Continue to Chapter 3Journal Entries:
Monday, July 3rd 2:14am
"Martini, extra dry."
Diane enjoyed the trappings of luxury at the Aptos Club in the same way she had always enjoyed freebies, by using them voraciously and without undue amounts of respect. The atmosphere was plush and comfortable, and even the club servants weren't too supercilious. She was only a guest of course, tagging on a temporary membership that Crown had arranged for her. Funnily enough, the last couple of flash clubs she had frequented has also been in the capacity of 'guest'. She grinned to herself. Ah yes. Who said there was no such thing as a free lunch?
The only mistake she had really made in this one, in retrospect, was asking innocently if they had a copy of 'Le Monde' on her last visit. It was always so tempting to demand unreasonable things of these people to put them through their paces. They probably enjoyed it really. Servant mentality. She had been duly presented with a nicely ironed copy earlier that evening. Consequently, she felt very well informed about news in the francophone world.
A club servant delivered the drink, complete with skewered olive, without disturbing the concentration of the woman who was leafing through computer print-outs. He removed the French newspaper deftly at her absent nod and disappeared with the unobtrusive grace common to all good waiters. Diane settled into the leather chair with a comfortable creak and continued her current reading. As well as making eccentric but unutterably charming demands on the club resources and picking through the various broadsheets and stock market ratings, she had been checking out possibilities for a more permanent crypt. Tonight she was one of the later stay overs and the normally mellow atmosphere in the smokers lounge was even more subdued. The faint strains of something classical drifted through the room, counterpointing the quiet murmur of voices and the hum of the air conditioning.
The Ventrue considered her resources briefly. There were not a great deal of them to consider. So.. apartments? Yes, there were listings but they were not in large supply which affected the prices, also there was no guarantee of privacy. Some landlords had the habit of dropping in unexpectedly. She was sure, however, that one might be suitably dominated to notify her in advance. That would require of the order of $800-1400/month, a house would be more expensive. Probably out of her price range. Certainly buying one was currently out of the question, even if she could be bothered with the usual wait whilst the lawyers sorted themselves out. Easily liquifiable resources, she thought gloomily, would have been a major asset. However, there was the possibility of making use of abandoned or disused sites. Unsuitable for a permanent haven, but worth checking out as a possibility in emergencies. It would have been so much easier with a ghoul to take care of the paperwork...This time she deliberately avoided thinking of his name and face. Or the dead body. Thinking of them as people or friends made you too dependent. It was a hard lesson but she felt that she could try to profit from that.
She tapped her pen on the print-outs, willing herself back to business.
How could one plan for the future if one was continually being drawn back to the past? That was the mistake elders made. Life went on. Or unlife even. Still.. it would have been easier. Other options were.. a boat. This appealed as a romantic notion if she could find the capital, about $60,000 plus seemed to be the going rate. Then one would have to negotiate a permanent slip at the harbour. She grinned.
'Negotiations' were one of her stronger points, and her natural affinity for domination certainly didn't hurt. Jumping the queue was unlikely to present a problem if that was what she wanted to do. The final possibility would be to acquire a trailer home. It would certainly be cheaper. The Ventrue frowned. Whilst personally she would have been prepared to sleep in a wattle and daub hut, as long as it had a phone line, she much preferred to live in comfort. It might be worth stretching her income to the limits and furnishing a nice apartment, then spying out some vacant properties for use as emergency havens.
Her attention drifted back to the martini and she found herself noticing how much the red strip of pepper inside the olive looked like a bloodstain.
A braying laugh from across the room heralded the entrance of a group of young men and women as they spilled out from one of the private lounges, and Diane glanced across at the interruption, her gaze falling inexorably on one of the young men who was attached to the group.
"No really!" one of the girls asked breathlessly. "So how did he find out?"
This was greeted with another round of general amusement as one of the others launched into some story, punctuated by a general level of preening and posturing that wouldn't have looked out of place at a Young Republican's conference. The kids had an unmistakably opulent air, like varnished fruit waiting to be photographed for a cookery book.
Both men and women were dressed with more of an eye to who could gather the most designer labels than to any coherent style. They were very obviously children of the affluent who had never had to exert themselves and probably never would. It was almost as if their brash and loud manner was trying to compensate for their inner anxieties.
Diane would have mentally shrugged the group off as a waste of perfectly good DNA and finished scanning her print-outs if it hadn't been for the man who had caught her eye. In some way that wasn't immediately obvious he seemed aloof from the rest of the group, listening to the conversations without really taking part in them as if even in the middle of the crowd he was alone. He was very beautiful, she thought with a vague aesthetic appreciation. Classically good looking, with the obligatory tan and sandy blond hair and the slim, athletic figure that wouldn't have looked out of place on a model; even his clothes seemed to be in better taste than the others. It was like watching a swan in a gaggle of geese. Diane decided uncharitably that by the law of averages, he was probably an idiot with an obnoxious personality. Then he glanced across and caught her eyes. Instead of glancing over her as if she was riffraff or making a point of ignoring her completely, his expression brightened into a polite smile. Interesting.
She had propped her chin on the palm of her hand and was in the process of considering him again, when she was interrupted by a judder and the sound of glass against wood. An unamused pair of grey eyes snapped back to take in one of the crowd, a dark-haired woman in an Armani suit who had just bumped into Diane's booth, spilling the untouched martini. The girl tossed her hair back with 'that' gesture and turned to scold one of the young men she was with, stabbing a finger into his tailored shoulder.
"Harry! You could pay more attention to where you're going!" Her pretty nose wrinkled in disgust and she turned away again, without bothering to apologise to the woman in the booth whose drink she had spilled. The woman who was sitting back quietly now in the shadows and just watching with her pale grey eyes. As if the hapless girl had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.
As if by magic, the old man servant who had originally brought her drink appeared again, with a teatowel folded neatly across an arm. He deftly cleared up the spilled liquid and glass and replaced it with an identical one before leaving. It was as if nothing had happened.
"I'm sorry about Kelly. She can get distracted easily. I'm sure she didn't mean to be rude.", he sounded genuinely apologetic. Even before Diane glanced across to the source of the voice she knew it was the man she had noticed before. Unbelievable that he should mix with the same people, almost. She itemised him thoughtfully, wondering. He managed another smile, unnerved by the calm, and pushed a comma of hair back from his forehead with a nervous, boyish charm.
"Well, I'm sorry to have disturbed you.." He nodded to her politely and half turned to leave.
'Oh no', she thought, 'not so easily, I think you want to notice me.' Her lips curved into a quiet assured smile and lazily, she tilted her fingertips towards the empty seat at her booth. "No great disturbance" then the invitation, pitched slightly lower, "Join me?" She was gratified to see that his eyes didn't leave her face, the expression shifting subtly from a polite interest to a deeper fascination. There was no doubt that he would accept.
It was the expression shift that alerted her, a vague remembrance. Presence. She must have used it unconsciously. She looked back to the table, disturbed by this for reasons she couldn't fully voice. Had it become so much a part of her? Was it so easy now to bolster her natural charm with a supernatural one that she wasn t even able to control it consciously? More worryingly, was this likely to happen with dominate as well?
Whilst she looked away the spell seemed to break for a moment. The man looked back to the departing group. A small cluster of them had detached to come back for him but he shook his head slowly and waved them away. As he sat down, flicking back the tails of his jacket neatly, some of the kids seemed to also notice Diane for the first time. She felt some of the women staring, or glaring, and settled back in her seat complacently. They weren't even in the same league. Little kine girls...
Without being asked, the same grey-haired waiter appeared and left a gin & tonic for Diane's companion, with a twist of lime at the rim of the glass.
"You're new."
She nodded. "Well.. yes. Am I supposed to say something like 'Do you come here often?'" just a hint of a smile.
He laughed, "No, that s supposed to be my line. I'd have made a terrible actor! I just know many of the people who frequent the club by sight and you seemed different."
"I always seem different." she admitted mildly. "Sometimes I don't think I will ever get used to America." she glanced back to his face, making eye contact and then breaking it. The odd feeling at the nape of her neck was a distant relative of nerves. "I'm still getting a feel for Santa Cruz, really..."
"Oh yes. It will grow on you.. like mould." he seemed to relax, pausing to drink from his glass. "I'm real sorry, I should have introduced myself. Antonio deRiva, or Tony if you prefer. Its a real pleasure, ma'am..."
Diane laughed and leaned across to shake his hand briefly.
Fortunately her martini had come in a cold glass. "Nice to meet you too, Tony. Diane Forester, I'm here doing some research and.. looking up some old friends."
"Diane, like.."
She interrupted, hiding the laughter, "Like the Princess of Wales yes."
He was momentarily abashed. "I suppose everyone says that."
"Well.." she said diplomatically, "It's an understandable mistake to make!"
This time it was his turn to laugh. "Oh I see. so maybe I should call you 'Lady Di' and burn you in effigy on the 4th?"
She kept a straight face, and smiled with her eyes, "You know. I think we could maybe waive that last part, it sounds painful..." then relaxed into a smile. "Tell me Tony, are you always this lively so late at night?"
He spread his hands apologetically and leaned forwards unconsciously in his seat. "I'm sorry, what must I sound like? I think that I'm just a night person if you know what I mean."
Diane nodded in agreement.
"I always preferred night to daytime," he continued thoughtfully. "Its a quieter time, more introspective. Sometimes you meet more interesting people..."
Conversation seemed to flow effortlessly. The vampire had already forgiven him for his rich trappings and good looks, he even seemed to be quite intelligent and have a quick wit. She thought he lacked direction in life, though, and seemed vaguely aware of this, although perhaps not consciously.
Diane smiled without thinking and glanced at the clock on the wall. She was surprised that it had already been an hour. It seemed like no time. An hour in which she'd almost been distracted enough to forget what she was and why she was here. That was something that happened very rarely. If she'd still been alive, she knew this was a surefire sign that she would have been very interested in Tony. Enough to already have been rearranging her schedules mentally to try to find ways to spend more time with him. To have been allowing herself the luxury of contemplating a wildly enthralling affair, and the excitement of the uncertainty... Staring at phones, stocking up the drinks cabinet, analysing every second word he said for possible hidden meanings. Remembering that first flush of excitement without the adrenaline high that should have come with it made her want to laugh.. or cry.
She wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't interested anyway.
"I can't believe you just waited in the airport for 12 hours, it just doesn't seem very you." He was more relaxed now, shaking his head.
Diane drifted back to his face again and smiled. "Well, what else was I to do? The plane had gone and I still had the rand I'd been given for traveling expenses... and the bar was open..."
"I'm disappointed. I'd expected at the very least you'd have dredged up some poor bush pilot to fly a world war 1 biplane out over the border through a hail of bullets!"
"So that s what you'd have done?" she grinned.
He matched the grin. "Naturally. Except I would have talked the beautiful barmaid from the airport lounge into coming with me."
"Uh-huh? And if the beautiful barmaid turned out to be a spotty teenager?"
He waved a hand nonchalantly. "Then.. we'd have picked up enough assorted drink to make a water buffalo look like a gazelle and taken some Havana cigars from duty free.. to celebrate in style."
"We?"
"I meant 'I'"
Diane nodded and her eyes danced. "Ah yes, Havana cigars, those are the long thick ones, aren't they? I bet that would have been.. very distracting!"
"Oh no!" Tony feigned shock. "The spiraled ones. You must be thinking of something quite different."
"Perish the thought."
This time they both laughed.
Diane thought it was deja vue that initially attracted her attention to another movement by the doors. Then she sighed internally. It really was Crown's ghoul, Charlie. She hadn't previously thought that he might get nights off. He noticed Diane and crossed the room to her booth. She was about to phrase some polite recognition when he nodded to her companion as if he was greeting an old friend.
"Good evening Tony, or morning I should say. Its been a while..."
Diane made the best of it and was about to flag the old manservant over to get another round of drinks when she realised he was already there, with some amber liquid in a short tumbler which he left at Charlie's place as the ghoul drew up a chair. The two men seemed friendly enough and Diane smiled pleasantly and hid her growing irritation at being brought back to earth with the traditional bump behind her natural facility at conversation.
The three of them chatted for a while in what Diane thought was a rather obviously faked social mechanic, but Tony seemed oblivious to any undertones and finally he swapped cards with her and left. She watched him leave and lapsed into silence, left alone at the table with the ghoul.
"So, Mizz Forester, what do you think of young Tony?"
'Young Tony' must have been in his early twenties at the least. The vampire returned her attention to the man at her table, slipping back into a more cautious mode with an effort. She wondered now how old Charlie might actually be. Theoretically, of course, there was almost no limit.
She smiled warmly, "He seemed quite charming. In a naive way of course. I find that the more one talks to kine, the more one finds them shallow in comparison to..." she paused, and took the diplomatic option, "... our circles, Charlie."
He nodded to this, and something flickered behind his eyes before it was gone again. He said complacently "He's almost perfect. I suggested him as a ghoul for the Master."
"Ah, I see." Diane gritted her teeth and managed another tolerable smile. She was more disappointed than she could easily say and could feel the rising tide of frustration, like a red pressure behind her eyes. It hadn't specifically occurred to her to think of ghouling Tony before Charlie had mentioned it but the notion that she had forgotten herself enough to actually like someone who belonged to another vampire, body and soul, was a knife in the ribs.
Charlie watched her for a moment and then returned to toying with his drink. "It's too bad." he commented.
Diane waited for a moment for him to finish his sentence, but it became obvious he was enjoying the knowledge that he had and she didn't.
"What's too bad, Charlie?" she asked sweetly.
He shrugged. "The Master thinks that young Tony is a rare prize. In fact, one worthy of the embrace." he put his glass down on its mat just a little too hard. Just a little whitening at the knuckles.
'He wants to be embraced?' she thought. Poor jealous Charlie. She didn't smirk openly. Now that she had more of a reason to feel superior, she found that she was less annoyed with him.
"But", Charlie continued, "since he cannot, he has determined that such a flower be taken in its full bloom. The Master will drink Tony's life - one night soon."
For a short moment she just looked at him, lost for words. Then, "I.. see what you mean by 'it's too bad'...".
She couldn't help thinking how much she had enjoyed Tony's company. What an idiot.... then the next thought. She wasn't a ghoul to be servile to 'the Master'. She didn't have to take anything as a fait accompli! She propped her chin on the palm of her hand again and met Charlie's eyes.
"Better hope he doesn't really turn out to be distantly related to Mira's family." she said soberly. "That would be a dreadful shame...."
The brief uncertainty she had been looking for in his eyes was there. He wasn't sure. That might buy her a couple of days to think of something, as Crown would need to check that he wouldn't be inadvertently offending one of his more valued allies.
"Anyway" she said more quietly. "Its been an unexpected pleasure. Do give my regards to your master." She picked up her print outs and slid to her feet. "Oh and be a love. Finish up my drink, eh?"
[Blood Pool - 10]
{Q: The only other thing I had thought of was.. does Diane know if the Toreador who was killed (Claudia?) had any particular ghouls or influences which she might be able to pick up if she is quick
A: Yes, she heard mention that Claudia had a number of ghouls, those who were not assumed by other Toreador, who are now desperate to find new masters. The Brujah (and other Toreador) have already killed most all that were not 'adopted.' Not having any Toreador connections, Diane is at a loss to indentify any such orphan ghouls or influences of Claudia's. Still, she is free to approach one of the Toreador and ask.}
Monday, July 3rd, 1995 9:28pm
Diane could hear the traffic from outside the motel window. She had been listening to its dull hum for about an hour. It nicely blended into the interference from the radio that wouldn't quite tune in. The wardrobe door creaked on it's hinges. It didn't quite fit the cabinet. The vampire didn't greatly notice this as she had very few spare clothes to hang in any case.
She had been trying to organise her thoughts and decide what to do about Tony. She wasn't precisely sure if she just didn't want him to die, or if it was simply that she didn't want Crown to kill him. If it had been any other vampire... would she have just left it? Unfortunately anything she did would have to be soon or else it would be too late.
The ceiling was tiled in some white substance. It might have even been white originaly. Diane lay back on the bed and let her eyes follow the tesselations. There was not a great deal of variation in motel ceilings but she was unwillingly becoming expert. There was a screech of brakes outside the window which she ignored. The easiest way would just be to tell Crown she had an eye on the man and offer to pay for him. People were the very least commodity kindred could trade between them. She dismissed this out of hand. On the other hand, it would be a coup if she could force him to let her keep Tony under her own protection. Her lips curved into a faint smile and she closed her eyes. Ceilings became quite tedious after you had seen a few.
She thought it was possible. In order to stake a claim to Tony she'd need to ghoul him, preferably before Crown had a chance to kill him. That meant quickly. Then it was just a case of how to justify this. If only someone had broken the masquerade in his presence. Almost anything could be justified if it cleared up a masq breach. If something like that had happened it would have been easy. She didn't have the ability to remove people's memories the way her sire had done, and God knows she had tried hard enough. It would just be a case of saying 'Well, it was either this or killing him and I remembered your good advice on keeping the number of killings down...'
It was a shame no-one had broken the Masq to him. Yet. She grinned. This was beginning to look promising. She would just have to fool one of the other kindred into saying too much while Tony was around. If she could find an excuse to take him down to the Boardwalk with her, they might assume he was a ghoul anyway. She could act. This might work. She mentally corrected herself. It would work.
This pleased her and she rolled over onto an elbow to reach her phone from a pocket. She paused a moment, a twinge of unexpected regret surprising her. Ghouling was only one step up from slavery. Eternal slavery. It seemed a rather shit thing to be planning for some man she had met once and had a mildly interesting conversation with. Pretty shit thing to do to someone you actually liked. The woman's brows formed a shallow 'v' as she frowned at herself. What the hell was this for wimping out on a perfectly good plan. Being a ghoul was a better option than being drained dry and buried in the back of Crown's garden which was probably the alternative. It wasn't as if she was planning to abuse him hideously. She hadn't even thought that far with it.
Thinking about Tony's current unwitting predicament only reminded her of the other girl. The one she had killed herself. Maybe she might have made a good ghoul if she had been given the option. Diane chose not to dwell on this and instead rolled onto her front and dialled his number.
The dial tone cut off with a chirp as the phone was answered at the far end. There was a crackly and sounds of traffic, much louder than it had been in the room. Tony's voice came online, "Hello?"
"Hi there," Diane said brightly and smiled at the telephone, projecting a manic kind of enthusiasm into her voice. "It's Diane. I don't know if you remember but I ran into you yesterday at the Aptos club?" He'd -better- remember her.
"Oh sure, I'm hardly going to forget a fellow night owl! Nice to hear from you again, Diane. How're things?"
"Fine, fine. Actually, Tony, I was wondering if you were free tonight maybe? I really enjoyed talking to you last night and.. well, I was just wondering..."
There were times when telephones, much as she adored them, could be a real inconvenience. You couldn't use presence down a telephone. She realised with some mild amusement that she was slightly nervous as she waited.
"Have you eaten yet? I'll swing around and pick you up. If you like seafood, I know a great restaurant out in Rio del Mar."
"Sounds great!" She settled herself more comfortably on the bed and shifted the phone to her other hand. "I'm not sure I could manage another full meal but I'm sure I could stretch to something." 'Something' was likely to translate as picking at some starter or other. "Isn't it a bit late for dinner though?" she teased.
"Dinner? This is breakfast. Didn't I tell you I was a night owl? Just tell me your address and I'll swing round. Bring something warm and I'll leave the top down. It's a beautiful night for a drive."
She laughed. "Great minds! I was thinking that myself. Tell you what, I could use some air anyway.." she added that she wanted to stretch her legs and suggested somewhere well populated to meet. One had to be careful of wolves, but she had a feeling he was a reasonable timekeeper.
Timings agreed, she hung up the phone and flopped back onto the bed, mind ticking away. One less thing marked off the 'to do' list. Now to really kick this plan into touch.
She picked a clean jacket off a hanger. Her only other jacket. In the pocket was a little steel fountain pen. She rinsed it under the tap and unscrewed the barrel before pressing the nib into the inside of her elbow. It broke the white skin with barely a trace of blood and raised a small bump as she felt around for the blood vessel. The vitae seemed sluggish as she forced it up into the pen with an expression of grave concentration. Finally the job was done. All ready to be slipped into some coffee. She licked the nib clean.
With some time to spare she moved onto the next item on her list. House hunting. There was only a limited amount of time in which motels were an acceptable option and it was beginning to be annoying. She had circled some listings and began to phone around some of the landlords.
One of the listings that had caught her eye was a place on the High Street. It sounded massively upmarket from what she'd had in mind, or in fact what she could afford. It was a certain bullish obstinacy that drove her to phone the owner and make an appointment to see it anyway. Like trying on designer clothes you couldn't possibly afford in shops, there was no reason not to be able to look at these places.
It did sound perfect, even allowing for the tendency of landlords to talk up their properties. In this case the owner was actually an English woman, married to a South African. She brightened audibly as she heard another English accent and quizzed the vampire at some tedious length about exactly where she had lived and when she had left. Diane promised herself that she would turn this to some advantage as she kept up an inane conversation about children's TV programmes she vaguely remembered from her youth as if it was the subject dearest to her heart. It sounded worryingly as if it might be the subject dearest to the other woman. Even Diane was slightly impressed at her own patter on the subject of whether Darjeeling was preferable to Earl Grey. Especially since she'd always bought the cheapest tea-bags from the local supermarket. Mrs. Polle seemed quite impressed as well.
However she wasn't too impressed to remember to ask whether Diane intended to keep pets (a fairly definite no), whether she planned to sublet any of the rooms (another definite no, although the idea -did- appeal), and whether she planned to hold any wild parties ("Oh no, definitely not!" the other woman was assured.). That only left a slightly apologetic enquiry as to whether she could provide a letter from her bank as a reference. Diane expressed certainty that she'd be able to find some suitable documentation. She suspected that a valid British passport would probably satisfy the other woman.
The price really was too steep at $2500/month but it sounded impossibly nice. A view of the bay, a decent sized garden, a working security system. The vampire was mentally picturing herself having guests there and was reluctant from letting such a minor thing as lack of hard cash from getting in the way. An appointment to view was duly made and she also talked the woman into agreeing to give her first refusal.
Out of deference to common sense, Diane finished phoning the other names on her list and made an appointment to lok round an apartment in a block on Capitola Avenue later in the week. It was less than half the price. But she liked the idea of the house with the garden, even if she would only be able to see it at night.
She slipped the phone back into it's case and stretched lazily in front of the dingy little mirror, pushing her pale hands up towards the ceiling. She was feeling more positive than she had since arriving. She even made a note to find a flower for her buttonhole on the way to meet Tony.
July 4th, 20:53pm - Boardwalk
The last band was winding the crowd up with a long wail of distortion and feedback cunningly disguised as the extended guitar solo from their closing number when there was a minor scuffle by the aquarium. The whole affair could not have lasted even a minute. Through the noise and the people it was difficult to make out anything much beyond some brief motion. A gaunt man with nicotine stained teeth and worn leathers. A woman, shorter and alone. Eye contact. An exchange of words. Indignant. Smarmy. Threats. Although the words didn't carry through the crowd, oddly enough her accent did. English, presumably a tourist. Her cheerful expression barely slipped into a more determined set of the jaw.
Then it was all over as quickly as it had began. The man's head dipped as he reached down for something and handed it to her, with an apology. She nodded, accepting it as her due, and moved on, giving the matter no further attention and putting the wallet absently back in her pocket.
Something about her demeanor caught the eye. A certain infectious confidence that said 'the word 'no' is not in my vocabulary'. She was a pleasant looking woman of about 30, average height. A handsome face lit up by pale grey eyes and a noticeable lack of tan which would have marked her as a tourist even without the accent. Dull blonde hair that shone with health, cut into a neat bob. Jeans and a plain cotton shirt. Something about the cheerful animation in her face and the quick laughter...
By the time the fireworks began she seemed to have effortlessly insinuated herself to one of the better viewing positions offered in the Boardwalk. Diane settled one pale hand atop the other as the first barrage of fireworks lit up the night. An instinctive shiver of anticipation, some primal reverence for fire and destruction, rippled across the crowds as they were showered in a hail of bright sparks. Her fingers tensed and she felt the rush of fear and fought back the white terror instinct in a heady surge of will. It was the same rush that the kine felt on the more death-defying rides, and she revelled in the intensity to the neglect of all else. In the brief respite between the first flurry of fireworks and the second, the man's voice from behind caught her by surprise.
"A friend once told me the price for immortality was a very expensive one. What is your opinion on the question?"
For the space of a heartbeat, she did not respond. A flash of a very different panic, this was a subject that could not, would not be discussed with strangers on pain of certain death. Who could know and who would dare? Years of training warred with the curiousity of the elephant's child and the thrill of tempting fate. The training didn't stand a chance.
Unexpectedly, she didn't turn to face him. Instead she relaxed her hold on the railings, leaning back lazily so that her head was almost resting against his shoulder.
"It isn't cheap, but I do a very good rate for block bookings!"
There was a bright tone to her voice, as of suppressed laughter, and she glanced at him with grey eyes. Scanner of tides. More softly she added: "Is a thing cheap if it is given to you without your asking, or does that only make it priceless? I think it is a subjective judgement. If a thing is something you want very much and costs you something that you hardly miss, then we say it is cheap. Maybe the true price of immortality is that you have to live forever."
She played with the words like a kitten with a ball of wool, then her attention switched to the sky again as another ring of fireworks painted the sky with sparkling chrysanthemums of green and white light. For a moment she paused, as awed as a child, but her next comment was more sober.
"Was your friend a greengrocer or a market trader then, to see everything in terms of buying and selling and costs and prices?"
She gave the man a more appraising glance, searching out his eyes with her own, trying to make sense of him. She couldn't afford to let him get away before she had some idea how he knew about her and what he planned to do about it.
"It's expensive. Yes. Is that what you think you are looking for?"
He kept silent for a few moments, trying to read Diane's soul. His brown eyes held a touch of nostalgia, but the corner of his mouth slipped the hint of a smile. This was not a man who smiled often, but valued each of those moments preciously. He had the severe facial traits of eastern Europeans, framed by short blond hair.
"Something is expensive if you have to pay with something that was precious to your soul. Would you have chosen immortality, now that you know what you had to give away?"
He thought for a few seconds before adding a comment.
"I am a giver of Death. I steal from hopeless souls the shreds of life they desperately cling to, so they might be born again with new dreams and new hopes. But I want to understand what makes it right and what makes it wrong. The prices of life and death. Now, I know there is something else that is neither life nor death. Immortality. I want to know, I want to understand."
His attention wandered for a few seconds while the fireworks exploded in a cacophony that drowned his words.
"Sorry if my talk is gloomy and dark. Goes with the job I guess. But in a way, you are more alive than I am. I envy you that smile, I envy you your passion. You are a strange paradox of life, death, immortality and passion. That's what drew me to you."
Again.. the hint of a smile on his lips, a sparkle of... something in his eyes.
The vampire leaned back against him and maintained a crooked smile. Whoever he was, he seemed a world away from sane. She considered the possibility that he was one of the Prince's ghouls, which would at least approximate a reasonable explanation. But if so, why come to her with these questions?
"I can't help feeling that you are a bit hung up on immortality", she laughed, her voice as soft as a purr. "Most don't live that long. Maybe I chose it for the power, or the mystery, or to find out the truth, or because the alternatives seemed worse, or because the choice wasn't really a choice at all. I love this life. Why dwell on might have beens?"
Another clump of fireworks lit up the night sky, accompanied by a long 'ooooh' of wonder from the crowd, but this time she ignored them and turned to face him instead.
"What if there is no right?" she whispered. "What if being killed is no different from cancer or road accidents or old age or any of the other ways in which people can die. What if its just a great lottery and when your number is up then ... it is up? What would you say if I said that I had killed just to see what it felt like and that their little lives weren't important. Everything that lives must die, sooner or later."
There was a sense of mischief in her tone but also, maybe unwittingly a plea. Maybe she needed the answers as much as the questioner, or more. Although she wasn't by any means beautiful, her face was alight with an energy that seemed to radiate charisma. She looked to his eyes, then his mouth, then his eyes again, teasing: "I'm not sure you really want to know the costs, or the benefits. Certainly we are passionate, however much the old ones pretend. Why else would we love life so much?"
This time she laughed and leaned up inexorably to kiss him on the lips, looping her arms about his neck. Her mouth was as cold and smooth as milk, and the curves of her body were cool through the thin cotton of her shirt as she pressed against him, It was barely more than a touch, and then she pulled back.
"Who or what are you?"
She wondered vaguely whether psychopathic killers were more difficult to manipulate than normal men.
The blond man replied in a cool tone, but his eyes betrayed a bit of unease toward her teasing behavior.
"A good life is precious and not a thing to be wasted or taken lightly. A bad life is a prison for the soul and death is the key to escape it. It would make me very sad to know that you took away a good life away from someone without shedding a regret at the joy and passion you erased from existence with a single action. The damage is completely disproportionate compared to the ease of the gesture."
His eyes became mournful for an instant, before he went on with his reply. "I could probably end your existence right now. A possibly easy gesture. But by doing so, reality would loose an intense source of passion, pleasure and pain. And be sensibly bleaker for it. I would mourn your passing. It would be a needless gesture. If you have to kill to survive, try to choose your victims well. Freeing people from a bad life would enrich all of us. Stealing away someone's good life would do needless damage."
"As to who I am..."
He smiled for a moment, before replying with a subtle sigh.
"I guess that is a fair question. Not one I like to answer. The answer still confuses me."
The man let his cryptic comment hang in the air for a few moments, while he gathered his thoughts. What would be a proper answer? One he could afford?
"I am the giver of good death. The tamer of madness. What do you know of the people that call themselves mages?"
Their bodies were still very close, never having pulled apart very far after the brief embrace.
"Mages..?" she echoed his word. The crooked smile still lent a bright air to her expression but her eyes were not smiling now. She seemed more composed; too proud a creature to react to implied threats or power plays with an immediate display of aggression or escalation. She just let the smile hang in the air, unconcerned. "It's funny. I'd imagined long robes and wands and complicated chalk circles on the floor. I had heard rumours but maybe my education has been lacking. I assume that you don't plan on telling any of the mortals what you know?"
The tone was still light, but unmistakably more cautious now. She was closing up like a fan behind her eyes, however soft or intimate the voice.
"I think you are more than just that." she said thoughtfully. "When you first spoke to me I thought you must be either very brave, very stupid or very powerful. You are brave, maybe the rest as well. You are European, somewhere from the Eastern Bloc. Your manners could use a little training; even my closest friend never dared to ask me the questions you have done," faintly reproachful. 'Friend' was single, past tense.
"You spend a lot of time on your own brooding. You think about deep things but inside you are uncertain. You are very earnest. Maybe you even write bad poetry?"
She traced his cheekbone with a fingertip, largely because she sensed his unease. The touch was featherlight and more.
"I think you had come to me to ask me to teach you how to -live-.Strange. Are you really not always this morbid..? My name is Di, ironic I know. Tell me a joke, Mage."
He blinked at the touch...
"I won't reveal your nature to mortals, if it worries you. There are stranger beings hiding in the crowd tonite anyway. Maybe there is some I can teach you and there is some you can teach me. Do you have the guts to share some of your soul, Di?"
Stranger creatures? Again, if this surprised the vampire, it didn't show in her face. Let it not be lupines, she prayed silently. Not tonight. She couldn't suppress a more genuine bark of amusement at another comment.
"I think you should know," she said, "That the last time someone asked me if I had guts, he wanted a literal demonstration. Maybe I don't have a soul to share.. maybe everything is just a mask on top of a mask and at the bottom there is nothing?"
Her tone was still playful, but the expression in her eyes as she searched out his own was different. Dynamic, yes. Careful, yes. Now he could gain a faint sense of the hunting instinct that had been hidden before. Like peeling back layers of an onion. She straightened his collar absently with nimble dead fingers. Having her fingers near his throat seemed more dangerous now, but the sense that she hadn't come here to hunt was still over-riding.
His reply was assured and confident in contrast to the incertainty that gripped Diane's last sentence.
"Rest assured that you do have a soul, nothing can take that away from you. No matter how many masks you manage to pile on top of it, down deep, there is a fire that won't die. Though I don't know the nature of the bond that traps it within a dead body."
"We all have a soul, and we crave, starve for something as immaterial as happiness. You, I and all of them", with a motion that encompassed all the onlookers around them, "we are all the same deep inside. We just live it differently. Different paths, different choices. ", he gave Di a a meaningful look, empty of any judgement.
She met his gaze quietly and nodded, the whisper of a smile playing
across her lips. Why was the uncertainty that he had been sure was in her voice not reflected in her eyes? Was this just some game for her? He had felt so sure.
"How odd. I really think you care. Why do you care, Mage? Why do you think it matters...?" Genuine curiousity. "I don't understand why you would care about -me-..."
He was taken aback by Diane's question; he gathered his thoughts for a moment, in order to explain something that seemed obvious to him.
"How could I not care? I gaze upon your soul and I see a good person with a good... life. A bit troubled, just like I am. You are not a stranger in the crowd anymore. Them, I can force myself not to care about."
"Good?" her lips twitched. "Mother Teresa is good. Reality check? I'm a -vampire-. I drink blood. I hunt mortals. Sometimes I do things that are not good in any way at all.." She chuckled, as another thought occurred. "But coming from someone who believes killing can be justified.. maybe all the definitions get a little lax. I think .. this
sounds stupid.. its like suddenly meeting a guardian angel!"
The Russian laugh sounded more like a bark, as it was sudden and and short.
"A guardian angel? More like an angel of death. There is a group of mages that like to think of themselves as guardian angels actually. You got the wrong guy for the job... "
There was a smile now that would not leave his normally cold features.
"Good and evil are not simple concepts, if they absolutely exist and aren't simply a human visualisation."
He quietly chuckled at the imagery of him as a guardian angel.
"You never felt the need to be understood by one not of your kind?"
The question hung in the air, teasing and fundamental at the same time.
This time the vampire looked away, "I... don't know. I had never met anyone who knew what I was and was not afraid. You are asking me if I have the guts to make myself vulnerable..? You understand that I could never even think of talking like this to kindred. They would use it."
More layers of the onion.
The Russian's reply was soft...
"I don't know the rules your kind plays, but I understand vulnerability. I am not here to exploit it. Just to understand, learn and... share?"
She tilted her chin up with a trace more poise and slipped her arms about his waist this time. "Oh, I think I have the guts. I would rather do things I will later regret than never DO anything at all..."
Then, more soberly, as if this was beginning to dig deeper. "Story of my life, really..."
"But I never wrote bad poetry, unfortunately."
"No." she grinned. "That's very fortunate. I knew there was a reason I liked you."
There was a definite humorous tone to his words. His words and his attitude slowly gained a lightness that was lacking a few moments before.
"I was a cheerful child, but life has forced upon me hard events. I
grew up in Russia's worse period. And I became a Mage, surprisingly, without knowing what I was getting into."
"But I am learning. You can say tonight is a learning experience."
Again, the fleeting smile.
She was a good listener. One might almost forget... almost...
"Hmmmm... A Russian housewife called a repairman and asked for someone to come to her house and fix her refregirator. 'Let's see, the soonest I can send someone over is in... two and a half years..' was the repairman's reply.
The housewife was thoughtful for a few seconds before asking: 'Would that be in the morning or the afternoon?'. Curious the repairman asked her: 'Does that make a difference?' and to that the housewife replied: 'Sure it does, I also have the plumber coming in that day...'."
Taking a very stereotyped Russian accent, Igor added sadly:
"I am not a very good storyteller."
Diane laughed, and shook her hair back. "Not at all. I love Russian humour. Its so black. I'm just relieved you have a sense of humour.. because I don't know. I think its important."
He smiled openly.
"I do have a sense of humour, it just been out of use for years now. Irony and sarcasm filled in the meantime. But it's probably there, somewhere."
"That's fine. Irony and Sarcasm are your friends," her face lit up again with a quick smile and she leaned up to rest her elbows lightly on his shoulders. "Understand? The world is going to hell in a handbasket and we have grandstand seats. Try to laugh more.. I think it suits you! It's how we can live in such a miserable bloody world!"
Then, "Even if its only to laugh at yourself..."
This time her eyes seemed honest but the tone was light. Was this serious, or was she still just playing? Did it even matter...?
"You want to know about my life? Or is that less interesting than immortality?"
"Who you are is what interests me. Everything, even immortality, is only a facet of that."
"I'm from a mining village in Northern England. My best friend died from a backstreet abortion when I was at school. I decided that I wanted a better life than that. Never went to college. I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps. I've travelled a lot, met lots of people. I loved South Africa. Then I got screwed by the system so I came to America. Got embraced and.. " she slowed.
"Well, here I am. Back at the bottom again. But this time I'm not going to let the bastards get me down."
He silently listened to her short tale before he dared a question or two...
"What are your dreams and your hopes now? How did you get... embraced?"
"My dreams?" a flicker of mischief danced in her eyes. "I want the world in my pocket! A silk pocket from Versace or Chanel., I think. Maybe Vivian Westwood. If I could have what I wanted then why not take the best...? I want to dance in the ballroom at Tiffanys! Shall we get a couple of flights and be there for tomorrow night?" Her voice dropped a tone lower, more intimate. "Would you even dare?"
He smiled for a moment at the proposition, but his tone conveyed a certain resignation toward his situation.
"That would surely give me great pleasure and let me forget about my cares for a while. Unfortunately, I'm stuck in something unpleasant and I won`t flee from it. If you are really serious about an escapade with a cold Russian fellow, ask me again in a week or two."
Then, a note of hesitation, before he capitulated to the magic of the moment.
"You can probably find me at the Klub if you need. Just tell the noisy and rude barman where 'the blond dumb ruskie' can reach you."
She nodded once and didn't press the point.
"As for hopes.." the laugh was soft, bitter. "I hope to ... survive. I don't want to be like the others and fall into despair and death from inside. I want.. more control. I need people, papers, money, status.... That's how it is. You are what you control. I want to watch the world change and know that I could have anyone.. licks, kine, lupines.. grovelling at my feet! Is that a hope or a dream?"
His eyes turned to ice and his tone conveyed a seriousness that was absent up to now.
"Lupines? Werewolves? What do you know about the wolves?"
Diane shrugged. "They hate us. No idea why. They've already knocked off a couple of licks even in the last month and it's getting worse. Only the very toughest or well prepared vampires can even think of standing up to them. I figure -maybe- I could see one off, if it was alone and wasn't too strong willed. I'd rather not chance it. So.. I'm sorry if they are friends of yours, but they're the reason it hasn't been safe for us to even walk the bloody streets at night. " She studied his face, reading the change.
"You've had some problem with them as well?"
His face was dark as he answered.
"No friends of mine. Enemies full of rage and a deep craving for revenge, even if it means bringing even more death and destruction in the balance," replied the Russian mage.
I... hope to survive," she admitted, "Without having to surrender my soul in service to another vamp. It's not very likely though. Really it would be wise for you to be careful of them.We can be very perilous and many of the others would kill or control you without a second thought. For the power. Hell, I'd have considered it... but.. " Diane didn't finish the sentence. The tone was faintly apologetic.
"Tell me about the Carousel, Diane...."
"The Carousel.." her eyes turned back to his face, considering a response. It occurred to her uncomfortably that this conversation reminded her, in more ways than one, of her previous interactions with the Prince. Not least because the man seemed to pluck the thoughts from her head. Although this was probably something she should not be saying she found she did feel the need to pass on a fair warning.
"It's a place we sometimes gather. Probably somewhere you should avoid. Where some of the most powerful gather, Mage. It can be... " she could think of only one word that really quite fit. "weird. He is rather unbalanced. Why do you ask?"
"I felt a forbidding evil and an aura of madness ensnaring the carousel and thought you might know the nature of it.", he replied, his eyes straining to see the Carousel and its myriad of lights in the distance.
"He is very mad," she agreed. This was the word she had been trying to avoid. "I... hadn't realised it was so strong that it could be felt. I always thought a lot of it was just him posturing and that underneath he was really one of the sharpest of them all. Maybe your senses are better."
He shrugged at this. "Madness is a relative term. Someone's wisdom might be someone else's insanity. But the feeling coming from the Carousel is very strong. Be careful, lest its aura corrupts you."
The warning was spontaneous and had the dread foreboding of a prophecy. She seemed to realise that this didn't quite constitute an explanation and shrugged, a trace apologetically. "Mage, none of my elders are what you might term sane, and they tend to decide social dynamics between them. Here in Santa Cruz, we live or die by the whim of a madman and the carousel is his throne room. Sort of."
She had hoped to escape from the politics which she never really understood. Some of that reluctance for the subject seemed to filter through.
She looked back up into his face and her eyes were laughing. teasing "You said you could destroy me," she whispered. "But I could control you body, soul and mind... if you asked me very nicely of course. You would never need to worry or be alone or be uncertain of anything ever again."
For an uncomfortable flicker of time, it almost seemed a tempting offer. Her eyes were pools of colour that invited him to let them swallow him up. The Russian's entrancement seemed to last for an eternity before his will slowly unknotted himself from Diane's eyes as she teasingly let him go.
His survival instincts kicked in and his eyes became weary as he realized fully for the first time the power of the creature in front of him. He almost
let himself forget. His body stiffened for a moment. He looked carefully at the woman in front of him, searching for long moments, looking at her face, her eyes, her lips. And slowly, his eyes relaxed and the moment of tension passed away.
"Why haven't you done it already? If you hunger for control? Are you hungering more for someone to understand and share?"
"It would be so easy.." she said slowly. "You are almost asking me to do it as a favour, although you don't know it. I could offer you what you wanted. A taste of immortality. You would be able to feel the obsession, feel the blood, feel the rage, watch our society from the inside.. and then when you had enough it could end and you would be mortal again. If that's what you are. It would have been so easy for me to put it to you like that, and you might have asked me to give you that glimpse because it would answer all your questions. I don't know why I won't. I.. just think it would destroy you. That would be like destroying myself. Don't ask me why. I don't know why. Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to talk to someone who isn't trying to use me."
Her face seemed very close to his, and her eyes shone with a certain spirited determination.
"They'll kill your friends and beat you up and try to break you in every way they know how. I don't know if this is what I ever wanted for myself but you only get one life and I'm not going to waste it in brooding."
He interrupted Diane for a moment to ask for a clarification.
"They? The system or your kind?"
This time the answer was brief. "Both. Except that you can play the system if you know the rules."
"I said I had killed and it is true. It was an incredible feeling, Mage. Nothing compares to blood and nothing compares to killing. But I don't know if I will do it again. I had to see though. You do see that? I had to find out."
A cloud of sadness touched His features.
"I killed, many, many times. It makes you feel powerful, but unfortunately, it takes away part of your soul. Mine was black before I came here to know myself. Now, I'm starting to heal. I'm starting to feel again. It's painful and I mourn. I remember my first kill. The feeling I can relate to that. It's almost addictive. But trust me. It kills you inside. Little by little. Until you don't feel anymore. You wake up one day with blood on your hands and empty inside. That day, you are dead. Try to avoid that if you can."
"Maybe," her voice was clipped. Again he was sure he heard that uncertain note in it. This time her eyes were more distant, troubled. "I mean I know, I can feel that. But we have different instincts. If you cared about everyone it would drive you mad, wouldn't it? If you let the instinct drive you, you never have to worry about it. Its like a battle between instincts and control. Funny.. I'd never really thought about it not like that."
"A battle between the beast and the woman?", he suggested
"We do call it the Beast." she said slowly. "So.. maybe yes. Can we change the subject?"
He silently nodded and focused his thoughts on a different path.
Diane looked up for his eyes instinctively. "Maybe that's the passion you so admire? It's part of the price, Mage..." she trailed off and just looked at him.
Spontaneously, his hand softly caressed Diane's cheek. Smooth and cool.
"I'm Igor, by the way... 'Mage' sounds quite alien to me."
Finally a more certain smile coloured her expression again and she covered his hand with her own. "It suits you. Nice to meet you, Igor."
Igor emitted a brief chuckle. An alien noise coming from him.
"Suits me? I think it is a bad name. Totally Russian, cold and hard. I'm thinking of changing it. Maybe something like Silvester."
The vampire laughed aloud, enough to turn a couple of heads. "Like the cat and the canary!"
The Russian looked mystified by Diane's comment. Trying to pierce the humour in it, but failing because he lacked the American culture.
"Like the cat and the canary? There is a famous animal named Silvester? I was thinking more along the lines of Silvester Stallone, the slayer of communist dogs. I saw all three Rambo movies.", there was a slight tone of humouristic irony as he looked at Di's face for a smile.
She maintained a straight face and nodded to this. "Oh.. Stallone, of course. I can see the similarities."
Her eyes danced and she admitted, "I only saw the first film myself. I was a bit put off by all the blood. Can you imagine?"
The Euthanatos smiled at that, before adding, in a more serious tone: "I seen enough blood to shame Rambo. Aren't we both strange paradoxes, in our own ways?"
She trailed off and shivered, although it wasn't cold.
"I wonder if I have said too much."
"You are supposed to be teaching me to be alive, not me teaching you to brood. But we have both a weight upon our soul."
"I yes.." If she was shaken, she recovered quickly and the smile turned wicked. "I'm not doing a very good job, am I?" The distance between them closed again. If she had been still breathing, he might have been able to feel her breath against his cheek.
"Maybe your problem is that you think too much? Life won't lay itself in your lap on a plate. You have to go out and find your own happiness, if you like, or passion. Its something you can learn. Being miserable is the easiest thing in the world... You need a girlfriend or something to get your priorities in order." she grinned, bright with mischief. "What is it that you are really looking for?"
He was thoughtfull for a moment.
"I am not miserable, simply questing. And.. a girlfriend? There is a girl I care for and we have sex together. I never thought about her as a girlfriend though."
He seemed thoughtfull for a few more seconds before dismissing the thought and adding, "I have to know who I am and what I want before I can find my own happiness. Otherwise, it's simply running away from questions that will come haunting me wherever I hide. Better deal with them now."
Diane gave him a faintly disbelieving look and nudged him in the shoulder with a pale fingertip. "Well" she said "Its nice to know that romance isn't completely dead!"
She seemed to find his attitude very amusing. "When I was alive, if anyone I had been sleeping with had spoken about me like that they would have been lucky to have lived to regret it!"
The mage thought about his comment for a few seconds before grasping the rudeness that seemed to have shocked the vampire.
"I care about her too much. Don't mistake my words for indifference. Her life is a bad one and it would be mercy to allow her to start again. But I am flawed. I can't bring myself to do it."
A few moments of hesitation.
"But it ain't love. I loved once. She was killed. I watched, helpless while died. Can you feel love?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I don't really know. I don't think it can ever end well for mortals who get caught up. I met a man the other day I really liked. But he's slated to be killed if I can't think of something, and even if I that may not be much better."
Why was she telling him this?
"But we don't go in for sex. That dies when the body does. There's only blood, really. Maybe love is for the living."
"But one thing I will tell you.. if you spend all your life looking for who you are then you may just find that by the time you find out, there isn't much else left. People won't wait, the world won't wait." She seemed more concerned, "Don't waste your life... No-one can soulsearch 24 hours a day."
"But for what it's worth, I hope you find what you are looking for."
"There is wisdom in your vision. You give me much to think about tonite. Maybe a few hints about being alive. Thanx...", he said, smiling and thoughtful.
"I'm in search of myself. I just learned that reality is what you make of it. I'm a worker of miracles it seems. I am a reality architect. Not an easy concept to adapt to. I'm lost and confused. And to top it off, I'm being drawn in a war that we seemingly can't win. That's why I had to escape tonite. A war of mages. A war of reality. A war of madness."
The vampire listened with a brief nod and focussed on his face.
"Miracles? You have some God that tells you who to kill and then gives you the power to work miracles?" She was unsure of him. His sanity. But it didn't seem so important any more.
Igor shook his head... "No, there are no gods that I know of. Simply a shard of ... cosmic awareness in all of us. Some of us are more aware than others."
"Do these miracles include things like.. I don't know. It would be a miracle if I could see the sun again.Well, without being horribly burned. That sort of miracle?"
Igor looked at her for a moment, before embracing her in his arms. His eyes slowly closed. The landscape around them slowly faded, becoming immaterial, ghostlike... the voices and the noise more distant. The colors dimmer. And almost imperceptibly, somewhere else mingled with these ghosts. A small room with four dirty walls. Night gave way to morning. The ghosts of the two realities battled for a while, before the dirty room engulfed the Boardwalk scene and materialized solidly. They were no more in Santa Cruz. The smell was decrepit and the air was humid and cold. A small dirty window filtered the sunlight that fell in the room. A bum slept on a small cot, snoring.
Sunlight! She struggled in his arms fitfully, in the grip of some primal terror. Sunlight. He felt a tremor run down her body as she struggled to contain it and her fingers closed on his arms more tightly, like a child that was afraid of the dark.
Slowly, Igor and Diane started to move. They were being drawn outside.
"Igor. I can't. I can't do this..."
Igor's voice whispered comfortingly, "It won't hurt you. We are not really there".
She closed her eyes and clung onto him. Trust. He didn't let go. After a moment she nodded. "Alright. I'm sorry.. sometimes it's " she didn't finish that sentence.. "I mean, I trust you. This is incredible."
She opened her eyes again and steeled herself.
And soon, they were hovering outside. In part of a Russian city. A sprawl that extended as far as the eye could see. Misery filled the streets and the air was oppressive. The sky was partly cloudy, but a bright morning sun shone.
The sunlight felt bright against their faces where the clouds parted. Her grip tightened on his arm again and then relaxed and he could see her expression shift to wonderment. "I.. don't believe it."
The moment was long, and then reality shifted again, back to the crowds in Santa Cruz.
"Thank you." were all the words she had.
The sound of the Boardwalk filled the air again; softly at first, but with more and more enthusiasm with each passing moment. The silence that hung between them for a minute was deep in emotion as Igor let himself be filled with her awe and wonder.
"I am a maker of miracles. Yes, some of those miracles I can give. You also glimpsed at my world, my reality. One day, you will have to show me some of your world, Diane."
"I dont know that I understand but I hear what you are saying. You have just learned something about yourself that draws you into our world, away from the mortals. It gives you power. You are confused because it's very new and the rules are different. It sometimes seems very oppressive and you have to escape in any way you can, but you know that eventually it will come back to you. You're caught up in a war that was started by other people."
"That sums it up pretty very much, my lady", giving Diane a quick nod.
Her mouth quirked in a crooked smile but there was sympathy bound in it.
"Maybe you were right to come to me. In some ways, we are not so different after all."
The one of his reply was full of sincerity and respect, "That's my feeling also."
"Hmm.. this war. A war for reality? I've seen war and it isn't very pretty. That sort of war? What will happen if you lose?" A second thought struck her, at least as worrying. "Or what if you win, Igor?"
She seemed genuinely interested in what he said, as if the natural wariness had fought a losing battle with the curiosity and had no strength left to even raise its head.
"If I loose, I die and will have to wait until the wheel brings me back to continue my mission. If I win, we get rid the reality of an abomination that should never have been in the first place. But no media coverage, no medals, no additional power. Just the pleasure of knowing you saved the world from the bad guys."
"I presume winning is important to you, or else why fight? But what do you personally want out of life. What would make you happy.. it doesn't matter if it is something small. Drink, drugs, music, girls... I mean, you're still human in many ways?"
"Winning is not important to me. The stakes are not mine to start with. There is just no other option. Winning or loosing. And I can't afford to loose. Period. My happiness, I thought, was to get away from all this and start a new and simple life. That is not an option anymore. For now, happiness is doing things I feel good about. I feel good about talking to you. I am happy for now. You help me share some of soul."
The vampire nodded. "It's a strange thing. I was always proud of the fact that I didn't waste time philosophising and soul-searching but just tried to get on with things and get things done. But I don't remember the last time I was this happy. Or the last time I enjoyed talking to someone this much."
This was a slight exaggeration as she could remember her conversations with Tony very clearly. This was just.. different.
A wave of unease gripped Igor as he literally blushed. The picture was very peculiar. His was not a face made for blushing. After a moment, he dared a comment.
"And I feel more alive I have felt in ages."
"I think perhaps we will speak again, maybe I'll come to the Klub sometime. It might be the nearest we ever get to escaping in this life, Igor."
"This escape will be a precious moment... And I would enjoy sharing some more. The Klub or leave a message in the personnals to your guardian angel, I'll be around."
She nodded quietly and turned towards the railings, leaning back in his arms a moment, silently. Her attention was caught up in another flare of pyrotechnics and by the time she looked round again he was already gone and there was no indication that he had ever been there at all.
Tuesday, July 4th, 1995 10:01 p.m.
The last flurry of fireworks was a grand finale, an explosion of white and red and blue blossoms. The faint scent of powder drifted up from the beach and the pyrotechnics rained light on the upturned faces. Diane watched the sky and allowed another moment of unadulterated awe to ply her mood. It was as if this hour past had been something strange and magical and she felt a twinge of regret that it was over.
The vampire needed to walk. She needed time to settle her thoughts.
As the fog drifted in, it became colder. The more respectable folk, mostly locals and middle-class tourists, having warm beds and some semblance of sanity awaiting them, left for home and their H.B.O. The indigent, the poor, the bored youths, the wasted, the homeless and the predators were soon all that was left. The Boardwalk quickly became their playground. More alternative, probably unpaid, bands took their chances onstage; competing with a host of boom boxes blaring at maximum volume. The crowd milled about, those who could afford it finding escape on the rides. Others watched the crowd - scanning for the chance and amusement and some for the chance of profit as well. Still, the crush was less and it was easier to breath as long as you didn't mind the smell.
10:24pm - Boardwalk
The carousel, at least, was reassuringly usual. Gaudy, screaming, spinning. She stood back out of the main paths and watched it for awhile. People flowed past her, around her, beside her. The unfortunates who intended to address her were met with a steely glare, or at worse a touch of 'that' voice. The caustic one that could strip wire. When the vampire wanted to be alone with her thoughts, the rest of the universe was expected to recognise that and bow to it.
She thought she had seen Weasel earlier, but he had sensed her mood and passed on by. It was the dog that dragged her back. It didn't do anything. It didn't need to. She wondered if they bred Gangrel to be stupid these days as she watched it lope back to it's master. Much as she was tempted to ask Raphael if he had taken leave of his senses, it was mentally filed away as 'somebody else's problem'
The other man who had caught her eye had done so simply because of the cut of his coat. Slumming it, presumably. He seemed too predatory, or was that just paranoia? No.. maybe not paranoia. She was too good a reader of people to make that mistake too often. The Ventrue grinned, just a touch maliciously. Her thoughts had bedded down and left her in a surprisingly good humour. That almost certainly meant that someone else was about to suffer.
She watched him for a while, before walking up, arms folded lazily.
"Looking for someone?" she asked, the accent clipped and English.
He turned quickly towards the woman with the English accent. His eyes darted over her as his mind tried to place her. Lower middle class, he probably thought, though perhaps the tone' was a bit blunted by time in America. He attempted to smile, still gazing intently.
"I don't believe we've met," he said, "though I think I know who you
are." He held his hand out stiffly. "I"m Steven Alister."
She studied his hand for a moment, then his face. The assured smile didn't slip an inch.
"Well," she said brightly, "If you already know who I am then I wouldn't want to bore you, but just for the sake of form" She reached across and took his hand. "Diane Forester. The pleasure's all mine."
"What brings you out on this odious holiday? I suppose it's a coincidence that we happened upon each other, though one can never be too sure."
Upper class for sure, she thought with a mental wince. The cold skin of his hand had dispelled any final doubts she might have had about him, but as to anything else... She shrugged mentally, maybe old country Ventrue? She looked at him now rather more appraisingly, as a potential ally or competitor.
"You didn't enjoy the fireworks then, I take it? Of course things get a little over the top but this is America and people get excited about the small amount of history they do have. I find it quite charming."
"I'm sure it will grow on you. Were you planning to be here for long, Steven?"
"Not long, no," Steven replied. "I have something of a purpose as a matter of fact, Ms. Forester. I'm looking for someone."
He reached in the open pocket of his jacket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it and smoothing its creases he handed it to her. The sheet was a familiar-looking "have you seen this child?" poster with a picture of a pretty girl with shoulder-length red hair and fine, delicate, features not unlike the man holding the paper.
"Have you seen her by any chance? I'm most keen to hear any news."
She studied the picture politely for a moment, glancing briefly from the page to his face and back again. No sign of recognition. "Not that I recall," she said. "Pretty girl though. I assume you've tried the police? If she's kine that is..."
The question hung in the air quite blatently.
It remained unanswered.
The woman directed that impervious smile at him again, it was annoyingly infectious. "You've made all your introductions, I'm sure... ?"
"Unfortunately no, the only bloke I've really met is that Crown fellow and he's a right useless bastard if there ever was one."
She shrugged, again dismissive. "I can imagine why you might think that."
She made no attempt to defend the man. Curiouser and curiouser. So he wasn't here at Crown's behest.
"Naturally, if I can be of any help I'd be more than delighted," she offered. "I try to stay interested in what is going on back at home."
"If by home you mean England, I doubt I'm any more apace than you. I've been in the states a couple of years. Where were you from originally?
I grew up near Kew, myself. My family is in service to the Lord Lethbridge. You may have heard of him. He is of our clan."
Diane hesitated at this and attempted an insouciant smile. Ventrue, of course. She had never taken any interest in lineage.
She hedged. "Oh, I remember Kew. Nice gardens. I used to share a pad in Chelsea when I was based in London myself," bright smile. "It was a wild place in the 70s."
Probably the wrong thing to say. Did butlers have 'wild times'?
"And of course its your decision, but you might consider making at least a half-hearted attempt to see the prince if you think you might be here for awhile." She smiled sweetly, far too sweetly. "Especially if you intend on hunting in the Elysium on a regular basis. Royalty can be so capricious at times."
Although her expression was sober, there was an impish amusement in her eyes.
"I fear my friends may worry if I'm away much longer, Ms. Forester, but I would be very pleased to speak with you again. What I told you about my reason for being here is true, but there is something more- something it would greatly behoove you to hear. Do let us set up a time for a meeting."
"Oh sure. Actually it'd be my pleasure, Steven. You hear so many stories out here about what life is like amongst kindred back in Europe, and besides which, I think maybe we have a lot in common. If this was a coincidence, I think it was a happy one."
The discussion moved on to a consideration of dates and times before the two Ventrue parted and went their own ways.
Wednesday, July 5th, 1995 1:59 am
Diane walked gaily back up to the Boardwalk which was very much quieter now than it had been earlier. She had not greatly thought on the implications of meeting another new Ventrue in Santa Cruz. She supposed it was a good thing. Really she was hardly in the mood for such boring political speculations. She looked around cursorily as she moved through towards the railings but of course Igor wasn't there. She found it increasingly difficult to remember what he looked like.
As if he had never been there at all. She laughed. She hadn't anticipated any trouble in hunting on this particular night and of course it had been easy. She had feated on some Japanese student in a darkened booth in a seedy diner on Beach Street. The memory warmed her almost as much as the blood had done.
Smooth and warm and salty. Knowing there were other people in the diner added a certain frisson also. It had been fun. [12 pool]
She rested her elbows on the top railing and looked out to sea. Out towards the ships. It was what she had been doing before Igor had interrupted her earlier. This time though there was no crowd. Only a few other figures shrouded in darkness. She could just make out the lights from the ships that were moored out in the fog. She thought of Tony.
He had invited her to join him on his father's yacht and watch the fireworks from there and she had been tempted by the mental image. It would have been so easy to slip him more blood as well, when everyone was so distracted. But needing to hunt she'd settled for the safer option of staying ashore. Probably a good decision as it turned out. She looked out at the flickering lights and wondered what he was doing at that instant.
Her fingertips drummed a slow beat on the cellphone, and she considered calling him. Mobile phones were her personal pick for greatest invention of the previous decade.
All these phone calls and self-invitations could be interpreted as being rather too eager, she thought. She did think Tony had genuinely enjoyed her company. He didn't seem to get much in the way of intelligent conversation with his usual crowd. She was fairly sure he'd enjoyed the conversations he'd had with her though. Not definite, just.. fairly sure. She hoped he had.
The drumming rhythm slowed. He'd said there was a party and since he was on the boat and she wasn't there didn't seem a great chance that they could arrange to meet. On the other hand, time was of the essence. She pulled out the phone and dialled him anyway, looking out into the fog.
Diane had half thought he might have turned his phone off but it seemed to ring normally enough before he answered it.
"Hello there?" he sounded mildly confused. There were sounds of some sort in the background but she couldn't make them out.
She smiled. "Hi Tony. I was just wondering how the party was going really. Did you get much of a view of the fireworks from out there."
"Oh hi," he recognised her voice. "Its going quite well I think. At least people seem to be enjoying themselves, in their own way. The fog rather spoiled the fireworks though. Did you get a chance to see them?"
"They were very impressive from the Boardwalk," she said brightly. "The place was packed of course but crowds do have a sort of energy! Actually.. I'm up on the Boardwalk now - it has a very strange sort of feel at this time of night. I rather like it ... I don't suppose theres any way you could slip away?"
"Sorry," he said ruefully. She thought he did sound genuinely sorry, or else her imagination and a bad line filled in the gaps. "I can't really leave now, I'm supposed to be attending to the guests here and it doesn't look as if we will be back until morning. The fog is too thick. But if you are at the Boardwalk I could send the skiff out to collect you.. I can see the lights from here."
She nodded absently and looked out at the distant lights in the fog as he suggested meeting her at dawn in the harbour. For a mad moment she entertained the notion of accepting his first offer, but of course that was idiocy. Going on board a ship was too large a chance to take. It would be all too easy for sea conditions to change and if the boat didn't get back before dawn she could find herself in real trouble. Actually meeting at dawn was also out of the question. It was a nice idea though.
She declined. She was feeling an edge of irritation, directed at no-one in particular. Things had been going well tonight and now this small setback brought her back to reality with a bump.
"Well, there's plenty of other evenings. How about tomorrow night?"
She forced the disappointment out of her voice and agreed to this suggestion, giving herself time to look round the impossibly expensive house first. She hung up and turned away from the sea, aiming an unnecessarily vicious kick at an innocent beer can.
She felt she ought at least to try to salvage whatever else she could from the remainder of the night and hoped to spot one of the other kindred she knew, in order to catch up on the gossip. She remembered the Brujah dragging the Sabbat Malkavian away to what was presumably a dreadful fate, of which she had heard nothing since.
She spotted Weasel again, this time hanging around one of the cotton candy attendants and trying to persuade her to take a 'walk' with him. The Ventrue lounged back in the shadows and appraised his style. It wasn't very effective and he seemed to be getting the brush off. He seemed used to this treatment from mortals which certainly wasn't something Diane would have put up with herself.
She slid her hands into her jeans pockets and walked up to him with a smile. "Evening, Serafin..."
He looked across at her and shrugged. It was presumably his equivalent of a friendly greeting. He left the mortal and walked across towards her.
"Isn't a bit dangerous for you to hang out here?" she asked. "Not worried that the Brujah might decide to have you staked if they find you too near the Boardwalk?"
Weasel smirked. "They'd have to catch me first," he said snottily.
Diane couldn't honestly imagine them having any trouble doing it and dismissed this as bravado. "Speaking of which," she commented, "I don't suppose you'd heard if they got anything much out of the Sabbat spy? I know you have a good nose for these things."
"Yeah, right. What did you hear?" he asked.
She shrugged a shoulder. She was glad she wasn't wearing her only nice jacket as it would have been showing some wear form the evening.
"To be honest I hadn't heard a thing. That's why I was wondering, really."
"I didn't hear anything either. Rumour has it that Chewy was a bit too rough on him before Purdy had a chance to 'talk' and that the Sabbat was destroyed before he could say anything. Purdy was none too happy with Chewy for that. You might have noticed that Chewy hasn't been looking too good of late. I heard Purdy made him take the Sabbat's place for a while."
Diane winced. "You're kidding me? Why do they take all that shit from him and still follow what he does without a murmur," she couldn't prevent the outburst. Then she sighed unnecessarily and answered her own question.
"Scared shitless I suppose or bound or both."
She shook her head and added more scathingly. "Might have known they'd find a way to mess it up though. That has 'Brujah' written all over it. Couldn't organise a piss-up in a Brewery!"
"Yeah. The other one Purdy's handling himself. I feel sorry for that lick."
Somewhat surprised at this revelation, Diane asked Serafin to elaborate. Another one?
Weasel stopped and gave himself a queer look, as if he'd said too much already. "Nothing," he shrugged. "They just found some out of town lick hanging around the carousel. Purdy's going to 'talk' to her for awhile and then stake her for dawn. Purdy likes to have a little 'talk' now and then."
"Thats because he's a psycho on a power trip," Diane muttered in an undertone, before realising that this appellation could apply to almost every elder she had ever met.
"Hmm?"
"Oh nothing," she said brightly. "I don't suppose you have any idea who it is he's 'talking' to now?"
"As long as it ain't me," Weasel commented with what the other vampire thought to be commendable pragmatism. He glanced around the area and his gaze lit on another likely dinner mark. Diane was about to offer to help secure this one when he excused himself.
"Look, sorry to bust out on you but I gotta go. Be on the watch out. Purdy's out in Watsonville, jumping some Anarchs who tried to make a move. But a bunch got through the furback screen and are here from San Jose to kick some local ass. Keep on the watch out or you'll get munched. Nothing they'd like more than to stomp a tasty local Ventrue."
"Great," she sighed. "Well, thanks for the warning. Take care."
"Don't worry," he smirked. "I intend to." Then he left.
She decided that she had better warn Steven Alister about this. Any anarchs who were capable of fighting their way through lupine territory were fairly certainly too hard for her to deal with. It might be that Steven was tougher but he had seemed so casual about things... she thought he should know. Also if he actually did try to approach the Prince without an introduction or escort then there was a good chance he might end up 'talking' to Purdy. Presumably Purdy would also welcome the chance to stomp a Ventrue.
The Brujah sounded as if they were getting very jumpy. After the Sabbat incident, they seemed to be viewing every new kindred as a Sabbat thug. Of course, they could be right.
The night already seemed colder than it had. Her thoughts were disturbed as her phone rang, and she jumped.
"Hello?" she asked curiously.
"Hi there. It's Tony!. Things are winding down here and folks are going to bed. I think I can slip out of here in about an hour. Do you want to meet me on the beach? I can have someone take me over in the skiff."
Her expression brightened, the gloomy paranoia driven briefly out of her thought. "Sounds great. I'll see you there!"
Wednesday, July 5th, 1995 3:12 a.m.
Out on the beach, the lights seemed dimmer and the remnants of the fog that still clung to the waterline had a strange, almost tactile quality. A figure was sitting patiently on the steps of the Boardwalk leading down to the beach. Its shirt sleeves, pale in the moonlight, were rolled up to the elbow and its trouser legs to just above the ankles. Her hands and feet were dead white, brighter than the foam, and the salt breeze off the ocean lifted a few blondish hairs from her neck. Diane was waiting for Tony. It was very much quieter here, especially as the boom boxes were silenced in a crackle and hiss of white noise. One by one. As the Boardwalk quietened the natural sounds of the sea and the sea-fringes took over. Surf crashing onto the sand, the distinctive barking of sea lions and the mewing of gulls, the distant booming of a fog horn from the end of the wharf.
{OOC - Wild sea lions! That's so... exotic :) (only ever seen them in zoos}
A ripple in the fog resolved itself into the prow of a small white boat and her eye was drawn to it. It swum out towards the beach silently, any sound from on board muffled by the fog and the crashing surf. As the bright lights from the Walk trapped the boat in their illumination, Diane's waiting eye made out a couple of figures inside. She recognised Tony immediately though as he jumped out into the surf. Something about the way he moved. He was wearing shorts and had his slacks folded across one arm. She could just make out that he was carrying his shoes and something that looked like a picnic hamper. He really was in another social league.
Diane pushed herself to her feet and moved down the steps and onto the beach, starting the long walk out towards him. The sand was still damp from the last high tide. It felt firm beneath her feet and the dark footprints formed in her wake were soon gone as the sand reasserted itself. As she walked nearer the beach had a softer, more uneven feel and seemed more yielding.
She could see Tony wave goodbye to the young man who was steering the skiff with some brief comment, then he splashed out towards the shore. Wavelets lapped against his ankles as he walked out of the sea and stopped to put down his bundle. He began to put on his slacks and shoes, careful of the wet sand.
A movement from further along the beach caught Diane's eye. Another figure. Another woman. The woman strode up along the beach towards Tony, she'd been lying down next to some other prone figure and Diane had taken her for another passed out drunk. The moonlighjt caught on the other woman's face and hair for a moment and Diane froze. It was the Brujah, Rebecca. There was some obvious intent in her stride, in the confident tilt to her head and she was heading towards Tony, who didn't seem to have noticed her.
Diane's stomach tightened in a knot of panic and she quickened her pace, digging her toes into the soft sand to find purchase. She broke into a dead run. It was like wading through treacle, and even as she gritted her teeth and tried to force more strength into her legs she knew that she was not going to reach him in time.
[1 BP to strength.. 11 pool]
The man's head turned with a start of surprise as the Brujah tapped him on the shoulder with a fingertip. He turned. Diane could see their lips move as Rebecca said something to him and Tony shook his head and replied, but she was too far away to make out the words.
She could feel the sand as it tried to drag at her feet. Damp footprints filled with water behind her before they disappeared. She forced a sprint out of her knees, lifting them higher in an exaggerated motion to offset the terrain
Suddenly Tony dropped the bundle he was holding onto the beach, careless that it got soaked by the next pulse of the tide. He stared into Rebecca's face and she stroked his hair with a white hand, gently.
Diane felt a rush of pure fury. How dare she?! The distance between them seemed to contract as she covered the final stretch of dark sand and the Ventrue slowed to a standstill. Fortunately she didn't have a breath to be out of.
"Precisely what do you think you are doing?" she asked coldly. "He's not for you."
Rebecca didn't turn a hair, not at all surprised by the other vampires arrival. She didn't even bother looking at her.
"Look bitch! I was here first. I'm in a generous mood here, so I'll let you disappear. Remember, Elysium doesn't extend to the beach."
Diane planted her hands on her hips and glanced briefly at Tony before returning her attention to the Brujah. She forced a more reasonable air into her voice.
"I appreciate it. Its just that I thought you should know he was 'mine'." She tried to give the word some significance. "He won't do you any good.. in fact quite the contrary. You know its true. I didn't have to tell you.. maybe I'm in a generous mood too."
This time Diane was favoured with a look. Then Rebecca looked back to Tony. Her expression set into a slight scowl.
"No shit?" she said coldly, before hissing "Damn you, you Limey bitch! Tastiest thing on the beach all night and you had to go and poison it for me."
The Brujah tossed another glance at Tony over her shoulder. He looked somewhat confused by the turn of events. Her feelings were written all over her face. Diane would have had to have been blind not to notice how much the Brujah wanted him. She wasn't blind. The fury boiled in her veins again and she took a step forwards.
"Something wrong with your hearing, darling? Look elsewhere. This one isn't for you."
Rebecca ignored her. "I take what I want, bitch." Her tone was dangerously soft. "If you got a stomach to stop me, go right ahead. That's what it's about. The strongest rule. If you can take me, he's yours. But" Rebecca turned, her head moving in a smooth arc until she was looking right into Diane's eyes. "You can't take me."
When Diane's sire had been wont to dominate her it had felt sharp and accurate, like a whiplash. This was like being hit in the head with a piledriver. Suddenly the Ventrue's legs gave way and she dropped to her knees and then her hands until she was left sprawling on the beach. The sand felt damp as her fingers clutched at it. She was shocked beyond words by the attack from a direction she hadn't been expecting. She hadn't even known Brujah were capable of disciplining their minds enough to learn domination. Rebecca was evidently a great deal better at it than she was herself.
The fight drained out of her and she sank onto the sand, defeated. There wasn't any point. Nothing she could do that they couldn't do better. The Brujah was right. The strongest ruled.
"He's.. no good to you." Her voice sounded like the voice of a stranger, with no conviction to it.
Rebecca shrugged. "That depends," she said, turning to Tony. "When's the last time you fed from 'her'?" she asked him.
He blinked. "What?"
"Tell me," Rebecca insisted, "When was the last time you fed from 'her'?" Her patience seemed to be wearing thin.
"I don't think I understand the question," Tony said politely. He tried to look round her. "Are you alright Diane?" He made as if to move but was frozen in place.
Diane felt this was a question that didn't require an answer. It was evident enough to give her a twinge of ironic amusement. She gathered herself with an effort. "Last night.." she answered the Brujah for him. If he really had fed from her last night in a dose of somewhat larger than a penful then there really might have been some of Diane's blood in his veins.
Rebecca looked at Tony, where he was frozen in place, then down to where the other vampire was sprawled on the sand. Her lip curled. She turned back to Diane and shook her head.
"You're a lying bitch. He's never been a ghoul."
The Brujah pulled out a large Bowie knife that glittered pale under the dim light. She turned it into the light and angled it from side to side, admiring the sharp edge.
"OK," she said to Diane idly. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't dice him up right now!"
"Crown has already got tabs on him. He thinks he is his personal property," Diane said dully. She had a feeling the Brujah was going to dice him up anyway and didn't really want to have to watch it.
"Sorry, but that sounds more like a reason FOR killing him," Rebecca observed. She admired her knife again before pulling Tony's head back by the hair to bare an expanse of throat. She lined up the knife-edge along it.
Diane felt another shiver of uncontrollable rage at her powerlessness. This whole circus had started because she was tired of always being powerless. Something snapped inside her as she gathered her will.
[5WP to break dominate. 2WP left]
"No." Her voice was soft, but it had an unmistakable air of authority. Rebecca raised an eyebrow and looked at her.
"I said NO!" this time the shout filled her lungs, as if she was trying to stop the very tide by sheer force of will.
The Brujah released him and turned to Diane, shaking her head. "All for a mere human. You're toast you know," she remarked speculatively.
"If you'll just let me finish.." Diane said tightly. "I was going to say that Crown already considers him to be his personal property but I was planning to beat him to the punch by ghouling him myself before he gets a chance to do anything. Now do you see?"
Rebecca's eyes widened as the implications of this. "You dirty sneaky bitch!" she said admiringly. She looked at Tony, then to Diane who was sitting up on her knees, trying to brush wet sand from her shirt sleeves.
"Truth?" Rebecca asked her.
Diane nodded briefly. "Yes. Now you know. Do what you want." She shrugged.
Rebecca stepped forwards and pulled Tony into a crushing grip, planting a cold kiss firmly on his lips. "You don't know how close you came, human," she whispered to him. Then she picked him up effortlessly and tossed him bodily back into the surf.
"Have a nice night, folks," she said casually as she slid the knife back into its sheath and strode off down the beach into the night.
Tony was picking himself up. He was soaked to the skin and didn't look to be in an especially good mood. He came stomping out of the surf and demanded of Diane, "What the hell was that?"
Diane finished brushing sand from her knees and stood. She was a touch shaky and felt drained. The effort of resisting that dominate had left her feeling somewhat dizzy. It was an effort even to marshal her thoughts. She couldn't believe Rebecca had just left it at that. She also couldn't believe she had just risked her own neck for - a human.
There was no sensible reason for doing that. It had been pointless and idiotic. Worse than that, it had been totally and utterly incompetent to put herself into that sort of danger for no good reason. Now that the anger and the determination and the thrill of the danger had left her, she just felt tired and alone and afraid. Her feelings seemed to be taking control. Why had she done that? Was she cracking up?
She looked up at Tony and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten it. He stared back at her, fear and concern written in his eyes.
"I'll explain everything later, Tony, I promise. Just.. not now?" she tried to project confidence. "It'll be alright though. Don't worry. Um are you OK?"
He nodded, evidently unsatisfied with this. He was well mannered enough to sense her mood though, and didn't press the point. He had picked up his bundle and offered her a hand. She was still feeling stunned by the enormity of what she had done, and how close it had been. She took his hand gratefully when he offered it and the pair set off down the beach, leaving a double trail of damp footprints that were washed away by the next wave.
[BP 11, WP 2]
{Diane gains one point in humanity.}
Wednesday, July 5th, 1995 4:14 a.m.
The motel was somewhat on the tacky side but made up for it by being in the right place at the right time. They had walked in a kind of mutual silence until she had suggested a shower and change of clothes might be something of an idea. Diane had laughed on seeing the interior of the motel reception, with its wilting plastic plants and pathetic little rows of flags in a vain attempt at celebrating Independence Day. Tony had been somewhat unkeen on the place but she had convinced him that tacky was cool and that it could be looked at as a cosmic joke. She hadn't mentioned that she had stayed in far worse. He had glanced at her face curiously, in time of r her to bring some presence to bear.
She had determined that a distraction of some sort would be the best way to take his mind off the previous events of the evening. Presence always helped with these things. Hopefully it would take his mind off it sufficiently that he wouldn't trouble her with any more questions or even care too much beyond the fact that it was over now. He had certainly seen more than enough to be a true risk to the Masquerade now.
Wednesday, July 5th, 1995 4:44 a.m.
A cloud of steam drifted out of the bathroom from the shower, accompanied by the buzz of jets of water against skin. Diane had kicked off her shoes and was sitting back on the bed. Various wet clothes were draped out to dry across the wardrobe doors, window frames and the ubiquitous plastic plants which seemed made for the purpose. She had already poured most of the glass of wine she was holding into another wilting plant and rinsed her mouth with the rest. This plant was actually alive but only just. Diane felt that a dose of champagne couldn't really do it much more harm. Tony came out of the shower wearing his trousers which had the worst of the damp wrung out of them. He had a dingy motel towel draped around his neck and ran his fingers through his wet hair. He smelled of clean skin.
"Much better," she pronounced with a smile, holding out the other champagne flute towards him. The shower must have been very hot as steam from his hand was condensing against the cold glass. She made room on the bed for him to sit and twiddled the radio to find something semi suitable. She settled on the same 60s channel she had discovered the previous night.
She chattered easily about various undemanding things. Fireworks, wine, the weather, how the party had been. Tony was drawn into the conversation but he seemed unusually quiet in the aftermath of what he had seen and heard. There was still something boyish and confused behind his eyes. She saw the signs and moved on. He looked a bit tense, she observed. Maybe it would help if she massaged the knots from his shoulders? He didn't seem unwilling, she thought as she pulled off her shirt and draped it over the end of the bed to dry, hoping the sleeves would dry out enough for her to avoid a laundry bill. She worked the knots out of his shoulders with practised fingers and talked quietly about anything and everything and nothing in particular, maintaining a constant stream of conversation. She could feel him relax.
"I think you've done this before," he smiled drowsily, "Where did you learn that?" He glanced round at her.
Presence. His eyes caught on her face again and if there had been any indecision in his mind it was gone now. It seemed to intensify the feelings for him. Diane laughed, "Maybe you're getting just a bit -too-relaxed!"
He rolled over and drew her down next to him with a laugh.
The pair lay very close, barely moving. She knew her skin was warm from having recently fed, and he was still glowing from the heat of the shower. She could feel his heartbeat echo against her with an unhurried rhythm. Time seemed to slow in a slow movement of hands against skin and a tangle of legs. Neither of them removed any more clothes. It felt very close. Very easy.
The vampire puzzled at herself. She had always considered herself to be dead to such experiences since her embrace, tied up as they were with hormones and other such messiness. 'Weaknesses of the flesh' as she had been told, or more frequently 'Degenerate Toreador-like vices'. She had never paid any of this much attention. Her sire had loved to lecture on more or less anything, given half an opportunity.
At the moment she was finding the physical attention quite pleasurable though. She hadn't realised she could still feel these things. Like stroking a cat, it was very relaxing.
Tony propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her with bright eyes. Perhaps it was still the effect of the Presence. He leaned down towards her and drew her into a kiss. It seemed to last for a very long time. He closed his eyes and held her more tightly. It was a simple matter for Diane to run her tongue across the tip of a fang, enough to draw blood. This time he leaned into the kiss more eagerly, unnoticing. Maybe it was because he was preoccupied, or maybe he was already developing a taste for it.
She stretched out next to him, carefully and looked across, catching his eyes with her own. Really he should get some sleep, she suggested. He was already drowsy and the domination effected very quickly. Diane disentangled herself and swung to her feet, retrieving her shirt which did unfortunately look as though it would be needing more attention. She watched his face as she buttoned it and if there had been a mirror she might have seen that the lines of her face seemed softer, or maybe that was also just a trick of the light.
On an impulse, she walked back towards the bed and looked down at him, tracing the line of a cheekbone with her fingertip. He looked very peaceful. She leaned across and kissed him on the brow. It was strange. She didn't know why she had wanted to do that. Only that she did. Tony stirred in his sleep, settling into a more comfortable position. He reached an arm out towards her and she stepped back in time to avoid it.
She couldn't remember having felt like this about anyone even when she had been alive and it confused her. This wasn't something she had any experience of coping with. She thought back to her conversation with Igor earlier that evening. She had told him vampires were not capable of love. It haunted her now.
She dimmed the room lights and pushed the room door ajar, glancing back at him one last time as she slipped out. All of the shadows seemed to get longer in the dimmer light of predawn and her own shadow fell across the length of the room, covering Tony's face. She left him to whatever dreams might come to him.
Wednesday July 5th 1995 8:34pm
Diane dreamed. Her dreams swam with pale watery sunlight, washing across drab concrete buildings and painting the strange foreign advertising hoardings in impossible shades of carmine red, turquoise, kingfisher blue and ochre. Moscow seemed very exotic, at least in the dream. She couldn't see the sun, but she knew it was there as she floated somewhere below the clouds, with the eyes of an eagle. The warm rays against her skin felt like a caress, like warm hands. Day slid into night like a boat being launched into the sea and she floated above the lights and cars and people. It seemed that someone was looking for her and that she should run, but in the dream she only wanted to float quietly and watch. It occurred to her that the other figure had a gun or somesuch lethal weapon which seemed curious, for an unsubstantial shadow.
{Q: Do you have a ruling on whether vampires dream? (I thought of that while I was rereading this.)
A: Yes, they can dream.}
When she woke, very soon after the night had really fallen, she felt fey and light headed.
She was still feeling light-headed as she kept her appointment to see the house with the garden. It was a nice place. She knew that as soon as she had set foot inside the front door. The sort of place she fondly imagined herself living in. Even before she saw the garden she'd decided that she wanted it quite badly. Badly enough to 'convince' the landlady that the rent was too high. It was easy. It was always easy. By the time they had finished the short tour the woman was almost begging her to take it. She signed the 6 month contract before she left. She was in that sort of mood.
Wednesday, July 5th, 1995 10:45 p.m.
She decided that the minor practicalities of how she might plan to keep the garden and furnish the house could wait. For now it was hers in a sense and she was buoyed with the success. It was only after she got back to the motel room to gather her things that she had time to reflect on the previous night. After any high, there always comes a drop and it hit her hard.
Diane scrubbed her hands, even though they weren't dirty, and then chain-smoked through a packet of cigarettes; a bad habit from her mortal days and doubly bad now that the nicotine didn't really hit. It had all been a stupid half-baked plan from the start. She'd never intended to risk her own neck as part of it but somehow that seemed to have happened. Everything that had happened the previous night had a surreal tone in her memory. The danger had been very real though, and it still was. But now she was afraid. The stakes seemed higher now, maybe she cared too much, maybe the people she was imminently planning to piss off were going to be too much to handle. Maybe she was cracking up? It kept coming back to that. She had risked herself far more than was sensible for the gains involved and it could backfire in a big way.
It might still be possible to find a way out. If she were to kill him now, it would be easy to blame an anarch, especially since she knew from Weasel that some anarchs might be in town. Even as the thought crossed her mind she knew she wasn't seriously considering it. Even apart from that she knew she couldn't do it, not now. Besides which, what was life without risks? Even being able to take them proved something, but she wasn't sure what. She pushed the fear aside with an effort of will, but still she wasn't willing to face Crown in person tonight. She needed the extra layer of protection that distance offered to be able to go through with this.
Lounging back on the bed, she made herself comfortable, crossing one ankle over the other as she tapped out Crown's number to break the news. Time to bite the bullet. She felt a stir of anticipation, somehow she intended to pluck some enjoyment out of this, even if she had to pay for it ten times over later.
Charlie answered the phone briskly after a couple of rings. "Hello, Mr. Crown's residence. How can I help you?"
What might he already have told his master about their previous meeting? Diane thought she had been fairly cool about it all when she'd spoken to him. Had he guessed what she hadn't said? For a moment her nerve almost broke and she was very tempted to hang up on him.
Fortunately she'd always had a good telephone manner and it came to her rescue now. "Evening Charlie," she said warmly. "Is your master around? I wondered if I could speak with him."
"Just a moment, I'll see if the master is available to take calls." His voice was smooth and professional. Again Diane wondered for how many years he had been doing these secretarial duties. It would have been anathema to her.
She let her gaze drift up to the ceiling and considered her next move. If Crown wasn't around then probably writing would be the best way to proceed. Avoiding a face to face discussion with him on the subject seemed like a sensible idea; she didn't doubt her nerve but was wary of his temper... and her own. It could be a brief business-like letter.
She was still trying to decide whether to sign it 'Yours faithfully' or 'Yours sincerely' when there was a sense of activity on the other end of the line. "Hello Diane, my dear." The other Ventrue's accent was quite distinctive and she settled back into telephone mode. Save the letter for another time. "But why do you call? You should come around in person."
Diane directed a winning smile at the handset, "Really you're too kind. To be honest I didn't want to disturb you unduly, I feel as though I've taken up so much of your time already, sir." She remembered to add the sir as an afterthought.
"Well, what brings you to call?"
Her voice was quiet. "I thought you needed to be informed about a minor problem we had recently with the Masquerade. I've taken care of it all myself now, but it was quite unfortunate. I saw one of the other kindred talking too freely to a mortal about our affairs and it was really quite obvious that he was suspicious. I did think of just killing him but I remembered your advice on cutting down the number of killings and I actually had already killed someone the other week. In the end I had to ghoul him myself in order to clear it all up."
Now for the crunch. "His name is Tony DeRiva. I remember hearing that you had an interest in him which was why I thought it was best that I told you myself."
She held the phone a couple of inches further away from her ears, preparing to be deafened. Another point in favour of telephones. The storm didn't hit; in fact he wasn't saying anything. There was dead silence from the other end. She looked at the phone - this would not have been a good time for it to bail out on her - but there were none of the usual tones that accompanied a disconnection. She guessed he had been left speechless and awarded herself 7 out of 10 for style.
The silence grew louder, if that was possible. Then, "I see," Crown said. It was evident from the tone that he wasn't particularly pleased. "And which of the kindred was responsible for this violation?"
Good question. Now all she needed was a good answer. Under the circumstances she felt she could do worse than just tell him the truth. He was hardly going to have any retaliatory power over any of the Brujah. It didn't seem likely that any protests he made would cut any ice with Purdy either. In fact, far from picking up any sort of punishment, Rebecca might even gain a bit more street cred with the other Brujah for it. Diane hoped so at any rate. The other woman had given her a break she hadn't been expecting.
She cleared her throat and attempted to sound more contrite. "It was Rebecca, the Brujah."
The line went silent again for a moment before he said smoothly, "Hold on a moment, dear."
There was another long pause. Much as Diane strained her ears, she couldn't make anything out at the far end. She was relieved at having got what she considered to be the trickiest part of the whole affair out of the way and was again very tempted to hang up whilst the going was good. It was tempting but really there couldn't be much left to say. She cradled the mobile in the palm of her hand and settled herself more comfortably. Closing her eyes. Waiting.
Finally Crown's voice came back on line. "Tell me truthfully dear, you didn't happen to fancy young Tony yourself, did you?"
Diane blinked and gave the phone a hard look. Charlie had evidently caught on to more than she had thought at the time. "Well, yes.." she said slowly, "He did catch my eye. Especially after Charlie pointed him out to me, but really the reasons I had to ghoul him were to protect the Masquerade, as I just told you. Rebecca forced my hand." She felt that since Charlie had seen fit to get her into trouble on this one, the least she could do was to return the favour.
"Well, I should offer you my congratulations, my dear." Crown's voice lowered a bit, "You have quite a prize there. No doubt you deserve it after what happened to your last ghoul. They can be a bother can't they? - Especially when you care."
There was a dangerous edge to his voice, almost an implied threat. She tensed and stuck up two fingers at the handset - that was definitely below the belt. Damned if she was going to let him intimidate her over a phone line. For a brief, crazy moment, Diane considered a sharp retort pointing out that at least she didn't keep them locked up in the attic. If she'd been facing him in person she would almost certainly have said it. Fortunately she wasn't and common sense prevailed. Let him have his little victory.
"Thank you," she said soberly. "I do appreciate your goodwill and your advice, sir."
She pressed the 'hang up' button on the phone carefully and listened until the tones told her that the conversation was really done before she flopped back on the bed, relieved. She thought it had gone quite well, all things considered. If she'd had many doubts as to whether Crown had been aware that Darc had killed poor Mig on his premises, they were resolved now. Perhaps Charlie had seen that also.
She dialled Tony's number. She felt that she was in the final furlong now, all that was required was for her to make good on her claims about him and this would be wrapped up. They would all be safe. She didn't anticipate any difficulty with this, compared to the last call.
He didn't answer.
He didn't answer any of her other calls either. She switched to once every hour, on the hour, after midnight. The phone was allowed to ring out for longer, and longer. There was no answer. She ran out of reasonable excuses for as to why he might not be able to pick up the phone. With each unanswered call the biting fear that she had felt returned in wave upon wave of intensity.
[10BP, 2WP]
Friday, July 7th, 1995 10:35 p.m.
The phone rang out with an urgent buzz and the woman's head snapped round, alert, as she reached out for it with a hand that showed only the slightest of trembles. She had been preoccupied with trying to track down Tony. Despite herself, she had been getting increasingly dispirited as nothing she had tried had borne fruit. None of her messages had been answered. She'd managed only to confirm that he was safe, or had at least been active during the day.
It rang four times, five times now, and Diane held it, oddly hesitant. But beyond knowing that he had been around during the day, silence. She had hunted the night before, partly to take her mind off things.
Trying not to think of the worst case scenario. If he'd gone out and spoken to anyone about what he had seen then they might both be as good as dead. If she couldn't find a way to finish this quickly then it was almost bound to happen. She was also haunted by the knowledge of the rapidly decreasing options she might have to make sure this worked out. It really might still come down to her having to kill him and whoever else might know anything. It was a gnawing fear that had slowly eaten away all of her other priorities.
The phone continued to ring out. Was it him? Finally she pulled it towards her and pressed the 'answer' button.
"Hello."
"Diane, I want to meet with you. There's some things we need to talk about." It was Tony.
Calm. Think calm. A wave of relief washed over her. It was all going to work out now. She wanted to say that she'd been worried about him but it didn't seem appropriate at the moment.
"Yes, I think that's a good idea. Did you have anywhere in mind,
Tony?"
He took a breath. "How about the Capitola Wharf. Say in about an hour."
"OK," she said calmly. "I'll meet you at the wharf at.." she checked her watch. "20 to midnight. How does that sound?"
"Fine. I'll see you there."
Then he hung up.
She'd paced around the bedroom for at least half of that hour. Round and round and round like a caged thing. What if he didn't come? What if he didn't come alone?
[BP 12, WP2]
Friday, July 7th, 1995 11:41 p.m.
Eventually Diane called a cab and went out to the Capitola wharf as there were no real alternatives. Torn leather seats. Smell of old smoke. Dirty windows. Screech of worn brakepads. She took no interest in the world outside as the driver wove in and out of the traffic, overly preoccupied. She was early and settled down to wait, lounging back against a wall with a newspaper and a cigarette, then another cigarette, then another. Dark shadows cast by the neon lights pooled about her feet. She must have read the front page about ten times slowly before she finally picked out Tony walking towards her. He was alone. She was also gratified to notice that he wasn't decked out in wreaths of garlic and crucifixes as she folded the paper up and tucked it under an arm.
Diane felt a mild sense of pride on his behalf. It was becoming more and more clear to her why Crown had wanted him so badly. Despite everything he had seen and done, all of the terrible doubts and fears he must have had, he was still willing to meet her - alone. It was the sort of thing she would have done herself.
It deserved better than being dragged into the harsh world of the kindred as a second rate immortal. A pang of regret hit her at the foreknowledge. She wished there was a better option, some other way out of the whole affair. In the end it came down to two things. The first being that this was surely better than dying and the second... she wasn't willing to give him up.
This was a bad point of view to be starting with right now. Think positive. Ghouls might have the very best of both worlds. The vampire had no great trouble in thinking back the few years to her own embrace, when all the night meetings, pale elegant kindred and shadows over Monterey had been the most exciting thing in the world. In 10 years one could become jaded. There was still the power inside, and the knowledge. He would enjoy it. He would have to.
She waved him over lazily with a warm smile. She was genuinely
pleased to see the man again, and not just because her own neck was on the line. But she would need to complete the bond. Diane hoped very much that it would go smoothly. It would make things so much easier for everyone.
"Evening, Tony." She slid her hands back into her pockets and walked towards him.
"Don't touch me!" he warned, and began to back off.
She looked across at his face, gauging it, and sighed. "Alright. While I am here, nothing will happen to you that you don't want. But you were right. We do need to talk."
He looked over at her (Perception + Empathy = 2 successes), and then down at his feet. Diane thought he seemed rather at odds with himself.
"Look, um, I don't really know what to say now that you're here." Obviously trying to collect himself, Tony turned toward Diane, confronting her with his eyes.
"Tell me the truth, Diane. What are you?"
"Did you think I wouldn't come?" she asked mildly, and then shook her head in answer, voice lowering. "I had to come, much as you had to call. I like you, Tony. You're different to so many of the others. But.. I think you've known that for a while."
Playing on his ego like a virtuoso. She met his eyes, holding them captive, and her voice was slow, reassuring, compelling
"A lot of the things most people think they know about the world they live in are wrong or incomplete. Behind the scenes, in the shadows if you like, there are a lot of strings being pulled by invisible hands. Supernatural hands... I think even the fact you were observant enough to ask me that question shows that you are beginning to realise it, Tony. Sometimes, rarely, exceptional mortals are given the chance to pierce that veil and take a look at the world behind the curtain... or sometimes even to live inside it."
The vampire held out a hand to him slowly, so as not to spook him. "Walk with me awhile? I.. think its traditional at this point for me to ask you how old you think I am..." She laughed aimiably, breaking up the drama. She realised again how very nervous she was.
A glimmer crossed Tony's eyes as he shifted, gazing at Diane as if at someone he'd just met in a dark alleyway. (Manipulation + Empathy = 1 success) The question was one he'd probably heard many times before, but he seemed intelligent enough to realize that this time, it was thrown at him for far less trivial and flirtatious reasons than he was used to.
"How old? I don't know. I suppose you tell me. The question is, do I want to know?"
Without waiting for an answer to this last, Tony turned, accepting Diane's invitation to walk a bit with her along the wharf.
"So, how old are you?" he asked, his voice neutral and mildly pleasant. (Perception + Empathy = 3 successes). Still, Diane caught what she thought was a flicker of fear in Tony's eyes. And his walk was stiff and self-conscious, as of that of a condemned man walking to the gallows.
"Three hundred and twelve."
Tony didn't seem to register the answer at first, but then he did a double take and stopped. He looked at Diane.
"Three hun? O.K. Then tell me this, what exactly ARE you? Are you telling me that you're some sort of extraterrestrial? Do you have that mind control trick like that other 'woman?'"
Diane looked back at him and rubbed at the back of her neck as she considered her phrasing. She was finding this to be increasingly heavy going, an uncomfortable sign of how far she had come to depend on her presence. That was still an option but, she persuaded herself, maybe not yet.
"Mind control? Right." She looked at him a moment and then her gaze swept past and out towards the sea. "Actually it isn't a difficult trick, Tony certainly its in my blood. I could probably teach you some of the basics if you had the time, and the inclination."
She mustered a quick bright smile and turned to face him, "And.. err.. no, I'm not from another planet or anything." Then, more quietly, seeking his eyes with her own, "I'm not precisely mortal either but I was once. Do you still want to know more?"
Tony didn't answer her right away. Instead, he brushed back his thick glossy hair with his fingers. In reaction to his casual interruption of their perfect orientation, Tony's fine hairs settled back into place.
"I'd be a liar if I said no. But I'm damned afraid of saying yes."
He turned to Diane, grabbing her in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes.
"Alright then - truth. What are you?"
He flexed his hands while waiting for a response. They were strong young hands and he seemed to be feeling her beneath her light coat, as if reassuring himself that she was really real.
"You're an idiot," she said, not unkindly, without breaking eye contact. Like a cat, she was unblinking. Diane began to move forwards, drawing him closer as she murmured. "I mean, fear is a kind of instinctive reaction, like pain, to stop you doing things that might be dangerous. But you had to ask "
Her hands settled on his shoulders and this time the fascination was loosed like a fine net or the morning mist from the sea, hardly even as a conscious effort. (OOC: Presence 1)
"Its one of the things I like about you." she told him, holding his eyes captive. "So tell me, have you ever kissed a vampire before?" The shaking in her shoulders was suppressed laughter.
"No," he said, staring into her eyes. All sense of fear and apprehension left him. He watched her every movement, fascinated beyond measure. It was if he were drifting down into sleep as he bent his head down, his warm living lips brushing the cool dead coldness of her own. He had no objection, pressing himself closer to her, wrapping himself like a garment around her body.
"I want you," he told her after the kiss, still holding her tightly. "I don't know what it is. It's like I see you in my mind always. It frightens me sometimes - but not now."
Diane held Tony close for a long moment, rocking with him slowly."I can't say 'don't be afraid'," she admitted, "Because it scares me too..."
She hesitated, uncertain in the knowledge that she had given away more of herself than she had intended - then, to save the stammer of useless words she leaned up to kiss him again. A hand slid up into his hair and with the taste of him on her lips she felt more centered, enough to pull back and catch his eyes again and remember why she was there.
"I need you, Tony. I need you to be with me. We having a saying that sometimes someone can get into your blood, because it all comes down to blood in the end." If it wasn't a genuine vampiric saying, Diane thought that it ought to be. "Life without blood isn't worth living, love. If you can trust me then I can show you," she whispered to him. She focussed on his eyes, velvety and dark in the reflected moonlight and pushed the words through them, as if through curtains, "We're going to go back to your car and I'll give you my blood - it's.. very intimate for us. Then you will understand."
(OOC: Dominate on the last part.)
{OK, if it is still relevant, then I think she will still try to keep a meeting with Steven. If he has moved on past the point at which that's relevant then she can leave him a warning message at the hotel about anarchs being around. I also assume she needs to hunt a little more frequently with a ghoul to feed (because I figure she'd be generous with her vitae)}
Monday, July 17th, 1995 1:38 a.m.
The rich, biting scent of coffee wound around and through the wide white archway like a trellis rose. Through the arch, if one was sitting at exactly the right point on the couch, one could see most of the gleaming unused kitchen. Diane was curled up indolently with her book in one corner so couldn't quite make the ghoul out as he moved around, but she could hear the percolator stop hissing and there was of course the smell. She turned a page and tried not to focus on the music. It was something as classical and dissonant as sin. Tony's taste, but she felt quite ambivalent towards it herself. She turned another page without looking up as he came back into the lounge with his coffee, looked at her hopefully, then bit his lip and walked quietly back to the records he had been sorting through. It hadn't taken her very long to move into the new house but she had been lazy about some of the unpacking.
"You don't really like 'The Rites of Spring', do you?" he asked.
She kept her place on the page with a fingertip and glanced up.
"Hmmm?"
Tony was watching her, eyes fixed on her face. He looked away and picked up another small pile of records. "I just thought you might like it. I always did. I mean, I can put something else on...?"
The vampire considered this briefly. "I don't mind," she said and returned her gaze to her book.
She was beginning to feel that she should find him something more constructive to do; much as she enjoyed his company, there were only so many bunches of flowers that could reasonably fit into one house. Besides which, she had begun to get the distinct impression that he harboured some small resentment for her vessels, of all things. It would do him good to feel useful, Diane reasoned. A couple of possibilities had come to her mind.
"This one has a song called 'The Werewolves of London'," Tony commented to himself as he knocked dust off an old record jacket, just loudly enough to carry across the room. He was trying to engage her attention. "Are there really any?"
This time Diane relented. She folded over the corner of her page to keep the place in a way that would have given her sire, a vampire who had treated her first editions rather better than her ghouls, an apoplectic fit. Resting back on an elbow she looked over to where the ghoul was sitting on the floor, shirt sleeves rolled up above his tanned forearms. A heavy Rolex glinted dully on his left wrist.
"I don't remember it being a big issue last time I was there, Tony," she said mildly.
Admittedly the last time she had been in London she wouldn't have known a werewolf from a hearthrug.
"Might be they just keep a lower profile than here. That's quite a good album though if I remember rightly."
He smiled. "Well then, lets give it a spin..."
Diane watched him tip the disc out of its cover and blow dust away from it carefully, checking it under the light for scratch marks. After he'd finished fiddling with it to his satisfaction she beckoned him back to the couch.
"Its alright," she said cheerfully, "I'm sure cataloguing the record collection isn't urgent. There was something else I wanted to talk to you about." She looked at him and laughed. "Cheer up love, its nothing too serious so don't look so worried. Just some research I'd like you to do. So take a seat and I'll tell you about it."
He sat down carefully and nodded, pushing a stray lock of hair behind an ear.
"There's a shop in the Pacific Garden Mall," she began, turning on a brilliant smile almost without thinking. "Some sort of seedy looking new-age occultish sort of place, I think it might have closed down. I would like to know anything you can find out about it. Who owned it, what happened to it, where the owner is now."
"Ok, anything in particular?" the ghoul seemed to have picked up some enthusiasm from her evident interest.
"It's called 'The Hidden World'," Diane added, then looked at him.
Tony gave her another hopeful look and shifted in his seat, unsure. "Um.. what?"
"Nothing, don't worry about it. Anyway, things in particular? I'd be interested to know if there are any Italian connections. But be discreet about it, there might possibly be a supernatural side to this and if so then whilst I'd like to know, there's no need for it to be traced back here. OK?"
"Sure." he said.
"The only other thing," she said thoughtfully, "Might be if anyone connected with the shop has died recently..."
"Died recently." the ghoul echoed. He cocked his head, and she could almost feel his brain ticking over. "You think they might be a vampire, Diane?"
She corrected him, "Kindred, you mean, and.. I don't know. Probably not. There are other dead things around, allegedly. Ghosts even."
The vampire summoned another smile, enough to disorient him. She enjoyed this sort of personal power, and he returned the smile thoughtlessly.
"Anyway, use your initiative." she said warmly, "I'm sure you'll do marvellously well."
She suspected that this would turn out to be a run of the mill piece of library work, despite her hints at deeper things to keep him on his toes. It wasn't all that difficult to find out who was the legal owner of a locally registered business. The vampire really had no intention of giving him anything to do that might be dangerous or overly demanding. Like a hothouse flower, he didn't really seem to be bred for hardship, and she was already too fond of him to find him disposable. She considered him to be something of a luxury item.
Warren Zevon's voice droned out of the speakers.
'I was gambling in Havana
I took a little risk.
Send lawyers, guns and money,
And get me out of this...'
"You know," Diane considered, "I think it might be a good idea if you were to start carrying a gun and practice using it.. just in case." The lyrics had reminded her.
Tony frowned. "A gun?"
She pushed herself more upright and reached over to touch his arm lightly, the dusting of pale hairs.
"The world can be a dangerous place, I don't much like it, but..."
The man looked down at her hand, then back to her face. He put a warm hand on top of her cold one diffidently, unsure.
"Well, my father has guns at his house. I think I could get one easily enough."
It was evident that he didn't much care for the idea.
Diane nodded encouragingly, and stroked his arm.
"I don't mean that you should shoot anyone," she said, soothing, "In fact if you ever run into any trouble I'd suggest common sense and legging it, but if it happens, sometimes its useful to have the option. Even if its just to face people down. Also, try to remember that things that would kill a mortal won't always kill you, and that includes bullets."
"I suppose so."
She moved closer and slid an arm around his waist. The ghoul relaxed in an almost instinctive response.
"I'll look into it tomorrow, Diane, I mean, if you really think its important."
She nodded, also enjoying the proximity.
"OK," he smiled. "Consider it done. Consider all of it done! I'll do some checking tomorrow while you're 'asleep'."
Right on cue, 'The Werewolves of London' started on the record player. It had an unfortunate scratch that dragged out the first howl.
"You'd better finish your coffee before it gets cold," she grinned mischievously. "While we're on the topic of London, I'm reminded that I really should make a quick call there."
She'd had every intention on checking up on the name Allister had given her but somehow it had kept being pushed to the backburner. Now seemed as good a time as ever to do that though. The vampire glanced at her own watch and tried to remember the time difference.
"They're 8 hours ahead." Tony offered, and smirked as she gave him a surprised look. "So it'll be about 10 in the morning there now."
"Thank you, Einstein!" she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or.. impressed.
"Any time." He retrieved his coffee and settled back on the couch, more pleased with himself now.
The only vampire Diane even vaguely knew in London was Spiral and since they'd never really gotten on she didn't feel like pushing her luck, especially since she didn t know his number. Instead, she preferred to rely on her own contacts, some of her old drinking partners from her Fleet Street days, this sort of thing should be right up their alley.
She tapped the number out and listened to the dialtone change before it was finally answered. Amazingly, the Standard had moved out of Fleet Street. The girl on the other end told her that they had closed down the Fleet Street office five years ago when they moved to Wapping.
"Five years?" Diane was shocked. "Do you have the new number?"
She found some paper and a pen to take it down and redialled. As she waited for the second time, she felt that nagging uncertainty that she was slipping out of synch with the world. All her memories of the old days flooded back, all those evenings at 'El Vinos' or the 'Coach and Horses', all the nights hearing the presses rattle and going down to Smithfield for breakfast at 4 in the morning. The newspapers had moved out of Fleet Street and it seemed as if the world had no edge any more.
She wondered if one day she would be found wearing the present-day equivalent of Elizabethan dress and complaining that the stuffed dormice weren't what they used to be. A shiver of genuine fear gripped her for no reason; the brief perspective of time through the wrong end of the telescope.
"Hello. Standard Newsdesk!" a female voice said brightly on the other end of the line.
The vampire flicked mentally through her list of 'possibles' and tried to single out the name of someone who wouldn't have been promoted out of their old job, who would have moved when the paper did, even if it went somewhere that was inaccessible.
"Right," she decided finally, "Do you have a staff writer in called Moorcock, Sebastian Moorcock? I know he used to write for the Standard ?"
"Just a moment," the receptionist chirped. "I'm a temp, Norma is off sick today, so I'll just go and check.."
Diane rolled her eyes. She could have cared less whether the receptionist was a temp or not. She remembered Moorcock as an affable old hack, amusing anecdotes, bit of a lech. She was trying to remember whether she had ever slept with him or not when the temp picked up the line again.
"Mr Moorcock is in. I'll just put you through!"
The phone beeped distantly and then Diane could hear the ringing tone. 'Well, answer it you old git!' she thought affectionately. She had vague memories of a Christmas party. It was all rather sketchy, obscured by a fog of alcohol. She seemed to remember it had been rather a good party. The phone continued to ring for a couple of minutes before it was finally answered.
"Hello?" it was a man's voice, and it was the one Diane recognised.
She smiled, relieved, and settled back. She could hear the sounds of traffic filtering through from his office. It must have been just after the morning rush-hour, although really any time before midday was early to someone like Seb. It seemed an irony to be able to speak to someone to whom it was currently day. In London, it would be light outside. It seemed very strange, knowing that she would never see another day herself.
"Hi," she said with a smile. "I don't know if you remember me but its Diane. Diane Forester... I was based down in Bush House when you'd just moved to the parliamentary team?"
The voice on the other end sounded pleased to hear her. "Diane my pet, of course I remember! Now there's a name that brings back the memories! That was before we moved down here of course."
The vampire began to get a sneaking suspicion that they probably had slept together. It occurred to her that 'there's a name that brings back the memories' could potentially be one of the more double-edged ways of greeting an old acquaintance and she resolved to remember it for future use.
"I remember reading about that," she lied. "Its seems like forever, must have been a bit of a wrench for you all?"
He laughed, and Diane picked up a wheeze in his voice that she couldn't ascribe to memory. She tried to picture him in her head, to work out how old he might be now. He hadn't been a young man when she'd known him and that might have been the faintest of frown lines impressed itself in her forehead. That party might have been 20 years ago. Twenty years.
He was speaking again, amused. "Wrench, my pet? Not really. I went down to the 'Coach and Horses' with Steve and the girls and we had a very civilised day of it while the rest of them did all the heavy work. Then hey presto, all moved. Different bus to catch in the morning. Can't really say I miss the old place much now."
Diane didn't believe that for a moment but chuckled politely.
"Anyway how are things going for you?" he asked. " And where -did- you end up, after all that fuss? It seemed as if you had fallen off the face of the earth."
"You're close." She grinned at the handset. "California. I fell into freelancing, so to speak. Actually while I have you on the line, Seb, there was something I wanted to ask. Could you do a bit of nosing around and see if you can come up with anything juicy on a 'Lord Lethbridge?'"
"Oh?" his tone was more curious than polite., already sniffing out for gossip. "Dastardly dealings of the gentry is it now? Wild drugs and kinky sex? Or is he having a fling with the cast of 'Baywatch'?"
The woman laughed. "I'm sure you'll be the one to find out if he is! I don't know if he's actually titled or if its just an affectation. Apparently he has a pad down in Kew and that's about all I know."
"Easiest thing in the world," he assured her. "So.. its been years hasn't it? Why ring me now?"
Her expression was distant as she thought about this, paused a moment before answering.
"Yeah, I know it seems strange, and I'm sorry about that. You know sometimes when you move away from a place or a thing you just want to move on and not look back? Well, what with one thing and another I guess I just decided that maybe I did want to look back after all.. that and the fact I just found my old address book. I'm glad you're doing well "
On the other end of the line, the man she had possibly (probably?) slept with 20 years ago started hacking and coughing.
"Can't complain," he said cheerfully, when he had retrieved his breath. There seemed to be some brief conversation in the background and he told her that he had to go, but took her number down so as to be able to call back.
Diane hung the phone up slowly, as if her hand was heavy again with the weight of her own immortality.
Tuesday, July 18th, 1995 9:30 p.m.
"There's someone here to see you, I think you might want to " Tony trailed off and indicated the lounge with a sideways nod. Diane stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and gave him a quizzical look; she had not been long awake that night and already such routines as she did keep were being broken. It was all very simple usually.
1. Wake up (didn't require much concentration, apart from remembering to turn off the radio to which she usually fell asleep listening)
2. Wash. (Largely unnecessary, especially since her sire had caught her on the way out of the shower when she had been killed so she generally woke up clean anyway. Still, it was a habit.)
3. Survey clothes/ shoes and make the best of a poor choice.
4. Check answerphone and diary.
5. Pause to check self in mirror. This usually involved bared fangs, just because she liked to see them.
6. Go upstairs. Remember to ask Tony whether he had a good day to avoid sulkiness.
Tonight he had caught her between steps 5 and 6. How could there be someone else in her house already?
"Hang on Tony, what do you mean there's someone to see me? Why on earth did you let them in?"
"He's a cop." The ghoul shrugged and kept his voice down, again his gaze drifted to the lounge.
"And he had a search warrant?" just a touch of irritation entered her tone; already Diane was priming herself to put on a good performance but the change in routine was annoying. She'd become used to having time to get her head together in the evening, and this was her domain after all, and her crypt. What was a policeman doing here?
Tony spread his hands, "He seemed to think you had an arrangement."
She nodded to him and straightened a cuff.
"OK, its fine, but in future remember that you don't have to let them in, you can always say something came up."
She swept out through the smoked glass doors and into the lounge in time to surprise Detective Locatelli who was examining a sleek art- deco lamp. He put it down carefully as she came in and turned to face her.
"Detective, what a pleasant surprise," Diane said, sliding her hands into her jacket pockets.
She remembered him quite clearly from their last meeting and although he'd had the gall to come in without her permission, she much preferred dealing with him on home ground. At least, she reflected, it had saved her the bother of another phone call. She looked him up and down before waving him over to a chair.
"I was thinking of giving you a call. Please.. take a seat. Can I get you a coffee or something?"
The detective looked around the room. Tony had been shopping, picking out tasteful antiques for the place out of his own pocket. Diane suspected that he decorated with the idea of how he felt a vampire should live in mind, as opposed to anything that particularly suited either of their personal tastes, but she couldn't deny that it all looked quite impressive. She had a sneaking fondness for the little lamp and was annoyed that Locatelli had been fondling it in her absence.
"Nice place you have here," the man observed, sitting. "I heard you'd been inquiring after me at the station." He shook his head to the coffee. "So, did I catch you out? I didn't hear your car driving up?"
"Detective, I'm sure you would never catch me out ," she smiled, eyes dancing.
Although it was probably a bad long-term idea to tease the police, it was worth it in the short term. Sure enough, he bristled. She smiled more sweetly.
"Anyway, since I can't get you a drink, what can I do for you?"
He shrugged and settled into the couch, eyeing the carved sideboard.
"I was just out and about," he said mildly, "I thought I'd check in on you myself. Just haven't gotten around to it until now."
He did seem quite taken by the sideboard, with its wicked clawed feet and ugly marquetry. The detective surveyed the room again with an investigative eye, taking everything in. Diane raised a brow politely as he turned back to her with an unaccountably smug expression on his face.
"Nice setup you have here," this time he virtually smirked.
"I'm glad you like it," she said politely, "I did decorate with you in mind."
She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, trying to hide the smile and shifted subjects, "Actually I was wondering whether you had any more leads on that business with the drained body? I heard there had been more than one ?"
She cocked her head and watched him. She was quite sure her own little killing spree would be untraceable, listed as suicide and it certainly had nothing to do with any of these cases. Sitting in her lounge with a homicide detective when she knew that she had murdered someone in cold blood (or warm blood, to be precise) was a novel experience, however.
"Interesting topic," he commented. "I wonder why you chose to bring it up?"
Diane nodded. "Well you know how it is, detective. They say its polite to try to find topics of mutual interest to discuss. Besides which, I hadn't forgotten that someone tried to frame me for it. Are you really so surprised that I might want to follow that up?"
"This is off the record," he noted.
The vampire nodded again, her curiousity piqued. "Of course," she agreed. " If you say so."
The detective studied her a moment and then looked back to the sideboard, collecting his thoughts.
"OK, obviously another serial killer is on the loose. He seems to have stopped right now. Frankly, he doesn't leave many clues."
Diane rested her arms on her knees and leaned forwards, interested.
"So you have some reason to think there's a man behind it then? There are witnesses?"
"Almost all serial killers are men," Locatelli observed. " There are a few exceptions, but many of those don't fall into the typical serial killer mode. What do you know about these killings?" He flicked the question out at her without warning, without glancing her way.
Diane was caught in mid-thought. If the actual perpetrator had been the Malkavian Anti-tribu who had recently been so handily dispatched that would explain why the killings had ceased. She still wasn't sure this explained her address in the corpse's pocket though. Maybe lots of pointless killings which pointed to Vampire activity were a Sabbat hallmark?
She nodded slowly to the question. "Not all that much, I'm afraid. I know what you have told me, and that there were a few more killings. I don't know precisely how many. That one of the victims had my address in his pocket which is something I still can't explain. Also that there were some similarities in the methods. The puncture marks in the neck..?" she looked to him for confirmation.
Locatelli's posture gave little away and his dark eyes flicked back to her abruptly. "I just said 'he'," he said, his gaze intensifying. "Certainly I'm not discounting that its a woman behind all this."
"Well I applaud your political correctness," the vampire said politely.
Evidently he thought he had found a likely suspect and like a ferret, wasn't planning to let go without a struggle.
"Any ideas what you are going to do when you find this person?"
"Drive a stake through his or her - heart," Locatelli said matter of factly.
This time Diane did look at the man's face, surprised. "Don't take this personally but when was the last time you had a holiday, detective?" A curious crooked smile spread across her lips. "Or have you been taking lessons from that chap who ended up in San Quentin? Why on earth do you say that?"
He shrugged. "Isn't that what one does with vampires?"
She blinked and was about to phrase some comment about dramatic irony and poetic justice but he cut her off.
"Just kidding. Its a joke in poor taste. The unofficial name for this psycho down at the station is 'Chomper.' Seems he leaves his victims drained of blood, seemingly drawn through holes in the person's body. Occasionally, he's torn the bodies apart, but still, they're pretty much empty of blood fluids. Kind of creepy, eh?"
Diane nodded, taking it all in. "Mmm totally drained? So we're talking about someone who uses a vacuum pump or something? It all sounds a bit Jack-the-Ripper to me. Maybe I should keep a stake handy, just in case.. and hang garlic over the doors!"
The detective was looking at her again and Diane picked up the definite feeling that he was playing some kind of game, trying to draw her out. Surely he couldn't suspect ? She let the smile fade and adopted a more sober tone, searching out his eyes with her own.
<dominate>"Trust me, Detective, I want to see whoever is behind this caught at least as much as you do."</dominate>
He held the gaze for a moment, caught by her eyes. Finally the vampire glanced away, breaking the spell and the detective looked down at his watch.
"Well," he said, "Time to be going. I'm putting in a late shift today. Good night, Ms Forester."
"And to you," she smiled, rising to her feet. "I'd be interested to know if anything else comes up on this one. If I can be of any further help, do let me know."
The detective took one last look at the hideous sideboard before nodding to her, and Diane heard his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall as Tony showed him out. It seemed as though whoever or whatever had been behind that problem had wound up, hopefully for good, but the detective had been left more than suspicious.
She made some minute adjustment to the lamp and hoped some other case would come along to take his mind off it. Suspicion and proof were a world apart.
Tuesday, July 18th, 1995 10:24 p.m.
Diane scanned the piece of paper before she initialled it. She was in the lobby of the Dream Park hotel, having decided to leave a note for the other Ventrue. She didn't feel it was necessary to reread it too many times as the nagging hunger was already making it difficult for her to concentrate.
As she had been getting ready to leave, Tony had reported back on the results of his investigations into 'The Hidden World'. As she had expected, the shop had been deserted. He had found the owners name, 'Quinn Thompson' but it meant nothing to Diane. Interestingly the shop was on a 10 year lease, paid for in cash. That seemed unusual to her. If it was really deserted then this might make it a possible choice as an emergency haven. She felt that she would have to be truly desperate to risk that, but it was worth bearing in mind.
Tony had also noted some damage at the back of the place that had recently been repaired - listed as tree damage although there were no trees near enough to have caused it.
She had nodded wisely to the ghoul as if she had also been expecting this but in truth it could have been anything. He hadn't managed to find any records for this 'Quinn' person and guessed that he must have been from out of state or even out of the country.
Despite her increasing need to go out and hunt, Diane had made the effort to thank him. Investigating might have drawn a blank but it had always been a long shot. She remained curious as to the Giovanni's interest though. This business about paying in cash, leaving no records, disappearing out of town certainly didn't rule Thompson out of being involved somehow. She asked Tony to keep at it, try to find pictures of the man, or friends of his to speak to, but that it wasn't a high priority.
She looked over the note one last time before sealing it up and giving it to the receptionist . She thought it was quite carefully worded, to invite him to ask for assistance; she wasn't planning to offer any beyond kind words, but it was always polite to tell people they could ask.
Sir,
I hope this note finds you and yours well. I was sorry not to catch you in person but I think you should perhaps be aware that I've heard there are anarchs in town. This can only mean that they have managed to fight or sneak through the wolf-ridden wilds which implies that they are probably well tooled up or have good allies. My informant on this seemed to think they were especially likely to come trying to get some Ventrue scalps (I think 'stomp' was the word he used), although that might have been wishful thinking on his part. So for what its worth, I'd advise especial caution and if you do have any trouble with them don't hesitate to ask for assistance.
Best wishes,
D.F.
PS. I forgot to warn you last time we met. The Brujah seem a bit more jumpy than usual at the moment so kid gloves might be the way to go if you want to avoid major aggravation.
[BP: 5, WP: 7]
{Q: Do you have any house rules for learning non- clan disciplines? (was thinking of auspex, when she gets the xp together)
A: Well, other than spending the x.p., you have to have a tutor teach them to you since it isn't a power that's inherent within your charactrer's supernatural makeup. I'm not against it otherwise and try to leave it free for characters to tailor their characters as they wish. (Obviously the N.P.C. Purdy and his childer seem to have some proficiency with Domination - hardly something one would expect of the Brujah.)}
[BP: 5, WP: 7]
{Q: However, also on her agenda is casting about for a little local influence. (Does she have a rough idea ICly as to which vampires control which spheres of influence at all? I assume the media (which is probably her area of expertise) is one of the things that will always be controlled for masquerade reasons). I guess taxis are as good a place to start as any.. so one of the things she attempts to chat to the nutty taxi driver about is his controller (if they are radio cabs). The vague long-term plan (ie. because it'd probably take a few months to really work though, rather than days or weeks) is to pick one of the taxi firms and use whatever underhand methods are necessary to remove one of their closest competitors, leaving the owners/ controllers in her debt. Its not much, but at least it would be enough for free cab rides and plenty of information as to who was going where.
A: (Manipulation + Investigation = 2 successes). Diane is not privy to such information specifially, but she is not without her sources and is a good listener. She is pretty confidant that control of the town is primarily in the hands of the Brujah, Ventrue and now Nosferatu. Boardwalk and the more tacky tourist revenue by the main beach probably goes in a split between the Prince and the Brujah. The Brujah also control Watsonville, the Flats and a few city services and official; including the mayor. Police, and major industries are controlled by Thomas Crown, through various subsidiaries. Crown did control city services, though he has lost out on some recent contracts to the Nosferatu, Jonathan Loparlo - who appears to be moving to take over that area. (Diane remembers Loparlo from Monterey. In fact, she got the upper hand on him by 'exposing' rampant drug use and was the cheif instrument in getting the Nos. run out of Cannery Row and it's subsequent rejuvination under the Ventrue Clan.)
The Toreador content themselves with owning several artsy shops and manipulating revenue from various "Art & Wine" Faires, Craft Festivals, etc. The other clans seem to left holding the short stick.}
Saturday, July 29th, 1995 10:11 p.m.
Diane looked at her watch, then at the window. Still nothing. She had found a card when she was emptying out her jacket pockets to send it to the cleaners advertising a 'Spooky Tour' that must have been given to her by one of the numerous local taxi drivers that she felt she was single-handedly keeping in business. On a whim she'd decided to give the man a ring and ask about it. If there was one thing she'd learned from her years as a stringer it was never to pass up even the most unlikely sounding lead. She was curious to see whether any of the tourist- friendly spooky stories had any basis in reality. It amused her to think that her fellow undead might be unwittingly doing their bit for the tourist trade. So she'd called the cab driver, Norb Baker, only to find that he was shuttling a fare to the airport in San Jose. He had promised he would be round at her place by 10pm. She glanced at her watch again. 10:14pm. She had already decided that at quarter past the hour she'd give up on the cabbie and go out hunting instead.
At that point her thoughts were interrupted by a honk from outside. Diane jumped to her feet and turned to Tony as she grabbed her coat.
"Want to come and find out all about the spooky side of Santa Cruz?" she grinned, with a flash of fang.
Tony gave her a rather superior 'grown-up' look, as if chiding her for some silliness, brows rising with just a hint of incredulity. Then the expression instantly vanished as if quashed by some sudden thought.
He shook his head. "No, you go ahead. I'll just unpack. I'm not sure... never mind. Have fun."
She leaned across to give him a peck on the cheek and slipped out of the house, closing the door carefully behind her.
The cabbie was leaning against his car, polishing his nails with what looked like a metal nail file. He glanced up as he heard the door close and Diane recognised his face with a sudden flashback to the last ride she had taken with him. The cab was parked under a streetlamp which gave the vampire a rather better view of it. It seemed unusually old, of a style she hadn't seen very much of recently. Looked to be in good shape though. She guessed it was a circa 1950s roadboat and smiled pleasantly at Norb as she walked down towards him.
"Nice car you have there. What sort is it?" "Hudson," he said briefly. "Not too many of them around. I think maybe this is the only one which iz a Kab."
The woman nodded and looked over the car again as if she actually cared, before offering him a hundred dollar bill. Norb stopped filing his nails for long enough to take it and he looked at it with interest. He showed no signs of being about to get into the car though.
"So," he said as he admired the metal strip under the neon light. "Did you say you want the real 'Spooky Tour'?"
Diane gave the man a hard look. Cheeky bastard.
She slid her hands back into her pockets and asked, "How much?"
The man stopped fiddling with his nails again and rubbed his chin with a hand, as if he was considering a great philosophical question. Diane was torn between annoyance at being taken for a ride and amusement at the cheek of it all. She looked up into his eyes as if she had lost something in there and seriously considered dominating him. He just smiled and returned to filing his nails. Maybe later, she decided, no reason why a man couldn't earn a bit on the side if he had the nerve to go for it. She threw her hands up into the air and ran back to the house to get more funds.
Tony was busy unpacking a painting which he must have just bought. It was a 19th century Italian landscape and he seemed quite pleased with it.
"Do you have any cash on you, Tony?" she asked as she burst in on him.
He put the picture down gently and searched through his pockets, retrieving another hundred dollar bill. Unwilling to present Norb with quite that much she asked if he had anything smaller. Tony just smiled apologetically and shook his head. She gave him another peck on the cheek, pocketed the note, and ran back out of the door.
She slowed to a walk as she neared the cab and the cabbie glanced back at her politely. This time she picked up the bill between a thumb and forefinger and showed it to Norb without handing it over.
"I've another hundred," she said, unnecessarily, "But if this isn't worth it then you won't be getting anything more than you've already got. Sound fair?"
He hummed a bit before nodding. "Fair enough." He got into the drivers seat and the vampire climbed into the back.
The cabbie let the handbrake up smoothly and the cab rolled into motion. Diane sank back against her seat, with an elbow against the door and allowed herself to be hypnotised by the houses and cars and people flowing past her window. One city looked very like another when you were just travelling through it and it didn't require a great leap of imagination for the woman to imagine herself back in Monterey, or in Carmel, as if nothing had ever happened to tear her away. Her eyes unfocussed as her thoughts drifted.
She remembered another night, not dissimilar to this one. That had been in the Summer too, either July or August. Her apartment had stunk with the perfume of the heavy flowers with their garish blooms that grew in pots outside the doors. During the day the heat was only tolerable because of the sea breeze; but Diane hadn't seen a day for months. Sometimes one night will stand out in the memory in spite of being so similar to so many surrounding nights, as if with practice one could get used to seeing in the dark and start to make out a hundred different shades of colours for which the language had only one word: grey. A large part of her life had been centred about simply managing to successfully hunt back then, or at least a larger part than those things took up now that she was more practised at it. She had returned to the perfumed house in a restless mood that night, burning with guilt, as those were days in which she retained some sense of impropriety about feeding in general. She had not been surprised to find a message from Petra; her sire used to speak to her quite frequently, but this was an abrupt summons with a comment that the older vampire had a guest.
So she had driven through the dark streets, a half-remembered journey. Like now, like every night, the sidewalks had been quiet. After that very precise image, her memory juggled several events together. She had not changed into anything smarter and the man with whom her sire seemed friendly was easily the most intimidating creature Diane had ever met.
She remembered that he had been thin and dark and smooth as molten glass and barely raised his voice above a whisper. Petra had introduced her without giving his name and for some reason she had felt under intense scrutiny. They had talked for hours, and even as she thought back to that night, Diane felt that everything she had said seemed gauche and idiotic in comparison to the other two. She had hated being made to feel like that and only made a cursory attempt to hide her resentment.
Of all the discussion, the one part that remained solid in her memory was when he had been leaving. Petra had asked her to bring in some files that she had borrowed but Diane had left them in her car and was about to get them herself when one of the ghouls brought them in. She took them and offered them to the man rather brusquely.
"Aren't you going to thank the girl?" he had asked her, deceptively gentle as he smiled thinly at the ghoul.
Diane had looked at her sire, who shrugged, and then shrugged herself, "She's just a ghoul."
He hadn't even moved, but seemed to loom forwards.
"You don't thank her because she is a servant, you thank her because you are a lady," he whispered silkily.
Diane had faced angry mobs and crazed dictators without flinching when she had been called upon to do so, but she had known when she had met her match. She had winced and thanked the ghoul (who looked as surprised as she felt).
Then the other two vampires(?) had left and stood chatting for a while outside: in retrospect she had been fairly sure he was also a vampire, one of the first she had met since her own embrace. Diane had slumped into one of the wicker chairs, sulkily. She had been sure she had failed whatever stupid tests they had been attempting and also sure she could hear the ghouls giggling in the other room as they retold the scene. She had fiddled with the Hi-Fi irritably and then given up and pretended to read a book.
Finally her sire had returned and sat down smoothly. There was a long silence. As usual, Diane had given in first and asked, with a bad grace, what was going on.
"Oh?" Petra had feigned surprise at the question, although she must have known how curious her childe would have been. "That was your primogen, liebchen."
Diane had shifted in her seat. She had a rough idea what that implied.
"I, um.. don't think he liked me very much..."
Her sire had given her a rather patronising appraisal, drawing the moment out for dramatic effect as she was wont to do. "But whatever gave you that idea? He was just telling me that he thought you had potential..."
Diane had frowned in surprise, she wasn't used to being this far wrong in her readings of people. Her sire stretched out in the chair and half-closed her eyes. Diane thought the other vampire also seemed relieved. It was probably a bad question but she'd had to ask.
"What would have happened if he hadn't?" The considered glance she received in return told her everything she needed to know.
Strange to think that they were all dead now...
Another attack of deja vue struck as the cab turned up a hill, but it was only as the driver slowed that Diane realised with a sickening intensity that it really was somewhere she had been before.
Inevitably, they were on Beach Hill and Norb was about to pull up right in front of Franklin Thomas Crown's Mansion, and even more inevitably Crown's own Rolls was just easing out of the drive. Diane's hand tightened on the door handle unconsciously, she was positively mortified. Far too late to do anything about it now except berate herself mentally for not having paid more attention to the route. She was almost surprised when the two cars didn't actually crash. Instead the Rolls slowed as it sailed past the parked cab. Diane shrank back from the reflected headlights and raised a hand to her face as she turned away, hoping to escape identification but with a fatalistic certainty that she'd been noticed. It seemed that she was to be cheated out of her original ideal of an unstressed night and the knowledge gave her a resentful edge, although she wasn't precisely sure where to direct it.
She remembered vividly why it had always been such a popular custom to go out and get thoroughly drunk on a Saturday night. It was to have an escape from thinking too deeply about toe-curling embarrassments such as her present predicament.
Norb, as sensitive as a housebrick, was paying no attention to his passenger as he concentrated on working a spotlight which seemed only a little newer than the car. He finally made some delighted exclamation in German as the light flickered and then came onto full beam, and he focussed it directly onto the front of the house.
Diane closed her eyes briefly and prayed for a miracle. Mental images of Norb being suddenly struck down by lightning, attacked by a flock of killer seagulls, or undergoing an radical personality change distracted her.
Instead of any of these things, the front door of the little mansion was opened from inside, and Charlie appeared in silhouette against the lit interior for a brief moment before he started down the driveway towards the cab.
"What are you doing?" he snapped at Norb. It was the same question Diane was trying to avoid thinking about. She pressed herself silently back into the shadows and wished she knew how to hide like a Nosferatu.
The taxi driver stuck his chin up belligerently at the suited young man. "Me?" he said innocently. "Oh, I'm giving a tour of the local Victorians to my client here." He indicated the back seat with a nod.
Charlie's attention didn't wander from the driver and his eyes flashed.
"Look. You can't just shine lights in people's houses. Now move on or I'll call the police!"
"Hey! Give a guy a break, ja? I'm just trying to make a living. I've got a paid fare here and She wants to see old houses!"
The vampire winced imperceptibly. Her own mood was not improving, although the situation was moving beyond embarrassing and almost starting to be funny. From the sublime to the ridiculous.
"You live in an old house!" Norb continued, with the air of one who has faultless logic to back up his arguments. "We look - we go! What's the problem?"
With an unpleasantly sour expression on his face, Charlie glanced round behind him and snapped his fingers imperiously. A broad- shouldered blond gorilla emerged from the house. The heavy was beautifully dressed in an Armani double-breasted suit with pink lapels. It wasn't quite well enough tailored to hide the obvious bulge under one arm.
Charlie pointed at the searchlight with the air of one who has even more faultless logic behind him and stood back. The larger man virtually pushed the cab driver to one side and placed a meaty hand on each side of the searchlight, preparing to physically rip it off the car.
Pink lapels, Diane thought gloomily, only in California! She hoped fervently that there wasn't going to be any shooting.
Norb pulled his jacket straight and gave the men a double barreled glare.
"Hey, I got witnesses," he warned. "Get your hands off of that!"
Charlie rested a hand against the window and leaned forwards to glance into the cab. Then he stopped abruptly.
"Mz Forester?" he said, genuinely surprised. "Ah, excuse me, but I didn't realise that it was you." He snapped his fingers and the goon looked across at him, and then backed off.
Diane attempted a nonchalent smile.
"Is there something I can do for you?" Charlie asked politely. He seemed to have shifted smoothly to the more servile face he wore for vampires and if he was indeed curious about the rather odd circumstances, he was keeping it well hidden.
"Oh, I can't think of anything at the moment.." the woman said, a bit flustered. "We're fine, thanks."
She smiled again, wanly, and looked politely past Charlie and towards the house. One of the best pieces of advice her first editor had given her was 'If you're put on the spot and you can't think of anything quickly, always smile - it'll make people wonder what you were really up to.'
"Well, I'll leave you to your - 'business' then..." Charlie's polite show of lack-of-curiousity was fraying at the edges and he gave her a very puzzled look before he and the other ghoul went back inside the house and closed the door.
"Ja! Get outta here. I know the law, I do!" Norb harried their retreating backs triumphantly.
A ground floor curtain twitched and Diane was sure she could see them peeking through the curtains at the cab.
"Skip the rest of this, let's just get out of here," she ordered the cabbie coldly, her embarrassment rapidly morphing into a dark fury.
Norb struck a pose, with his arms folded in front of him, tilting his chin up petulantly again. "I'm an artist! I give you the full tour!"
The vampire's face brows drew into a shallow frown at the defiance and she leaned forwards, gaze travelling slowly to his face. Enough was enough. She almost had eye contact for an aggravatingly brief moment but before she could floor him with the full weight of her will the cabbie noticed some new speck of dust against the window where Charlie had leaned against it and turned to wipe it away. He continued to babble on about some old cursed family and a tragedy that had occurred here over a hundred years before. Diane bit her lip in frustration; every time she almost had a chance to catch his eye he managed to get distracted.
She reached into her jacket pocket and thrust the other hundred dollar bill in his direction."Enough already. I don't much like being threatened by people with guns. For God's sake take this and lets move on?"
She was almost shaking with the effort of keeping her tone reasonable. The mental image shifted from the lightning bolt to Norb having his throat ripped out and his limbs torn off one by one before being fed slowly into a paper shredder. Reasonable evidently wasn't the right tone. The cabbie continued to babble happily. Diane began to feel a surge of sympathy for King Canute who had tried to hold back the waves.
"Anyvay - so, after the murder suicide, the house remains vacant for many years. Then, one day, a man steps off a ship down at the old wharf, which is underwater now. This man bears an uncanny resemblance to Franklin Crown - only his name is Nathaniel. And he claims to be the son of Franklin Crown - only - no one here knows Franklin ever even had a son. They say, they don't know he was even married. And what about Aglaia? - Franklin's sister, and this 'son's' supposed auntie - she just disappears. Some say, that she went crazy and that Nathaniel had her sent somewhere - or maybe worse - cause he wasn't no son, but maybe only a shyster who had her killed because she was the real heir and owner of the place." He paused and looked round at his fare. "So, what do you think about that?"
Diane just glared at him balefully and folded her arms. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had even a fraction of her interest. Admittedly it was a petty revenge...
"OK," the man said, quite unconcerned. "Time to move on."
As he turned the ignition and the car coughed into life, his passenger's attention was caught by the house again. Something. As she concentrated she could make out the faint haunting strains of piano music, it seemed to be coming from one of the upstairs windows. On an impulse she tapped Norb on the shoulder.
"Can you hear that?" she asked.
Proceeding to his own fixed schedule the cabbie shrugged, "Oh, that's just that white lady. Just a ghost. We have plenty of those later on the tour." He turned back to the road without another word and drove off.
Diane spared a glance for the Victorian over her shoulder as the car moved away. She was trying the name out in her head, as if to see how well it fitted with the music and the portrait and the woman's voice. She didn't think it had been a ghost. Aglaia? She shrugged to herself and settled back into the seat. She almost felt sorry for the woman if it was true and couldn't really imagine which might be worse: being one of Crown's blood relations or having to live with him for a century... Three weeks had been bad enough!
Saturday, July 29th, 1995 10:45 p.m.
On leather wings; a squeak, a chitter and an unexpected thermal sent a bat fluttering in low circles as it struggled to orient itself, far from its usual hunting grounds. Its eyes were bright and dark, set wide in the furred head. The bat looked down and picked out weaker lights, but the echo indicated no large structures nearby as would have been normal. Something smaller than a streetlamp then. It struggled against the breeze with sharp wingbeats towards the twin lamps.
It never saw the misshapen shadow from above as the owl swooped down to whisk its tiny life away so smoothly that not a drop of blood fell to the ground below.
Below, the taxi rumbled to a halt, but Norb left the headlights on. His passenger leaned an elbow against the window and stared out at the dim landscape, with controlled disbelief. From the ridiculous to the more ridiculous.
The road had petered out and the cab was parked on a piece of graveled wasteland. At first sight, it seemed as though the surrounding area, some few miles from the city, might be unusually hilly. The hills were lopsided misfits, running one into another. Their components were too granular. Bulging plastic bags spewed empty cans, cartons, clotted mounds of more degradable substances. If one looked too long at any one of the hills, the mind's eye imagined the movement of creeping hordes of insects, marching incessantly; the occasional flick of a rat's tail, the small clickings and grindings and gnawings at the communal refuse. The sickly smell of decay hung across the entire area and clung like cotton candy to everything it touched. The place itself seemed alive in its own way to the vampire; alive, and maybe something more.
"I bet you never thought you'd be here at the dump, yes?" Norb glanced over his shoulder at the back seat as he opened the door for the woman.
The smell, if anything, got worse.
"You could say that," she answered dryly, steeling herself for the inevitable stink as she climbed out and stood next to the cab. "I thought we might start at the morgue or the abattoir and work our way down... but you seem to have taken the short cut."
The driver smiled and seemed to take this as a compliment.
Diane dug the toe of her shoe into some soft unidentifiable substance and her lip curled in unconscious distaste as she looked out at the rotting hills. Her resolve to retrieve the money she had been unwise enough to hand over was hardening; maybe even with interest. This might yet turn out to be the spookiest tour Norb had ever run, and she felt that he would thoroughly deserve it.
She paced out a few steps, hoping to get upwind of the main tip but instead it seemed that they had already been upwind of it. A gust of breeze carried the stench to new heights of stomach churning intensity.
This is the way of all flesh, magnified to the nth degree, she thought. To live, to be used, to die, to be discarded and then to rot in some ignored forgotten place. If you were lucky you'd be discarded after death, rather than before.
It was strange to her that despite the fact that she no longer breathed, still her sense of smell had not left her ('unfortunately', she added as a mental footnote). She turned back towards Norb, dark against the headlights of his cab. In truth she almost wished that her senses had completely left her on her mortal death. With what was to her a typical irony of the vampiric condition, they seemed even more acute at times like this, when the lack of them would have been a blessing. Refuse, rotting, rancid.
She was uncomfortable in this place and it occurred to her that it was more than just the smell. Something coiling on the very edge of perception? Diane fought back another wave of irritation at her own over-active imagination and strode around a small heap of something putrescent which really was crawling with movement. She couldn't shake off the feeling that there really was something hovering there, which was hiding behind the mundane daily use of the area. The only word she had to describe the feel was 'evil', outdated and irrelevant as it was. It seemed appropriate. An oily slippery edge of evil.
Norb cleared his throat with a bark and pushed his hands into his pockets.
"In olden times," he began, "There was Indians who lived in this place. They were outcasts from many tribes, - people exiled but who found in each other a common binding for depravity and evil. They formed a tribe of their own and worshipped Satan. But they were destroyed by the ancestors of the Ohlone Indians, even before the white man came here."
Diane nodded absently; she was still trying to work out what it was about the place that unnerved her.
"Their buried altars were forgotten as stories," the driver continued, "until a boy was missing back in the 18th century, after the Spanish had came. This Ohlone boy who had been missing was found at the entrance to one of the many caves beneath this place. These caves are everywhere. Most are muddy dead ends. But some lead deep deep into the ground, entering another world. Now this boy, when he was brought back to the Holy Cross Mission, the other Indians shunned him and cried for fear. They claimed he was possessed and that they did not know him. They said, the 'old evil' had come back to them, since he had been found in the caves that had always been avoided. It had been so long since the outcasts had been destroyed that even they had passed into legend as bogeymen among the Indians. The holy fathers accused their Indian slaves of being superstitious pagans; but agreed to an examination and exorcism of the boy in order to pacify their converts; an exorcism was at once performed and the boy was returned to his family, once again accepted. And though the holy fathers refused to give belief to the Indians' old myths, they still said these lands were to be stayed away from. One of their own number who disobeyed this was thrown out of the Church. Later, this Spaniard and a group of followers were burned at the stake but no reason is given. These events are written in the Mission's history up at Holy Cross. But they don't like outsiders to see these texts. They keep them locked up; not that they say anything more. There is not much known about the early days of the Mission, when the white man first came here to this land. The Church, it seems, wants to keep it this way."
"So how do you know about all this?" the woman asked skeptically. If it were not for the fact that she found the place uncomfortable herself, she would have been more inclined to dismiss the whole story out of hand.
He threw a sly look at her across his shoulder. "I'm a taxi driver. I listen."
Diane rolled her eyes and mentally assigned odds to this statement of 100:1 against. But the story had sounded too consistent to be a figment of his imagination; she was curious about his source of knowledge, and quite certain it wasn't an unusually garrulous passenger. For now, she resolved to let it pass and returned her gaze to the dump itself. Her eye was caught by an odd reddish glow. At first inspection it had seemed an after-image of the orange aura from the neon streetlamps that clung to Santa Cruz itself, in the distance. As she looked at it now, she wondered. It almost seemed to flow out from underneath the decaying mounds.
She commented, "Strange sort of coloration over on that side," indicating it with a brief gesture to the taxi driver. "Is that usual?"
He glanced across in the general direction and nodded complacently. "Ja, I've been told that this glow is not uncommon. Some say, it is small fires burning the methane of the decaying garbage. Some - some believe otherwise."
Norb straightened his hat and walked back to the taxi, holding the door open for her politely. "Time to go." he said as the vampire climbed in. It was typical of the man, Diane noted, that he managed to acquire manners only for unimportant things such as door opening.
Saturday, July 29th, 1995 11:42 p.m.
Although she had been half expecting it, the sudden impact against the car roof and scrabbling of claws against metal made the vampire jump. Her hands closed into impotent fists, skin tight across the knuckles, as Norb hit the brakes and the cab skidded to a halt. Lupine attack. What else could it be?
Even though the journey out of the city to the dump had been only a few minutes by car, Diane had been tense, expecting some unknown assailant at every yard. On the return journey, knowing that Santa Cruz and the relative safety that it represented was so near at hand, the tension was even worse. She was as uncomfortable travelling outside the city, even inside a car, as she would have been walking through the most dangerous areas of town on her own at night as a mortal. Every shadow in the dark landscape had seemed to harbour something that was waiting to jump out.
Determined not to fall prey to foolish night terrors, and to try to salvage something from the tour after the debacle at Crown's, she'd kept her misgivings to herself. Mistake.
She leaned forwards, perched on the edge of her seat and clutched the sides of the seat in front with tight hands. It was moving around up there. Next it would probably rip through the roof. She didn't know whether it would want to go straight for her, or take Norb out first. In either case, she was steeling herself for one final attempt at mind control, if that was even possible with lupines. The vampire didn't rate the chances highly.
Before she could say anything, Norb got out of the car with his tyre jack and a gun. There was some more scrabbling at the roof, and then a couple of shots fired. Diane glanced out through the open door, but it was difficult to make anything out in the dim light.
"You alright?" she asked, making an effort to pull herself together.
She could make out the taxi drivers shadow as he walked back towards the car, but his lips were drawn in a tight line. He nodded and in the beam of the car's headlights, she could see him wiping something off his iron. He tossed the rag into the side of the road and climbed back into his seat. Whatever it had been, it was gone now.
"Was that a wolf?" the woman asked, peering out of the opposite window to try to get a glimpse of anything fleeing the scene. Nothing.
Norb shook his head briefly and turned the key in the ignition. To an eye that was practiced at observation, his hand was too immobile, as though he were making a conscious effort to still the shaking. Diane could almost smell the fear in his sweat, and hear his heartbeat racing.
"Wolf? No, it was - nothing. Not a wolf. Maybe an opossum - but I scared it off." His voice picked up a bit more confidence as they drove on, "But.. I think maybe I take this stop off the tour - at least at night. Too smelly."
The woman nodded and deliberately untensed, sitting back in her seat and closing her eyes briefly. It might have been an opossum. Might. She thought not but was content not to dwell on it. How long, she wondered, until the wolves had so much taken over Santa Cruz itself that every journey out of her haven would be this filled with fear?
The rest of the ride back into town was blissfully uneventful. The traffic was quieter as the clock approached midnight and the glow of artificial light and the noises of the city were welcoming. The next stop, Diane guessed, was in Capitola. She felt that she was becoming more familiar with the locale, enough to recognise parts of it.
Driving onto Wharf Road, Norb pulled up the taxi just in front of an iron gate built into faded and chipped stucco walls which pushed upwards towards the night sky, summoning dark shadows to crouch about them.
"Welcome to the vacation home of William R. Bryce, movie producer, inventor, and entrepreneur," he said grandly. "I add to that the lesser known epithets of devil worshipper, paedophile, murderer, blackmailer, rapist, sadist, and as much an incarnation of evil as any 'mortal' man could ever hope to aspire to in modern times."
Diane looked out at the innocuous walls with increased interest. Devil worshipping primitives were one thing, but modern scandals amongst the well-to-do were something to which she could relate.
Norb lowered his voice dramatically. "There are those who it is said walk the paths of evil for gain of one sort or another," he intoned. "Or to overcome a failing in their own characters - acting contrary to the will of God. Then there are those, like William Bryce, who though given every gift of nature and blessing of fortune - walk this path for the sheer joy of it."
"If they have every blessing of fortune, they're more likely to be able to get away with it too," the woman murmured. It seemed very plausible to her that this story might be based on hard fact; which was certainly interesting, if not precisely spooky. She was about to get out of the cab to have a closer look at the place when Norb stopped her, with a hand on her arm.
"No, no. Not at night. Never at night and I would say never in daylight either." he warned.
Her expression indicated faint curiosity as she studied his face a moment.
"Why not? Whatever he did when he was alive, the man is dead now, isn't he?"
Norb shrugged, "Evil like that of Herr Bryce does not vanish with death. I believe, if anything, that this evil waits for the door that death presents it. Bryce was a terrible man. Any gift he offered: a part to star in a movie, money to buy luxuries otherwise denied, anything was done in order to bring weaker souls to service him - not in this life but in the hereafter." Even allowing for the fact the cab driver was playing to an audience, his wariness had the ring of sincerity about it.
Bryce sounded positively vampiric, Diane thought cynically. It seemed ironic to her that death in and of itself was become such a source for superstition; but here and now she found herself wondering if perhaps she strayed too far towards the other pragmatic extreme. Had she also been superstitious in her breathing days? In all honesty she couldn't remember.
Oblivious to the fact that death was as much inside the cab with him as outside, Norb added, "They say that the tortured souls of those that haunt this place are his undying slaves - forced to serve him until Judgment Day when they all go down to Hell."
Diane sat back and made an asymmetric pyramid of her fingers. "You don't think that's a bit fanciful?" she asked Norb. "Bit old fashioned to talk about heaven and hell...?"
The driver made a so-so motion with a hand. "They tried to make this place a nunnery, you know. All they got was a bunch of dead nuns who committed suicide. Think about that now. Suicide is a sin to a Catholic. And yet, these brides of Christ took their own lives. What does that tell you? Thank whatever powers that be that have stopped the plans for turning this place into a school. Can you imagine it?"
The vampire pressed her lips together and looked back at the house.
"Nuns don't do that sort of thing," she agreed. It was possible that American nuns didn't operate in the same way as the rest of the world but... reluctantly she was unnerved.
Norb nodded and watched her for a moment, as she watched the house. Then he cleared his throat and turned on the engine. "If you want ghosts, I take you someplace else. There the dead are just lost souls - not malicious or evil or in the thrall of such - but just lost and searching. Pitiful things they are, really."
The vampire was sufficiently wrapped in her own thoughts that she forgot to be cynical, and the cab moved on, heading back to Santa Cruz. As it rounded a corner, the streetlights trapped a girl with a baby for a split second. She didnt look any older than 15, and was sucking on a lollipop. That must have been her little sister, Diane thought. Surely... that must have been her sister?
Saturday, July 29th, 1995 12:00 midnight
Norb swung the car round off Ocean Drive, pushing the wheel between one hand and the other. A cyclist was forced to brake suddenly and hurled a barrage of curses after the cab but the driver ignored him and turned to glance back at his fare.
"I got to say that you got more guts than most of my 'spooky fares'," he said chattily, gauging her. "Most stop at the Bryce House but you don't seem much bothered. Ja?"
He turned the wheel lazily in time to avoid a streetlamp and straightened it without paying much attention, patting the gearstick.
The woman made a so-so motion with a hand. She had dared a glance out of the front windscreen and then evidently thought better of it.
"They're interesting stories but a house is just a house," she commented in her smooth tones. "I mean, you don't seem too spooked by any of this?"
Norb allowed a knowing smile. "Takes a lot to spook me. I got experience."
Diane nodded, feigning an impressed demeanor. "So I see. I bet nothing freaks you out," she paused delicately. "By the way, I think you're supposed to try to keep the car on the flat black thing..."
The wheels protested at a heavy touch on the handbrake and the taxi started to climb up into the greenbelt leading up to Paradise Park, with dust from the road puffing up about the tyres. Where the streetlamps failed, the road seemed to be swallowed up by the night, disappearing immediately it was out of the reach of the twin headlights. The vampire looked out at the dark landscape, feeling a cold apprehension gripping her dead heart. This was lupine country. She sat perfectly, inhumanly still and tried to direct her thoughts to anything but that, as if even the idea of the creatures might be enough to attract their attention. It was a shame the other vampires were so anal about the masquerade, she considered, as nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to scare the living daylights out of Norb. She turned the idea round in her head, and a small unhurried smile played on her lips.
Outside was nothing but silence, the lights of the city in the distance. Only the sound of the car on tarmac or gravel and the occasional cry of a nightbird or a late gull. Her thoughts refused to be distracted for long; almost an unconscious tension that built itself up, tightening her knuckles and pulling the smile back into a tight line of concern. She started to fidget absently with her cuffs. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest turning back when Norb pulled the car over to a large gate on a field bordering the river.
His passenger relaxed with an effort, sitting back in the shadows and forcing her errant fingers into an uneven pyramid to keep them out of trouble. Through the wrought iron gate she could make out little in the dim light. As a cloud blew away from the moon, a shaft of light illuminated rows of uneven stones. It was an old cemetery. As far as Diane could guess, they were still just about within the boundaries of the town, but the lurking hills that loomed so close above them were a constant reminder of how near the mountains were. How near the lupine territory was. She'd heard they could hunt the undead by scent alone, and hoped fervently that the cemetery would cover any traces. It seemed almost like courting disaster to venture so close to their lands, without even a good reason.
Norb opened his door with a click and got out, unfolding himself like a pen knife. He pulled a small key out of a pocket and unlocked a padlock and chain on the main gates. The chain came loose with a metallic rattle.
Diane watched his silhouette moving, and pondered how a taxi driver might have a key to the cemetery gate. Strange. He pushed the gates open until there was a gap between them that was wide enough for a car to drive through, then climbed back into the drivers seat. The cab engine rumbled back into life and the car moved forwards slowly, coasting to a halt among the peaceful mounds of grass and quiet tombstones. The moonlight seemed brighter away from the main city streets, casting bright and dark shadows across the stones. Certainly they weren't ancient, with none of the crumbling masonry or tortured angelic figures that blighted almost all of the English graveyards Diane could remember having spent time in. Or not remember in the case of Highgate where she had once spent a night with a couple of friends for a bet and got steaming drunk to pass the time.
The taxi driver leaned across to open the side-door for her and the woman climbed out, languidly. She thrust her hands inelegantly into her pockets and took a cursory look at the nearest stones.
Although she had seen far older, Diane guessed that these might represent the oldest deaths of the Santa Cruz community. As the moonlight caught her face it looked bonewhite and impassive for a brief moment, then she turned into the shadow and the moment was gone. Some of the stones seemed to be written in what she guessed as Spanish, although time and weather had worn away the letters to the extent that she couldn't make out anything other than the names and dates even if she had known the language better.
She wandered up an uneven row of stones, glancing at each in turn; none of the dates were before 1800, although some of the markers had worn down so far that it was impossible to make out even a date. A few were in family groups, presumably having made arrangements during life to be buried in the same lots after death.
Bending down to look over a series of stones, she noticed several that were marked with the same date. 1869. Scores of people had died in that year and been buried here, many of the dates implied that those commemorated had been children. Very young children. She straightened and took a step back, viewing the stones as a group. They were just kine, and they'd been dead for over a hundred years. Shit happened. Maybe war or famine or plague; her local history wasn't good enough to guess which it might have been.
Still, it seemed sad for so many to have died before they'd really lived.
Norb surprised her with a touch on her shoulder and she started, giving him a filthy look which even made the dour driver take a step back, holding up his hands in a semi-apologetic gesture.
"There was a plague that year," he commented, indicating the stones she had been looking at. "As often happens, the young and the old die the most. Sad, ja?"
The woman shrugged. "It happens." She was irritated enough at his manner to have no intention of giving him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. "Maybe we're just lucky to have been born in a era where we have access to decent medic..."
She paused and turned to look past Norb, craning to spot another figure through the moonlight. She had definitely heard someone laughing.
There was no-one there. As she continued to turn until her gaze had taken in the entire cemetery it was obvious that they were alone. She ran a finger along the line of her collar uneasily, the warm Summer night now had an edge to it.
"Something wrong?" Norb asked. He followed her gaze with his own and then glanced back to her, a curious frown etched onto his forehead. He was met with a suspicious look, she wouldn't have put it past him to have arranged some 'spooky' happenings. Certainly if she'd been running tours herself, the vampire would have planned something like that. But... Norb just looked genuinely perplexed.
She span as she heard it again, this time to the left of her. It sounded like giggling, as if from a group of children nearby. The moon continued to spill light down onto an empty cemetery.
"This cemetery.." Diane said carefully, "It wouldn't happen to be haunted by some of those children would it?"
For an answer, the man slowly gave one exaggerated nod and pulled the brim of his hat further down his head. He watched her evenly, then deliberately shifted his focus to the stones.
Diane started again as she felt a light touch against the tips of her fingers. Her gaze searched from shadow to shadow uncertainly, but still there was nothing. She was sure that she could hear whispering now, and the night was too still for it to be the wind. Whispering, as though from sly groups of girls in the schoolyard learning how to gossip. A light cold breeze plucked at her hair, although the nearby trees lay still and dead. The temperature of the air seemed to be dropping around her. The grass was flat and grey in the moonlight, almost as if it wasn't really there at all; but as she tested her weight she could feel it springing underfoot. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled and she rubbed at them uncertainly.
Norb creased his eyes and looked around himself also, straining to follow her gaze. "You can see something," he stated.
At that moment, a movement did catch the womans eye - a flicker of 'something' hovering just out of perception. Dim shapes that were gone as soon as she thought she had located them. A distant schoolyard chanting, in snatches. Yellow tresses the colour of honey. Bright solid-coloured dresses. White shirts and bow ties. Always moving, maybe dancing. The whispers rustled closer, like a build up of smoke. There was a malice to them that Diane would not have thought possible in children. She turned and turned again, trying to catch the movement long enough to identify people or faces.
All around her, the sapping cold of another world pricked at her skin. Shiny black shoes with bright buckles. Embroidered cardigans. The presences formed a wide circle around her, but still she couldn't keep the figures still in her mind. The voices had a familiar taunting quality and as she concentrated, Diane almost imagined she could make out a word or two. It sounded more and more like playground chanting.
Her expression froze, uncomfortable now. For someone who was dead herself, she found it increasingly curious how much she could actually 'feel' of the sensations. Her skin was prickling at the cold in a way it hadn't done for... years. The intensity of the touches increased, as if the figures were darting forwards, each in turn. The touches against her hands were becoming less pleasant. The circle of dancing flickering shapes was drawing in.
In time with the chant the gentle caresses grew more and more grasping, then pinching, then clawing. She swore and bared fangs into the darkness, away from Norb. The chanting grew louder. "Guilty." "Guilty." "Guilty."
She tried to push the unseen figures away after a particularly vicious scratch on her arm and stopped in disbelief. Spatters of blood on her shirt. They'd drawn blood - her own unusual resilience was nothing against this. For the first time, she felt a prickle of fear. She measured the distance to the car, and the gates beyond. Would they follow, whatever they were? Even as she tried to concentrate on the thought, the frigid monotone world of the dead children swam into a more solid reality around her. Was the car still even there?
The chanting rose up and engulfed her as the images began to come into blurred focus. Smartly dressed children danced around the edge of her vision with cold hatred and malice shining in their bright eyes. The attacks increased in intensity, the chanting beginning to speed up.
"Guilty." "Guilty."
The vampire cried out in pain and struck out wildly at the figures, struggling against a primal instinct from within that screamed 'fight or flee'. Her hands contacted nothing, and she thought she heard a gleeful tone to the chanting now. It was as if her agony was the fire that drew more of the hungry ghosts to her. For they were hungry. As if they intended to pick at her existence and feed from her dead flesh one piece at a time until they were sated and there was nothing left.
Her lips shaped a silent plea, "I didn't do it! It wasn't me!"
(Loose 2 b.p. AND take 2 hits - now Hurt/-1)
The driver jerked forwards uncertainly in an effort to come to her assistance, trying to follow what she was doing. All he could see was the flailing arms and muffled curses and cries. And the blood. He swore under his breath and moved towards her, but as he reached out carefully, he jerked his hand back. There was a shocked expression in his eyes. Diane could smell more than see the blood oozing out of his arm.
She tried to focus on the empty graveyard, on the driver, on the cab. Now it was the cab which seemed hazy. Pulling her arms closer about her face, the woman struggled to make a break for the car. A dozen small bloodstained hands pulled her hair painfully back and she fell to the ground underneath a weight of gleeful chanting. "Guilty!"
The maddened hunger of lives unlived descended to cloud her vision. Like a pack of vultures, she thought. It seemed as if a mist was rising from the ground itself, which now felt cold and damp against her back. She was lying on a grave. On a pile of dirt next to an open grave.
The mist was a veil of pale milky nothingness. Thinking was difficult, like swimming through treacle. She struggled once, and then twice and then lost herself to a scream as the hands ripped at her insides. There was a hideous playfulness to the chanting as her vision clouded. Something senselessly cruel, in the way that only children.. or what once were children, could contrive.
Insensible to everything except the pain, Diane knew with a penetrating clarity that her unlife was about to end. Plummeting to oblivion might seem a welcome relief from the agony; there was no other escape. All she could think as she slipped towards unconsciousness was how unfair it all seemed.
Then as suddenly as the touches had begun, the torture stopped and a profound relief flooded over her. Curled into a foetal ball on the grass, she clutched at her knees and hugged them tightly. Blessed relief. Then the vampire shivered, she could hear anxious cries of fear.
Even through the waning ebb of pain, she struggled to rise onto an elbow. Part of her wanted to reach out and gather the terrified voices in towards her and reassure them it would be alright. The pull of the helplessness of the souls around her was a bitter pill, so strong that she would have done anything to make it better - all that pain...
As she pushed herself shakily to her feet, she saw Norb gawping at a marble sepulchure. A dark-robed man stood in front of it, his pale features transparent in the moonlight. He waved his hands in what might almost have been a benediction, had she not felt the visceral terror in the voices. The pale whispers vanished screaming into the night. Diane moved to run her fingers through her hair and straighten it, a simple gesture to calm herself. Before either she or the driver could react to the stranger, he melted away to nothingness, oozing back into the dead summer grass beneath him.
The woman leaned heavily against a stone, and brushed gravedirt from her sleeves mechanically. There was no light or expression in her eyes and she looked grey and worn. Norb shrugged and adjusted his hat.
"Well, I saw -that-!" he said as he turned back towards her, a questioning desire for confirmation in his eyes.
Continue to Chapter 3
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