Chapter 32

~~Jack~~

He pressed the button for the elevator to his apartment, and waited. Man, what a shit show. Walking alone with Jacob had been startling, but if his time with Antoinette had taught him anything, it was elders were like onions. You had to peel them to get to the layers. And they had a lot of layers.

It wasn’t the first time Jacob had taken interest to him. He interested the elder, as did Damien, because they were unpredictable. Jack always figured the more impulsive and brash Kindred like Jessy or Beatrice were unpredictable, but now that he thought about it, Jacob had a point. They weren’t unpredictable, just loud. So what the fuck was it about him and Damien that Jacob considered so unpredictable? What layer of Jacob would expose the fucked up thought processes of a five-hundred-year-old vampire.

Like trying to walk more tightrope, except made of spiderweb.

In the elevator. He sighed, looked around, sighed some more, and let his head hang as his thoughts drifted back to the Primogen meeting. Elders had layers alright, and one of those layers was painting Antoinette in a bad light. He hated it. It was easier to think of her as intelligent and wise, ancient but seductive and fun, not as a real person with issues and hangups and prejudice.

Course, the prejudice may have been justified. Fiona had already killed thirteen—twelve people, in ten months. Dolareido was a huge city, but that many kills in that amount of time in that specific area was bound to attract attention. The Invictus and the Prince could suppress the evidence, make it disappear, so the pictures of the claw marks and odd blood splatter didn’t attract the wrong kind of attention. But sooner or later, someone was going to wonder why people kept dying in mysterious circumstances in Devil’s Corner. Investigations would start, kine would get involved, and eventually someone would discover something they shouldn’t have.

With jangling keys, the familiar tink tink calling him home, he opened the door. Some peace and quiet, a moment to consider his thoughts, to—

“Hey Jack.”

“Mother fucking!” Keys up in the air, along with his hands, and panic levels. “B-Beatrice? The hell? Fiona?”

The two women were sitting on his couch, laughing and chatting, smirking and smiling, and all the things that came with breaking into someone’s home when you knew you could at any time.

“Saw this girl buzzing your number, said she knew you. So I helped her get in.”

“How!?” he said, arms up and waving.

“Well the elevator can be bypassed by climbing,” Beatrice said, “and your lock I can open cause I got mad skills. And I relocked it with your spare keys.”

Spare keys. Fuck, the spare keys. He’d meant to give them to Antoinette, but Beatrice dangled them from her claws before tossing them his way.

“Right, right, so ... um, hello?” He stood in front of the two girls, and gave them both the most angry, scrutinizing eye he could muster. Didn’t work; they just laughed and giggled.

“I wanted to talk,” Fiona said.

“Thought we did?”

“Aye ... I dinnae ken. Felt like talking, visiting a friend.”

Heh, friend. She really was the type to make friends easily, wear her emotions on her sleeve sort. It took months for Jack to make friends, but Fiona figured the connection was made in just several days.

Nodding, he threw his suit jacket on the couch arm and sat down across from them.

“Sure. Shit was pretty horrible today,” he said, “so I mean, yeah, hang out. Sunrise isn’t for a couple hours.”

Fiona smiled, beaming, and put her feet up on the table again.

“Jack, if Antoinette catches you hanging out with fiery Scots women in your free time, she’s gonna tear you in half,” Beatrice said.

Both girls laughed again.

“Beatrice, why’re you here? Figured you’d be at Julias’s place.”

The Nosferatu sighed, hopped off the couch, and helped herself to some of his blood from the fridge. His apartment was fast becoming a hangout.

“Worried about Jacob. This werewolf thing has him ... pretty fucked up. He’s gone silent psycho mode. Went out a few hours ago, still hasn’t come back to the base, so I figured I’d drop by and see you. Julias’s been worried about you. He couldn’t say why, official business and shit, but with werewolves — and monsters apparently — at our door, and you, well, being you, I figured you might have been involved.”

“ ... wait, what?” He threw up his hands again and slapped his knees. “You just assumed I’d be involved?”

“You have a habit of getting in the middle of shit,” she said. “Prove me wrong.”

Fuck.

“Not fair.”

“And to top of it all off, this gorgeous woman says she knows you, and she knew I was a vampire on sight. Tells me she’s a monster. Not a vamp or wolf, but a monster. Like, under the bed monster, in the closet monster, creepy things under the water monster.” The Nosferatu didn’t blink or anything, just shrugged and took a sip of the red drink. “She telling the truth?”

“Course I am!”

“She is.”

“Fuck me that’s scary.” Crocodile-mouth laughed. Scary, yeah right. Jack could see down her throat with how wide her mouth could open, the weird long tongue, the huge teeth where her cheeks should be. It was enough to make Fiona blink and stare, and then laugh too.

First it was Damien, and then Natasha, and now Beatrice. Fiona got along well with the younger Kindred, but seemed to irritate the older ones who knew about the Begotten.

“So are there others of your kind?” Beatrice said.

Fiona nodded. “Aye, all kinds, all sorts, with different hungers. I feed on punishing abusive, minging folk, but I know there are others. The Dark Mother showed me peeks of things in the ocean that fed on destroying ships, but nae folk. I saw things in the sky that fed on flesh. I saw things in basements with hoards of nick-nacks, and others in corporate headquarters with hoards of secrets. They all feed so differently!”

“Holy shit, so many nightmares I had as a kid now seem justified,” Beatrice said.

Fiona nodded. “That’s where we come from.”

“Eh, wha?”

“Nightmares. Horrors. That’s where Vrall came from, and the others without their own names. They come from the dream, where they feed. Even now I can feel her drifting through my lair.”

Both Kindred stared wide-eyed at the monster, talking about dream monsters like they were normal things.

The Nosferatu leaned in. “So, you ... you just ... feed on abusive people?”

“Nae exactly, I have to punish them. They have to ken they’ve done bad things, and that’s where the food comes from, for my horror.”

“Damn.” Beatrice tapped her teeth with one of her claws before taking another sip. “This Dark Mother shit sounds right up Jacob’s alley.”

“Oh oh! Can ye introduce me? I heard the Circle of the Crone is sort of similar?”

Jack raised a hand. “I was with Jacob a moment ago. Got into a bit of an argument with the werewolves. He uh ... clocked one of them pretty good, but otherwise, things went ... better than I figured they would? Sorta?” It was true. The whole night felt like it was building into a nasty battle, but through it all, Jacob hadn’t even taken a swing at Avery despite her prodding.

The more he talked with Avery, the less he liked her. Confident as fuck, and more than willing to get physical about it, even against a crazy bastard like Jacob. She seemed like she was trying to keep her pack safe, to take the hit for them; Clara taking the punch was a perfect example of what was probably going to happen instead.

“What has Jacob told you? About the Uratha,” Jack said, looking at Beatrice.

The Nosferatu raised a brow and set the glass down. “Fuck all; he’s avoided the topic. He mentioned the monsters, the, uh, Begotten, but didn’t bother with details; didn’t seem to worry him. Fuck me, if I had known scary ass shit like that was lurking in our city, I’d have ... fuck, I’d probably have sought it out.” Again, she laughed, Fiona right along with her. “But the Uratha seem to be his primary concern. If I had to guess, he had a personal issue.”

Shit. Shit shit. No one else talked about it, not their place. But...

“I’m sure Jacob will tell you when you speak to him next,” he said, “that the Uratha picked me to be the middleman for communications between them and the Kindred.” Beatrice nodded with his words, but her snake eyes squinted as she undoubtedly scanned him for hidden meanings. “But ... but, with Avery, you should ... walk lightly, Beatrice. Jacob has every reason to hate her. Every reason.”

“ ... Antoinette mentioned someone named Minerva,” Beatrice said, “one time, when she came to visit the Circle. She and Jacob got into a little fight, not long after Lucas died, and ... and she called Jacob out on being an asshole. And that, when he had someone named Minerva, he wasn’t an asshole. If you’re right, and he hates Avery that much ... guessing it has something to do with Minerva.”

He put up his hands. “Really, I shouldn’t talk about it. Ask Jacob.”

Beatrice eyed him closely, but nodded eventually and leaned back on the couch.

“Fiona,” Jack said, “you might want to find this Azamel.”

The redhead blinked at him, eyebrows raised and glancing Beatrice’s way. “Eh? Ye sure?”

“Yeah. Antoinette said she couldn’t stop you, and ... and I feel like there’s shit going on, but I don’t know enough to make a judgment call.”

“You two in cahoots or something?” Beatrice said.

Jack shrugged. Not in cahoots, he didn’t think so anyway. But Damien had asked him for a favor, and for some damn fucking reason, he wanted to follow through.

“There’s a connection,” he said, “between the Uratha showing up, and Fiona. Don’t know what it is, don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but from how the Prince mentioned Azamel, she ... she could have some answers.”

“I dinnae ken. Talking to Azamel could make me Antoinette’s enemy.”

“She doesn’t like you already.”

“Ha, true lad.”

Beatrice raised a brow as she listened, before eventually taking another sip of her drink and setting the glass down. “Azamel?”

“Another Begotten like Fiona. She’s ... well, I don’t know. She’s dangerous as all fuck, I know that much. But if she has information, I want it.”

“You’re biting off a lot to chew here Jack,” the Nosferatu said.

“If I can stop Jacob from doing something we’ll all regret, I’d like to.” Jack sighed, and buried his face in his palms. Monsters, werewolves, Azamel, and Jacob. If that was the list, Jacob was his biggest concern.

Beatrice didn’t look too convinced, but Fiona nodded and pat the girl on the back.

“Aye, I’ll find this Azamel, talk to her, see if she knows what’s going on with these werewolves.”

“And ... make sure you avoid the Uratha,” he said.

“ ... aye.”

No need to say it. The Uratha were hunting something. It could be her. If it turned out to be, Azamel might be her only hope.

~~Beatrice~~

Jacob didn’t come back to the Circle’s home last night. She awoke to a new night in her cubby-hole in the cave, moved the hanging fur aside — pitiful door drape curtain thing, really — and poked her head out to see what the others were up to. Still no Jacob.

Aaron drifted around, glancing between the book in his hands and the bone-covered walls. Some ghouls were around; they always were while the Kindred slept. They nodded, bowed to Aaron, and resumed cleaning the place, relighting candles or replacing them, adjusting where the candles sat upon skulls and such, or wiping excess wax from the bones. The ghouls were armed too, with shotguns. Shotguns hurt. A lot.

“Any idea where the boss is?” Beatrice said.

Aaron shrugged. “No. He never came back from the Primogen meeting.” Yeah, Jacob had a chat with Jack and the wolves after that, but the man had plenty of time to get back to base since then. “Well, he does like to disappear every so often, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Even with wolves around?”

Aaron shrugged again, found a wooden chair, and resumed reading.

Man was useless. She’d never seen the Gangrel actually do something, but Jacob valued his presence, and even his input from time to time. She chalked it up to her simply not knowing what was really going on, since that seemed to happen a lot. Tonight being no exception.

She wandered over to Othello’s hole in the wall. Lots of furs all around, but no kine or ghouls. She knew he had one female ghoul at least, a frequent treat of his, but she was nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t a good idea to keep your kine meals around during the day; if they woke up to sleeping Kindred, it wouldn’t end well.

Othello, wearing only a pair of dirty black jeans, sat up and stretched himself out. “Yo Triss.”

“Heya. Any idea where Jacob might be?”

“Nah. Fucker does his own thing ya know.”

“Yeah, but ... shit is kind of hitting the fan. Couple weeks ago I was investigating Invictus and Carthian bullshit, now we have monsters and fucking werewolves in the city and no Jacob.” She leaned against the man’s wall, and felt some of the hanging furs with her claws. So soft. “Don’t see you not having sex very often Othello.

“Don’t see you having sex ever, Beatrice.”

“Hey fuck you, I get laid all the time! Not that that should matter. The fuck is this, college?”

Othello laughed, and lay back down, hooking his fingers behind his head. “You started it. I’m sure Julias treats you nice though, in a mansion, full of pillows and money and free meals.”

He was looking for a fight. Was he looking for a fight? He chuckled and shifted around to get comfortable on the blankets; so exposed, she could drive her foot right into his balls. But the man was just probably just teasing her. Jacob liked to do that, joke with you, see how you reacted, try and pull some genuine emotion out of you instead of Kindred manipulations. She loved and hated that about her boss, as she was sure they all did. And Othello was probably just emulating him.

“Sorry I was smart enough to get in with good money,” she said, grinning. “You ever fuck underneath a chandelier, or lean back in a hot tub while a couple of kine massage your whole body while you fuck your lover?”

“Can’t say I have.” Bastard didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Did the hot tub thing sort of, just without a lover.”

“ ... ever have a lover?”

“Nope.”

Arrow to the chest. She didn’t react, didn’t give it away, but damn, she had thought Othello must have had at least some genuine relationships in his life. Nearly as old as Julias, and never had a real lover. Well, if it made him happy, good for him. But she couldn’t imagine going through a century of unlife without the tingling in her bones she felt when she was with Julias.

Jennifer hopped down from her hole; much higher in the cave wall than theirs. “We’re not all as lucky as you.” She walked up to them, wearing a simple black robe made for expensive bathrooms. The sort of robe you’d find in Julias’s place.

“Don’t suppose you know where Jacob went?”

“No,” Jen said. “I was with him, when he visited Julias though.”

Funny, kid didn’t mention her being there.

“Why?” She stepped out of Othello’s cave, and wandered back to her own to sit down on some blankets. Her laptop had no battery life left, and her smartphone was getting low too. She’d have to step out to get some power; probably to Julias’s.

“Jacob said he was going to go talk with Jack, and figured the kid would be at Mire’s, after that meeting. He only dropped by here for a moment before heading out again.” Jennifer shrugged and plopped down on the blankets next to her. “So naturally I wanted to go with him, and talk to Julias about my proposal.”

Oh god damn it.

“Really Jen? Kind of crossing the line don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t.” She smiled her cocky smile and sat, back against the little cave wall. “I was honest with him about everything. And he hit me with talk about love and stuff, worrying having another Kindred in the bed might ruin things, that he didn’t want to let you go blah blah.”

Beatrice smiled, not a cocky one though like Jen’s. Knowing Julias described her as his love to Jennifer, and purposefully dodging a threesome — a feat of willpower for any man, Kindred or not — was making her glow.

“What’d you tell him?” Jennifer said.

“Eh? Oh about you and your persistent horniness. I said ... well I said I was down as long as he was comfortable with it. If he’s not comfortable with it, then I’m sorry Jen but you ain’t getting a piece of this ass.”

The Ventrue sighed a dramatic, theatrical sigh, but nodded and adjusted her robe. “I’ll break him yet. Give me time.” They both chuckled. “Meet any of the monsters yet?”

“Yeah, a young one named Fiona, girl from Scotland. Short, curvy girl, huge rack, I’m sure you’d like her.”

Try as Jen might to keep her face straight, a grin and laugh worked their way onto her expression. “Maybe. Doesn’t sound like a monster though.”

“Yeah, she didn’t look or act like one. But damn, I felt something, Jen, in my guts. Girl looked fun, like a firecracker, sort of girl to take to a bar, get drunk, loves to party and dance and shit. But ... my guts didn’t feel that at all.” Felt like she’d been sitting near another Jacob. Something older even.

“I’m being left out then. Werewolves and monsters and I haven’t met any of them.”

“Well I got along with Fiona fine. I’ll introduce you sometime. You can try and get into her pants too.” Girl seemed friendly enough, at least enough to let Jen down easy if she wasn’t interested. “I—”

The familiar tap of soft shoes stirred them all to stand. Jacob walked into the grand cave, and all four Kindred came out to watch him, to read him, see what his attitude was.

Dude seemed kind of quiet, a little distant too. He didn’t look in anyone’s direction — not that it was easy to tell with the whole eyeless thing — and he kept his head pointed at the cave floor, fingers on his chin, and the occasional nod to no one.

Beatrice walked up to him. “Jacob, where you been?” Might as well dive in head first.

“Out.” The old man walked up to the blood bowl in the center of the cavern, and put his hands on the edge as he stared into it. It was empty. If he was planning on doing some more crazy Crúac madness, he’d be getting more. But the man just stood there, and stared into the bowl.

“I spoke to Jack,” she said as she stood opposite of him around the bowl. “Heavy shit.” No reaction from the old bastard though, so she tried again. “What’s the plan, boss?”

He shook his head. “No plan.”

“No plan?” Jennifer came up to stand beside her. A little further back truthfully, and understandably. “Monsters and werewolves have come into the city.”

“Yeah,” Beatrice said. “I can understand no plan for the monsters, they’re not causing shit. But—”

“Yet,” he said. “They’re not causing shit yet.” Maybe he did worry about the Begotten then?

“ ... ok, yet, fine. But the werewolves? We not planning to do something about them?”

“As long as we stay out of their way, they well do nothing to us.”

Passivity, from Jacob? She leaned in a little, enough to put her chin between his gaze and the empty blood bowl.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something happened, Jacob, with you and the werewolves ... and Minerva.”

Jacob raised his head, and she winced and jumped back. But the impending punch never came, thank god. She’d seen what it could do to Antoinette, and she doubted she’d still have her head if the old beast decided to hit her.

But he did no such thing. He looked back down at the bowl, but otherwise was as still as a statue.

“It’s not a secret,” he said, “that Avery killed Minerva. I prefer to not talk about it. Some memories are best left forgotten.”

Holy mother of god he was broken. No snap, no zing, no sneer or chuckle or even a smile. The old man just stared down at the bowl, dead still.

Beatrice stepped back in. “And there’s no plan? We’re not going to try and make them pay?”

The old man smirked. Finally, something normal out of him.

“It’s complicated Triss. Don’t get me wrong, nothing would make me happier than making them pay. Cause...” Another sigh before the old man walked away from the bowl and started to head toward his room. His was a hallway carved into the side of the grand cavern, and it winded like a snake into a larger room. Much different from the other holes the rest of them slept in.

And Beatrice followed him the whole way. Aaron had put his book down to listen at some point. Conversation had to be interesting if even he would stop reading to hear it. She shrugged at him, and followed the old beast. No one ever came to Jacob’s room unless it was urgent. But she wasn’t going to get an answer being passive about this.

“I won’t ask for details about Minerva. I figure she was important to you, very important, I get it,” she said. Jacob frowned over his shoulder at her, but she put up her hands in surrender. “Serious, I get it Jacob. And you’re telling me Avery killed her? Werewolf?”

“Werewolf leader now. The times they are a-changin’.” The Nosferatu sat down on his pile of furs, not dissimilar to the ones found in their rooms. The major differences were the ornaments he’d hung on the walls, bones with drawings etched into them, little flannel bags with feathers sticking out of them, some masks carved out of wood stained black, lots of creepy shit.

“She wasn’t before?” Most talkative-without-the-bullshit mood she’d ever heard Jacob in, might as well get some information out of him while she could.

“No. When the Uratha came to Dolareido in the fifties, they were lead by someone named Simon. Bit of an old man”—he was one to talk—”so he’s probably dead by now, either old age or a hunt gone bad. Hopefully the latter. Would have loved to see him get ripped open.” The old Nosferatu grabbed one of the skulls on the wall, a horse skull if Beatrice was right, and held it in front of him. Seeing an eyeless man examine an object was a weird sight.

“So ... Avery’s back. Older, and ... stronger, I guess? Back and in charge of a new pack?”

“Seems that way.”

“ ... got to be honest with you Jacob, I expected a little more of that fucking psycho I’d grown used to. And I expected that psycho to be full-on rage-boner hard right now, and concocting a plan to kill Avery horribly.” She leaned against the cave wall, and peeked behind her. Still just her, alone, poking the bear like an idiot.

Jacob frowned at her, but his gaze fell back to the horse skull, and he ran his fingers along its surface, its texture, its stained dirty white shape.

“You ever fought a werewolf, Triss?”

“What? No, course not. Hell I borderline figured they were a myth since no one talked about them, except to be scary. They—”

“Imagine ... a creature of claws, and muscle, of bone and strength. Think a Gangrel gone draugr, transformed with as much malice and blood as they can muster, talons and fangs and all. Now make them nine feet tall, drooling at the chops.” Jacob set the skull down beside him, and reached out to the wall for a small dagger, still sheathed. “Imagine one of these beasts in a building, tearing through the walls, ripping the ceiling apart like tissue, slamming its weight against brick and wood and snapping them apart with explosive force. You and your friends, your fellow Kindred, have stabbed the beast enough times that a dozen knives protrude from its arms, its legs, its stomach. One protrudes from its neck, and each step the Uratha takes causes blood to drip down its fur, covered in drywall powder. It doesn’t slow down. You fire your pistol into its chest. Each bullet lands, and you hear the thunk of the metal hitting bone or meat, and barely getting past the first inch of flesh. You panic and run outside, and as your friends lay siege to the building with fully automatic weaponry, you set the building on fire. Through the sounds of machine gun fire and the roar of the flames, you hear something roar louder. The werewolf bursts through the wall, howling, as it runs you down, and kills you.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Did ... did that actually happen?”

Jacob nodded, and with a slow hand, drew the dagger from its sheath. It shined with a glint she knew well: silver.

“Not to me, not in Dolareido. But I speak with witches in other cities from time to time. The dogs pass through some cities, and some have dogs that live there. Some of the idiot beasts hang out in the woods, in forests near villages. They hunt things, and they kill anyone that gets in their way.” He shook his head some more, and waved the small dagger in front of her. “I ask the Circle: how do you kill these fuckers? How do you make them suffer?” A deep breath and sigh later, he kissed the blade. “They say: don’t.”

Knock knock.

“Triss,” Julias said, smile on his face.

“Every time you open that door, it’s like a scene from a movie. You need new doors.” She unfolded her arms from her chest, and gestured to the enormous things and the ridiculous knocker, before stepping inside her love’s mansion. Heh, mansion.

“It helps scare away young Invictus who’d treat me like a mentor otherwise, or something.”

“Yeah, I can see that. The young ones can be real pests.” How Garry put up with people like her, she didn’t know. “Maybe you should dye your hair? Blond slicked back like that is classic mafia stuff.”

“But the mafia look helps scare them off too.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and how it was combed back over his head, slick to his scalp.

Laughter. A nice change from Jacob’s new somber attitude.

The laptop made a quiet thud as she set it down on a nearby table. No need to explain, Julias knew she wanted to charge it. She started to walk the halls of Julias’s mansion, and Julias followed after her. One of their usual games, since the man had such a huge home and she did love to explore it. Every time she visited, she found a new room she’d yet to see.

“We never explore the basement very much,” she said. “How much of it have you explored?”

“All of it,” he said. “It’s about what you’d expect from a man like Viktor. Lots of tunnels, hidden rooms, all dead ends so no one’s sneaking into the mansion that way. But he’s got a lot of rooms down there, and a dungeon with some skeletons, real ones.”

“Real ones?” Fucking creepy. Not that she was one to talk, given her old hangout in the catacombs.

“Yeah. Did you want to see?”

“Hmmm ... sure.” She hooked her arm around his, and started to walk like a proper lady. If she had an umbrella and a vintage dress, it would have fit much better than her white tank top, black jeans, and army boots.

Sure enough, Julias broke, and laughed until he had to find a railing to stabilize himself. She tugged on him before he could though, and he almost tripped until she caught him, only for her to return his laugh.

Good god they were giggling like a bunch of idiots in love.

“So,” she said once they got their bearings, “guide me.”

“Daaaaaaamn.” Her voice echoed down the hallway, and came back to her as a ghostly thing, drowned in the sound of old rocks and cold metal bars. It really was a dungeon, the sort of dungeon they had over a hundred years ago, the sort with old light bulbs hanging from dusty old cables from cracked concrete ceilings. “Must have built this during World War One?”

“Yeah. Earlier even, probably as a tunnel, and he had the cells and such added later.”

“Did Viktor never bring you down here?” she said.

“No. He was a private man from the day I met him.”

She walked ahead of him, and peeked around corners to look into the empty cells and their dangling chains, their metal chairs and tables, before looking over her shoulder at him.

“ ... Viktor was a real fucking monster.” Maybe too much, insulting his old sire like that.

“Before his long torpor, he wasn’t so bad.” The white knight came up to her, and put an arm around her shoulder as the two slow walked through the abandoned tunnels of Viktor’s underground dungeon. “In fact, he was a great mentor. I learned a lot from him, and he was happy to share his skills with me. He was brutal, ruthless, cold, but ... wise, and when others would get angry or irrational, he stayed cool, calm. He could cut through the shit and get to the heart of the problem; and come out on top. He taught me how to read people. He taught me how to play poker. He wasn’t ... actively vicious.” He hugged her a little tighter, and she sank her head into the nook of his arm. “Came back from sleeping for years a nefarious, diabolical creature.”

“Good word use.” That got some more chuckles out of her man. “I barely knew Jerem. Horrible monster of a man stalked me, I know that, before he turned me. I used to catch glimpses of him in the shadows, this weird man who kept popping up out of nowhere. He had this weird crocodile kinda mouth, and I thought he was wearing a creepy mask or something. Fuck, if only I knew.” She stopped by one of the cells, and stepped inside. There were a few bones on one of the tables, including a skull. Damn Viktor was a strange man to keep this shit in his home.