Clan Novel Toreador: Book 1 of The Clan Novel Saga

by Stewart Wieck

  The strong-lunged Sabbat above was now jumping, and though Vegel had by now backpedaled a good fifty feet from the spot of the first ambush, the monster’s powerful legs propelled it far through the air…and behind Vegel.

  The Setite was now trapped. One large Sabbat behind him and a trio of freaks before him.

  One of the corpse-like twins said, “So good of you to come to us.”

  The long-fingered Sabbat advanced steadily with the other two a half step to the side and rear. He waved his arms menacingly and the fingers wriggled like serpents ready for a victim to crush.

  Vegel did not appreciate the irony of that eventuality.

  More immediate, though, was the brute behind him who was leaping again. This time, a standing broad jump carried him dozens of feet right at Vegel, who managed to twist away and escape the Sabbat’s massive arms. The Setite hit the ground rolling and this took him off the edge of the curb and into a puddle in the street.

  He quickly leapt to his feet and made to dash away, but the lithe twins were far quicker than he. Somersaulting and bounding like talented gymnasts, they intercepted Vegel and, when Vegel pulled up short of them, he was entangled from behind by long fingers that bound one of his arms to his side.

  Vegel had to wrestle and resist for a moment in order to keep his left arm from becoming entangled as well. He made things difficult enough for the Sabbat that he bought himself the second he needed to draw a short knife from an ankle sheath. A viscous green ichor dripped from the blade, which Vegel twirled in small circles like a honey wand to keep as much of the liquid as possible on the blade. When out of the corner of his eye he saw the large Sabbat closing in on him, Vegel slashed the blade through the air. The Sabbat was not close enough to strike, but a significant quantity of the poison whipped off the dagger and splattered over his eyes and nose.

  A murderous roar erupted as the Sabbat clawed in agony at his eyes. His powerful stomping sent hairline cracks rippling through the pavement of the street.

  Pulling his left arm free of the other Sabbat one more time, Vegel plunged the blade through the beast’s right hand. The dagger dug into Vegel’s side as well, but any poison still on the blade wouldn’t harm him, and freedom was worth a small wound.

  His captor shrieked in pain and quickly released Vegel, who also released the dagger so it remained lodged in the Sabbat’s hand, impaling it through the palm. The foe now retreated as well in order to remove the blade painfully. As he did so, though, the poison caught up with him. It was difficult to harm vampires with poison, but the variety on the Setite’s blade affected the bloodstream, which was nearly as important to a Kindred as to a mortal. He and his large comrade created a chorus of painful cries.

  Vegel had been unable to maintain his balance when flung down by the Sabbat, but as he scrambled to his feet he said to the spidery twins, “Which of you is next?”

  And they hesitated.

  Vegel flicked a forked tongue at them and the cowards were startled enough to take a few steps back.

  Amazed that the disturbance had not drawn a witness, Vegel prepared again to flee, but he was caught in the back by a wild swing from the behemoth Sabbat. Vegel was flung bodily forward and hit the street with tremendous force. He tried to push himself up, but the gymnasts were on him faster. They peppered him with solid but not significant blows that nevertheless made it difficult to recover his senses.

  Then he was lifted from the ground by the half blinded brute. The powerful Sabbat had him by the collar but spun him around so the two of them were face to face. The skin around the monster’s eyes was badly burned from the poison and one of the eyes was scalded black, but the other stared at Vegel through twisted flesh.

  Grunting and groaning all the while, the beast smiled as he pressed Vegel into a bear hug. Like saplings in a storm, Vegel’s ribs were crushed one by one and it was the Setite’s turn to scream. The monster’s strength was incredible.

  Vegel felt his limbs crumpling under the pressure exerted by the powerfully muscled arms. More devastatingly, Vegel felt his precious blood streaming from every orifice. The blood that welled up into his mouth caused him to gargle and choke, in the process of which he sprayed blood in the face of his adversary.

  Feeling his strength almost expired, Vegel tried a final Setite trick. Would he be fast enough to escape the two small and quick Sabbat? But it was his only hope, so those of his limbs that were not already crushed beyond recognition popped out of their joints, and he suddenly slipped from his blood-matted evening clothes like a snake shedding old skin.

  Completely naked and badly mangled, Vegel slid between the brute’s legs, over the unconscious figure of the long-fingered Sabbat, and with a lightning-fast burst of speed he slithered into the parking garage, under the flag gate and into the thick of several parked cars. As he shot along the ground, he used his last few ounces of blood to build hurried clots in his wounds. There was no way he could completely seal the massive wounds, but if he could just stop the blood flow for a moment then he wouldn’t leave a red-smeared pathway to lead the Sabbat right to him.

  Behind him, he heard the nearly blind Sabbat roar first in triumph and then in surprise as he discovered the clothes in his grasp were bodiless. The clothes were then shredded and strewn about the street.

  One of the two lackeys pursued Vegel into the parking deck, but from his hiding spot curled beneath an old BMW, the Setite realized his escape had not been clearly seen. The lackeys ran in a few circles, looking here and there, but quickly returned to the street to look there too.

  Various objects intervened, but from his hiding spot, Vegel could see the Sabbat in the street. The blinded Sabbat who’d nearly killed him was raging with anger. When the second of the smaller Sabbat also reported an inability to find Vegel, the larger Sabbat became livid and literally hopped with anger. To soothe his hurt, he lashed out at the bearer of bad tidings and ripped at the vampire’s neck with his teeth so savagely that he practically tore its head off. The powerful Sabbat then paused for a moment to refresh himself by sucking dry his smaller victim. Then he tossed the desiccated heap to the side of the street.

  In a deep voice he said to the other spidery-thin Sabbat, “Get rid of that, then carry Jorge back upstairs. Now!”

  The other Sabbat hastened to obey, but Vegel’s vision began to blur and he thought it best to put his head down for a moment….

  Tuesday, 22 June 1999, 12:33 AM

  The High Museum of Art

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Victoria put her conversation with Hesha behind her and hurried back into the gallery to check on Prince Benison and Julius. Unless something more came up, Victoria would have to let the ghouls handle the Vegel matter. She needed to concentrate her attention on Julius and Benison.

  About twenty minutes had passed since she’d left to deal with the Vegel matter, and that was time enough to irritate Benison when Julius’s presence was revealed. As Victoria walked past the alcove near the entrance, she saw the Brujah was still within its glass walls.

  Julius was imbibing another flute of blood. He seemed relaxed, poised, and confident. Victoria imagined he always expressed those characteristics and didn’t wish to consider a situation that would lay low one such as this.

  She then returned to the party so she would be on hand when the action began. The party continued pleasantly, though Victoria was a bit ruder than usual as she tried to remain free of entangling conversations, particularly one with Leopold that had the makings of too much soul-searching. Now that Julius was here, she had no time for any more foolishness.

  After perhaps fifteen minutes, she returned to the cubicle of glass to check on Julius. She stifled laughter when she found him speaking to Cyndy, who was pressing herself obscenely against the large man’s body. Victoria could read the Brujah’s lips, and the sweet nothings and empty promises he whispered to the stupid Toreador stripper suggested to Victoria that the wily Brujah was using his powers to make a loyal friend and ally out of C
yndy. With that revelation, Victoria took back some of her disgust at Cyndy, for she surely did not possess the means to resist the powers Julius directed at her.

  Some time later, Cyndy came strolling to the back of the chamber where most of the Kindred had congregated. She flashed Victoria a self-satisfied smile that made the Elder Toreador shake her head. She realized the little bitch thought she knew something Victoria did not.

  Victoria watched Cyndy for a several moments more, but the saucy wench did nothing. Therefore, Victoria slipped away again. Clarice and Stella were conversing near the cubicle, so Victoria was unable to gain its interior unseen. She walked a bit further to find a relatively secure location for her next viewing. She risked being seen, but she was on the far end of the gallery and could use the magnifying properties of the glasses. Her watch showed that it was a bit before one o’clock. She turned her opera glasses toward Satan, but there was no one in the alcove.

  “What do you see, Victoria?” The deep voice issued from directly beside her, and Victoria jumped in surprise.

  Julius practically hovered over her, looking expectantly for an answer.

  Realizing how much depended on it, the Toreador recovered quickly, though, and she said, “Just looking for ways to reward myself for keeping silent about your attendance, noble archon.”

  “Indeed.” The archon stepped away.

  There was a roar from a gallery on the other side of a wall of glass. Prince Benison’s voice wavered and screeched like a mute man learning speech again. “How dare he insult my hospitality?”

  Julius stopped when he heard the curses that followed. He turned to face Victoria.

  “I suppose neither of us is as tricky as we imagine.”

  Victoria agreed with that. “I’d wager, though, that both our imaginations are quite exceptional, so perhaps half as good as we think we are will be quite satisfactory.”

  Julius nodded grimly. “I like your style, Victoria.” He took a few steps and turned once more. “Don’t miss the excitement.”

  As Victoria hustled the opposite way so she did not arrive beside the Brujah, she noted that Julius adjusted his bandolier and did a test draw with one of his swords. Or at least she assumed he drew, for the blade was in his hand so quickly that Victoria inferred the draw only when he slowly replaced the weapon. She was quick too, but that…well, that was uncanny.

  Tuesday, 22 June 1999, 1:02 AM

  The High Museum of Art

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Leopold decided that Hannah simply wasn’t going attend the party. If Stella had been right earlier when she suggested there would be some representative of the Tremere clan present in the early hours of the event, then it looked like no Tremere at all would show this evening at all.

  So the young Toreador decided he would leave. Just as he was mounting the steps to the door, however, he heard the Prince’s exclamations. As he paused and turned to see what this new excitement was about, Leopold found himself the target of a distant Prince’s gesture.

  Prince Benison, with a flushed Cyndy forcibly held to his side by one great hand and one of the aproned servants clasped around the neck and pushed before him with the other hand, led a phalanx of Kindred that streamed from the rear of the gallery toward Leopold. For an instant, Leopold panicked. What could he have done?

  Benison shouted, “Where is he, Toreador? Do you see the bastard up there?”

  It took a moment for Leopold to realize the Prince was speaking to him and not to Cyndy.

  Leopold shouted, “W-who… w-wh-what?” It was only the second time Leopold had ever addressed the Prince, and his voice cracked from the stress of doing so now.

  “The motherfucking asshole Black Panther son-of-bitch Brujah archon, that’s who, you miserable piece of trash!”

  Leopold shriveled under the weight of the abuse, but he looked around. Before Leopold could answer, the Prince unleashed another litany of vulgarities that lasted until he drew even with the alcove where Leopold had spoken with Stella some hours earlier.

  Cyndy pointed therein and said, “He was in here.”

  “When?” the Prince demanded, looking accusingly at both Cyndy and the servant.

  Realizing he’d been forgotten, Leopold drifted down the steps and joined the crowd behind Benison. Stella quickly made her way to his side and pressed his hand into hers. It immediately calmed Leopold.

  “Twenty minutes ago, Prince,” gasped Cyndy.

  Benison threw the Toreador and the servant to the floor. The tray the servant had so ably kept balanced while being hauled to this spot clattered to the floor as well. Champagne glasses and blood sprayed across the white tiles.

  “And you?” Benison demanded of the servant.

  “I served his first drink well over a half hour ago,” he stammered.

  “Damn it all to HELL,” the Prince shouted, grossly emphasizing the last word as he stamped his foot on the floor. “Then where is he now?”

  “Behind you, Prince,” came a clear, deep voice.

  The crowd parted and a corridor outlined by Kindred separated the Malkavian Prince and the Brujah archon.

  Julius innocently asked, “Have I offended you in some way?”

  Benison smiled a toothy grin. “To the contrary, archon. You’ve made me very happy. Elysium be damned, I will punish your insufferable attitude.” The rattle of metal rang in the large chamber as Julius drew a sword. “I guess there will be a follow-up story about those terrorists who holed up at that steel mill. Odd that terrorists would hide in a museum, don’t you think, Benison?”

  Benison was livid with anger, but even his bright red eyes could not light the sudden darkness that washed through the room.

  Tuesday, 22 June 1999, 1:04 AM

  The High Museum of Art

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The falling darkness blotted more than just Victoria’s sight; it also strangely muffled her hearing so the cries of alarm issuing from the assembled Camarilla Kindred were oddly drawn-out and warped. Tenebrous, almost animate shrouds draped her soul in a sheath of bitterness, regret and disappointment. Her pawns were arrayed before her just as she had planned. The work of months and the ambition of decades was within her grasp, and in the dying light and sound she somehow knew her dream died as well.

  Perhaps it would be reborn, for an after-image of her orchestration burned on her dulled retina like a phoenix. Julius and Benison faced one another, Julius drawing one of his swords to impale the crazed Malkavian willing to sacrifice his Elysium and his life merely because a Brujah insulted him.

  Though she hadn’t seen it as the scene had unfolded, in this mental replay of the scene Victoria saw Thelonious and Benjamin slipping through the crowd toward Eleanor’s back. The Ventrue bitch would have been squashed if the two also chose to ignore Elysium, although she’d likely take one of them with her. Victoria expected she would choose her treacherous childe Benjamin, which meant that when the dust settled, the only candidates for Prince would be Victoria and Thelonious. And it wouldn’t do for a Brujah archon to stroll into Atlanta and leave with a Brujah Prince in place, now would it?

  She didn’t scream, but Victoria’s anger echoed in her own mind. She had been so damn close!

  The Toreador felt the darkness outside her mind press harder upon her, and her dream images slipped away. It was an almost palpable thing, and with a start she realized the probable source of the danger just as a deep and resonant voice called out. The sound was distorted, but Victoria was thinking the word too, so she understood it despite the warble of its tone.

  “LA-SOooM’brA!”

  She felt the inky mass of darkness begin to press its way into her orifices, and the mindless, horrific, plasmic mass did not discriminate. Despite her years and experience, despite her own great powers, Victoria panicked. She fell to the ground and rolled as if the pitch encasing and invading her were fire that could be extinguished.

  But it did not relent.

  However, it did slowly part.


  After it did and she saw the horrors the light of the gallery revealed, Victoria prayed that the darkness might return and she be granted a quick and painless Final Death under cover of the senses-dulling cloud.

  From Prince to Final Death in a heartbeat.

  Even so, hers was not among the screams that sounded then, and the wails and jeers were from offender and victim alike. Victoria shivered and she felt the blood within her—and fortunately there was a lot of it, for she had drunk heavily tonight—coalesce into a heavy bolus that made her stomach seem to sag.

  The darkness rippled into pieces, and amid the patchwork maze those fragments made, Victoria witnessed every bizarre malformation of nature she could imagine. Surely there were more ways the body of a Kindred could be made gruesome, but the reality of the examples before her made other possibilities unthinkable. Scabrous, burned, bloated, emaciated, twisted, rubbery, fibrous, gelatinous…and on and on the adjectives whistled through Victoria’s overwhelmed mind.

  “Sabbat!” Julius shouted. Victoria recognized his voice, and though there was no indication of fear in it, there was desperation.

  Victoria too knew they were doomed. The grotesque monsters could only be the result of Tzimisce fleshcrafting, and the darkness was surely Lasombra-created, so the assault was indeed a joint effort by that diabolical group responsible for much of the evil and brutality among the Kindred, the Sabbat.

  How and why they had gathered for such an assault was beyond Victoria’s reasoning. But then, much about the chaotic Sabbat was beyond her. The “why” wasn’t so mysterious, she supposed, if they had managed to organize themselves beyond the “how.” However, the “why” still applied to many questions. Why now? Why Atlanta? Why, why, why?

  Victoria shot a look at Julius. The Brujah archon still looked powerful and dangerous, but no longer unstoppable. Tendrils formed of darkness groped like living things from the oozing puddles of the Lasombra stuff that seeped across the floor. The monstrous Sabbat danced and whirled at the periphery of the trapped Camarilla Kindred.