The house was elegant, almost a mansion, with grounds trimmed and kept in flawless order. The place screamed money, even had it not been in Piedmont, the neighborhood that the rich re-named just so that it wouldn't be Oakland.
Steven maneuvered his sedan deftly into the line of cars in the drive, wondering again who this house belonged to. Jina had mentioned something about Angela hosting the meeting, but Angela was Toreador, and the house would be almost better-suited to a classy Ventrue than one of the artists. From a hint that Tobler had dropped in passing, though, it was not Angela's house they were meeting at, but that of one of her "girls". He had no idea what was meant by that.
He could see Rebecca looking at the landscaping as they walked up toward the entrance. He had a sudden and devout hope that she wouldn't try to go hunting for spell-components in the acres behind the house; he wasn't sure how he would explain that.
Reaching the vast double-doors that marked the entrance, he rang the bell and waited. They opened in a matter of seconds, a butler standing in one half of the doorway, holding the other door mostly closed. When the man inquired about their business, Steven introduced himself and mentioned that Jina had invited him. The servant immediately opened the other door and gestured them in, proceeding to take Steven's coat and hat. Rebecca, in one of her more elegant outfits, had no coat for the man to take.
They were escorted down a short hall and into an elegant drawing room, furnished in impeccable modern taste. Seascapes hung on the walls, interspersed with a few sets of curio shelves; the carpet was pale cream and very thick. A marble fireplace, glass doors across the opening, stood cold and elegant in the right wall. A large card table of dark wood had been brought out into the center of the room, and was covered incongruously with AAA travel maps of the Bay Area.
A few people had gathered already. Steven recognized Prince Richard Tobler and Jina, his Seneschal, as well as Germaine Smith, the Tremere Primogen for Alameda County. There was an elegant lady he recognized from descriptions to be Angela, the Toreador Primogen and host for the evening. Tobler and Jina were studying the maps, Germaine standing off in one corner, quietly lighting his pipe. Angela looked up as they entered, and sailed over to them.
"Mr. Millan," she murmured, holding out her hand for him to take. "So glad you could make it. I'm Angela -- I assume you have met the others already. We're expecting a few more, still, as the night wears on. Who is your companion?" She looked over his shoulder at Rebecca.
He took her hand and kissed it lightly, running through the dance of etiquette with ease. "Thank you. This is my ghoul, Rebecca. She has been assisting me in gathering information on our present problems."
"I see." She turned her attention back to him, obviously dismissing the ghoul from her mind. "Well, welcome to Greystone House, and do let me know if there is anything I may do for you while you're here. I do hope we can find some solution to our present problems, as you call them." She smiled, and he smiled back, not making the mistake of assuming that she liked him. She would be just as polite and courteous should a demon with three heads and foot-long talons walk through her door; Toreador were like that. In fact, in her eyes, having a Tremere in her house was probably much the same thing.
He moved toward the card table, Rebecca following quietly behind him. He sensed that she was a bit intimidated; probably a good thing, as it meant she wouldn't get herself into trouble.
The Prince looked up at his approach and smiled, wearing a slightly different mask than usual -- this one was very neat, sporting short hair and a trim black goatee. He still had his shades on, however, and his habitual dress of a button-down shirt and slacks. Tobler didn't believe in ties, apparently. Steven was just glad he kept himself cleaner than most Nosferatu of his acquaintance, and that the skin on his hands wasn't repellent to the touch.
Jina looked up as well, and greeted them heartily, the chains on her leather biker jacket jingling as she stepped around the table. "Hey, Steve, glad you could make it. How you doing, Rebecca? Good to see you. Yeah, we're hoping to get started here, as soon as the rest of these yahoos show up. What'cha been up to?"
"Nothing much." Steven shook Jina's hand, then Tobler's, across the table. "You know how it is."
"Yeah, yeah... Say, could you come have a look at this? We've mapped out where we think the major Sabbat strongholds are, and we're trying to figure out how they're going to move in."
Steven moved to the edge of the table, Rebecca drifting beside him. Jina was on his other side, pointing out the marks they had put on the map. "See, here, here, and here we know they must have something. But we're not seeing any activity in the northeast, or over the Caldecott, and we're trying to figure out whether we will."*
There was movement at the door, and they looked over to see two men, one broad-shouldered and dressed in what looked like an Italian suit, the other thin and wiry, wearing a cardigan and corduroy pants, his hair silvery at the temples. Steven overheard Angela greet them, as Jina bent over to stage-whisper, "The guy in the suit is Eric, our Sheriff; the other one is Claude, the Ventrue Primogen. Go easy on Claude -- he just hasn't been the same since his clanmates got killed last spring."
Steven's eyebrow rose, but he just nodded, making a mental note to ask Germaine about that later. Angela brought them over to the table and made introductions, referring to Steven only by name, making no mention of his previous position. Eric was amiable, and Claude just nodded, shaking Steven's hand with a thoughtful look.
They all gathered around the table, Germaine sucking on his pipe which had promptly gone out after he lit it. Tobler was explaining the layout and the situation, when a commotion down the hall stopped him. They looked up to see the butler, rather distressed, preceding a large beefy redhead through the doorway, who was proclaiming in a loud brogue, "Yes, I've been invited, so you just tuck yourself back under the stairs or wherever it is you go and I'll just see myself in, there's a good man. Ah, Jina! Would you tell this fellow here that I belong here, and that I'm not goin' to make off with the silver? He's really in a state."
The butler cast a despairing look at Angela, who rolled her eyes and nodded to him. He collected his ruffled dignity and strode back through the door, trying not to jump when he nearly ran into a tall, dark man who had appeared behind them. Huffing, he vanished into the hallway, the dark man watching him mildly.
Jina greeted the redhead like a brother, announcing to the room at large that Mitch was here. The Prince noticed the tall man, still hovering in the doorway, and came forward to clasp hands with him, talking avidly. After a minute or two, Tobler appeared to remember the rest of the room, and guided his friend over to the table. "This is Benjamin Harwood, our Nosferatu Primogen," he told Steven, as the Nosferatu bowed, not offering a hand. Steven bowed in kind, noticing how Tobler's face had lit up at the arrival of a clanmate. Harwood seemed more interested in the maps than introductions, and he and Tobler settled down to comparing notes on placement of the enemy strongholds.
Jina led Mitch over, and the group began studying the layout in earnest. A few suggestions were made, a report or two. Tobler spoke up after a few minutes, addressing the group. "In case you're wondering, I invited Steven Millan here for his knowledge of what lies beyond our northern and eastern borders." He nodded to Steven. "I trust you have been keeping up your investigations into the Sabbat movements in Contra Costa?"
"I have." Steven pointed to Berkeley. "As you know, there have been sightings of Sabbat in the El Cerrito area, as well as all up and down the Delta coast. There have also been reports of them in San Ramon." His hand moved to the south. "The concern is that they will follow the freeways: 680 north from San Ramon, Highway 24 east from the Berkeley/El-Cerrito area, and all along Highway 4. The places this might affect you would be in Berkeley and north Oakland, along I-80 and Highway 24, and possibly along the 580 corridor."*
Tobler nodded. "We've already got problems in Pleasanton and Dublin. The question is, how are they going to move first? We've been monitoring their movements in Hayward and Union City --"
The butler appeared once more at the door, leaving a husky man in brown robes and a monk's tonsure. The stranger strode forward, addressing Tobler. "Ah, Archbishop, I see that you already have everyone here. I apologize for my tardiness, but I am afraid that I muddled the directions your Templar gave me." He beamed at Jina. "Don't let me interrupt you."
The Prince stifled a grin, as Claude stiffened and Germaine drew a long, slow breath around his pipe-stem.* "That's quite all right, Brother Michael," Tobler replied. "And please don't call me Archbishop; call me Tobler, or Richard."
The monk looked distressed. "But that would be disrespectful, Archbishop."
Tobler's mouth twitched, hiding another grin, and Steven realized that this was an old exchange, probably repeated at every gathering of the court. "If you say so, Brother Michael. We were just comparing notes on the movements of the Sabbat."
"Brother" Michael frowned. "Yes, the forces of Satan have been taking hold in the south. The Archbishop of Fremont has had her hands full, or so I have heard."*
Tobler nodded. "Does anyone have any ideas?"
Steven listened as a few people ventured opinions, and the rest studied the map. Rebecca pointed to Crow Canyon Road, mentioning that it might be another point of entry. There was a small debate over whether the Sabbat would try to come in force through the unincorporated area, over the hills between San Ramon and Oakland. It was decided that it was a possibility, though large movements would probably come via 580, given the Sabbat's disregard for the Masquerade.
"We also saw movement out in Byron." Rebecca pointed out to the far east of Contra Costa County. "They could come down and meet the rest halfway in Livermore, and take over that whole area if we aren't careful. They could just head down Highway J4 and across the Bethany Reservoir." She looked over at Tobler. "Have you heard of anything across the border, in San Joaquin?"
The Ventrue Primogen spoke sharply. "You will not address the Prince unless asked, mortal."
Tobler waved a hand. "We're not formal here, Claude. No, I haven't heard anything from the east, but those areas are largely uninhabited until near Fresno; it's possible we wouldn't know if they had holed up somewhere out there." He paused, studying the map. "It seems we have quite a few possible avenues for invasion... Strategies?"
"They'll be heading for the cities," Jina said, "so we should keep up patrols here, and here." Her hand swept along the southern borders of Livermore and Pleasanton, and the line between Union City and Fremont. "Also in Berkeley; we know they'll be coming through there eventually."
"Keep people on all the roads through the hills, like Grizzly Peak and Crow Canyon." Rebecca pointed to Highway 24. "They could circumvent Berkeley completely and end up in East Oakland that way."
Steven spoke. "I still have some contacts and supporters in the other court; I'll see whether they can patrol the borders, keep things from spilling over here, or at least give some advance warning if they do. The Tremere have been keeping an eye on Berkeley," he nodded to Germaine, "and I'll ask my contacts to tighten the borders on San Ramon and Byron. I'm planning on getting increased fire department protection for key Kindred power structures, since they've mostly been doing arson so far."*
Tobler nodded. "Angela, do you have some sort of place markers, so that we can look at possible distributions?"
Angela's eyes roved across the room, lighting on Rebecca. "Dear, could you go ask Jonathan for some sort of counters to put on the map? That's the butler. He'll know where to find them."
Rebecca nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind her. There was a brief pause as they waited, some wandering away from the map table. Claude made his way over to Steven, pulling him aside a little. "Would that be your ghoul, that just left for the counters?"
A little warily, Steven replied, "Yes... Why?"
"She seems a bit... outspoken, don't you think?" The man's clipped Oxford vowels carried a dubious tone. "Lacking in discipline, even."
Steven drew back slightly. "She's new -- I'm still training her."
"I see. She needs to be shown her place, I think, and not to speak unless spoken to. Just remember that an undisciplined ghoul reflects badly on the domitor." Claude fell into a lecturing tone, and Steven half-expected the Ventrue to shake a finger at him.
Steven replied flatly, "I'll deal with it." Claude gave him a stern sidelong look, and moved away.
After a few minutes, the door opened again, and Rebecca entered, carrying a bowl full of flat glass pebbles, such as were used for weighting vases. Angela floated over to intercept her, taking the bowl and placing it to one side on the table. The group re-formed around the table, Rebecca peering over Brother Michael's shoulder. Steven tried to catch her eye, but she was intent on the maps, as Tobler took a few counters and placed them on the layout.
Some talk ensued, as placements of Kindred and ghouls were considered. Steven kept an eye on Rebecca, but she was mostly silent, moving over just to his left to get a better view. Claude was beyond her, silent as well.
Rebecca reached to place a counter, starting to speak, and Claude reached in front of her, moving another counter a few inches, saying somewhat loudly, "We should spread out the coverage in this area, just in case."
Taken somewhat aback, Rebecca looked at Claude for a moment, then studied how he had moved the counter. Seeing that she was about to speak, Steven elbowed her unobtrusively, and she looked at him, obviously puzzled. He shook his head slightly in warning; she frowned, not understanding, and he shook it again, ever so slightly, trying to tell her not to speak. She blinked, looking thoughtful, and dropped her gaze.
Steven breathed an internal sigh of relief, hoping that she understood. Benjamin Harwood was speaking, his voice quiet and almost toneless, relating a sighting of the Sabbat in Union City. As he finished, Steven's heart fell as he heard Rebecca speak from beside him. "It seems that they--"
Claude's voice cut her off, stern as a schoolteacher. "Silence. Do not speak unless you are asked." His eyes were like flint, boring into her.
Rebecca took a step back, her voice sincerely apologetic. "I'm sorry... I just--"
"I said SILENCE!" roared Claude. His hand moved like a striking snake, hitting her cheek with hideous force; she staggered back into the wall behind them and fell to the floor.
Cold with shock, Steven watched her crumple bonelessly to the carpet and felt a wave of hot fury envelop him. He was aware of Jina, abruptly under the Ventrue's nose, her voice full of acid: "Hey, broomstick, get that log out of your ass long enough to listen! What the fuck did you think you were doing? She's not Ventrue, you moron, what the hell right does your tiny little brain think you have to do that?"
She continued, at length, in much the same vein, but the thunder in Steven's ears drowned her out. Beyond thought, he fought the rage, as he saw her fall, over and over. If he frenzied now, he would be dead; it was less a thought than an instinct, and he wrestled for control.
Inch by inch, he won himself back, coming to his senses gradually as Jina was winding down. "Steven could ask for your nuts on a plate if he wanted, you squarehead! Jeez. Stupidity reigns supreme in the land of the small-minded..." She sighed in disgust and turned her back on him, resuming her previous place amid a slightly uncomfortable silence.
Claude looked somewhat stunned, and Steven seized on an outlet for the pent-up fury heating his blood. He rounded on the smaller man, his voice tight with control, careful to focus on an acceptable outrage rather than the full truth. It was difficult, especially considering that he was still fighting to keep from tearing the Ventrue's throat out.
"That's my property, and the property of House and Clan Tremere you just damaged. You had no right to do that. You have disrespected the Tremere with your action, and I am fully within my rights to petition for your removal from this court. Your irresponsible actions reflect badly upon you and upon your clan, and cast a bad light on your position. Should my ghoul be damaged beyond repair, believe me, I will take it out of your hide."
Steven became aware of Tobler watching him closely, and the looming bulk of the Sheriff behind him. He took a tighter hold on the anger, gritting, "I will forgive this indiscretion, this time. However, any further mistreatment of the chattel of Clan Tremere will not meet with such leniency."
Claude bowed his head, muttering an apology, and Steven's fists slowly unclenched. He felt the Sheriff move away, and the tension dissolved. Tobler's attention was once again on the map table, Jina keeping a surreptitious eye on Steven, as the others focused again on the work at hand.
Forcing himself to walk slowly, Steven moved to where Rebecca lay motionless, his gut knotted around a tight ball of fear. He crouched beside her, conscious of any eyes which might be on him, and put a hand on her shoulder, turning her face away from the wall, torn between tenderness and the need to keep his secret.
Her eyes were open, but dazed, and he spoke her name twice before they focused on him. He kept his voice matter-of-fact. "Can you stand?" She frowned, winced a little, and nodded.
He stood, holding his hand out to her. After a moment, her hand crept up and took his, and he hauled her to her feet, leaning her against the wall for support. He took her chin and turned her face to the light, flinching inside as he saw the broad red mark, already swelling and turning pale in the center; it looked bad. She seemed alert enough, however, and he took her arm and guided her to the door. "Go find a servant, and get that looked after," he said coldly. "I will find you when I'm through here."
Still stunned, she just nodded, and he ushered her through the door, aching to take her somewhere she could lie down. She still looked unsteady, and he prayed she wouldn't fall and hurt herself further. Closing the door behind her was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and he steeled himself to walk back to the table, acting as though his heart weren't torn nearly in half with worry for her.
The others parted for him without an untoward glance, and he turned his mind to strategy with an effort.
Rebecca sat on a stool in the kitchen, as the cook clucked over her and bustled to assemble an ice pack. The butler had found her in the hall and taken her into the kitchen, while she concentrated on simply staying upright. Her face throbbed, and she felt sick with pain.
Claude's slap had caught her completely by surprise, the force of it hitting her before she knew what had happened. She had blacked out as she hit the wall, and drifted back as Steven was talking, his voice full of quiet fury. Confused, she wondered for a moment why he was so angry, before all thought was driven out of her mind by a white-hot spear of pain lancing into her skull.
It receded a tiny bit, centering just below her right eye, as she felt a hand on her shoulder, moving her. Steven's face swam into view in a haze of pain, and it took her a moment to comprehend what he was saying -- he seemed to want her to stand up, and she nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet.
The rush of blood as she stood up drove a spike into her cheekbone, and she flinched a little, barely noticing Steven's examination. He took her out to the hall and left her there; it took a second or two for her to realize that he was gone, not there beside her, guiding her.
She felt lost and alone, sitting in the kitchen, listening to the cook's ranting about careless brutality. A hand appeared in front of her, holding a toweled bundle, and the cook's voice, gentler now, said, "You just put that on your cheek, dearie, and you'll be all right. Such a beast it must have been that put it there -- I'd be happy to get my hands on 'im..."
Rebecca let the words wash over her as she put the ice pack very carefully to her cheek. Her face protested the slightest movement, and she had to keep from putting any pressure on it at all. Her head was clearing somewhat, and her mind started working again after a while as the painkillers kicked in. The healer's training woke, and she had a sudden desire to see how bad it was.
The cook's voice rose in concern as Rebecca stood, wandering blindly to the back of the kitchen. She found a small bathroom around the corner and ducked into it, turning on the light and peering into the mirror above the sink. The cook appeared behind her as Rebecca looked intently at the right side of her face, calculating as she took in the damage.
A bruise had already formed, looking very fierce in its early stages, with the center of it right where the pain was focused. She poked experimentally at it with a gentle finger, and was rewarded with a stab of white-hot agony. She hissed, and looked again as her vision cleared, examining it closely. The skin right under her eye was very slightly blue, fading to white and then purple around the edges; the bone was most likely broken, a theory reinforced by the extreme pain met by any pressure on her upper jaw. She sighed, drawing back from the mirror, and returned to the kitchen, the anxious cook placing her in a corner, out of the way but still under a watchful eye.
The pain made it difficult to think, so she didn't try, letting her mind go blank as she carefully plied her cheek with the ice. It occurred to her that she should probably go to the hospital to get the bone set, but her thoughts wandered before she could figure out what to do about it.
Steven found her there some time later, still staring into space and holding the towel to the bruise. She looked up as he said her name, obeying dully when he took her hand away from her face. He frowned, looked around quickly, and put an arm around her shoulders, helping her up. He spoke briefly with the cook as he guided her out, something about the ice pack, then they were in the hallway, and he paused before the main doors, dropping his arm and taking her elbow.
Jina came up to them. "Is she okay, then? Jeez, that looks like a nasty one -- might take some blood to heal it, but hey, that's what blood's for, right?" The Seneschal finished looking Rebecca over and turned to Steven again, holding out her hand. "It's been fun -- sorry about Claude, don't know what bug got up his butt. Take her home, give her a little vitae, she'll be fine in the morning... Hope to see you again soon. Take care!" Shaking his hand, she sauntered out the door, falling in behind Tobler.
Rebecca blinked as Steven settled her into the passenger seat, not remembering the walk out to the car. He closed her door, then got in himself and started the engine, folding his coat around him. He looked over at her, frowned again, and lifted her hand with the ice pack up to her cheek. She held it there numbly as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the driveway.
Steven was quiet during the drive to the chantry. He pulled into his normal parking spot, killed the engine, and sat for a moment, then turned to her, gently took her hand away from her cheek again, and turned her face to the light for a better look. She stared into space for a minute or so, then heard him say softly, "Rebecca."
She looked up, gazing blankly at him, and he studied her eyes for a moment, frowning. "Are you all right?"
Rebecca dropped her gaze, trying to think, and he brought his hand up to touch her cheekbone lightly. She yelped in pain and he snatched it back, startled, real concern in his features. She closed her eyes as the pain receded, and he asked, "How bad is it?"
She took a slow, deep breath, gathering words through the haze. "I think it's broken."
There was a slight movement next to her, and she opened her eyes to see him bow his head, fists clenched in his lap, muscles taut under the leather of his trenchcoat. He let out a slow breath and turned back to her, taking her chin in his fingers again. "Have you used blood to heal it?"
She blinked, confused. "Blood...?"
"Have you used any Kindred blood, vitae, to heal it?" At her blank look, he sighed. "My blood runs in your veins; one of the abilities it gives you is our ability to heal. Do you remember? Use it to heal the wound."
Yes, that was right. She remembered the vitae, remembered learning how to use it. Reaching for it, she tried to concentrate, tried to focus on healing the broken bone, mending the flesh. A wave of warmth flooded the right side of her face, taking much of the pain away, the remainder fading to a dull ache; her mind cleared, the world coming into focus. She sagged, suddenly exhausted.
Steven studied her a moment more, then got out of the car. He opened her door, taking her hand to help her to her feet, but when he tried to pull her up, she couldn't muster the energy to stand. He paused, regarding her as she sat half-in, half-out of the car, then knelt, put her arm over his shoulder, and hoisted her up in a fireman's carry.
Surprised, it took her a moment to relax, letting herself droop over his shoulder. He closed the car door and started up the walkway toward the back door to the chantry, holding her firmly with one arm. His stride made her a little dizzy, and the point of his shoulder dug into her ribs with every step.
There was a pause as he opened the door, then he took her up the back stair, down a hall, and stopped again. Opening another door, he carried her into her room, closing the door with his foot, and laid her down on the bed.
She looked up at him as he regarded her, a slight frown still marring his features. After a moment he doffed his hat and coat and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to almost touch the fading bruise on her cheek. He drew back again. "How are you feeling?"
She considered. "Better. Tired, but most of the pain is gone."
He nodded, his frown easing. "Good." Looking away, he said briskly, "You should probably make sure you don't talk too much around other Kindred, don't show too much independence. It would be taken to mean that I don't discipline you enough." He looked at her, his face stern. "If it seems like I go too easy on you, it could attract attention... Someone might use it as an excuse to take you away."
He let her absorb that for a moment, then looked down, fingers working at his left shirt cuff. "If you have things to say, you should let me say them, at least around others. It's too risky otherwise." He rolled back his sleeve with brisk movements, then looked up at her again. "Do you understand?"
She nodded, troubled, and he dropped his gaze. Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he made a slight, quick movement, then put a hand under her shoulder, holding his torn wrist to her mouth. "Drink."
She put her mouth to the wound, trying to ignore the taste of blood, swallowing the cool liquid quickly. As the rush of vitae filled her, she felt Steven tremble, heard him exhale a shuddering breath, caught in the pleasure of her feeding.
He let her drink for several moments, finally pulling away and running his tongue over the wound. She shivered with reaction, and he pulled her up and held her against his shoulder, still shaking a little himself. "You have to be careful," he said softly into her hair. "No one can find out, or you will be taken from me and Embraced.* Even one slip is too many." He bent his head to look at her, but she kept her eyes averted, and after a moment he sighed and let go, laying her back down.
Standing, he turned and brought the blankets over her, tucking her in with a tender care that belied his earlier remoteness. He removed her glasses and paused for a moment, his hand on her left temple, then he bent and ever-so-gently kissed her on the forehead. "Sleep now." His voice was soft, nearly a whisper.
Obediently, she closed her eyes, and heard him gather his coat and hat and walk quietly out. His steps paused in the doorway, then the door clicked shut, and there was silence, and sleep.
Footnotes
the map. For those who want a map of the Bay Area to follow the details (it'll come in handy), you can open this map in MapQuest. It will open in another window, rather than this one. Or else type "Berkeley, CA" into the online map site of your choice and zoom out.
Archbishop. Any Camarilla vampire with some knowledge of the Sabbat -- Claude, Tobler, and Germaine, here -- would know that the Sabbat models itself after a mockery of the Catholic Church. There is a position within Sabbat ranks called "Archbishop"; a Kindred calling someone by that title would raise some hackles in the Camarilla.
"The Archbishop of Fremont". Though technically within Alameda County, Fremont and Union City are a separate domain.
arson. The Sabbat are generally not quiet about their activities, but had been unusually sneaky lately, hiding their numbers and movements. Most of what could be traced to them was some gang violence in rough neighborhoods, and several fires in the hills and outlying areas.
"taken ... and Embraced". The Tremere discourage personal relationships among their members, feeling that they weaken the loyalty to the clan as a whole. Being blood bound to other Kindred is forbidden (save for a mandatory one-step bond to the Tremere Council), and any relationship that seems too close results in separation, including those with ghouls. The clan comes first.