Chapter 16

~~Damien~~

There is much you can see from above.

Damien sat there, sullen, in the dark, until the image of it made him shake his head. If anyone had the right to be emo, angst, edgy, dark and brooding, it was him, but things were different now and every action had purpose and goals. He sat atop one of the tallest towers of South Side, and he peered through his telescope. Not some child’s toy either, but a genuine, expensive, heavy machine he’d carried with him up the tower.

There were several such towers, and he knew which ones were safe to perch from and observe the city in peace. The Carthians, the Invictus, even the occasional witch from the Crone, he knew their faces and he knew their patterns. For fifty long years he watched, waited, analyzed, stalked, and it was all starting to come together, now that Lucas was awake once more.

He hoped.

This tower he chose because it allowed him to see into Jack Terry’s room. The boy was standing by his large window, and he was ... practicing poses of intimidation. He had a glass of blood in one hand, his other hand in the small of his back behind him, and he was trying to stand up straight with good posture. It did not suit the small vampire.

He could kill Jack, of that there was no question. He could have killed Natasha and Jessy too, if he hadn’t let his guard down and suffered a bullet to the face to start their fight, and hadn’t been trying to subdue them instead of kill them. That defeat still ate at him. Jack, he could kill in his sleep, but the boy deserved no such fate.

His lover did, and that was why he watched him. Information was deadly, and any he could gleam from Jack about Antoinette would be worth it. If the worse came to pass, he could kill Jack to make sure she suffered, but it would be a hollow victory. And it would doom him. The Prince would burn the city to the ground looking for him, and even he could not avoid that.

He could kidnap Jack, hold him hostage, but then the Invictus and the two Dragons would rain death upon him and the Lancea et Sanctum. The Carthians would probably join in just to watch the fire.

Every fiber of his being, every shred of dust and ash in his withered insides wanted that Prince dead. He wanted to see her crucified and left for the sun. He wanted to collect her ashes and throw them into the the sewers.

But he couldn’t do it. Not for any ethical, moral, or even political reason. He simply did not have the strength. Lucas was only just awoken from fifty years torpor; it would take him months, even years to fully recover the strength he once had in his prime. All Damien could do was believe in his sire. He had a plan.

Movement. Jack was turning from the window to answer the door.

~~Antoinette~~

How long had it been, since she had walked the streets of her city so openly?

She had to be careful, for more reasons than most. As Prince she was a target, her second death would cause a power vacuum many hoped for. But there were other, more subtle reasons, such as her distinguished features. It meant that older humans could recognize her quite easily, even if they hadn’t seen her in half a century. Kindred faces did not appear on camera or film easily, the beast was a sly creature capable of avoiding such things, but a human’s eyes had no such issue.

Still, it had been a long time since she’d let her face be openly known to the public, and that meant she could walk the streets if she wished. And now in the modern times, her white hair, her red eyes, they were just expressions of the latest fashion with hair dye and contact lenses. Naturally.

“What do you want to do about Lucas?” her sheriff said.

Daniel was next to her. The tall, quiet man with his monotone voice kept pace with her as if he was inanimate, like some sword in its sheathe. Something about the way he moved, trench coat and unassuming face behind those boring glasses, was enough to make any approaching kine step aside and give them both a wide berth.

“I am not sure. No doubt it was Tony’s death that sparked his return, but Viktor’s death would only harm his inevitable attempts to reestablish the Sanctified.” She gave a small shrug and kept walking. Even for a midnight stroll through her city, she would not be caught wearing something as drab as a trench coat. Instead she wore a black night coat with fur for cuffs and neck lining, with the straps of a corset along the coat’s back.

Daniel adjusted his glasses. “He hides in Tony’s complex, but has managed to convert many. His approach is the opposite of what I expected.”

“What he did last time is why we killed them, Daniel.” Antoinette gave him a quick glance, but kept walking. The topic of conversation was very sensitive, but meaningless to any kine who overheard. “Now he attempts passivity, as if he were Ghandi. I suspect I will have to deal with him and that childe of his before their veil of deceit succeeds over their new congregation.”

Daniel made the tiniest flinch. “Of course Voivode.”

“Daniel, I know you spared the boy for a reason, but if he wastes your generosity, I expect you to have the will to deal with him.” Her voice grew cold, ice, and she reached out to take her sheriff by the arm. She squeezed the wrist just hard enough to force him to look at her.

His eyes, as monotone as his voice, managed to hold her gaze until he adjusted his glasses again. “Yes Voivode.” The slight twitch in his lip was enough to let her know he was listening.

“Good.” She let go, and they resumed their stroll. She did not enjoy being harsh on her sheriff, but circumstances had changed. Things were simpler when it was simply the two of them holding the city through sheer force, and keeping the other covenants under her control. Now she maintained an unsteady peace with two covenants, while one hid in the dark and the other seemed content to rise as Jesus.

She let out a quiet groan and brought a hand to her face. “Once that fool Lucas is dealt with, as well as that sneaky childe of his, I will have to deal with Jacob.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“Of course not. He plays his games for chaos and carnage. If I let him, he would have the entire city sectioned off, and he would let survival of the fittest rein within.” Her voice turned to bile. “No respect for the Masquerade, for the Danse Macabre, or anything that would last the tide of a revolution by the kine.” She gritted her teeth and shook her head. How could the fools not understand? Lucas and his idiot religion would not survive technological growth, and neither would Jacob’s Circle of the Crone. At least the Invictus understood that, and the Carthians.

In a hundred years, space travel could very well be commercial, and each decade brought with it new ways to expose Kindred everywhere. Could they not see the future? Were they so blind as to the dangers? Idiot children. Worse yet, idiot old men incapable of adapting.

She bit down on her fangs. Now she was angry. Things had been going so well, but Lucas’s return and Jacob’s games had ruined her delightful mood. “Daniel, return to the tower and have my assistant cancel my three o’clock. I will be spending the remainder of my time with Mister Terry.”

With only the smallest nod, he turned and started to walk, but he only managed a foot before she took his arm again.

“Daniel, your childe is already involved in this. You should warn them.”

“ ... yes, Voivode.”

She knocked.

Oh, how long had it been since she knocked on someone’s door? It seemed like such a simple thing, but now she realized it was a rarity in her life. It made her chuckle. She made sure to step aside so Jack would not be able to see her clearly through the peephole.

He opened the door with barely a check. “Hello?”

She reached out, grabbed him, and pinned him against the wall of the hallway. It was one of the more modern apartment buildings, where each floor contained only one apartment, all connected by a single elevator, each with a single small entrance lobby. It also meant no one could knock unless Jack had buzzed them in. She had her ways, of course, and had bypassed it. And still Jack had opened the door as if nothing was unusual.

“My dear boy, you are much too trusting.” She leaned down to put her forehead against his, and met his gaze with a wicked grin.

“My Prince! I ... um...” Aha, she had caught him with his guard down. He even looked ashamed. “You’re right, sorry. Just habit.”

“I am glad you are home though. Please forgive my unannounced visit, but I could do with a distraction.” Too forward? Nonsense. She didn’t let go of his wrists though, and kept them pinned to the wall.

He looked so confused, like a deer in headlights. “Um, I ... you’re ... alone.”

“I am alone. Is that surprising?”

“You’re the Prince! I expected bodyguards, the sheriff, sniper sights tracing me right now!”

She laughed. “Were it but fifty years ago. The elders would hide in their homes and let their ancillae wolves handle the fighting between covenants. There is peace now, and I can once again walk my streets without fear of such mindlessness.” She lowered her face further, until her lips were grazing the boy’s and her nose was nudging against his. “But even in such times, I took care of myself, little Ventrue.”

“Wow. Just ... it’s like, royalty knocking on my door, ya know?”

“Like? Prince is a Kindred title of politics.” She pressed her lips against his, and drank in his green, wide eyes as she did so. “You, my dear lover, have been fucking the Queen.”

Oh the look in his eyes lifted her spirits immediately. He was so delightful, the way they opened wide with her words, realization and exhilaration and shock and fear mixing in only a split moment of awareness. She let go of him then, and took a step back to give him way. Once he realized why, he gave a small ‘ooh’ and stepped inside to hold the door open for her.

She recognized the apartment’s style. “You truly are Julias’s childe. But I admit there is a certain elegance to the simplicity.” The apartment took up the whole floor of the building, and every room with interconnected with few walls. Minimalist, with cool colors. Of course, there was the huge window that overlooked a huge chunk of South Side. Its sister building across the way had the same. People often stood in the windows and looked at each other. No one waved, but some managed smiles. Some did a little more than smile.

“Sorry, sorry! And, uh, I didn’t know you were coming. So I...” Jack looked around, scratched at his buzzed hair, and gave her a quirky smile. There was no mess, but there wasn’t much of anything.

“Most Kindred your age would be hanging any memento they could of the time of their death. Something that would mark the time period they passed. Do you not have any idols?”

“It’s never been my thing, I guess.” He put his hands out for her coat, and she obliged. Underneath she wore her business suit, though it was closer to a dress than a suit, and its ample cleavage and exposed knee was more than enough to pull the boy’s gaze. “I can sit, and listen to a virtuoso for hours, and focus on the depth and technique and complexity of the composition, but it just never occurred to me to put their picture up on my wall.”

The boy was skilled in active music listening then. A rare talent. “It sounds to me that you prefer to focus on the art, and not the artist, yes?” She sat down on his couch, a lovely thing of black softness, and folded a leg over the other. “To truly let yourself be captured in the moment of art is a skill rarely found in kine, Jack. It is something many Daeva look for in a potential childe.”

“Really?” He plopped down next to her on the couch. He too was in a suit, something far more casual, and she could smell the after-scents of kine on him. From the smile and the smell, he must have returned from a successful hunt.

“Indeed. That level of focus, and awareness? It is impressive, and it brings me joy to know that you have it.” She curled a finger at him, and he slid closer along the couch. “It is why you have an innate talent for the Ventrue discipline dominate. To focus so purely and completely?” She pointed at her eyes, and then his own. “It is the same focus a conductor uses to weave together a massive tapestry of dozens of instruments across movements.”

And he went deer in headlights again. She rolled her eyes, and laughed. Such talk could be saved for between Julias and his childe, but it was nice to know there was more depth to Jack than what was obvious. Even as he stirred uncomfortably while she watched him, the hints of self-awareness dripped from his movements. The way his eyes flickered for a second when he looked between her and an object, the way his fingers tapped subtle rhythms, it all left small droplets of thinking, processing, and being trapped in his thoughts.

She would pull him out of those thoughts into the moment, and enjoy doing so.

She blushed life. It was enough to bring the boys eyes up, and a smile. That expectant, nervous, excited smile. “Blush for me,” she said, in a way she’d grown accustomed to. And like a well-trained husband, he broke into a big smile and did as told. Warmth returned to their skin, as did color, and the heat of fake life.

“I still feel horribly unprepared, this place is just an apartment. You’re royalty!”

“And that is why I walk the streets alone instead of with an army of ghouls and ancillae, like Viktor would.” She chuckled all the more. “Ruling, for Kindred, is in the action, not the presentation. But,” she waggled a finger, “a little presentation never hurt. Have you decided on what to wear to the ball?”

“The ball ... er...” He shuffled, squirmed, refused to look at her, and even dragged his feet along the hardwood floor. “I haven’t. Julias purchased me some things, cause ... you know, never going to change size-wise.”

“Mon cheri, you must fetch them! The ball is in only a few days, and while Julias has a good eye, he does not have mine.” Her French accent erupted into full bloom. Hazy, distant memories of trying on dresses back in Europe crept into her mind, and faded away just as quickly, like dreams. But the emotion was there, and it touched on her and made her giggle.

Jack blinked a few times at her, then was up with a bounce and running down the hall. Nervous, as always, but excited too. In a few minutes, he had several garment bags thrown onto the counter of his kitchen.

“Heh, this could be fun. I never thought about doing this with you. Always seemed like the kind of thing to do before you meet the girl.” He moved to the window and reached for the curtains. They were only open a couple feet, and now that he was aiming to close them, a thought dawned on her.

“Leave them open.”

“Antoinette?”

“The curtains, leave them.” She brought her fingers to her chin and rested her index upon her lip, complete with a wicked smile. “And try on some clothes for me, s’il vous plaît.”

Conflicted. What would he do? He would obey, of course, after debating it in his mind as he always did. He would consider his options and realize she was presenting him the opportunity for both growth, and exhilaration. And after a moment he did as requested, with the occasional glance toward the window as he started to undress.

“A few windows across the street can see into here.”

“Let them see, then. They are just kine, and no Kindred of age would care.” She took her own glance at the window, and then back to the young man stripping in front of her. “And any who see you would only grow hungry for you, as I do.” She pulled her skirt up a few inches on one leg, and let the fingers of her other hand drift up her thigh.

“I ... uh ... should I—”

“Do not stop, little Ventrue. I would like to see the clothes.”

The way he squirmed and struggled with the mixture of so many avenues of stimulation was like a tasty dessert. He’d glance out the window as he stripped off a piece of clothes, then back to her, and she’d entice him with her wandering fingers while she sat on the couch. Before long, he was down to simple undergarments, and trying on a suit.

“Hmm. It is lovely, but too business imposing. The ball will be formal, but not business related. It is a black tie event.”

Jack scratched his head and looked down at his suit. “The tie is black.”

Laughter just poured out of her. “Oh Jack. Silly boy, I mean a tuxedo.”

“Oh!” He started to undress again, and once down to his boxers, he unzipped the bag containing the tuxedo. “But ... it doesn’t have a tie. It has a bow tie, but — why are you laughing?”

It was too much. The utterly perplexed expression on his face had her in fits of laughter. Her voice grew to a volume she’d not used in ages, and it was all joy. When she managed to recompose herself long enough to look at Jack, he was torn between smiling and looking offended, and it only made her laugh harder.

She got up, and with a swiftness that took her lover by surprise, she scooped him up into her arms and hugged him. “Never you mind the insanity of it all. Just show me your choice of tuxedos ... later.” She set him down on the couch, and replaced him as the one on display.

“Later? I ... oh.”

With slow teasing, she started to undo the buttons of her suit jacket. “I love to indulge in great displays of wealth, power, presence, such as a tuxedo or dress, when it is not a question of politics. I can faintly remember, when I was but a young ancilla hundreds of years ago, walking down grand stairways with silk dress twenty-feet long following behind me, tied to my naked body at the wrists. Musicians would be there, playing gentle music on strings, and before me a host of kine, men and woman alike, waited and bathed in a pool of warm waters. I would drink of them all, and the moans of sex would fill the corridors.”