“I don’t know what that means,” said Dan.
“It means that I handle communications with our brothers and sisters around the world,” said a pleasant baritone voice. Wyatt appeared in the doorway. Startled, Dan was chagrined that, his heightened hearing notwithstanding, he hadn’t heard the vampire in white approaching.
“There are a lot of Kindred who believe in the anarch cause,” said Laurie, emerging from the bathroom still nude. She wasn’t completely dry, and water dripped from her body onto the floor. “More every day. But most of them aren’t ready to devote their lives to fighting for it. I only reached that point myself a few weeks back. The Camarilla is hunting us militants, so all information is on a need-to-know basis. That way, if a member of the underground gets captured, he can’t be forced to give away too much. Wyatt says it’s a classic resistance tactic.” She looked up at the vampire with the bleached mohawk as if for approval, and he gave her an indulgent smile.
“What were you guys doing in Sarasota last night?” Dan asked.
Wyatt lifted a milk-white eyebrow. “You do ask a lot of questions.”
Inwardly, Dan winced. Wyatt was right, he was coming on too strong. He didn’t have the instincts of a spy, didn’t know how to elicit information unobtrusively. “Sorry. 1 was just wondering.”
“No offense taken,” said Wyatt lightly. Dan noticed that the patterns of rivets in the other Kindred’s leather coat seemed to form some sort of indecipherable characters, like hieroglyphs in an extinct language. “You’ve wandered into a strange situation. Of course you have questions, and we’ll be glad to answer most of them — after which, I’m sure, you won’t mind answering a few of ours. We were checking out the lay of the land in Sarasota for future reference, and if we’d gotten a chance to pick off one of the prince’s stooges, that would have been fine, too. Right now, Roger Phillips’ domain is one of the Movement’s special projects. We’re going to bring him down and set up an Anarch Free State, just like they did in California.”
“Why pick on old Roger?” Dan asked. “I mean, I’ve got reason to hate his guts, but I also know that he and his primogen have a pretty benevolent reputation as elders go.” True, the prince had rebuffed him, but then, until last night, so had the rest of the vampire world. “Wouldn’t it be better PR to knock off some Marquis de Sade type that everybody hates?”
Laurie peered at Dan quizzically. “The princes are all corrupt,” she said. “They all have to go.”
“She’s right,” Wyatt said. “Besides, we have to start someplace, and Roger Phillips and his brood are soft — Toreador who haven’t fought a real fight in decades. The strategy is to knock over the easy targets first, increasing our strength with the plunder and new recruits we win in the process, then tackle the tough ones.”
“That makes sense,” Dan conceded. “When’s the big push?”
“I don’t know that myself,” Wyatt said. “I’m waiting for my contacts to let me know. But I’m sure it’s coming soon.” “Are you the guys committing those ‘Dracula’ murders?” Dan asked.
Wyatt shook his head. “No, but maybe some other cell is responsible. I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s an effective tactic; it ought to confuse, distract and demoralize the prince’s people.”
Effective but dangerous, Dan thought. If it worked too well, if it actually did blow the Masquerade to hell, then all Kindred, Camarilla and anarchs alike, might suffer.
“We’re the guys trashing the Toreador’s precious art,” Wyatt continued. “Some of it, anyway. Have you heard about that?”
Dan decided to play dumb. It might seem suspicious if he was too conversant with Toreador affairs. “I heard on the news that some art had been destroyed, but I didn’t know that it had anything to do with Roger and his brood.”
“Well, it does,” said the white-clad vampire, grinning. “It’s their treasure, their heritage and obsession. Once it’s lost, I bet they won’t even care about defending their turf. And when they try to retrieve the art for safekeeping, it gives us a chance to ambush them.”
Dan nodded. “Smart.”
“Anything else you’d like to know?” Wyatt asked.
Dan shrugged. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Then it’s my turn,” said Wyatt. “I take it that you lived in Sarasota?” It was a sensible assumption since, except for members of the Gangrel and Ravnos clans, Kindred were generally loath to travel away from their well-defended havens.
“Yeah,” Dan replied.
“What was your relationship with the prince and his
vassals?”
“Hostile,” said Dan. “When I first hit town, I presented myself to Prince Rog like the Fifth Tradition says you’re supposed to. Since I was a low-life Caitiff, he made it clear that I wasn’t welcome to hang around. I did anyway, for spite, and because I had nowhere else to go. Afterward, his people tried periodically to run me out of the prime hunting areas. Sometimes the confrontations got pretty nasty.
“When I saw Judy Morgan — the black woman in the cap — and her Brujah hassling you, the way they’ve hassled me only more so, I just felt an urge to help you. So I did.”
“It must have been a strong urge,” said Wyatt, “if it made you lay your life on the line for perfect strangers. How did you happen to be in that particular area?”
“I like to walk in the Gardens,” Dan said. “It’s peaceful.” He wondered if Wyatt interrogated every newcomer like this. He was glad that, being undead, he couldn’t sweat.
“I believe Dan’s what he seems to be,” Laurie said diffidently. She clearly didn’t want Wyatt, her guru, to think that she was questioning his judgment. “He did rescue us, and I saw him kill at least one of the bikers in the process.” “You have to admit, his presence at the battle was quite a coincidence,” Wyatt said reasonably. “And his aura is a confusing, constantly changing blend of colors. That suggests that he may have something to hide.” Then the anarch leader smiled. “But you know what? I believe him, too. Heck, all Kindred have something to hide, and like you said, he did kill for us. What’s more, I just made a call to find out something about him.” Dan wondered who Wyatt had called. “Danny boy told us the truth about his life in Sarasota, except that he didn’t mention how ‘nasty’ things really got. A few nights ago he beat one of the Brujah unconscious and diabolized her.”
Dan tensed. Now, he thought, now they’ll send me away if they don’t try to kill me outright. Trying to move unobtrusively, he shifted his feet into a fighting stance.
Wyatt laughed, his white teeth gleaming. “Now 1 can read your aura,” he said. “Scared you, didn’t I? But there’s no need to be afraid. To the Movement, diabolism is no crime as long as you pick the right target. In fact, it’s a weapon and an objective of the revolution. We aren’t just going to kill the elders, we’re going to drink them. Take their power for ourselves.”
Dan smiled grimly. “Now that idea, I like.”
“Sorry if the third degree bugged you,” Wyatt said, “but we have to maintain security. Now that we’re sure you’re clean, how do you feel about the idea of joining us? I understand that you didn’t know we were anarchs when you helped us, but now you do, and I believe you know what the Movement stands for, too. The destruction of the Camarilla and the princes. The liberation of the young from the tyranny of the old, and the Caitiff from the domination of the clans. The right to live where and how you like, and sire as many progeny as you like, without asking anyone’s permission.”
Dan wondered what would happen if he declined the proposition. Would the anarchs let him walk away, now that he’d heard something of their plans and seen their lair? Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to find out. Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, he pretended to consider the invitation for a moment and then said, “Count me in.”
Wyatt grinned. “All right!” he crowed, “I knew you had the right stuff!” Laurie threw her arms around Dan and hugged him, pressing her cool, bare body against his. Even though the anarchs were th
e enemy, even though he’d come here to betray them, for a moment the spy felt a surge of joy. No one who understood his true nature, no one of his own kind, had treated him like this since his sire had transformed and abandoned him.
“What do you like to do for fun?” Wyatt asked.
“1 don’t know,” said Dan, surprised by the question. “Work out, swim, go to the movies, listen to music, dance—” “Great!” Wyatt said, all boyish enthusiasm. The calculating guerrilla leader had given way to the exuberant teenager whose unaging shape he wore. “You guys finish cleaning up and then the five of us will go out, feed and celebrate having a new recruit. The revolution can spare us for one night.”
TEN: QUESTIONS. SORROWS AND DOUBTS
We have suffered the inevitable consequences of a combination of unpreparedness and feeble counsel.
— Julian Amery, speech before the House of Commons
Elliott parked his Jaguar among the other cars and motorcycles clustered in front of Roger’s beach house. As he climbed out, he caught the sound of two of his fellow Toreador, Glenn and Karen, murmuring in the gazebo to his right. Glenn was smoking, the red tip of his cigarette shining in the darkness that filled the enclosure.
“I can’t believe it,” said Karen sadly. “So many killed in one night. And the beautiful, beautiful art, shattered, burned and shredded, gone forever!”
“And we don’t even have any real intelligence to show for it,” said Glenn. “We still have no idea who’s behind all this. The team that went to Buenos Aires was ambushed by Malkavians. The one we sent to Seattle ran afoul of what seemed to be a bunch of Caitiff. The one that visited St. Louis fought two Ravnos and their ghouls. Where’s the link?” “I don’t know,” said Karen.
“Neither do I,” said her companion. The cigarette flared brighter as he inhaled. “All I know is that everything’s falling apart. I nearly got shot just trying to hunt this evening. It’s hard when the humans are on their guard.” He hesitated. “You know that I think the world of Roger.” “Yes,” Karen said.
“And I’m not a coward. But if he’s never going to get well, if no one else can fix everything that’s wrong, maybe we’d be better off in another domain. Other cities have Toreador princes. Some of them have told me they like my sculpture! I’m sure one of them would make a place for me.” Wincing, Elliott trudged up the steps to the mansion’s front door. He paused reflexively to check his attire, pointless though the effort seemed to be. Instead of his usual elegantly tailored suit, he was wearing the seedy, beige polyester thrift-shop offering that had been the first fresh, unripped, unbloodied outfit that he could lay his hands on in Ohio. As he’d driven away from Sarasota-Bradenton Municipal Airport, he’d been tempted to go home and change. But he’d felt honor-bound to come directly to Roger’s mansion, even though it was the last place in the world he wanted to be.
He was still fidgeting with his lapels when Lazio threw open the door. “I saw you drive up,” the mortal said. “Are you all right?”
“I suppose,” Elliott said.
“Have you fed?” Lazio asked.
“Yes,” said Elliott, experiencing a pang of guilt. The sensation was becoming horribly familiar. “A young woman in Dayton. I was too brutal, but I was rushed. I had to catch my plane. How many Toreador died last night?”
The human glanced back into the foyer. Voices, some anguished, some frightened, some angry, muttered through the arch that led to the arena. “I think we should talk in private,” Lazio said.
Elliott shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
off
Lazio led him into Roger’s office, a smallish room with French windows, where bookshelves, crammed for the most part with volumes pertaining to acting and the theater, climbed the walls. The scent of the old leather bindings tinged the air. A marble bust of Moliere sat in an alcove and a model of the Globe Theatre, where both Roger and Elliott had acted, reposed under glass in the corner.
As Lazio shut the door, the vampire repeated, “How many?”
“Including Rosalita, nine,” Lazio replied.
Elliott bowed his head and rubbed his aching eyes. He’d wept on the flight back to Florida. It was a wonder that no one had noticed the scarlet tears. “Oh, God,” he said.
“It could have been worse,” Lazio said. “Considering that they walked into traps, it’s amazing how many fought their way clear.”
Elliott grimaced. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at
it.”
“I need to update you,” Lazio said. “Roger’s condition is no different. If Dr. Potter has any new ideas, he hasn’t confided them to me. No one’s made any progress with regard to catching Dracula, either. One of Judy Morgan’s brood is dead, too.”
For a moment at least, a twinge of curiosity pierced Elliott’s pall of despondency. “How did that happen?”
Speaking as tersely as possible, Lazio filled him in. “The Brujah had them surrounded,” the dresser concluded, “but then that diabolist Murdock came out of nowhere and attacked our people, destroying one. Obviously he is working with the enemy, and evidently he’s a lot more powerful than anyone realized because, thanks to him, the strangers managed to escape. We have no idea where any of them are now.”
“We shouldn’t have allowed the bastard to live within our borders,” Elliott said. “Gunter was right.” He sighed. “I never expected to hear myself say that.”
“What you have to understand now” — Lazio hesitated as if trying to decide how to phrase his statement tactfully —- “is that people are frightened. You need to reassure them. Reassert your leadership.”
“You mean you think that Gunter is going to try to proclaim himself the boss.”
“I think it’s very likely,” Lazio said. “And frankly, even Judy isn’t sure she trusts your judgment anymore.”
Elliott smiled bitterly. “Good for her.”
Lazio blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why should anyone trust my generalship?” Elliott demanded. “I sent our people out to die. Hell, Rosalita was only a fledgling and her instincts were better than mine. She sensed trouble coming before I did. And then 1 couldn’t save her!”
“Every commander occasionally finds himself outwitted or outmaneuvered,” Lazio said. “I know that from listening to Roger’s war stories. I still believe that, in his absence, you’re the best man to lead the defense. He certainly thought so.”
“Then maybe he was always crazy!” Elliott snarled. Lazio’s eyes widened in shock, and then he scowled. The Toreador felt another rush of shame. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I’m not up to the challenge. I can feel my inadequacy even if you can’t see it.”
“You couldn’t help Mary, and now you’re afraid that you’ll fail everybody else. But no one could have prevented what happened to her.”
“Don’t try to be my psychiatrist or my confessor, Lazio. No offense, but you’re not qualified. No mortal is.”
The dresser laid his bony hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “As the years passed, some people thought your grief was excessive, even affected, but I never did. She was a wonderful person.”
“Yes,” Elliott said heavily, “yes, she was. I always thought that we Toreador were uniquely blessed among the clans
because vve could love one another as passionately as mortals do. The joys of creation and aesthetic appreciation we share take the place of sex. But now I think our nature is a curse. You can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone you’ve adored for three hundred years!”
Lazio shrugged. “Perhaps not. I won’t argue that particular point. But I still say that Mary would want you to fulfill your responsibilities.”
“You already played that card,” said Elliott. “I won’t succumb to the same ploy twice. She wouldn’t want me to act if she knew it would lead to disaster.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” Lazio said. “There isn’t anybody else. Judy’s impulsive and reckless, Gunter’s arrogant
and self-serving, and most of the time Sky’s too passive. None of them has both the personality to lead and the subtlety of mind to unravel the puzzles we desperately need to solve.”
“The identities of our enemy and Dracula,” Elliott muttered reflectively.
“Plus, who was the woman who phoned here last night?” Lazio said. “Oh, and here’s a good one. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of pieces of Toreador art out in the world, aren’t there? After all, you people have been cranking them out for centuries.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that the enemy has enough manpower to set up an ambush around even a quarter of them?”
Elliott frowned. “It does seem unlikely.”
“Then, if he could only cover a fraction of the locations, how likely is it that, purely by the luck of the draw, his men intercepted seven of our teams?”
“He must have known where our people were headed.” “Yes, and somebody needs to figure out how.”
For a moment Elliott felt intrigued by all the mystery. A part of him which had lain dormant for a long time itched to unravel it. Then another wave of self-loathing drowned the feeling.
He said, “You seem to be way ahead of everybody else—” “Only because you haven’t switched your brain on,” Lazio interjected. '
“—maybe you should take charge.”
“Oh, yes,” said the stooped, aging mortal, raising his eyebrows. “That’ll work. I can just see all those high-and-mighty Kindred taking orders from a little nebbish of a kine like me.”
“Well, share your ideas with whoever does wind up in command.”
“Nobody else would listen to them the way you would.” Elliott shook his head. “Lazio, you can’t talk me into it, and believe me, that’s for the best. I’m going to go speak with the others because they deserve a chance to berate me for the debacle I created, but after that, I’m out of it.”
Lazio tilted back his head and spat in the vampire’s face. Elliott felt a surge of anger, a furious desire to retaliate. He trembled, fighting for self-control. “You mustn’t provoke a Kindred like that,” he said thickly. “Not even me. It isn’t safe.”
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