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.