Clan Novel Toreador: Book 1 of The Clan Novel Saga

by Stewart Wieck

  And Julius might have a Ventrue as an ally as well in the form of Benjamin, who was also rumored to have civil rights concerns. Victoria had done what she could to put these pieces into place, including surreptitiously revealing to the Brujah justicar that Benison allowed unchecked creation and admission to Atlanta society of all kinds of Kindred—except Brujah. General, a Malkavian had been recently admitted. Javic, the Gangrel refugee from Bosnia, was admitted. Clarice and Cyndy were both Embraced in Atlanta and admitted to Kindred society.

  And most of all, even during the time when the city was full and recognized citizenship was not granted because he supposedly feared overpopulating the city, Prince Benison had “allowed” his wife to Embrace Benjamin and so a new Ventrue was admitted to the city. Or at least Victoria could claim he’d allowed it. He didn’t know about the deed, so he would either have to lie and claim it was done with permission, or he would have to punish Eleanor for her flaunting of the rules and probably his trust too. Either way, his position was weakened.

  “Welcome, noble archon, to glorious Atlanta and my own poor party.”

  Julius twisted his lips. “I speak and act bluntly, so I won’t battle you for humble pie. I apologize if this upsets your Toreador sensibilities, Victoria; but your party looks very nice, although my opinion of Atlanta is distinctly less than yours.”

  Victoria smiled and said, “It takes you a lot of words to speak bluntly. Are you certain you were not an author of Latin epics instead of the creator of great stories within the confines of the arena?”

  Julius grunted, “Your flowery speech rubbed off on me, is all.”

  “I’m certain the Prince will remind you,” Victoria began, “so let me do it first, that this is Elysium and no weapons are allowed herein.”

  Julius just shook his head. “This noble archon keeps his weapons. Disagreements can be taken to my master.”

  Victoria asked, “And is the disagreement between Benison and Thelonious going to be taken to Pascek as well?”

  “Perhaps,” said Julius. A sly twinkle lit his eye, and he continued, “If matters progress that far.”

  The Toreador shook her head with well-acted sadness, “It seems as though matters have already progressed too far. Benison’s pronouncement regarding the clanless Kindred pre-dates my arrival, so this is not a new subject. It seems the Camarilla elders have let this progress for some time and for some distance.”

  Julius said, “The Prince stretched his authority when he demanded that all clanless Kindred formally join a clan.”

  “Stretched but didn’t exceed…”

  “Perhaps,” said Julius. “Although the stretching itself then gives credence to the position the Anarchs took, which was a refusal to submit to such heavy-handed demands.”

  “And so it has persisted for over a year. Why intervene now?”

  Julius looked Victoria in the eye and said, “Surface-to-air missiles get attention.”

  Victoria looked at Julius to gauge this response. “But the missiles were fired by the Brujah, or the Anarchs, if you wish to be less specific.”

  Julius smiled. “True. My information tells me, though, that Thelonious acquired those missiles via a contact secretly arranged by the Prince.”

  “That does change things,” admitted Victoria. Inwardly, Victoria cursed. Eleanor had been right. Julius did have the goods on her, or at least he seemed to. The Toreador had been hoping for the last hour that the Ventrue’s words were mere groundless mischievousness. However, Julius didn’t give even a subtle hint that he was aware that the suggestion for Benison to provide those weapons to the Anarchs had come from Victoria herself. By means of an unsigned letter, of course, but despite her precautions against discovery—including not writing it herself, of course—perhaps Eleanor had traced it back to Victoria.

  “You object to this intervention in Atlanta?

  Certainly not,” Victoria assured the archon. She smiled her warmest and added, “It’s time for Atlanta to move into a new era, I believe.”

  Julius chuckled, “You do, eh?”

  Victoria changed the subject. “May I introduce you around?

  No,” Julius said flatly.

  “Ah, now I see what you mean about plain-speaking. Styling yourself a bit after Lear’s Earl of Kent, perhaps.”

  As Victoria spoke, she saw her ghoul Samuel enter through the doors of Hell. He noticed her immediately, and he saw she did likewise, so he attempted to look relaxed. However, the Toreador saw that Samuel was anxious to speak with her. Not an emergency, perhaps, but something troubled the ghoul.

  Meanwhile, Julius just looked at her blankly, clearly not understanding her Shakespearean reference. In a moment he said, “Whatever. Just forget that I’m here. I’m going to make myself at home for a moment over by that demon,” he thumbed his hand toward Feuchere’s Satan, “and then introduce myself to some people. I’ll see Prince Benison later, I imagine.”

  Victoria said, “As you wish, noble archon. Satan is a fine work that could understandably occupy a great deal of time. One might even get lost in its examination, causing oversights of etiquette for which no blame could truly be placed.”

  Julius chuckled softly. “You’re a bright girl, Victoria.” Then he walked into the empty alcove, his bandolier rattling ominously, where he momentarily made a show of investigating the sculpture before looking back up at Victoria and smiling again. Then he lifted his hand and made a motion of tipping a glass to his lips. He waved her on.

  Victoria did walk away, relieved that even when he gave his “bright girl” comment, Julius did not suggest any knowledge of Victoria’s underhanded ploys. She waved her hand at Samuel and the ghoul descended the steps and approached his mistress.

  Meanwhile, Victoria redirected the second server she saw to deliver a flute of blood to the archon. The first server was not the sharpest of the servants on hand, so she waited for a better candidate. She supposed the servant could deliver a drink, but she would need one to receive instructions about when and how he should make note of the Brujah’s presence.

  Benison would go wild with anger when he learned the archon was present and had not introduced himself. It was a slight of courtesy upon which he might seize to press the Brujah, but Julius was clearly calculating the results, probably hoping that in his anger Benison would make a larger blunder.

  Julius’s gamble seemed to Victoria a fine one. It also made her a little nervous, because she planned to put herself in the position of instigating the fight. She had all the right tools at hand, but now Julius was doing this work for her. That worried Victoria because now it didn’t matter whether she’d stepped through Heaven or Hell, for her plan was going to be executed without her prompting.

  She calmed herself immediately. Perhaps she was rationalizing her control of the situation, but she convinced herself that if she’d entered through Hell and therefore been on a path to scrap or at least delay her plans, then she could have interfered with Julius’s intentions by alerting Benison immediately so no slight would be given.

  She was still in control of her own destiny.

  Samuel softly cleared his throat behind Victoria, and the Toreador turned.

  “What is it?”

  Samuel said, “A chauffeur in the garage says he must immediately speak to his master, a Kindred of the Setite clan named Vegel.”

  “He’s here,” said Victoria. “What’s the matter? Has there been trouble downstairs?”

  Samuel shook his head. “No, everything is proceeding smoothly, milady. The driver said there was a phone call for Vegel, and the caller is his partner, Hesha.”

  “Hesha?” Victoria pursed her lips and nodded her head with interest. “Very well, wait outside those doors and I’ll send Vegel to you. It will take only a moment to find him.”

  Samuel glanced around the glass maze of the gallery, and seemed somewhat dubious of this claim, but he dared not question Victoria. “Of course, milady.” He bowed slightly and retreated beyond the doors throug
h which he’d entered.

  No one else was near, so Victoria withdrew to her cubicle again. She used her opera glasses to scan the gallery for Vegel.

  And she could not find him.

  She did take a moment to check on Julius, and found him leaning against Satan and sipping on a flute of blood.

  Victoria assumed Vegel was still somewhere in the gallery since his chauffeur was still downstairs. So she looked again. Failing again, she left her cubicle and walked the gallery for a few moments. She found all of the other Kindred she knew to be present, but no Vegel.

  Then she suddenly stopped. What kind of game was being played here? She grew a bit angry. This matter of the phone call and chauffeur was clearly a distraction of some sort. Vegel knew Victoria would be intrigued by a call from Hesha, and so he fed her the bit of misinformation and reeled her right in. But to what end?

  Victoria decided she would call the bluff and eliminate the worry about this new matter in the back of her mind. The Toreador stalked toward the gallery’s exit and opened the doors of Hell. She was proving to herself that she wasn’t superstitious by using these doors, instead of Heaven through which she entered. That game was done; others were now at hand.

  Samuel was leaning against a wall down the hallway toward the elevators. When he saw Victoria, he immediately straightened and stood ready.

  She strode toward him, her sandaled feet smacking on the tiled floor. Her face was resolute yet still beautiful.

  “All right, let’s see if Hesha was really on the phone.”

  Samuel looked confused, but as usual, there were no questions asked. As the pair stepped into the elevator, he said, “The chauffeur is waiting in the Auxiliary Chamber.”

  Victoria briefly acknowledged that and stared intently at the closing doors.

  Tuesday, 22 June 1999, 12:08 AM

  The High Museum of Art

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The metal-lined corridor was lit with recessed fluorescents. Once he realized that the tunnel extended for a significant distance, Vegel broke into a run. His hurry was partly inspired by the damned cold of the Eye in his pocket.

  After a solid minute of running, Vegel achieved the end of the passage. A steel ladder stretched up to a hatch in the ceiling. The Setite had noted no other doors or exits of any kind elsewhere along the length of the tunnel, so he presumed this was the next stage of his escape.

  He climbed the stairs, twisted a handle and with his legs securely braced, stood and pressed the door up and open.

  All the lights instantly extinguished as soon as the door broke the seal of the floor. Vegel was suddenly and disorientingly flooded in darkness. He craned his neck to look back down what he thought was the direction of the long tunnel in search of even the smallest light source, but there was none.

  Hoping this was simply a safety measure to provide cover for those emerging as he was, Vegel steadied himself and then pressed the door open farther so he could crawl out. It was pitch black wherever he’d arrived, so he crouched near the door hoping his eyes would adjust. Even the faintest flicker of light would be enough!

  Vegel considered revealing the Eye, but since he couldn’t control the amount of the light or whether or not it shed light at all, he thought it too risky. In any event, he kept one hand cupped under the door that was now on the floor beside him. On one hand, he thought some lights might return if he closed it, but on the other he imagined it might also lock behind him and seal him Set knew where.

  He remained so for another moment before deciding that the Nosferatu route had been excellent and safe thus far, and since he’d put his trust in Rolph this much already, why not accept the situation completely?

  He removed his hand and allowed the door to drop shut. It did indeed lock, for it clicked into place and then he heard a vacuum sealer suck it firmly shut.

  But a light flickered on, so Vegel felt his courage was rewarded.

  The Setite found he was in a small enclosed area with a dramatically slanted ceiling that was only a hand’s space above his head where he crouched. Considering the narrow width of the room, and the angle of the ceiling, Vegel realized this small area must be tucked beneath a staircase or escalator.

  He desperately wanted to remove the Eye from his coat pocket and examine it for a moment, but this arranged escape route might not yet be complete, though he was certainly a good distance from the museum. Any delay now might mean the difference between safety and destruction, both for himself and the Eye, so he refused to tarry. Besides, the Eye’s freezing cold was subsiding, so there was no excuse even to shift it to another pocket.

  Pausing to mentally gather himself, Vegel felt refreshed as he approached the sole apparent door in the place. A sudden rumbling, like a minor earthquake tremor made him pause, but the brief squeal of tires eased his mind. He thought it likely he was in parking garage, so those noises did not worry him. There was nothing to indicate that those in the car pursued him.

  Still, he opened the door carefully. He appeared to be on the ground floor of an enclosed stairwell. Gum and paint and bits of trash were littered everywhere, and the faint odor of urine was evident as well.

  Vegel slipped through the doorway and walked quietly toward another door, this one presumably leading to the garage proper, or perhaps to the street. A small window on the top half of the door revealed the latter. Vegel looked up the stairwell for a moment, but saw no one, so he returned to the exit door and pressed his face against the window to create the greatest angle of view possible. Outside was a narrow side street. Small stores and restaurants of the variety that claim more residents than tourists lined the street, and all of them seemed closed. Vegel could see a street sign to his left, but it was oriented so that he couldn’t read it. More importantly, the street was empty of people and traffic in both directions and on both sides.

  It looked like the escape route ended here, for Vegel could not detect any clues regarding where he might go next. No police tape. No pictures of eyes. Nothing.

  He withdrew the cell phone from his pocket and considered using it, but immediately discarded the idea as foolish and dangerous. If Rolph was correct, then the chauffeur was dead already, and a phone call might only alert his killers to the sophisticated tracking equipment in the limo. If his car was now in the hands of others who sought to wrest the Eye from him, then they might utilize that equipment to track his location by means of the locator in his phone.

  The locator was normally to find Vegel in the event something untoward happened to him, but it was useless now. So Vegel dropped the device into a trash can bracketed to the handrailing at the base of the steps. He then shifted some grubby fast food wrappers so they hid the device from plain view.

  He felt his best bet was to head straight to the airport. Not Hartsfield International, where he would be sought immediately, but the DeKalb-Peachtree Airport, a small air field north of downtown where an emergency plane was maintained. If he could be airborne within an hour, then he could be in Baltimore by daybreak. Baltimore was the site of Hesha’s primary East Coast United States facilities.

  He just needed to get to a major street other than Peachtree Street, on which the High Museum was located, so he might catch a cab. Too bad the streets of Atlanta were not filthy-littered with the yellows like Manhattan. Getaways were so much easier there.

  Vegel creaked the windowed door open and stealthily stepped onto the street. He hung close to parking deck’s wall as he made his way toward the street sign.

  Without warning, he was suddenly ambushed from above.

  There was a fluttering of a cape or cloak in the air, and then a heavy weight crashed onto Vegel’s shoulders. Fortunately, the Setite was well-trained, and while another might have been crushed or pinned to the ground by this assault, Vegel reacted instantly and instinctively. He buckled his knees and allowed himself to fall backwards, but instead of hitting the ground squarely, he turned his momentum into a roll.

  A fraction of a second after the att
ack, a heavily cloaked figure was on the ground and Vegel was balanced and ready on his feet.

  But before Vegel could throw a kick at his prone assailant, there was a stentorian growl from above. The ferocious force and fury of the raging sound was accompanied by the twittering of laughter, also from above. Stepping back to create some space between his visible foe and himself, Vegel looked up.

  To his horror, he saw three Kindred. At the center of the group was a hulking brute, and he was flanked by a pair of what appeared to be emaciated and badly burned corpses. But these corpses were the source of the laughter. There was no doubt of the source of the roar.

  Vegel’s fourth foe slowly rose to his feet. He was the most normal-looking of the bunch, though he was clearly also Kindred. This one smiled devilishly at Vegel and then revealed his humanity was long gone as well. With a hiss, the monster threw his arms wide and his fingers seemed to unfurl until they were sloppy strands of flesh several feet long. The beast laughed then as his jaw unhinged and his mouth opened cavernously wide.

  There was no concern for the Masquerade here, Vegel realized. There was no mistaking these animals for anything but Sabbat.

  And Vegel knew there was no mistaking himself for anything but dead.

  Vegel shouted, “Come on then, you bastards! I’ll take one of you with me. Which one wishes to accompany me to the hellish pits of Set?”

  The Sabbat in front of Vegel uttered something, but the inhuman sound that issued from his freakish mouth was unintelligible.

  Vegel began to back away when he saw the two spidery Sabbat begin their descent down the walls of the parking deck. The powerful-looking beast was throwing a leg over a railing in preparation to leap, though Vegel couldn’t tell if his intent was to leap onto the ground or onto him.

  Vegel was furious at Rolph’s treachery. This indeed had been some “escape route.” All that foolishness about Bombay and old debts! Hesha would have debts to repay now. Vegel took some solace in Hesha’s well-known propensity to mete out revenge for the death of his agents.