Chapter 41

~~Jack~~

“You think I can have a mansion?”

Julias shook his head and smirked down at him. “Think you can afford one?”

“No, but, I have connections. You, for example.”

“I can’t afford a mansion either, Jack, not in a dense city anyway. You think I’m a billionaire? I inherited this one.”

Hard to believe Julias couldn’t afford a mansion, but then owning such a massive house and paying for the help to keep it in good condition must have had a deceptively large cost. Kindred in the Invictus had a way of getting around costs, but it only took them so far. Owning a mansion in a dense city probably was absurdly expensive.

They opened the enormous front door, and stepped into the grand lobby. It’d been a while since Jack had visited Julias in his home, and something was definitely different. So different it made Jack freeze for a second as he computed what he was staring at.

There were people walking around. New people.

“Um ... figured your help would be working during the day?”

“I do still have people who work on the house and yard during the day, but these are also here to work during the night.” His sire motioned to a couple of women who were walking around with smartphones and wearing earpieces, and a man who had a broom, also wearing an earpiece. And when they saw Julias, a bright smile appeared on their faces. The men offered warm salutes, and the women offered warmer smiles, the sort of smiles Jack was used to seeing on Ashley and Julee’s face when they were with Antoinette.

“Ghouls?”

“No. Thralls. I have bound these people to be my servants with the discipline of dominate, and a drop of my blood. The combination makes for ardent, loyal servants. And so it is for my servants during the day, as well.”

Jack whistled. A couple more people went by as well, a man and woman, and they both gave Julias a bow when he came by, before they moved on. The woman looked over her shoulder as Jack and Julias moved down the hall, and Jack managed to catch her licking her lips as she watched the taller Kindred.

“That all they do?”

“Ha, no. Beatrice does like to be pampered, in and out of bed.”

Ah, to be pampered by your food. Such was the unusual luxury of being a Kindred. Even a Nosferatu could be pampered if they spent the time to get humans to taste their blood. Frequently drinking a Kindred’s blood, and the Kindred focusing their will upon the drinker’s body to transform them, was how to make a servant into a ghoul. But a few tastes of the vampire’s blood was enough to turn kine into thralls, servants. It was much easier to convince a person to drink your blood if they were brainwashed with dominate or majesty though.

Part of Jack felt guilty about it; a bigger part told him it was normal, and correct. He was Kindred, not human, and in the food chain the Kindred were the bigger predator. Course, that made him wonder if he’d feel the same if a Kindred killed his mother by drinking her to death, or turning her into a thrall. He doubted he’d hold his view unchanged.

“Must be a pleasant change for her,” he said. “She’s told me about her life as a Nosferatu, and how shitty it was. Hanging out in the tunnels till she could use her cloak of night, then hanging out in graveyards and the catacombs cause ... well, apparently Nosferatu just like to do that. More or less alone for a good while till she got in with the Carthians, and even then, never a thrall or ghoul to feed on or keep her company.”

“Indeed.”

“Bet you love spoiling her.” Cause the situation was at least a little similar to him and Antoinette, and Antoinette apparently loved to spoil the absolute shit out of him.

“I do. But we’re not here to talk about women.”

“You sure?” Jack said, snickering. Until Julias gave him a good punch to the shoulder.

“We’re here to pick what you’re going to wear to the ball.”

“Ah, right, that. Antoinette figured you’d want to pick my clothes for me. Said stuff about the unusual nature of the ball, half formal, half casual, but a middle ground wouldn’t do?”

“Leave it to a Daeva to know fashion.” Julias opened one of the many doors in his absurd, expensive, fancy hallway, and brought him into a changing room. Not too dissimilar to the changing room him and Antoinette had just been fucking in a couple nights ago.

“Oh, that reminds me. Antoinette told me about what she was going to be wearing, and daaaaamn. Not sure if I’m going to be able to keep my eyes off of her. How will anyone, with the amount of skin she’s going to expose?”

But his sire just shrugged and pulled open a closet door to expose the deep, dark cave of suits within. “Most people are terrified of her, like you used to be. That’s normally enough to dissuade too much staring. That said, I’m sure she’ll enjoy a little staring. A lot from you, probably.”

“Makes me wonder what the other women are going to wear.”

“Like the Prince told you, it’s a strange mix of formal and casual, but not a middle ground. You need to wear something that’s both very powerful, but without the rigidness of a typical suit. With this sort of dress code, it’s actually a bit easier for women; wear something that looks fancy but exposes more skin than usual.”

Jack laughed and ran the images through his mind. He loved it when Antoinette exposed skin, wore things that highlighted her curves. God, the memory of her in a corset already—

“Jack, focus.”

“Right, right. So, what’s the plan?”

“A lot of the men and women will wear clothes that partly reflect the era they were sired. Such is the custom for balls, as you probably picked up on that first Invictus ball you went to.”

Jack nodded. He remembered the strange mixture of old and new, expensive suits tailored to look a hundred years old, despite being new. Women wore frilly, fancy dresses, but a lot of them had sported some plunging cleavage, give or take depending on the vampire. Maria’s clothes had exposed no skin, but that was understandable.

“What era am I from then?”

“The combination of money and technology. The dawn of cyberpunk.”

“ ... wow that’s depressing.”

Julias laughed, shrugged, and returned from the suit cave with something in his arms. A suit, the color of silver. And not just silver as in gray, but a bit shiny with hints of black undertones. Silver silver.

“Strange color.”

“It fits your background and era. Come here, let’s get to work.”

And to work they went. Julias called in a man and a woman servant, and the two of them helped Jack try on different sizes of each piece of clothing, and what didn’t fit would get adjusted later until it would.

Black shoes of course, cause some things never changed, but the pants were indeed the sort of silver you’d find on a chain, or at least a fabric version of it. The suit came with a couple chains too, to connect a button to a pocket inside the suit jacket. The shirt underneath was white, and the tie black, but the tie also had some silver embellishment, designs that meant nothing but screamed ‘money’. The black buttons against the silver vest, the silver pin of the Xnomina symbol on the right lapel, the dangling bit of chain underneath the vest that held a small silver skull, it all screamed the modern age, technology, and money. But at the same time, the chains, the silver designs on the black tie, the color contrasts, it all had a certain pomposity, magniloquence, that screamed Ventrue, without being the dry, deadly suits Ventrue typically wore.

He kind of liked it.

“Look like I’m going to a very, very, very expensive party, with billionaires, and millionaire escort girls. And lots of cocaine.”

“That is more or less the feeling we’re going for. At the same time, the Carthians and, if they decide to come, the Circle will probably wear clothes not nearly as fancy. And that’s fine. Different strokes. This ball is about celebrating the peace in the city.”

“So ... jeans?”

Julias laughed. He was sitting on the nearby couch, tablet in his hand and scanning across what Jack guessed was Xnomina contracts. “I doubt they’ll come in jeans, but they’ll definitely wear something they like the look of. They generally don’t like suits, so don’t expect suits. You remember what Jennifer wore at the Prince’s ball.”

Ah, yeah. Damn that girl had looked stunning, gorgeous even, and terribly sexy in that skimpy little dress that barely covered her ... anything. And she’d worn it in front of all those Kindred, with no shits given. Out of shits to give, and she wasn’t much older than he was.

“So there’s going to be a lot of exposed skin?”

“No doubt. A lot of them will wear clothing that reveals their chests and stomachs, I’m sure, especially from the Carthians. The women will show off their cleavage, their legs, and those in the Circle will probably wear clothing that will expose near everything from certain angles.” He shrugged and swiped his fingers across the screen. “Neonates should be a little more conservative when exposing skin, but Jennifer, and a few cocky neonates in the Carthians and Invictus will gladly show off their curves and muscles. Dress shirts undone to the stomach, for example. Some of the women will have their breasts exposed entirely, I’m sure, if the dress calls for it.”

Fashion fashion fashion. It was sucking him in more and more every night, and as he looked at the fancy suit in the mirror — shoulders didn’t fit quite right yet — he smiled at how it looked both absurd, and perfect.

“Mr. Mire.” One of the thralls spoke up, the man, with his fingers to his ear to hold the earpiece in deeper. “Beatrice is at the front door.”

“Excellent.” Mire stood up, and pat Jack on the shoulder. “You can change back now. I want you to do some more digging into Barry’s death. Much as it’s easy to not care about Barry dying, turn a blind eye — and a lot of people are — I know there’s more going on here than it would appear.”

“Got it. Barry’s death.”

“Pay a visit to Madam Vendram as well. She says she has some information to share with whoever is investigating the fire.”

“Ah man.” This was going to suck. Madam Vendram was a Gangrel, and while that wasn’t really an issue, it was just that Vendram embodied a lot of the stereotypes of a Gangrel; almost like it was her personal mission to be a stereotype. “She still nest at the old theater?”

“Correct.” Mire got up, offered him a small wave, and disappeared down the hall. He could have gotten one of his servants to bring Beatrice here, but Julias probably wanted to go to her instead, get her himself. Cause he really liked her, and wouldn’t want her to be brought to him by a servant.

Jack really had to figure out something for Antoinette. Try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to surprise her or delight her with those classic romance approaches. He was sure a flower or similar would be met with laughter; not condescending laughter, but the Prince would find his attempts at romance adorable, not romantic.

He could ask her to dance? Julias was teaching him some basics, but it didn’t fix the size issue. Even if the Prince led, she was a foot taller than him at least, and that was without heels. Dancing would be difficult, and he could barely dance as it was.

She liked words. The Prince liked intelligence, wisdom, and introspective reflection. Maybe something in that department? Poetry? The fuck did he know about poetry though?

He sighed, and headed out the back door of the mansion. No need to disturb Julias and Beatrice, and what was likely going to be a sexual encounter if he knew Beatrice at all.

His drive took him to the other side of South Side, and into a section where old buildings still entertained people. Movie theaters that were old but still standing, same for bars, and more than a few convenience stores, liquor stores, and local restaurants. A weird mishmash of old and not so old.

The old theater was straight out of Phantom of the Opera. Course the building was at least a hundred years old, so rather than being inspired by the play, they just had the same inspiration: Paris. Just one of those places in the city where the elders let their age show through and controlled some of the building construction.

He got out of the car, waved the driver off, and stood before the royal theater. A few floors tall, with dozens of windows lining each floor against the white stone of the walls. Large doors of black wood with no windows on the bottom floor made for an imposing but impressive entryway, and Jack let out a long sigh as he pushed open the door. He’d never talked with Madam Vendram, but every time he ever ran into the woman at the Xnomina headquarters, he found the woman being aggressive with other Kindred. She liked to shove, yell, growl. Jessy was the same way, but Vendram had a certain harshness about it that set Jack on edge.

“Sir.” An usherette walked up to him and shook her head, hands together in front of her. “I’m sorry sir but an evening rehearsal is in session.”

Jack nodded, and glanced around at the lobby. Red, white, and gold was the motif, with the white stones serving as the walls, the pillars, gold braziers — light bulbs, not fire — and gold chandeliers, along with red carpet and drapes. Beautiful, if very old. The gold was losing its shine, the carpet and drapes their luster, and the white stone that must have one shone beautifully, was turning gray. The floors above had railings of white stone, with red drapes of triangular shape hanging from them, edges frayed.

The usherette looked him up and down for a second, and he her in return. But when her eyes found his, she froze.

“You want to let me in.”

“I ... want to let you in.”

“And you don’t want to tell anyone I’m here.”

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

Jack smirked at the kine, and walked past. And she ignored him, as if he wasn’t there. God damn it felt good to be Ventrue.

He took the stairway along the sides, and let his hand run along the railing. Dolareido did have some really nice, fancy buildings. The Lamanar Theatre was no Black Hall, but still, it was damn nice despite its age, and he found himself smiling as he admired the chandeliers on his journey up the stairs to the second floor, and then again to the third. There must have—ah, a side door, that would inevitably lead to the rafters over the theater. And would probably stay locked at all times.

He wasn’t sneaking in though, he was here on official business. And in this strange, modern era of smartphones, he’d already texted Madam Vendram that he was coming. Lo and behold, the door was unlocked, and he opened it to step out onto the darkness of the rafters.

Rafters wasn’t really what they were. It looked to be a fourth balcony really, with a guard railing and such, with just enough head space for someone to walk along without their heads hitting the roof. It was above the lights, guarded by a curtain to keep it hidden from the audience, and it eventually led out to connect to the catwalks over the stage; again, all hidden by curtains. Just being up here made Jack want to act like some sort of Daeva, overdramatic, excessively romantic, read poetry with absurd inflections, and him in ridiculous poses.

Maybe it was the big curtains? They did get one into the theater play mood.

He looked down over the edge and took a deep breath. Course the breath did nothing to settle his still heart; it was the beast in his gut warning him about how nasty it’d be to land on seats from this high up, not his organs. Not nasty enough to be life threatening to a Kindred, but it might break an ankle. So, he swallowed his silly fears from a life nearly a year gone now, and smiled down at the seats. Not even as far of a drop compared to the one he did onto the Azlu’s back.

Cocky, Jack. You’re getting cocky. Always remember how easy it is for a Ventrue to fall to hubris. Always remember that the spider monster only had to step aside a single foot to completely ruin that plan.

He sighed, swallowed down his pride, and continued along the upper balcony. There were some people talking below, chatting and whispering, analyzing the performance. And as Jack grew closer, he started to pick up on the verses of a few of the actors on stage.

Macbeth. Because of course it was.

As the balcony opened up onto the catwalk, he realized the catwalk itself was sort of blocked off and hidden from everyone else. It didn’t seem like it connected to the catwalks over the stage, but instead went over top them against the roof where the light couldn’t penetrate the curtains or dense metal mesh under his feet. But he could see the people below, down where the light was, and he smirked as he leaned his elbows against the railing and listened to the ever so famous ‘Out Damned Spot’ scene.

Finding Hella Vendram wouldn’t be easy. Looking for her at all was probably a mistake. If anything, she could see him already, and was waiting to see what he’d do, what he’d say to the dark, what sort of gestures he might make.

So he stood there and watched, and listened. The woman would show herself eventually, and in the mean time, he could try and enjoy some Shakespeare. And he hated Shakespeare. Something about how the words were said, the language, the rhythm, it was like listening to a different language. Took time and practice to learn to speak a language, and he’d done it a few times in high school when necessary, but ultimately understanding Shakespeare dialogue slipped away the moment he stopped listening to it regularly.

But then you didn’t need to know it fluently to appreciate how an actor portrayed it, and the woman playing Lady Macbeth was putting her heart and soul into her performance. Heart wrenching, even if Jack found the overall plot and character motivations ridiculous. Fate and self fulfilling prophecies were gimmicks used by hack writers, and just because the play was old didn’t mean—

“Hello.”

Jack jumped. Literally jumped. He landed stumbling back, hand reaching out to flail and grab at a railing before he half fell onto his ass and back.

“Jesus!”

“Shhh.” Isabella Laeuvion. Daeva. From the strange tingling sensation Jack felt in his gut, he could tell she was using her cloak of night to hide them, and prevent his noise from attracting attention. Odd for a Daeva to be using that discipline, normally used by Nosferatu and Mekhet, but it probably came with the territory of hanging out in a royal theater.

Wait. “Isabella? Er, Madam Leauvion? Why are you here? Thought this was Madam Vendram’s home,” he said. Isabella didn’t help him up. Wouldn’t really be fitting for someone of her age, a good seventy years embraced.

As per the stereotypical Daeva, Isabella was gorgeous. She had long blond hair, dirty blond, braided into a dozen ponytails of intricate design, coiling backward over her scalp. Looked like a queen, a legit queen; only thing missing was a crown. She had a hard face, a sharp jaw, and Jack couldn’t help but picture her giving orders from a throne, maybe one made of swords. Blue eyes too, bright blue, piercing, like sharp ice.

She was wearing a see-through cloak of black, something that hung over her shoulders and down to cover her breasts, but the front half came to a stop at the underside of the breast, while the fabric behind her continued down to her feet. Underneath the cloak and its fancy hem covered in spiraling black lines, she was wearing a black corset that covered her large breasts, and connected to a black skirt that went down to the floor along with the cloak. Of course, with the cloak being see-through, he could see the corset gave her an insane amount of cleavage, creating an interesting juxtaposition against the coldness of her face. Inspired by Antoinette, perhaps?

“Master Terry, you look upon them with both interest and scorn on your face.”

“Eh?”

“The actors.” She gestured down to the people below. Their rehearsal continued unaffected, thankfully. Be terribly embarrassing if Jack drew their attention and ruined his meeting with his clumsiness.

“Sorry! Sorry, just ... never really cared for Shakespeare. So, I mean, they seem like good actors, but—”

“But the medium destroys the joy in appreciation. I understand.” She nodded, and started walking past him before moving onto different sections of the hidden catwalk. Each step exposed a touch of her heel, and Jack saw what must have been some sort of soft shoe. It made no noise when stepping on the metal.

“Um, I—”

“You are here to see Madam Vendram. Come with me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He fell in line beside and behind her, and stared ahead. She was a beautiful woman, but he was getting a vibe from her that made it pretty blatant that staring at her curves was dangerous. And he could use some practice not letting his eyes wander away from him; already walking dangerous ground with the whole Clara incident.

She brought them to a part of the wall where the catwalk connected. Back here, there were no ropes or platforms, just metal catwalk; all the ropes and platforms were beneath on the catwalks used by the crew. It meant there was little place to go, and he had to wonder what her plan was, until she reached out for one of the circular wooden notches that decorated the walls. She pressed on an indentation six times, in a specific beat, before lowering her hand.

A small chunk of wood slid aside, just a square panel of the many, two feet wide and tall. All the panels, all the notches looked identical, and with this section of the catwalk walking parallel to the wall, there was no chance anyone would stumble onto the secret. And she’d probably change the pattern required to get it to open once he was gone. He didn’t mind though, that was just Kindred being Kindred.

He crouched down, and followed after her into the darkness. Half expected to be stuck crawling on his knees for a while, but the other side of the wall held a tall passage, and once Isabella grabbed a candle from the wall and lit it, the darkness was gone. He grimaced at the sight of the fire flickering on the wax, and considered bringing out his smartphone to help light the tunnel. But the Daeva would have probably taken offense to such a light source; she bled old fashioned tastes.

They continued their descent down the hidden path, down stairs of old wood that creaked, until they came upon a large room with dangling bulbs lighting the dull wood that surrounded them. Old, worn, just a big circular room that had many doors, just like the one he closed behind him as he followed the ancilla. A bunch of passages that all connected to the building above, no doubt.

He followed her through another door, as innocent looking as the others. As they walked through the endless tunnels, he had to wonder why Isabella wasn’t one of the Invictus right hands. She was older than Jessy or Natasha, and so were a couple other Kindred in the Invictus. None of them were given the same responsibility as those two and Julias when he was still a right hand. Maybe she simply wasn’t as powerful, or as driven, or as smart as them? Or maybe she just knew how to avoid getting saddled with those responsibilities.

He kept his mouth shut though. She was more than strong enough to tear him in half, and he could feel it; beast in his gut knew better than to poke the bear. So he stayed behind her, and kept his eyes on the darkness ahead of them.

“Forgive my silence,” she said, “but, I am not sure of which we could speak.”

“No apology necessary, Madam Laeuvion.”

“But there is, for someone as important as Master Terry enters my theater. Proper respect must be paid.” Her voice carried a hint of sarcasm, just a touch, a perfect level of passive aggressiveness he couldn’t call her out on. But when she looked over her shoulder at him, he stopped. A touch of fear in her eyes, maybe?

“You mean because of Mister Mire, and the Prince.”

“Of course.”

The opportunity to exploit his position and his contacts, handed to him on a silver platter. A simple sentence, something like: ‘yeah, my boss and my girlfriend run this city’, and the woman would find herself forced to treat him with undeserved respect.

“Don’t be, Madam Laeuvion. If either my sire or my love learned I was abusing my relationship with them, they’d punish me. So, please, treat me as I am.” Ugh, sometimes he wished he was more of a weasel.

What little trace of fear or apprehension she carried vanished, and a sly smile replaced it.

“Wonderful.”

Wonderful. Yeap, he just made things harder on himself; maybe for the immediate at least. But his respect should pay off in the long run. Hopefully.

The tunnel began to open again, and as they moved through the black, one wall fell away to expose a black chasm to the side. The wooden beams were replaced with stone ones, each ornate and decorated with swirling designs. The walls of the building faded away until there was only the cave rock of their path. The pathway became smooth, and worn, like rocks that had been walked on for decades. Centuries. And the path continued downward, in a spiral.

He realized, looking over the edge into the black abyss below in the center of the spiral, that he was staring into a hole.

“H ... How deep is that?”

“We’ve a few hundred feet to go yet. I’m sure you’d survive, Kindred as you are, but many bones would be broken; unless you happened to land neatly upon the pile of bones at the bottom.”

That was the smell. He thought he smelled stone, and water, and he was sure he did, but he also smelled something that bit at his nose. Death.

And sure enough, as they continued down the spiraling stairway, the light of Isabella’s candle exposed the water sitting at the base of the pit. It was shallow, with a couple of holes in the dark leading into what must have been underground currents. In the shallow pool, he could see at least twenty skeletons, with clothes rotted and faded with an eternity of cold water on their bodies.

“What happened to them?” he said, gesturing to the dead in the water.

“No offense to your darling, but the Prince often prefers to avoid mention of the seasons of violence Dolareido has gone through. Madam Vendram’s sire spent many years creating this cave, after she discovered the underground river. When some of the villagers at the time discovered her master’s actions, and realized she was Kindred, Vendram’s sire had no choice.”

Butchering a bunch of kine just to keep their vampire world a secret. He shivered as he considered the possibility. Dealing with the evidence of his frenzy fuck up with Mrs. Pavala had been horrible. Dealing with a whole group of people would have been life destroying.

He looked up. The light from Isabella could not light the abyss above them now, but it was enough to shimmer on the water, and light where the stairway connected to the floor, and where the turn of the cave ahead glimmered with some more candlelight. Part of him figured he should have expected something as insane as a colossal, deep, enormous cave with a stairway and a bunch of bodies at the bottom, all hidden underneath a play theater. He was used to such madness, just like Antoinette’s gigantic Elysium tower that had a basement almost as large as the tower itself. But, he was still shocked, and his jaw dropped as he looked up into the black, then at the pool of skeletons, and then to Isabella.

“Is there any way out of here except that tunnel above?”

“Yes, there is.” She nodded, turned, and continued down the path around the turning cave wall. Should have figured she wouldn’t tell him about any other ways into this secret base. Smart. And Kindred could use the underground river, if they were willing to swim it and knew where the entrance to it was, he was sure. Good to know.

He followed her, only to be stopped by a large gate. Thick, metal bars with almost no space between them, and varying spikes designed to tear flesh stuck out from the bars. The bars cut deep into the rock as far as Jack could tell, and several broad bars of metal crossed the gate horizontally, locked in by some equally massive locks.

“And I suppose this blocks off where you sleep?”

“Indeed.”

“And I suppose you have at least a couple secret exits from the den as well?”

“Aren’t you a smart little Ventrue.” The Daeva smirked at him, and knocked on the bars, like knocking on a door. “While Mister Mire knows much about the ongoings of the Invictus, and indeed much of who is where in the city as a whole, all Kindred develop a need for their own secrets.” Stirring drew Jack’s eyes through the bars, and he glanced between the beautiful vixen and the oncoming body beyond the gate. Isabella made another knock, as if emphasizing her points. “Try it. You’ll live longer.”

“I would have to agree, except I think my young age makes me unworthy of killing.”

The body on the other side of the metal gate snorted, shook her head, and knocked on the bars. “If that was true, then Barry would be alive.” Hard to see her through the bars, with how little space there was, but Jack could see some motion. The hard, heavy clank of metal hitting metal did a better job of telling him she was moving the bars blocking their path. And after a few seconds longer than he figured you’d need to unlock a gate, Hella Vendram pulled the metal barrier aside like opening a giant door, complete with creaking metal against rock.