

111 “I hunt Hengeyokai… My sensei killed demon that killed my family and now I take the life of his killer… I follow trail of corpses from Japan to Rosu Angeresu… Hengeyokai is here and it will die here…” “Something smells fishy…” said Henoir to the fish-hunter. “Yes! Hengeyokai smells like fish! Do you know?” “No…Why does it smell like fish?” “Hengeyokai is a demon that hides in the skin of man…but it is not man…” “It masquerades…I know this bit.” “I know he is nearby…edo…I lose its trail. Do you meet Hengeyokai?” “If I smell it, I will come get you,” Henoir assured her. “Honto, ne? I appreciate your concern for my vengeance…arigato gozaimasu. Do not pity Hengeyokai…it is a bad demon. The kind that make little girl into hunter.” “Its scent is strong. Why?” “Hengeyokai scent smell like…sakana—fishes… I don’t know why. Maybe other demons know why.” “I’ll trade you these little green men for your sword,” said Henoir, waving a wad of bills suggestively. She had always since just now wanted a magic sword. “Ie! This belonged to my master…it does not cut for demons.” “I am curious.” “Nani?” “The things in the temple…tell me of them.” “They are ghost people… Ghosts in dead person…I do not like Kuei-jin. I do not like demons…excuse me.” Henoir decided to sniff around for the demon. She headed to the likeliest place she could think of in Chinatown to find rotting fish. The mistress of mirrors was still around to receive her. “I seek a horrendous Hengeyokai…” said Henoir. “Ah yes, the Hengeyokai…Zygaena, I believe his name was. I had nearly forgotten him.” “Zygaena? Zany!” “He announced his presence in our domain, and I granted him permission to operate. He does not act on my behalf, however, I can assure you.” “Where hides this churlish changeling?” “I believe he said he operates an importing business and entertains clients at the Red Dragon.” Henoir entered the Red Dragon restaurant. She sniffed. She caught a salmon smell, with a hint of tuna. Sniffing, she walked over to a small table. A young easterner sat there. “Five hundred up front—another five hundred after the deal,” he immediately said. “No questions asked or I walk…”

112 “Something smells fishy…” she said, still sniffing. “I have a reputation for delivering product. I have more reason to be suspicious of you.” “The stench is overwhelming…” she said, ignoring his words. “I’m not a patient man…are you here to make a deal or not?” He seemed just as intent on ignoring hers. “Does your mother have a son named Zygaena?” she asked. “No…and I would rather you did not suggest such a thing. He is a business associate…not one I enjoy dealing with either.” “Talk about him…” she suggested. “No…anyone else, this would not be an issue. But him? No, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to ask somebody else…” Henoir sent forth a voice, to cajole him into revealing what he knew about Zygaena. “My English is lacking…I don’t understand…” he said. “Perhaps if I knew your reasons, I’d feel more at ease about divulging that information.” Henoir was nettled that the voices had failed her, the first time this had happened. She decided on a more direct approach. “We all have to die some night, oh, how I know all too well…” “Oh, you plan to kill him?” said the man. “Nah, some roaming samurai girl I talked to in a noodle shop.” “Girl?” “Her heart is more revenge than human.” “If this is true, I’m certain the man you seek would pay quite a lot if you were to… deliver this girl into his hands. Does this sound acceptable to you?” “She’s not mine to give.” Although if she had thought he was at all trustworthy she might at least have considered his proposition. “Very well…he’s expecting me at the fish market tonight… However, I don’t think he’ll be happy if you show up… You should reconsider this…” “He may not be happy, but we’ll have a few laughs together.” Henoir returned to the fish-hunter. “Konbanwa…demon,” greeted the young hunter. “The demon you pursue…” “Doko desu ka? Where…?” “It hides its scent in the fish market. Let us be like ninjas and surprise it.” “You want to kill Hengeyokai with me? Why?” “It smells like fish and Kuei-jin.” “Wakarimashta…fish market e ikimasu. See you there, demon.”

113 They met up again outside the market. Together they entered. The young man was waiting for them. Seeing them, he laughed. “That smell….” said Henoir, sniffing. “You’re both here…my hunter and my target, this is very convenient…” said the man. “Overpowering…” said Henoir. “Surprise…” The man transformed into an eight foot tall shark man. “O-gami Yukie desu,” said the hunter. “I return you to Hell.” Henoir began firing her recently acquired automatic shotgun. Her companion attacked the demon with her sword. Henoir fired off one clip, then a second. She could see the demon had the advantage over her companion. She dropped the shotgun, pulling a knife and running at the demon. Her slashes got its attention. It aimed a roundhouse swipe at her. She just barely ducked under it. Another one caught her in the side, throwing her a dozen feet into a section of free-standing shelving. The demon roared, coming after her. Suddenly, it collapsed. Behind it stood the fish-hunter, crossbow in hand. The cumulative damage the demon had sustained had finally brought it down. “Hengeyokai is in Hell,” said the young woman. “My revenge is complete. Domo arigato gozaimashta, demon…” “I think I am hallucinating. Did I just fight a land-shark?” She poked the dead corpse, which was still there, unlike the Kindred who obligingly disintegrated when destroyed. “Defy your nature, demon,” said the hunter. “Man can suffer without your help. Sayonara.” Henoir was glad to leave the cleanup to the hunter. This was the second attack for which the Mistress of Mirrors was responsible. She decided to grab a cab and visit smiling Jack to get his take on what was happening. “Just keeps getting more interesting, doesn’t it kiddo?” he said. “The Giovanni, the Kuei-jin…lots of blood being spilled for a 10,000 year old conversation piece, wouldn’t you say?” “Gehenna! The hand of the Dark Father! The lid opens! A dark secret I see…!” The words spilled from Henoir, along with fleeting images she couldn’t retain. “Man, you guys give me the heebie-jeebies,” said Jack. “Sounds like you know a lot more about somethin’ than you’re supposed to. Lucky for you, you probably don’t understand what you’re sayin’. If you did, I’d be talkin’ to a pile of ash right now.” “How did your ears catch news of this terrible talisman?” she asked. Henoir realized Jack wasn’t really her friend. He might step aside slightly on his path to avoid her, but if she were squarely in the way he wouldn’t hesitate to step on her. It made her wonder why he was so interested in her. “The streets, the hillsides, there’s eyes and ears everywhere.” “The Jester has his prize…”

114 “I heard LaCroix has been talking to Beckett too. Beckett’s a skeptic about all this stuff; I just hope he knows to be careful dealing with that snake LaCroix.” “Why does the old wolf help the Jester?” “Well, Beckett’s apolitical you could say. He’s just interested in the truth of our origins. Politics and all that is minor details to him.” “He and the Jester send me to find the sarcophagan scientist!” “You do what you have to do.” “I will do so with a pointed pleasure…”

Hollywood Stripper Henoir the next night went to Hollywood, still avoiding hunting the hunters. She wandered around for a while, no destination in mind. She walked by a club called Vesuvius and decided she might as well enter. Several strippers were performing in the center of the room, on a stage surrounded by a bar. Henoir considered how easily humans were manipulated by the desire for sex. Her thoughts were interrupted when the changing colored lights on the strippers flipped to bathe them in red; she fantasized licking the seeming blood from their skin. “Oh! Look what just walked in,” a voice distracted her. Standing next to her was one of the strippers. Her scanty dress emphasized her voluptuous form; the amount of exposed, pale flesh made it obvious that she was a Kindred. “I can’t imagine you’d get much of a rise out of Vesuvius…being what you are. Maybe I’ll have more luck with you…” “Secrete your secrets in secret…” suggested Henoir. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said. She and Henoir went upstairs to a private room. “Isn’t this better?” said the woman when they got there. “You and me, alone…for just a little while, away from Jihad, and the nonsense, and the dangers… Just the two of us…mm…I don’t want to spoil the moment, but there’s a reason I needed to speak to you alone.” “Let’s soak in the moment until our skins get wrinkly…” said Henoir. The stripper’s choice of words and tone of voice, her artful movements, relaxed and enticed Henoir at the same time. “Hmm…Let’s—” started the stripper. “I’m still soaking…” said Henoir, raising a finger. The stripper just smiled. After a few moments, Henoir said, “Ah, refreshing…now what?” “The reason I asked you up here is because I, and the rest of the Hollywood Kindred, have been under surveillance lately by hunters… I didn’t want you to say anything that might draw attention…” “Me? Draw attention? Under the looming shadow of wormwood?! Never.”

115 “Um, this is going to be interesting,” said the stripper. “I’m Velvet. Velour. Call me Velvet. It’s been months since I’ve seen anyone new in here… I was starting to take it personally. And who should finally walk in but a real celebrity—I’ve heard a lot about you… So, ah…wouldn’t you like to know about me?” “I want to climb into your skin and stand in front of a mirror,” said Henoir. She could tell the stripper doll wanted something from her, but she had successfully drawn her in. Henoir didn’t care what it was, she would gladly do it. “Flatterer…no, I’m just a dancer… Keep it up and maybe I’ll give you your own very private show… I could make your heart beat again…” “I like being dead but I’ll risk life if you’ll tell me more about you.” “I’m like a book—all you have to do is run your finger down my spine and crack me open to see what I’m about…” “More of the hunters, then the fingers…” “Hunters, yes…they’ve been staking out Hollywood for several weeks. They’ve been in Ash’s club, mine, a few others. I think they’re whittling down their list of suspects. I’m a bit nervous—until recently I had one right under my nose…” “That’s one tiny hunter…” “For a few weeks, one of them was working here at Vesuvius, keeping an eye on the clientele. I found a weapon in her locker and I fired her…but, she’s still in Hollywood, watching my club…and me…” “I can make it so she never watches you. And breathes dirt.” “Would you? …I think it might be a little much to ask…” “You already asked. And your gaze was enough to make my decision. I will.” Henoir thought this was a very pleasant way to receive tasks. “You’d really be willing to do this for me? I won’t lie, it’s going to be dangerous… but if you got rid of her, I’d be grateful…very…very grateful…” “I want you to be grateful…a lot. Point me at the hunter.” “She works over at the Sin Bin now… Her hair’s blonde—on top, broken heart tattoo on the small of her back. Dances under the name Chastity…as if that wasn’t a dead giveaway. I want you to understand, I don’t want any innocents killed on my account, so if there are other dancers or patrons around, you’ll have to lure them away from her—do it as quietly as you can, no witnesses—please. And be careful using disciplines around the hunter.” Wherever she went, Henoir found hunters. At least this would be one at a time. She didn’t really want to leave the doll just yet, so she decided on a few more questions. “Holly Wood….what does this woman want me to do?” “Mingle, sightsee, chat, and me, of course.” “How come when the music starts, your clothes fall off?” “I’m a dancer…” The doll smiled, shrugging slightly. “That’s strange, mine never fall off when I do that.”

116 “Mm-hmm…” “How come you hide your true name behind a fabric, Susan?” “There’s only one part of my body I don’t want anyone entering and that’s my head. That other name…never say it again, it belongs to a dead girl.” “Why are you hiding your past from me, doll?” “I’m not hiding my past. I’m not that girl—she was flawed, she was naïve… She was nobody, and now she’s dead. Let the dead rest in peace. My name is VV. Show yourself out; I’d like to say a prayer for someone I used to know.” Henoir left, surprised at the reaction to her question. When the voice had suggested it there had been no indication it would be such a grenade. So many of the Kindred she had met were hung up on their mortal pasts. They should have just forgotten about them like Henoir had. At the Sin Bin, Chastity and another dancer were performing for the peep show. Henoir disabled the peep show shutters, preventing customer access. Without paying watchers, the second dancer took a break to catch a smoke. Henoir used a voice to convince her she was needed elsewhere. This permitted Henoir to confront Chastity alone. The hunter was wearing only a thong and pasties, so she clearly was protected by no armor. She did have a sword concealed at the back of the peep show stage; she recognized Henoir for what she was, grabbing the sword and swinging. Henoir brushed aside her stroke, seizing her and draining her dry. The entire combat had been done quickly and with almost no noise. Henoir returned to Vesuvius. “Look who’s back,” greeted the stripper doll. “Talking doll,” said Henoir, nodding. “Please, call me VV.” “Hunter hunted.” “Hmm…if we’d never taken the paths we did in life, could we have grown fond of each other? A shame you had to take her life…but you’ve saved mine, and I won’t forget that.” “She made our choice. It was her decision.” “Yes…but through this ordeal I’ve gained an enticing new ally, and I’m beginning to think it was fate…” “I am next to you and in your head.” “Mm…you’re just saying what I want to hear… Don’t stop…” “Stopping.” Henoir waited for her to say something else, to ask for some other service, but she just smiled. Henoir left the room—. “Poor, poor David Hatter…” said the doll. Henoir, in the doorway, looked back at her.

117 “Pour him into what?” she said. Henoir admired her manipulative abilities. She had waited until Henoir was convinced she had nothing more to say to her, then offered a conversational gambit that Henoir couldn’t ignore. “David Hatter’s an aspiring screenwriter and hotel manager. He comes in more often than he would admit, several years now—poor dear just can’t get a break. I overheard him talking about his new screenplay with one of my girls… It was about secret societies and creatures that found themselves dealing with inner beasts and persecution by elder monsters….sound reminiscent of something to you?” “All too…a story I learned only recently. Kindred…” “Yes…the details of his story were too insightful to be coincidental. I think someone’s working with David—a Kindred who doesn’t realize the consequences of their actions. Do you know what the penalty for revealing ourselves to kine is?” “Death, death, death, death, death….” “Death. I’m afraid poor David’s big break, the screenplay he’s worked so hard on, must be destroyed, and his less than silent partner must be...executed. I know David too well, I’m very fond of David...and I’m too close to do what needs to be done. I don’t think Hatter knows his collaborator is Kindred. You’ll have to take David’s screenplay… and somehow, you’ll have to coax the name of his source out of him. Once you’ve found out who…kill…the traitor—but do not touch David.” “There will be no problem when I am through.” “David works at the Lucky Star motel. He’s very passionate about his writing—he loves to talk about his craft. I’m sure he’ll talk about his screenplay. It may take some persuasion to get him to give up his collaborator’s name, however…” “My ways are many and hilarious.” “After this is over, I promise, you’ll have my complete attention.” “First the Hatter, then the chatter, then I matter to the doll.” She returned to the Lucky Star. She had ignored the night manager the first time she had visited. This time, when she entered and saw him standing behind the counter, she said, “I’m looking for a Hatter—is this your tea party?” “I’m David Hatter, the manager here…did you call earlier, ‘cause I had to give your room away—apologies. My bad.” “Manager….a pity, I was looking for a writer by your name.” “Oh wait—hold on a sec. Okay. Writer’s such a tarnished term, you know what I mean? It’s like, every other guy says he’s a writer, right? You write a letter, you’re a writer, you know? What I do, that’s screenwriting, like, I encapsulate like the essence of excellent film in my scripts, alright. I’m like a blacksmith with pens. I’m a welder of montage.” “Hollywood does not harvest autumn trees…they like saplings.” “It’s called passion, man. It’s like my calling, okay, like the reason for my existence. I’m always like, constantly in thought about how to approach my next project, see, and it’s just like a tempest of fantastic ideas moving through me, like always. Like a

118 flood through a hose. Does a writer write, or does he just like ink the flotsam and jetsam floating in his subconscious into a 120 page piece of film genius? But you know, most of my subconscious is filled with old horror films, so that’s what I write mostly, I guess.” “Why can’t more horrors be love stories…they mix divinely.” “Right, right, that’s what I’m talking about, there haven’t been many good horror films in a long time, and that’s—I’m going to turn that all around—like, when I bust the stuff I’m working on, it’s going to be like, a revolution in the horror genre, okay.” “What do you forge with your pen?” “Me? I’m like looking to redefine the vampire movie, okay. Tons of people make vampire flicks, popular characters—but me, I’m going to be doing the real deal, like, not only is it going to be scary, but it’s going to be believable.” “Vampires. Pour me a glass of your musings.” “Well, in my story, it’s not like about garlic and bats, it’s about vampire societies and stuff, you know, like, what would vampires be really all about. I mean, how do they blend into society without being discovered?” “I would like to rent your movie’s blueprint. Do you have one for me?” “A good writer always does in this town. Hey, you in the business? Man, I got tons of ideas for movies, in fact, I should give you one of my completed screenplays. This one’s still a work in progress.” Henoir concentrated, sending a thundering voice to him to yell in his mind, “I am a mighty thesaurus! Give me your script or I’ll bite your head off! ROWR!” “Alright, alright, here!” He flung the screenplay at her, cowering back with his other hand protecting his head. Henoir caught it. She glanced at it; the screenplay had been laboriously typed using an old manual typewriter, with many written changes in a neat hand. Plainly, it was the only copy. She put it away. The not-so-mad Hatter straightened up, obviously already having forgotten what had just happened. “Who placed this story in your mind?” asked Henoir. “I really can’t talk about it. He likes his privacy.” Henoir sent another voice, to quietly assure him that she could be trusted. “Okay. Okay. He’s a guy, call’s himself Julius. He lives under the pier. In fact, I’m supposed to meet him tonight. We talk about vampire film ideas all the time. He’s a weird, weird guy, but really creative—I love how his mind works.” “Hmm…I’m late, I’m late for an important date, Hatter…” Henoir remembered the stuttering vampire from Santa Monica. She found him on the beach. The other Thin Bloods had long since left town. “Wha-wha-what d-do you wha-want?” he asked, his eyes darting about nervously. “Do you know the Mad Hatter?” she asked. “Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-no…” he replied, but the worsening of his stuttering shouted otherwise. “Has your tongue been whispering to the warm-bloods?”

119 “Puh-puh-puh-please! I-I duh-duh-didn’t nuh-nuh-know!” He held one arm in front of his face, as if that would work as a shield against Henoir’s wrath. “I-I-I duh-duh-didn’t muh-mean to. I-I duh-duh-don’t uh-uhn-understand wha-what I a-am. I-I-I di-didn’t nuh- know!” “Heavy is the price of loose lips…” “I-I-I’m suh-suh-sorry. Puh-please! Puh-puh-please, I-I’ll nuh-never do it a-again!” “The light of your words ends in final sleep.” He whimpered, “Aw nuh-nuh-nuh-no. Oh-oh guh-guh-god…” “The rules are written in obsidian.” “Puh-please! Fuh-find your huh-heart! Please, Fuh-fuh-fuh-find your heart!” “If I let you go, and they find out, I could be risking my life,” pointed out Henoir. Her once beating heart was now only another lump of flesh, but humanity’s voice cried out to her to save this pitiful Thin Blood. She felt a stirring inside, what in a mortal might be called mercy. “You-you-you cuh-could luh-let me guh-go! I-I puh-promise I-I wuh-would luh- leave Los A-Angeles, I swear!” “And then your shadow could never again fall on the city of dark angels.” “I-I-I wuh-wuh-will! I puh-promise! Puh-please! Fuh-fuh-find your heart!” “If I smell you again, it will be burned ashes.” “Thu-rhu-thu-thank you! Thank you! Oh, thank you!” He ran away, before she could change her mind. She stood silent for a while, thinking of the other Thin Blood she had sent to his destruction from this very beach, experiencing a shadow of regret. Henoir the next night returned to Vesuvius. “The Hatter—” she started, but the doll looked away. Henoir proffered the script, trying again. “The Hatter’s words for you.” “Oh…I suppose I should just tear it up,” the doll said, eying the script without taking it, “but…I just—I can’t, I can’t rip up the product of that man’s soul. Would you… tear it up for me?” “Better shred than read!” Henoir ripped it in half, doubled the torn pieces and ripped then again. She stuffed the pieces back in a pocket, so the doll didn’t have to look at them. “Thanks…” “I know the name of the Hatter’s chatter…” “Are they…I mean, did you…?” “No more words shall escape its lips…” “It must’ve been difficult…but, take some comfort in knowing if you hadn’t, someone else would have had to. I do appreciate your help…a lot…” “What quantities of appreciation?” “Can’t you tell? I simply adore you—you’re so sweet to me, the way you protect me. What would I have done had you never come in here? Oh, why can’t they all be like

120 you—the world could be so…so, beautiful. Here, take this, a reminder of the beautiful girl whose heart you stole.” The painted doll handed Henoir an autographed photo of herself. At her suggestion, Henoir stayed to watch her cloth-stripping act on the main stage. Henoir admitted her motions were graceful, but she couldn’t understand what crazy satisfaction she got out of encouraging the human male patrons’ lust.

Society of Leopold The voices eventually told Henoir that she had delayed long enough. It was time to infiltrate the stronghold of the Society of Leopold. Using her obscuration abilities, it wasn’t too difficult to penetrate past the outer guards into the former monastery. Inside, there were electronic traps as well as more humans, but her skill with computers was sufficient to disable the snares without alerting the mortals. The rock-carved passages beneath the monastery were even easier, since the few humans there were easily avoided. One tunnel ended in a large cavern, a set of stairs zigzagging up the far wall. By some trick, a figure standing at the top of the steps saw through her magical camouflage. “I knew Johansen would lure the servants of Satan,” said the figure, the head hunter Henoir had met before. “But I set this trap for the archfiend himself—where is LaCroix?” “Oh, that guy. He sends his love.” Henoir pulled out a knife. “Perhaps when LaCroix runs out of minions, he will show me his face. And God will guide my shots through it. Before I send you to eternal damnation, any last words?” “I hope you washed your neck.” “You should have begged for God’s mercy. I will show you none.” “I will show you pieces of yourself you’ve never seen. Can’t wait.” The hunter fired at Henoir with a rifle, forcing her to run across the cave and up the stairs to reach him. She had just done so when he cried out, “Bear Witness!” and disappeared. Henoir swung wildly, trying to hit him if he was invisible. A bullet cracked into the wall near her head. He had somehow moved himself to the cavern’s floor, so she had to run back down the steps. This pattern repeated several more times. Henoir would reach him, perhaps get in a blow, then he would disappear to reappear somewhere else in the room. Finally, as she approached him his rifle jammed. He drew a sword, shouting, “Faith shield me!” Faith wasn’t present, so Henoir was able to stab him in the gut. She climbed back up the steps, for the last time she hoped. At the top she broke open the door to a small room. The archaeologist was inside, still dressed in the bathrobe he was wearing when kidnapped. “I told you everything—there’s no reason for you to keep me here! Let me go!” he cried when he saw her. Her paleness, her non-maleness, her cowboy hat, Henoir would have thought any of these would have clued him she was not a member of the society of hunters.

121 She didn’t want to waste time explaining who she was, how she had gotten here, why she could be trusted. “A speech on the sarcophagus…” she said, sending out voices that echoed “Speech! Speech!” to him. “I guess if you can get all the way here, you deserve the answers—but can I make one request first? After I answer your questions, you help me escape.” “Ja,” Henoir answered in German to the Scandinavian. “Let’s start with the history of the Ankaran Sarcophagus. That is a long and interesting legend, lost and found throughout the ages. Tell me, are you familiar with the Assyrians?” “I love their work.” “Yes, well, the markings on the Sarcophagus seem to hint that it is from some time between 1050 and 800 B.C., which was a period of fierce expansion by the Assyrians. Oddly, for those years, only one king shows up on the historical record.” “This one is listening.” “While most likely he wiped all evidence of his predecessors’ existence or passed the name to his heirs, one monarch, Messerach, the one-eyed king, is given credit for the territory and achievements of this time. But he would have to have been over 250 years old! Like Dracula or something.” “Or something….” “I find it hard to believe a sarcophagus with a person as important as Messerach could remain, what is the word, pristine or intact for so many years, but this is who is believed to be contained within.” “Did you look inside?” “Maybe you have not heard—it was stolen from the museum before we had a chance to open it. Usually we use equipment to carbon date, X-ray, and take air samples before we pry open the lid.” “A real vampire….really?” “You know, it is interesting that you ask me that. The goddess on the outside of the Sarcophagus was Lamastu. In Assyrian myth, Lamastu was an evil demoness who preyed on humans. Many people cite her as the mother of vampire myth… The engravings on and found around the Sarcophagus portray a regal figure drinking the blood of his enemies. Now, this image is found in many cultures, specifically among those of royal lineage…but there is a quite scientific explanation.” “He was the first larper?” “A disorder known as porphyria. In short, it is caused by a deficiency of iron in the blood, and in many cultures, for the nobility that could conceivably get away with the cure, the treatment was to…drink human blood.” “Ooh, I have that too.” “It is quite treatable today, without having to drink the blood.” “He knew the sweet ecstasy of…I mean, he drank blood?”

122 “Perhaps. Drinking the blood of your enemies is, if nothing else, symbolic. It can inspire fear in your foes and dissidents. Don’t misunderstand me, I in no way believe it was a vampire. Vampires….that’s what caused this whole mess—these maniacs believe they exist!” “Messerach is inside, with no doubt?” “That I can’t be sure of, nor can anyone. But I promise you, it is more likely to be filled with…ah…gummi bears, then vampires. Perhaps maybe a mummy—but not likely the kind to chase Abbott and Costello.” “Can you tell me another story about vampires?” “Not much really. I’m an archaeologist, not a mythologist. But, I do know that Lamastu, the Assyrian demoness, was thought to have been the inspiration for Lilith, the first wife of Adam in the Jewish Old Testament, another source of vampire myth.” “Why did you discover it?” Henoir could sense deceit. Something he knew that was important, but that he was not imparting. “That is... You see...” he started reluctantly. “In archeology, one can spend years looking for a dig site—following local rumors, studying old maps... It’s a complicated process, very boring...” Henoir crossed her arms and began tapping her foot. “Finding and organizing a dig is the least interesting part of an archaeologist’s job. Trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.” “Lying!” she said, seeing no long trail of research in his past. “I don’t know what would make you believe that…” He tailed off, not seeing on what basis she disbelieved him, and so how to argue against her. “I have been very forthcoming with you so far—I think that maybe you are not as familiar with the process as me.” “It called to you…no, it wrote to you,” said Henoir, suddenly very sure there had been no skill or luck in finding it at all. “Okay…I tell you,” he agreed reluctantly. “I was not even aware of the Sarcophagus’s existence until I received a package with no reply address in the mail. Inside was…the information on how to find it. Please, keep it a secret…or I could be ruined.” “Very interesting. How does the Sarcophagus open?” “Ah! Quite interesting. There is a surprisingly complex mechanical lock on the face of the Sarcophagus. By sheer luck, we were able to find the key not far from the Sarcophagus. Why no one ever found it and robbed it—it’s perplexing.” “I want it, and I can’t wait for Xmas.” “How strange you would ask. I haven’t seen the key since it was loaded onto the Elizabeth Dane in Turkey. It was stolen before the Sarcophagus even! I am still hopeful that the police find both pieces before the contents can be disturbed.” “Where is the spare?” “No…it’s not the kind of key you can copy at the hardware store. It’s actually very sophisticated and I meant to study it at the museum. I’ve answered all your

123 questions….do you think you could please help me get you out of here? I don’t care who you are or why you have so many questions about the sarcophagus—I just want to leave this place.” “Let’s go on a cruise together, just you and me.” “Thank you, my friend. I don’t know where you came from, but I will never forget this kindness.” They left the room. The head hunter, not quite dead, was lying at the top of the steps, where he had managed to drag himself. He held a small cylinder with a button at one end clenched in his fist. “Your time of judgment is here,” he said, pushing the button. There was a small boom, dislodging a light patter of stone from the ceiling. In her mind’s eye, Henoir could see a series of small boom-boom-boom’s over several minutes, which would end in the collapse of the underground caverns. She punched the professor in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious, before he could uncork some uncomprehending question. Slinging him over her shoulder, she leaped from the platform at the top of the cavern to its floor. Her superhuman frame readily absorbed the shock, and she was off running. She recalled another cavern she had passed through on her way here that contained a small lake and a docked speedboat. As she ran, continuing explosions dropped more and more rock down around her. She reached the speedboat, gunning the engine as she entered an opening to one side of the lake. The electric lighting had failed in the passage she entered, but the voices guided her hand as she navigated. When the caverns behind her collapsed with a final, loud boom, she only had to deal with a gust of wind and accompanying dust. She parted with the professor at a country road. She implied that he had been knocked unconscious by falling debris, and suggested the less he said about his mysterious rescuer, the less chance anyone would learn of the falsity of his tale of how he had discovered the sarcophagus. She walked for several miles before flagging down a cab to take her back to Santa Monica. During the ride, she reflected on the wizard Max’s observation that the Jester’s obvious desire for the sarcophagus was a weakness that could be exploited. What if someone had anticipated that desire, then stage-managed the discovery of the sarcophagus, the deaths on the Dane and the rumors of a sleeping ancient?

Confrontation with the Sabbat As soon as Henoir entered her haven, her ghoul Poe ran over to her, distraught. “I had a dream,” she said, “as I lay napping near where you sleep…I was running behind you in the moonlight when I tripped and fell. I looked up and you were gone, and then I noticed what I tripped on…my corpse.” If Henoir had such a vision, it would have to be examined for prophetic meaning. In a mortal, even one pumping her blood, it must be a meaningless expression of anxiety and fear, hardly presaging the fall of the house of Usher. “As long as you can see this face, you are safe and loved,” Henoir said.

124 “You’re so kind to me.” Poe smiled, relaxing. Henoir had become so adept at manipulating mortals that it scarcely required any effort. “I can be nothing but, my love.” “I brought you a new skin.” She pointed to a vest lying on the bed. “I think it suits you.” Henoir examined it. It was body armor. She took off her top, putting on the armor and then replacing it. The armor fit perfectly, the perfect gift. “You know me too well, my sweet one,” she complemented her. “Think of me when you wear it.” “I will show the streets my new skin. Thank you, my pet.” It was pleasant to be with her ghoul, pleasant to be with someone who wasn’t secretly manipulating her, pleasant to be with a minion she completely dominated. There was one email of interest, “The white bishop falls.” The master hunter, another piece swept from the board. Henoir stayed there during the day, catching a cab to downtown as soon as darkness came. Henoir found the Venture Tower surrounded by a police cordon. Slipping through it, she passed some debris lying in the street that had fallen from upper floors of the tower. The lobby inside was deserted, although holes blasted by gunfire were visible on the walls. The elevator to the penthouse opened as normal, however, and the Jester’s office looked the same as ever when she reached it. “With whom do they think they’re dealing?” the Jester greeted her. “Attack me in my own building? They’re desperate…they’ve shown their weakness. A last ditch attempt to steal the prize…” “Who indeed!” Henoir laughed conspiratorially, rubbing her hands together. “Who are we talking about?” she asked. “The Sabbat. A pack of shovelheads with cheap pistols was all they could muster. Two got a few stories up, but I took care of them. And my Sheriff brought the rest their final death in the lobby. Sabbat animals.” “Did you spit on them from the roof? Is that why they attacked?” “Why else? The motive of every Kindred in the entire city these last few nights… the Ankaran Sarcophagus. They have been misled into thinking the sarcophagus holds a sleeping ancient—their most coveted feast…diablerists.” “Hmm…Kindred cola… Why would anyone switch to that brand?” “The Sabbat’s infamy is in no small part due to their practice of diablerie, that is, drinking the blood of other Kindred, especially older ones, until they are dead. Diablerists gain the power of those they’ve fed upon. In the Camarilla, this is an act punishable by death. For the moment, we’ve manipulated the press into reporting tonight’s events as a terrorist attack. Their soldiers may be no danger to me, but their threat to the Masquerade is abundant. As my best agent, I’m sure you can guess my course of action.”

125 “They bullied me when I was weak, but now I return to the playground a black belt.” For once, she didn’t resent the Jester’s task. She had a score to settle with the Sabbat. “The Sabbat have made their haven at the Hallowbrook hotel…right under our noses here in downtown. Kill their leader; the rest will scamper out of the city. This is the last time they ever set foot in Los Angeles.” He paused, projecting a false air of nonchalance. “Before you go—Beckett told me you went to the Society of Leopold. Did you find out how my sarcophagus is opened?” “Yup,” she chuckled. “What? What did you find out?” “The vanishing crate from the Dane—inside, the key to that old box.” “A key? Where? Do you have it?” “Nope. But I killed the pope. Bach was the pope, right?” “Not only did you infiltrate the Society of Leopold, but you managed to kill their greatest hunter? You certainly are developing a legend for yourself. Superb. A toast to you…and to victory over the Sabbat. And to Bach—may all his progeny meet such fates.” What one of Henoir’s voices translated was somewhat different. Every time you come back, he was saying, you benefit me and become a greater potential danger. Let me see if you survive defeating the Sabbat single-handed. If you do, I will have a new scheme ready for you. “If hunters need their blood, they should keep it away from me. Sabbat, too.” “The Sabbat must be wiped out before dawn. Then when you come back we will begin the hunt for the key.” Henoir went over to Beckett, who was studying the carvings on the sarcophagus. He gave up trying to ignore her when she asked, “Is the box Pandora’s?” “If we open it up and the world ends, then yes. If we open it and the world does not end, then no. I’d wager the latter.” “If I was a mirror, who is that person you’re staring at?” “Hmm…I’ve said quite a lot about myself already. I know even less about you than you do about me. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” “They should have a channel devoted to you in my head,” she said, refusing to be deflected. “Then I’ll let you on to a little secret…Beckett may not be the name I was born with. Events always seem to unfold wherever I go, like Chicago a few years ago—oh, it’s a bother to explain. Either I’m pursuing fate, or it’s got a bone to pick with me.” “I digested Johansen’s brain.” “What did Johansen have to say?” “Messerach, Assyrian overlord, is within. I think he might be…dead!” “Assyrian origin…glad to see I’m not losing my touch. As for Messerach, I’ll have to research that name, see what I can find.”

126 “The question is, how does the box open, the answer is, a key. What do I win?” “The lock and key. An invention as ancient as greed. I should have guessed. All we have to do is find a victor in this nonsense—they’ll be the one with the key.” “Llama stew…the recipe is on the box.” “Lamastu? She was a Lilith figure. They represent empowered women and the threat of such women to male-dominated society. Strange she would be engraved on a king’s tomb…” “The White Tower is still standing, but the Sabbat are not. Why try?” “It’s simple. Someone’s misled them into believing there’s an Antediluvian in this very room. They, and I suspect most Kindred in this city, would love to sink their stakes or teeth into its imagined occupant, if indeed rocketing it to the Moon was out of the question.” “Hmm…I will ponder this as I devastate my enemies’ ranks.” “Perhaps, for this pack, it’s for the best.” Henoir decided to visit the Last Round before facing any Sabbat. Damsel greeted her with an offhand “Heard anything?” “LaCroix courts the lady from the East,” said Henoir. “I think they are made for each other.” “What?! Who said it?” said Damsel, immediately becoming angry. “It blew in from the East, then I blew it away.” That…err…if this is true… Listen, I can’t believe even LaCroix’s that low but, keep an eye on this. If there’s anything I hate more than Cammys, it’s the goddamn Kuei- jin.” Jack was also there. Henoir asked him straight out, “Uncover the Kuei-jin!” “Yeah some of these younger Anarchs got a real burning hate for the Kuei-jin. First time a lot of ‘em seen full-on combat in the streets and seen their buddies dyin’ was when the Asian invaders showed up.” “Do these demons fight diabolically?” “Yep, cost the Anarchs San Francisco. They’re tough. Hard to get a bead on ‘em. At least with Kindred you pretty much know what to expect, what they’re capable of. Kuei- jin are full of surprises.” “I met a mysterious mistress. Her words were strangely stirring…” “Man don’t let them cloud your head with their mumbo-jumbo; that crap wasn’t meant for you. We’re different breeds, us and them.” Henoir entered the Hallowbrook Hotel, the headquarters of the Sabbat in the city. The corridors and rooms of the dilapidated structure were crawling with shovelheads and human wannabes. She was fortunate to recover a magical sword soon after entering the building. It was almost like it had been left in a deserted room just for her. Whether they attacked with claw, knife or shotgun, she was more than their equal, destroying them all.

127 Several floors down from where she had entered, she stopped in surprise upon entering a long, narrow room. Her ghoul was standing at the far end, surrounded by several Sabbat. Seeing Henoir, she cried out in fear to save her. Henoir ran across the room, cutting down all the Sabbat around her ghoul. She was too late, her Poe was dead on the floor, gaping slashes in her side still oozing a little blood. “Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’ ” Who would mourn the pawn of a pawn? Henoir dipped two fingers of one hand in Poe’s blood, then drew parallel streaks down her cheeks, the only tears she had. Henoir did not know what knowledge or leverage the Sabbat had wanted from their catch. Humanity’s voice cried in anguish for her loss, but was drowned out by the voice of vengeance. She grimly continued on her task, exterminating any Sabbat which crossed her path. She reached a former ballroom of the hotel. The walls and ceiling were decorated with headless, eviscerated corpses of kine. Fortunately, they were still wearing underwear or she might have been offended. The floor had collapsed; underneath was a pool of blood. She leaped into it, knowing the blood-master had to be close. “I recognized the smell of your blood, young Cainite,” said a voice. Looking up, standing on the edge of the ruined floor, was the Sabbat leader she had defeated before. “Very Potent. Greater than our last meeting. I could smell it, even over the flood of my fallen brethren. Doesn’t that make you wonder?” “You’re a hellish gila monster!” she cried, experiencing to her wonderment anger. “Puppet!” he roared in his own anger. “The strength of your blood is all that saved you from yourself. Wretched weak-minded mongrel! The blood is wasted in you. Wasted!” “Death has weighed you, and you are found wanting…” “Miserable ignorant gutterspawn! You are blind! The sarcophagus must be destroyed!” “What fear have you of this fable?” If an ancient was contained within, couldn’t it just as easily trigger Gehenna from inside as outside? “I will do it myself if I must! And you—you will be purified. It is the blood that he is speaking through, the blood of all the pawns! It all must be purified!” “Inside, a furious fire! The pyre burns! Die, false prophet!” He transformed into a form meant for war, matching his crafted body against Henoir and her technological weapons. She faced a sticky wicket, but swinging for the fences she scored a touchdown for game, set and match. Henoir watched his body burn away to ash, this time almost completely reasonably sure he was not coming back. Outside the former hotel, the Mirror Queen was waiting for her. “Be at peace Kindred, you stand amongst friends now,” the mistress assured her. Henoir glanced around, looking for the hidden companions’ companionship. “Enemies can wear the shed skin of friends...” Henoir said.

128 “Your foes all lie vanquished, Kindred. I come to help, to help you. Be at peace. Trouble is nothing but yours to give.” Henoir checked her tongue as she spoke to see if it was forked. Surely it must be forked. “Trouble will be my dark gift to you, demon-queen!” “I see. Well, I will waste no more of my time with you. I just thought you should know that the alliance between your prince and the Kuei-jin has come to an end.” “Ah! The web revealed in the betrayal’s dark light!” “We did have an arrangement, LaCroix and I. A mutually beneficial pact to drive the lesser factions from the city.” “Tell me your tale…” “LaCroix’s zeal in recovering the Ankaran Sarcophagus has been to the exclusion of many relationships...mine included. And I, like you, have been used by him in his desperate quest for power.” “Your tale lacks temerity...” “LaCroix feared Alistair Grout, the Malkavian primogen, for the cursed insight of his bloodline was strong and brought him uncomfortably close to the truth about LaCroix’s ambitions.” “The ale of truth is downed ambitiously...” “LaCroix saw an opportunity to rid himself of two problems...a hardened rebel leader and a problematic primogen...in one fell stroke. And, as you can see, I was integral to his plan...” “Ah! The mistress of mirrors shows another of her faces!” “LaCroix convinced me that an alliance with the Camarilla could strengthen the position of the Kuei-jin. And so, with my help, your prince framed Nines Rodriguez for the murder of Alistair Grout.” Her form wavered, growing slightly and flowing into the form of Nines. “What dark energies fuel your face-changing?” “The disciplines of my dharma have afforded me skill in the art of disguise…a useful tool, as you can well imagine.” “It was your face at the mansion of the mad doctor!” “Yes. You were made to be the witness, for your political naïveté put your word beyond reproach; no one would believe you’d devise such a story. LaCroix used you and once again turned a problem to his advantage.” “I believe not wobbly words. Show me your true face, mistress…” She obligingly melted back into her previous form. “Hear these words, Kindred. The Sarcophagus is sealed against the ages; only the proper key will break this seal. That key now lies safely in Kuei-jin hands. Your prince’s prize cannot be had without it.” “Lies! Your truth is mired in mendacity!”

129 “I assure you that it is not. LaCroix is no longer of any use to us, and, by extension, neither are you. The vine of your destiny withers. Your bloodline ends with that of your puppet prince.” “No love for the Jester, and less for you…”

Werewolf Henoir stopped by her haven, which was a mistake. Her ghoul’s permanent absence darkened her mood. A new email was in her in-box, with the body “The position of your pieces is the key to the endgame.” “Oh, am I ever glad you’re safe, cinnamon bun,” the Chunk of a security guard greeted her when she entered the Jester’s tower. “You believe what happened the other night? I was…on sick leave, and when I heard about the attack, I worried you might’ve… well, anyway, your security stud’s here to protect you now—don’t you worry.” “I must pass by, security stud.” “I guess you can go on up. He wasn’t expecting you, but it should be alright.” “It will be.” When she reached the Jester’s aerial sanctum, he was there. His gorilla was as well, of course, but Beckett was gone. “The Sabbat?” the Jester asked. “File under dinosaur, for extinct.” “Another obstacle is removed. From the anomy, we resurrect a new order. And this in no small part to your service.” He glared at his gorilla. “Did you hear that? You never were able to wipe them out completely.” The Jester smiled at Henoir. “Keep it up and you may have his job. My unstoppable crusader…my victories in this city are in no small part due to you. You’ve done what I’ve asked without question, and you’ve done it well. Take this small token of my appreciation—we’ll rule this city side-by-side, you and I.” Henoir pocketed the cash. “I know something I won’t tell… It’s about the key… whoops.” “You found the key? Where? Who has it?” His unfeigned eagerness for the key proved, if further proof was needed, that he wanted the sarcophagus opened solely to increase his own power. “Hmm….who is it, again, that you’ve made an alliance with? Oh, yes, Ming-Xiao.” “This nonsense again… Look I told you before…no Kindred would ever ally themselves with those demons. This is a subterfuge, a trick to start a civil war…and apparently it’s worked.” Henoir didn’t believe him. She didn’t believe the Jester believed she believed him. But would the Jester act to prevent her non-belief from being communicated to others? “Xiao wears the skins of her whims. In Nines’ skin, she slew our primogen.” Henoir threw this out, hoping it would distract him from plotting against her. Of course, it also proved she knew he and Xiao had conspired to destroy the Malkavian primogen and blame Nines.

130 “As of this moment there is no blood hunt against Nines Rodriquez,” declared the Jester. “The Kuei-jin have revealed their plot—they want us to war against each other! Well, to that I propose an alliance with the Anarchs. Together, we Kindred shall drive out these foreigners once and for all!” Henoir started to titter, holding a hand to her mouth before they became guffaws. She shook her head, choking out, “Never.” “Whether they trust me or not, the Kuei-jin are the greater threat. They do trust you, however. After all, you’ve been working for them all this time.” Still chuckling, Henoir stopped short, saying, “Huh?” “Spare me the explanation. I don’t hold it against you.” This was the most troubling thing he could have said. He approved because, in her situation, he would have done the same thing. “Your affiliation is a trite concern next to your accomplishments—in fact, you alone can bridge the two Kindred communities and sound the Kuei-jin’s death knell. You’d be a legend…” “Hmm…I will try to make them get the joke.” It was certain the Jester had some plan beyond a simple offer to the Anarchs. Her admission that the life-eaters’ queen had confirmed their alliance must have caught him by surprise as well. Even if he was already creating some scheme to do her in, Henoir felt confident she could defeat it, just as up to now she had defeated everything that had come against her. “Go to the Last Round immediately. Tell them the Kuei-jin have admitted to killing Grout and that the blood hunt against Nines Rodriguez is officially over. Tell them I have realized the true threat the Kuei-jin pose and wish to negotiate a pact. You will be my emissary for the alliance, so naturally, you speak on behalf of the Camarilla—choose your words carefully. I will begin organizing plans for war. Good luck—the prosperity of all this city’s Kindred depends on your success tonight.” “Fates in my hands…feels…squishy.” From newly fledged nobody to the pivot about which everyone’s plans turned, Henoir had done well. Not, the voices assured her, that she had let it make her overconfident. While walking to the Anarch’s hangout, Henoir heard pounding footsteps behind her. It was Beckett. “Wait!” he cried. “About the sarcophagus…” “The box? Instructions?” If he wished to pass on information, he could have easily done it at the tower. “Don’t open it. Whatever you do, do not open the Ankaran Sarcophagus.” “But Beckett promised me it was nothing in a previous episode.” The unflappable, logical wolf was now nervous and unsure. “Despite what I said…if that sarcophagus is opened, there will be a disaster. In what form, I cannot be sure. But after studying the evidence, I’m convinced now that it is better left undisturbed—and anyone who’d pursue any other course is deserving of the consequences.” “Did your conclusion come to you in a vision? A voice? An omen?”

131 “There’s an intangible sensation I haven’t been able to put my finger on since I came to town. I still don’t know where it seeps from, but if the sarcophagus is a possibility, to eliminate that chance, it should remain closed.” “What did the Tiger say to the Zebra? Hey, hold onto these stripes for me.” Henoir was disappointed in him. She saw no reason to panic. “I never said the danger came from an antediluvian, did I? It’s merely a possibility, a fraction of a percentage chance. My instincts tell me something is wrong here, and that sarcophagus seems to be the nexus. I’m distancing myself from it—you do as you see fit.” Henoir cocked her head slightly sideways, squinting, to make sure this wasn’t really the Mistress of Mirrors. “The absurdity’s delicious. Can’t wait to see this one end.” “I have the feeling we will not meet again. Goodbye…and remember my warning.” At the Last Round, Henoir sought out Damsel soon-to-be-distressed. “From the lips of the lady herself—they danced together under our noses,” announced Henoir. “That bastard! He sold us out?!” “LaCroix wants to dance with us now, dance all over the lady’s grave.” “LaCroix—an alliance with us? Has he…the Cam… You’re fucking with me, right?! Do I look like a goddamned source of amusement for you?” “The lady is an actor. She played Nines. It is her blood that is hunted now.” “We told him Nines didn’t do it! That son of a… And that Kuei-jin bitch! If I ever get my hands on her, I’ll tie her eyelashes to her ass hairs and bowl her ass into a car compactor…demon whore!” The Damsel had become so worked up that she could barely speak the last few words. “You should be a cherry bomb. Oh, that’s good, I want to tell it to Nines.” “Okay…alright….I’m fine… Nines…yeah…I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I hate those goddamn devils even more than I hate that fascist dandy prince… Goddamn Xiao, if Nines hadn’t told me to watch this place, I’d be over there right now making skank sushi.” “Yes, yes, I know you can explode. I could watch it all night, but I must see Nines.” “I know you’re cool, so…Nines is hiding out in Griffith Park. I don’t know about this alliance stuff, though…think I’ll go eat something so I can vomit.” “Griffin’s Park,” nodded Henoir. She had no idea what park housed griffins, but she was sure a taxi driver would know. She was right; she just uttered the two magic words and she was whisked to the correct destination. From the parking lot where she was dropped off, a cable way led upwards into the darkness. She broke into the lower terminal building. Powering up the system, she rode a car to the upper terminal. Outside the terminal was a building featuring an observatory dome; otherwise, trees surrounded the two buildings. She had been prepared to make a long search for Nines, but Nines instead was waiting for her.

132 “Heard a lot about you,” he said. “You’ve been a big help to the cause, I hear. I appreciate it. So, LaCroix needs us all of the sudden, huh?” “He wants to collaborate with you on a project called, ‘Destroy all Kuei-jin.’ ” “Does he now? You know, we just ended a war with them and we lost a lot of people—too many. Does he expect us to do all the fighting while the Camarilla throws mean looks from the sidelines? Or are they ready to go toe-to-toe with those goddamn devils?” “Only a snake knows what a snake is thinking.” Henoir was only sure that the Jester schemed to build his own power; whether an alliance with the Anarchs fitted that purpose she couldn’t say. “I still don’t trust LaCroix. But…then again, the Camarilla didn’t wholesale slaughter us upon arrival. Goddamn it…I’m stuck between a rock and a son of a bitch.” “Lead your people or they will get lost,” she implored him. Nines was the one leader who didn’t act like a jester-leader. For once, she hoped he would just give orders rather than setting some mystical example others were supposed to follow. “Hmm…it just seems strange, LaCroix wanting to go to war against them all of the sudden.” He looked off into the deeper darkness under the trees, concerned. “Something’s not right…” “Yes, the snake’s tongue is forked and knives…” agreed the oblivious Henoir. “Not what I mean, kid… Smell that, it smells like smoke. We got to get out of here.” “What is this?” “Kid, we’ve been followed. That fire’s coming from all directions—it’s man-made. We gotta get out of here—this is bad.” “The fires are…hiding something…” said Henoir, finally alerted to the danger. She sensed movement nearby, although she saw or heard nothing beyond the spreading fire. “The fire wasn’t set to kill us. Come on, we’ve got to get to the tram.” “Something is coming!” yelled Henoir, something bad, although her normal senses still didn’t detect anything. “I didn’t hide out here because it was a nice view. I did it because no one would come looking for me in these parts. This is werewolf country.” “I have a plan! We dress up like werewolves and tell them ‘they went that way.’ ” “Werewolves don’t talk to us, werewolves don’t care—they kill on sight. Now let’s move.” “We can lick ‘em,” said Henoir. After all, she had a perfect record against her opponents. “Then after we lick them, we’ll tear out their guts!” “No. No, we can’t. You don’t understand what these things are capable of. Guns are useless and getting close is suicide. The only thing to do is run. Now let’s get to the tram —we can’t waste anymore time.”

133 “Nobody back here, just us werewolves…” said Henoir, following Nines as he headed towards the terminal. He cast an irritated glance back at her. “Just practicing. I’m following.” There was the sound of motors starting ahead. “Shit! It’s leaving—” started Nines. A figure bounded into view from the right. Henoir had an impression of a furred something twice as big as her. She had just the glimpse as it snatched Nines and leaped over a rock outcropping out of sight. Henoir heard a howl behind her. Silhouetted by the burning trees was another wolf- like form, standing on only two legs. Henoir started to run towards the observatory building. She stopped with her hand almost on the handle of a door. Lone wolf, trusted wolf, she thought, turning back around. The wolf creature had closed the distance with incredible speed. It was only a few feet from her. Henoir held out one hand in greeting. The creature swung at her with one massive arm, knocking Henoir through the door and into the building. She picked herself up from the remnants of the door. Her relief that the werewolf was too big to fit through the door turned to dismay as he started smashing the frame around the entry, forcing a way in. She ran, pelting through a door into a corridor and crouching down, using her obscuration ability. The werewolf smashed through the wall near where she squatted. I’m not here, she thought desperately, imploring the voices to all think the same thought. The werewolf looked her way, snarling. A premonition caused her to leap backwards just as it grabbed at where she had been crouching. Henoir drew a blade, slashing at the thing’s side. She inflicted only a shallow cut. The creature punched her with a balled fist, flinging her into a wall. She could hear the bones of her arm breaking. On the rebound, it kicked her a dozen feet down the hall. She scrambled on her knees, assisted by her one working arm, through another doorway. She scrabbled at blood packs to try to quick-heal her injuries. Now began a chase. Henoir moved through the observatory, trying to anticipate where the werewolf would move next. If she guessed wrong, there would be a mad dash as she tried to find an opening she could fit through but it couldn’t. One human emotion Henoir found she could experience, although she wished she couldn’t, was fear. Fear so overpowering she just wanted it to end, even if she ended up ashes. She had been running and dodging for what seemed a long time, although it could only have been minutes. A multitude of voices gibbered in fear in her head. She wanted to stop and close her eyes, so that she wouldn’t have to see the killing blow. She realized the tram car must have returned by now. With incredible bravery, she ran outside the building, on the opposite side she would have needed to exit to reach the car. She needed to lay a false trail that would keep the wolf thing occupied long enough that she could reach safety. She ran a little away from the building, then back to it, moving along its outer wall to another door. She waited until she heard a smash indicating the wolf had forced itself outside where she had exited. She reentered, running by the most direct route to the closest door to the terminal. She ran to the terminal; as she entered, the tram car was just

134 settling into the station. She fumbled at the car’s door, having to reach out twice before she succeeded in opening it. The closing of the door triggered the engines that powered the cable-way. The car jerked, starting to move. Henoir imagined the werewolf crouching on the roof of the terminal, ready to leap onto the car as soon as it became visible. She rolled into a ball on the floor, shaking, unable to move until the car reached the lower terminal building and came to a stop. She cautiously got to her feet, leaving the car. When she exited the building, she couldn’t help looking up, but no furred form leapt at her from the roof. “C’mon kid, get in the car, the sun will be up!” a voice yelled at her. Henoir nearly started running in shock before she realized it was Jack who had spoken. He was motioning her towards a car. “We’ve gotta get the hell out of here.”

Decision Point “Wake up. Look alive, kid.” Someone was shaking her. Henoir sat up. She was in her haven. Jack was there as well. “You’d better be on your feet and ready to more.” “I cannot see the weave of this web…” she said. Indeed, the voices had gone completely silent. “Get ready to run. Get everything you need. You’re never coming back here.” “Tell me the tale.” “LaCroix put out the word—he says you’re in league with the Kuei-jin, Ming- Xiao’s puppet, that you’re the one who set up Nines for her. See, he’s figured it all out, and now your death is a big bullet point in his new unity campaign. There’s a blood hunt on you.” “I have no league with the life-eaters!” she protested. A blood hunt. She had known she was attracting attention, having achieved much success for one so newly fledged. Now, many would be searching for her, anxious to build their own reputations on her ashes. “He had to turn things around on you real quick since you found out about his deal with Ming-Xiao. This is his plan B. Plan A was to kill you and Nines in Griffith Park. Now LaCroix is playing the victim—the way he tells it you were like his own child, he entrusted you with so much… And you took full advantage, sold out to the Kuei-jin and cost the people their hero—they’re saying Nines is dead and you killed him.” “The Jester finally shows his colors!” she cried, but who besides Jack would believe her? “Look, I’m here to help you…again…but dammit, it’s time.” “The sands have run out, but I do not see where…” Without the voices, she was hanging on Jack’s every word, hoping he had a way out. “Time to make a choice.” “Did Nines escape the hellhound?” she asked hopefully. If he survived, he could at least back up her side of the story. But when she thought of the werewolf she had faced, she could not see any chance of that.

135 “I hope you live to find out.” “I am blind!” The voices had ended their silence, but they were keening, or speaking gibberish, or crying, not saying anything helpful. “You’re going to have to stay off the street; stay on the move—it’s open season on your ass. Vampires are gonna be busing in from Sacramento to join in on this hunt.” “My elation knows no bounds….” “You need backing; you need the protection of one of the factions. Friends are the last thing you want to be without right now. But you have to get out of here.” “The path is dark to me…” She wanted her own sarcophagus in which she could sleep away an age. “I got a driver who can get you to where you need to go. Interesting guy, you’ll like him. But this place is being watched. He’s across Santa Monica, by the Junkyard. Get there and he’ll get you out of town.” “Where does this path lead me?” “He’ll take you…wherever. Wherever you feel safest.” “Okay!” “In case we don’t see each other again, nice knowin’ ya kiddo. Give em hell. They deserve it.” Jack chuckled at her expression, then walked past her, opening the haven’s door. He slammed it behind him. Henoir sank into a chair. She was completely alone. She listlessly checked her email, reading the single new message, “A true master has played the entire game before the first move.” She had believed that she was crucial to the hidden gameplayer’s entire strategy; she couldn’t lose. But it was impossible to ignore the fact that her after life had nearly ended in the park of the griffons. The game could go on without her, after all. The radio had been playing unheeded in the background all this time. She realized the Deb of Night was on, a favorite program. She listened. “Next Caller,” said the eponymous Deb. “Deb, this is it,” said a male voice. “This time I’ve stumbled across something that’s bigger than anything you could possibly imagine. A threat to the entire human race’s existence.” “Ah, Gomez! You know it’s been a bad night when I’ve been looking forward to your call.” Henoir perked up slightly at the mention of the caller’s name. She relied on Gomez to point out conspiracies that no one else knew about, so she could be on her guard. “Deb, nothing can prepare the world for this. This is the biggest story in the history of humanity, ever. Ever, Deb! How I found out this I can’t say, but I’m risking my life to tell the world this.” There was a dramatic pause. “Are you prepared for this?” “Sure.” “People of Los Angeles, vampires walk among us.”

136 “Ugh, not vampires again.” “Hear me out Deb. Vampires are among us, and have been since the dawn of time. In Los Angeles, well, there’s more vampires per person here than anywhere else in the world. People are killed by vampires all the time, but their secret vampire society covers it up.” Henoir listened in shock. Kine had learned all about Kindred? The voice started listing his arguments. “Who blew up that warehouse in Santa Monica? Vampires!” “What happened to the crew of the Elizabeth Dane? Vampires!” “Want to know what happened to that sarcophagus that disappeared? Vampires took it!” “The prince of vampires to be more specific. He wants to use it against a league of other vampires that have been trying to get a foothold in our city. And get this—there could be an even older vampire in the sarcophagus. An ancient, super vampire.” “Right, vampires, they’re everywhere,” said Deb sarcastically. “You can’t throw a rock in this city without hitting a vampire.” “It’s the truth, Deb. The undead are all around us. We need to rise up and destroy our evil vampire overlords before it’s too late!” “You heard him folks, gather up your crosses, garlic and neck braces. Oh brother…” Henoir stopped focusing on the radio. Even the humans were looking for her. Everyone was out to get her. She had to flee. Now. Henoir left her haven, following a hallway to the door that led outside. She cautiously opened it, crouching down to scuttle into the dark alley. She slowly moved down the alley. She suddenly realized that two figures were standing at the end of the alley, faintly backlit by a street light. She obscured herself, mystically drawing the darkness around her. She crept forward and around them. All the while the voices were yammering, telling her to fight them, to run away, to try going another direction, to give up. Santa Monica was overflowing with Kindred hunting her. She used almost all her stolen blood keeping herself hidden, sneaking through the hunters. Eventually she found the taxi. She watched it for minutes, making sure no one had it under observation. Even then, she crawled to it, opening a door only enough to allow her to slip inside to the back seat. This didn’t prevent the driver noticing her presence. “Where to?” he asked. “Away,” she said. “Very well.” He pulled away. “I’ll drive…if you figure out where you want to be taken, tell me.” Henoir realized it was time to make her decision, but she just lay down on the seat, listening to the voices. “Is it? No, it can’t be…” “Yes. Can’t. You. Tell?” “But you’ve made that mistake before.”

137 “Where are we going? Where are we being driven?” “It’s so very obvious where we’re headed…” “Shut up!” “I want to get out…this isn’t happening.” “No no no no!” “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.” “Fool! Don’t you see? We’ve already been judged!” “You’re wrong…You’re all wrong… Aren’t you? “Let me out…” “Let me go!” “What do you want? Help me!” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” “You know…you know…don’t you?” “I don’t know. I’m sure of it. I have no idea. It’s all too much.” “I’m a compass in the North Pole.” “Sob…I…boo hoo…nuh-uh…” “In your voice, there is desperation,” said the driver. “Certainly there is an exit out of your predicament?” Henoir started. She hadn’t thought anyone else could hear the voices. What power? Then again, the driver seemed familiar. Hadn’t he been the one who picked her up every time she had taken a taxi? What if the unsettling presence the Kindred in the city had been feeling hadn’t come from the sarcophagus at all? What if it was here? The Dark Father! Henoir tried, unsuccessfully, to push herself through the seat into the trunk. She mewled wordlessly. No, she told herself, she had ample reason to be paranoid, but the first one wouldn’t be driving a taxi. She regained some control, tried to think. There had to be an out. “The Kuei-jin are the wild card,” she said. “Eastern blood and the blood of Caine?” said the driver skeptically. “No, the blood of each shall never reconcile, only boil as they meet the other.” “The perfect place to hide.” The more she thought of it, the better it seemed. “No one will find me under her wing.” At least the life-eaters weren’t hunting her. “Very well. If that is the destination you choose, I will take you to Chinatown. But you realize if I do so, the blood you carry will doom you…an outsider forever in one society, a traitor to your own.” “Hmm…can this car go to the Moon? That’s where I’m headed.” Where else could she go? “Rabbits also flee…but sooner or later, their fate is a wolf’s jaw. And the wolves have your scent—you’re coated in the blood of the ninth one.”

138 “Take a whiff, you won’t smell that vintage on me.” She was desperate to have anyone, even the driver, believe her. “You can run rabbit, or you can become a wolf yourself and tear the throats from the heads of the other packs.” Lone wolf, trusted wolf, she thought. That was it! “I wish to transmogrify into a wolf,” she said. After all, Henoir was heroine, champion of the just, or was that heroin, bringing sweet release? The voices, who had not stopped their conflicting exclamations while she talked to the driver, all echoed “lone wolf,” then settled back to their usual background chatter. “This is the path of legends and pariahs… I have walked before with those who have tried to cast off Jihad…their reasons were many but their paths always ended in the same place—emptiness.” “Emptiness? Sounds safer than oblivion.” “If you must. Ming-Xiao and LaCroix, when they are destroyed, the city will become chaos. With no heads you can walk past this beast and into a legend. But you may never know peace… The lives of legends are the prey of the ambitious.” “Jump in the pit of burning oil or the hot coal pit? Isn’t there a pillow pit?” Her protest was perfunctory. She had made her decision. “I’m just a driver…I can’t take you anywhere unless you tell me where to go.” “I want to wear an infamy t-shirt. Day-glo, preferably.” “Then I will drop you off in Chinatown. Your legend can grow there.” “Wherever I am, that’s where I go.”

End Game Henoir moved through the mistress of mirrors’ temple as a chaos wind. She killed one or two to disrupt the organization of the defense at each ring of guards, then slipped through as the others rushed around trying to find her. Henoir solved the puzzle guarding the final mystical entry to the mistress’s inner sanctum. The mistress was in. “You’ve become a grave disappointment, Kindred,” said the Mirror Queen. “This was not meant to be your destination but your path will end here.” “My purpose is a road unknown to you, mistress…” “You were never more than a pawn, Kindred; puppet of those who drew the boundaries on your horizon. It was I who sensed in you the power to right the balance of this city; it will give me no joy to bring you final death.” “My tears will mix with your smoking ashes…” “You will have time to ponder this folly as you are devoured by worms and disease in the hell of burrowing maggots. A thousand years shall you suffer…” She transformed into a gelatinous, semi-transparent, tentacled sea-queen. Henoir didn’t like the look of the tentacles, but she had come prepared. She unshouldered an automatic shotgun, dodging about the room, trying to stay out of the creature’s reach

139 while she poured clip after clip into it. When Henoir got bored with the gun play, she pulled out the flamethrower. The mistress ate an entire tank’s worth of fuel. It didn’t agree with her. She was reduced to a pile of rotting, charred flesh. Henoir searched the room until she located the key to the sarcophagus. She triggered a mystical portal, which deposited her outside the temple. Her taxi was waiting. She suggested stopping off to renew her ammo and weapons. The driver took her to Santa Monica. She visited Mercury. “Word is you turned your back on the Camarilla,” he said. “I don’t understand. I’ve served these people for thirty years and they’ve always treated me well. I think you’re making a big mistake. But I’m not going to stop you. I’ve got no death wish.” “I turned my back on the Jester, not you Mercury,” she assured him. “To the blow- em-up stuff…” She examined his merchandise. She eschewed fuel tanks for her flamethrower, instead holding up a massive handgun with a long barrel, surely the Eastwood of revolvers. She took it, along with as much ammo for it as she could carry. “Where to?” asked the taxi drive when she got back in. “The end is near,” she replied. “Remember,” he said, “wherever we go, it is the blood of Caine which makes our fate. Farewell, vampire.” “Does that mean…no, it can’t be.” For a moment, she had had a recurrence of her fantasy of the Dark Father. It didn’t matter. Henoir stood outside the Venture Tower. The Jester probably expected her to attack with an army of Anarchs. Or at least a cohort of Chinese. Hadn’t he seen the Matrix? She entered the lobby. She was surprised to see the Chunk of a security guard there. “I’m sorry, crumb cake—it’s nothing personal you understand, but…Mr. LaCroix, he tells me I can’t let you in here anymore, and uh, I’m supposed to escort you out… I hope you understand…” “I do not want to spill your jelly, powdered doughnut.” “C’mon now, just leave okay? I don’t want to have to use force, but I am authorized to do so. Please don’t make me do this, missy.” “If death gave you a second chance, would you flee or fight?” She pulled out her huge handgun, pointing it vaguely in his direction. He turned white, dropping the baton he had pulled out of his belt. He ran by her, fleeing into the night. If the Jester were attacking, he would go for an indirect approach, find others to convince to take the point, hesitate while calculating the odds. She walked over to the bank of elevators, pushing the up button. An elevator did come, but it took her up only a few floors before its power was cut. The lower floors were patrolled by human security guards, which she ignored. Above that human commandos were added to the mix, but they were nearly as easy to

140 avoid. She was making her way through a floor in which renovation work was being undertaken when she met a human who saw through her obscuring tricks. “I anticipated you’d make it this far,” said the man. Henoir realized the Jester was somehow directly controlling him. “I had no doubts about your capability. But I am not so easily betrayed… Did you ever think about what it takes to live as long as I have? To come this far? Consider that lack of judgment in your last few seconds.” “When I spring to the top, you’re going to have a great fall.” “Tick, tick, tick…a bien tot, Kindred.” The human screamed, “To me!” She realized the human had explosives strapped around his chest. She was fortunate the Jester so loved to talk, or he might have set them off at once. She pulled out the big revolver, putting a shot into the human’s head, killing him. She slung the corpse onto a construction elevator that was there, hitting its up button. She then turned to deal with several guards attracted by the cry. She finished with the guards just in time to hear a boom from above as the explosives went off. “Boom” she echoed to herself, chuckling in glee. She climbed hand- over-hand up a chain, a remnant of the destroyed elevator. She advanced two floors in this manner. At the top, several commandos, killed by the explosion, had been awaiting her. The next floor was patrolled by the Jester’s Kindred Ventrue allies. Again, she avoided those she could, destroyed those she couldn’t. She took an elevator up another floor. She walked into a foyer, a double staircase leading upwards to double doors above. The Jester’s gorilla was waiting for her. He jumped down, swinging his massive sword. She dodged, striking back with her much lighter, nimbler blade. He disappeared, immediately reappearing behind her. She kicked into a forward roll. His tactics quickly became obvious. He would vanish, reappearing in a position in which she wasn’t looking, to attack. All she needed were eyes all around, or whispering voices that warned of his attacks. She would spring in, striking before he was ready. Else she would dodge backwards, duck under or jump over his swing, scoring with her weapon before he could get his oversized blade back into position. She was considering how many more blows it would take before he was finished when he suddenly transformed into a giant bat thing. Shocked, she stood rooted as it picked her up, carrying her into the air. Its wings, when outstretched, almost brushed opposite walls. It flew forward, smashing through the wall. Henoir looked down. The Venture Tower narrowed considerably beginning with the floor she was on, leaving room for a sizable outdoor terrace, which the bat creature now hovered over. Henoir concentrated, sending a chorus of voices to tell the creature its claw was cramping and needed to be stretched. Something worked, because the grip on her loosened and she was able to wriggle free, dropping to the terrace below. She wasn’t alone. More of the Jester’s minions, in bestial form, were here, along with more human commandos. The bat swooped at her. She pulled out her massive

141 revolver. The bat monster cast some spell. Everything became even more blurred than usual around her. Motion slowed, although her thoughts slowed even further. Henoir ran back and forth across the terrace. The freaked out commandos fired at the bat thing and the minions. The bat picked up commandos to toss at her, or flew down to directly attack with claws. The minions attacked her and the commandos. Henoir fired at the bat, at the minions, at the windows in the tower. This went on for some time. Henoir realized it was snowing gray flakes. She stuck out her tongue to catch some, all that was left of her bat foe. She pirouetted in the darkness, laughing. She came out of her fugue, time returning to normal speed. She was on the penthouse level, pointing her revolver at the Jester. She holstered the gun. The stage was set, the actors given their lines. Henoir would play it out as written. “Like Sire, like Childe,” said the Jester. “I should have killed you that night. How could someone as low as you injure me? You think you’ve taken everything away, but I still have my sarcophagus.” “And I have this key of mine,” said Henoir, holding up the key she had obtained from the life-eaters. “You’ve done all the work for me, once again,” laughed the Jester. “So much to learn… I thought I had lost it all…but no, here you’ve sailed on a Gehenna wind, bearing my salvation—the key to my future.” “You’re happy? Did I mention my key?” Henoir considered who had been the true master of the game. There weren’t many candidates left, save one smiling one. A voice suggested, don’t forget the second, hidden, player— The Jester laughed again, interrupting her thought. “Give me the key,” he said, staring hard at her. Henoir giggled at the Jester still trying his little tricks, even after the last of the audience had gone home. “I said, give me the key!” he repeated more desperately. “Sit,” she ordered, chuckling some more. She realized the Jester had expended all his banked blood while directing the defense of the tower. He was defenseless. She snatched a dagger off his desk, stabbing him in the throat with one blow and cutting into his stomach with a quick second. He collapsed, but her strikes had been calculated to injure without bringing the final death. “It can’t end like this,” he gasped, “don’t you see—the Kuei-jin will kill us all… I can’t lose…I will open the sarcophagus… I’ll build an empire…it won’t end here…” Henoir glanced at the key in her hand, then over to the sarcophagus. Voices of the past came to her. “Don’t open it.” “Whatever you do, do not open the Ankaran Sarcophagus.” “Me, open that?” she said. She laughed again, slapping her thigh. She tossed the key to the ground. “All yours. Like you, I am gone.” She looked at the Jester. He had never been in control of the game; he had been just another piece, his moves predictable

142 from the start. Even now he was scheming his useless schemes to gain the advantage on her. She turned her back on him, walked from the room. “You fool!” he yelled after her. “You had it in your grasp—you had Los Angeles in your hands and you threw it all away. That’s why you’re not a leader, why you’ll never be anything but an errand boy.” A few minutes later the top of the Venture tower exploded with a loud boom, flames flickering skyward. Debris fell to the street below. Henoir exited the lobby, glancing upwards, admiring the tomb lighting up the night sky. Three Kindred ran towards her. They were led by one who should be dead, Nines who would now be known as Eights. “Damn,” he said, looking around at the destruction. “Kid, I knew your reputation, but…hell, I don’t think any of us could have done LaCroix like that.” Henoir started walking down the street, ignoring him. “Kid, where’re you going?” he cried. “Hey, hear me out!” he said, running a few steps after her. “We could use someone like you!” She flipped him the bird without looking back, not breaking stride. “…Kid?” he said uncertainly.

* * * On a hillside with a view of the downtown two figures sat on folding beach chairs. “Now ain’t that a beautiful thing?” said Smiling Jack to the mummified figure seated next to him. The mummy did not stir at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Messerach, buddy, I’m talking to you!” Jack shook his head. “You don’t really talk much, do you?” Jack leaned back. “Hey. It happened just like you said.” He laughed. “Never even knew what hit ‘em.” A figure shrouded in blackness, a sometime taxi driver, stood behind him, only noticeable now because he chose to speak. “Remember—wherever we go, it is the blood of Caine which makes our fate. Farewell, vampire.”

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