Chapter 80

~~Antoinette~~

Oh no.

She sat upon the highest floor of her tower, a tower she had built upon what she designated would be Elysium territory, where Kindred-on-Kindred violence was prohibited, where feeding was prohibited, and where discussion was encouraged. To place her tower within its embrace was a choice she had made, a political stance signifying her devotion to peace and cooperation. And within the highest floor, her main office was her place of control, and where she could personify coolheaded wisdom.

She was boiling. Despite being a creature of death, with no heartbeat of her own, heat filled her body, scalding, raging. She pushed away her laptop along the desk, stood from her grand chair, and walked to the enormous window to stare out over the thousands of lights of her city.

How dare they.

She snarled as she folded her arms across her chest, and stared out the window. How dare they. She would kill them, absolutely, utterly demolish, rend them asunder, and drown her tower in their blood.

She reached behind her and dialed in to the comm system. “Miss Vola, come to my main office immediately.”

Natasha’s tiny voice chipped in over the small speaker. “Um, y-yes Prince. Is there—”

“Now.”

“Yes m-ma’am!”

Sighing, Antoinette turned around and looked out the window once more. It was her city, her labyrinth of tunnels, buildings, alleys, sewers, brothels, casinos, bars, hungry corporations and sprawling districts of factories and neighborhoods. A perfect place for Kindred to herd and control the kine. A perfect place for hunters to hide and reek havoc on her and her kin.

How had she not seen this coming? Poor Jack. To lose his first life’s family, at this age? The gal of these hunters, to murder innocent humans for the sake of their vengeance. It was unheard of. For all the flaws of hunters, for all their murderous intents and all-consuming obsessions, they did not kill innocent humans. To kill a vampire’s previous family, to either draw a vampire out, or to inflict pain upon him, was absurd.

It would not have been hard for the hunters to learn of Jack’s first family. They knew the boy was a young vampire, and they knew his name. To search the city’s obituaries and missing persons reports would have been easy for many hunters, and from there follow the trail back to the Kindred’s first family. But, there was almost never a reason to be concerned over them. Only juvenile Kindred, fledglings with grudges, bothered to harm other Kindred through their first families, and such mindless acts of cruelty were rare. All Kindred knew that first families were things they all had to lose at some point, and to assault a fellow vampire through that tie was only going to free them of that burden sooner. Free them, and turn them into bitter enemies.

But these hunters did not think this way. They did not think in terms of centuries, only in weeks or months. They did this to hurt Jack, and perhaps draw him out, perhaps force him to make a mistake and get himself killed. How that could help them with their goal of killing Azamel, she did not know. Perhaps Angela was simply pursuing payback.

Jack. She sighed as she hugged herself, one hand combing a wave of her hair that cut over her shoulder to her chest. The boy likely knew by now, and had not contacted her. She knew why. The boy had told her of his father’s death, and of how much it had hurt him, how badly he had pulled into himself. No doubt he was afraid of doing such a thing to her. Or, perhaps, he was afraid of her, that she would shatter the now fragile state of his mind. She could not deny, that if Jack entered the room at this very moment, she would be overwhelmed with the need to hold him, cradle him, hug him and tend to his wounds.

If the boy, likely holding onto the strength of himself to keep from crumbling, stood before her now, and she could not help but lament for him, he would either retreat into himself, become cold and numb as he did with his father, or he would fall to pieces in emotional turmoil. The latter was necessary at some point, in order for the mind to move on, to mourn, and Jack was intelligent enough to know that. But was he wise enough to internalize that and understand it? Kindred were not kine, and had to come to terms with the end of their first life, and its remains, in unique ways. She had seen it in others; all Kindred her age had. Such was the way of immortal beings.

To make matters worse, the age difference between her and her love was vast, and Kindred did not age as kine did. For all her knowledge, she would forever have the mind of a thirty-year-old woman, and to hold the wisdom of ages in such context could make any conversation about matters strangely painful, and a touch awkward. What could she say to him that would not feel like pandering, or placating? Hollow. Words would fail her.

Perhaps it was best she let the boy come to her, when he was ready. And when he did, she would have to say nothing emotional, and be very careful with how to look at him. Every fiber of her being wanted to scoop him up, hold him in her arms, and embrace him tight enough to wash away his pain. And there would be a time for that, but not until the boy ... the man, had, on his own, accepted and internalized the reality of his situation. There was no way to help him with that, except to give him space.

And that drove her to rage. Being powerless, was infuriating. It was not a feeling she felt often.

The door opened. She looked over her shoulder, and offered her little student a smile. “Vola, please, come, stand with me.”

“Y-Yes Prince. You s-s-sounded ... upset, on the phone.” Vola trembled a few times as she came closer. Perhaps Antoinette had been harsher with her voice than she realized.

“I am, though not with you, Natasha. Fret not. Have you seen the news?”

“N-No, I haven’t. I’ve b-been reading mythology, ancient m-monsters, seeing if there was any hint about ... about m-m-monsters like Azamel, or the others.” She nodded to herself as she looked down and held her chin in her fingers, digging through her mind. “I d-d-don’t watch the news much these days, honestly. When I was in the Invictus, I m-monitored our internal network that our thralls curated.”

Antoinette had a similar network, though she had long given instructions to her thralls to curate only the most important information; her decisions were made on a larger scale than the Invictus. But her thralls knew who Jack Terry was, who his first family was, and had sent her the information. Would the Invictus? There was always the possibility the boy did not know what had happened, and perhaps she should—

No. Let him come to you, Antoinette. He is not a boy, he is a man, and a vampire. It is important that he overcome the first stages of his grief on his own. Kindred were solitary creatures by nature, and she knew, if she violated those instincts, she might drive her love into himself.

She could ask Julias, if Jack knew about his mother. It was tempting, but as much as she wanted to pry, poke, learn and discover more about the situation, it was better to let the boy and his sire handle it on their own. In the relationship between Jack, Julias, and the boy’s first family, she was the outsider.

As Natasha stood beside her, as Daniel often did, Antoinette sighed, and nodded out toward the city. “Do any of your first family still live, Natasha?”

“Um, I have an uncle, v-very old now. Lives in Canad-d-da. I have some cousins, and their children, and ... b-but I haven’t talked to any of them. I d-d-didn’t talk to them even b-before I was embraced.”

Nodding, Antoinette refolded her arms, combed her hair, and forced down the urge to run out into the city to find her lover. “When Kindred come to me, and ask if they can be allowed to bring members of their first family into their second life, I acquiesce, but not without warning. Fledglings, and young neonates, are often at the mercy of their attachments.”

“I ... I’m n-not sure what this is about, Prince.”

“These hunters are far more brutal than any group of hunters I have met before, to the point they are willing to kill innocents to achieve their goals. And despite their goal of killing Azamel, a Begotten, they are well versed in dealing with Kindred. They know our weaknesses, especially those of our young neonates.”

“Um, I—oh! Oh no, no n-no, they didn’t ... kill Jack’s...”

Her student was intelligent, very much so; Daniel had chosen well. With a sigh, Antoinette looked down at the tiny woman beside her, before looking back out to the city.

“His sister, Mary, is dead. His mother sleeps in South Center Hospital, in critical condition. She may survive. She may not.”

“Oh god, J-J-Jack. Have—”

“I do not know if Jack knows, though if he does not, I imagine he will before the night is over. We have yet to speak.”

“You haven’t t-told him? You ... oh. B-Because, he ... he’s...”

She nodded, but did not explain. Her little assistant was smart enough to piece together the puzzle on her own. Jack needed to deal with this on his own first, before coming to her. It would only be hours, after all, enough time for her love to wrap his mind and feelings around what had occurred, at least a precursor attempt, before he returned to her tower to sleep for the day. And when he did, the challenge would be on her to discover how to handle him.

It was a strange way for the tables to turn. Jack had spent most of his interactions with her trying to figure her out, to know how to react and act around her, no doubt. Now, she was the lost one, unsure of how to act and react around her little Ventrue. It was a not a feeling she enjoyed, after being in control of everyone close to her for so long.

But Jack’s family was not the only reason she had summoned her student.

“Natasha, I have a mission for you.”

“Oh?”

“You are to go to Jacob, and join his sweeper team.”

“Um ... w-what?”

What indeed. She wanted to send Natasha to find Jack, to make sure the boy was ok. But that was not what her city needed at the moment, painful as it was to admit.

Antoinette forced a smile, and looked down at her student. “In this Dance Macabre, we must forever do two things with one action. Give with the right hand, take with the left. You are to present this gift to Jacob, and he will be forced to accept. If he denies me, he knows I will be suspicious of his actions; and I am, we all are. But if he outright refuses to have you accompany his team, then he exposes that such suspicion is warranted. And he knows that. He will have to make a choice about what message he wishes to send, by either accepting you or denying you.”

“B-But, what if he accepts?”

“Then we know that his team did not intend to perform matters he wished to keep secret. And upon that, since I am sure neither Uratha or Begotten will be joining Jacob’s team, you will be a valuable asset. And, upon that again, I would like to know what the witches are up to. No doubt the old Nosferatu is interested in this shaman woman working for the hunters, so do not be surprised if he seeks to learn more about her, or capture her.” She could not deny that she, too, would like to get her hands on this woman. The things she could learn from her, digging into her mind, dissecting her thoughts — or actual brain — would no doubt lead to secrets Antoinette had long sought after.

“That is a lot-t-t of ... of information to learn, from o-one maneuver.”

“Indeed.”

“And, um, I c-could just ask Beatrice.”

Antoinette shook her head before looking back out to the city. “As much as she may be your acquaintance, and perhaps friend, she is a loyal sort. She will trust Jacob, even as ... even as I hope she can touch the man’s soul, before he crumbles under the weight of his own thoughts.”

“Thoughts?”

“A personal request I made of her, to help Jacob escape the pit of misery forced on him by Avery.” Not that Antoinette could deny Minerva was flirting with lines she had been warned to avoid. “I believe it is working. But, I hope you can discover more. And ... I hope you can find the hunters.”

“Yes, I’ll d-do my best.” Nodding, she turned to look out at the city too. If she was trying to be as still as Antoinette, she was failing horribly, squirming in her own skin. Normally the Prince would find it adorable, but at the moment, she did not.

“What would you do, Miss Vola?”

She squeaked, and looked up at the Prince again. Antoinette did not break her gaze from the city, and after a while, the tiny Mekhet looked out the window again.

“About Jack? I ... I d-d-don’t know.”

“I will ... discover eventually, what to do about my love’s pain. But, it is not him specifically I speak of.”

“Not Jack? Then I’m not sure. Um, there’s ... there’s ... oh. Samantha T-Terry.”

“Oui. My network is now monitoring her closely. I do not know if Jack knows she’s in there, or if he has already been to see her, but...” With a wince, Antoinette turned around, and walked over to her desk. A click later, the camera feed menu for the hospital room for the critical condition ward appeared, and she selected Samantha’s room.

And there she was. A tattered, broken, dying woman, with tubes coming out of her, wires attached to her, needle in her arm, and large machines beside her. The feed did not have audio, but that was probably for the best. The sound of a machine keeping her alive and warning of her vitals was not a sound Antoinette wished to hear.

“Oh no! Oh, oh that’s horrible!” Natasha raised a hand to her mouth as she stared, wide-eyed at the sight. “P-Poor Jack.”

“She was stabbed, many times, as was her daughter.”

“Stabbed? It m-m-must have been Angela. She ... she’s a ... psychopath.”

Nodding, Antoinette sat down at her desk, but did not turn off the camera feed. She stared at the screen, sighing, and combing her hair over her shoulder; it did not help. No matter how she tossed the thoughts in her mind, rearranged and molded them, she could not help but stare at this image in front of her.

“I have no memory of my family,” Antoinette said. “I am ... without personal context, for this attachment.” With an open palm toward the screen, she leaned back in her chair, and began to slowly rock. “I understand loss, and the emotional damage it causes. But there is a unique element to family, to a connection etched into the very foundation of the mind, that I can no longer appreciate.” The curse of a vampire’s immortality.

Natasha sniffed, and shivered a little as she came in closer, standing beside Antoinette and staring at the screen. “My mom and dad, I ... I can ... can still remember what it felt like, t-to be safe in their ... their arms.”

The Prince smiled at the small woman beside her. No wonder her necklace of old had summoned a spirit of safety. It was an emotion instilled deep into her being, something in her core memory, perhaps to never be lost. Alas, unlikely. With centuries, all memories faded, and the connections Kindred had to what made them human faded with them. To hold onto their humanity was the eternal struggle.

For a young Kindred to lose so many of those ties so quickly was not a good thing. It could send the boy spiraling into a pit of misery, resentment, and then hatred.

Hatred. She had still not talked to him about this supposed hatred Natasha told her of, the anger and fury her little Ventrue was supposedly capable of. If she spoke true, and her love had wells of rage within him, this event could very well push him into that spiral.

Her little Ventrue was very talented for his age. He would grow to become a greater Ventrue than Viktor or Julias, and she would be happy to have him at her side for decades, centuries, or longer. It would almost be a classic scenario of a man and woman from different kingdoms, getting married to create peace. She doubted Jack would ever join the Ordo Dracul, and she knew she would never join the Invictus, but that did not mean they could not work side by side for eternity. And love each other, for eternity.

It was an image of her future she held dear to her heart, and the thought that it might be torn asunder, poisoned, or tainted by horrible, cruel realities befalling her love infuriated her. The idea that Jack might become as twisted, hateful, and paranoid a man as Viktor was a terrifying one. How quickly such a thought left the realm of absurdity, and into to the realm of possibility. Natasha’s warning about his rage, and now this?

She had to fix this.

“D ... Do you think ... w-we could make her a ghoul?” Natasha said. Naturally, her student was thinking the same thoughts.

“I do not know if she would survive it. She is a step away from death, with wounds extreme enough to kill a ghoul. There’s potential brain damage, as well, which could have dire consequences if she survives the transformation. And above all, how would Jack feel about his mother now being addicted to vitae, and also under the spell of the Vinculum?” Shaking her head, she reached out, and zoomed the picture in. South Center Hospital embraced technology; the luxury of money. The picture was crystal clear, and showed the paleness of Jack’s mother, and her limp, comatose body. “You know I encourage Kindred in my city to only create ghouls of kine they have both groomed, but also explained the dire consequences of being brought into the fold.” As it was encouraged with creating Kindred, of course. Antoinette’s sympathy for ghouls was well known, to the point it had led to many altercations between her and Lucas.

To become addicted to a vampire’s blood, and to become enslaved to the Vinculum and how it forced the ghoul to become obsessed with the master, were not aspects to dismiss or treat lightly. She had explained to Ashley and Julee, to the best of her ability without risking the Masquerade, what she had been asking of them. They had agreed. No one could ask a woman in a coma such questions.

“B-But ... she ... she could ... become Kindred.”

“ ... yes, she could.” Sighing all the more, Antoinette continued to comb her hair, seeking the soothing blanket of familiar comfort. None came. “Jack is not old enough to sire. The drain on his mind would be too great.” Not necessarily true, but a risk nonetheless.

“Then ... I ... I d-don’t...”

Her inability to explain the problem was more than enough barrier to give weight to the reality of it. To sire someone was a massive commitment, never to be taken lightly, and always with a sacrifice. It was a sacrifice Antoinette knew well, and one Natasha was still struggling to come to terms with. Her relationship with her childe was broken, and try as she might fix it, it was unlikely to ever mend.

Better that, than a growing bitterness and resentment that eventually led to a childe like Tony. Then again, perhaps Natasha would be able to repair her damaged relationship with her childe? Rare as it was, it would not be the first time Antoinette had seen a miracle.

“If my love requested it, I would ... be terribly tempted, to sire her.”

“Without ... b-being able to talk to her first?”

“Yes. It would be horribly selfish of me, and my love, to force such an existence on someone who did not ask it. But it is not always such a terrible thing, is it? Julias had the choice to let Jack die, but instead, he forced the embrace upon him. It was for the best, was it not?”

“I ... think so.”

Antoinette frowned at the screen, and squeezed on the ends of her hair. The fact Natasha’s answer was not a resounding ‘yes it was’ pained the Prince. For all Antoinette’s efforts to create a utopia for her kind, for all her faith in her ability to create a world where Kindred could not only live happily, but also pursue new avenues of wisdom and enlightenment available only to immortals, a Kindred’s life was still pain. Her covenant hunted the secrets of that immortality with lifelong devotion, searched for ways to alleviate the damage of torpor, the pain of blood lust, the horribleness of vitae addiction, the chains of the Vinculum, and even for ways to break a Kindred from the corruption of Diablerie. But, in hundreds of years, for all their progress, a Kindred’s second life was still pain. For all her progress in pursuit of peaceful coexistence, hunters were still at her door, killing them.

“Ultimately, she is Jack’s mother. Her fate is in his hands. If he wishes to bring her into a second life, then I will discuss it with him. In the mean time, go, speak with Jacob and his witches, and see if you can prevent their inevitable meddling from ruining our goals. If lucky, you may even find and detain or kill some hunters.”

“Yes, P-Prince.” Natasha took a few more seconds staring at Jack’s half dead mother, before she let out a tiny whimper, and walked toward the door. Stopping halfway, she looked over her shoulder, a small, weighty frown on her gentle face. “I ... I think ... it’d b-b-be better to ... to embrace her, than let her die. At least then, she ... she’d be able t-to choose if she wanted to live or ... die.”

Oh Vola, naive child. What mother would not consider suicide in her situation, even if given immortality? And, what would happen to Jack, if his mother was given a second chance at life, and threw it away?

It was not a decision so easily rationalized.

~~Beatrice~~

“We want to capture her alive?”

Jacob nodded as he walked around the cave, hands behind his back. The eye bandage covered his empty eye sockets, but Triss had gotten pretty good at figuring out where he was looking. Looking at the floor while he paced around, she guessed, like he was being pensive. A pensive Jacob was a strange Jacob.

“We do,” he said.

Triss looked to her fellow Kindred, but the rest of them were all looking at him with confusion, too. Jen and Othello shrugged, and watched their boss pace around. Aaron wasn’t around, but he’d be back soon with a report, probably to also become confused by the strange request.

“Sounds dangerous as fuck,” Triss said. “We’re talking about this old shaman woman who’s supposedly sacrificing kine, and using some strange magic to hunt people down? The one who gave you the boot out of that Begotten’s nightmare thing?”

“Yeap. Old woman. I didn’t get a good look at her when I was there; she was off in the shadows somewhere, and I only got a peek at her, before she tore the world apart.” Jacob jumped a few times in place, laughing, before he spun around once, and grabbed the sacrifice bowl that stood in the center of their headquarters. “What a rush.”

Triss rolled her eyes, and waited. Jacob did love to have his spurts of silly randomness, and she’d learned to just wait them out. A child. Her boss was a fucking child. A super powerful, intelligent child. Wasn’t there a horror movie about that sort of thing?

“Catching her alive will be difficult,” Jen said. Damn girl was too young to be going on these sweeps, but she’d insisted, and Jacob was a ‘let them learn the hard way’ sort of teacher. “Cause, you know, she has a bunch of hunters defending her, not to mention Jeremiah and Angela, and a monster.”

It was sort of a shame that no one in the Circle had been a part of that mission. Jacob had been there for a whole twenty seconds, according to his story, and that meant a thousand details about the whole situation had been lost.

“The Invictus may help us with that,” Jacob said.

Othello tilted his head to the side. “Oh, was that your request of Julias?”

“Mhmm. Unfortunately, there are many circumstances where that may fall out of his hands. Old woman with a breathing aid, in a wheel chair? If they even look at her wrong, she might implode. If she gets caught in a crossfire, she’s dead.” Groaning, Jacob walked away again, and stared up at the bones arranged into painting-like sculptures on the cave wall. “Think I wasted my favor?”

Triss shrugged, waiting by the bowl. “I’m just glad you didn’t ask him to sacrifice his balls to a ritual or something ... That ... isn’t a thing, is it?”

“You shitting me? There are sacrifice rituals meant to give guys bigger dicks and more sexual endurance in every culture.”

Jen snorted on a laugh, before raising a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. Not very lady like. “Even in the Circle?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Probably.” Chuckling, Jacob came back to the bowl, and ran his fingers around the stained edges. “That woman has power, a familiar power. There’s something there, something in her ability, something that makes her special. She has knowledge, and I want it.”

“She’s a hunter, Jacob,” Triss said. “She’s trying to kill us, and the monsters and werewolves. And, considering what everyone keeps saying about her, she’s deadly.”

“Mhmm.”

“You think we can catch her?”

“She’s a fossil. If she tries to flee, just grab her wheelchair. If she refuses to cooperate, just grab her breathing tube and squeeze it. A little asphyxiation is great motivation.”

Everyone blinked at him

“Torture an old person?” Othello said.

“Torture is such a strong word. More like, push her around a little. Literally. She’s in a wheelchair. Push her here.”

Triss groaned. If this continued, Jacob was going to start making puns. She wouldn’t be able to handle that without bursting into laughter.

Jen raised a hand. “What about Garry? He’s looking for the hunters, too.”

“Garry owes me more favors than Julias. He’ll try and get me the shaman woman more than the Invictus will.”

What sort of favors had Jacob done for Garry to earn so much from him? Beatrice worked for that Gangrel for almost thirty years, and she was completely unaware of this connection until that incident with Tony. Sneaky fuckers.

They all turned around at the sound of another entering. Aaron. The pale man came up to the bowl, but his eyes were down, and he held his chin in his fingers, lost in thought. A normal pose for Aaron, except for the frown.

“Sup?” Triss said. “You look down. More down than usual, I mean.”

“Any of you check the news?”

She shook her head. “Nah, Jen and I came back not long after sunset.” And it’d only been an hour since then.

Sighing, Aaron stepped aside, and held out his arm to someone coming up behind him. Everyone came around the bowl to watch, arms folding across their chests. They didn’t plan for visitors, so this was a bit weird.

A tiny girl in a suit came in, very tiny. But Triss recognized the aura, and the way her beast stood up to acknowledge the familiar power and hidden smell of the small girl.

“Natasha,” Triss said, smiling and walking up to her. “Why are you here?”

“Hey Triss. I’m here t-t-to ... for two reasons. The first, um, is the Prince would like me to join your t-team.”

Wait, what? Triss raised a brow before looking back at the rest of her crew. Othello and Jen both seemed confused, too, but Jacob adopted a smile. It was his ‘I see what you’re up to’ smile, his Dance Macabre smile, which meant Natasha being here to help them wasn’t just the straightforward gesture.

The Prince didn’t trust them. Understandable, especially considering the conclusion they’d just came to.

“I accept,” Jacob said, grinning. “Be aware that I am trying to capture the shaman woman alive. If you’re going to join my group of witches here, I expect you to help in that regard, or at least, not get in their way.”

Whoa. All his cards out on the table. Either he was one of those poker players that liked to bluff with the truth, or it wasn’t all his cards.

Both. Probably both.

“Y-Yes, well, the Prince expected that.” The little Mekhet walked forward, and looked around as she did. So damn cute, teeny tiny Tash with her teeny tiny frown. There was no denying the girl was terribly strong, in her own weird, sneaky Mekhet way, and that she was so tiny made her so cute and awesome.

Heh, it wasn’t too long ago Natasha was in the Invictus, and Triss’s enemy, a Carthian. How the times had changed.

“Five vamps should be able to handle anything these hunters throw at us,” Triss said.

Tash shook her head, and walked closer, eyes scanning the room with blatant curiosity in her gaze. Bones on the walls could do that to a person, not to mention skulls with candles on them, being kept by thralls. “D-Don’t underestimate them. They’re ... they c-could kill us all, if they catch us off guard.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have a very tough Mekhet with us.” She stepped forward and offered her hand. Tash looked at her, head hanging heavy, before she took her hand gave it a slow shake. “What’s with you? You and Aaron, both look like someone died ... Oh fuck, who died?”

Sighing, Tash shook her head before she slipped her hands into her pockets, eyes down. “Jack’s sister was stabbed t-to death. His mom ... is in the hospital, almost d-d ... dead.”

“Fuck!” Beatrice backed off, throwing up her hands, as if putting distance between her and the messenger might help take the edge off that bomb. It did not. “You fucking serious?”

“Y-Yes.”

Of course she was. Tash didn’t have the capacity to joke or be sarcastic about serious things, especially dark humor.