Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen
A Vampire’s Story

This night was rather like many others. After a while, the nights blend into one long blur of hunting, feeding, and surviving.

But this night was also different. Today would have been my thirty-third birthday. I say would have been, because I can no longer count myself among those still living. Should I even consider today my birthday anymore? Or rather, should I instead count my deathdays, the years that have passed since I was Embraced and dragged forcibly into the world of the Kindred. It was my world now. I had tried to make the best of a bad situation, and I think that I have finally succeeded.

But even though I am now dead, I still cling to the rituals I held when I was alive. I had arrived at Washington Memorial Cemetery about an hour after the sun had set. This time, I carried two dozen roses, a pair of bouquets wrapped separately in clear cellophane; one dozen pink and a dozen red. The pink were for my grandmother, and the red for my mom. Greywolf and I had argued bitterly over this matter. He insisted that a Kindred should not follow a routine, as it made one too easy to track down. But I would not be deterred from my position, and at last he had relented, but insisted on driving me to the cemetery.

When we stopped, I looked at my mentor. “Can I go alone?” I ask. I felt I needed his blessing to do this small task. How odd, considering that two years ago, I answered to no one save myself, and I had no one.

“You may, but I will be watching you, Childe. It is the Prince’s request that you be watched at all times.”

Watched at all times. I’d happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now I had to be watched. There had been a robbery at a jewelry store while I was walking in, and I’d helped apprehend the suspect. The Prince was not happy, as it brought a bit too much attention. Luckily, I hadn’t broken the Masquerade in order to catch the guy, which was the only reason I was still alive.

Sticking to my old habits, I first go to where my grandmother is buried. Life had been unkind to her. Her husband and only child had been taken from her, and for a time, I had been too, because my father refused to allow her to see or even speak to me, her only grandchild. But after my father’s death, she had been my only living relative and a far better alternative to a foster home, so I had gone to live with her.

Aware that I was being watched, I kneel by the gravesite. It was very tidy this time, and judging by the look and smell of the surrounding grass, I could tell that it had been recently trimmed. The metal urn was empty, of course. After all, it had been a couple years since I had last visited, and the roses I had brought then were long dead. I hadn’t visited her last year. Not because the occasion had slipped my mind, but because I hadn’t been allowed to even leave the boundaries of the city. It was a sort of probation period set down by the Prince for the most recent addition to the Camarilla Court of Seattle. So today, I brought my gran a dozen roses to atone for my absence last year.

Again, I knew that I was being watched, so instead of speaking to the grave like I might normally do, I commune with her in silence, not even allowing my lips to move and betray my thoughts and emotions. I trace the letters on the headstone in silent contemplation. >>Hello again, Gran.<<>>I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit last year, but I wasn’t allowed to leave the city limits, not even to visit you.<<

I put the pink roses in the metal urn and continue the meditation. >>I wish I could say things are going okay this year, but they’re really not. You see, today isn’t really my birthday anymore. Though I still walk the earth, I am no longer alive, but rather one of the undead. It wasn’t something I wanted, but I guess you can’t always choose your own fate. I’ve had to do a lot of bad things, gran, but I hope you can forgive me, as it was what I had to do in order to simply survive.<< I wipe a tear from my eye. I look down and see watery red liquid on my hands. Ah yes, Greywolf had warned me about that before. Our kind cries tears of blood rather than water.

I get up. If I stayed any longer, I would start really crying. And the last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Greywolf. He would not tolerate such a show of weakness. I pause a moment and look up at the moon, focusing my eyes upward in order to stop the flow of tears before it became too overwhelming. The moon was only a small sliver of brightness tonight, but at least there were no clouds to obscure my view of it.
Though the path was not well lit, I had no trouble traveling toward the Rothchild family crypt. In addition to the ability to see in dim light that was a Kindred’s gift, I had long ago memorized the way to the crypt, and even though I hadn’t visited in two years, my memory still served me well as I found my way to the brick path.

In the dim light, I was not able to read the names printed on the bricks. Instead, I kept my eyes on the surrounding hills and landmarks, and kept a careful count of the number of steps I took along the path.

After traveling some distance, I finally can discern the ornate embellishments on my family crypt. I look around, and it seems to have gotten a bit darker. If Greywolf had followed me, which he probably had, I could no longer locate his position. But I knew he was still watching. He had to be. I look over my shoulder, and I see a headstone across the way. Suddenly, I am struck by a flash of memory. I am drawn back to a scene five years ago. Another birthday, another visit to the cemetery. I remember seeing a man in a black coat with cold, dead eyes that had been standing by that headstone. And like a bolt of lightning, I match the eyes to the man. It had been Greywolf watching me that day, five years ago. He had watched me talking to my dead parents, watched me place the card and the flowers. Was that the impetus for Malik’s investigation? Or was it the arrest of Raymond Bates, like Greywolf had claimed? I had to know the answer. And I might just know how to get it. I take out my cell phone and call Malik at Night Owl Investigations. I only hoped that he would be willing to take my call.

The phone rings several times. Finally, the answering machine picks up. It was a recording of Malik’s voice, doing a barely recognizable impression of Humphrey Bogart. “You’ve reached the office of Night Owl Investigations. Leave a message, and we’ll get back to ya.”

Don’t quit your night job. I think as I wait for the beep. I hear a low beep. I lower my voice, hoping that Greywolf wouldn’t hear. “Malik. This is Raven. I need to ask you something. Call me back when you can. Or talk to me at the next Conclave. Thanks.” I hang up.

Now back to what I was doing. I walk to the marble crypt that housed what used to be my mortal family, and where my own body, alive or dead, would never rest. I scan the bronze plaques of my ancestors again, and trace the letters on my mother’s plaque, but I feel no connection, no sorrow like I had so many times before. This will be the very last time I would visit my parents’ graves. There was no reason for me to return again. I place the red roses on the ground below my mother’s plaque. “Goodbye mother.” I whisper softly.

Time to deal with my father’s ghost one final time. I sit down in front of the plaque bearing my father’s name. “Good evening, father.” I offer quietly. I look around the cemetery, but it seemed that I was alone. Even so, I kept my tone low and quiet. “I came back to see you and mom, but I can’t stay too long.” I look around a second time. Out here, in this metropolis of the truly dead, I felt rather vulnerable. I take a business card from a pocket of my black leather jacket. “So, I guess you got what you were hoping for. I quit my job at the O.P.D.” I look at the card. In the shadows of the crypt, I couldn’t make out what it said, but that was all right. I already knew what was written on it. Legal Services of Seattle. A non-profit law firm in service to the community. Mara Ravenclaw, Attorney

“I had to change my plans.” I explained, trying to phrase my words carefully. You never really knew who might be watching. “I decided to join the private sector and open my own practice. It’s a non-profit law firm. I call it Legal Services of Seattle. I’m not planning on specializing in anything, but I plan to dedicate a large portion of my time to housing and tenant law. I now have a chance to help some of the people that you and your friends hurt. A way to somehow repay some of the blood money that created the Rothchild fortunes.” I take the card and find a small crack in the door of the crypt. “So this is goodbye. I will not return to this place again.” I feel it leave my hands and even though I cannot see it, I swear I can hear the card falling through the air. Was it my imagination? Or heightened Kindred senses at work?
I get up. I turn my back on my parent’s final resting place and start walking back up the path to the parking lot, back to Greywolf’s van. The Office of the Public Defender may have been my life’s work, but I intended to make Legal Services of Seattle my unlife’s work. Hopefully, in time, the firm would grow, striking fear into the heart of Seattle corporations and slumlords alike. And as a vampire, time was a luxury I did have…

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen
Questions, Questions

The night began like many other nights. I worked at my grant applications while Greywolf practiced his martial arts. Then Greywolf stopped, his rhythm broken. I stopped typing. "What's wrong?" I ask. But I was overcome with a strange urge. To go somewhere. It was the call of the Summoning. I knew it well enough, as Greywolf had done it to me on those rare times when we were apart. I look at Greywolf. "You too?" I ask.

Greywolf nods. "Come, Childe. Get in the van. The Prince, it seems, demands our presence."

I put on my leather jacket and get in the van. "How do you know it's the Prince's doing?" I ask.

As Greywolf starts to drive, he at first does not answer my question. "The place he calls us to is a car rental agency, which he personally owns. Secondly, there are only three Clans among the Kindred who possess the talents of Presence: the Brujah, the Toreador, and finally the Ventrue. And of those three Clans, there are still few in the city with such mastery over Presence. The Prince is one of them. And I cannot imagine why any of the others would bother to use such a crude method when they could simply call."

Greywolf, as usual, was more than likely right. The Prince, it seemed, did not like either one of us. Perhaps it was because we were Brujah. Perhaps it was something else entirely. I look out the windows, wondering what the Prince wanted with us this time. Conclave, if I recall wasn't for a couple more weeks.

We pull into the lot for Enterprise Rent a Car. Ironic, really, that the Prince owned an Enterprise franchise. Enterprise. The word simply screamed Ventrue. I wonder if the Ventrue owned all the franchises. Wouldn't surprise me a bit really. The more I ventured into this dark and shadowy realm, the more I realized how much influence Kindred really had upon the mortal world.

We get out of the van and start walking toward the office. The lights were off, but that's where the Summoning was calling us. Greywolf opens the door. What a surprise, it wasn't locked after all. "After you, my dear." He holds the door open. Ever the courteous one, it seemed. I stroll into the door and look around. I take note of the nearest exits. There was one other door leading outside, and that was a bit to one side and a good ten feet away. I wait for Greywolf, and we continue farther into the building, heading for the door marked "For Employees Only." There was light underneath that door. Finally, a sign of life.

Greywolf once again opens the door and escorts me through. There were a few times when I wished that he wouldn't do that. I guess old habits died hard. We continue through the small corridor that served as the hallway, passing a number of doors that were both closed and led only to darkness. The door we wanted was straight ahead. And to no surprise, it was the manager's office.

This time, I open the door. "You're still going first, Childe." Greywolf told me. I roll my eyes and walk into the room. The Prince was there of course, his feet up on the manager's desk. I didn't like it one bit. Why summon us here and not to the normal gathering place? Something was up, and it probably wasn't good. The Prince wasn't alone either. In addition to the Nosferatu Malik, who Greywolf had pointed out to me the last time I met the Prince, there was Brazil, still wearing his mirrored sunglasses and black leather trench coat over still more black clothing, and two burly looking guys that definitely fell into the goon/ghoul category. I scan the room for weapons and cover. There wasn't a lot of cover, but there were a number of objects within easy reach that could serve as weapons if needed.

I bow to the Prince, in a show of respect. Greywolf also follows suit. "You rang?" I ask.

The Prince does not seem amused by my small joke. Maybe I shouldn't have called him on his use of Gift. Then again, did he expect slavish obedience from a Brujah? If so, he was the fool.
"I have brought you here because I expect you to answer some questions, and it is far more easily done in a borrowed location such as this rather than in the deepest recesses of my own inner sanctum, especially since there is still a chance, however remote, that both of you might leave this place alive."

Now that was something I definitely didn't want to hear. I look to either side to see that the ghoul goons had taken up positions behind us. So much for leaving through the door. "Ask your questions, then your majesty." Greywolf replies, clearly as annoyed as I was at this latest development.

The Prince studies his well-manicured fingernails for a moment. He was obviously stalling. Was he trying to piss us off? If he was, it was starting to work. He looks up at us. "Mister Malik here has brought something rather interesting to my attention." He looks at the Nosferatu for a short moment and then back at us.

"And that might be?" Greywolf puts his hands on his hips. Clearly, he was getting tired of this game. So was I.

"It seems Greywolf, that three years ago, you engaged the services of Mister Malik to investigate the background of one Mara Ravenclaw, a woman who now just happens to be your adopted childe, Raven. Coincidence? I think not. I think it was your plan to embrace her all along."

I turn and look at Greywolf. Had he planned my embrace all along? No, I couldn't accept that. I wanted to hear what he had to say. No, I needed to hear what he had to say.

"Your majesty, you are quite mistaken. The Warlocks' blood magicks do not lie. Her Sire has already been proven to be Anne Bonnie, who chose to abandon Seattle as well as her fledgling. I do freely admit, I asked Malik to look into the woman's background. One of Luna's ghouls had gotten arrested, and she asked me to make sure that he would be properly represented in court. There aren't a lot of Public Defenders in King County that give a rat's ass about their clients. Mara is...was one of the few exceptions."

"I thought you were an instructor in Criminal Law, Raven. Or should I say, Ms. Ravenclaw?"

"I did guest lectures, actually. And the occasional career fair. The Office of the Public Defender is almost always looking for new blood, so to speak."

The Prince smiles at my remark. "Of all the attorneys, they are the most overworked and underpaid." He tells me. Of course, I already knew that. "They can also be the most dedicated to their cause, which is perhaps why an elder Brujah might choose you. So then, Raven, why don't you tell me exactly how your Embrace happened. I really want to know."

I think my life depended upon my story. I pause to gather my thoughts, and begin. "It started out as a pretty normal day. Me and my co-workers decided to go out for drinks at the Black Cock. It's a bar just a few blocks walk from the office."

The Prince nods attentively. So far so good. I continue the story. "So I was sitting with my co-workers having a couple of drinks when this drunk guy comes up to me. He asks me for a date, but I tell him no. He doesn't like my answer, and he makes a nasty comment and tries to grab me. I deck the guy, knock him flat on his ass. The guy is a regular and a total jerk, so all the gals start applauding and he slinks out like a dog.

Prince Marcel raises a hand to stop me. "Did you call the police?"

"I did call them, but they didn't want to take the report because he'd already left the scene and I didn't know his name." I shake my head. It was sad indeed when the cops couldn't be bothered to take a report of a crime.

"What happened next?" The voice is not the Prince's, but rather the raspy voice of the Nosferatu Malik.

I look at the hideous Nosferatu. Even though he wore a fedora covering his head, I could still see the Kindred's greenish skin and deformed countenance. "Against better judgment, I walked home. Alone. I never made it back alive."

The Prince gets up from the chair. "I see. The Anarch Anne Bonnie saw you kicking the guy's ass, and thought you would make a good Brujah."

I nod affirmatively. "She was there. At the bar. I remember seeing her. And I remember being followed while I was walking home. She attacked me. She bit my neck."

Prince Marcel holds his hand up again. "That is good enough."

I smile. Once again, I had passed the Prince's test. The Nosferatu seemed a bit disappointed, like maybe someone had kicked his dog, or spoiled his perfect plan. I look at Greywolf. Had he in fact been stalking me, checking up on me? Or was the investigation just a coincidence? For some reason, I didn't really think so.

"So are you satisfied with my Childe's answer, your majesty?" Greywolf had a rather smug look on his face as he looked directly at Malik. "Because if you are, I believe that Mr. Malik owes me an apology...and a minor boon."

"The lady's answer is satisfactory." Marcel replies, walking toward the Nosferatu. "It seems your suspicions are unfounded, Malik. For once the great detective is wrong."

The Nosferatu's expression does not change. "It is better sometimes to be wrong, than to be right." He walks over toward us and tips his hat to both Greywolf and me. "My apologies, Greywolf. I was obviously mistaken about your intentions toward the lady. For causing her grief, I offer Ms. Ravenclaw a minor boon." He takes off his hat and bows his head to me. I can see patches of dark stiff hair sticking out at crazy angles from his scalp.

Before I could say a word, Prince Marcel intervenes. "Ms. Ravenclaw has not yet been released, Malik. Since she is still Greywolf's responsibility, the boon you offer her belongs to him, and the debt is duly noted."

"Of course, your majesty." Malik seems resigned to his fate. But in the end, the Prince's word was law. That much I had learned during my short time as a vampire.

Greywolf bows once again to the Prince, and I follow his lead. Even dead, I still hated having to kiss someone's ass, but this particular someone could kill me without a second thought. Once we are safely in the van, away from prying eyes and ears that is when I start asking questions. "So, was he right?" I ask. "Were you investigating me because you were concerned about Luna's ghoul? Or did you have some other motive?"

Greywolf does not waver. "I wanted to know more about you." He replied. But he did not actually answer the question. Damn him!

Fine then. Two could play this little game. "Okay, so what was the name of this ghoul? Maybe I'd remember him...or her." Truth was, I could remember the names and faces of all the people I'd defended as a P.D. Okay, maybe not all of them. There were some transferred cases that I couldn't remember too well. And a few that I had never had a chance to see before the charges were dropped due to lack of evidence or because some other lawyer had swooped in and taken the case.

Greywolf hesitates. Now I knew the truth. Malik had been right all along. Greywolf might not have been the one that Embraced me, but I knew that he had assisted in it. He had been the one driving the van that night. This I knew. "The ghoul's name was Ray. But you would probably know him better as Raymond Bates."

Bates. Shit. I did know the guy. Maybe he wasn't lying after all. "Yeah, I remember him. Burglary charge. He broke into a mini storage unit."

"Actually, he didn't. The unit belonged to Luna. One of her daytime havens." Greywolf glances at me as we drive. "Not every Kindred can afford a cozy haven. You learn to work with what funds you have. Mini storage units are cheap, and quite safe, since the kine owners monitor the units with security cameras both day and night. The trick then is to have someone coming and going to let you in and out."
I nod. "And that someone was Ray." Okay, so maybe I was just being paranoid. Greywolf had just been kind enough to take me under his wing. But why would he do that? I guess so he could have a Childe to raise, since the Prince had denied him the chance to create one of his own. But that seemed so...maternal. Not really like a Brujah. But then, in many ways, Greywolf and I were not the traditional Brujah, who rebelled against anything and everything. We were more towards the older Brujah, who had a cause, a passion, a calling. My calling was the Law. Greywolf's calling, I still wasn't sure about, but I had a feeling that it had to do with keeping the peace between the Anarchs and the Camarilla, and walking the thin precarious line between the two. And until he finally released me from his teachings, so too, did I. Perhaps even more so than Greywolf.

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen
Close Encounter of the Choi Kind

December. It’s always been a shitty time of year for me, and being dead didn’t make it any better. I am working on the computer, preparing the necessary paperwork to start up Legal Services of Seattle. Now that I had both the blessing of the Prince, my Mentor, and most importantly, my stockbroker, there were licenses to apply for, forms to file, and a location to be chosen. I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I know almost without looking back that it is Greywolf. “You have worked enough tonight, Childe.” He tells me. “It is time that we went out for a bit to spend some time among the kine.”

I save my work and shut down the computer. I pick up my leather jacket from the back of the chair. I put it on over the burgundy t-shirt that just barely covered my navel. I had finally been able to get the raven tattoo on my back finished last night, and I intended to show it off. Blue jeans ripped at one knee and black leather calf high boots completed the look. I apply a single coat of my brick red lipstick.

Greywolf eyes me appraisingly. “Very nice.” I grab the small bag I used for our evenings out. It was just big enough to hold a lipstick, my wallet and a small pen. I let him lead the way, and soon enough, we are leaving the safety of our current haven and into the streets of Seattle once more. I recognize the area soon enough. It was close to my old stomping grounds, and near the Office of the Public Defender where I used to work. I’d only been gone a month, but it seemed like a lifetime. I suppose in some ways, it was. That was my old life, this was my new one. Greywolf finally picks a bar. Thankfully, it wasn’t the Black Cock. I wasn’t ready to go back there. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever be ready.

The bar Greywolf chose was MacGuffin’s, a bar that offered nearly everything a guy could want; pool tables, large portions, music, satellite television tuned to numerous sporting events, cheap booze, comfy booths and hot waitresses.

We make our way to the pool tables in the back. From going to other such places, I knew that the waitresses rarely would disturb us there. We’d have to actually go up to the bar to order drinks, which of course, we wouldn’t actually consume. “How are ya at pool?” Greywolf asks, feeding the table quarters.

“I suck.” I reply. I’d played a few games with my co-workers, and I always lost, though sometimes not by very much. I think I’d won once, but only because my opponent had scratched on an eight ball shot.

Greywolf chuckles. “Billiards was not always a lady’s game, but I shall endeavor to teach it to you. You may find it useful.” While I take off my jacket, I watch him rack up the balls and break them ineffectively.

Greywolf selects a cue from the nearby rack and hands it to me. “Your turn. Remember that this is a game of physics and angles. Use the sides when you can, and choose your shots carefully.” I line up my shot, but still miss. Greywolf sinks his first ball, a stripe, but misses the next. He selects my next shot for me, and I manage to sink it, but miss the next shot that I selected myself.

And so it goes. For being such an expert, Greywolf made about as many shots as I did. As we near the end of the game, a young Asian guy slaps four quarters down on the table. “Play you next game, old man.”

Greywolf sinks the eight ball without missing a beat. He straightens up, and sizes the guy up. “Fifty dollars a game.” Greywolf puts a single fifty-dollar bill on a corner of the table. I roll my eyes at the testosterone fest. I put my cue back in the rack, and tell Greywolf I’m going to the bathroom. As I walk away, Greywolf is getting ready to break.

I didn’t really need to use the ladies room, of course, but I did want a little time away. I use the precious few moments to preen. I check my hair. It was still the same shade of reddish-brown it had been before my death. The same shade as my mother’s, before she decided to bleach it blonde. My eyes were still the same color, but my skin was paler. It wasn’t chalky white, but it was a shade paler than ivory. I turn my back to the mirror and look over my shoulder to admire the tattoo in all its fully finished glory.

I look back in shock. The feathers, which had been so carefully inked in, were gone, erased completely from my skin. Hours of work. Lost. I recall Greywolf warning me that the ink wouldn’t last, that any alterations to the skin postmortem would be rejected. He was right, once again. I sigh, and apply another coat of lipstick. I start to walk out of the bathroom, and right into a woman coming in.

“Oh!” I was probably as startled as the woman. “I’m sorry, did I scare you?” The woman was short, Asian and rather pretty. In a matter of seconds, it clicked. It was Renee Choi, my former co-worker. Shit. I try to leave, hoping she doesn’t recognize me.

“Mara? Is that you?” Renee grabs my shoulder. I was stuck now. I had to talk to her. Greywolf had warned me that I should be careful when dealing with kine, so I concentrate and will my heart to beat again, warming my flesh for a short while.

I turn to face Renee. I didn’t want to talk to her, but I had no choice. “Renee. How the heck are you?” I offer my best fake smile, wanting to keep the conversation short. But I had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be the case.

Renee pulls me back into the bathroom. “What the hell happened to you?” She demands. “I was worried when you didn’t show up Monday, and then you just up and decide to resign from the O.P.D. No warning. No notice. We were going to be lifers, you and I. Remember, you promised?”

I sigh. I had promised, but then again, I had kept it. It was the last job I held before my untimely death. I shake my head sadly. “I’m really sorry, but things have changed. I’m not the same person anymore.”

“All you did was deck some guy in a bar. How does that make things different?” Renee stomps her foot for emphasis. “The guy didn’t press charges, did he?” Her tone changed to one that was more worried.

“No, he never pressed charges.” Of course, there was no way the police could track me down anymore. I no longer had a permanent address, just a Post Office Box registered in my name. I look down, not really wanting to face her.

“So why are things so different then? I tried calling your house, but the number was disconnected. I tried going over too, but the manager said you’d moved out. So what the hell’s wrong? Why do all that?”

What could I say? I couldn’t exactly tell her that I was a vampire. That was breaking the Traditions. “I’m really sorry. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” I offer a smile, hoping she didn’t think I was serious. Though I was serious, I really would have to kill her. “No really, I just can’t tell you, you can’t help me.”

Renee was still blocking my path. “Please, Mara. Let me help you. It can’t be that bad.”

It was far worse than she could ever imagine. I touch her on the cheek. “Look. You were right. That suit was bad luck. I should have listened to you and burned it.” I start to walk past her, hoping that she will let me leave. “You can’t help me right now.” But then again, maybe there was a way she could help me. I would need associates to help me run Legal Services of Seattle. Maybe I can win her away from the O.P.D. Then again, probably not on a permanent basis. “Tell you what, I’ve got your card. I’ll call you later.” I start to walk away. I can hear Renee calling my name, begging me to come back. I wanted to return, to go back to my old life, but there was no way that I could. But though I couldn’t go back, maybe I could still keep my old friends, keep in touch about what was going on.

I return to the back room. Greywolf was calling a pocket, and taking his final shot. Surprisingly, he made the shot. He scoops the money up off the table. He nods his head to the young man. “It’s been fun.” Greywolf offers. He starts to head toward the door.

The guy grabs Greywolf’s shoulder. “Wait. Double or nothing.” I guess the kid didn’t like getting his butt beat by an old man.

Greywolf turns and smiles at him. “All right. Show me the cash.”

The kid sets another hundred on the table. Greywolf feeds the machine more quarters. The balls come rolling out, and Greywolf calmly removes each ball one at a time and puts them in the plastic triangle in the proper order. “You break.” The kid tells him. Greywolf smiles, and motions to me to take a seat. I sit, hoping that Renee won’t try to track me down again. Greywolf breaks, and two balls, both stripes, immediately sink. He was better than he’d let on. Obviously, the kid was going to lose. Again. My mentor, it seemed was quite the pool shark. Once again, it seemed, I really didn’t know him all that well.

I watch as Greywolf proceeds to sink one ball after another, until only the eight ball and the other solid balls remain on the table. He walks around the table, and finally calls it. “Eight ball in the corner pocket.” He raises his cue to indicate the left corner. He slowly lines up the shot, and then takes it. The ball falls into the pocket he indicated. Greywolf starts to take the money from the table.

The man puts his hand on top of Greywolf’s. “You cheated.”

Greywolf shakes his head. “No, you underestimated your opponent.” He takes the money and pulls his hand away from the one covering it. I start to get up, ready to protect him if I had to. I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. He didn’t need my protection. Why did I want to protect him? I still couldn’t really understand it. He extends his hand to me. “Come, my dear.”
I take his hand, grabbing my jacket at the same time, and look at the young man. Greywolf was right, the man had been too cocky and underestimated him. That was a big mistake.

Unfortunately for him, the guy decided he wasn’t going to take the loss lightly. Greywolf and I walk out of the bar, but the young man follows us out. “Hey!” He shouts. “I’m talking to you.”

Greywolf looks back at him a moment. “Yes, boy?” His tone is one of disrespect. It seemed he wasn’t too fond of a sore loser. Neither was I really, and I’d dealt with more than my fair share of them during my stint as a Public Defender.

The young man pulls out a knife, not bothering to take off his gray trench coat. “You cheated me. I want my money back. Now.”

Greywolf is moving backwards now, towards the alley and the shadows. The man advances on Greywolf and doesn’t notice that he was being drawn into the shadows. I follow close on both their heels. He and I had played this game before, and this target was no different. Within a matter of moments, Greywolf kicks the knife from his hand. With another sweep of his foot, he has the guy on the ground and he is ours. The kid is out cold, and we both feed from him, taking great care not to kill him. The man’s blood tasted very sweet. It must have been the extra adrenaline. There was only a slight hint of alcohol. So he wasn’t drunk yet. Always a good thing, since picking victims from bars had its drawbacks.

Greywolf pats down the man, searching him. He takes out his wallet and removes the rest of the money. Foolish, foolish, youth. Thinking that he could take on a Kindred. Greywolf gets up. I look at him. Is this what we must stoop to in order to survive? I didn’t think so. I still had my trust fund, and soon enough, I would have Legal Services of Seattle. A new purpose for my new life, such as it was.

Greywolf smiles at me, offering a mere hint of his fangs. I smile back and once again, we head into the night, two predators in search of their next prey.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen
First Blood

When I turned my cell phone back on Monday night, I had four messages. I check my voicemail, only to learn they were all from Renee. The tones ranged from concern to white-hot anger. Guess she must have found out that I resigned today. No surprise really, since Marquis had counted on both of us to maintain the continuity of the office. Now, that responsibility fell solely to Renee. I felt horrible doing that, but I really didn’t have any other choice. I could no longer perform the necessary functions of the job, namely attending courtroom trials. I’m not sure exactly how I was going to manage that with my own private practice. I guess that’s what associates are for.

As I listen to my messages, I start to feel a bit…fuzzy. I was having trouble focusing on the messages. I really wanted to be somewhere else. Greywolf must have noticed my distress. “It has been three days since you last fed, Childe, and a poor meal at that. You must be getting rather hungry, and I must be getting remiss in your care.” He heads to the front of the small apartment towards the kitchen. I don’t hear the refrigerator door open though.

I stroll into the rather bare living room and see that Greywolf has his coat on and is pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. “Um, where are we going?” Last time, he’d simply let me drink from one of those blood bags.

Greywolf picks up my coat from where it lay on the sofa. He tosses it at me. I barely catch it before it falls onto the heavily stained and matted carpet. “Ask not where am I going, but where are we going?” He replies. “We are going out for a bite.”

A bite? I think I had some idea of what that really meant. I had to bite someone and drink their blood. I wasn’t entirely sure I could do that. “Don’t you have another one of those blood bags?” I ask.

Greywolf smiles and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, my dear. A unit of whole blood is very hard to obtain. You either steal it from a blood bank, or buy it from an enterprising Kindred. It is also not a very optimal source of vitae. No, sooner or later, you must learn to hunt, and now is as good a time as any.”

“I’m not sure I can do this.” I put my coat on. I really wasn’t sure about anything. Nothing seemed entirely real.

“You can and you will, Raven.” Greywolf’s face darkens to an expression fast approaching rage. “Because you cannot survive without it. I know that you are a survivor and will do whatever it takes.”

Of course, if I was such a survivor, then why was I dead? I didn’t dare to ask him though.

“Come along. The sooner we leave, the sooner it will be over.” Once again, I find myself oddly compelled to obey. I follow him out the door and in moments, we were once again prowling the darkened streets of Seattle in Greywolf’s van. As we drive, Greywolf begins the next round of lessons.

“There are six types of victims.” Greywolf explains to me. “The first are animals. Their blood is a poor substitute for human vitae, but it will do in a pinch. The second type is a kine that is regularly fed upon by a Kindred as part of their herd. Ventrue, with their rarified tastes, will often have a herd, as do the Toreador, who gather admirers around them.”

I nod. That made sense, since the Toreador were the artistic types. “The next group are the kine that let us drink their blood in exchange for sex, favors or money. You will generally find them on the streets or in the various Goth clubs. Next are the unwilling passive victims. They are the ones that are either sleeping and/or drunk. Take care though, because what affects the blood can also have an effect upon you. Next there are the unwilling active victims. There are the kine that fight back, much as you did. Some of our kind enjoy the taste of adrenaline; some find it bitter.”

“You said there are six. What is the last?”

“The most dangerous of all. Kindred. I do not recommend ever drinking from another of our kind. The vitae is the sweetest of all, but there are great risks. You could find yourself bound to the Kindred if you drink from them enough. Or if you drink too deeply, you could wind up being blood hunted. As I was once an Archon, you should carefully uphold the Traditions of the Camarilla, lest it reflect badly upon me.”

“What is an Archon, exactly?” I had heard the term mentioned before, but I did not know exactly what it meant.

“Much like the kine, the Camarilla Kindred have a form of police force that upholds our laws. They are called Justiciars, and one is chosen from each of the seven Clans. Of course, they cannot be everywhere, so they choose deputies, called Archons. Though they never choose an Archon from their own Clan, they are permitted to choose three. It is rather worrisome if an Archon comes to a city on ‘business’, but the arrival of a Justiciar generally means that a Prince or their city will be going down in flames…literally.”

“You were an Archon, but no longer. So what happened?”

“Every 13 years, the Council gathers in Venice to choose new Justiciars. At that time, they are allowed to choose their Archons. When my Justiciar was released from his duty, so was I.”

I nod. The streets were becoming dark again, and I could see a lot of cars driving around. This was Seattle’s red light district, where drug dealers openly sold their wares, prostitutes walked the streets in search of customers, and where the cops rarely went after dark.

Greywolf cruises down the street. He was looking for something…or someone. We drove by several prostitutes hanging out on the corners. Finally, we slow down as we approach the corner of 3rd and Main. I watch as we finally come to a stop in front of a streetwalker. As she approaches the van, the lines of her face become prominent under the harsh streetlights. I was betting the woman was probably no more than twenty, but she looked at least my age. The streets had a way of rapidly aging someone, and she was apparently not immune.

Like most whores, male or female, it did not matter, as long as the customer had the cash. She leans on the passenger side, looking past me, and to Greywolf. She seemed unafraid, even though there were two of us and only one of her. Perhaps her pimp was lurking somewhere in the shadows. But then again, she might just be a freelancer, as she didn’t have the stick thin look of a drug addict that was a common form of control used by pimps. “Hey. What can I do for you?”

Greywolf does not allow me to speak, silencing me with a single look. He leans across me to speak to her. “We need a third.” He says, pulling me close. “You game?”

“If you got the money, hon, I got the time.” It sort of seemed like she knew Greywolf, as she was using a rather familiar tone.

Greywolf flashes the wad of cash. “Get the door.” I lean over and slide the panel door open. She climbs into the van, her tall platform shoes not hindering her at all. I guess it just took practice, but I was never too interested in walking around in such torture devices.

Greywolf had done this before, I could tell. He pulled away from the curb and headed straight down the strip toward a hotel so cheap, they charged by the hour, and reached it without hesitation or direction.

We pull into the parking lot of the Satellite Motel. The dirty neon sign announces a vacancy. Probably several, actually. Greywolf pulls into the parking lot in front of the rooms, away from the registration office. He turns to me. “Go get us a room, my dear.”

I nod and slip out of the passenger seat, leaving Greywolf with the unsuspecting kine. Or perhaps she did know what she was in for. She seemed to know Greywolf, so maybe she had dealt with him before.

The registration office was small and dingy. The clerk’s window was fronted by glass, likely bulletproof. A sign nearby announced that they did not take checks. The clerk was dark-skinned, more than likely Indian, and not the Native American kind. The clerk’s tone was neither warm nor friendly, rather more tired than anything else, and it was only six in the evening. “You need a room?” He asks.

I nod. “Yes, for a little while.”

The clerk looks me up and down. I suppose I didn’t really look like his usual type of clientele. Or heck, maybe I did. “Minimum three hour. Fifteen dollars please.”

I take a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse and push it through the small slot in the glass.

The man takes the cash, and pushes a registration card and a pen toward me. “You fill out.”
I look at the card. It was like any hotel registration card. I list my name as Jane Schmidt, giving an address a few numbers off from the address of the Kingdome. The clerk barely glances at the card. I guess he was used to seeing fake names and addresses. He then puts a five-dollar bill on the desk, and puts a key on top of it, pushing both through the slot. “Room Five.”

I offer a small word of thanks, and take the key and find the room. It wasn’t all that far from the office. But then it was a rather small motel. I go to the van and knock on the driver’s side window. Greywolf slides open the panel door. He gets out first, and then helps the woman out.

I lead them to the room and unlock the door. The room was tiny. The double bed dominated the room, and the nearby nightstand was bare of anything. No phone, no coffee maker, no microwave. Not even a television. I guess the motel’s owner figured that their clients didn’t need that sort of entertainment.

As Greywolf closes the door, it shuts with a sort of finality. This truly was the point of no return. The point at which I knew that everything had truly changed. I stand on the edge of the room, watching Greywolf and the woman. I did not want to do this. I really didn’t.

Greywolf pushes the woman’s dyed blonde hair back from her neck. He kisses her neck while looking at me. “We will have to go easy on her. It is her first time.” The woman nods in seeming understanding. He then speaks to me. “You can leave your clothes on, Raven.” I watch as he slides the woman’s coat off, allowing it to fall to the short brown pile of the room’s carpet.

With the coat gone, I could better see her outfit underneath. Torn fishnets worn under flesh colored tights, a micro mini skirt that barely covered her crotch, and a couple of stained tank tops layered one over the other. No sign of bra straps. Probably wasn’t wearing any underwear either. Greywolf peels off the tops one at a time, and soon confirms that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and soon enough, my other suspicion is likewise confirmed. I can also tell that she was definitely not a natural blonde.

I move closer, attracted by the pulsing of her throat. My predatory instincts were taking over, taking control. She sits on one edge of the bed while she helps Greywolf undress, her legs open and hugging his body. I watch his leather jacket being removed, revealing his well muscled arms that bore many small scars. While she unbuttoned his jeans, Greywolf removed the tank top, revealing many more scars on his chest, including one by his heart that must have been fatal, or at least very nearly so.

The whore pushes his pants onto the floor, and I avert my gaze. Instead, I explore the tracery of scars with my eyes. There was a great deal I did not know about my mentor, it seemed. Greywolf, noticing me, beckons me closer. I comply. He reaches behind the woman and gathers up a handful of her hair. With his other hand, he pats the bed directly behind her. My real hunting lesson was about to start.

I sit behind the woman. She is totally naked now, and I can see each and every imperfection on her back. Greywolf is also naked, and is using the whore as a barrier between us. He begins to kiss her, pulling her forward. I begin to touch her, running my fingers over her back, tracing a line to connect the freckles. She responds by reaching behind her and touching my hair. It felt really good, though not quite the same as when my mother stroked my hair. I pull my body closer to hers, and I can feel her flinch as her warm body touches mine.

My predator instinct has now entirely taken hold. I feel my fangs extending of their own accord. Taking a single, unnecessary breath, I bite into the soft part of her shoulder. I start to drink, taking the blood slowly, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. Greywolf pauses from his own ministrations. “Do not take too much.” He warns me. “Pay attention to the beating of her heart. When it begins to slow, stop.”

I am aware of little else besides the taste of her blood and the warmth of it. I was still working on instinct. I finally manage to gain enough control of myself, my ego breaking through the surface of my instinct. As her heart begins to slow, I withdraw my fangs and wipe the blood from my mouth.

“Lick the wound so it closes.” Greywolf orders. I run my tongue over her shoulder, tasting the last sweet drops of her blood. As I watch, the wound closes, leaving only bare skin.

Greywolf pulls away from the woman, and she collapses upon the bed. He takes her wrist, feeling for a pulse perhaps. Seemingly satisfied, he lays her arm across one breast, in a show of false modesty. I start to get off the bed. Before I can, Greywolf grabs me and pulls me close. Even through my clothes, I can feel his naked body pressed against mine. I try to pull away, but he forces my head upwards and kisses me, his tongue probing my mouth. Fear washes through my body. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to do this. “Not too bad.” He proclaims.

I break off the kiss and try to slap him. Greywolf catches my hand before I can connect. “Bastard.” I hiss.

Greywolf chuckles. “Did you find that…unpleasant?” I nod in reply. Caught in his grip, there was little else I could do. “Too bad. There are many unpleasant things that you will have to do in order to survive in our world. It is time you started getting used to it.”

I pull away from his grasp, and he lets me go, offering no resistance. “Such spirit. It will serve you well as a Kindred…if you are not too reckless.” Greywolf starts to get dressed. He takes some cash from his pocket and puts it on the nightstand. “She’ll wake up in an hour. I suggest we not be here when she does.” His words did make sense, so I leave with him, taking a last look at the woman now lying very still on the bed. Only the rise and fall of her chest offered any clue to her still being among the living. Unlike me. I was dead, forever lost to ‘normal’ life. I knew that now, but I wasn’t totally ready to accept it.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve
Monday Monday

Renee Choi drops her purse on top of her desk and hangs her gray raincoat on a hanger outside her cubicle. Water drips from the bottom of the hem and the sleeves, creating a new water stain on top of several older ones. “Good morning, Mara.” Renee calls out over her cubicle wall.

There is no response. That was strange. Mara just lived a few blocks away. She was always here before her. Always. Renee abandons her purse and starts to walk the building. Her first stop is the tiny coffee nook. The air pots were empty. That explained why she hadn’t smelled coffee when she first walked into the office. She walked over to the copier area. The copier hadn’t been turned on either. Renee flips the toggle switch, and the copier comes to life, offering a friendly ‘warming up’ message.

Mara always made the first pot of coffee (though after that, the person that emptied the pot was supposed to make the next one), and she always turned on the copier. For further confirmation, Renee goes to Mara’s desk. Her chair was still pushed under the desk. The computer was turned off, and her desk was just as Mara had left it Friday night. Oh shit. Friday night. Did the cops pick her up for the assault? The guy seemed the type that was all bluster, and would never go to the cops if it meant admitting that he had gotten his ass beaten by a woman. No, that would damage his fragile ego far too much.

Renee bites at her thumbnail. I should have insisted on giving Mara a ride home instead of letting her walk. A chill runs through her body. The guy wouldn’t have gone to the cops, but would he have followed her? And attacked her later that night? Oh shit! Renee takes out her cell phone and starts dialing Mara’s cell phone number. She starts to hit Send, and realizes that she was one number off. She cancels and redials. There is a long pause. “Come on, come on.”

The phone on the other end doesn’t even ring. The voicemail simply picks up. “You’ve reached Mara Ravenclaw, Deputy Public Defender. Please leave a message and I will get back to you.”

“Mara, where the heck are you?” Renee asks, her voice betraying more than a small amount of concern. “I’m kind of worried. Did you make it home okay Friday night?” Renee hangs up and then makes a pot of coffee. Hopefully, Mara will be in soon. Maybe she overslept or something.

But eight o’clock rolls past with no sign of Mara. The other Public Defenders come in and get to work, but only Renee shows any real concern. Marquis arrives at 8:30. Renee waits about ten minutes to allow Marquis to get settled in, and heads into his office. She knocks on the doorjamb softly. “Knock, knock.” She says, finally catching his attention.

Marquis looks up from his pile of papers, and Renee perches herself on the edge of a counter adjacent to his desk. “Did you get a message from Mara? She hasn’t come in yet.”

Marquis looks at his phone. The red message light is neither lit nor flashing. “No, I haven’t. She hasn’t come in? That isn’t like her at all. He reaches for his Rolodex, and flips through the R’s. He finds Mara’s number, and starts to dial it. He listens a moment, and then hangs up. “It’s been disconnected. Did you try her cell phone?”

Renee nods. “It went straight to voice mail. I’m worried that something might have happened to her Friday night. Maybe that creep followed her.”

“Mara seems like the type of person who can handle herself pretty well. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But her number’s disconnected.”

“Well, if she were dead, she certainly couldn’t have it disconnected, now could she? It’s probably totally unrelated. Maybe she decided to change her number, or didn’t pay her phone bill.”

Renee sighs. “Yeah, maybe it’s nothing.” She goes back to her desk and starts to try to focus on her caseload, but her mind continues to stray towards Mara. What if she was dead in an alley somewhere? What if someone else had disconnected her phone? The questions just kept creeping in, along with a nagging feeling that something had happened.

At 9:30, Renee’s desk phone rings. She jumps out of her chair, momentarily startled. She looks at the display. It was Marquis. “Yes, Sir?” She asks.

“Choi, my office. Now.”

“Okay.” Renee hangs up the phone and walks toward Marquis’ office. She looks over to Mara’s office. It was still unoccupied. She enters Marquis’ office. “You rang?”

Marquis gestures to a nearby chair. “Have a seat.” Renee sits down. She notices that an opened courier envelope was sitting on Marquis’ desk. It hadn’t been there earlier. Marquis picks up a piece of paper off his desk and pushes it towards Renee. “This just arrived via courier. Read it.”

Renee blanched when she saw the paper. She recognized Mara’s neat and perfectly aligned signature at the bottom of the page. “She-she resigned. I don’t believe it. I thought she was going to retire here. That’s what she told me.”

“And without notice, no less.” Marquis says. “Well, that’s a great fucking way to start out a Monday. Do you still have the resumes of the candidates we didn’t hire? Maybe one of them is still available. I’ll go through her desk and reassign her cases.”

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven
Introductions

When evening approached for real this time, I wake up. Even though I had been interrupted in the middle of the day, I still felt refreshed. Greywolf was standing over me, already awake. “Time to face the music.” He tells me. “It is better to go to see the Prince willingly than to be forced to see him.”

I look and see that two of the suitcases were now in the room. The ones I’d thrown at him earlier, I thought with a pang of regret. “Get dressed quickly.”

I open the first suitcase. I select a pair of sensible black leather heels, and scan the rest of the contents. I wonder what Clan Prince Marcel was. Greywolf had yet to tell me. I look to him. He was wearing black jeans with a pale blue tank top, and a black leather jacket. I decide to follow his lead, and take out a pair of blue jeans, a sky blue tank top, a white blouse and a black leather blazer. I get dressed quickly, putting on the pants first, then the heels, though I chose to go without hose, then finally layering the white top over the tank, leaving it unbuttoned. I put on the leather blazer, and take out a tube of lipstick from my purse. I open it, revealing my favorite shade of brick red. Ironic, my favorite lipstick color was so very like the color of blood. I wondered if there was a mirror nearby, but I rather doubted there was.

I zip the suitcase back up after stuffing my dirty clothes into it. Since we weren’t going to stay here, it was probably a good idea if I took the cases with us. I had a feeling that if I didn’t, I probably would never see my clothes again. He holds the door open for me as I carry the suitcases downstairs, and follows closely behind. We get to the warehouse, and I put my suitcases back in the van again. The rest of my stuff, what little I had, was still inside. I close the door and climb into the van. As usual, Greywolf is driving. Of course, I had no real idea of where we were going. Exactly where does a Kindred “Prince” hold court? There were any number of upscale neighborhoods and venues within Seattle.

Once we are safely out of the warehouse, I find my tongue once more. “So where are we going?” I ask.

“Marcel likes to rotate the meeting places. Makes it a bit safer, but a pain in the ass if you don’t where it is being held that week.”

“Week? You mean we have to meet with the Prince every week?”

“Yes, there are meetings that the Prince calls. It is called Conclave, and attendance is mandatory for all members of the Camarilla. But you are only required to present yourself to the Prince once. Though an exception is made if a new Prince is chosen.”

“Chosen? How do you choose a Prince?”

Greywolf smiles. “Very carefully. But in the end, it depends. Sometimes the Prince is appointed by outsiders; sometimes it is decided by the current Clan leaders, or Primogen of the city; sometimes the Prince is chosen by a vote of all of the Kindred of the city, sometimes the reigning Prince chooses a successor, and sometimes, though rarely, the Prince is killed, and their murderer takes their place. In the case of Seattle, Marcel was chosen by his predecessor; he had decided it was time to move on.”

“What Clan is he?” I ask.

“By the way he acts, you might think him a childe of Malkav. However, like many Princes, he is merely another ambitious and pretentious member of Clan Ventrue.” I wonder if perhaps I should have dressed differently, so that I could better impress the Prince. Clan Ventrue was generally composed of the executive types, and often dressed professionally in a suit and tie, whereas members of the other Clans often favored more casual attire. Ah well, no use in worrying over it now, I suppose.

We drive on in absolute silence. The radio remained switched off, so the only sound I was able to hear was that of the van traveling along asphalt that had been pock marked with deep ruts by the ravages of studded tires that were so prevalent during the winter to help aid with driving in snowy or icy conditions that rarely occurred. The van was rather old, and its aging shock absorbers made the ride bumpy. While it did not seem to bother Greywolf, it did bother me.

Finally, Greywolf heads back toward the downtown district, but continued past the many office buildings in favor of the theater district. As we pass the office buildings, I look in their direction. Even though I cannot see my old office from this distance, my thoughts turn to my former life. Tomorrow was Monday, and my letter of resignation would be arriving by courier. I wonder how shocked they will be when they receive it. They were all sure that I would be a lifer.

I laugh aloud, earning a dirty look from Greywolf. Because in all actuality, I was been a lifer. My stint at the P.D.’s office had been the last stop on my career path as a mortal. So in some small way, they had been right. Then there was the matter of Renee. We had gotten very close over the last three years. For her, it would likely be more shock than surprise. She might even be pissed when she finds out, for not bothering to tell her. I’d say it was a pretty strong possibility that she would be giving me a call tomorrow. I’ll have to be sure to leave my cell turned off. I didn’t know what to tell her really. It wasn’t like I could say, “Hey, I’m sorry I quit my job, but I’m a vampire now and the job just doesn’t fit my availability schedule.” In addition to it being against the vampire rules, I seriously doubted she would believe me. So what should I tell her? I suppose she does at least deserve an explanation. We’d been friends for a bit too long to totally blow her off.

When we reach the theater district, Greywolf parallel parks in front of a meter just across from a rather non-descript building across from the Moore Theatre. I wonder if we had enough change to feed the meter, but then I remember that today is Sunday, so the meters were actually free tonight. He points to the building just to the left of the non-descript one. It was an ornate five-story building featuring a mix of several architectural motifs, with a large metal compass symbol prominently displayed on top of the large rounded bay window at the top of the building. It had been a Mason’s meeting hall once upon a time, but it had been abandoned in more recent times and sold to some historical society, who had grand plans of making it into a museum of Seattle history that after fifteen years still had yet to come to fruition.

I can recall vaguely though that my parents had once attended one of their events. The name of the group was the Downtown Seattle Historical Society. I remember because it was one of the rare nights that my father was in a good mood, because they had intended to celebrate the history of the Rothchild family. If I had to guess now, the reason the group did it was because they were trying to get a large donation, as the group was neither as successful nor as well known as other groups, such as the King County Historical Society. But later, when I was grown up and searched through my father’s financial records, I realized it must not have succeeded, because I never found a check made out to them for any amount. In fact I think the only thing they managed to do was get the building, and that was mainly because it had been bought cheaply in a city auction.

The door to the building is a large wooden double door. It appeared to have sanded and refinished with a dark stain not long ago, but I could still see that not all the scratches had been entirely eliminated. Anarchy symbols and vestigial letters could still be seen on the door, testifying to its former status as an abandoned and condemned building. Greywolf opens the door. “You should go in first. Prince Marcel requires that a new vampire present themselves without escort. Not even their own Sire is permitted to accompany them.”

I turn and look at Greywolf. “Why? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Prince Marcel does not always make sense. As I said, he is better suited to be a childe of Malkav rather than a Ventrue. Now then, it’s best that you go in and get this over with. And when you go see him, do not tell him your real name. Your name is Raven.”

“Wait. You want me to present myself to the Prince, but you also want me to lie to him?“

Greywolf nods. “It is better that he doesn’t know. It makes you harder to track down…or keep track of. As a life long Seattleite, it will be easy enough for him to figure out who you were, given enough time.”

I nod. And like he said, Kindred had nothing but time. He was perhaps right about that. Greywolf opens the door for me, and gestures toward it. I look hesitantly back, then into the doorway beyond. It was dark, as a heavy red velvet drape hung in the doorway beyond, and there was no light source in the small entryway. I walk into the building, and the door closes behind me. There was no turning back now, I suppose. Keeping one hand in front of me to make sure there were no obstacles in my path, I continue toward the curtain.

Before I can take five steps, I hear a voice behind me, and the click of a gun’s safety. “Stop right there.” I freeze immediately. I’d seen the effects of a close range gun shot many times, so I was well aware of what kind of damage it could do to me. “Hands up.” I raise my hands slowly, so as not to make the guy feel threatened. I’d recognized the voice as belonging to a man, which meant I had to be more careful, because men with guns tend to be less than rational. I hear a couple of footsteps behind me. I stay perfectly still, not even breathing because, well, I didn’t need to anymore. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“My name is…Raven.” I reply. “I was told that I had to go see the Prince if I wanted to remain in the city.”

“Got any weapons on ya?” I feel the man’s hands patting me down. His touch was purely professional, as he only felt my breasts for as long as was necessary instead of lingering over them and caressing them too long. I hoped that he wouldn’t demand a strip search, because I’d refuse it unless he could get a woman to do it.

“No. No weapons.” I reply. The guy had already moved on to patting down my legs. I look down, but see only darkness. I close my eyes. He was almost to my ankles, so it would be over soon.

The guy brushes past me and then holds open the drape. “You can go see Marcel now.”

“Thanks.” I reply. I put my hands down and once again feel the comfort of being able to hold my purse close to my body again. I walk past the curtain and see what was beyond. It was a huge ballroom, with three huge crystal chandeliers providing a more than adequate amount of light. Red velvet curtains were drawn across the large windows, and the floor was made of oak, now refinished so that the floors reflected the light from the chandeliers. In keeping with its original use, a Mason’s symbol had been cleverly inlaid into the center of the floor using small pieces of wood.

The room was a large open space, and there were a number of Queen Anne style chairs scattered throughout the room, and there was a raised platform that must have housed a band at one time, but now was home to a very large ornate chair that was carved out of what appeared at a distance to be mahogany. A man was slouched in the chair, revealing that the chair had been upholstered in black velvet. He had his feet propped up on an ottoman that was nothing more than a small cube covered in a black material that could be leather. For a Ventrue, he was dressed rather casually, wearing a bright yellow short-sleeved shirt, no tie, bright blue chinos, white socks and black wingtip shoes. Pretty cheery looking for a vampire really.

Another man stood next to him. He was a fairly young guy, with skin so dark that he could be either a light-skinned African American or an East Indian, with just the beginning stubble of a beard coming in. Black mirror-lens sunglasses obscured his eyes, and he wore a full-length black leather trench coat that was buttoned up to his neck and barely covered his broad expanse of chest and biceps. I noticed a very obvious bulge in the guy’s midsection that indicated the presence of a weapon. That guy must be the other one’s bodyguard, as far as I could tell. All I knew was that he was definitely someone I didn’t want to tangle with be it in the courtroom or in a dark alleyway.

I hear the voice behind me again. “My Liege, this lady, who says her name is Raven, wishes to present herself.” I resist the urge to turn around.

The man shifts in the chair, sitting up just a bit straighter. “You may approach the Prince.” What the? Was he referring to himself in the third person? What the heck was up with that? I am reminded of the many times I had been asked by a judge to approach the bench, and use the same respective manner to approach the platform. There were no others in the room, just me, the Prince, his bodyguard and the person that had escorted me into the room. But then perhaps the other Kindred of the city hadn’t arrived yet. I wondered silently when Greywolf would show up. As I approach, I keep my eyes on him.

There is an amused look on the man’s face as I approach. He looks to his bodyguard. “So, Brazil, what do you think about our new arrival? What Clan might be the one that claims her?” The man with the sunglasses looks toward me, and then back to the Prince, but says nothing. “Ah, yes, Brazil, I forgot you are the strong silent type, and not one to offer me counsel. I continue my progress forward. When I get within five feet from the platform, he speaks again. “That’s far enough. I don’t want you getting too close.”

The man behind me speaks. “My liege, she is but one woman, what can she possibly do?”

The man gets up from his throne. He reaches behind his back and in one fluid motion, draws a small pistol from his pants. “This.” I immediately dive to the floor, wanting to try to avoid being hit, though there was little nearby that could provide me any sort of cover. I hear a single gunshot, and the grunt of the man behind me.

I look back and see that the man’s white shirt has now sprouted a blossom of dark red blood where his heart would be. I can only look on in a stunned sort of silence, looking back at the Prince, who does nothing to aid him. I get up and go over to the guy, and dig the cell phone from my purse. The guy needed a doctor. I turn it on, and the man takes it from my hand, his rather large rough hand nearly dwarfing my own. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” He tucks the cell phone back into my purse. And in the end he was right, because through the hole in the ruined shirt, I could now see flesh where there had to have been a bullet hole. Obviously, he was also Kindred. That much was now obvious. I look around the room, and see that Greywolf is still not in the room. Was he waiting behind the red curtain? That seemed rather likely.

I turn back toward the Prince. He is still standing, but he has tucked the weapon away. “Hmm…I do not think you could be Toreador. You would have been worried about getting blood on your nice clothes. And a Malkavian would have likely been using the blood to paint the floor or some such nonsense. Nor do you seem to be hiding any animal features, which means you are not Gangrel. So that narrows down the choices a little. However, you also seem very young indeed. Your humanity is still very ingrained within you. An elder Kindred would not bother with trying to ask for assistance from the kine, especially when to do so would lead them to an Elysium, a safe haven for all Kindred. For this transgression, I will forgive you. This time. But do not let it happen again.” I look down. Elysium? Greywolf had not mentioned this to me yet.

The Prince continues to study me. The subject of my Clan now is seemingly forgotten, because he has now changed the subject. “So tell me then, Raven exactly how old are you?” He goes back to his chair and once again puts his feet up.

Why the hell did he care how old I was? I was dead, so it didn’t really matter anymore. I start to offer a smart aleck remark, but then I look at the man’s grave expression and think better of it. “Thirty-one.” I reply.

The Prince takes out the gun and points it toward me. “Wrong answer. I don’t want to know how long you were alive, I want to know how long you’ve been dead.” The volume of his voice was starting to rise.

I pause a moment, considering my answer. I’d been ‘Embraced’ as Greywolf had put it on Friday and today was Sunday? I think it was Sunday. I look back up at him. “Two days.” I reply.

The man jumps up from his chair. “Two days?? And was your Embrace done here in Seattle, or have you come from some other city?”

“I was born in Seattle, and I died in Seattle.” I keep my eyes upon the Prince and his bodyguard. Neither had made a move toward me yet. But the Prince still had the gun pointed at me. In spite of having a gun pointed at me, I was still quite calm.

“What?! I did not give any Kindred in this city permission to Embrace a kine. Who is your Sire, whelp?”

“Her Sire was an Anarch, your majesty.” Greywolf had finally decided to show himself, it seemed. The Prince puts the weapon away again. “But she was abandoned. I’m afraid her Sire may have thought that the Embrace didn’t work and left her for dead. I found her in an alleyway, suffering through the agony of the change.”

The Prince turns back toward me. “Is this true? Or is Greywolf your Sire?”

“I- I remember a woman biting me just before I…died.” I reply. “I really don’t know what happened after that.”

The Prince looks past me, towards Greywolf I suppose. He taps one finger on his chin. “Now if I recall correctly, Greywolf, you had asked me three years ago for permission to create a Childe of your own. At that time, I refused your request, just as I have refused all such requests.”

“I remember, your majesty. But as you recall, the Anarchs are under no such restrictions. If I wish to accept the responsibility of another’s discarded Childe, then that is my choice.”

“That assumes, of course, that she is not already your Childe. And if she is, and you have lied to me, then not even your status as a former Archon can save you or your Childe from Final Death for breaking such an important Tradition.”

“I assure you, your Majesty, that she is not, and I know that you have the means to prove it.”

The Prince smiles finally and seems to relax a bit. He snaps his fingers twice. “Gerardo, go fetch the Warlock Montenegro. Tell him that I have a new Childe that has a question about her lineage that needs to be resolved tonight.”

The bodyguard does not move, but the man with the bullet hole in his shirt does. “Yes, my Liege.” I then hear footsteps and turn my head to see him exit the room through a side door.

I feel Greywolf’s hand upon my shoulder. “You will have your proof soon enough, your majesty. And then we will discuss reparations.”

The Prince seems amused. “Reparations for what, exactly?”

“Two of your men broke into one of my havens this morning while Raven and I were sleeping. They destroyed my computer, and by your own rules of engagement, that is strictly forbidden.” I can feel him shifting his weight, and from the corner of my eye, I see him half-bow to the Prince.

“And as I also recall, one of my ghouls returned from the foray in rather bad shape. So I think we can call it even, now can’t we?” The Prince goes back to sit down in his chair, offering a flash of fangs. I look at him and then to Greywolf, wondering what I did to deserve being in the middle of what was very obviously a pissing match between himself and the Prince. They stare at each other for a very long time. The one named Gerardo finally helps to break the impasse by coming back into the room.

Gerardo bows to the Prince. “My liege, the Warlock Montenegro is on his way.”

The Prince smiles once more. “Very good. Now go back to guarding the door lest we have any other newcomers arrive this evening.” Gerardo bows again and heads toward the red velvet curtain, and soon disappears behind it. He turns to me. “Until Montenegro arrives, I want you both to take a seat here in front of me.” He gestures to the chairs along the wall, but makes no move to get one, and neither does his bodyguard. Since Gerardo was gone from the room, Greywolf walks over to the wall and picks up two chairs and brings them back to where I stood. Playing the gentleman, he motions for me to sit first. “But until Montenegro arrives, I still expect the two of you to answer my questions. I hope I make myself clear.”

“Crystal.” Greywolf’s reply is a half-growl.

The Prince decides to first focus his attention upon me. I suppose it made sense, since I was the newcomer. “Are you a member of Clan Brujah, Raven?”

“As far as I am aware, yes.” I reply.

“Who is your Sire?”

“I was told that my Sire’s name is Anne Bonnie and that she is an Anarch.” I keep my eyes on the floor, not daring to look at the Prince.

“She is well known among the Anarchs, your Majesty.” Greywolf offers.

“Silence!” I nearly jump from my chair. “I was not addressing you, I was addressing her.” The Prince then turns back to me. “Now where were we? You say you have lived in Seattle all your life? What did you do for a living?”

“Yes, Sir, um, your majesty. I was a lawyer.”

The Prince raises an eyebrow. “Really? I would have thought the Brujah would not bother with a lawyer. Lawyers are more often the choice of Clan Ventrue because of their wealth, relative power and connections.”

“I was-“ I feel Greywolf give me a small shove. I look at him, and he shakes his head. Right the easy to track down thing. How many Public Defenders were there in Seattle, after all? However, I also realize that the Prince would expect me to answer. “I was an instructor at Seattle University School of Law. Criminal Law.” It was a total fabrication, but I do have expertise on the subject. After all, I’d worked for the Office of the Public Defender for more than three years.

The Prince looks at Greywolf. “Very interesting indeed. I suppose your Sire must have chosen you based upon the old ideals of the Clan.” Greywolf had mentioned this to me in passing. How the Brujah Clan wasn’t always all about rebellion and anarchy; that it was actually a bit more recent development, though his definition of recent was not quite the same as mine, as this had happened back in the Dark Ages. Was he really that old? I didn’t believe that was the case. He knew too much about the modern world, and not enough odd habits. But what the hell did I know, really? I’d only known him for two days.

I didn’t really know what to say, but fortunately, I didn’t have to answer, as he then turned to Greywolf once again. “Somehow, I’m not entirely convinced that an Anarch would Embrace such a person.”

Greywolf’s tone is respectful, but tinged with anger. “Are you accusing me of lying, your majesty?” He was gripping the edge so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “You have my word that I did not Embrace her. Would you prefer having yet another Caitiff Anarch running around the city? Or a loyal subject of the Camarilla, under the tutelage of a former Archon?”

The Prince considers this a moment. “I would rather not have another new lick in the City. There are too many Kindred in the City as it is.” The Prince then turns his attention to a point past us. “Ah, there is Montenegro now.”

I turn my head back and catch a glimpse of this Montenegro. He was like a movie vampire come to life, with his dyed black hair slicked back revealing a substantial widow’s peak, and the black bushy eyebrows of a person of Slavic origin, much like Bela Lugosi, the king of all movie vampires. His skin was pale, almost white really, with the exception of his lips, which were crimson. From a recent feeding, perhaps? Or was it merely makeup to enhance the appearance of being a vampire? In addition, while he wasn’t wearing the trademark long black cape of a movie vampire, he was wearing a very formal black suit. The white shirt stood out in sharp contrast from the suit, and so did the medallion he wore on a heavy gold chain. Though the medallion was not in the shape of a traditional iron cross and set with a ruby, but rather it was an abstract design of a circle and triangle together, enameled in black.

Montenegro parts his lips in a twisted mockery of a smile. He bows low to the Prince. I look back and catch Greywolf’s look of utter disgust. I could almost read his mind. He was likely thinking about what a brown-noser the guy was, though probably not in such polite terms. I wasn’t too fond about him either. There was something about him that was just flat out creepy.
“Good evening, my Lord Marcel.” He offered. “What service do you ask of House and Clan Tremere this night?”

The Prince gestures toward me. “This woman sitting before me was Embraced two nights ago. Greywolf has volunteered to adopt her as his Childe, but insists that she is not his Childe by blood. I want to know exactly who her Sire is.” He glares at Greywolf accusingly.

Montenegro looks to Greywolf. “Ah Greywolf, how pleasant to see you again. And under such …interesting circumstances.” The one named Montenegro gets closer and he soon stands in front of me. He grabs my chin and tilts my head upward to look at him. I instinctively pull away from his hand and glare at him. I never liked it when my father did that to me, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let some stranger do it now. “Typical Brujah.” He declares. “I am Montenegro, Primogen for Clan Tremere in Seattle. You look rather familiar, actually. Have we met before, whelp?”

“I doubt it.” I reply icily. While he certainly could have been a slimy lawyer type, I don’t believe that he was actually a lawyer, because court typically closed down before it got dark, and based on the fact that he wasn’t breathing, he definitely wasn’t human. Nor really, did he make any real attempt to pass as one. “But maybe I’ve seen you in the movies? Playing Dracula?”

The others in the room tried very hard not to laugh, and I could see Montenegro’s mood darken by the tightening of the lines of his face. He reaches into his jacket and removes a small knife with a pattern of black twining vines etched along the middle of the blade. The lights from the chandelier dance over the sharp edge of the blade as he holds it in his hand. He reaches in an outer pocket and pulls out a plastic test tube. “Your hand. Give it to me.”

It didn’t sound like a request. It also didn’t sound like I should refuse it. I look straight at him as I offer him my right hand, palm up. Holding my palm in his hand, he draws the blade across my upraised palm and I watch as blood begins to slowly well up from the wound. I grit my teeth against the sudden throbbing pain in my hand and watch as he tilts my hand upward and uses the test tube to collect the blood from the wound. He holds it up to the light and I can see that it is a dark reddish brown color. Funny, I would have thought my blood would be bright red, as there were veins as well as arteries in the hand.

I bend my arm at the elbow, holding my hand up to help slow the bleeding. It garners strange looks from the Prince and Montenegro, who look on in silence. Greywolf leans over to me and whispers in my ear. “Focus your thoughts on healing the wound.”

I look down at the cut on my palm, still oozing blood. I focus upon making the two edges of the wound knit together and to my great surprise the cut closes, not even leaving a scar. Greywolf had not lied about the Kindred ability to heal quickly. I look at him, and show him the healed cut. He smiles at me, for perhaps the first time.

Montenegro turns toward the Prince, bowing once more. “My Lord, I would greatly appreciate the ability to use a private room to conduct the test.”

“Of course. The Prince snaps his fingers twice. “Gerardo! Get in here.” Gerardo appears from behind the curtain. He drops to one knee and lowers his head. “Show Montenegro to the Blue Room.”

“Of course, my liege.” Gerardo gets up and turns to Montenegro. “If you will walk this way.” He starts to walk toward the side door again.

Montenegro starts to follow Gerardo, but he stops and turns toward the Prince once more. “The test will take an hour’s time, I will return then with the results.” He then walks through the side door, following behind the Prince’s servant.

“Until then, of course,” The Prince adds, “I expect you to remain here. I wouldn’t want the two of you to suddenly…disappear. I’d hate to have to call a Blood Hunt upon the two of you.” I look at Greywolf, a bit puzzled. Prince Marcel seems to know what I was thinking, because he continues. “A Blood Hunt is a call for all the Kindred of the city to track down another Kindred. They are given full leave to ignore the Tradition of Destruction, as long as what is left of the body is delivered to me. It is my right as Prince to call down the Blood Hunt upon someone as I see fit.”

I nod. That didn’t sound very pleasant.

“Come here, Raven.” The Prince beckons to me, and gestures to the stairs that were to the right of his chair. I look to Greywolf, who nods, giving me his permission to leave his side. I get up from the chair and move toward him hesitantly. I walk up the stairs, and pause to look at Greywolf. His expression was grim, for he was scowling now. What did he know that I did not? A great deal, it seemed, because his eyes were on me as I ascended the stairs. I stop at the top of the platform and wait for more instruction. “Have a seat on the floor by Brazil.” Seeing my options were rather limited, I grab a patch of hardwood and sit down with my legs stretched out. I was wearing jeans, so modesty was not something I had to worry about.

“Now if you are lying, Greywolf, you will see your Childe slain before your eyes, and you will be next.”

Greywolf gets up from the chair, pushing it over. “I would not lie about matters of such gravity.”

“But you would lie about other things?” The Prince drums his fingers on the arms of the chair. “You disappoint me. But the Brujah always have a way of doing that.”

Greywolf does not move a single inch. “Your majesty, you shall see soon enough that Raven is not my Childe. And when you do, I expect an apology. To myself and to Raven.”

“If you’re not lying, which I highly doubt, then you will have your apology. And she will be welcome in the city, despite having an Anarch Sire. Since she is an unreleased Childe, I do not owe her any sort of apology.”

“Touché.” Greywolf replies.

The side door opens. I turn toward the sound in time to see the Warlock Montenegro stalking back into the room with Gerardo closely nipping at his heels. He did not look at all happy. Greywolf was smiling again, so I could only hope that it meant good news.

The Prince runs his thumb over his mouth and watches Gerardo return to his place behind the drapes. “Tell me, Montenegro, who is the whelp’s Sire?”

Montenegro bows low, his eyes ablaze with rage. He fixes his eyes upon me. “My Lord, she is a Brujah of the Eleventh Generation, and her Sire is one named Anne Bonnie, an Anarch residing within the city.”

“So it seems I owe you an apology, Greywolf.” The Prince gets up from his chair. “My apologies. I was merely suspicious that you might have created her in defiance of my wishes.”

Greywolf does not bow. “Apology accepted.” I look back to the Prince and the bodyguard, who had yet to speak a single word.

The Prince turns and looks at me. “My dear Raven, you are welcome within the city as an unreleased Childe. Until Greywolf decides to release you, he will be held accountable for your actions. And believe me, you will both be watched…very carefully. But for now, you may both go.” The Prince addresses Montenegro next. “Montenegro, thank you for your assistance. It is very much appreciated.” Montenegro says nothing, but instead bows to the Prince and then heads back through the side door.

I get up from my place on the floor. “Thank you, your majesty.” I walk down the stairs and return to stand at Greywolf’s side. He had stood up for me, and quite obviously, risked his own life to stand for me. I still couldn’t really understand why. I know what he had told me, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it. Was there some other reason? Some reason he didn’t want to tell me?

“Come along, Raven. There is still much that we need to do this night. There are others that you must meet.”

Others? Meeting the Prince was ordeal enough. What other trials must I endure this evening? Greywolf leads me through the side door. The same door that Montenegro had gone through only moments earlier. Is that really a good idea? I wondered. That guy had been glaring daggers at me as soon as he returned.

The room beyond the door was really just a hallway, but along it hung portraits set in large gilt frames that also bore Masonic symbols. There were several heavy doors leading from the hallway, but Greywolf confidently opens one and gestures me inside. The room was rather large, the size of a formal dining room, and richly appointed. Heavy floral tapestries hung on the wall, and there were oriental rugs on the floor of the traditional dark red color with a floral pattern that closely matched the tapestries on the walls. Three overstuffed couches in dark brown leather were scattered around the room, as were a few small tables of highly polished mahogany. About ten people were lingering in the room, none of them breathing, and a lone human servant scurried about the room, tending to the whims of the gathered Kindred, carrying a silver tray holding champagne flutes filled with a red liquid I could only assume was blood.

There was one Kindred that stood out from the others. He wore a light tan trench coat and a brown fedora. If it weren’t for his greenish skin, you would almost think he stepped out of an old detective movie. What, was it dress like your favorite film star night? I didn’t dare ask that question, but I was still curious about the green guy.

“Why is that guy green?” I whisper.

Greywolf looks in the man’s direction. “That is Malik.” He tells me quietly. “He is a member of Clan Nosferatu.”

Ah yes, the Nosferatu. The ugly ones. That explained a great deal. I look at the others, trying to judge what Clan they were by the way they dressed. Half of them wore suits, though a couple looked to be made of cheap polyester. There were four women and six men in the room, not including us. Only one of them was visibly ugly; most were rather average looking, though the women were exceptionally beautiful. They looked and dressed like supermodels; tall, willowy, perfectly dressed, perfectly made up and with not a single hair out of place. Toreador perhaps? They were the pretty Clan after all.

“So who are we going to see?” I ask.

“It is traditional that a new arrival to the city introduce themselves to both the Prince and the Primogen, or leader of their Clan. We are going to see the Primogen of Clan Brujah. Greywolf directs my attention to one of the men wearing a cheap polyester suit. It reminded me of the some of the suits that a defendant might wear for their criminal trial. Cheap, and it looked good for maybe two wearings. The pinstriped suit he was wearing had seen more than two, as the fabric was starting to pill. His shoulder length brown hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed for a while, and his black loafers were scuffed and had a thin coating of mud. The ladies were ignoring him, and he started walking toward the two of us. We were walking toward him, and we met halfway, near the middle of the room.

“Greywolf.” He tapped Greywolf on the shoulder with his fist, a macho sort of greeting. “Nice to see you again. Who, pray tell, is your charming friend?”

“Armand, this is Raven, the newest member of our Clan in Seattle.”

Armand takes my hand and kisses the back of it. I feel his lips gently brush my skin. “Welcome to the City, Raven. So where are you from?”

I smile slightly, a bit embarrassed by the gesture. It was something I’d only seen done in the movies. I’d never actually had someone kiss my hand before. But then, I was unaccustomed to dealing with real gentlemen. “Seattle.” I reply.

The room suddenly became quiet. A crystal flute fell to the floor and shattered, spilling the remains of its ruby red contents on the floor. Its fall went unnoticed, for all eyes were suddenly upon me. Greywolf was the first to break the silence. “Armand, she was Embraced by an Anarch. Prince Marcel, in his infinite wisdom has allowed me to adopt her as my own Childe.”

Armand smiles at me. “You are most fortunate, young one. The Prince must have been feeling quite generous to allow you to live.”

I shrug. “I suppose so.” Personally, I didn’t feel all that lucky. After all, I was dead. My career as I knew it, was over. And I had to drink human blood in order to survive. Yeah, I can’t say that was really fortunate.

Armand looks around at the others gathered around the room, watching the three of us. “Come, let us go somewhere a bit more private.” He goes over to where the mortal servant was now cleaning up the fallen glass with a towel. The silver tray, bearing four crystal flutes full of blood, sat on a nearby mahogany table, temporarily abandoned. He picks up three flutes, holding two balanced carefully in one hand and one in the other. With his left hand, he offers me a glass, which I accept, then offers Greywolf a glass from his right hand. Greywolf accepts the glass, and together we go back out into the hallway into another, much smaller room.

This room must be what the Prince referred to as the Blue Room, because the room was done entirely in blue. The walls were painted a pale blue, with a dark blue ceiling that had been dotted with silver stars to imitate a night sky. Heavy blue velvet drapes were hung across the windows, and the antique furniture was upholstered in the same blue fabric that the drapes had been made of.

Armand raises his glass. “This occasion calls for a toast.” He waits for us to follow suit. “To the newest member of Clan Brujah. To Raven.”

“To Raven.” Greywolf replies. We each take a sip from our glasses.

Armand sits down on the sofa. He pats the seat next to him. “Come and have a seat next to me.” I look at Greywolf, who nods his assent. I sit down next to Armand. It was odd, really. It had been some time since I had been this close to a man. I crossed my legs, but twirled my foot in lazy circles, focusing on that rather than my proximity to him.

“So Raven, what were you before you became one of us?”

“I was a lawyer, working for the Office of the Public Defender.” I replied.

“How interesting. A lawyer that actually helps people instead of corporations. Perhaps she will indeed make a good Brujah.” He looks at Greywolf. “So, tell me, how did you manage to convince the Prince to allow her to live?”

Greywolf smiles. “He called me a liar. Accused me of Embracing her myself. But the Warlock’s test proved that he was wrong, and he was forced to apologize and accept her as my adopted Childe.”

“Another toast, then.” Armand raises his glass again. “To Greywolf’s victory in this latest skirmish with the Ventrue Prince.” ”To Greywolf.” I murmur, and we take another sip from our glasses. Greywolf had told me of the long-standing hatred between the Brujah and the Ventrue. This latest victory was just one small battle in a much larger war. I can’t really see the logic in it myself. Why continue to antagonize the Prince when you could simply play along? It’s like having a boss you don’t like. You just do what you can to keep them happy, and hope that things will change. Though I was also told that a change of leadership within a city is rather rare. If you don’t like the Prince, you’re going to be stuck with that Kindred for quite possibly a very long time to come.

“You look upset, young one.” Armand offers. “What bothers you? I assure you, you will get used to drinking vitae in time.”

I shake my head. “I liked my job. I liked being able to help people, and now I can’t do it.”

Armand laughs a bit. “My dear, you will learn that all you need to do is work within the limitations of your condition. There are other ways to help people that do not require working during the day. You could, for example, open your own practice and set your own hours. There is plenty of need for a lawyer that keeps office hours after the workday is over. Consider that a moment before you wallow in your self-pity. You are Brujah, and you must follow your passions, or you will perish.”

“I thought that Kindred were immortal, immune to all but a few methods of death.” Armand’s words seemed to differ from what Greywolf had told me.

“There are few means of physical death, but there are many means of spiritual death. A loss of passion, or giving into the Beast too many times, for example. Death is not immediate, to be certain, but it can be just as final.”

I nod. That made as much sense as most of the things I had learned in the past few nights. I suppose it was rather like an old person. They tended to do well when they had some sort of hobby or activity to keep them busy, and once that was lost to them, many tended to slip away. Before my grandmother had passed away, I had seen a fair number of other residents in the hospice pass away, killed more by loneliness and a sense of uselessness rather than by the disease that affected them.

At the moment, I felt as much as those lost souls in hospice care. I had lost my sense of purpose, and I needed to find it again. And Armand was indeed right. I could recall many, many cases of not being able to get in touch with witnesses or my client’s relatives and friends because they simply could not come in during our office hours. I’d done what I could to accommodate them, but it simply wasn’t always possible. If I were to open my own firm, I could set my own hours, and actually be able to help those least able to help themselves. It seems there was a great deal that I could do after all. All was not entirely lost.

“Has Greywolf taken you to meet Luna yet?” Armand’s tone lowers to just above a whisper.

I shake my head. Who was Luna and why was she important? Was she here in the building? It didn’t seem so, because I would have thought that she would have accompanied us into the room. And why would he be so secretive while mentioning her name? He then looks to Greywolf again. “You are taking her soon, though?”

“Of course.” Greywolf replies. “I think she would be more than willing to assist Raven in her quest for her passion.” I wasn’t really so sure anyone could help me. Then again, perhaps I do know of someone who could help me. I make a note to call my stockbroker about making a withdrawal. Fortunately, he had been my father’s broker for some time, and given the size of the Rothchild family holdings, I could call him virtually any time of the day or night.

I saved my questions about Luna for another time. There were other things I needed to worry about now. Raising the necessary capital. Securing a suitable location. Finding my target market. Thinking of a name for the company. And not necessarily in that order. Hell, I was thinking like my father now.

My father’s will dictated that I would receive payments from the trust fund he’d set up only IF I went to school and became a lawyer. But he never bothered to specify what KIND of lawyer I could be, and I’d used that loophole to my advantage. However, there was no getting around the fact that trust fund had been specified as ‘in perpetuum’, which meant that I didn’t get to manage the funds myself when I turned 18 or 25 or ever. Control of the fund remained firmly and permanently in the hands of the brokerage firm, Morgan Stanley Dean Witter. Only the complete and utter shutdown of the brokerage would allow me access to the funds. And they didn’t seem to be going anywhere any time soon.

Greywolf and Armand were discussing a great number of things. I was only half-listening, because I was planning my next moves. Who should I serve? Obviously not corporations, or the wealthy. They didn’t need my help, though the pay was always good. Criminals? That’s what the Office of the Public Defender was for. But what about the ones that fell between the cracks? The people that worked hard and got the short end of the stick? They were the ones that truly needed help, but couldn’t afford it. I could charge based on a sliding scale, according to their income level. And run it as a non-profit legal service firm. Yes, that could work very well.

Greywolf gets up from the couch opposite ours. “Come, my dear, there is still much that we need to do tonight.” He offers me his hand and helps me up from the sofa. It wasn’t that late really, as a glance at my watch told me it was only about nine. Perhaps the visit to this Luna would take time? Even so, there was much that I wanted, no I needed to do in order to get this project off the ground. “Thank you Armand, for your time.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Armand winks at me. I move closer to Greywolf. Though I wasn’t entirely fond of Greywolf, I was even less fond of a man trying to make a move on me. I follow Greywolf out the door and we leave through a different exit, saying no goodbyes to anyone else, not even the Prince. Was this a normal thing to do? Leave without saying goodbye? It seemed rather rude, but then, were Kindred really subject to the social norms of mortal society? I suppose that they should be, since we were supposed to live within their rules, not outside of them.

Within a few moments, we are driving again, back towards the less savory parts of Seattle. The brightly lit streets start to gradually darken because as we approach the area, more and more of the streetlights are out of commission, and graffiti begins to rear its ugly head. I was familiar with this part of town. I’d visited it more than a few times, most often in the day, and only rarely without an escort. Was this where we were going to sleep for the day? It wasn’t as good a choice as the Industrial District, because there was little industry here besides the illegal trades of drugs and prostitution. Most of the legitimate industries had fled long ago, victims or beneficiaries of the North American Free Trade Agreement. Rumor had it that this part of the city often served as a meeting place so the Anarchist groups could plan their next big protest.

We reach the heart of the neighborhood, and pull up to a building that had its doors boarded up. I look at Greywolf. Where were we going? There was no reason to park here, as there wasn’t any way into the building. Greywolf gets out of the van and walks around the building. I follow, still curious as to where he was headed.

There were no lights inside the building, and the exterior lights were not turned on either, but the exterior lights of nearby buildings reflect upon the wet asphalt, and somewhat illuminate the building. When we reach the back of the building, I see a fire escape ladder sitting on the ground, as if it had been waiting for our arrival. “After you.” He offers.

I give Greywolf a look, and then look up. I wiggle the ladder, and it yields under my touch. He expected me to climb five stories up a ladder that might not even hold my weight. He was fricking nuts!! But he looked very serious, so I start to climb up the ladder. “The roof.” He replies to my unasked question. I climb, and the metal feels chilly under my hands, but not as cold as metal exposed to the chill night air should be. When I get about halfway up, I hear a clang of metal below me. I look down and see Greywolf making his way up the ladder, keeping a steady pace. It was a long way down. Good thing I wasn’t afraid of heights.

When I reach the top, I hear the distinct sound of a pistol being cocked. A bright light was shining directly into my eyes, blinding me, and allowing me to see nothing past the light. “Who the fuck are you?”

Great. That’s all I needed. Someone else pointing a gun at me tonight. I raise my hands, attempting to demonstrate that I wasn’t a threat. I glance down into the darkness, but my night vision was gone now, and I couldn’t tell exactly where Greywolf was on the ladder. I gather up my courage and stare back into the light. “Name’s Raven.” I reply. “I’m here with Greywolf.”

The light goes off. I do not hear a shot. I guess I must have given them the answer they wanted to hear. I hear a sound behind me, and turn to see Greywolf pulling himself up the stairs. Thank goodness. I was somewhat safer now.

A string of miniature white Christmas lights comes on, revealing the perimeter of the building and a rather large group of people. I see a guy with huge biceps that had to be steroid induced tucking a gun into his waistband. Two other rather large guys stood near him, both with large bulges visible underneath their black leather jackets. Oh shit. Did all three of them have weapons pointed at me earlier? That was a scary thought.

The majority of the activity centered around a woman reclining in a plastic lawn chair that had a few broken straps lying on the ground. Her black hair was cut into a short pageboy, but had been obviously been sprayed and moussed within an inch of its life. Her skin was pale, and she was stick-thin. The torn Black Flag t-shirt hung on her thin frame, her breasts just mere suggestions. She was definitely not breathing, but she had a laptop perched on her lap, typing furiously as others looked over her shoulder and talked both to and around her.

We approach and she looks up from her work. “Greywolf. Back so soon?”

Greywolf nods. “Evenin’ Luna.”

Luna looks past Greywolf and directly at me. “Who’s that with you? She asks.

“Luna, this is Raven, my protégée. Raven, this is Luna, the current leader of the Anarchs in Seattle.” Luna closes the laptop, and I hear it bleep in protest as it powers down. She gets up from the chair and circles both Greywolf and me. I can feel her dark smoldering gaze scanning me, looking for something, but what exactly?

“Your protégée, but not your Childe? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You forget, Luna, as liaison between yourself and Prince Marcel, I must abide by the Camarilla Traditions. Marcel has thrice refused me permission to create a Childe, just as he has refused everyone that has asked him. I cannot create a Childe, but that does not mean that I can’t adopt one that is lost and in need of guidance.”

As she circles me, I follow her with my eyes, keeping a sharp eye on her. I was beginning to learn that Kindred are more dangerous than they seem, and you should never turn your back upon them if you valued your…unlife. “I suppose that it does not. So she is an Anarch’s Childe then?”

“That she is, or Marcel would not have allowed her to live another night.”

Luna smiles. “And do you have any idea who her Sire might be?”

“Anne Bonnie, a fellow Brujah. At least that is what the Warlock Montenegro told Marcel.”

“How convenient, considering I heard she took off.”

“That, obviously, is why poor Raven is an abandoned Childe.” I lower my eyes, figuring I should show the Anarch leader a modicum of respect.

Luna smiles. “In any case, the Childe is welcome here, as are any who support our cause.”

I look to Greywolf to get permission from him before speaking. I had come very close to getting killed tonight. Too close, and I intended to toe the line, at least for a little while. Until I had a better idea of what the hell I was supposed to do, what I should say, how I should act. Fuck. And here I thought being a lawyer was hard. Being a vampire, hell, it seemed nearly impossible. I look at Greywolf. Maybe it just took time to adjust and learn what to do. After all, he was the eldest Brujah in the city, assuming he hadn’t been lying to her. And I had no reason to believe that he was lying.

Eventually, Luna grows tired of us. She opens her laptop up again and starts working again. Greywolf leans over to me. “We’ve been dismissed, my dear. But we are welcome to remain.” Greywolf and I hang out on the roof for a while. We mingled with the gathered crowd. I soon realized that not all of the people here were actually Kindred. Many were actually human, as they were still breathing. Were they servants of the Kindred here? Or just hanging out, dressed up all tough in their black leather, safety pins, motorcycle boots, and tank tops, pretending that the cold Seattle night didn’t bother them, but it was rather obvious that it did because the nipples of both the men and the women were standing at attention. I focused in on their necks, watching the rise and fall of their pulse. The blood was calling me, taunting me. I suppose though, that this sort of fell into the rule of Domain, so feeding on them without Luna’s permission would be dissing her, and a really bad idea.

It is nearly four a.m. by the time Greywolf and I head for another haven, another place to sleep for the day. I hope this time we aren’t interrupted in the middle of the day. Funny though, no one bothered us when we were sleeping at my place, and yet we had abandoned the place. But that was all part of cutting the old mortal ties. Will I still be able to visit my gran at Washington Memorial? I sure hoped so.