Kindred Spirits 1.3 - chapter finished!
Apr. 20th, 2020 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wiseheartThe first couple of scenes from the new "Pathways" story. Since ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
picowrimo isn't in session right now, I thought I'd post them to my personal journal, for those who might be interested. The finished chapter will be transferred to hiddenrealms later.
Kindred Spirits
by Soledad
Rating: Teens and above, for some canon-compliant violence.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Part One
In the middle of organizing his upcoming move to Vancouver, Henry was surprised when the unexpected call came.
“Augustus? Is there a problem with the move?”
“No,” the man replied. “I’m calling you because you’ll be asked for a meeting with a certain Professor Rudolph Martin. I know such things are not easy for you, but I strongly suggest that you grant the man an audience.”
“Why?”
The circumspect phrasing suggested that the person in question was a vampire, too. Why would Augustus, of all people, want him to meet another vampire? He ought to know better.
“Let’s say that he’s a Kindred spirit,” Augustus replied carefully. “He was invited by the Royal Ontario Museum due to his expertise but wouldn’t want to enter the territory without your knowledge.”
The emphasis on that particular word told Henry everything he needed to know. Kindred were a different kind of vampires: gregarious types who lived either in a hierarchical, almost feudal society (the Camarilla) or in complete, albeit organized chaos (the Sabbat). The fact that this particular one wanted to meet him upon entering the city made Henry assume that he belonged to the Camarilla. Their rules demanded to report to a Prince of a city when they entered his or her domain.
Since Toronto didn’t have any significant Kindred presence – they avoided the territory of the True Undead, as they called Henry’s kind – it was logical that the professor, whoever he might be, turned to Augustus to negotiate his safe entry.
“What kind of expert is he?” Henry asked.
“Something about ancient languages and history,” Augustus clearly had no idea and didn’t really care; Kindred were not his responsibility. “They want to consult him about Mesopotamian artefacts or whatnot. He’ll be travelling with his Childer; young women if I’m not mistaken. He assured me that they aren’t fledglings anymore and won’t cause any problems.”
Henry was inclined to believe that. The Camarilla took what they called the Masquerade – meaning to exist among clueless mortals unnoticed – very seriously.
“Very well,” he said. “I’m willing to make an exception. When will they be arriving?”
“Next Monday,” the relief was audible in Augustus’ voice, making Henry wonder just how much clout the Kindred professor might have in the twilit world between the living and the undead. “May I give him your cell number? That way you can make out the details between yourselves.”
“Good idea. As for the move…”
“I’m working on it,” Augustus promised and hung up.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Later that night, after having fed, Henry did some internet research on Professor Rudolph Martin, PhD. There were several people by that name, but the most promising candidate was a distinguished Englishman, currently teaching ancient history at the University of San Francisco. Before his current stint he’d apparently worked for a small private school named Bradhurst College, back in England.
At the moment the man was apparently living in San Francisco, with two personal assistants, one of whom had come with him from England. The young man – either his undead progeny or a ghoul – was a postgraduate student as well as the professor’s head boy and right hand where academic matters were concerned. The other “PA” must have been a blood doll, then, or something like that. Kindred had a complicated social structure that made little to no sense for outsiders, Henry found.
Henry eyed the only public picture he could find from the enigmatic Professor Martin with interest. The man had a pale, fine-boned, vaguely Middle Eastern face with cold, observant dark eyes and collar-length dark hair, held together by a black velvet ribbon on the nape of his neck. He looked almost too young to have taught at various colleges and universities for decades; but again, looks said nothing about the true age of a vampire. Henry himself had been permanently seventeen for the last four hundred and eighty years.
He wondered just how old Professor Martin truly was. Despite the relatively contemporary name there was something in those icy dark eyes that spoke of a very high age indeed, even on a photo – at least to another vampire. Kindred might have been a different subspecies of the undead (a much older one that Henry’s kind, in fact), but when it came to the bottom of things, they were vampires.
And, as kitschy supernatural novels liked to state, blood spoke to blood.
In any case, it would be an interesting distraction to socialize with the Kindred visitors, Henry decided. Now that he had to distance himself from Vicky – and didn’t that hurt like a bitch? – and everyone in her closer circle, loneliness was beginning to weigh down his soul heavily. The territorial nature of his kind reacted less strongly to Kindred than to the ones like himself, so spending some time with an old and educated vampire might even prove pleasant. Not to mention educational.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Four days later, less than an hour after sunset, Henry’s phone rang. The number displayed on the small screen was unknown, but he had little doubt about the caller’s identity.
“Henry Fitzroy,” he answered the call.
“Professor Rudolph Martin,” a smooth, educated male voice with a hint of British poshness answered. “I understand that a common… acquaintance of us has already announced our arrival?”
“Indeed,” Henry was mildly surprised to hear his own accent of old emerge; that hadn’t happened for a very long time. “How can I be of assistance, Professor?”
“I believe it could be the other way round,” the professor replied slowly. “This is, however, not something I’d discuss on the phone. Are there neutral territories in Toronto where we might meet?”
“Not the way you have them,” Henry knew, of course, that Kindred had their public havens – usually bars of some sort owned by a prominent vampire – where even the members hostile Clans could meet without bloodshed. “But I believe the Naked Lady would serve in that function.”
The Naked Lady was a somewhat old-fashioned, only slightly trashy bar, named after a nineteenth-century oil painting that hung in the main room and depicted, well, a naked lady. Or a mostly naked lady, since artfully arranged wigs, hair applications and jewellery didn’t really count as clothing. The bar was favoured by conservative artists and middle-class businessmen, mostly, and had discreet separees, thus being and excellent choice for confidential private meetings.
Henry gave the professor the address of the place; then he called the manager of the bar and booked a separee for himself and his guests. Until the meeting he still had two hours left; enough to find dinner. He wanted to be at his best when meeting any foreign vampires; more so if he had to face more than one of them.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Master Nahir, known in the mortal world as Professor Rudolph Martin, looked around in The Naked Lady with a grimace of mild disdain. The place had a lot of false pomp and very little style; but again it hadn’t been arranged with his taste in mind. The older of her Childer accompanying him, Prue Halliwell, clearly shared his opinion, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Prue used to work for an auction house and learned to separate true antiquities from trash.
Fortunately, she was also a disciplined and well-mannered individual who knew when to keep her opinion to herself. Unlike her younger sister, Phoebe (currently also present). But Nahir could bring Phoebe to silence with a simple mental order if he had to. As much as he detested the Blood Bond – he called it that Ventrue obscenity – in Phoebe’s case it was necessary; and it worked like a charm.
Literally.
All three of them were elegantly, though a tad conservatively clad: Nahir in black slacks and a black silk button-down shirt under his jacket, the two women in the quintessential little black dress, with Phoebe showing considerably more décolleté than Prue. In that attire they fit the usual clientele of The Naked Lady quite nicely.
“We are here to meet a gentleman named Henry Fitzroy,” Nahir told the manager, who inclined his head politely.
“Of course, sir. Mr. Fitzroy is waiting for you in the red separee. If you’d follow me…”
He led them to one of the side rooms furnished with a red velvet settee and matching overstuffed chairs surrounding a delicate little table. The man waiting for them seemed to be in his early twenties; of middle height and slender build but with wide shoulders and shoulder-length, wavy brown hair. He had a pale, handsome face and clear, blue eyes.
Seeing their approach he rose.
“Professor Martin, I presume?” he asked, extending a fine-boned hand with heavy, jewelled (and obviously fairly old) rings flashing on some of his fingers. “I’m Henry Fitzroy.”
Nahir shook the proffered hand and introduced his Childer. They took seats around the table and their host ordered the house red.
“I’ afraid it is indeed merely red wine,” he added apologetically. “As Toronto has no significant Kindred presence, we don’t have the right establishments to cater to their needs, either.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nahir replied for all three of them. “We’ve already had dinner. Wine will suffice.”
The house red proved excellent, though, so as soon as the waitress left they could come to the actual point of the meeting.
“You have mentioned something about being able to provide assistance,” Fitzroy cut straight to the core. “I would like to learn more about the… nature of the assistance you are offering.”
Nahir nodded. While Fitzroy wasn’t the Prince of Toronto in the Kindred sense of the word, in the terms of the True Undead he was the equivalent authority and as such entitled to demand an explanation.
“I’ve been asked by the Royal Ontario Museum to verify the authenticity of an ancient Sumerian artefact,” he began. “If it is indeed the true item, and based on the photos sent to me it might be, it should be a powerful amulet from the Eanna Temple that was the cult centre of the Sumerian city Uruk, from the thirteenth to the fifth millennium before Christ.”
“Which is interesting from the archaeological point of view, but I fail to see what significance it might have for me,” Fitzroy said.
“I’m coming to that,” Nahir replied, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Really, the young ones were so impatient! “The patron goddess of the Eanna Temple was Inanna: a goddess associated with sex, war, justice and political power, known as the Queen of Heavens. She got later adopted by the Akkadian empire and merged with Ishtar; and even later, around two thousand before Christ, by the Phoenicians as Astarte. Under the latter name she is mentioned in the Hebrew Bible as Astoreth, in singular, and as Astaroth, in plural, in reference to multiple statues of her. The latter form was then directly translated into the early Greek and Latin versions of the Bible, where it was less apparent that it had been a plural feminine in Hebrew.”
“Again, this is all very interesting culturally, but I don’t see how it would mean anything for me,” Fitzroy said.
Nahir raised an ironic eyebrow. “Really, Your Grace, I thought you’d be a bit faster to catch on. Or was I misinformed about the fact that the demon Astaroth had recently been released in this city?”
For that conversationally delivered statement he was rewarded by the brief emerging of the true face of the undead prince – because who could bear that title more rightfully than he who once had been the Duke of Richmond and Somerset? Certainly no-one of the self-styled Kindred ruling over the vampire population of any given city.
Oh yes, Nahir knew all too well about the true identity of their host; which put him at a serious advantage.
“How could you possibly know about that?” Fitzroy asked, his voice dropping at least an octave and his eyes turning to an impenetrable black.
Sadly for him, the only one impressed by the show seemed to be Phoebe; and probably not the way he had hoped for, if her fanning herself was any indication.
“It is my job to know such things,” Nahir replied calmly. In his roughly thirteen thousand years of existence he had faced more frightening things than a merely five-hundred-year-old True Undead.
The Great Flood that destroyed his home of old being the main item of those.
“I am the guardian of the Hellgate in San Francisco,” he continued in a low, almost subvocal voice, suitable for vampire ears only. “It is a place where the wall between realities is dangerously thin. There are other such places, with their own guardians, and we keep a close eye on, let’s say, supernatural occurrences. We’ve got a planet-wide network to dispatch the closest guardian to places where interference might be needed.”
“And you were the closest one to Toronto?” Fitzroy asked doubtfully, back to human disguise already.
“Of course not, although our network is a bit thinly stretched in the North; has been since the New York Legacy House fell to the Sabbat,” Nahir said. “But since I was to come here anyway, the others assigned the task to me. Besides, I am the only one who can at least hope to take it up with Astaroth.”
“And why is that?” Fitzroy didn’t seem the least persuaded.
“Because he can only be safely sent back to the underworld with the help of Inanna’s amulet,” Nahir replied simply. “She is the Queen of Heaven, the bright counterpart to Astaroth’s darkness. She was there first and has the power to ban the thief who has misused her name and the inherent power of it for centuries.”
“If one knows how to use the amulet to bind his power,” Prue added dryly. “Assuming that the amulet is the right item to begin with.”
“And if it is,” Fitzroy eyed Nahir in suspicion, “would you know how to use it?”
“I ought to,” Nahir replied with a shrug. “I held it in my hand before, many times… back in my mortal days. It is said to recognize the adepts who touched it before.”
“That item has been in the Royal Ontario Museum for at least half a century,” Fitzroy’s suspicion seemed to increase. “I know it because I happen to be one of the patrons of the museum… one of the long-time patrons. And before that it lay under the ruins of some Sumerian city for millennia. When did you get the chance to touch it?”
“I was a guardian of the Eanna Temple ere it would be destroyed by the Great Flood,” Nahir said. “I belonged to the lowest-cast priests whose duty was to guard the wall and clean the sacred items. When the Great Flood came, I was standing guard at the highest walls of the city; but even so, I would have died, had my Sire not found and Embraced me.”
Fitzroy frowned, still not quite willing to buy it. “That means, you are… how old exactly?”
Nahir shrugged again. “I’m not quite sure; I stopped counting at thirteen thousand. Of course, I spent a great deal of it in torpor. But still, I am the closest thing to an Antediluvian walking the Earth in these days. I might not have been turned before the Great Flood, but I definitely lived before it.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Fitzroy said slowly. “For starters, you don’t look much like somebody from the Middle East.”
“Just wait a few millennia and you’ll see what the lack of sunlight will do to your colouring,” Nahir returned. “Besides, how do you know what my people looked like thirteen thousand years ago?”
“None of this is really important right now,” Phoebe said impatiently. “We’re here to deal with a demon, so let’s not waste any more time!”
Nahir gave her a warning glare. “Mind your manners, Childe. It isn’t for you to decide when and how we will act; and this is not the way one is supposed to behave in the presence of royalty.”
“Royalty?” Phoebe echoed, clearly not having a clue.
Nahir sighed. “Prue, I thought you have briefed your sister about the details of this mission.”
“I have,” Prue assured him. “Obviously, she paid no attention, as usual.”
Nahir suppressed his anger. It wouldn’t do to deal with family problems in front of a stranger.
“All right. We shall discuss it when we are alone. Right now, we have more important things to deal with,” he turned back to their host. “Mr. Fitzroy, if the amulet is authentic, we’ll have to remove it from the museum. It would be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“Removing it might prove problematic,” Fitzroy replied. “It might not be an item of any exposition, but it is still one of their most prized artefacts. They won’t allow us to simply walk away with it.”
“Which is why we shall need a very good copy of it,” Nahir said. “A copy I can switch with the original right after having verified its authenticity. Do you happen to know an artist of considerable skill who can make one?”
For the first time, Fitzroy seemed genuinely amused. “I might. But what are you planning to do once you have the amulet? How is it supposed to help finding Astaroth?”
“We won’t need to find him,” Nahir answered. “He’ll come to us. Once the powers of the amulet are freed, he’ll feel it and be drawn to it.”
“I thought the amulet was a threat to him,” Fitzroy said.
Nahir nodded. “Yes. Which is why he would try to destroy it.”
“That could lead to collateral damage in grand style. Where are you staying while in Toronto?”
Nahir named the hotel where they had booked rooms, but Fitzroy shook his head.
“That would put all hotel guests in mortal danger. I can provide you accommodations in my personal haven. Half the floor where I live belongs to me; in most rooms I store my paintings and items I’ve collected since I came into the city. We can turn a few of them into guest rooms for the duration of your stay.”
Nahir gave the invitation some thought. What Fitzroy suggested made sense; the more they lessened the risk for the Kine, the better.
“Very well,” he said. “We accept. Two bedrooms will suffice; and a room where we can continue our online research.”
“That is doable,” Fitzroy handed him a card with his address. “I’ll see it done within three hours. Do you have a car on your?”
“I’ve leased one,” Nahir replied. “We shall arrive one hour before sunrise.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After the meeting Henry drove directly home to prepare the rooms for his guests. While he still didn’t quite believe that Professor Martin would truly be thirteen thousand years old, not to mention a Sumerian priest who supposedly survived the Great Flood, he couldn’t deny that the man seemed to be of extreme age. Even for Kindred, whose origins reached much further back than those of his own kind.
There was a dark aura of power radiating from the man; and, in a much lesser extent, from his Childer, too. From Prue more than from Phoebe, though, and Prue also seemed to be an intelligent, educated woman. Whether that power was entirely benevolent he couldn’t be certain, though. Even some of the Camarilla clans dabbled in magic; the Tremere, for starters. And magic was always a two-edged sword to wield.
Still, this was the first time Henry had any closer contact with Kindred, and despite his concerns, he found the experience… interesting. He only hoped that the confidence of Professor Martin – that he’d be able to deal with Astraroth for good – was well-founded. Otherwise he had exposed himself in vain.
There was another aspect of the problem; one he had not shared with the Kindred yet (and neither would do so if he could avoid it): while the amulet – supposing it was the true item – might draw Astaroth in, it likely wasn’t the strongest source of attraction for the demon. That was still the very person through whom he had created a doorway for himself into the physical world: Vicky Nelson. As long as Vicki bore the marks, Astaroth could always find a way back.
Especially since she had been foolish enough to poison her life source with vampire blood.
That was a betrayal Henry knew he’d probably never forgive, despite his feelings for her.
Still; while Vicki might have made a grave mistake dabbling in dark magic, she had not acted selfishly. Her motivation had been right; her methods, while unwise, at least proved successful. It didn’t mean that the goal justified the method, no matter what, but she was in great danger. A danger she had not asked for.
The fact that Astaroth had not started wrecking chaos of apocalyptical proportions so far could only mean that he didn’t have his full power in the physical world yet. Which meant that he’d need to draw it through the doorway he created. So he would start searching for Vicki, sooner rather than later. She had to be warned; and protected, whether she wanted it or not.
After everything that had happened lately, though, Henry didn’t know how to approach her; or that he should approach her to begin with. But he had to do something to protect her, and there was only one person he could turn to for help, hoping that she would keep quiet about it… if for no other reason then out of well-deserved guilt.
~TBC~
picowrimo isn't in session right now, I thought I'd post them to my personal journal, for those who might be interested. The finished chapter will be transferred to hiddenrealms later.Kindred Spirits
by Soledad
Rating: Teens and above, for some canon-compliant violence.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Part One
In the middle of organizing his upcoming move to Vancouver, Henry was surprised when the unexpected call came.
“Augustus? Is there a problem with the move?”
“No,” the man replied. “I’m calling you because you’ll be asked for a meeting with a certain Professor Rudolph Martin. I know such things are not easy for you, but I strongly suggest that you grant the man an audience.”
“Why?”
The circumspect phrasing suggested that the person in question was a vampire, too. Why would Augustus, of all people, want him to meet another vampire? He ought to know better.
“Let’s say that he’s a Kindred spirit,” Augustus replied carefully. “He was invited by the Royal Ontario Museum due to his expertise but wouldn’t want to enter the territory without your knowledge.”
The emphasis on that particular word told Henry everything he needed to know. Kindred were a different kind of vampires: gregarious types who lived either in a hierarchical, almost feudal society (the Camarilla) or in complete, albeit organized chaos (the Sabbat). The fact that this particular one wanted to meet him upon entering the city made Henry assume that he belonged to the Camarilla. Their rules demanded to report to a Prince of a city when they entered his or her domain.
Since Toronto didn’t have any significant Kindred presence – they avoided the territory of the True Undead, as they called Henry’s kind – it was logical that the professor, whoever he might be, turned to Augustus to negotiate his safe entry.
“What kind of expert is he?” Henry asked.
“Something about ancient languages and history,” Augustus clearly had no idea and didn’t really care; Kindred were not his responsibility. “They want to consult him about Mesopotamian artefacts or whatnot. He’ll be travelling with his Childer; young women if I’m not mistaken. He assured me that they aren’t fledglings anymore and won’t cause any problems.”
Henry was inclined to believe that. The Camarilla took what they called the Masquerade – meaning to exist among clueless mortals unnoticed – very seriously.
“Very well,” he said. “I’m willing to make an exception. When will they be arriving?”
“Next Monday,” the relief was audible in Augustus’ voice, making Henry wonder just how much clout the Kindred professor might have in the twilit world between the living and the undead. “May I give him your cell number? That way you can make out the details between yourselves.”
“Good idea. As for the move…”
“I’m working on it,” Augustus promised and hung up.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Later that night, after having fed, Henry did some internet research on Professor Rudolph Martin, PhD. There were several people by that name, but the most promising candidate was a distinguished Englishman, currently teaching ancient history at the University of San Francisco. Before his current stint he’d apparently worked for a small private school named Bradhurst College, back in England.
At the moment the man was apparently living in San Francisco, with two personal assistants, one of whom had come with him from England. The young man – either his undead progeny or a ghoul – was a postgraduate student as well as the professor’s head boy and right hand where academic matters were concerned. The other “PA” must have been a blood doll, then, or something like that. Kindred had a complicated social structure that made little to no sense for outsiders, Henry found.
Henry eyed the only public picture he could find from the enigmatic Professor Martin with interest. The man had a pale, fine-boned, vaguely Middle Eastern face with cold, observant dark eyes and collar-length dark hair, held together by a black velvet ribbon on the nape of his neck. He looked almost too young to have taught at various colleges and universities for decades; but again, looks said nothing about the true age of a vampire. Henry himself had been permanently seventeen for the last four hundred and eighty years.
He wondered just how old Professor Martin truly was. Despite the relatively contemporary name there was something in those icy dark eyes that spoke of a very high age indeed, even on a photo – at least to another vampire. Kindred might have been a different subspecies of the undead (a much older one that Henry’s kind, in fact), but when it came to the bottom of things, they were vampires.
And, as kitschy supernatural novels liked to state, blood spoke to blood.
In any case, it would be an interesting distraction to socialize with the Kindred visitors, Henry decided. Now that he had to distance himself from Vicky – and didn’t that hurt like a bitch? – and everyone in her closer circle, loneliness was beginning to weigh down his soul heavily. The territorial nature of his kind reacted less strongly to Kindred than to the ones like himself, so spending some time with an old and educated vampire might even prove pleasant. Not to mention educational.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Four days later, less than an hour after sunset, Henry’s phone rang. The number displayed on the small screen was unknown, but he had little doubt about the caller’s identity.
“Henry Fitzroy,” he answered the call.
“Professor Rudolph Martin,” a smooth, educated male voice with a hint of British poshness answered. “I understand that a common… acquaintance of us has already announced our arrival?”
“Indeed,” Henry was mildly surprised to hear his own accent of old emerge; that hadn’t happened for a very long time. “How can I be of assistance, Professor?”
“I believe it could be the other way round,” the professor replied slowly. “This is, however, not something I’d discuss on the phone. Are there neutral territories in Toronto where we might meet?”
“Not the way you have them,” Henry knew, of course, that Kindred had their public havens – usually bars of some sort owned by a prominent vampire – where even the members hostile Clans could meet without bloodshed. “But I believe the Naked Lady would serve in that function.”
The Naked Lady was a somewhat old-fashioned, only slightly trashy bar, named after a nineteenth-century oil painting that hung in the main room and depicted, well, a naked lady. Or a mostly naked lady, since artfully arranged wigs, hair applications and jewellery didn’t really count as clothing. The bar was favoured by conservative artists and middle-class businessmen, mostly, and had discreet separees, thus being and excellent choice for confidential private meetings.
Henry gave the professor the address of the place; then he called the manager of the bar and booked a separee for himself and his guests. Until the meeting he still had two hours left; enough to find dinner. He wanted to be at his best when meeting any foreign vampires; more so if he had to face more than one of them.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Master Nahir, known in the mortal world as Professor Rudolph Martin, looked around in The Naked Lady with a grimace of mild disdain. The place had a lot of false pomp and very little style; but again it hadn’t been arranged with his taste in mind. The older of her Childer accompanying him, Prue Halliwell, clearly shared his opinion, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Prue used to work for an auction house and learned to separate true antiquities from trash.
Fortunately, she was also a disciplined and well-mannered individual who knew when to keep her opinion to herself. Unlike her younger sister, Phoebe (currently also present). But Nahir could bring Phoebe to silence with a simple mental order if he had to. As much as he detested the Blood Bond – he called it that Ventrue obscenity – in Phoebe’s case it was necessary; and it worked like a charm.
Literally.
All three of them were elegantly, though a tad conservatively clad: Nahir in black slacks and a black silk button-down shirt under his jacket, the two women in the quintessential little black dress, with Phoebe showing considerably more décolleté than Prue. In that attire they fit the usual clientele of The Naked Lady quite nicely.
“We are here to meet a gentleman named Henry Fitzroy,” Nahir told the manager, who inclined his head politely.
“Of course, sir. Mr. Fitzroy is waiting for you in the red separee. If you’d follow me…”
He led them to one of the side rooms furnished with a red velvet settee and matching overstuffed chairs surrounding a delicate little table. The man waiting for them seemed to be in his early twenties; of middle height and slender build but with wide shoulders and shoulder-length, wavy brown hair. He had a pale, handsome face and clear, blue eyes.
Seeing their approach he rose.
“Professor Martin, I presume?” he asked, extending a fine-boned hand with heavy, jewelled (and obviously fairly old) rings flashing on some of his fingers. “I’m Henry Fitzroy.”
Nahir shook the proffered hand and introduced his Childer. They took seats around the table and their host ordered the house red.
“I’ afraid it is indeed merely red wine,” he added apologetically. “As Toronto has no significant Kindred presence, we don’t have the right establishments to cater to their needs, either.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nahir replied for all three of them. “We’ve already had dinner. Wine will suffice.”
The house red proved excellent, though, so as soon as the waitress left they could come to the actual point of the meeting.
“You have mentioned something about being able to provide assistance,” Fitzroy cut straight to the core. “I would like to learn more about the… nature of the assistance you are offering.”
Nahir nodded. While Fitzroy wasn’t the Prince of Toronto in the Kindred sense of the word, in the terms of the True Undead he was the equivalent authority and as such entitled to demand an explanation.
“I’ve been asked by the Royal Ontario Museum to verify the authenticity of an ancient Sumerian artefact,” he began. “If it is indeed the true item, and based on the photos sent to me it might be, it should be a powerful amulet from the Eanna Temple that was the cult centre of the Sumerian city Uruk, from the thirteenth to the fifth millennium before Christ.”
“Which is interesting from the archaeological point of view, but I fail to see what significance it might have for me,” Fitzroy said.
“I’m coming to that,” Nahir replied, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. Really, the young ones were so impatient! “The patron goddess of the Eanna Temple was Inanna: a goddess associated with sex, war, justice and political power, known as the Queen of Heavens. She got later adopted by the Akkadian empire and merged with Ishtar; and even later, around two thousand before Christ, by the Phoenicians as Astarte. Under the latter name she is mentioned in the Hebrew Bible as Astoreth, in singular, and as Astaroth, in plural, in reference to multiple statues of her. The latter form was then directly translated into the early Greek and Latin versions of the Bible, where it was less apparent that it had been a plural feminine in Hebrew.”
“Again, this is all very interesting culturally, but I don’t see how it would mean anything for me,” Fitzroy said.
Nahir raised an ironic eyebrow. “Really, Your Grace, I thought you’d be a bit faster to catch on. Or was I misinformed about the fact that the demon Astaroth had recently been released in this city?”
For that conversationally delivered statement he was rewarded by the brief emerging of the true face of the undead prince – because who could bear that title more rightfully than he who once had been the Duke of Richmond and Somerset? Certainly no-one of the self-styled Kindred ruling over the vampire population of any given city.
Oh yes, Nahir knew all too well about the true identity of their host; which put him at a serious advantage.
“How could you possibly know about that?” Fitzroy asked, his voice dropping at least an octave and his eyes turning to an impenetrable black.
Sadly for him, the only one impressed by the show seemed to be Phoebe; and probably not the way he had hoped for, if her fanning herself was any indication.
“It is my job to know such things,” Nahir replied calmly. In his roughly thirteen thousand years of existence he had faced more frightening things than a merely five-hundred-year-old True Undead.
The Great Flood that destroyed his home of old being the main item of those.
“I am the guardian of the Hellgate in San Francisco,” he continued in a low, almost subvocal voice, suitable for vampire ears only. “It is a place where the wall between realities is dangerously thin. There are other such places, with their own guardians, and we keep a close eye on, let’s say, supernatural occurrences. We’ve got a planet-wide network to dispatch the closest guardian to places where interference might be needed.”
“And you were the closest one to Toronto?” Fitzroy asked doubtfully, back to human disguise already.
“Of course not, although our network is a bit thinly stretched in the North; has been since the New York Legacy House fell to the Sabbat,” Nahir said. “But since I was to come here anyway, the others assigned the task to me. Besides, I am the only one who can at least hope to take it up with Astaroth.”
“And why is that?” Fitzroy didn’t seem the least persuaded.
“Because he can only be safely sent back to the underworld with the help of Inanna’s amulet,” Nahir replied simply. “She is the Queen of Heaven, the bright counterpart to Astaroth’s darkness. She was there first and has the power to ban the thief who has misused her name and the inherent power of it for centuries.”
“If one knows how to use the amulet to bind his power,” Prue added dryly. “Assuming that the amulet is the right item to begin with.”
“And if it is,” Fitzroy eyed Nahir in suspicion, “would you know how to use it?”
“I ought to,” Nahir replied with a shrug. “I held it in my hand before, many times… back in my mortal days. It is said to recognize the adepts who touched it before.”
“That item has been in the Royal Ontario Museum for at least half a century,” Fitzroy’s suspicion seemed to increase. “I know it because I happen to be one of the patrons of the museum… one of the long-time patrons. And before that it lay under the ruins of some Sumerian city for millennia. When did you get the chance to touch it?”
“I was a guardian of the Eanna Temple ere it would be destroyed by the Great Flood,” Nahir said. “I belonged to the lowest-cast priests whose duty was to guard the wall and clean the sacred items. When the Great Flood came, I was standing guard at the highest walls of the city; but even so, I would have died, had my Sire not found and Embraced me.”
Fitzroy frowned, still not quite willing to buy it. “That means, you are… how old exactly?”
Nahir shrugged again. “I’m not quite sure; I stopped counting at thirteen thousand. Of course, I spent a great deal of it in torpor. But still, I am the closest thing to an Antediluvian walking the Earth in these days. I might not have been turned before the Great Flood, but I definitely lived before it.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Fitzroy said slowly. “For starters, you don’t look much like somebody from the Middle East.”
“Just wait a few millennia and you’ll see what the lack of sunlight will do to your colouring,” Nahir returned. “Besides, how do you know what my people looked like thirteen thousand years ago?”
“None of this is really important right now,” Phoebe said impatiently. “We’re here to deal with a demon, so let’s not waste any more time!”
Nahir gave her a warning glare. “Mind your manners, Childe. It isn’t for you to decide when and how we will act; and this is not the way one is supposed to behave in the presence of royalty.”
“Royalty?” Phoebe echoed, clearly not having a clue.
Nahir sighed. “Prue, I thought you have briefed your sister about the details of this mission.”
“I have,” Prue assured him. “Obviously, she paid no attention, as usual.”
Nahir suppressed his anger. It wouldn’t do to deal with family problems in front of a stranger.
“All right. We shall discuss it when we are alone. Right now, we have more important things to deal with,” he turned back to their host. “Mr. Fitzroy, if the amulet is authentic, we’ll have to remove it from the museum. It would be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“Removing it might prove problematic,” Fitzroy replied. “It might not be an item of any exposition, but it is still one of their most prized artefacts. They won’t allow us to simply walk away with it.”
“Which is why we shall need a very good copy of it,” Nahir said. “A copy I can switch with the original right after having verified its authenticity. Do you happen to know an artist of considerable skill who can make one?”
For the first time, Fitzroy seemed genuinely amused. “I might. But what are you planning to do once you have the amulet? How is it supposed to help finding Astaroth?”
“We won’t need to find him,” Nahir answered. “He’ll come to us. Once the powers of the amulet are freed, he’ll feel it and be drawn to it.”
“I thought the amulet was a threat to him,” Fitzroy said.
Nahir nodded. “Yes. Which is why he would try to destroy it.”
“That could lead to collateral damage in grand style. Where are you staying while in Toronto?”
Nahir named the hotel where they had booked rooms, but Fitzroy shook his head.
“That would put all hotel guests in mortal danger. I can provide you accommodations in my personal haven. Half the floor where I live belongs to me; in most rooms I store my paintings and items I’ve collected since I came into the city. We can turn a few of them into guest rooms for the duration of your stay.”
Nahir gave the invitation some thought. What Fitzroy suggested made sense; the more they lessened the risk for the Kine, the better.
“Very well,” he said. “We accept. Two bedrooms will suffice; and a room where we can continue our online research.”
“That is doable,” Fitzroy handed him a card with his address. “I’ll see it done within three hours. Do you have a car on your?”
“I’ve leased one,” Nahir replied. “We shall arrive one hour before sunrise.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After the meeting Henry drove directly home to prepare the rooms for his guests. While he still didn’t quite believe that Professor Martin would truly be thirteen thousand years old, not to mention a Sumerian priest who supposedly survived the Great Flood, he couldn’t deny that the man seemed to be of extreme age. Even for Kindred, whose origins reached much further back than those of his own kind.
There was a dark aura of power radiating from the man; and, in a much lesser extent, from his Childer, too. From Prue more than from Phoebe, though, and Prue also seemed to be an intelligent, educated woman. Whether that power was entirely benevolent he couldn’t be certain, though. Even some of the Camarilla clans dabbled in magic; the Tremere, for starters. And magic was always a two-edged sword to wield.
Still, this was the first time Henry had any closer contact with Kindred, and despite his concerns, he found the experience… interesting. He only hoped that the confidence of Professor Martin – that he’d be able to deal with Astraroth for good – was well-founded. Otherwise he had exposed himself in vain.
There was another aspect of the problem; one he had not shared with the Kindred yet (and neither would do so if he could avoid it): while the amulet – supposing it was the true item – might draw Astaroth in, it likely wasn’t the strongest source of attraction for the demon. That was still the very person through whom he had created a doorway for himself into the physical world: Vicky Nelson. As long as Vicki bore the marks, Astaroth could always find a way back.
Especially since she had been foolish enough to poison her life source with vampire blood.
That was a betrayal Henry knew he’d probably never forgive, despite his feelings for her.
Still; while Vicki might have made a grave mistake dabbling in dark magic, she had not acted selfishly. Her motivation had been right; her methods, while unwise, at least proved successful. It didn’t mean that the goal justified the method, no matter what, but she was in great danger. A danger she had not asked for.
The fact that Astaroth had not started wrecking chaos of apocalyptical proportions so far could only mean that he didn’t have his full power in the physical world yet. Which meant that he’d need to draw it through the doorway he created. So he would start searching for Vicki, sooner rather than later. She had to be warned; and protected, whether she wanted it or not.
After everything that had happened lately, though, Henry didn’t know how to approach her; or that he should approach her to begin with. But he had to do something to protect her, and there was only one person he could turn to for help, hoping that she would keep quiet about it… if for no other reason then out of well-deserved guilt.
~TBC~
