Why haven’t I thought of it before,
Caitlin wondered turning on her
father’s computer.
But after a few hours of staring at
the screen, she had found
exactly nothing, and the frustration was getting to her.
She had found
that there were men that were extremely strong; there
were men who were
sterile; there were men who had unusually sharp senses.
There were men
who could survive on very little food, and there were
men whose stamina
surpassed that of others. But they were all different
men, and there was
nothing that bound all those different traits together.
In the end she
made a list of all these oddities and tried again.
No references found, the computer
blinked at her.
Caitlin swore under her breath. She
hesitated for a moment and then
abandoned the medical databases. She punched the button
Search the web
on the screen, and leaned back. After several minutes,
she got an answer
- 126 276 references found.
Caitlin swore again. She hesitated
much longer this time before
adding blood-drinking, changing of eye-color and wolves
to her list.
But the computer didn’t hesitate at
all.
112 references found, it said.
Caitlin took a deep breath and clicked
forth the first ten. The
coffee went the wrong way, and Caitlin coughed for several
minutes.
“Vampires?!” she exclaimed at last
in dismay, when she had caught
her breath. “Has the whole world gone insane?”
She went through everything that the
computer had to offer and sat
back, staring at the offending gadget.
Where do people get all these crazy
ideas from? she wondered.
Caitlin recalled the meeting of the
abductees that she had gone to
in San Francisco. Deranged as it had
been, there was at least an
ounce of scientific plausibility to it. But this! She
turned off the
computer, punching angrily at the power button. A dead
end!
What do I do now? Caitlin wondered.
The idleness was making her
restless. She had always been very active, either working
or studying.
But sitting here, without anything to do except to worry
about Julian,
was driving her crazy.
If this goes on much longer, I’ll
start believing in that vampire
crap, she thought.
She called Nick in the afternoon.
“I’m going out of my mind of sheer
boredom,” she told him. “Can I
help you with some investigation that doesn’t involve
my fiancé?” she
laughed nervously.
“Are you asking me out?” Nick heard
the incredulity in his own voice
and tried to remedy that. “As a matter of fact, I’d like
your opinion
about some things. I’ll come for you after work. That
is, if it’s all
right with you?”
“Okay.”
They were sitting in a bar, Caitlin
drinking white wine, while Nick
was into his second beer. He had refused the wine, explaining
that he
could not drink anything stronger than beer.
“Haven’t got the white man’s enzymes
in my liver,” he said. “If I
drink wine or booze, I’ll be terribly sick and terribly
drunk.”
Caitlin laughed.
“Is it really true?” she asked. “Not
just something people have
invented to excuse the alcohol problem among Native Americans?”
“Oh, it’s true all right,” Nick answered.
“If I had as much wine as
you have drunk today, I’d be out cold.” He smiled at
her. “And I weigh
at least twice as much as you do.”
Caitlin smiled back. It was probably
true, she thought. Nick was
very tall and heavily built. His dark face with high
cheekbones showed
no trace of beard growth. His short, black hair had a
bluish tint to it,
and his eyes were very dark, almost black. There was
an air of
self-confidence about him that Caitlin associated with
Native Americans.
She was wondering if it was really there, or if she was
projecting her
prejudice onto Nick Marliss.
She found herself comparing Nick to
Julian.
Julian was shorter and slimmer of
course, but much better looking.
There was an atmosphere of wealth and power about Julian,
of centuries
of fortune and good education that Nick lacked. Julian
Luna had
self-esteem that would make him as comfortable in a governor’s
office as
in the mountains of California.
Nick’s polish of civilization is much
thinner than that of Julian’s,
Caitlin thought. Unable to remember what had happened
in Manzanita,
Caitlin couldn’t know how superficial was Julian’s refinement.
If there really were something that
Nick wanted to discuss with
Caitlin, he didn’t bring it up, and she didn’t mention
it either. She
enjoyed his company although she soon found out that
he was neither as
intelligent nor as well educated as Julian. However,
he possessed a dry
sense of humor and was able to laugh at himself in a
way that Julian
never did. There was forthrightness in Nick that made
Julian seem rather
devious. But Julian had never been famous for his candor,
and Caitlin
had accepted that.
Nick allowed Caitlin to keep her distance
when they danced, but the
pull of attraction was there and they were both aware
of it.
The evening was very clear and Caitlin
suggested that they would
take a walk in spite of the cold. They watched the stars
and Nick told
her the Indian names of different constellations, explaining
their
meaning, while Caitlin gave the names that Julian had
taught her. She
pointed out Sirius, repeating what Julian had told her
about it on her
birthday, and Nick looked at her, apparently impressed.
“You know quite a lot about the heavens,”
he said.
“My father is an astronomer, remember?”
she responded, not wanting
to bring Julian’s name into their conversation.
Nick leaned down and kissed her, not
touching her. In fact, he kept
his hands behind his back, and Caitlin did the same.
In spite of the
awkward position, they stood kissing for quite some time,
until Caitlin
shivered. Nick’s mouth was warm, but she was starting
to feel the cold.
“Come,” he said simply, and they ran
to his car.
Once they had arrived at his home,
Nick removed her clothes very
carefully, piece by piece, using both hands when he unbuttoned
her
shirt. It made her realize that Julian’s behavior was
a calculated show,
a well-balanced act, meant to provoke the desired effect,
whether it
were the softest caresses or frantic destruction of her
underwear. All
he did was utterly exciting, even the pain he sometimes
inflicted seemed
to be under his control, just on the edge between pain
and pleasure.
What Caitlin didn’t know, was that Julian Luna was five
times older than
Nick, and had spent much of that time learning about
women.
Nick did not own the patience and
experience that Julian did.
Somewhere on the way, Nick’s urgency made him cross the
line and he hurt
her. Caitlin pulled away his eager hand, surprised that
she could.
Julian would have been relentless. But Nick misunderstood
her reaction.
He pushed her down and pressed into her, making her cry
out in protest.
Caitlin clenched her teeth, fighting
tears, fighting pain, a whimper
escaping her as Nick’s movements became swifter and harder.
Realizing
that she could no longer stop him, Caitlin tried to diminish
the
discomfort, slackening her muscles. It didn’t help much,
but then it was
over, as Nick collapsed suddenly, gasping aloud. He slid
away from her,
leaving her hurting and unsatisfied.
Nick put his arms around her, but
didn’t try to make love to her
again. He was aware of her reluctance and his male ego
decided that her
apparent unhappiness was caused by the regret of having
betrayed her
lover. He would not admit to himself that his own performance
might have
been lacking.
He drove her home when she asked him
to, an awkward silence
stretching between them.
“Caitlin...” he started as the car
stopped outside her father’s
house, but she didn’t let him finish.
“I’m sorry, Nick. It’s not your fault,”
she lied, “but I can’t see
you again.”
He nodded, suddenly angry again, but
he bit down on his furious
retort: Sure, go back to your vampire!
Nick had made the same search on the
web that Caitlin had, but in
contrast to her, he believed what he had found.
Nick Marliss’ polish of civilization
was indeed very thin.
James Byrne looked at his daughter
accusingly. It was past midnight
again.
“Aren’t you taking this a little too
far?” he asked.
Caitlin shrugged, trying to hide her
discomfort.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I won’t
see Nick again.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing significant!” To her own
dismay, Caitlin started to cry and
her father stared at her helplessly.
“Caitlin...?” he didn’t know what
to do.
“I miss him, that’s all,” she sobbed.
“Oh, Julian...”
The old astronomer patted his daughter’s
back in an awkward attempt
to comfort her.
“He’ll be back soon,” he smiled to
himself. “I’m sure he will.” He
didn’t tell Caitlin that Julian had called while she
was out and said
that he’d come in a few days.
Caitlin lay sleepless in her bed.
She was sad and upset over what
she had allowed to happen, and couldn’t help thinking
about the first
time Julian had made love to her. How careful and tender
he had been,
his touch lighter than that of a butterfly at first.
The excitement had
made her light-headed, as if she were drunk, and at the
same time
sharpening her senses to the utmost. She had pressed
against his
fingers, wordlessly demanding more. Until now she had
taken it for
granted, the ease with which he could make her come,
unaware that it
took both skill and patience, and sometimes unrelenting
will: a will
that would not let him give up, even when she asked him
to. She missed
Julian so much that it made her cry again. His love,
his tenderness, his
very presence that made her feel so safe. Even his habit
of stringing
together sentences so long that they were difficult to
understand.
Nick Marliss was no longer angry -
he was mad as hell.
He knew that he had lost the battle
for justice for Joe’s murderer
the moment he had taken Caitlin in his arms. He couldn’t
go after the
man whose woman he had seduced, and it made his rage
futile.
But if it weren’t a man at all? Leave
Caitlin in his claws? Let him
get away with murder? No!
Nick realized after some hard thinking
that if Joe had done to him
what he had done to Julian Luna, he would have reacted
in the same way;
he would have killed Joe. He recalled the moments
of passion, Caitlin’s
soft body against his, and then tried to imagine being
shot at the same
time, the bullet hitting him, when it could have hit
Caitlin just as
easily. Nick could feel the rage that Julian must have
felt. Yes, he was
quite sure that if Joe had committed this act of stupidity
against him,
all friendship aside, Nick would have ripped Joe to pieces
if he had had
the strength to do so. Being a policeman wouldn’t have
stopped him at
all.
As far as Nick Marliss was concerned,
the murderer of Joe Montegna
would stay unpunished, even if Nick were able to solve
the crime. He
still didn’t know how Julian could have done it, but
if there were any
truth in what his uncles had been babbling about and
in the information
he had found on the Internet, then it wouldn’t be beyond
his capability.
Only, Nick had a problem with that.
One moment he was prepared to
believe that Julian Luna was a mythical monster, and
in the next he
called himself a superstitious moron, who would readily
believe that his
rival was a devil. Especially since Caitlin apparently
preferred the
devil in question.
But what if it weren’t all superstition?
Nick ran for several hours
in the night again. He called San Francisco as soon as
he thought it
wouldn’t be too early. Frank Kohanek answered and whistled
with
appreciation when Nick told him what Caitlin had disclosed
about the
shooting.
“So I guessed right, didn’t I?” Frank
commented. “What are you going
to do about it?”
“That’s a problem. I can’t pin Joe’s
death on him,” Nick answered.
“I just can’t figure out how he did it. I mean with that
injury, no
weapon, several miles between the crime scenes. Unless
somebody else did
it for him, and I don’t believe that somebody would do
that, at least
not in the way it was done. Do you have any ideas?”
“You really want to go after Luna?”
Frank asked. There was no answer
and after a moment Frank added: “If I were Julian Luna,
I’d have done
the same.”
“Yeah!” Nick laughed. “The thought
has crossed my mind.
“What do you mean?”
“I...” Frank heard the hesitation
in Nick’s voice. “I don’t mean
anything. I mean... I can imagine what he felt when it
happened. I...
oh, shit!”
Frank whistled again.
“Either your imagination is very lively,
or there isn’t much you
need to imagine”
“Look, man...”
But Frank didn’t let Nick go on.
“If you’ve done what I think you’ve
done, you might be getting
yourself into serious trouble.”
“Are you saying that this Luna character
is a jealous type?” Nick
sounded angry again.
“Jesus!” Frank laughed. “You’re as
transparent as a jellyfish. No,
he has never struck me as a guy prone to jealousy. However,
when Caitlin
Byrne is concerned, I can’t say... If she is harmed in
any way...” Frank
laughed again, “he’ll make jellyfish of you. Lots of
jellyfish!”
Now it was Nick’s turn to whistle.
“What is it you know about him that
I don’t?” he asked making Frank
shut up.
“Uh,” Frank was trying to gather his
wits. “There’s nothing I can
tell you. I don’t want to end up with my throat ripped
out.”
“I see.” Nick decided to risk making
a fool of himself. “Just
listen.” He recounted all that his uncles had told him
and what his
computer had added to that. “Just tell me one thing,”
he said in the
end. “Have I gone completely out of my mind because I
want his woman, or
is there any sanity left in me?”
Frank was very quiet for a long time.
“Detective Marliss,” he hesitated
for a moment, “you’re not insane.”
There was a sigh of relief on the other
end of the line.
“But you’ll be,” Frank added, “if
you don’t stay away from Caitlin
Byrne.” With that he hung up.
Nick stared at the phone in his hand.
He looked at the familiar
surroundings of his home, and then at the rumpled bed
where he had made
love to Caitlin the previous evening.
Does she know? he wondered.
Judging from her reaction to what
his uncles had said, she must have
noticed things about her lover. Strange things. Nick
shook his head.
Caitlin had told him that she didn’t want to see him
again. Why? Was she
afraid of Julian Luna? Did she regret being unfaithful?
Or was the
unpleasant truth that she really preferred the vampire
to a living man?
Whatever it was, in the broad daylight Nick wasn’t so
sure if he wanted
to take up a fight with a vampire.
Julian recognized the red flash, although
he hadn’t seen it for more
than fifty years. Nobody else’s hair could be that red,
nor could any
chemist bottle that color.
“Bellinda?” he asked, not really trusting
his vision’s evidence.
She turned around. The white skin,
the slanted green eyes, a nose
that was too long, a mouth that was too wide. No, Bellinda
wasn’t a
beautiful woman. Nevertheless, she was unforgettable.
Julian had to stop himself at the
last minute; his reflex was to
duck. The last time he had seen her, she had thrown several
heavy
objects at him, and had called him things that nobody
had ever called
him before or since. No wonder - Bellinda could outswear
a Russian
sailor. As a matter of fact, Bellinda could swear in
seven languages for
fifteen minutes without repeating herself, and she had
a temper that
outmatched Julian’s by several factors.
They looked at each other belligerently.
Two lions would be a pair
of kittens in comparison.
“Julian Luna!” She cast her head back, her
red mane flying. “You! You
conniving, deceitful, hell-spawned, no-good bastard!”
Julian was surprised by the shortness
of the invective. Apparently,
she had forgiven him. He smiled at her disarmingly.
“As far as I know, my legitimacy was
never in doubt,” he said. “And
good evening to you too.”
She laughed and stepped closer.
“At last a straight man,” she said
taking his arm. “Or have you
changed your interests in that respect after I left you?”
“I was straight last time I checked.”
Julian allowed her to lead him
away. He felt the heat of his own embarrassment turn
his face red as he
remembered what had happened this very morning. He brushed
it away.
“Tell me Bellinda, how did you end
up in Pierre de Guiche’s court?”
he asked.
“I didn’t,” she answered. “I’m a guest
here, as you are. I live in
Texas nowadays.”
“What are you doing here then?”
“The same thing that you’re doing.”
She leaned closer. “Stephen sent
me here.” She smiled as she felt the muscles in Julian’s
arm harden
under her hand.
“Stephen is alive!” he exclaimed.
“Where is he?”
“In New York, ” she answered. “He
has nestled himself into Servio’s
closest circle.”
“Good,” Julian nodded. He was thinking
fast. “You’re undercover, but
I’m afraid that my companion and I have walked right
into a trap. We
can’t pretend that we support Servio.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Bellinda looked
around. “I’ll help you to get
out of here. Where’s your friend?”
Julian let his eyes wander over the
groups of men until he spotted
Arthur.
“There,” he said. At the same time
he was able to make eye contact
with his bodyguard and beckoned him. Seconds later Arthur
was at his
side.
“Come with me,” Bellinda said after
looking the tall, blond man
over.
Julian and Arthur followed Bellinda
to a side-door. They slipped
through and found themselves in a long corridor. The
redheaded woman led
them to the other end, ignoring Arthur she turned to
Julian.
“What have you been doing since I
walked out of your life?” she
asked, making Julian blink in surprise.
If memory serves me right, he thought,
I was the one who walked out
on you.
But it didn’t matter now. If Bellinda
preferred to remember it the
other way around, Julian would not correct her.
They had met near the end of the WW
II. She had lost her husband in
one of the more obscure battles on some island in the
Pacific, and her
only child, a six-year-old son, had died of poliomyelitis.
She hated the
whole world and was fighting her way through the ranks
of workers in one
of the plants that Julian owned. She became one of the
union’s
representatives, and it was in that capacity that she
had cursed
Julian’s ears off the first time they bumped into each
other. Julian,
who had educated himself in the most polite insults of
the British
Empire, had been stunned at first, then had burst out
laughing. It had
provoked Bellinda into more cursing, and Julian had laughed
until he had
to beg her to stop. It hurt.
The others around the negotiating
table had stared at them in
stupefied silence. They had seen Julian Luna react with
violence to much
lesser insults, but Bellinda was a human and a woman.
She didn’t need to
fear Julian Luna.
Julian made sure to have Bellinda
as an opponent as often as he
could, and although she realized quite soon that he was
provoking her
deliberately, she was happy to oblige, drowning him in
intricate strings
of invectives that never failed to leave him breathless
with laughter.
Still, he couldn’t understand half of them.
Later, when they became lovers, she
had told him that the four
brothers of her Russian mother, all sailors, used to
have swearing
contests at every family gathering. She explained to
him what the
Russian curses meant, and he learned quite a few useful
expressions from
her in several languages. He never used the worst of
them - his
upbringing forbade the use of foul language - but he
still remembered
the feeling of idiotic triumph when he left a Russian
taxi driver
open-mouthed in a parking lot somewhere, when the taxi
had almost run
him over. The driver had jumped out of his car and started
screaming
obscenities at him. Julian had looked around, and seeing
that there was
no one else present, had allowed himself the luxury of
cursing back.
Educated by Bellinda, he had been able to win the competition;
and to
his utter amazement, the impressed loser had offered
to drive him
wherever he wanted for free.
Bellinda’s ferocity did not end with
words. She was a tigress as a
mistress - which suited Julian just fine - but she was
violent otherwise
as well. She would react with rage whenever she didn’t
get what she
wanted, and assaulted Julian several times. She admitted
that she had
been able to beat her husband into submission, but it
didn’t work with
Julian. He was able to fend off her attacks easily, but
she managed to
hit him sometimes, when he least expected it. She would
hold a grudge
for a long time, and sneak up on him - her fists and
knees hard weapons
- or throw things at him.
He never hit her back until she took
a knife and plunged it into his
chest during one of their rows. He had slapped her then,
his hand open.
Not hard enough to knock her out, but she fell, suddenly
all rage gone
when she understood what she had done. She had seen Julian’s
eyes turn
green as he pulled the knife out from his body. It clattered
as he threw
it at her feet.
“Bellinda,” he had said, “I don’t
think that we can continue seeing
each other.”
She had watched in silence as he sat
down unsteadily, the blood
trickling down his chest. Then it stopped and the wound
closed. Within
minutes there was no other trace left of it but the blood
that was
drying on his skin and on the knife. Bellinda became
a Kindred that
night: it had been her choice. To become an immortal
seemed like a good
idea to her. She wanted to keep her red mane from turning
gray, she had
said. Julian had sent her to Stephen the next day, hoping
that his blood
brother would be able to manage her. He never heard from
her again, and
Stephen never mentioned her. To return to the levelheaded
Lillie had
been a relief, and Julian had kept out of the human women’s
paths for
several years afterwards.
And now, as they met again in the
middle of a war, Julian was
acutely aware that Bellinda was the only Kindred he had
sired and
abandoned. It didn’t make him feel good about himself.
Bellinda took them through the enormous
house of Pierre the Guiche.
She seemed to know her way around quite well.
Maybe a little too well, Julian thought,
for being a guest.
Yet, Julian kept his suspicions to
himself. They would know soon
enough.
Bellinda opened an inconspicuous looking
door. They were standing at
the top of a long staircase, which led into a basement,
and Julian
suspected that if he and Arthur followed her down, they
would never come
out of there alive. He heard voices behind them, many
voices. Julian
decided to act before it was too late.
For a fleeting moment he considered
shift-shaping into a wolf, but
gave up the idea at once. Abandoning the human shape
meant also
abandoning the human ability to reason. Within the confines
of a
building, it wouldn’t do. Turning into a wolf was advantageous
when
there was running or fighting to do, otherwise it might
prove fatal,
especially if there were locked doors involved.
Julian gave Arthur a warning look
and started descending the stairs,
Bellinda right behind him. Arthur followed them after
he shut and bolted
the door they had come through. They were engulfed by
darkness and
Julian moved faster, increasing the distance between
himself and
Bellinda. He heard the clicking of her high heels become
quicker.
Arthur’s steps were inaudible.
As Bellinda came closer, Julian stopped,
concentrating on keeping
his balance against possible attack. But the woman didn’t
realize that.
As her hands pushed against his back, she was surprised
by the
resistance she encountered. She shoved harder, but Julian
moved
sideways, and she felt him grip her arm.
He started down again, dragging her
with him, shouting to Arthur to
follow them. Bellinda lost her footing before they reached
the bottom of
the stairs, and would have fallen had Julian not held
her. She slid down
the last few steps on her knees, screaming and cursing.
But this time
Julian didn’t laugh at her swearing.
The cellar wasn’t empty. Four shadows
emerged from the dark corners
and closed in on them.
“Arthur!”
Julian’s outcry wasn’t necessary;
Arthur had already bolted past him
and was facing the attacking Kindred. However, Julian
wasn’t one to let
his bodyguard fight alone. Their adversaries were armed.
Julian pulled Bellinda to her feet
and hurled the screaming woman at
the firing men, then followed with a big leap. He got
hold of one of
them and smashed him against the wall, wrenching the
weapon from the
Gangrel’s hand.
As he turned around, he saw a Brujah
trying to aim a phosphorus gun
at him. He moved swiftly out of the line of fire as the
deafening shot
rung out, the burning phosphorus lighting the scene of
the battle. The
two Ventrue killers were sprawled on the floor; Arthur
had apparently
taken care of them. The Gangrel that Julian had got to
was sitting
against the wall, his head crushed, a bloody smear on
the rough concrete
behind him showing that he was out too. Bellinda was
lying on her back
in the middle of it all, blood running out of her mouth
as she tried to
swear.
The Brujah didn’t get to fire again.
The weapon fell out of his
hands as Arthur jerked his legs from under him. Julian
fired the gun he
had taken from the Gangrel at the same time; the bullet
hit the falling
man between the eyes.
Still a marksman, Julian thought with
satisfaction.
The silence that ensued was only disturbed
by Bellinda’s mumble.
“Make sure they are dead for good,”
Julian ordered Arthur, who did
what he was told.
The defeated Kindred would not regain
life. Arthur found a knife on
one of them and used it to empty them of blood, severing
their carotid
arteries.
Julian crouched at Bellinda’s side.
She had been hit by several
bullets, all meant for him. He felt a pang of remorse,
but remembered
her hands pushing at his back.
“Why, Bellinda?”
It seemed as if she was trying to
say something and Julian leaned
closer, but she spat blood in his face.
“Conceit...” she hissed. “Get you...
in hell!” She tried to spit at
him again and Julian’s hand closed on her throat.
“Go to the end of the line!” he said,
his anger flaring.
Julian looked at the dead woman. Had
she betrayed him of her own
volition, or was she working for someone else? Stephen,
Daedalus or
Cameron. But no, Cameron was too young and knew too little.
Besides, he
didn’t have much to offer - not yet anyway. Stephen then!
Suddenly,
Julian remembered the many paintings of the redheaded
woman that he had
seen in Daedalus’ cellar. Was the Nosferatu just trying
to get the right
mix of colors or did he... No, not Daedalus. But the
seed of suspicion
had been planted. One doesn’t become a Prince by being
overly trusting.
Could Arthur be trusted?
If I come out of this alive, I’ll
probably have a bad case of
paranoia, Julian thought.
He had broken Bellinda’s neck and
had opened her arteries, making
sure that she bled until she was dead. The damage was
irreparable.
Bellinda’s death was final. In his rage he had not tried
to question her
more.
Julian eyed Arthur cautiously. He
knew that he couldn’t do the same
to his bodyguard. Arthur had already proved that he was
stronger than
his Sire, and although Julian knew tricks that were beyond
Arthur’s
capacity, he was afraid that in a fight he would lose.
“Arthur,” Julian faced his bodyguard
squarely, “can I trust you?”
Arthur came forth and went down on
his knees in front of the Prince.
His head bowing to one side, he presented his unprotected
neck,
“With my life,” he said simply.
Julian decided. He let his hand touch
Arthur’s neck.
“Get up!” he said. “Let’s find a way
out of here.”
Arthur took his hand and kissed it.
“Yes, my Prince.”
He stood up and they moved into the
shadowy tunnels beneath Pierre
de Guiche’s house.
The door behind them had been broken
down and they could hear their
pursuers. Both Arthur and Julian knew that if they didn’t
get out of the
building soon, they wouldn’t make it.
If only Daedalus were here! Julian
thought grimly. Parting from the
Nosferatu had been a grave mistake, much more serious
than he had
thought this afternoon, after he and Arthur... no, this
wasn’t the time
for regrets.
They ran into the darkness, the voices
behind them coming closer.
They came to the end of the tunnel and managed to wrench
open the door
they found there. As they came through, Arthur stopped
and closed it. He
looked around for something that might help to keep it
shut. Julian
looked at the gun that he had taken from the dead Brujah.
Placing the
barrel against the floor, he kicked the other end under
the handle. It
wasn’t much, but better than nothing.
“Let’s go!” he shouted. “Now!”
But Arthur shook his head.
“Go on, Julian! I’ll stop them when
they come through.”
Arthur had the two guns that the Ventrue
had wielded. He was
checking them now.
“No!” Julian knew that Arthur’s offer
would buy him time, but he
wasn’t prepared to accept the sacrifice.
“No,” he repeated. “Give me one of
the guns!”
Arthur stared at him for a second
and then aimed at him.
“Get out of here before I get mad!”
he shouted.
Julian saw the eyes of his bodyguard
flash blue lightning and knew
it was no joke. He backed away and turned just to be
faced by a dark
shape.
“Daedalus?”
A strong hand grabbed his arm and
pulled him down the tunnel.
“Quickly, this way!”
“Daedalus!” Julian stumbled in relief.
“Wait, Arthur...!”
“He’ll stall them. Come on!”
The urgency in the Nosferatu’s voice
made Julian run faster as they
heard an explosion, shots and screams.
A few minutes later, Daedalus dragged
him up a few steps of stone,
and pressed his shoulders against a metal lid above them.
Julian raised
his arms, adding his strength to that of the Nosferatu.
Something gave
way and the lid clattered as it fell aside. They could
see the stars in
the clear southern sky. The Nosferatu got out first and
looked around.
Seeing that there was no danger, he turned to help Julian
but the
Ventrue was as lithe as his friend. He jumped through
the opening, then
leaned over it, listening. There was nothing at first,
but after a
moment he could hear the sound of running feet.
“Arthur!” he called.
Daedalus pulled him back just as a
shot rung out, a bolt of
phosphorus fire coming out of the opening. Swiftly, the
Nosferatu pushed
the metal lid over the hole and rammed it into place.
They found a big
stone and rolled it on top of the lid before running
on. They stopped
after ten minutes: there was no pursuit.
Julian leaned against a tree and peered
at Daedalus.
“How did you get here? Why and how
did you find us?” he asked all
the questions at once.
“It will take some time to tell you,”
Daedalus answered. “Right now,
we have to take care of de Guiche while he still thinks
you’re running.”
“You’re right,” Julian nodded, then
shivered. “Although I’d hate to
go back in there!”
“You don’t have to,” Daedalus said.
“Find some means of
transportation and wait for me here.” He looked Julian
over and smiled.
“Try to do something about your appearance. You look
as if you’ve been
the main attraction at a lynching party.”
Julian didn’t have to check in a mirror.
His white suit was torn in
several places; it was dirty and splattered with blood,
as were his face
and hands.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can take
care of myself.”
“Sure you can.” The scorn in Daedalus’
voice was mellowed by its
warmth.
The Nosferatu’s tall figure melted
into the shadows.
Julian stole all he needed without
hesitation. He broke into the
nearest house that was inhabited by humans and fed from
the middle-aged
couple that slept there. He cleaned himself in their
bathroom and took a
pair of trousers and a shirt. The clothes were somewhat
too big for him,
but they would do. He walked up and down a few streets
until he found
what he was looking for: an old jeep, the ignition key
left beckoning to
every thief. He started it and drove past several blocks
before turning
on the lights.
When he came back to the spot where
Daedalus had left him, he walked
around cautiously, making sure that there was no trap.
Straining his
senses he was able to detect the Nosferatu’s presence.
I could do worse, he thought as he
walked back to his stolen jeep.
Seconds later Daedalus climbed into the passenger’s seat.
Without a
word, he handed Julian a diamond brooch that Pierre de
Guiche had been
wearing on his collar. Julian held it in his hand for
a moment and then
threw it out of the car with a twitch of disgust.
Something else landed in Julian’s
lap and slid between his knees. He
groped for it and knew what it was as soon as his fingers
encountered
the heavy metal. The gold glimmered momentarily as the
jeep passed under
a streetlight, flashing the entwined letters J and A.
“Arthur?” Julian’s voice faltered.
“He’s dead,” Daedalus said softly.
“I’m sorry.”
Julian looked away. He held the golden
bracelet in his hand, his
grip hardening until it hurt, then put it in his pocket.
“You didn’t trust him, did you?” he
asked Daedalus accusingly.
“No. Did you?” came the retort.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Daedalus looked poignantly at the
bracelet on Julian’s wrist.
“What happened?” he inquired.
But Julian shook his head again.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he
said. “Not yet.” He stretched his
arm towards the Nosferatu. “Please, take it off,” he
begged.
Daedalus took the bracelet off and
handed it back to Julian who
refused to take it.
“Just get rid of it!” he ordered,
and the Nosferatu concealed it,
pretending that he was throwing it away.
“Didn’t Cash get any message out before
he disappeared?” Julian was
asking for the third time.
Daedalus sighed in exasperation.
“Not to anyone I’ve contacted.”
They had ditched the jeep before dawn
and Julian hired a sedan, so
that they could continue on during the day. The menace
in New Orleans
was contained; the Brujah in Miami was gone; Washington
was all right;
only New York was left, but they were traveling west.
Julian was
determined to get back to San Francisco and reassess
the situation
before heading for New York.
“According to Bellinda, Stephen is
in New York,” Julian was saying.
“Whether that’s true is another matter. Also, if Bellinda
betrayed me,
the question is, where does Stephen stand?”
“It’s a good question,” Daedalus responded.
Julian gave the Nosferatu a sly look.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” Daedalus asked.
“You’ve painted that red hair often
enough.” Julian hated himself
for doing this. “What’s she to you?”
“Ah, I never did get that color
right, did I?” Daedalus said
shrugging. “That was the only interesting thing about
Bellinda as far as
I was concerned. I’m more partial to the soulful nature
of females.”
It made Julian smile.
“Yes, in contrast to me, you were
always an incurable romantic,
Daedalus. If Bellinda ever had a soul, it was an evil
spirit.”
Daedalus kept vigil on the new jet
that had been purchased during
the time he had been in the east. It had picked them
up in Houston and
was now on its way to San Francisco. Julian, who had
driven all the way
to Texas, slept through the flight.
Once they were in San Francisco, Daedalus
saw that Arthur’s death
weighed on Julian harder than Cash’s disappearance. In
spite of the
flurry of activity that ensued following their arrival,
Julian seemed to
brood a lot, often staring into the fire, oblivious of
what was going on
around him.
Frank Kohanek came to the mansion
as soon as he found out that
Julian Luna was back. To his surprise, he was let in
without questions.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked
Julian belligerently.
The Prince stared at him defiantly.
“It’s none of your business,” he answered.
“What do you want?”
“If it’s none of my business, then
why do your people call me at odd
hours and ask me to relay messages to you?” Frank retorted.
“Who contacted you?” The anger in
Julian’s voice was gone.
“Cash.”
Frank repeated exactly what the Gangrel
had said to him, and watched
Julian’s horrified expression. “Do you understand what
he was trying to
say?”
Julian nodded.
“Cash is dead and Sasha will never
forgive me. I’ve lost two of my
most trusted friends and somebody very close to me is
after my hide.” He
laughed suddenly. “I’d offer you the job as my bodyguard,
if it weren’t
so dangerous.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,”
Frank was taken aback, “but I
already have a job. Compared to your offer, I think being
a detective in
San Francisco P. D. seems rather cozy.”
“I was joking,” Julian said. “I’m
sorry I snapped at you. Stay away
from me and from other Kindred. The war isn’t over yet.”
“The war?” Frank immediately jumped
at the disclosure. “What war?”
But Julian refused to say anything
more, and Frank noticed how tired
and depressed he was.
“For what it’s worth, let me know
if I can be of any help.” Frank
could hardly believe that he had said that. “I mean it,”
he added.
“Thank you,” Julian said quite seriously.
“Let’s hope that you’ll
never have to live up to that promise. Take care of yourself.”
“You too,” Frank responded.
As he left the mansion, Frank Kohanek
became aware of the thin
thread of friendship that had started to form between
himself and the
Prince of San Francisco.
A new course of action was decided
upon.
But before they’d move on New York,
Julian told Daedalus that he
wanted to visit Caitlin first.
“I need a break,” he had said tiredly.
To his relief, the Nosferatu didn’t
protest, only insisted on
accompanying Julian to the north.
“I’m not leaving you alone for a minute
anymore,” Daedalus decided,
and Julian made a face.
“I hope you don’t mean that literally,”
he said, embarrassing the
Nosferatu.
“Just remember what happened in New
Orleans,” Daedalus retorted, and
it was the Prince’s turn to look embarrassed.
The Nosferatu took advantage of the
moment.
“Are you going to tell me what happened
there?” he asked.
Julian sat down heavily.
“Can’t you guess? Do I have to spell
it out for you?” Julian was
trying to cover his discomfiture with anger. “Besides,
it doesn’t matter
anymore, he’s dead!”
But Daedalus refused to be put off.
“Julian, I’m not interested in the
intimate details of... whatever
transpired between you two. But you’ve lost one of your
closest friends.
You’ll have to face it sooner or later.”
Julian frowned, his face contorting
in pain.
“Daedalus, it saddens me more than
I can express. I treated him so
badly, and then he saved my life.”
Julian had promised himself that he
would not tell anyone about what
had happened between him and Arthur, and, had Arthur
survived, he would
have kept that promise. But Daedalus’ compassionate face
invited
confidence.
He told the Nosferatu everything.
If he expected his friend to be
shocked, he was mistaken.
“I’ve seen Arthur look at you,” the
wise Nosferatu said. “You must
have been blind. I knew that something was bound to happen.
I’m sorry
that he’s dead, but if he lived, you’d hurt him even
more.”
The comment shocked Julian into silence.
He was acutely aware that
Daedalus was expressing his own feelings - Arthur’s better
off dead.
What kind of a monster am I? he asked
himself in horror.
“How could I let this happen?” he
said aloud.
The five hundred years old Nosferatu
smiled reassuringly.
“We all make mistakes,” he said. “You’ll
have to forgive yourself.
I’m sure Arthur forgave you.”
Julian shuddered inwardly.
“Do you know what the most strange
thing about it is? I didn’t like
it, but I enjoyed it! Can you understand that?”
“Of course I can,” Daedalus answered.
“I’ve made my own mistakes.”
Julian stared at the Nosferatu in
disbelief.
“I thought you were infallible,” he
tried to joke, but Daedalus
didn’t take the bait.
“Nobody is!” he retorted and left.
Caitlin was aware that she was dreaming
because she couldn’t move.
Someone was making love to her; she was unable to see
who it was, but
she enjoyed her dream. She realized with disappointment
that she was
waking up, the echo of the pleasure fading away as her
ability to move
returned. The intimate touch was interrupted, but the
hand was still
there, and she knew instantly that her dream had become
a reality as she
recognized the man who held her. She turned to him, her
eyes still
closed.
“Julian...”
He broke off her whisper with a kiss,
but she started to giggle.
“How long did it take you to wake
me?”
“Less than a minute.” She felt the
muscles in his face move as he
smiled in response.
She hugged him. He was fully dressed
and her hands started to remove
his clothes. With his help she managed to get him naked
within seconds.
They clung to each other, their urgency revealing their
fear of being
parted again.
Caitlin was aware that she was observing
Julian during their
lovemaking as she had never done before. He was always
in control, even
when he apparently relinquished it. Always conscious
of what he was
doing and what was happening to her. And endlessly patient.
Even when he
used force - especially when he used force - he was perfectly
aware of
the effect he was creating. It was almost uncanny, how
he could lead her
wherever he wanted, as he did when they played chess.
It made her aware
of how clumsy and inexperienced Nick had been. Somehow,
it made her
infidelity less serious.
“Julian, I must talk to you.”
The hesitation in Caitlin’s voice
made Julian freeze, a sinking
feeling of fright contorting him inside.
“What’s wrong, love?”
She didn’t look at him.
“I... please, don’t get mad. I’ve
been with another man.”
The profound feeling of relief made
Julian light-headed.
Nothing worse, he thought. He knew
that jealousy would come later,
but at this moment he was just happy that what she said
had nothing to
do with his being Kindred.
“I love you Julian,” she continued.
“It just happened. I guess, I
was lonely...” Her voice trailed off.
He took hold of her, making her rest
against his chest, and she
started to cry, her tears hot on his skin. He touched
her face, making
her look up at him.
“Caitlin...” He didn’t know what to
say. Somehow it doesn’t matter
wouldn’t sound right. His grip around her hardened and
he was surprised
by the sudden flare of desire that engulfed him with
painful abruptness.
She had expected another reaction,
and gasped as he pressed into
her, mindless of her resistance. They both knew that
his violence was an
instinctive attempt to obliterate the other man from
her body and her
mind.
“Julian,” she sobbed, “you’re hurting
me!”
He didn’t seem to hear.
“You’re hurting me,” she shouted,
“like he did!”
He tore away from her, terrified.
“Who’s hurt you?!” he demanded. There
was anger in his voice.
Seeing that he was scaring her, he
tried to calm down.
“Caitlin, what happened?”
But she was shaking her head.
“It was all my fault!” she continued
to cry. “I’m so sorry! Julian,
please, forgive me!”
“Shall I forgive you that someone
has hurt you?” He touched her face
again. “Caitlin, that’s the last thing you have to worry
about!”
He held her until she calmed a little,
and then asked, making his
voice light:
“Someone I know?”
Caitlin shook her head.
“No...” She rubbed her face against
his chest. “I... it wasn’t...
nice. I didn’t realize... I don’t want to be with anybody
but you. Oh,
Julian... It was just bad.”
He had trouble following her line
of thought but he understood that
she had not enjoyed the experience. That was satisfying
enough. He
decided against asking about it, and thought of his own
stunt with poor
Arthur. It shamed him that he didn’t have the guts to
tell her about it.
He didn’t want to shock her.
Well, it seems like we both got what
we deserved!
The thought made him laugh.
“Bad sex is probably the best cure
for cheating,” he said, and to
his relief Caitlin laughed too.
“You’re absolutely right!” she said
with emphasis.
She had avoided Nick since it happened.
For once, Julian and Daedalus were
in agreement.
To land Julian’s private jet at one
of the New York airports would
be suicide. They would have to separate in spite of the
Nosferatu’s
vehement conviction that he shouldn’t let the Prince
out of his sight.
Daedalus was shaking his head in frustration.
“No Cash, no Arthur,” he was saying,
“I wouldn’t trust anyone else
to go with you. Unless Sonny...”
But Julian wouldn’t hear of it.
“I need Sonny to watch over Cameron.
Lillie’s not up to it, and with
Cash gone, the Brujah shouldn’t be left to run San Francisco
all on his
own. It’ll be some time before the Gangrels choose a
new Primogen. It’s
up to us, Daedalus.”
Julian had sneaked out of the astronomer’s
house in the dead of
night. He needed to feed, and he knew that Daedalus would
find him once
he was out in the open. In spite of the cold, they were
walking slowly
in the frozen woods, the snow crackling under their feet.
Julian was not
dressed right for the severe cold, and he shivered now
and then
uncontrollably. He had not expected to stay out for long,
but the
discussion stretched on and the discomfort was starting
to annoy him.
“Daedalus,” he said at last, “you
take the jet; let it go all the
way to the east coast; get off somewhere on the way as
near to New York
as you dare. Then it’s up to your Clansmen to get you
there as soon as
possible. I’ll cross the continent through Canada and
sneak into the
city from the north. It shouldn’t take more than two
or three days.
Let’s start out the day after tomorrow. Have the car
pick me up early in
the morning; then I’ll drop out of sight in Seattle.
I should be able to
cross the border and get to Vancouver within a few hours.”
They decided
on a timetable of several meeting points in New York.
Julian shivered again and Daedalus
took off his hooded cloak and put
it around the Prince’s shoulders. The Nosferatu never
ventured above the
ground without this concealing garment, and Julian thanked
him for the
friendly gesture. The cold was unpleasant but presented
no danger. It
would not make him sick or destroy Kindred tissue, but
Daedalus’ concern
was more warming than the black folds of the thick fabric.
It was too
long for him, as Daedalus was several inches taller,
and Julian tried to
gather it about him, lifting the hem above the snow,
lest he would step
on it and trip. He remembered that he had always wondered
how women
could walk in their long dresses a hundred years ago
without falling on
their faces. He was unaware of the fact that wearing
a long dress took
some practice, and he was unable to move as gracefully
in his borrowed
attire as Daedalus used to. As they walked back, Julian
lost his footing
several times, making Daedalus laugh.
“I’m not very good at this,” Julian
commented dryly. “How could the
ladies stand it?”
The Nosferatu’s gray eyes glittered
with mirth.
“Didn’t you ever ask?” he wondered.
“As a matter of fact, I asked Lillie
once. She said that she never
thought about it. Must be a female prerogative,” Julian
mused.
As if he were supporting his own statement,
he tripped and would
have fallen had Daedalus not caught his arm, steadying
him.
The Nosferatu continued holding him
as they moved on, and Julian
chose not to tell him that he could walk on his own.
The powerful grip
was reassuring and reminded him of Arthur, bringing a
heat of
embarrassment to his face. There weren’t many Kindred
who were stronger
than Julian Luna, but Daedalus was one of them, just
as Arthur had been.
Julian hoped sincerely that the Nosferatu could not read
his mind right
now. He wouldn’t appreciate being compared to Arthur,
nor the content of
Julian’s thought. But the hand was there, and its touch
made Julian
aware of some peculiar bond between them, a bond of friendship
of
course, but not totally devoid of an erotic undercurrent.
They reached the home of James Byrne
and Julian handed the cloak
back to Daedalus.
“Be careful,” they said to each other
simultaneously and laughed.
The Nosferatu swept the cloak around
himself and walked away
briskly, the black folds fluttering behind him. He moved
as gracefully
as any woman in a long dress ever had. Within seconds,
Julian lost the
feeling of Daedalus’ presence.
Caitlin was soundly asleep in the guestroom.
Julian had talked her into sharing
it with him: the bed in her room
was just too small. The covers had slid from her body,
her naked back
exposed as he got into bed. He made a conscious effort
to increase the
temperature of his skin, not wanting to wake her by touching
her with
cold hands. He let his fingers trace her spine lightly.
Humans, he thought. Warm, breathing,
even when they sleep.
He moved closer when he was sure that
he was at least as warm as
she, his arm around her, letting his bare chest rest
cautiously against
her back. She made a soft purring sound and pressed against
him, her
body alluring even in her sleep. His hand slid down and
he pressed his
thigh between hers. She was wet and hot and he was making
love to her
before she woke up whispering his name.
Later, he made her tell him more about
her unfortunate experience.
Then he watched her face in triumph, when the intensity
of the pleasure
made her cry out loud, before he allowed his own reflexes
to take over
and thrust him into a head-spinning release.
Finally, when the morning came, Julian
let her sleep again,
convinced that whoever the human man was, he posed no
threat.
Julian made it across the border without
any problems and boarded
the first plane that was bound east. Twenty hours and
five changes
later, he was in Boston, vowing vehemently that he would
never enter a
commercial airliner again. By the time he was nearing
New York in a
hired car, he no longer resembled the well-groomed Prince
of San
Francisco; he was tired and hungry, and the two-day beard-growth
itched
intolerably. He longed for a hot shower and a change
of clothes.
He found a third-rate hotel and decided
to do something about his
appearance before starting to look for Daedalus or his
messengers. But
when he stood in front of a mirror, a razor in his hand,
he could hardly
recognize himself and decided that he should take advantage
of the
disguise that Nature provided. He didn’t shave and let
his hair dry into
the wild curls of his youth. After putting on a pair
of old jeans and a
sweater that he had bought in a nearby second-hand shop,
he looked again
in the mirror. He still didn’t look filthy enough to
pass for a
first-rate bum, but it would have to do. There were limits
to what a
Kindred could stand.
Using his credit cards might give
him away, so he sold his expensive
watch to someone in the street for a third of its value
and bought a
long military coat from a Russian sailor. Prepared to
steal more money
if necessary, Julian Luna dove into the New York night.
Servio was raving at his men.
“How could you lose him!?” he demanded,
spitting out every word.
They had tried to intercept Julian Luna
as he flew across the
continent. The shortness of each flight had saved him.
Each time they
had tracked down his departure, he was already out of
that particular
plane, several hundred miles away. He had slipped past
them in Boston,
quite unwittingly, because he didn’t look like the Ventrue
Prince they
had expected, and was already on his way to New York
when they realized
their mistake.
It was one of Servio’s associates
who pointed out that after two
days of travel, Julian Luna would no longer look like
the Julian Luna
they knew. It was at that moment one of the gunmen recalled
a rugged
looking Ventrue he had seen. A few hours later they knew
which car
Julian had rented in Boston, but they knew that finding
one particular
car in New York was beyond their capabilities. They guessed
right that
Julian would stop using his credit cards once he was
in the city.
The trail had gone cold.
Although Julian didn’t know that his
movements had been tracked
almost all the way to New York, he acted as if Servio
knew that he was
in the city, making sure to keep a healthy distance between
himself and
any Kindred that crossed his path. He managed to keep
the appointment
with Daedalus as planned.
The Nosferatu looked his Prince over
and smiled.
“You’re really good at this, Julian,”
he said. “If I didn’t know
better, I might believe you to be an illegal alien.”
“I’m neither illegal nor an alien!”
Julian was in no mood for jokes,
and had a habit of taking literally what was said on
such occasions.
They were walking in the park, planning
their next move.
“We must find Stephen,” Julian was
saying. “He’s the only one who
can lead us to Servio.”
They didn’t care about the groups
of humans that they encountered in
the park, and the mortals avoided the tall hooded figure
and his
companion in a Russian military coat.
“I’ll find Stephen,” Daedalus said.
“Let’s meet right here tomorrow
night.”
Julian was surprised again over how
quickly the Nosferatu
disappeared from his field of perception. As he walked
out of the park,
Julian was faced by four young men in leather outfits.
Humans, his senses told him at once.
He wondered what they were
after, knowing that he looked like he didn’t own a nickel.
But the young
men were bored and looking for fun; a lonely immigrant
might provide
just that. Julian watched them, barely able to conceal
his contempt as
one of them started towards him, wielding a knife. The
others stayed
behind, not even trying to surround their prey. Within
seconds Julian
managed to fight down three of his attackers, the knife
he had taken
from the first didn’t come to use. The last man ran away.
Julian opened a vein and then spat
with disgust. All three were high
on drugs and Julian would not drink their polluted blood.
He had once
fed from a drug abuser and it had made him sick for several
hours. He
knew that there were Kindred who were as addicted as
humans could
become. They would only feed from junkies and Julian
considered them a
sorry lot. He had never been addicted to anything, although
he could
enjoy the swift rush of euphoria that alcohol-containing
blood could
give. He found the smell of cigars nauseating and when
he tried to smoke
one of Daedalus’ cigarettes it made him cough. He had
never been able to
understand the Nosferatu’s fondness of the habit.
Shaking his head in disgust he left
the unconscious men and started
to look for someone else to feed from.
“I’ve located Stephen,” Daedalus told
him the next night, “but it
won’t be easy to approach him.”
“Have you seen him?” Julian asked.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” the Nosferatu responded.
“But he’s never alone, at
least not during the night, and I don’t think that we
can contact him
when there are other Kindred around.”
Julian pondered over the information
for a moment.
“Tell me where I can find him,” he
said at last, “and I’ll seek him
out during the day.”
“I don’t want you to go there alone!”
Daedalus’ worry made him raise
his voice. “As long as I’m with you, nobody can harm
you. But if you’re
on your own...”
He stopped when he saw Julian smile.
What he had said wasn’t empty
boasting, and the Prince knew that with the Nosferatu
Primogen at his
side he was almost invincible. But there were limits
to what Daedalus
could do, and moving around in full daylight was out
of the question.
“I’ll be cautious,” Julian said. “If
I don’t get back to you by
tomorrow night... you’ll know what to do.”
Daedalus gave him the address and
stayed behind as Julian walked
away: a slim, lonely figure in a funny-looking military
coat. The
Nosferatu wondered with apprehension if he would ever
see his Prince
again.
Julian knew that he was walking into
a trap. However, he still had
no idea who had set it.
Daedalus had had plenty of opportunities
to get rid of him if he had
wanted to, but a Nosferatu who kills his own Prince will
never be
trusted by anyone, and the Nosferatu needed the trust
of other Clans. If
Daedalus wanted him dead, he must arrange for someone
else to kill him.
If Daedalus wants me dead, Julian
thought, then I might just as well
die!
What if Cash weren’t dead? But he
was the one who had warned about a
traitor, or was he trying to seed discontent? Lillie?
Cameron? Why had
Stephen dropped out of sight so suddenly? And why had
he contacted
Caitlin?
The questions whirled in Julian’s
mind making him dizzy. The
Ancient’s crazy plan was more or less destroyed. There
was hardly any
reason for Julian to risk his life, but if what Cash
had told Frank
Kohanek were true, Julian wouldn’t rest until he found
the traitor. He
would not be able to go on otherwise. Cameron’s open
hostility was much
easier to accept than an unknown enemy close to him.
He had to know!
He set out in the early morning, knowing
that most Kindred slept
during the early hours of the day. He had shaved the
beard off, well
aware that if he got close enough, it would no longer
protect him from
being recognized. He had hated it anyway.
It was an old building, a warehouse
of some sort, and Julian entered
it cautiously as he had promised Daedalus. He moved soundlessly
through
the basement, acutely aware of every sign of life. But
all he could
sense were rodents, and, sure enough, a rat squeaked
and scrambled from
under his foot, escaping into a dark corner in search
of safety.
He got as far as the second story,
sorting out the confusing
perceptions. Animals, humans, Kindred. A Brujah! But
Julian was looking
for a Ventrue. He knew that he should be able to discern
his own blood
brother among others, just as he could always discern
Archon or the
Kindred he himself had sired; the way humans always recognize
their
children or siblings. But no matter how much he strained
his senses, he
could not find Stephen.
He continued upwards, secure in his
knowledge that he could always
get out if discovered. He had seen windows before he
had entered the
building. Half an hour later he was quite sure that Stephen
was not
there and decided to get out as discretely as he had
come in.
As he turned back, his senses told
him that there were several
Kindred below him, and knew that the trap had been sprung.
He ran
towards the only window that he could see, but stopped
halfway there.
The iron bars would be too much even for his inhuman
strength. Daedalus
might have been able to break them, but Julian didn’t
even try. He
turned again, deciding instantly to fight his way out,
or die trying.
He was surprised at how easily he
could get through the group of
Brujahs that tried to block his way. They had no guns
and were
apparently trying to catch him alive.
Over my dead body, he thought with
rage, as he ran down the stairs.
He came to a steel door and was trying
to wrench it open when
someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back. He
let himself fall
backward, hoping that his weight would trip the assailant.
They hit the
floor hard, Julian on top, and he managed to squirm out
of the other’s
hold. The fallen Brujah slashed at Julian’s arm with
his claws, ripping
the fabric of the sleeve and tearing through skin and
muscle; Julian
fought back, crushing his attacker’s face. He realized
too late that he
had lost valuable time in the struggle as several Kindred
closed in on
him as he was scrambling to his feet. Something hit him
hard on the back
of the head and he fell over the faceless Brujah. Another
blow wiped out
the world around him.
When Julian regained consciousness
he wished immediately that he
hadn’t.
He was strapped against a concrete
wall, spread-eagled, naked, his
wrists and ankle joints in steel clasps, secured with
heavy chains. He
tried to move but knew at once that his strength would
not suffice to
break free. The scene in front of him was picked from
the worst
nightmares of the Dark Ages. He saw knives and hammers,
and something
was being heated in the fire until it glowed red. The
fear constricted
his throat and made his skin crawl.
During the century and a half of his
life as a Kindred, Julian Luna
had sustained almost every injury that was possible;
he had been shot
and stabbed several times; he had been beaten and kicked,
his bones had
been broken; and he knew the pain that was caused by
fire. But he had
never been tortured in cold blood, and the horror of
what awaited him
made him wish for mortality. He closed his eyes and turned
his face
away, the revulsion a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Prince Julian!” The derision in the
familiar voice made him look
up.
“Stephen?” he stared at his blood
brother uncomprehending. “What...”
A vicious kick to his groin made him
gasp and sag in his chains. The
pain would have rendered a human unconscious, and Julian’s
vision
blurred. His head swam and he realized with gratitude
that he was on the
verge of fainting. Cold water was thrown in his face
in the next moment
and his awareness returned. He blinked several times
before he could see
again.
“Don’t faint again or you’ll regret
it!” The contempt and hate in
Stephen’s voice hurt almost as much as the physical pain.
“Well, my
little brother, the moment of truth has finally arrived.”
There was a cigarette in Stephen’s
hand and he made a show of
lighting it. Stephen had never smoked, and Julian knew
what was coming
before the cigarette was extinguished against his face.
He tried to jerk
his head away and hit hard against the wall. Another
cigarette was
lighted, but this time the lighter wasn’t turned off.
The tiny flame
came closer and Julian could feel the roughness of the
concrete bite
into his back as he tried to press away from the fire.
The flame licked
the skin on his chest and was shoved against his armpit.
He heard his own scream, mingled with
the laugh of the other man.
“I wish I could destroy you, but this
will have to do.” The
cigarette hissed as it died, leaving a painful blister
where he had
already been hurt by Stephen’s knee.
Several cigarettes later his voice
broke and he could no longer
scream. The Kindred physiology repaired the damage as
soon as it was
inflicted, the nerve endings destroyed by the heat regenerating
immediately, more sensitive than before, the agony increasing
incessantly. Water was splashed over him every time he
fainted until his
nervous system shut down entirely, sending him into a
merciful coma.
The pain was the first thing he became
aware of. He tried to scream,
but he still had no voice. He shook violently, and it
took some time
before he understood that he was no longer restrained.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you out
alive.” The well-known voice
made him freeze. “You’ll be all right.”
“Stephen?” He opened his eyes. His
blood brother’s face, an
anguished frown on it, was leaning over him. “Stephen...”
All he could
manage was a hoarse whisper.
He tried to move, but the pain made
him abandon that idea. He was
laid out on a blanket that had been spread on the floor.
A thin, wet
sheet covered his aching body. Stephen was on his knees
at his side,
holding his hand.
“Don’t move!” Stephen’s voice was
tender, quite different from what
Julian remembered. “You need time to heal.”
“What...? Why...?” A sob escaped Julian
and he felt tears form in
his eyes. He had screamed his head off in the cellar
where he was
tortured, but he had not cried. He tried to fight the
tears back but
didn’t succeed.
“It’s okay,” Stephen repeated. “You
can cry now. He can’t see you,
it’s all right. I got you out.”
“Stephen, why?”
“I had to do it; he didn’t trust me.”
Stephen was apparently
appalled by Servio’s demand. “It was quite a performance,
eh?”
“The pain was real.” Julian’s face
contorted. “It still is.”
“He came down to inspect the damage
when you passed out.” Stephen
turned away. “I knew he would... I could not pretend
that I was hurting
you. Servio, that ancient devil, he told me exactly what
he wanted done.
After I released you, and you were just lying there,
face down... He
came, I watched him grope you with his claws, he... ”
Stephen moved
away, an expression of disgust on his face.
“What did he do?” Julian could hardly
imagine anything more, but
Stephen refused to continue, shaking his head.
Julian stared at his blood brother
for a long time, horrified, as
Stephen began to retch, and then doubled over and threw
up. Julian
closed his eyes, making an effort to concentrate. For
a fleeting moment
he was able to will the pain of the burns and blows away,
and then he
knew what had been done to him. He wished that his stomach
weren’t empty
because he wanted to throw up too. Instead he tasted
the bitterness of
bile that rose in his throat, together with the knowledge
of the
ultimate degradation.
“I was wrong when I told you that
Servio wanted to be you, he wanted
you,” Stephen explained at last unnecessarily.
Julian allowed the physical pain to
engulf him again, momentarily
grateful for its overwhelming presence.
---