House of Secrets

by James Moore

  Ilse nearly dropped her coffee cup and did spill several drops. “We were backing the Brujah?” She paused, then glanced swiftly to Anvil, then back to Lazarus. “In London, I mean?”

  Ulugh Beg was the first to speak, “Dr. Dee has various alliances. You were never in any real danger.”

  Anvil finished the statement, “At least not much. From us.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead."

  Ilse clutched her coffee cup and drew strength from the stem gaze of Frau Anna Sacher in the gold-framed portrait on the opposite wall, painted lips reminding her that while Sacher’s might look the other way for many things, vampires included, it was not a place for a lady to make a scene.

  “Will the Fraulein be having more of Herr Professor’s special blend?” asked the fresh-faced young waiter, coffee pot at the ready.

  “Yes, please.” Ilse pushed her cup forward, hand shaking.

  “Very good,” said the waiter, filling her cup, and then went on to Cassandra, then Carl and Michaels, then Etrius, Astrid and the rest of the party. ilse noted that Michaels requested a different blend from “Herr Professor’s Sondermischung” for himself and Carl, not wanting, she supposed, to be sipped from, no matter how slightly. A slice of Sachertorte, the other house specialty, was set before the old wizard, while Carl received a plate of elaborate cookies dipped in chocolate and studded with slivered almonds.

  Ilse sipped her blood in silence, then looked to Cassandra. “And the Malkavians’ role in everything?”

  As if on cue, a shabby street person rushed in and prostrated himself at the feet of Councilor Etrius. “Emperor Franz Josef!" cried the raggedy young man. “You have returned! Austria is saved!”

  Everyone bristled, Frick and Frack suddenly standing ready from their table to one side, and the Brujah reaching into their jackets or grabbing silverware. Etrius himself only smiled and gestured for the stranger to raise himself up. “And who might you be, loyal subject?"

  The street person bounced to his feet, revealing an old green-gray loden coat studded with rusted military medals and a white frock shirt spattered with bloodstains. “Graf Bobby!” The drama was centered on the two of them, and down the table the only sound that could be heard were the strains of “The Blue Danube” and the scritching of Kleist’s pen.

  “How kind of you to come, Count Bobby,” said Councilor Etrius. “I have heard so very much of your exploits. Where is Baron Mucki?”

  “He’s pushing the cannon up the hill."

  Either it was a complete non sequitur or it was the punchline to some local joke, and Ilse knew she would probably never know which.

  “Then you'd better go help him," Councilor Etrius said. “Right, Aleph?”

  The young man paused as if struck over the head and went glassy-eyed for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

  Etrius returned a benevolent ruler’s smile, then handed his own coffee cup to the Malkavian, who took a sip and wandered out of the Sacher Hotel past the befuddled waiter. At the threshold he was greeted by another raggedy young man, this one dark-haired, but, as was clear from his aura, also vampiric and equally crazy.

  “See, Normal?” Ilse overheard Aleph say to his dark-haired companion. “I told you the Emperor would give us some coffee!”

  “Don’t call me Normal!” protested the other Malkavian. “My name is Baron Mucki! Give me the coffee, Bobby!"

  Kleist finished sketching his representation of the encounter, adding notations about Aleph and Normal, alias Graf Bobby und Baron Mucki, and a fragment of poetry about the Malkavians.

  Ilse set down her coffee cup and looked to Cassandra opposite her. “Were those spies or just Malkavians ?

  “Yes,” the Magus answered simply.

  Wednesday, April 28, Berlin — The House of Etrius

  Eight-fifteen p.m., Kurt looked away from his watch and stared at the place where he would be able to put an end to Etrius’ mad schemes if all went according to plan.

  They had been waiting for almost two hours, and the situation did not allow for idle conversation to pass the time away. Kurt was rapidly reaching the end of his patience, but tried his best to continue in a pleasant manner just the same. Pleasant, but quiet. Finally, Zho hissed lightly to get his attention and pointed to the west side of the Kunsthistorischesmuseum, where jing Wei walked hand-in-hand with Carl Magnuson.

  As with virtually all of the museums in Europe and the majority in the United States, the Kunsthistorisches was a part of the Elysium. Any attempts to attack another vampire on the premises would be certain to cause an outrage. Mages, however, were not a part of Kindred society and thus were not off-limits. Just the same, the attack would take place outside. The guards within the building would likely be used to Kindred visitors, but they were also most likely Blood Bound to the Toreador of Vienna. The Toreador were just as likely Bound to Etrius or other Tremere. Kidnapping the Tremere clan’s pet wizard from inside the museum was asking for trouble.

  Zho stepped back into the shadows, merging into the

  darkness with ease. Kurt slid into the blackness as well, stopping himself from breathing in an effort to reduce sound as much as possible. While Kurt and the mage hid themselves away, Charnas contorted his body in a sinuous dance. Colors blurred, running across his body like molten wax, solidifying and changing every aspect of his form. In less than a second, a perfect image of Use Decameron stood in place of the imp. A few subtle changes came over the pseudo-llse, as Chamas apparently decided on a new plan of attack. Where seconds before the imp had been dressed in a crimson evening gown, the dress faded, replaced by tattered remnants of the same color. Clear skin became smudged, and well-groomed hair grew disheveled. The illusion was almost terrifyingly real, and Kurt had to make himself remember that Chamas was a demon rather than a woman who’d been tortured in some way.

  Chamas turned and looked directly at him in the shadows, grinned and winked. Then the demon moved forward slightly, waving his arms and calling out, “Carl! Help me! It’s the Ventrue, Kurt Westphal!”

  The mage turned sharply, his eyes grew wide as he stared at what looked so very much like Use, only battered and bruised. “Use? Use! My God, what happened to you? Are you all right?”

  He ran to Ilse/Charnas, gently placing a protective arm around her shoulder. In the distance, Jing Wei simply looked on. “It’s the Ventrue," she sobbed, folding herself against him and shaking. He pulled her closer, his handsome face growing stony and his eyes flashing.

  “What has he done, ilse? You must tell me, what has he done?"

  The mage’s back was to Kurt, and, feeling like a true wretch, he stepped forward from the darkness, his arm cocked back. Kurt pulled the blow enough to make certain that no bones were broken, but the impact of his fist striking the back of the man’s head sent Magnuson sprawling across the lawn.

  Ilse/Charnas chuckled. “Done? Why, he’s given you the bum’s rush, and I helped. And now he’s taking you far away from all those nasty little Tremere."

  Zho materialized from the shadows and dropped beside the downed man. His fingers probed along his descendant’s hairline and neck for a minute before he looked up. “Nothing’s broken, Kurt. But damn, I’d hate to be hit that hard. He’s already got a goose-egg the size of Texas starting on the back of his head. He’ll be out for hours.”

  “I did not enjoy that. I don’t like attacking a man from behind.” Kurt looked away from the mages, spotting Jing Wei as she approached.

  “Trust me, it’s the safest way to deal with a warlock. He could have turned you into ash with very little effort.”

  “Just the same...”

  Charnas stepped over to where Magnuson lay on the museum’s walkway. He stared down at the man and started warping again. Seconds later, Carl Magnuson stared down at himself, a sly grin on his face. “Well, kiddies, I'm off to the chantry. Wish me luck."

  Kurt said nothing, Jing Wei wrinkled her nose in disgust, and Zho looked at the imp with a warning glance. “D
o not disappoint me, Charnas. We need at least a day to be ready for them."

  “No problem, boss. You'll have the time you need.” Kurt looked to the imp, amazed by how perfectly he matched the image and mannerisms of Carl Magnuson.

  “Do nothing that you shouldn't. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah, right. You do what you have to do, and I'll do what I have to do. We both know our roles, don't we, Zho?” With that, the demon walked away, heading toward what was presumably the stronghold of the Tremere.

  Carrying the unconscious man was easy enough, and with Zho to assist him, they managed to imitate two friends carrying a drunkard with little difficulty. Down the block from where they encountered their prize, Jackie waited with another rented limousine. She spoke little, save to make certain that everyone was present and accounted for. Kurt noticed when Jing Wei and his lover locked eyes, but he said nothing. The Tremere turned away first. The tension in the car grew heavier as they started traveling, but finally, they were on their way to Germany.

  The High Chantry had its own Turkish baths, and Use thought this was the most wonderful thing in the world.

  An ancient holy site, the hot springs lay beneath the chantry, prehistoric pools of sulfur water and healing magic, and the Turkish baths made every use of them, water pumped in to fill the pools, hot to cold, mineral to fresh, and even one wonderful chilled bath filled with natural carbonation that bubbled about her and tickled her skin over every inch.

  Use had tried every one of them and at last emerged from the shower at the end, wet and happy, the last of the sulfur smell rinsed from her hair. Short of being fed, there was nothing that warmed her dead flesh half so well as a hot shower, unless it was the Turkish baths. Vampires were supposed to hate running water, but so long as it was hot and came out of a Shower Massage, ilse could take it all night long.

  A beautiful, silent Turkish woman toweled her dry, then bade her lie down on a padded table, setting a pan of water filled with different colored glass phials over a charcoal brazier, tossing a handful of woodchips and twigs onto the fire below. The sweet smoke of sandalwood and lavender wafted up, and the woman selected one of the phials, pouring a measure of oil out into the palm of her hand and holding her other palm over it so as to concentrate the warmth.

  She then smoothed it over ilse’s back and began the massage. ilse wanted to signal for her to be brief, for there was no way of telling when Etrius might call for an interview, but then succumbed to the pleasure and the woman’s expert hands. The woman was an artist every bit as talented as the Toreadors, and with slow, sure, strength she massaged Use’s flesh back to the feeling of life, applying one scented oil after the other into an intoxicating blend that masked the pungent scent of the sulfur from the baths. In the background, the water cascaded from pool to pool, a soothing susurration, and ilse wished she could slide back into them, but knew she couldn’t spare the time.

  At last, Ulugh Beg’s masseuse (concubine? ghoul?) finished her work, pulling a soft, thin cotton sheet over Use. Use heard the rattle of the charcoal braziers, then the crack and sizzle of more incense being tossed on, followed by the sweet smoke of lavender, sandalwood, amber and musk.

  Use certainly could get used to this, and though it was an hour past daytime, she felt sleepy and happy and began to drowse off, dimly hearing the click of the door as the Turkish woman left the room.

  It was sometime later that she heard the crack and spark from the braziers again, followed by the sweet scent of lavender mixed with the sulfur from the pools. Warm hands then appeared on her back, delicately massaging her.

  “Hiya, love,” said a voice, British accent warm and charming. “Guess who?”

  It was a relief to hear a kind and familiar voice, and to feel the warm hands of the living. “Carl...”

  He didn’t respond, but when she tried to roll over, said, “Hush. You just relax. We’ve been through a lot, you and me, and you deserve to be taken care of.” His hands moved up, massaging her neck above the cloth, then sliding it down and working his way along her back.

  “Mmmmmmm,” Use purred with pleasure. “You’ve had a lot of practice at this.”

  “Of course, love.” He massaged with greater intensity, working his fingers into the deep tissue, then took a hand away, and Ilse heard the sound of one of the bottles being taken from the warming pan over the brazier. “You’d be surprised what they teach back at the Order."

  Oil sprinkled across her back, hot enough to sting for a moment, but delicious in its warmth as it cooled, and his fingers worked it in, sure and steady as the scent of lavender washed over her.

  “With your permission, good lady?" he asked. “I need to get on top if I want to do my best work.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

  “I’m glad you said that.” Quickly he climbed atop her, with a nimbleness that surprised her for such a tall man. But then Paul had also been dexterous, and grace seemed as much a spiritual thing as it was a physical, so Ilse supposed it all went together.

  His knees slipped in on either side of her, just above her hips, and he placed his hands on either side of her neck, massaging the muscles at the base of her skull. Then he went lower, and Ilse stiffened as she felt him touch the small of her back.

  “You’re naked.” She giggled; she hadn’t expected this so soon.

  “Naked as sin, I’m afraid.” He paused and chuckled. “What's the trouble, love? You’re naked too, and you didn’t hear me making a big fuss about it."

  “I — I just didn’t expect it, that’s all. I’d just thought things would move a bit slower.”

  “Do you want them to move slower, love?”

  Ilse paused. “No, not really. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all."

  "Sometimes the nicest things are the ones we least expect.” He moved against her, brushing the base of her spine with a teasing sensuality. “Do you know what a turn-on it is for a lad to find a woman who’s been waiting some sixty-odd years to get him in the sack, and she's still something great to look at?”

  ilse stiffened a bit at that, then relaxed as he kissed the nape of her neck, nipping slightly, then kissed it again and licked the spot, running his tongue up until it touched her hairline.

  “That tickles..."

  “It's supposed to. You want me to tickle something else?"

  “Sure.”

  He tickled her armpits until she squealed and squeezed her arms down to make him stop.

  “I thought you wanted me to tickle you," he said in a hurt tone.

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Then what do you mean?"

  Ilse exhaled, the tickling having made her breathe in deeply like she hadn’t in years. “Make love to me,” she said. “Make me feel like I’m alive.”

  “I can only do what you ask me to, good lady." He rubbed against her tailbone and kissed the nape of her neck, then moved lower, kisses trailing down her spine. “I can’t come in unless you invite me.”

  “I thought it was only Kindred who needed an invitation."

  “Since when do you Tremere girls need an invitation for anything, love?" He kissed the base of her spine, right over her tailbone, then licked her sensually.

  Ilse writhed in delight as he teased her. “I guess we don't,” she admitted at last. “Who does?”

  “Gentleman do,” he said. “Some others. Please, invite me in.”

  “All right, big boy. Consider yourself invited. Make me feel like a woman.”

  “I’m glad you said that," he answered, then moved down, lifting her up by the buttocks and pressing her face into the soft Turkish towels....

  ilse awoke on the Turkish towels, curled in her lover’s arm, and she opened her eyes to gaze on his beautiful face and soul.

  It was black, black as sin. Carl’s face, but black to the eyes of her soul. The fiend’s eyes went wide, then crossed and fell backwards into his head like a broken doll’s. She gagged in revulsion and tried to push him aw
ay.

  The false Carl changed then, shrinking and turning purple. “Rats,” Charnas said, his arms still around her, long as Carl’s. “That black soul business ruins things every time."

  ilse shrank back in horror, and Chamas leered. “Oh c’mon, Use. You can admit it. It was fun, wasn’t it? Just a little?"

  “I — I —”

  “You what? You were saving yourself foT Brad?” Charnas grinned. “Or was that Paul? Carl? Etrius? Couldn’t be Thadius, now could it? You won’t believe how long it’s been since he’s been laid. By anyone but me, I mean. But then, it's hard to get a date after you murder your wife.”

  “You fiend!” Use spat, bloody tears blurring her vision.

  "That’s me all right," Charnas smirked.

  Use had never felt so filthy in her life, Charnas’ stench of lavender and sulfur everywhere. “You..."

  “Oh, come off it, sister,” Chamas let go of her and bounced back to sit on the edge of one of the Turkish baths, completely naked and with all the marks of the Devil, “I didn't force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, and I never claimed to be Carl, or Paul, or Thad, or Brad, or whichever soul-brother you’re dating this week. We were two consenting adults, and I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask me to. C’mon, we’re alone here. You can admit it. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? Just a little bit?” Chamas waggled his tongue, leering gleefully. “Let’s do it again!”

  “No,” Use breathed.

  “The lips say No but the eyes say Yes! Yes! Trust me, I’m a demon. I can spot a lie a mile away.”